inei.

"There’s poetry in murder… and I think he’s been writing me a love letter." ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡… 𝐲/𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐬𝐜𝐭, 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭. 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝. 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐛, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬.

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲/𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫… 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡.

𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

✦ prologue : first kill

✦ c. one : bleach & bloodstains

✦ c. two : whites on delicate

✦ c. three : anonymous 

✦ c. four : perfect stranger

✦ c. five : muscle memory

✦ c. six : afterburn

✦ c. seven : crossfade

✦ c. eight : weight

As fragmented memories resurface and the evidence becomes impossible to deny, y/n calls Rudy to her apartment and confronts him, leaving y/n horrified by the realization that what he sees as devotion is, in reality, a lifetime of obsession. Word Count: 2.5k A/N: damn, it took me a whole half a year to get back to this im SO sorry. updates will be coming, but slower than before. im finally moved into a new place and have a new job thus i will finally have some more freedom to write! <3

I give up on pretending I don’t realize what’s going, as if the dots haven’t been connected for a long time. It’s a relief, but it’s also as if surrendering will lift the weight off my back and instead drop to my feet. My head tries to shake off the dizzy flickering while crossing the living room, the lilies in the kitchen have had enough of my half-assed care, and the stench of guilt seeps into the walls.

The counter is a crime scene of mail I haven’t opened, a notebook with a torn page of scribbled grocery lists, and two mismatched mugs, one with ghosted lipstick on the rim and the other spotless. My purse is half-spilled, credentials peeking from the mouth; I tug the zipper wider and pull out my phone, screen too bright for 8:14 p.m. The newspaper photo from Dade City stands out in the camera roll: shipping container bloodbath; Laura Moser. I pinch to zoom a million times over, but there’s nothing new; I stare until the afterimage burns behind my eyelids, pace to my laptop, then start digging.

I tell myself I’m only looking for context and connections to things that I already know, but I keep thinking of “context” like it’s not the same word I’ve used to excuse the bad decision I keep repeating as of late. I pull up a backdoor to the County Archive Portal and type names, combinations, anything in hopes to make sense.

Moser, Laura. Port of Miami. Institutional escapee.

The site is slow, shitty graphics line the sides and everything official are old scans uploaded by decade old interns or detectives with cold cases. While it loads, I write out an evidence board with scrawled out circles and lines I pray connect, then a new page flashes onto the screen, loading ever so slowly, it’s a local newspaper in grayscale, headline serifed and aggressive: MOTHER FOUND IN BLOODBATH WITH CHILDREN. Dates cascade: 1973, 1974, 1981. The name Laura Moser repeats and the name Brian appears smaller first, then bolder in later clippings: Six-Year-Old Survives; Placed in Institution. Institutional Escape—Child found and returned. Beneath that, a single captioned photo two boys blurred, the older one a smear of dark hair and shadow and the younger one in tears. I pull my notebook closer to cover the shock on my face.

The title of my notes is a straight line- ‘WHAT I KNOW.’ Underneath, the list continues:

a boy at the window??

house fire??? (remember y/n!!)

‘he’ knows my favorite flowers

ANGEL.

angel plush in the room of the fire

why cant i remember?????

Laura Moser → containers → bloodbath → two kids. (whos the other?)

Brian Moser → child → institution → escaped → still alive?

My handwriting gets worse the closer I get to writing what I won’t: Rudy Cooper. The pen hesitates and then stutters the “R” anyway, next an arrow from Brian to Rudy and then another arrow back, a loop, a closed circuit. It feels wrong to say it out loud and worse to see how right it looks next to everything else. I place down the notebook and rub my thumb against the faint ridge of the scar at my throat in a nearby mirror. The line looks softer than it feels, but I press harder hoping the ache can bring something back to me, just one memory.

I close my eyes trying to think back, there were constellations on the walls, glow-in-the-dark stickers. With the sight comes the smell and its was sickly sweet, like sugar turning into char by the second. The sweat seeped over my hands as they slipped over the window latch, my grip fleeting and nonexistent; A boy was standing on the street and his face misaligned, eyes dark and empty like he made a decision long ago.

Somewhere in the building the concrete carries out every soft noise and amplifies every hard one. I breathe in through my nose and out in a measured count like a therapist taught me once but I’m aware of how ridiculous it is to be sentimental now, on the edge of whatever this is. I make coffee I don’t need, then peel an orange I don’t want, oil slicking my fingers, and rind leaving colour under my nails. I read one line three times before I let it hit me: Institutional records indicate multiple transfers; final discharge lost; whereabouts unknown. A child disappears inside a system and then slips out of it, sounds similar to the eerieness of a boy standing outside a window he’s not supposed to be at but doesn’t run when he’s seen, and a man who learns your flowers, face, and habit as if it’s just another part of his daily routine.

I pace the living room, my mother’s ring warming around my finger and I stop by the mirror to look at myself until I’m not sure whether the expression I’m seeing is mine or something I practiced for an audience once. “Deb,” I say softly, testing the weight of it against my tongue. It hurts to let her in here even as a word, to imagine what this will do to her, but not as bad as it hurts that I’m still thinking about him while I say her name.

I sit and pick up the notebook, adding 1981 underlined, and then ‘Port of Miami’ with arrows to ‘containers and brothers?’ I don’t know why I add the question mark there but everything inside me is moving forward and backward at the same time. I hold the phone a long while before tapping over to my contacts. His name is saved as Rudy but I consider changing it to Brian before calling, just to punish myself. I don’t. I press the call icon and feel my mouth go dry.

It rings once. Of course it only rings once.

“Angel.” What happened to hi or hello? Or even my name for fuck’s sake. He sounds awake, like he hasn’t slept either, and we’ve been in the same room all night, on the same page of different books.

“We need to talk,” My voice comes out steady, flat. “Now.” A pause, three heartbeats long. I imagine him smiling because I can hear it when he does.

“I’ll be there soon.”

I hang up first and that’s the only thing I know is in my control.

I cross to the table and pinch the spent lilies at their bases, lifting the whole bouquet in a single careful motion so I don’t drop pollen. The trash bag opens like a mouth, I pause but don’t let go. Instead, I carry them to the sink, lay them there, stems in a line, petals fanned and aching. I wash my hands and press the ring down my finger to set it in a dish with its pair, the little circle inside the larger. It’s a dumb metaphor and I hate it but I keep looking at it anyway.

I check the lock, I don’t why when I literally just invited him here.

I stand and then lean against the counter with my hands planted and my head down. I think about the moon lighting up the line of his jaw when I confronted him outside the house and how he didn’t look away when I said the wrong name on purpose. Then about how close he was to me in the car when he didn’t unlock the doors right away. I feel stupid for the parts of this that feel romantic and even more so for the parts of me that feel alive.

The phone buzzes on the counter, my stomach pivots but it’s not him; it’s Deb: ‘alive?’I send a heart and she replies with a middle finger and a kissy face. I set the phone face down so the clock stays out of my view, I know how torturous counting the minutes can be.

It’s a soft knock at the door, three measured taps that are nearly rhythmic to my heartbeat. I don’t check the peephole because I know he’s there, exactly as much as I knew he would be. I clasp the door handle, opening to dark jeans and a grey button-up; This time he appears with no props to justify being in my doorway.

“Angel,” The name reverberates itself around the room and I bite my lip.

“Brian.” His face changes, slightly. He’s been waiting his whole life for this moment and only now does it come true before his eyes. I nudge my heard towards the couch, an invitation, thinking the devil himself would be safer than this. On the couch, I throw one leg over the other and stare Brian down in hopes he’d be the first to break the silence. He doesn’t.

“Rudy… Brian… Whatever your name is and whoever you are, this would be the time to tell me the truth.” The air is still and it gets heavier by the minute, he doesn’t sit but he observes the room, studies it, studies me. He places his hand on the lillies in the sink, flickering his eyes over to the living room table, gaze lingering on the notebook abandoned next to cold coffee, frantic arrows and circles, the evidence of my unraveling laid bare for him to admire. 

“You remembered,” he says softly, it feels wrong that he doesn’t say ‘figured it out.’ This was always inevitable, and somewhere deep down I’ve always belonged back here with him. I cross my arms tighter over myself, trying to hold my body together.

“Don’t do that,” I snap, louder than I expect. “Don’t stand there acting like this is some fucking reunion.” My voice cracks around the last word and Brian tilts his head slightly, studying me with that same unbearable calmness from the firelit memory clawing its way through my head. “I told you when you recived these that they mean devotion.” He looks up at me. “I just happen to be devoted to you… for most of your life.” 

I scoff. “What does that mean?”

“You were supposed to be easy.” he says after a long silence, eyes dropping briefly to the scar at my throat. “That was the problem.”

The flames from memory are in my eyes, his next sentence doesnt it make it any better, “I couldn’t just let you die in a fire, no, you were more important to me than that.” The room starts to feels claustrophobic, and I stare at him, waiting for the punchline when he laughs and tells me this is a big fucking joke, but Brian only watches me. My stomach twists. "No. You're talking like...you've been there." He doesn’t respond but the silence speaks in volumes, replacing his words.

A memory flashes behind my eyes. The lilies on my kitchen counter, how he knew when I was lying, the scar, and the goddamn house fire. The nausea hits so hard I have to grab the back of a chair. "You were there, and you watched my house burn down?!"

His jaw flexes. "I called for help."

I go wide-eyed, and howl out a laugh, a cackle more like. I couldn’t fathom crying to him.

"You called for help? I don’t know if you’re stupid or you’re brain isn’t working but my parents are dead because of that fucking fire."

His face doesn't change, "You lived though."

For the first time since he arrived, something genuinely ugly rises in my chest. Anger. "You don't get to stand in my apartment and act like you're some guardian angel because you made a phone call."

He circles me, thinking out loud. “I watched you after that. The orphanage. The apartments. Your jobs. Every time you tried to disappear.” He stops and comes up closer to me, breathing slowed and vibrational on my cheeks, “I’ve always been there Y/N. You’re broken, but it’s not like you don’t need fixing. You don’t want to be fixed.”

I take a huge step back, almost stumbling into my coffee table. “You think this is normal Brian? Do you think that stalking someone for years and watching them for their whole life after kidnapping them is normal?!” I feel heat in my cheeks and tears threatening to drop out my eyes.

“No. I don’t.” He speaks plainly. “I had spent weeks planning my first kill, and you and your stupid laughing ruined it. I knew you we’re terrified but you joked about death in the face of it, I didn’t understand it, so I let you go in the middle of the street near your house.” He pauses, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I thought I’d forget about you but I never could. After the fire, I’d check everywhere you’d been, everyone you’d live with, and every relationships you’d make. I never lingered to hurt you, I lingered because I was plagued with the thought of you. I was never waiting for the right time, just the right version of you so when I’d come back to you…” He finally looks up, gazing into my eyes like there were headlights in them. 

“You’d understand.” I stare at him, unsure of what to say. I don’t know if I should be furious, or shocked. He’s never seen wrong in his action because he did them all for me and it sounded like the most monstrous love story.

The painful silence in the room stretches as I pace and debate between what my head is saying to me and what my heart feels like. “I have only one more question then” I say without looking up at him. At this point I’ve sat on the couch near him, head in hands and breathing slowing. 

“Did you ever really love Debra?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, in fact I start to wonder if he’ll ever answer at all. “No.” I look at him, I see Deb in his eyes. The excitement in the way she moved her hands when she spoke about him and the blush on her cheeks after he’d kiss her hard. The trust to let him into her house even at the latest and to bring him around Dexter and Rita. I walk over to the front door and open it.

“Go.” He looks at me, eyeing me down. “I need to think.” The silence stretches but Brian doesn't move and neither of us speaks. Then he stands and slowly walks over, but when he reaches the doorway he pauses beside me. Close enough that I can smell his cologne and his sweat and his skin.

"Angel."

I don't look at him, I look down, watching and waiting for his feet to move.

"I'll wait for you."

The hallway light spills across the floor as he steps outside, I shut the door and lock it, pressing my forehead against it. For several seconds I just stand there listening for footsteps, or his car door, or anything at all but nothing comes and the apartment outside is as silent as it is inside.

And for the first time since I met him, I know exactly who Rudy Cooper is, the worst part is that now I don't know what to do with Brian Moser.

helloooooooo Frozen barbies……

It is I, inei. 😭😭

IM SO SORRY FOR BEING SO INSCTIVE! I wasn’t even able to make this in the cute fancy way I usually do but I figured it was important to tell you guys a few things and not completely disappear with unfinished work.

So first things first, im hella broke right now, the past few months I’ve been juggling my mental health, selfcare, school, and work all at once and needless to say, my school and work life balance are both struggling because of it I’ve been flaking on work simply so I can go to class or so I can get some rest at home and as a result, writing things im passionate about is essentially a back burner activity.

Secondly, im in a emotionally recluse home so it hasn’t been a lot of „I don’t wanna write“ so much as itsbeen „my parents make me feel like shit, im going nowhere in life, im gonna die and this will be the end of me, etc.“ which has taken SUCH A TOLL on my creative mind so for that I am ALSO SORRY 💔

Theres probably more but I don’t wanna bore you guys so for right now, im officially declaring this a HIATUS until JANUARY 9TH.

dexter x reader

soft sex / aftercare, emotional vulnerability, hints of jealousy and/or possessiveness, caretaking intimacy, internal conflict (guilt, fear of attachment), emotional cheating

the next night, you're in bed rubbing your wrists where there's faint red marks from the handcuffs. dex's message sits in your head still, and brian's warning. the skin is irritated, but it’s not what hurts, what hurts is how normal it’s starting to feel to bruise in his bed and to leave touched but not held. youre not even sure which part of you he wanted tonight. your body, or the proof that you were still his.

regardless, you stare up at the ceiling and take one deep breath before turning over and going to text dexter, you're hoping he's still awake.

“still up? your words are stuck in my head.” it was vague enough that if brian ever saw it, it could be about anything, but dex would know. you dropped the phone face-up on the pillow beside you, your arm absentmindedly ghosting over it. you stared at the ceiling, waiting for the three grey dots that signaled a reply but the stretching silence started to ring in your brain and that was enough time before you decided he was asleep.

just as you reached out to snatch the phone back and delete the message before dawn, the screen flashed. a sudden, silent vibration against the silk pillowcase made you jump.

it was dex.

“yeah, are you okay?” silly dexter, always wanting to play your savior.

“of course I am silly, I was wondering if you wanted to come over, maybe stay the night?” it sounds kinda desperate but maybe that’s what you were right now, desperate for affection.

‘im kind of preoccupied right now but I’ll come over when i can.’ he texts back. you send an okay and put the phone back down.

later, you realize that you must have drifted off, because the next thing you hear is a soft knock on the front door. three taps that sound louder than they really are through the stillness of the house. you blink the sleep out of your eyes and shuffle to the door. when you open it, dexter stands there with that same unreadable look, holding a plastic bag and a bottle of water. “you sounded like you needed something,” he says quietly. you step aside and let him in.

"so what's in the bag?" he lifts it up and hands it to you.

"you left so fast, i brought a protein bar, advil, and some lavender tea. “you mentioned headaches last week,” he says, you blink. you didn’t think he was listening, it's sweet that he was. you take the bar from him and place the tea boxes on the counter, in the midst of pouring out the advil in your hand dex eyes your wrist.

“that from work?” he asks, nodding subtly toward your wrist. you hesitate, then half-lie.

“something like that.” dex doesn’t press, he just hums, lingers.

“let me see,” he says after a pause. you offer out your arm, expecting him to brush over it, but he holds it steady, analyzes it, and his thumb glides over the faint mark with trained gentleness. “looks like it hurts,” he murmurs. he goes to the restroom and quickly comes back out with a warm cloth and holds it over the light bruising on your wrists.

the intimacy in the air simmers, it's not too much but it's enough to where you both feel present and then you become suddenly all too aware of what you're wearing. the heat between your legs is skinning the inside of your thighs through your panties and the coverup top you're wearing is completely see through, meshed, lace. dex removes the cloth and replaces it with his hands and rolls you wrist around in his palms.

"its nothing really." you say to him sternly, even though you don't genuinely mean to be as rude as you sound. he holds it and you can feel the magetic pull of him towards you, in a matter of minutes your bodies are flushed against each other. your lips are locked and you can feel your hands free roaming over him, his torso under his shirt and his biceps and arms.

his hands move beneath your mesh, fingertips skimming the sides of your ribs, when he pulls the fabric over your head, it’s with consideration. he doesn’t speak really, he just breathes you in, eyes flickering between your face and your chest raising and falling.

soon after, he lowers himself between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact even as he presses his fingers flat against your panties, he’s studying every sound and every twitch of your hips.

“relax,” he says softly, lips brushing your inner thigh.

you can't help but let out a soft moan as dexter's fingers press against your clothed heat, as he slips a finger beneath the fabric, you arch into him, craving more. "dex," you breathe out, your voice high but breathy with desire. he responds by applying more pressure, rubbing your sensitive folds in slow, deliberate circles and his free hand slides up your body, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple through the thin lace.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding his head lower, he's surprisingly attentive and he takes the hint, replacing his fingers with his mouth. the sensation is overwhelming and his tongue explores every inch of you, dipping inside and flicking over your aching clit.

"oh god," you whimper, resisting the temptation to grind against his face. dexter groans, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. your orgasm builds quickly as he sucks hard on your clit. you cry out his name, your thighs clamping around his head as waves of ecstasy wash over you. he works you through it, slowing his movements as you come down from the peak.

then he kisses his way back up your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts. he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened budm then his hand drifts down, fingers gliding through your wetness.

"dex... please," you pant, desperate for more. his eyes roam your body as he gives you a onceover, then he lowers his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

"i've got you," he murmurs, reaching down to free his hardening dick from his jeans. you wrap your legs around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance, and with one smooth thrust, he fills you completely.

"fuck..." you gasp, relishing the feeling of being stretched around him. dexter sets a deep, steady rhythm, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. your hands roam his back, nails slightly digging into his skin as he drives into you. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, as well as your moans and his groans.

"that's it," he pants, "i wanna hear you." his words turn you on, and you meet his thrusts eagerly. the tension builds in your core again, your walls fluttering around him.

"im close," you manage to say between ragged breaths. he increases his pace from steady and sweet to passionate. with a final cry of his name, you shatter beneath him, clenching tight around his dick. a few more erratic thrusts and dexter follows you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan, he collapses on top of you, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

After a moment, he rolls onto his back, pulling you into his arms. you nestled against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. "that was…nice," you murmur, tracing patterns on his skin. dexter chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"in a good way?" he teases. you glance up at him, biting your lip.

"very." you say quietly, then you pause and hold his gaze. "i don't want to be alone tonight. could you stay?" dexter's expression softens, and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"of course i can." he promises, holding you close. you drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling safe and content for the first time in a long while.

a/n: soooo the next chapter of fixation is going to be about 6k words or more so be excited for a LOT coming to a tumblr near you!!! in any case, im finally recovering mentally and put this out for u guys! i do have plans to potentially make a part 3 later where it's essentially a brian and dexter threesome LMFAO. in any case, my next post will be a face reveal and!!!! some kinktober sweet treats!! i had plans to do it but this update was more important to me <3 ill be doing mini scene/scenario for the days of kinktober i missed and planning on putting out oneshots for the day by day !! kk bye im going to work now, stay frosty barbies! <33

The morning starts quietly, with small talk that feels heavier than it should. Memories of the past resurface, but the answers never come clean. The day passes slowly, filled with routine tasks and conversations that don’t quite settle. A late-night exchange brings tension to the surface, but nothing is truly resolved. By the time the group returns to Miami, things feel different, though no one says exactly why. Word Count: 2k A/N: heyyy guys i'm sorry I've been so dead so mcuh has been going on and I promise I'm gonna try nto to let that effect me too much, the brian x reader x dexter one-shot should also be posted by the week or weekend and if it's not i'll give you guys and extra 1k words per day im late <3

I wake up on the air mattress at roughly 9 a.m., neck sore and spine slightly bent from the way I curled myself into the corner during the night. A silent yawn escapes as I sit up, blinking against the soft light bleeding through the blinds. Deb’s still knocked out across the living room. I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my face with both hands. I move quietly through the house, footsteps muffled on the hardwood.

The kitchen is empty, but a pot of coffee sits hot on the machine; it seems like someone was here just moments ago. I walk in barefoot, about to reach for a mug, when a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Morning.”

I spin on my heels and nearly knock into Rudy; he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway. Where the fuck did he come from? His grey button-up was unbuttoned at the top, his hair was slightly messy, and there was a faint hint of sleep still in his voice.

“Oh. Hi,” I pause, heart skipping. “Morning... You’re up early.”

He steps past me without a word and picks up two mugs from the counter, pouring coffee into both, then he slides one gently toward me, his fingers brushing the ceramic just as I reach out.

“Still warm,” he says quietly.

I wrap my hands around the mug and sink slowly into the chair at the kitchen table, watching him over the rim. “Where’d Dex go?” I say, noticing the door next to me being ajar. He looks down into his coffee and slightly frowns into the rim.

“The morgue.” he says, the words lingering a little too long in the air between us.

I blink, slow. “…oookay.. how fun.”

Rudy doesn’t laugh, but there’s a curl at the edge of his lip like he thought about it. He lifts his mug again and the silence settles. I sip mine, eyes flicking toward the window, then back to the coffee in my hands. “It must be hard,” I say after a beat, “Losing a father… especially if you never knew he existed… If that really is his dad, I guess.” He doesn’t respond right away and just sets his mug down gently. “You ever lose someone like that?” I ask.

He looks at me then. Really looks. “Not a father,” he answers softly. “But I know the feeling of something missing,” he says. “That weird kind of aching to have them again…”

There’s a quiet hum from the fridge, and somewhere down the hallway, a door creaks faintly, but no one comes out. I lean back in the chair, turning the mug between my hands. “I used to think I’d never forget what my mother’s voice sounded like,” I say, “But now, I’m not sure if the version I hear in my head is even hers.”

He doesn’t comment, just let’s me continue.

“I had this dream once,” I continue. “I was in my childhood bedroom, the wallpaper all scorched and peeling, and there was this boy just standing…. outside the window. He had this calm look on his face, it felt like he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, but he wasn’t scared of me seeing him either. Then then I woke up in a heat flash.”

I look up slowly.

“It was more memory than dream honestly.” I finish. Rudy’s eyes don’t leave mine, but I can tell something in his face changes.

“I think the mind holds onto what it can,” he says, voice quieter now. “Even when we’re not ready to face it.”

The air in the kitchen feels heavier now, like the conversation thickened it. The silence sits and its comfortable for a few seconds, then suddenly suffocating. I open my mouth to say something else, maybe to ask why he said that, maybe to finally ask about last night, “Were you—”

“God, this floor is fucking cold.”

Debra’s voice cuts through everything, slicing the stillness in half. She shuffles in from the living room, wrapped in a blanket and squinting at us with puffy eyes. “Why are you two up so early this morning, not like you work.”

Rudy lets out a casual laugh and turns back to the counter. The moment is gone, and with it any chance of clarity I could’ve gotten. I glance down at my coffee cup, looking for answers and hope in the swirls of mocha and milk, but I don’t get anything.

“I figured I’d start helping with the house,” I say, clearing my throat. “Probably time to wake Rita up too.” Debra mumbles something about needing to find aspirin and disappears down the hall. I get up and stand next to Rudy at the sink, pouring the small remainder of my coffee down the drain. Rudy leans close enough to rinse his mug and his arm grazes mine when he reaches across the counter.

“You didn’t look comfortable on the floor,” he murmurs. “I should’ve taken the couch.”

I let out a short laugh, and smile down to myself. “And let me owe you? Absolutely not.”

“You kind of do.” He says but his tone doesn’t match his face, I wait for a smile or crack like a bad joke and just when I think he won’t, he smirks at me. “I’m joking, you don’t have to keep score with me.” he rinses his mug and sets it upside down in the rack.

“Rudy.” I say abruptly somewhat cutting him off, “Do you know about a fire…? Sometime in 1981.” He gives me a double take, but his demeanor remains neutral.

“There’s a lot of fires every year Y/N, I wouldn’t know about one random one.” He says coolly, body now turned towards me as he leans against the sink.

“Right, what about someone named Brian Moser?” I swear I seen his eye twitch but it leaves just as fast as I see it. He clears his throat and his eyes don’t move from mine, though his jaw ticks faintly. He leans a little closer, lowering his voice so that it blends with the hum of the fridge.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Some old case files. I’m looking into something, maybe something you’d know about?” Rudy holds eye contact with me, eyes are levelled and I can’t even feel his breathing against my cheek anymore.

“I didn’t know you were a detective now along with your day job.” The tension dissipates from the air. “You’ve been looking into things you shouldn’t,” Rudy says finally, voice low, but edged with a warning.

I tilt my head, refusing to drop his gaze. “That’s not the answer I’m looking for. You know what I’m talking about…. Brian.” The way his jaw tightens tells me enough, even if his words don’t. His coffee mug sits abandoned on the counter, fingers flexing once against the ceramic before letting go, then his chest rises once, deep, before he lets out a soft laugh that isn’t laughter at all.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Rita comes into the kitchen clutching a robe around her arms and smiling softly. “I realized Dex was gone, do you guys know where he may have went?”

“Morgue.” I say, looking Rudy straight in the eyes, then glancing over at Rita. “We saved you and Debra some coffee, I’m going to finish packing the garage.” Then I disappear out the front door.

The garage is damp and smells of oil and old age, light filters in through the run down garage door and dust clings to the air, swirling in every step I take as I push aside boxes stacked like a warehouse. I hear laughter faintly from inside the house, Deb’s voice, Rita’s next but much softer, and Rudy’s once before fading out. I keep my hands busy, but my head is still stuck in the kitchen, still stuck on Brian Moser. I promise myself that im going to look into it more once we’re back on the road but something tells me that I may find out theres more to it than Rudy’s half-baked lies.

I go through papers, newspapers, and letters, grabbing them by the handful and shoving them in the trash bag on the floor. One newspaper falls out and when I pick it up some pieces of text catch my eye, ‘shipping container bloodbath’ and ‘Laura Moser.’ I take a quick picture and shove my phone back into my pocket, throwing the newspaper away while I’m at it. This isn’t the place nor time to be trying to debunk my own case.

The day drags on, more packing in the living room, Deb and Brian and Rita dancing around, me and Dexter in the awkward midst of it all, then the next day when Debra and Dex find out that this house really DID belong to Dexter’s dad, and him and Rudy coming home suspiciously late in the night. I find myself confronting Rudy once he’s outside alone and Dexter has made his way back inside and likely coddled up next to Rita. The space is silent, we’re standing next to each other leaning against the hood of his car, and looking up at the moon cutting through the clouds in the sky.

“So, are you gonna tell me your big secret yet?” I ask him, not looking at him and crossing my arms.

“What’s there to tell?” He replies, the cool wind catching on our faces.

“Stop dancing around the truth Brian, I mean Rudy- I mean, ugh whatever your name is.”

For a moment, he turns and studies me like he’s weighing something, then he leans closer, close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. “I’ve known you a lot longer than you think.”

My arms tighten across my chest and the moonlight makes the lines on his face sharper. “What are you talking about?” I search in his eyes for familiarity but I can’t find any.

He tilts his head toward me, “You ever wonder why you’ve survived everything you have? The kidnapping? The fire? The orphanage? Maybe you’re not as alone in that as you think.” His words hang heavy in the air, I can’t think of anything to say before he pushes himself off of the car hood and starts towards the front door. What the fuck is wrong with me, actually no, what the fuck is wrong with him? It takes me a minute to compose myself before going inside and putting my stuff together for going back home tomorrow.

The drive back the next morning feels longer than it should. Rudy and Deb chatter up front about restaurants they’ve passed, and I stare out the window like I’m not really in the car at all. Rudy drives with one hand, the other draped lazily over the wheel, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Every time his reflection catches me in the rearview, I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking.

Then back in Miami, the group scatters. Rita and Dexter go to check on her kids, Deb rushes to her apartment for a shower, and suddenly it’s just me and Rudy standing in the parking lot of Deb’s place. “Need a ride home?” he asks, keys dangling from his finger. My head says no, but my lips betray me with a nod. The hum of the car engine feels like a heartbeat, steady and low, filling the spaces I should be filling with words. My hand curls around the door handle like muscle memory, an instinct to leave, but I don’t, and then when he finally pulls up outside my apartment, he doesn’t unlock the doors right away. His hand stays steady on the gearshift, and his eyes turn to me. “Get some rest, Angel. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

By the time I step out of the car, I feel both lighter and more suffocated, and his engine rumbles low, then fades into the distance, leaving me staring at my building, but I’m not sure it’s really mine anymore.

some otp questions i found on pinterest for reader & bri as a little treat before the big update.

one: definitely reader pulling brian close when she thinks about the fire or when she dreams about being alone again. on the flipside, brian probably clings onto her like shes the only thing left in the world that's truly his due to his lack of true intimacy.

two: reader probably taking up all the middle space on the bed and brian slightly sprawled out on his side with their legs somewhat tangled, and the blanket looking like it went through fifteen rounds of tug of war during the night.

three: 'pulp fiction' or 'leon the professional.' brian thinks both are classics, but you just like how relaxed he seems to be when he watches them with you.

four: you're always the one to make the dumb puns to brian, regardless if they're corny or not. sometimes he laughs, sometimes he just looks at you with adoration in his eyes and a half smile.

five: brian wastes no time telling her how beautiful she looks, all the time, everyday he can. her, on the other hand, gives him space to work and leaves him notes when she gets the chance to.

six: brian is already thinking of how fast he can remove it once he sees it on her once, regardless if it's a blazer or lingerie. when brian wears a new outfit reader is discreetly feeling him up or complimenting him. from a hand lingering on his bicep too long when she gives him coffee at the table, to a visit to his job because he 'forgot his lunch.'

seven: reader constantly tries to scare brian, it doesn't work, but he gives her a kiss and thanks her for trying anyways.

eight: usually the frozen section is more of their go to, especially since reader likes to crack jokes about brian's 'part time job.' sometimes though, they like to go to the international foods section and throw tons of random ingredients into the cart.

nine: reader makes him a meal and spends the day giving him her undivided attention, especially if he's stressed. brian will buy the biggest bouquet of wildflower lillies he can find and if he works, everything reader could possibly ask for, (and i mean this literally) will be there for her at the front door.

ten: brian runs because reader most likely doesn't see him from far away until he's literally almost in front of her.

eleven: what reminds reader of brian is, 'wanted you' by joji and for what reminds brian of reader is, 'summertime' by mareux

twelve: brian does it purely out of force of habit of wanting to smell what reader has on and as a teasing way to say he wants a kiss in a semi public setting.

thirteen: brian loves that reader absolutely lights up when she gets to talk about a book she’s reading to someone she meets at a cafe or the library and when she goes on about how her love for forensics started when she’s chit chatting over the phone with someone from miami metro. reader adores when brian makes his prosthetics, he’s focused and calm and he enters a headspace that not even she can break him out of.

fourteen: skipped.

a/n: hey guys, long time no post; this week has chewed me up and literally spit me out. family shit hit the fan, i got into a car accident, people i care about made me feel small, and overall i lost any motivation i had to write. it’s been a lot. too much, honestly. no worries though because ill be good in the next few days! i’m slowly crawling back to baseline though, and i’ll get to the story updates + requests as soon as i can. thanks for being patient with me. im also planning on revamping the page layout while i take some time so feel free to flood my inbox with requests and any other things you’d like to see such as hcs, scenarios, fluff, or aus in general. im currently just focusing on paying for school, working, and resting while i get the chance to and I can’t wait to update in the near future! 🩶

for my non web readers: this is the experience you get when you're on web so when i format my posts this is the blog thematics i have in mind.

okay anyways hi I'm so nervous

could you do one where Brian and Dexter both like reader?? Don't get me wrong Brian loves his brother (/platonic) but he doesn't like to share you, so after you get drinks with Dexter when you come home he's immediately jumping your bones

jealous!brian x reader

cw: rough sex / dom-sub dynamics, mild bondage (handcuffs), jealousy and possessiveness, emotional manipulation / toxic relationship dynamics

you’re giggling over a margarita and dexter sits across from you with a canned hard seltzer. recently you’ve spent a lot of time with him due to work and the stress has been getting to you, you wondered if he felt so same so you invited him for drinks. surprise surprise, he’s not really a drinker; therefore the evening has been partially you getting tipsy and him making very bad small talk. he looks at you with a weird intensity though, it’s like he’s trying to figure you out but also how he could make you his.

“hellloooo, dex are you there?” you say waving a hand a few inches in front of him

he seems to snap back into existence and nods. “yeah… what did you say?”

“i gotta go, i didn’t realize it was so late. plus i drove so i probably shouldn’t drink much.” a part of him looks a little disappointed but if that’s the case he hides it well. before we can part ways i pull him in for a hug as if it’s something casual. i smell his cologne all over and something about his arms around mine feels safe? you start to wonder what it would be like to be wanted gently, instead of dangerously.

you pull away and look at him in the face. you almost kiss.

later in the car, you shoot brian a text, ‘gonna be there late, got caught up.’

he responds back almost instantaneously, ‘ill leave the door open.’

when you pull up outside of his place it’s roughly 2:34 am, you push up his door and inside he’s shirtless in the kitchen sharpening a knife. you lock the door and drop your bag on the table before coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his torso. “you’re so sexy like this y’know.”

he finishes what he’s doing and places the knife down. he turns and rests his hands on your hips, “i do know.” he says plainly, with a smile on his face. then he leans down, breath warm against your neck as he kisses down past your jaw. you feel him pressing into you through his jeans and his hands caressing your back, it feels like all the other fling nights, but then he stops.

you can hear him inhaling. once, and then twice. he pulls back, hands retracting with him. "your wearing something new?" he asks.

"no?" you raise an eyebrow.

brian tilts his head slightly, and his smile falters, its not super noticible, but you see it nonetheless. “smells different,” he mutters.

you pull him back towards you for a kiss. “I used a new lotion, maybe thats what it-" he moves my hands from around his neck and steps backwards.

“no, not lotion... it's his cologne.” the look in his eyes is unreadable, but its not angry, not even hurt, just... there. "are you fucking dex now too?"

you scoff and try to sound like you're not offended. “he hugged me goodbye. he just wears a lot of it and i didn't think it would stick on me.”

“hm,” he pauses, and then, “guess it did.” at this point you're horny and getting hot and bothered by all this sudden tension.

"look if you dont wanna fuck today i can go home now since you're just not feeling into it." you say, more tired than irritated.

the room is now quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the wall clock. "i didn't say that." he says low. he closes the distance in two steps. "you came here to fuck, right?" he trails his hands down your arms and holds your hands in front of you

your silenced, yet unsure if its because youre really turned on or really dont wanna piss him off more than he clearly is. before you can say yes or even nod you feel something cold on your hands. "since you wanted to try someone new. i wanna try something new." he lifts you up by the thighs, his bulge pressed against you.

you don't protest, you couldnt even if you wanted to because youre handcuffed.

brians breath is steady as he carries you, one arm beneath your thighs, the other bracing your back. he tosses you onto the bed like you belong wherever he puts you.

“brian—”

"quiet." his tone isn’t sharp, but hes definitely not asking for backtalk. his hand slides up your thigh, gripping just hard enough to leave faint imprints, while his eyes stay locked on yours. he pulls your legs apart with one hand while the other trails slowly up your stomach and stops at your throat. “you can keep pretending this is just casual...”

he leans over you, his voice dropping to a murmur just beside your ear. "but you should know im not to fond of sharing.”

you start to open your mouth to reply, probably with some snarky comment, but he instantly shut you up with his lips on yours. its agressive but not enough to hurt, definitely enough to bruise.

you squirm under him, your hips shifting toward him instinctively and he surpresses a groan when he feels it. he sits back, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his dick, he doesn’t even fully undress. he quickly moves your panties aside and rubs himself through the wetness of your folds.

"you're into this huh?" you bite your lip at him.

"im into you, brian." and whatever patience he's been sitting on the edge of gives in as he lines himself at your entrance and pushes the full length of his dick in all at once. he lifts your restrained hands over your head and pins them intro the mattress.

having nothing to anchor on your body arches into him more and more as you chase your climax. he watches you crumble beneath him, the sounds you make turning into soft little sobs of neediness. "can you kiss me?" you whimper out between moans.

and he does. his kisses are less rushed than before but still hungry and punishing. he still has you pinned with one hand and now he plays with your clit with the other. all the motions and overstimulation threatens to push you to the edge, he pushes into you relentlessly, your clothes are damp with sweat and it clings to your skin.

your orgasm comes through you rapidly, and your legs tremble around him as your moan cuts into the air. he fucks you through it and when your body starts to twitch again, sensitive and far too overstimulated, he doesn’t stop. he adjusts the angle and thrusts in deeper. he pulls out when he's close and cums over your aching core.

your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath, your face is flushed with exhaustion and adrenaline. brian is still kneeling between your thighs, staring at you and debating whether to fuck you again or clean you up, then he uncuffs your wrists. you stare him down.

"don't look at me like that." he says.

"like what?" you question, pulling your shirt down and searching for your other fragments of clothing that are partially scattered.

“you know what im talking about." he pauses. "i don't care if you did something with dex or if you didn’t.” he stands up, grabbing a towel from the edge of the bed and tossing it your way. “i care that you brought it here.” then its silent. the silence stretches in the air, tension like a rubber band.

"and i care that i was naive enough to figure you may have actual feelings for me." that hits, and its more than jealousy, its hurt.

youre too sore to speak in any kind of comforting fashion, so instead you sit up slowly and drag the towel between your legs. brian watches you and then he walks to the bathroom, grabs a warm washcloth, and comes back to kneel between you once again. his gentleness feeling very somber for the moment its there.

he runs the cloth between your thighs, cleaning the mess he made. “you always get like this when you feel threatened?” you whisper, a shit attempt at trying to lighten the mood.

"less threatened... more like territorial."

you take a minute to lift his face to eye level. the worse part about messing around with him is you can never tell how he's feeling. “you should go before I say something i can’t take back,” he murmurs finally.

you bite your lip, hands dropping from his face and a look that shows how badly you felt punched in the gut. a part of you wants to ask him if he really wants you to leave. if he would rather you stay and make apologies and love.

but you dont. you bite it back and nod at him, trying to seem unaffected but how cold he is, even when he's touching you so heavenly. "right..."

he stands up from the bed and tosses the washcloth into his laundry basket. he watches as you get up shortly after him and pull on the rest of your clothing. you leave the bedroom, ghosting the hallways and stop when you reach your bag by the door. he says nothing but he opens it for you and lets you step out. thats when he finally looks at you.

"next time, if you really want him? dont come here at the end of the night." you dont respond, you cant. he closes the door on you. not slamming it but its not exactly like it's soft either.

on your way walking to the car your phone buzzes in your pocket.

'hope you made it home safe, tonight was nice. the moon looks pretty too, kinda like you.'

a/n: this one is really angsty so lmk if u guys want a second part bc i have the feeling this one isnt over. <3 ty for requesting ! ill also be building out a new layout for an askbox link directly from posts, a navigation with everything, and a masterlist for all the oneshots as well. also lmk if u want head cannons soon or even more mood boards etc!

Description: You wake alone, missing Rudy despite the growing fear that something about him isn’t right. After being invited on a tense road trip to Dade City with Debra, Rudy, Dexter, and Rita, you find yourself torn between paranoia and desire as Rudy’s subtle flirtations continue. Word Count: 2.3k

The silence in the house makes me miss him. I wonder what it’d be like to not wake up alone. Legs tangled between sheets, hitched breathing mingling in heat, skin against skin. I don’t think my empty bed likes those thoughts, however, because when I push myself up, I see only an untouched side of my bed. I remember buying a queen-size bed for my apartment because I thought I’d find the love of my life in Miami, and I did, but it was just my job.

I shouldn’t be missing him, but I can’t help it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about the warmth of his palm on my wrist or the glint in his eyes when he looked at me like he already knew what my body wanted before I did, but I do, and I know it’s sick. Wanting someone who might be a threat but smells like safety, the feeling he put between my legs, and the soft tension he’d create in the air by simply gazing at my lips too long.

The worst part is, I’ve felt more alive in a few moments with him than I have in months of monotony, and yet, he’s still Deb’s boyfriend. That, really, should be a stop sign, a dead end, a moral absolute, but before I can think on it anymore, work calls me back to life as I groggily look over at the time and realize I have 30 minutes to get to Metro Miami. I rub my eyes and glance over in a nearby mirror when I get up; I’m half expecting to see my same dreary disposition, the same far-off look in my eyes, but I don’t. My skin isn’t dull, my eyes hold a spark similar to a flame, and the line on my neck begins to feel less like a wound of my past and more like a battle scar.

If I was ever going to face my fears of Rudy, of the fire, of speaking up, then I would have to do it head-on. I dig in my closet and grab a button-up; it’s apinstripe button-down blouse, tightly cinched at the waist and flaring gently at the hips. Then I put on black-washed flared jeans that sit low on my hips and have a waistband lined with a snakeskin pattern. I pace around the house looking for matching socks and hold a hairclip in my mouth while looking for my purse and badge. I stop at the door, deciding between pumps and those beat and battered blood-stained boots. The black pumps win.

I throw my stuff in the car and push my keys into the ignition, then I see my face in the rearview mirror, and instead of raccoon eyes and a sour expression, there's my lips in black cherry lip gloss and wide eyes cornered with wispy little lashes. What’s the most important, though, is that there’s a smile.

The traffic lights on the way to Miami seem to breeze by; it’s not begrudgingly tiring, and the people who sit outside of the Metro when I pull up are sweet and wave at me. Perhaps they always did, and I’m only noticing it now. Regardless, I walk to the door of the building with a sway that had been lost to time since I was a teenager, and the wind lifts the hem of my shirt just enough that I could catch stares. I scan my badge and give a lazy wave to the security officer at the front.

Debra, thankfully, is the first person I see. “Damn, girl, hot date after work?” She says, eyeing me up and down, and I roll my eyes at her.

“I could only wish. I haven’t been on a real date in ages.” I respond. We walk side by side to the employee lounge; she goes on about some cases and Laguerta possibly being replaced. I’m listening but not actively; with as much as I think about work, for once I’d like to feel like I’m clearing my head. Debra props open the lounge door with her shoulder and plops down on the sagging vinyl couch, kicking her boots up on the coffee table. “Alright, you wanna hear the news?”

I sit across from her, folding my arms and leaning back with a smirk. “Lay it on me, Morgan.”

She levels her eyes at me, and that already tells me she’s going to ruin my day. “So, Rudy and I are going up to Dade City.” My stomach tightens, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Okay…?”

“Well, it’s really for Dexter… Rita is coming too, obviously, because she’s his girlfriend, and you…” She points at me, chewing her bottom lip. “You should come.”

I blink. “Why?”

Deb shifts, “It’s this whole thing. Dexter just found out his biological dad left him a house out there, and he’s been weird about it, like he always is, and I don’t know, I feel like it might be a good idea if we also go up there and be there to support him, y’know?”

“You want me to come be the...what? The family therapist?” I scoff and swing open the fridge and fish for a water bottle.

“It’s for neutrality,” she says. “You’re the one person who’s not directly emotionally invested in Dex’s life but who also kinda gets him?” She briefly pauses when she sees that I’m still unconvinced. “You’re not obligated,” she adds. “I just thought… you know, it might be good for all of us. Get out of the city and maybe breathe.”

I trace my fingers along the edge of the fridge door handle; the beeping from it being open too long threatens to go off. “When are we leaving?”

Time goes by fast, and then I think, looking back, I should’ve said no, because now the strap of my backpack stings my hand a little while I wait outside my house for Rudy’s car to pull up. I’m in a black halter top; it’s now off the shoulder because of a bad DIY job. Thanks, Debra, for knowing how to sew. Then there are flared lounge pants that sway in the breeze, paired with platform flip-flops that slap softly against the concrete as I switch my weight from one foot to the other. A heavy canvas backpack digs slightly into my hand, lip gloss catching stray hairs as the wind blows.

Rudy’s car comes to a slow stop in front of the curb, its tires screeching against scattered leaves and bits of gravel. I see Deb in the passenger seat, leaning half out the window with her shades pushed up in her hair and a smile already spreading across her face.

“Road trip time!” she calls out, like this is spring break and not an emotional and volatile trip to dig through Dexter’s daddy issues. She’s got a gas station coffee in one hand and is frantically waving the other. I roll my eyes, but I’m already walking toward the car.

The driver’s side window rolls down slowly, and Rudy’s arm drapes casually over the steering wheel. The rim of his sunglasses catches the light. He’s wearing a crisp navy blue shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a smirk spreads across his lips when his eyes land on me. It’s oddly relaxing.

I slide into the backseat, the scent of Rudy’s cologne sinking into the fabric. He pulls off from the curb with one hand, eyes flicking back at me through the rearview mirror. “Everyone buckled?”

“You a seatbelt narc now?” Deb says, slapping his arm lightly.

“I have a cop in the car.” He answers, smiling at her with an intentionally flirtatious expression. The highway hums under the car, and the silence that follows is somewhat peaceful.

A little ways into the drive, Rudy hums along to the low music playing; it sounds like old rock similar to what I listened to in high school, and Deb starts monologuing about some asshole from Narcotics who keeps stealing her parking spot. I watch the side of Rudy’s face. The eyebags under his eyes sit pretty, and he has been tapping rhythmically on the wheel, but still he smiles to himself. I wonder if he slept last night, genuinely.

We stop for gas halfway to Dade City. I stay in the car while Deb runs in for gum and an energy drink, and Rudy stays behind to pump gas. When he gets back in the car, he glances at me through the mirror, then leans his head back casually against the headrest and speaks low, “You’re wearing lip gloss.”

“Looks good,” he adds, eyes shifting back to the front. I’m actually giddy instead of scared for once. Deb hops back into the car with a crinkle of plastic bags and an absolutely annoyed face because, apparently, Florida convenience stores are ‘fucking dumb as shit.

The rest of the drive is lighter. Deb makes fun of the tiny town signs we pass, and Rudy plays along. I look at myself in my phone camera to fix my hair, and then I pause. I put gloss on for no reason in particular, but he noticed. Maybe I did it for him.

When we pull up to the house, it’s night. Rudy and Debra get out of the car, and he offers to hold my bags when he grabs his and Deb’s out of the trunk. “Let me.” He says, and for once it’s not partially hostile; it’s pleasant, so I let him. We ring the doorbell, and when it opens, Dexter looks… surprised? Did he not know we were coming?

“Dexter. Hi.” Rudy says, and it’s… eager. He hasn’t met Dex up until this point, but even his voice sounds like there’s too much enthusiasm in it. It must be a scary experience meeting your cop girlfriend’s brother, who also happens to know exactly how to kill you and make it look like an accident.

“Surprise!” Debra yells out with a big but unsure smile on her face. She hugs him and goes on some spiel about help with ‘old wounds’ and stuff like that. “And this is Rudy.” She says, Dexter sticks out his hand, but Rudy goes for a hug. Dex is stiff.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you.” He says it in the same voice he uses when he speaks in tongues to me, as if there’s a secret lingering underneath his words. “You must be Rita.” He says, moving over to greet her and giving her a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh, and we brought Y/N along! Figured why not since you guys are friends too and stuff.” I attempt to crack a smile at him, and I catch full sight of Rita. She’s so beautiful; I couldn’t imagine how Dexter got with her. Not that he’s bad-looking, but she’s borderline angelic.

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things.” I say, hugging her, and I pull back, and she’s all smiles.

After inspecting the house some, we conclude with the fact that we’re really sleeping in this random dead guy’s place. Rudy and Deb are taking the sofa bed, and Dexter and Rita are taking the main bed. “I don’t mind sleeping at the hotel. I can catch a cab up there.” Rita and Rudy look up at me like I just killed a puppy.

“I think I found an air mattress earlier in the closet; I’ll go find some clean sheets too.” I bite my lip and force an open-mouth smile.

“Great. Sounds good.” I avert my eyes and go to the bathroom to lock myself inside. Why would I ever say yes to this idea? I press my forehead against the bathroom mirror and exhale. The air in here smells like mildew and lemon cleaner. The wallpaper’s peeling, curling in the corners like it's trying to escape.

I don’t cry or panic. I just sit on the edge of the tub, arms resting on my knees, wondering how I ended up in a house with a man who might be a murderer and a girl who doesn’t know she’s sleeping beside him.

A knock interrupts the stillness, and it’s a gentle three taps.

“Y/N?” Rudy’s voice comes through the door slightly muffled. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” he says softly, “because I’ve seen that look you get when you’re pretending to be.”

I hate that he knows me like that.

“I just came to say that Rita left you the sheets in the hallway; they’re clean too, I promise. Plus the air mattress is already blown up.” Then I hear him walk away.

I wait until I’m sure they’re all asleep, scattered into the rooms of this crime scene pretending to be a home. I open the door slowly, and the hallway is dim; the only light is the moon slipping through the frosted window. The folded sheets are there, like he said, with a small post-it note with a heart resting on top. ‘Cute,’ I think to myself.

The living room is half-shadowed, and the sofa bed is pulled out, with Rudy’s bare shoulder peeking from under the blanket and one arm thrown over Deb’s waist like it belongs there. I force my eyes away, and the air mattress hisses as I adjust it. I freeze every time it squeals against the hardwood, wincing like a kid trying not to wake their parents after a late night.

I make the bed quickly, throwing the fitted sheet on with practiced clumsiness, then lie down and stare at the ceiling. The room is quiet enough that I can hear every shift and every breath, including Deb murmuring something in her sleep and Rudy responding with just a low noise. I feel like I’m in the wrong bed in the wrong house in the wrong life.

When I’m around them though, it’s never anything new.

awee thank you so much i definitely appreaciate comments like this it makes me wanna write so much more content for you guys !! <33

also i write him in that way because i see that most of the time hes' written as very primal and carnal and honestly i dont see him that way unless its in sex, hes very worshipping and i feel like he would WANT to have someone he could feel soft with like how he wanted to be with dexter. some of his action in the show prove that he isn't really always 'violence first.'

brian x 'celibate!'reader

cw: sexual trauma (past), implied murder, awkward oral sex, emotional vulnerability, soft explicit content, aftercare, slight body worship.

its morning time, the sun is spilling through the windows and the sky cuts into the blinds. you turn over to find that brian is no where to be found in bed. he doesn't work in the lab today and usually he'd tell you bye before he leaves. you shield your eyes from the light as you push yourself up out of bed.

your in a soft but thin robe when you step out of the bed. you've been slowly ajdusting back to having a man next to you while you slept and it's been emotionally tasking. you never felt comfortable showing off your body to brian nor having him touch you in any way that wasn't otherwise platonic. comforting hugs, kisses, and the occasional wrapping his arms around you was tolerable at most but things would never go any further past that.

the last time you were sexually active was when a childhood friend of yours brutally broke your trust, and shattered your self image in the process. it took lots of therapy, and police involvement, to even attempt to wash away the sin in your skin. he's apparently been released a few months ago so you've been especially on edge as of recent.

you look through the basket on the floor for something to throw on and happen to come across one of brians shirts. it smells like him, rainfall and clean car seats mingled with faded traces of his cologne. you slip it on, he wouldn't mind you dont think. you step out the room, brian's on the couch.

his eyes meet yours when you walk towards him, the soft padding of your feet hitting the floor as one of the only sounds in the room. you sit next to him, both feet under you and leaning on his shoulder. he’s reading a book about something you’re uninterested in. “you okay?” he asks.

you look up at him, he’s not looking at you but you can tell he can feel your eyes in him. “im fine, I just missed you in bed.” he chuckles seemingly to himself and flips the page of his book.

“really? i was giving you space. figured you’d want it.”

you look at him and raise and eyebrow. “how come?”

“you’ve been moving a lot more restlessly in bed. quietly saying to ‘get off of you,’ whimpering in your sleep…amongst other things.” you bite your lip and practically shrink into his shirt. “before you start thinking it’s you, it’s not.” he starts back again, but you cut him off.

“im sorry baby. mark is getting out of jail again and…” you can practically feel your eyes start to swell with tears but you push it down. “it’s just resurfaced some bad stuff.” the room is silent. brian is still very casually reading his book, unaffected. after a while however, he finally decides to speak.

“oh, that’s what you’re worried about? i was scared it was something I did.” he pauses to, once again, turn a page. “i doubt you have to worry about him now though. actually, im sure you don’t.” first you look at him with genuine confusion, but his face has a small but prominent smirk on it, he hums softly to himself.

“…are you sure?”

“absolutely positive, babydoll.” he answers coolly. you don’t know what comes over you, it’s a mixture of excitement and relief of no longer being afraid. you take the book from his hands and place it on the couch cushion on the other side of him, the you straddle his lap and throw you arms around his neck. he’s more shocked from the sudden contact than you are, but he rests his hands on your waist.

“whatever happened to him, thank you baby.” Brian kisses your forehead and takes the time to look over your appearance, hair unkept, skin dull but face bright, and his shirt clings to your body in all the right places. he bites a lip and can feel himself hardening underneath you. it takes a bit for everything to register for you but once you feel it you pause. “fuck, sorry… you just look so good like this.” he lifts you off of him and moves you off of him to sit back where you were before.

“i can just go take care of this and-“

“can i?” his eyes shoot up to yours and he raises a brow. he’s the hesitant one for the first time. “I’ve done it before… once. Let me take care of your problem how you took care of mines. he doesn’t complain or even attempt to stop you, he lets you move off the couch and crawl between his legs on the floor.

there’s no doubt that you’ve practiced in your head a million times before but having to actually do it is somewhat mentally excruciating. you know brian isn’t mark, you know he’s never taken advantage of you, so why would it start now? your hands already fumble trying to unzip his pants and the size throws you off guard a little bit, you’ve always seen the imprint but not the real thing.

you take him in one hand and place the tip in your mouth. it’s clumsy, your shoulders are stiff, you’re hesitating every tongue movement, and you’re more focused on doing things right instead of pleasuring your boyfriend. you catch a rhythm, unsure if it feels good for him since you’re avoiding eye contact, but at least it’s consistent. at some point you gag a little bit too hard and have to bite back your own embarrassment. then come the apologies.

“sorry, I think I definitely underestimated myself… I just didn’t want you to have to-“

brian, probably relieved that whatever that was is over. places a hand on your face and softly kisses you, his thumb ghosts over your lips when he pulls back. “you looked scared. i don’t ever want you to feel that way with me.”

he pulls you into his lap again, ignoring his boner to focus on you. “we can start slow, let me take care of you?” he speaks softly and slowly, but most important, quietly. you nod to him and you both work together to take the shirt off of you, then you’re left in just underwear and no bra.

he holds you by your waist like you’re the most precious item in the world and lays you onto the couch. he doesn’t go straight to oral, he pauses, glides his hands against your thighs and up to your torso. he’s mapping out your body, taking care in the process instead of rushing the moment. then he places a trail of kisses down your stomach.

in between kisses he mutters sentences like “you’re perfect.” and “every bit of you is art.” corny yes, but god is it turning you on. he goes further towards your inner thighs, places kisses on the outskirts and inside until he nears your center. he looks up at you into your eyes, searching for a sliver of your discomfort and when he finds none he kisses your clit.

he starts slow, taking his time to build up if necessary, and caressing your thighs when they start trembling. he lifts your legs up higher so you can rest them on his shoulders, and he eats you out like it’s his last meal. kisses cross paths with places that were once feasted upon and what once used to be brutal assault has become patient bliss.

when you do cum, your hands are holding brian’s wrists, he doesn’t care that your fingernails are digging into thin skin, he only cares about how you’re feeling. your knuckles turn white and he takes his sweet time after cleaning you up with his mouth.

he sits up and pulls your legs over his lap while you continue to lay down. he massages one with one hand and cradles your face with the other. “I won’t make you do anything you aren’t ready for babydoll.” he pauses, and looks into your eyes. “seeing you when I wake up and being with you is enough.”

you smile at him and you guys stay there on the couch, his caressing your skin and you catching your breath knowing that you no longer feel used but instead feel wanted. his breathing gets steady next to you, he’s sleeping, midday. you hold his hand and close your eyes.

and you don’t say it out loud and you’d never say it to his face, but for the first time in forever, you really do feel safe.