#Brian Moser x F!Reader

[viinchester]

Shape Of You

Warnings: Mentions of an injury and that it's being taken care of (nothing too graphic), Depictions of Sexual Content (Minors DNI!), Rough/Intense Sexual Content, could be considered Dubcon by coercion (not really imo, but just to be on the safe side), Themes of Possession and Objectification

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

Summary: Brian takes care of your injury after you've taken a nasty fall, however you can't help but feel like something's off about the situation. Unaware of his dark thoughts and oblivious to the deeper manipulation at play, you clear your mind by focussing on his comforting presence, and things quickly get heated.

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

A/N: For some reason, I really struggled with this.😬 I rewrote it like 3 or 4 different times entirely, I hope it's not too noticable.😅 I was also unsure when exactly to refer to Brian as "Rudy" so I tried to only do it whenever the writing directly represents the Readers thoughts about him.💕 I still had a ton of fun writing this and I hope I could do the idea that anon had justice and that you guys like it!🙏🏼 I would really appreciate reposts/comments with feedback.👀 Feel free to request stuff, I always enjoy getting some inspiration to keep the writing going.💙

Brian knelt beside you, his touch gentle as he pressed the damp cloth to your leg. The sharp sting of the cut made you wince, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the embarrassment of how it had happened.

You had tripped, just like you seemed to always do. This time, it had been over something small, a simple crack in the sidewalk, causing you to suddenly lie on the ground, blood welling up and staining your skin.

Heat rose in your cheeks in frustration at yourself and the fact that Brian now had to take care of you, but he was ever calm and didn't seem the least bit bothered.

Not saying much, he offered you a soft smile and then continued tending to your cut, his focus entirely on the injury itself.

He’d always been good at this type of stuff, fixing things while being composed and so in control — qualities you usually greatly admired in him.

But as you sat there in that moment, feeling the warmth of his touch, something didn’t seem right.

You knew you should be glad.

Here was your boyfriend, cleaning up your mess, like he so often did. You were fortunate, really, to have someone like him — patient and ready to swoop in when you inevitably fell again. So though you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, you did your best to simply brush it aside.

After all, this was Rudy. Sweet, dependable Rudy, who always seemed to know exactly what to do and was there for you whenever you stumbled — literally and figuratively.

And even if his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary on your skin right now, it likely didn't mean anything. The way in which he inspected your bloodstained leg with a look of concentration reassured you further.

“You really should be more careful,” Brian suddenly said, his voice low and soothing. His gentle words and focused demeanor helped ease your nerves.

You chastised yourself for ever thinking twice about his actions. Your boyfriend was simply trying to watch out for you, that's all. Why were you even doubting him in the first place? Maybe it was just the pain from the cut or the embarrassment of tripping again. Or maybe it was the whole thing with the Ice Truck Killer going on at the moment.

Yes, that had to be it. It had probably made you more paranoid than you'd initially thought.

But you had absolutely nothing to worry about, because the sweet man kneeling in front of you was nothing like that monster.

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

"I know," you mumbled, as he expertly bandaged your leg, secretly marveling at how steady his hands were.

It was easy to forget how awkward you felt in moments like this, with him so effortlessly tending to you. You crooked a smile at him then, but Brian didn’t meet your eyes right away. He was too busy inspecting his work, a subtle smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth as he secured the bandage.

To you, he seemed satisfied with his patch job, but inside, something else simmered. He felt an almost childlike joy about the way you sat there, so vulnerable, your leg limp in his hands.

He liked seeing you this way — hurt, but not too hurt. Just enough to need him, to be reliable on him.

It stirred something deep inside of him.

“There,” he said, leaning back a little to admire the bandage. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, something unreadable passed between you, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. “Does that feel better?”

You looked down at your leg and inspected the professionally wrapped bandage. It was not too tight and not too loose. It was perfect. Just like him.

Tension oozing from your body, you nodded and looked up at your boyfriend again, smiling earnestly. “Yeah, much better. Thank you.”

His smile widened just a fraction, not quite reaching his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m here to patch you up,” he said with a lightness in his voice that made you feel a little better. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

The way he said it — his voice smooth and promising — made you smile, comforted by his presence.

Rudy really loved you, didn't he? He was always right there when you needed him.

He stood up and offered you his hand, and despite the slight apprehension earlier, you eagerly took it. His grip was firm and steady as he helped you to your feet, making sure that you avoided putting too much weight on your injured leg.

You pushed past any lingering odd emotions and focused on the fact that you were grateful for him. You had nothing to worry about — not with Rudy, not with the man who never made you feel stupid for being clumsy, who was always kind to you, the calm in your storm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said softly, your voice carrying gratitude.

Brian's eyes flicked to yours, a faint twinkle in them. He felt content.

As he held your gaze for a moment longer, he could clearly see the relief and appreciation in you. It had him suppressing a grin, the way you were so easily fooled.

To him, you were perfect in your vulnerability, of course. A doll. Beautiful, delicate, and breakable. He liked you that way — liked the way your clumsiness brought you to him, having to be fixed, to be held together. Every scrape, every fall, was a small gift, an opportunity for him to touch you, to take care of you. To make you his again, piece by fragile piece. You were his creation, something he had molded with care and patience, and he was the only one who could keep you whole.

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

But for now, he was content to play the role you expected — your Rudy, the one who would always keep you safe.

He watched you as your eyes briefly flickered to his mouth and up again, and knew what you were going to do before you had even fully decided on it.

Slowly, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, wanting to show him just how much you appreciated him.

Letting you take control for a moment, Brian allowed you to believe that you were doing something for him, even though he knew better. You were in his hands, for as long as you lived. The thought thrilled him in a way you could never know, in a way he would never let you see.

Keeping his lips perfectly still, Brian decided to act surprised by your sudden gesture, pausing for a few seconds, until he could just about feel you starting to pull away.

He kissed you back then, using every bit of his self-restraint to start softly, and his hand came up to cradle the back of your neck in a tender movement. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, daring to go further by tightening his grip on you slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a few moments, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your heart beating faster. When you looked up at him, his smile was still there, and he looked as warm as ever to you. As you lost yourself inside his eyes, Brian felt that familiar pulse of satisfaction.

You didn’t know it, but you were already his, caught in the delicate web he had woven around you. He could see how much you trusted him and the unguarded naivety you held had been obvious to him from the very first moment that you two had met.

You were simply too brittle for this world. Too easily shattered by its sharp edges, too flimsy to protect yourself from the falls you constantly took. That’s why you needed him. That’s why you would always need him.

As his thumb stroked the pulse point along your neck, feeling the quickened beat beneath your skin, he smiled at you. It was a soft and loving smile, one he had perfected for you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Brian now addressed your last sentence, his voice calm and encouraging, with only a tiny hint of something darker that you didn't seem to notice. “No matter how clumsy you are, I’ll always be there to fix you when you break.”

The words, meant to comfort you, immediately had their desired effect. You happily beamed up at him while blushing furiously.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you told him and then leaned in again, kissing him softly and embracing the moment.

Wallowing in the comfort and warmth he provided you with, you slid your hands up his chest, deepening the kiss. You didn’t want to think or talk anymore, just enjoy the feeling of being with him.

Brian watched you through half-lidded eyes, noticing your movements growing more desperate with every passing second. He could feel the tension in your body — the way you were almost pleading for his control — and it amused him, in a way.

You didn’t even realize how effortlessly you fell into this role, how naturally you let yourself be pulled into his world.

Moving his hands down to your waist, he squeezed them a little tighter than usual, but you didn’t seem to notice the extra strength in his grip, too absorbed in your need.

When you grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up to pull over his head, he lifted his arms and let you, suppressing a smirk.

It was obvious to him that you needed this physical closeness. Your skin pressing against his, fingers now fumbling with his belt in a frenzy — you were letting go of any lingering doubts and focusing solely on him.

Feeling a sense of smugness, he guided you with quick, assertive movements, prying your clothes away with a roughness that seemed to match your urgency. You gasped as he yanked off your shirt and then dug his fingers into your skin, his touch simultaneously gentle and commanding. Leaning further into him, you longed for release already and how he always made everything else seem insignificant when you were together like this.

Brian’s lips determinedly traveled to your throat, kissing you with an insistent fervor now. You shuddered under the ferocity, but didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. His teeth grazed your skin, causing your head to fall back in an open-mouthed moan, arching your body against him, desperate for more. The heat of his passion overwhelmed you, pushing any thoughts of discomfort aside. Hands roamed your body, his traces both prodding and tranquilizing.

He could feel the way you were giving in to him and letting him take over, allowing him to guide you, and that’s exactly how he liked it. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging in even more, and when you winced, he knew you felt it — though you never pulled away.

You wanted this. You needed him to be in charge.

When he led you into the bedroom, your discarded clothes left in the wake of his deliberate actions, his movements were filled with a raw intensity.

You shortly cringed at the sudden pain shooting through your injured leg when his weight pressed down on you as he pushed you onto the bed, but his lips crashing against yours with hunger made you almost immediately forget about any hurt. Kissing him back just as frantically, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling onto him. He slipped his tongue between your lips almost forcefully, licking over every hidden crevice in your mouth with purpose. His hands roamed over your body and you moaned into Brian's mouth, his touch both a source of solace and pleasure for you.

Deep down on the inside a part of you noticed a subtle shift — Rudy was not being as gentle and careful as he normally was — but that part was swiftly drowned out by the sensations of everything else going on. All you could truly acknowledge in that moment was the incredible desire for him to make you forget everything but the feeling of him against you.

As if he somehow knew about what you’d felt, Brian interrupted the sloppy kiss and moved once more with intention and a vigor that sent your heart racing. His hands, bruising but controlled, pushed down the last bit of garment left between the two of you and you gasped as fresh air hit your intimate zone. You hadn't even realized how wet you'd gotten and now felt slightly ashamed at the way your body obviously liked the way he handled you and the way he'd been — and still was — pushing you and testing your limits, teetering the edges of breaking them.

He was still Rudy though, still the man who you trusted most in the world, so you didn't give it much more than a passing thought and decided to just roll with it.

Even though it would probably give you pause if you properly questioned it — the fact that he didn't usually act this way and only when you were injured or reliant on him in some way — for more than two seconds. But you didn’t question it for more than two seconds, couldn't, as your body deliciously responded and distracted you instead.

When Brian finally pushed into you, you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders and leaving half-crescent-shaped moon indentions in his skin. He allowed you to adjust to his size for a short while, pushing his forehead against yours with his mouth hanging open in a silent groan as he relished in the feeling of being inside you.

After enough time passed for you to become used to him, you patted his shoulder and nodded ever so slightly, not capable of words.

Brian understood though, and immediately began to move, quickly setting a pace that was fast and demanding.

Pressing your eyes shut, you clung to him, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him impossibly closer — entirely missing the way his eyes were filled with something completely wild and dark. Focussing on the feeling of your boyfriend pushing and pulling inside of you, he soon began to hit that delicious spot deep in you, and you moaned loudly.

Brian leaned down then and you could feel his hot breath against your ear, his voice low and rough.

“You need me, don’t you?” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine. You frantically nodded while gasping for air, unable to answer anything. “Whenever you need me, I am — and will — be there, every. single. time.”

He punctuated each word with a sharper and deeper thrust, angled directly at your sweet spot, leaving you choking for breath with tears in your eyes at one point. His words, though assertive, felt like a promise of security and care to you.

The room was heavy with heat, your breaths mingling, the sound of your bodies crashing together filling the space. Each push sent a jolt through you that made your head spin. You lost yourself in it all, in these repetitive motions, his touch, the feeling of his skin against yours.

One of his hands now moved to your clit and his movements became even more resolved and driven. He was controlling the moment, steering it exactly where he wanted, and your body responded accordingly. You could feel yourself being pulled in by the sensation, as he pushed you towards the edge.

“God, you’re so perfect like this,” Brian grunted, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “Come on, it's alright. You’re mine, aren’t you? Just let go.”

Tears rose in your eyes as you felt your body react to both his words and actions, the increasing intensity overtaking everything else and throwing you into a rush of pure ecstasy.

Your fingers dug into his back, your breath ragged, and all at once you fell into the waves, pulled underneath by their impact. You couldn't breathe for a moment, until finally, with a twist from Brian's fingers and a sharp cry from you, you reached the surface again.

The release hit you hard, sending rows of pleasure crashing through your body, and all you could do was lie there and take it, face screwed up in the pleasure of it.

Brian followed soon after, his movements rough and forceful as he found his own release, breath hot against your neck as he groaned, low and deep.

For a moment, the world stilled as the both of you tried to calm your breathing, the overwhelming physical connection between the two of you leaving you in a daze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling beneath the weight of his body on you.

After what felt like ages, but was likely only seconds, Brian lifted himself up and out of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty at the loss of him.

He collapsed beside you then and the room fell into a heavy silence in the aftermath of what you'd done.

As he lay beside you, Brian's mind was a whirlpool of satisfaction and dark pleasure. He reveled in the way you’d clung to him, completely oblivious to the extent of his control. The contrast between your dependence on him and his calculated dominance over you joyed him immensely.

Lifting his head, he turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush your hair back from your face, his caress tender again and a stark difference from the intensity of the moments you’d shared just before. His fingers grazed over your skin, his touch so feather-light and soft, it immediately erased any lingering concerns in you.

It was an act, of course. A way to further embed his influence. The compassion was a calculated gesture, a way to reinforce the illusion of care while keeping you bound to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked carefully, his voice carrying a tone of worry that felt comforting, and you nodded, reassured by his touch.

He always knew how to make you feel cherished, and you clung to that sense of security.

He noted the way your body relaxed against his, your breathing steady and calm. The pretense of concern came naturally to him, a mask he wore so well.

His hand now rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly as he leaned in closer.

“I love you,” he whispered, the final nail in the coffin, as always, his gaze lingering on you and studying your relaxed and smitten features. To him, you were more than just a partner; you were a project, a creation he had formed. The sweetness in his voice was a facade that masked his true intentions.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you felt another wave of affection and safety. Any fleeting worries were overshadowed by his sedative presence. You knew he was there for you, providing the care and support you needed.

“I love you too,” you responded, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him closer, feeling his warmth envelop you.

And as you nestled closer, Brian’s thoughts were filled with a dark fulfillment. The control he wielded was subtle, deeply woven into the fabric of his relationship with you.

And you, in your innocent trust, had made it all too easy.

With the quiet settling in, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of his presence and fell asleep.

[indiemags]

What is Indie?

Indiecon 2018 - Indie nations

Oliver Gehrs – DUMMY  “Being independent means being free.”

Jana Al Obeidyine – a Dance Mag  “Indie is being true to yourself despite the adversity.”

Davide Cazarro – NANG Magazine  “A sprawling and layered term, an opportunity, an aspiration, a promise… a chimera?”

Mike Koedinger – Maison Moderne/Paperjam  “It’s primarily about freedom of expression, and less a matter of size.”

Sissel Hansen – Startup Guide  “Indie means trying new things, being unconventional and sticking to your own vision.”

Meg Miller– Eye on Design  “Free to be experimental, thoughtful, and dynamic with the contents of your publication, in pursuit of making something valuable and considered above all else.”

Iris Lee– ArtQpie Library  “Small scale but big impact.”

Laurel Schwulst – Beautiful Company  “I think it's short for independent.”

Monika Szewczyk – South as State of Mind  “Quote from The Life of Brian: ‘We are all indie-vidiuals’, defined by our alliances.”

Florian Mecklenburg & Karoline Buurman – NXS  “Being independent from any safe and proven formats and aesthetics.”

Indiecon 2017 - Indie first

Justinien Tribillon – Migrant Journal  “Being independent means highlighting stories and showing perspectives that are not bound to financial interests or sensationalist requirements.”

Ryan Fitzgibbon – hello mr.  “Indie means finding your motivation in challenging the status quo.”

Steve Watson – Stack  “Indie is unstoppable.”

Jeremy Leslie – magCulture  “Indie is anything you dream.”

Ibrahim Nehme – Outpost  “Indie is disconnecting from the system to find freedom.”

Stefanie Lohhaus – Missy  “Passionate, content-driven journalism. Avantgarde. Taking Risks both content and layout-wise. Being radical.”

Megan Le Masurier – University of Sydney  “Indie is the desire for a Utopian space, creating what is missing.”

Nelson Ng – LOST  “Indie is about having a strong belief in something.”

Yaonyou Yuan Di “Indie is without any interruption.”

Rose Nordin – OOMK “Indie is in line with D.I.Y – making projects happen with little resources and with a lot of personal investment.”

Kati Krause – ANXY  “’Indie’ is a carte blanche for radical creativity, for making magazines that verge on art. It means trying out subject matters and storytelling that readers didn’t even know they were interested in. It means forging audiences rather than following them.”

Besa Luci – Kosorvo 2.0  “Indie means being self-aware and self-critical.”

Joachim Baldauf – VORN  “Real Indie for me is non-capitalistic. Not focused on money, but spirit.”

Steve Anglesey – The New European  “Indie is the Second Annual Report album by Throbbing Gristle (1977) – self-written, self-recorded, self-performed using self-built equipment, self-published because no major would have dared; created for no-one but the artists, yet manage to inspire and connect a network of individuals.”

Heike Grebin – Troppo-Automated “Limitations make you creative – hopefully.”

Andreas Trogisch – Troppo-Automated “You get the idea and you do it.”

Timo Rychert – Troppo-Automated “The moment you find out what Indie is, it stops being Indie.”

Sara Schurmann – VICE / F Mag “For me magazines are „indie“, when the editorial team developed the idea independently and not on behalf of a client. Which doesn’t mean you can’t work with or for publishing houses.”

Susanne Eigenmann – Hamburg Kreativ Gesellschaft  “Indie is authentically, surprising and likeable.”

Teresa Bücker – Edition F  “Indie is about being stronger together.”

Indhira Rojas – ANXY  “Indie is creative freedom, freedom to invent and make things on your terms and follow that vision. It's taking the risk to pursue your ideas outside of traditional frameworks, and in that process finding your own path.”

Indiecon 2016 - Indienet Pioneer Communities

Danny Miller – Weapons of Reason  “I don’t have a definitive answer for this.”

Ricarda Messner – Flaneur  “Doing whatever you want to do.”

Agnese Kleina – Benji Knewman  “Inventing your own universe and rules.”

Joachim Baldauf – Vorn  “Real Indie for me is non-capitalistic. Not focused on money, but spirit.”

Steven Watson – Stack  “Indie is unstoppable.”

Fabian Weiß “Indie is doing what you like and listening to your heart.”

Sebastian Pranz – Froh  “Indie is creating alternative public spheres!”

Penny Martin – The Gentlewoman  “A lifetime membership of the London Library and a taxi account.”

Rosetta Mills – The Lifted Brow  “Making a thing you love with good people, for good people who will love it.”

Jeff Taylor – Courier “Today’s ‘indie’ crews have found multiple models that help them launch titles for far less money than before, and in the process, are creating a wave of fresh, unique titles.”

Veronica Ditting – The Gentlewoman  “Indie is an outspoken and personal voice.”

Sam Cooney – The Lifted Brow  “Indie is making meaning rather than money.”

Fabian Ebeling – Die Epilog  “Doing (almost) whatever you want.”

Klaus Neuburg – Froh  “Doing it anyway.”

Timo Durst – PFDFNDR “Indie is intrinsic.”

Max Weinland – PFDFNDR “Indie is autocracy.”

Richard O’Mahony – The Gentlewoman  “The opportunity of a lifetime.”

Sebastian Zimmerhackl – Selam X  “Through the wall.”

Michael Hopp – Hopp und Frenz  “Indie is print without regrets.”

Nelson Ng – Lost  “Indie is about having a strong belief in something.”

Indiecon 2015 - Indie forever

Philipp Köster – 11 Freunde  “Indie ist: Sich selbst ausbeuten, statt sich von anderen ausbeuten zu lassen.“

Ryan Fitzgibbon – Hello Mr.  “Finding motivation in the attempt to prove everyone wrong.”

Jeremy Leslie – Magculture  “Complete Control.”

Kai Brach – Offscreen  “Being able to decide today what the magazine will look like tomorrow, without asking anyone for permission.”

Ole Jendis – Impulse  “Indie jetzt gründen – der wahrscheinlich verrückteste und beste Zeitpunkt zugleich.“

Tristan Rodgers – MC1R  “The freedom to do everything you like to do and having it under your own control.”

Mathias Zeiske – Edit  “Getting to choose the people you depend on.”

Anke Eberhardt – CUT  “(i)nspiring, (n)iche dedicated, (d)eadline heavy, (i)nsane, (e)xceptional”

Julia Kahl – Slanted  “Independently created and published publications.”

Jan Spading – zmyk  “Sich unabhängig entscheiden zu können, von wem oder was man als Magazinmacher abhängig sein muss und will.“

Steven Gregor – Gym Class Mag  “Indie is a frame of mind. It’s an intention… a voice different from the norm. Indie is risk. It’s Shia LaBeouf’s rattail, not Kim Kardashian’s butt. Indie has nothing to do with fancy paper, typefaces or printing techniques. And it most certainly has nothing to do with small business models.”

Mads Pankow – Die Epilog  “To us indie means independent from the market, trying to make a magazine that reflects a unique point of view, without thinking about the target audience. Only if you keep straight to your own perspective you will find an audience which appreciates it.”

Dolf Hermannstädter – Trust  “Overrated.”

Ibrahim Nehme – The Outpost  “Indie is a blueprint of the world you want to live in – made with no budget.”

Juliane Schiemenz – Reportagen  “… wenn du Sachen anders machen kannst als die anderen – und davon trotzdem deine Miete bezahlen. // - und davon trotzdem deine Miete bezahlst. // wenn du Sachen anders machst als die anderen - und davon trotzdem deine Miete bezahlen kannst.“

Daniel Beskos – mairisch Verlag  “Working with people you like on magazines and books that are well done and worth being published."

Alexander Scholz – HOLO “A trade-off: the joy of answering to no one, the horrors of bearing all the risk.”

Chris Köver – Missy  “Wenn die Sache wichtiger ist als das Geld, das man damit verdient.“

Sebastian Pranz – Froh  “Indie is creating alternative public spheres!”

Indiecon 2014 - Was ist indie

Gabriele Fischer – brand eins  “Wenn die Idee stärker ist, als die Vernunft.“

Steve Watson – stack  ”Publishing because it matters, not because it pays.”

Kai Brach – Offscreen  “Etablierte Weisheiten über Bord zu werfen.“

Stephan Busse – dpv  “Zu machen, worauf man Lust hat - und dann erst die Erwartungen anderer zu erfüllen.“

Ale Dumbsky – READ “Indie ist ein dreichsnkliges Dreieck. Idiotie, Verantwortung, Romantik.”

Nikolaus Förster – Impulse  “Wenn die Lust auf Freiheit einen überwältigt - und sich auszahlt.“

Oliver Gehrs – Dummy  “Wenn man Themen bringen kann, die Anzeigenkunden meiden.“

Josephine Götz – Päng!  “Anzeigen zu verkaufen, während die Mitbewohner nebenan Sex haben.“

Michael Hopp – H&F “Wenn es mit uns selbst zu tun hat - und damit mit anderen.“

Ole Jendis – Impulse  “Mit den eigenen Ideen Leser zu begeistern und an sich zu binden.“

Fabian Knöbel – Analog Sonntag  “Indie-Projekte sind do-it-Projekte mit offenem Ausgang.“

Kati Krause – All Seasons Mag  “Indie ist Mut dazu, nicht von jedem verstanden zu werden.“

Volker Lilienthal – IJK “Immer wieder Pionierarbeit mit Kraft und Fantasie.“

Katarzyna Mol-Wolf – Emotion  “Indie ist authentisch, immer ein bisschen Rock'n Roll und nachhaltig erfolgreich.“

Horst Moser – Cut  “Indie c'est moi.”

Dirk Mönkenmöller – The Weekender  “Machen zu können, was man will.“

Boris Rosenkranz – NDR  “Indie ist das Gegenteil von Langeweile.“

Andreas Volleritsch – Neubau Design  “Indie ist immer mit Liebe und Leidenschaft gemacht.“

Marc Winkelmann – enorm “Indie ist Selbstverwirklichung durch Selbstausbeutung.“

Oliver Wurm - 547490 “Machen, zweifeln, sorgen, durchziehen, freuen. In der Reihenfolge.“

=== The Independent Magazine Festival is a project by Die Brueder Publishing. Indiecon 2018 online: www.indienations.de, instagram.com/indiemags, facebook.com/indiemags, twitter.com/indiemags

[viinchester]

Haunted Reflections

Warnings: References to Violence and Murder, mentions of Stalking, Trauma (related to losing a limb & violent incidents), Obsessive Thoughts, Unhealthy Behavior, graphic descriptions in thoughts of Gore (Violence, Bloodshed, a bit of Body Mutilation), Moral Ambiguity (we're talking about Brian Moser here, hello?), Insults (like a single word lol), mentions of Drugs (two sentences, nothing about taking them), mentions of Death

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request by: @ireallydontknowohcrabs

Summary: You head to your routine appointment for a readjustment of your prosthetic leg at the Miami prosthetics clinic. This time, however, you are met with Rudy Cooper instead of your usual doctor. Unbeknownst to you, his dark secrets lie hidden beneath the surface, and you’ve unwittingly captured his undivided attention and care.

Word Count: 2.321

My Masterlist

A/N: Initially wasn't sure about which direction to go with this request, but I decided on one eventually.😅 It was fun to write, so I hope you guys will it!💞 Reposts/Comments with feedback are, as always, very much appreciated!!🙏🏼 And just as a reminder: My requests are currently open.🥰💙

You expected this visit to be the same as any other to the prosthetics clinic usually was.

You were going to meet Dr. Gardner, the prosthetist who had been with you since you’d first been fitted for your prosthetic leg, and he'd make a slight adjustment to it, and then you'd leave again.

But instead of that being the case, when you walked into the clinic today, you were greeted by someone else. A man, much younger than Dr. Gardner, with a tall frame and dark curly hair stood by the window and was currently slipping on his gloves. The doctor, obvious by the signature-white lab coat he was wearing, calmly turned to you with a professional and slightly reassuring smile.

“Unfortunately Dr. Gardner’s out sick at the moment,” he immediately explained, his voice smooth and composed. “I'm filling in for him, so I’ll be the one handling your adjustment today. My name's Dr. Rudy Cooper, it's nice to meet you.” He shook your hand gently before gesturing to the chair in the middle of the room. “Please, have a seat.”

You nodded, sitting down and rolling the cuff of your pant-leg up, glancing at him curiously. “Well then let’s see if you’re as good as Dr. Gardner at putting me back together.”

Brian gave a small smile as he seated himself across from you, gently lifting your leg to begin his examination on your prosthetic. “I’ll try my best. Dr. Gardner’s very good at it, from what I hear.” His voice was light, but he was already scanning you, taking in the way you moved, the way you spoke.

When his eyes reached your hands, he had to do a double take, his world stopping. Your nails, painted in the exact same way his mother used to paint hers. The hues were extremely similar, and the order of the colors was identical.

It came out of nowhere and hit him like a physical blow. For just a second his breath hitched and his usually steady hands trembled at the sight.

No. It couldn’t be. But it was.

His mother’s nails, now on your hands, like some ghostly echo of the past.

The carefully constructed facade of calm professionalism flickered for a moment as a flood of memories surged through him.

His mother’s laughter, the smell of her perfume, the soft touch of her hand as she ruffled his hair. And then… the blood. Her blood, mixing with the colors of those very same nails.

How could this be happening? He hadn’t thought about his mother in this way for so long, hadn’t let himself remember.

Blinking a few times, he quickly put your leg down and reached for your file instead, fighting to regain control over his composure.

He couldn’t lose it here. Not now. It was just a coincidence anyway. Just some random woman with the same taste in nail polish.

Still, deep down the shock lingered, sending tremors through the carefully walled-off parts of his mind.

He flipped through your file as casually as possible, clearing his throat once to keep his tone friendly, but professional. “Just going over some notes here. It says the injury happened... a few years ago? Could you remind me of what happened, just to make sure everything lines up?”

Forcing a polite smile, the mask of Rudy Cooper slipped into place, though it felt more strained than usual. His eyes couldn’t help but glance back to your nails every time you so much as shifted, the image of his mother — and her terrified eyes, her pleading hands, those painted nails — almost overlapping with you. He could barely hear your voice over the roaring in his head.

Not noticing anything off, you nodded, hesitating for a second. You hesitated, not because the incident was difficult to talk about anymore, but because it had become such a strange story to tell. You’d almost made peace with it, enough to laugh about it sometimes.

“Yeah, it was... a pretty bad day. Tried to steal some drugs. Not for me, though.” You smiled shyly, a hint of awkwardness in your tone. “My idiot ex, thought I could help him out of a mess he got himself into. But then I got cornered by three guys with a chainsaw. Like something out of a horror movie, right?” You laughed a little, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Brian’s hands paused again, but he kept his face neutral, even with the chaos inside him growing. Drugs? That was already close enough to the horrors of his past. But then you mentioned three guys with a chainsaw, and the floor seemed to fall away beneath him. Though his expression didn’t change and he resumed his adjustment on your prosthetic, the memory inside his mind hit him like a sledgehammer, and in vivid detail as well. His mother, the men, the chainsaw whirring. He was too young to stop it, too small to save her, but the memory had never left him. The blood, the screams, the way her nails had clutched at him in desperation before the world went red.

And now here you were, sitting in front of him, your soft voice recounting a version of his nightmare.

Brian exhaled slowly, maintaining a steady voice. “That’s... an intense way to lose a leg. It must have been terrifying.” His words sounded professional, if empathetic, but internally he struggled to comprehend how this was possible. How could you have survived something so reminiscent of what happened to her?

His disbelief mixed with something darker, something predatory. He had been powerless as a child, but not now. Not anymore.

The thought of you cornered by men with a chainsaw, just like his mother, made something in him snap into place. His shock was replaced by cold determination.

It was as if the universe had handed him a second chance, a way to rewrite the past. This time was different. This time, he wouldn’t be helpless. This time, he would stop the violence, before it consumed you, too.

You gave a small shrug and kept talking, oblivious to the storm brewing inside of him. “Yeah, it was... I honestly didn't believe I’d make it out alive. But it’s been a few years now and here I am, still standing. Just… in a slightly different way.” You offered a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess I’ve learned to adapt. Well, kind of. I’m still getting used to the leg in a way, but hey, I haven’t fallen flat on my face in a while, so I guess that’s progress.” You smiled again, this time more genuine though, trying to lighten the mood. “And at least my ex didn’t get the drugs. Silver linings, right?”

Brian’s gaze darkened slightly at that, though he kept his tone light. “I see. That’s very impressive and brave of you, as I can only imagine how tough all that must have been. I’m hoping your ex is not someone you still have to deal with on top of that?”

You hesitated, biting your lip and avoiding his eyes, a little uneasy at the topic of your ex boyfriend. “Well, actually… he’s, uh, kind of been stalking me, on and off. Nothing too serious, but... it’s still annoying, you know?”

Brian's fingers flexed around your prosthetic, the material fitting securely into place. His eyes, though still composed on the surface, deepened in intensity and became more focused. Your ex was stalking you. Lurking, like a predator. His jaw clenched, and his disbelief at the situation melted away, replaced by a new resolve.

I couldn’t save her. But I can save you.

The idea of this man, your ex, still in your life filled him with an odd sense of purpose. He didn’t care about people, not really, but this was different. You had painted nails. You had suffered violence. You reminded him of her.

He would make sure nobody hurt you ever again. Starting with that ex-boyfriend of yours. Yes, he would definitely be dealt with. Permanently.

And going further, from now on, you would become his patient. Dr. Gardner had served his purpose, but Brian knew, with a chilling certainty, that you wouldn’t be seeing him again. Not if he could help it.

He forced a sympathetic chuckle, masking his true emotions as he continued to work on your prosthetic with his usual precision. “That sounds... frustrating. You’d think he’d get the hint by now.”

“Right?” You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to dispel the tension that came with the subject of your ex. “But I’m fine, really. It’s just one of those things I have to deal with.”

Brian simply nodded, his hands moving delicately, ensuring the fit was perfect, but his thoughts were miles away, plotting, considering what exactly he needed to do next to make sure you'd no longer have to do deal with it.

He was nothing if not methodical, his mind working like a finely-tuned machine, always planning, always calculating. When it came to taking care of your ex-boyfriend and Dr. Gardner, he would need to use two different approaches, that much was obvious.

Your ex-boyfriend would be the one to pay in blood. The man had been the catalyst for your suffering, the reason you had been put in a situation that mirrored Brian's own mother's gruesome death.

So your ex wasn't going to just disappear, that would be too easy, too nice. Instead, the bastard was going to feel every ounce of pain, every bit of terror that Brian imagined his mother and you had felt. He’d stalk him for days and learn his habits, figure out where he was most vulnerable. And when he’d finally make his move, it would be somewhere isolated, somewhere he could really take his time.

The act itself would neither be quick nor clean. Instead, Brian would make it messy, and visceral. He'd use tools that mimicked the chainsaw that had haunted both him and you. While he wouldn’t use an actual chainsaw, far too noisy and difficult to control, he would choose something just as violent, perhaps a hacksaw or an axe. He would let your ex feel the terror, hear the whir of a blade, and realize that his time was up.

In his twisted mind, Brian believed that you deserved closure. You needed to know that your ex-boyfriend was truly dead. Maybe you wouldn’t know it had been Brian, but you’d know your ex had been taken care of — brutally, and publicly even. The police would find the body, bloodied, hacked apart, left in some abandoned place where no one could escape the horror of the scene. It wouldn’t be a neat kill; it would be a spectacle. The kind that left a permanent mark in the mind of anyone who saw it.

It would be justice for you, and revenge for his mother.

It would be perfect.

You were going to feel safe, knowing that the danger had been wiped out, grateful that the threat was gone.

Dr. Gardner, on the other hand, required a different touch. Brian held no ill feelings toward him, the man simply needed to die out of necessity. But the doctor was a respected figure in your life, and if he simply vanished or died a violent death, you might grieve too hard, or worse, become suspicious. So Dr. Gardner's exit had to be quiet, peaceful, and leave no room for doubt. Brian could easily make it look natural, the man was already old enough that it wouldn’t raise too many questions if he were to die in his sleep anyway.

He'd slip a small dose of potassium chloride into Dr. Gardner’s food or drink, undetectable and mimicking the signs of a natural heart attack. The man would feel a sudden, overwhelming pressure in his chest, his heart seizing painfully — but he wouldn’t be able to cry for help. And in mere minutes, it would be over, and the man would be found peacefully in his bed or his office chair, just another old guy who’d met his end from "natural causes". No one would question it, and you might feel sad for a little while, but definitely not suspicious.

And Brian knew grief over a natural death tended to fade more quickly.

Then you’d return to the clinic in need of further adjustments to your prosthetic in the future, and who would be there for you? Him. The friendly, capable replacement who’d been there all along.

As Brian thought about it all, his hands checked the fit of your prosthetic, his fingers running along the edges.

“Now, hopefully this adjustment will work perfectly for you,” he then said, his voice calm as ever. “If you need anything else, any follow-up, you can come back to me and I’ll take care of it.”

You nodded — still oblivious to anything going on underneath his professional exterior — as you softly smiled up at him and stood up, testing your leg and finding it already fitting better. “Thanks, Dr. Cooper, it’s great, and that’s really nice of you. I’ll be sure to come back if I need any more work done.”

Brian smiled back, but it was colder this time, more possessive. “Rudy, please. And I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”

As you left the clinic, you felt relieved, glad that everything had gone well despite the fact that Dr. Gardner wasn't the one doing your adjustment. Dr. Cooper, or Rudy, had been kind, careful, and understanding. He was a really nice man. Hopefully you'd have him as your prosthetist again if Dr. Gardner ever fell sick another time.

Watching you walk away, Brian was certain of your return. He intended to mold your future so that you would always come back to him.

You may not know it yet, but he was going to ensure you’d never need anyone else, ever again.