#Dexter Fanfiction

[dexteri0us]

now i’m breathin' like i’m runnin' 'cause you're taking me there; don’t you know you spin me out of control?

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: reader is a freak, mentions of corpses, smut - dom!dexter (but he's soft<3), sir kink, oral (f and m receiving), some slapping, some pussy slapping, bondage, knife play, brush play, wartenberg wheel (all sterilized of course).

summary: you, being an annoying girlfriend, and dexter, being an incredible boyfriend. (be careful though, he might as well just off you one day if you keep asking for it).

w/c: around 7,280

a/n: no pun intended. if i forgot any warnings, let me know, my brain is kinda fried

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.  

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, ���half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.  

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.  

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.  

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You bent down, the movement uncomfortable and your muscles protesting as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. But the way it scrunched affectionately under your touch made the discomfort worth it.

[willieverseetheland]

good girl

Dexter Morgan x reader

based on this ask!

Warnings: 18+ smut, rough sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I write), oral m!receiving, slight choking, dom!dexter Summary: Dexter comes home after an unsuccessful kill and needs to blow off some steam ;)

You stand in your kitchen, admiring your work. You've spent the entirety of the day cleaning, scrubbing until the whole room sparkled. The entire house is filled with the fresh lemon-y scent of cleaner. You plop down on your couch, satisfied with your hard work. You reach for the book lying on your coffee table when suddenly the door flies open and shuts with a loud slam. In walks your very handsome boyfriend, Dexter Morgan. Something about the look on his face, and the dramatic entrance, tells you he's not in the greatest mood. His gaze is dark, angry. You feel like you should be scared when he's like this, hell most people would, but you feel rather turned on instead. He's pacing around your living room. Not stopping to look at you, or even say anything.

"Dex, what's wrong?"

He shoots you a harsh glare

"It's just work. I should probably go" he replies

"No, don't. I want to help" you reach to grab his arm

"No, I shouldn't have come here" he pulls his arm back

You frown in response

"What can I do to make you stay" you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes

he sighs

"I'm sure there's some way I could help. I can be pretty convincing" you slide your tongue across your bottom teeth while holding eye contact

He sighs again, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back

He's contemplating his next move. He'd love nothing more than to rip your clothes off and have you right here on the floor. But considering tonight's circumstances, not being able to feed that need inside him. He's afraid he'll be too much, too dark and empty. That he won't be able to control himself. He's been stalking his prey for the past two weeks all for nothing, all for him to turn up empty handed. No blood slide to bring home. He didn't know what else to do but come over. Deep down he knew what he wanted, what this would lead to. The only thing that could take his mind off of things, just for a little while at least. Maybe he could channel that hunger, that need, into something else. You.

As he's looking at you, something in his eyes shift. From anger to a hunger. Something insatiable. You knew what this meant. You could hardly contain your excitement as your arousal began to pool in your underwear. He cups your face in both hands kissing you hard, deep. Teeth clashing, breath heavy. It's like something switched in him. From a man wounded, angry, to a man in need. A man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. In this moment it's all he could think about. He had tunnel vison, trying to keep tonight's previous failure out of his mind. His hands began to roam your body, grabbing anything they could. You slid your hand down to his crotch, grabbing and rubbing. He growls in response. This only further fueled the fire inside him, like a spark to gasoline. He spun you around and slammed you against the wall.

He breaks the kiss searching your face for any sign of discomfort. He may be a killer, but he would never hurt the woman he loved.

"Keep going" you say breathlessly

At your confirmation, he returns to kissing you. Moving down your neck, sucking and biting. Your breath catches in your throat. His hand snakes down to play with the hem of your pants. He slides between the band reaching further down, tracing circles around your clit. You let out a soft moan. You move your hands to his hair, gliding your fingers through his auburn locks, pulling and tugging. He begins to kiss you more roughly now, breathing hard. You can feel him hardening against your thigh.

"Bedroom" you whisper

You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up. Never once breaking the kiss as he carries you to the bedroom. He drops you onto the mattress, springs creaking from the impact.

"Off" he orders, referring to your clothes

You slowly remove your shirt, then pause

"Everything" His face is like stone as he watches your every move, his eyes the only thing moving as he follows your hands move across your body.

When you unclasp your bra and let it slide off, you watch as his pupils dilate wide, focusing in on your now exposed chest.

You move your hands down to start working the buttons of your jeans, moving teasingly slow.

He grabs your wrist

"Don't play games with me" His voice ragged and deep

You can't help but smirk ever so slightly. You've never seen him like this before. Dominant? Sure. But never this dark and angry, never this in need.

You slide your pants off, then your underwear. You're completely exposed now, while he's still fully dressed. You blush a little. His eyes scan your body, taking it all in. Preparing for what's about to happen, playing out different scenarios in his mind. You frown when he doesn't make any moves to remove his own clothes. That tight green button up makes you think horrifically sinful things, you just want him to rip it off and crawl on top of you already. You guess you'll have to do it yourself.

You reach up to tug on the hem of his shirt, he understands and pulls it off over his head. He removes his belt as well which brings your attention to his now extremely large bulge. 'He must be so uncomfortable' you think. You look up at him, making eye contact as you slide his pants and boxers down to his knees. His wild eyes looking into yours as you lean forward to lick a long stripe along his cock. He clenches his jaw at the sensation, wanting more. You finally take him into your mouth, pushing further inch-by-inch. His head falls back as he lets out a low groan. You move your head slowly, still trying to adjust to him in your mouth. He decides this is too slow and places a hand on your head pushing you faster. Your gags only encourage him as the closer he gets the rougher and faster he pushes until he's full-on face fucking you. He stops however and pulls away; this isn't how he wants to finish. He wants more, he needs to be inside you.

He looks down at you, noticing tears streaming down your face. He snaps out of whatever sex induced daze he was in. His eyes dissolving from aroused to concerned.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" His voice laced with worry

But to his surprise, you just smile up at him

"No, I can take it. I promise" you say, giving him the same pleading doe eyes that got you into this mess

With your approval, he immediately snaps back. Lips crashing into yours, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, like he's trying to memorize your taste. He pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. He continues devouring your lips, rough and passionate, he even bites and draws a little blood, much to his amusement. One hand grasping your jaw while the other snakes down to your core. He easily slides two fingers in while his thumb rubs circles on your clit. Your loud moans are muffled by his mouth on yours. Gripping your jaw tightly, he moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites the tender flesh where your jaw meets your earlobe. He ravages your neck, biting, licking, and sucking any available skin he can get his mouth on. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a vampire. Maybe that's just the effect you have on him. You moan loudly as his fingers work you into bliss, practically screaming his name as you cum.

He moves your face back to look at him. Your eyes glazed over with pleasure, one of his favorite looks on you. He grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He locks eyes with you as he aligns with your entrance and slowly pushes in. He loves watching your mouth fall open and your eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. He moves his hands to your hips, gripping tightly. His pace quickens, causing you to moan with every deep thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure rolls through you.

His thrusts become faster and rougher. He moves a hand from your waist to your chest, rubbing his thumb across your nipples.

He suddenly pulls out and you whimper at the emptiness. You look at him confused

"Dex, please. I need you"

But before you know it, he grabs your waist and flips you over. His hands return to your hips, gripping them tightly. You arch your back in response, pushing into him.

"Good girl" he says in a low taunting voice

You moan at his words, God you love when he's like this

Without warning, he plunges back into you. Hitting deeper inside you with this new angle. He's just as rough, pounding into you relentlessly. With every stroke he can feel all his anger and stress fall away. He doesn't care about what happened earlier, all he can feel is you and the way you wrap around him perfectly. It doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge as you're sensitive from your previous orgasm. You cum hard, moaning out his name as your walls clench around him. Dexter continues to fuck into you, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he gets closer. He leans over you, bringing his lips to your ear.

"Inside, is that okay?" he whispers

You can't do anything other than nod

With a few final thrusts he comes undone, spilling into you. He slumps over you, chest against your back. Breathing in sync, feeling each other's bodies pressed together. He places soft kisses to the back of your neck, a complete contrast to the man he was a second ago. He collapses on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" he asks in his usual calm, gentle voice

"No, you were perfect." you smile, pulling his hand to your face and placing a gentle kiss.

...

This ended up WAYYY longer than expected but I'm very glad. Big thank you to the person that requested this, I hope I did your vision justice. Thanks for reading! <3

[happy74827]

A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest getting warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita, but then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was intelligence if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bored into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

[saltnsugarbear]

you're intertwining your soul with somebody else (18+)

summary: you and your boyfriend invite someone new into your bed...

title from: "Somebody Else" by The 1975

word count: 5.2k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!!! oral (r!receiving), cuckholding, protected sex (JOEY DONT PLAY SORRY YALL), squirting,,,,, multiple positions 🕺

side note: literally actually snatched a dialogue line from chats with Olive but it was just too good. update I've taken another. this fic co written by Olive Berzattosgf. 100% caters to me and Olive today sorry guys <//3

this first divider from @/strangergraphics and the cigar and whiskey from @/thecutestgrotto

This is how it starts. With a simple 'thank you.'

"What was that?" Joey asked you when Lip walks away.

"What was what?" You frown at him.

"That," He gestures at where the bartender had been.

"Joey, I don't know what you're talking about." You tell him, glancing at your boyfriend before taking a sip from your drink.

"'Thank you,'" He tries to mimic the way you had thanked Lip for your drink. Tries to mimic the way your voice dips into that sultry tone you usually use against him.

"I did not say it like that.." You grumble, face flushing. Joey scoffs next to you and you don't have to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes. A moment passes before Joey sits up straighter, flagging down someone. You follow his gaze and your breathing catches when you spot Lip down the bar.

"Hey, come'ere," Joey flicks his fingers towards himself when he grabs Lip's attention. He slides down the counter, grabbing a new glass assuming Joe wanted a drink. When he shakes his hand no, Lip puts the glass back with a furrowed brow.

"You wanna fuck 'em?" Joey gestures to you when he says it. Your face flushes at his words, mouth falling open at his vulgarity.

"Quinn," you hiss. You only call him Quinn when you're pissed.

"I'm sorry?" Lip chokes out, tilting his head and furrowing his brow. You're beyond embarrassed by his behavior, sitting up to cut in.

"He's had to much to drink, I'm sorry-" You start.

"I'm asking you, if you want to fuck 'em. Cause they sure wanna fuck you and I'll let ya both," Joey starts again. "Unless you don't wanna fuck 'em, which then there's somethin' wrong with ya.."

"Joseph!" You slap his shoulder, thoroughly embarrassed by your boyfriends behavior.

"You said you wanted to try inviting someone into our bedroom. I choose this guy," Joey tells you, dragging over a dry napkin. "Gotta pen?"

Lip pulls a pen from his pocket and hands it to Joey. You watch as Joey writes out the hotel and room number your both staying in tonight. He pushes the pen and napkin towards Lip across the bar, jabbing it with a finger.

"Come by, or don't." Joey tells him. "'S your choice."

The walk back to your hotel room is silent. Your heart is thumping in your chest as Quinn leads you back to the room, fingers tucked in your belt loops. You think of a hundred different ways to approach the situation. What were you expected to do if Lip the bartender actually showed up later. All possibilities make your stomach squirm anxiously until you're behind the hotel room door.

The one you don't consider is Joey crowding you against the door. His hands are rough as he drags you into a kiss. You're pliant in his hold, bringing your hands to fist at his shirt and tug his hips close. He groans into your mouth, nipping softly at your lower lip.

Joey seems reluctant, when he pulls away. You trail after him until he appeases you, giving you one last firm kiss before backing away. You huff as he turns away, leaving you against the door.

You watch as Joey goes to the table and chair in the corner across the room. Tucking your hands behind you as he takes his gun out of the holster, placing it in the table.

"Really?" You snicker, eyeing it where it sits next to him. "You're gonna start swingin' that around?"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Joey says, sitting down in the chair in the corner. You roll your eyes as you walk over to him, framing his legs with yours when you stop in front of him.

"You sure you're okay with this?" You ask him, bringing your hands to rest on his shoulders, smoothing your thumbs over the fabric of his shirt.

"'M sure," He tells you, tracing his fingers along the tops of your thighs. "Need you t'go sit down now, otherwise I'm gonna fuck you before he can get here."

You scoff, stepping away from him, going for the bed and flopping down on it. You rest your hands on your stomach while you trace the patterns on the ceiling.

Your head perks up at the knock on the door, sitting up and looking at Joey.

"Go on. Open the door," Joey flicks his fingers at it, leaning further back into the seat. Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest as you get up and cross the room. When you peak through the peephole, you can't help how you inhale softly. Lip stands in front of the door, hands in his pockets as he waits.

"It's the bartender.. Lip," you turn to look at Joey, making sure he's actually on board with this.

"Open it," Joey nods, legs spread wide where he sits.

You have no choice, at this point. You made this bed. Time for you to lie in it.

You start to open the door slowly but Lip is quick to shove it further. You can't help but make a noise of surprise and it's like he's on you in an instant.

Lip’s hands are warm on your face, tugging you towards him until he's kissing you. And he's kissing you like he needs you to breathe. It catches you off guard and forces a squeal of surprise from your mouth. He takes the doorknob from you and closes the door quietly when Joey clears his throat across the room.

You can feel the reluctance in Lip when he pulls back, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Joseph," he sniffs, looking at him across the room.

"Don't fuckin' call me that." Joey says sharply, sitting up quickly. "You call me Quinn, or you keep your mouth shut."

The way he's being so direct with Lip makes something flutter in your stomach, watching how like fights to roll his eyes. There's something that tells you to kiss Lip, and you do, surprising both of the boys. Lip grunts against your mouth before pulling you close, nipping gently at your lower lip. Joey doesn't interrupt this time, giving Lip time to tug your mouth open a little.

You pull back first, breathing heavily as you blink open heavy eyelids. Lip's face is slightly more flushed than before when you take him in but he's looking behind you.

"This ends when I come, right? Not when they do?" Lip asks over your shoulder, still holding your face close. You can't see Joey's reaction but Lip is speaking again.

"I can make 'em come as many times as I want?"

The question makes your brow furrow and you can hear Joey scoff behind you.

"Yeah, you can- you can fuckin' try." You can practically hear the way he waves his hand like he's dismissing it. It's a moment before you look back at Lip's eyes. He's already looking at you, blue eyes darting around your face like he's assessing you. You tilt your head at him, moving just enough he knows you're confused. Lip gives you a quick smile before he's kissing you again, hands moving to your hips to press you up against the door.

Lip is eager to get your pants off, making quick work of the button and zipper before he's tugging them down your legs. He helps slip them over your feet, throwing them to the side before he gets further settled on his knees. Your brow furrows softly, glancing at Joey across the room. He looks just as confused as he watches Lip pull your hips closer to his face, nosing at your underwear gently. Neither one of you expected to find a giver.

The feeling of Lip's tongue over your clothed clit makes you inhale sharply, eyes rolling as he traces down to prod at your entrance. You can't help but groan softly, stomach turning at the hand Lip places over your mound, brushing his thumb over your clit. He continues to prod at your slit through the fabric, lapping softly at the cotton. The feeling of his teeth against your underwear makes you shudder, rocking up into his mouth.

Lip uses this as an excuse to tug down your underwear, slipping it off one of your legs and pulling your leg over his shoulder. He's warm as he prods his tongue at your entrance. You moan softly, quickly cut off with a gasp as he slips the tips of his fingers past his tongue. Lip pushes up until the knuckles, curling his fingers against your walls in a way that makes you sigh.

Lip hikes your leg further over his shoulder, jostling you farther up the door as he holds onto your thigh tightly. The movement has you scrambling to find something to keep yourself steady, fingers digging for purchase against the door.

Your eyes catch Joey's, face flushing as he watches you. His eyes don't stray from your face, taking in every reaction you give. Your jaw drops and head falls back when Lip somehow licks deeper into you. His nose is pressed up against your clit, driving you insane as he thrusts his fingers in deep with his tongue.

Your hand finds purchase against his scalp, trying to push him closer. "Oh my fucking God.."

You can feel how Lip is kissing and licking at your core, like he's making out with your cunt. Joey was good with his mouth but this is something else.

Your leg around his shoulder pulls Lip closer. You should probably be more courteous to the way you're pushing Lip impossibly closer, but you can't find it in yourself to care. He doesn't seen to care either. Lip grunts softly as you push against the back of his head, licking around where his fingers stretch.

"Fuck- fuck-" You choke out, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips jerk, grinding into Lip's face as you feel your release wash over you. Your head feels fuzzy from it and the way Lip is licking around his fingers, curling them against your walls as you rock against his hand. You can't help but whine when he slips his fingers out, groaning as he licks up from your slit to your clit.

Lip parts from your cunt with a kiss to your clit. He trails kisses up your stomach, shoving your shirt up to find more skin. He nips softly at the skin until he can bite at your jaw. Lip trails kisses along your jaw until he captures your mouth, prying it open with his thumb to slip his tongue in.

The taste of your arousal makes you groan, tugging his hips closer to you.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you in front'a him?" Lip asks against your cheek, pressing his thigh up against your exposed cunt. The denim of his jeans is a stark difference from his mouth and fingers. You nod quickly but it's not good enough for him.

Lip pulls away to look at you, pupils blown wide. "Hmm? You gonna let me fuck you in front'a him?"

You nod again, eager to please. "Yes... Please.."

Lip gives you a small smile before he takes a few steps back, dragging you with him by your hips. He's quick to turn both of you so you're now the one walking backwards. He leads you until the backs of your legs hit the bed, pulling you into him. He brings a hand to your face to kiss you, guiding your mouth open with his thumb on your chin.

The kiss is messy and slow. Like he's trying to show off..

Not caring for it, you pull away from him and lay back against the bed. Lip tsks softly before grabbing at your hips to move you closer to the edge of the mattress.

"No, fuck you, I want to see as little of you as possible," Joey says when Lip tries to pull you further down the bed. Lip scoffs from where he stands in front of you, grip tightening on your hips at Joey's words. You sigh softly, leaning your head back into the mattress to look at Joey across the room.

You watch him for a few seconds before you look back at Lip, "Get undressed, I'll deal with him.."

You don't give Lip much choice, so he's backing up and working off his shirt before undoing his belt. You turn back to Joey, grinning at him from where you lay on your back.

"Joey," You sigh, reaching your hands out to grab for him. Joey's up in a moment, crossing the room to you and sliding his hands into yours.

"How do you want me?" You ask him with a grin. Joey huffs, trying not to roll his eyes at your request. You hum softly until he finally gets the hint, sliding his hands up your arms and lifting you up.

"Want you facin' me.." He says quietly, turning you to face the chair in the corner. You hum quietly, settling down where he's placed you.

"Y'sure?" You ask him innocently enough. "Y'don't wanna watch him... Y'know.. Put it in?"

Joey groans quietly at your words, grip on your upper arms tightening a little. You give him a small grin, watching as Joey composes himself after your words.

"Can't be sayin' shit like that.." He grumbles, setting your hands in your lap before bringing his hands to your face.

"You still okay with this?" Joey asks you softly, studying your face for any signs you want to back out. You smile softly and nod quickly, placing a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist to cement it. Joey hums softly before leaning down to give you kiss. He's slow to depart, tugging your lower lip into his mouth.

"Taste good.." Joey mutters after you pull away, running a thumb over your cheek. You chuckle softly, giving him another quick kiss that has him trailing after your lips.

"Gotta wait your turn.." You tell him, giving him one more kiss before you settle more comfortably on the mattress. Joey grumbles before he retreats back to his chair. He isn't too much of a fan of you turning your back to him. Less of a fan of how Lip kneels on the mattress and ducks down to kiss you deeply. You tease softly at his waistband, tugging at it and tracing your fingers over his v-line. 

"Mmm, gonna fill you up nice, huh?" Lip asks you, nipping at your jaw before pulling away. You look back at Joey, grinning at him while Lip shucks off his boxers.

"The fuck you are," Joey grumbles from his seat. He lifts his hips and pulls out his wallet, thumbing out the condom he keeps stored in there. It hits Lip in the chest when he tosses it at him, landing softly on the bed between you and Lip. You don't miss the tent forming in his pants, or the way Lip eyes his jeans when you turn back to him.

"Joey can be very territorial.." You mutter to Lip when he snatches up the condom from the bed. Lip mutters something under his breath as he tears the packaging, tossing the wrapper to the side in favor of rolling the rubber down his length.

"Turn around for me," Lip asks you, handling your hips when you turn over. He's gentle but firm as he manipulates your body, facing you towards Joey.

The feeling of his tip poking at your entrance makes you inhale sharply. You have to bite down on your lip as he pushes forward, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes roll. You have to duck your head down, stifling a whine as Lip sinks into the hilt. You absentmindedly rock back into him, rolling your hips into his as you adapt to the stretch.

Lip sets a mild pace before he slows to a stop making you whine. You can hear him scoff behind you before his hands are on your ass, pushing your hips forward to see where he sinks into you before pulling them back against his own hips.

"You can fuck yourself on my cock, can't ya?" He asks, and you can hear the condescension in his voice. You whimper, looking up at Joey for some sort of support but his face gives nothing away. It makes you whine again before rocking your hips forward and rolling backwards. A groan falls from your lips as you feel the head of his cock brush that spongy spot along your walls, rolling your hips slower to hit it again.

You rest your forehead against your arms, continuing to roll your hips the same way until you can't think outside of the small circles of your hips.

"Fuck- shit-" You choke, hips stilling back against Lip's. When you stop, Lip starts again, slowly fucking you through your orgasm.

You have to bury your face in the sheets as Lip fucks into you. The feeling makes you squeal softly, rocking your hips back into his movements. None of your words come together coherently as he thrusts into you, focusing on how he stretches you open.

Lip brings one of his hands to your face, leaning his weight on his other one. The hand on your face squishes your cheeks together, lips puckering as he lifts you up. Lip huffs when he sees your face, gaze flicking quickly to Joey, "They get this brainless when you fuck 'em?"

And you want to feel bad. You want to find it in yourself to feel bad.

But Joey knows as well as you do that it takes Joey longer to get you like this. You're almost two orgasms deep and Lip has your head cleared. You can't form a single thought outside of how good he's fucking you. Walls clenching around his length as him rocks his hips into you.

Lip sets you back down when all Joey does is clench his jaw. There's a hand in the middle of your shoulders that slowly slips to the back of your neck. You whine softly as Lip uses his hand placement to get a better angle. He uses his free hand to guide your hips back into him, rough handling you in a way that makes you moan quietly.

"Careful, asshole," Joey mutters.

"Fuck you," Lip says softly.

Lip is good at keeping you on edge. Giving you just enough pleasure to tease you with an orgasm before pulling out or stopping. He does this so many times you can't count them anymore. At a certain point Lip gives you a shallow thrust punctuated with a grind up against your walls that makes you choke and bury your face in the the mattress.

"Joey.." You whine, half-muffled by the comforter. Your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest, you know Joey's not the one fucking you. You fist the sheets in your hands, rolling your hips back. "Joey, Joey.."

Lip scoffs behind you, rolling his hips into you. He slips his arm around your middle, bringing his had to your shoulder and lifting you up. Lip brings you to lean back against his chest, letting him manipulate you as he pleased.

"Not Joey, baby.. Give it another go.." He mutters roughly, punctuating his request with a sharp thrust. You give him a muddled whine, leaning your head back against his shoulder. Lip rolls his eyes, bringing his hand from your shoulder to your face. He turns your head to look at him, tapping your cheek until you open your eyes.

"Tell him who's making you feel this good, baby.. Cause it's not him," Lip glances at Joey across the room as he says it.

"Fuck you," Joey bites out and Lip snickers.

"Come on, baby. You gonna tell him?" He asks.

"You.. You are.." You whine out, heart dropping when Lip rolls his eyes.

"Don't need t'tell me," Lip scoffs before turning your face towards Joey. "Tell him."

You're all but blinking back tears, watching as Joey clenches his jaw as he watches you. You can't help as your lower lip juts out, "Feels so good, Joey.."

"I know, sweetheart," Joey's eyes soften. It's not his fault he happened to pick the bartender that knew how to fuck. "You're doin' so good, though.."

Joey's gaze flickers to Lip briefly when he rolls his eyes. He holds your jaw tightly, bringing his face close to yours.

"Now tell him who's fuckin' you this good.." He grunts, rocking his hips into you.

You whine softly, trying to roll your own hips in time with his. Lip's palm cradles your neck gently and it's driving you insane, on top of everything else he's doing. You groan softly as he thrusts up into you, bringing one of your hands to grab onto his thigh.

"Joey.." You gasp softly, rolling your hips in a way that you hope will entice Lip back into fucking you. You feel like a child, whining because they're not getting what they want.

Lip stays still while you squirm in his hold, wiggling your hips a little. You can't bite back the groan you let out, opening your eyes to find Joey. The moment you spot him, you're pouting.

"Joey, he won't move," you whine. You roll your hips as if to prove your point to him.

Joey huffs softly, biting back a smile. "Tell 'im that, baby. 'M not the one fuckin' ya, y'gotta use your words."

You can hear Lip 'tsk' behind you, can practically see how he rolls his eyes and you're whining again. "Please move, Lip, please, please, please.."

You're wiggling your hips forward again, trying to persuade him further. He huffs through his nose at your movements, in seemingly no rush to listen to your pleading.

That's when the pouting gets really bad. You sigh pathetically, feeling tears start to well. Lip watches how you roll your hips forward, trying to coax some sort of stimulation out of him.

"Joeeyyy-" You choke out, blinking back tears as you look at him. "Y'gonna let 'im tease me like this?"

Quinn has to keep himself from jumping out of the chair, covering his mouth with his hand. Your sniffling is one of the only sounds in the room as Joey holds on tight to the armrest.

"Move, or I'm gonna fuck 'em," Joey says, making eye contact with Lip. He can see that glint in his eyes, like he wants to challenge if Quinn will actually do it. But there's something else eating away at the inside of Lip, something that wants to challenge Joey deeper.

You can't help but cry out when Lip lifts you off his dick, laying you back on the mattress. You whine loudly, prepared to cry to Joey before Lip is pushing the tip back into you. Lip pressing up against that spongy spot is enough to satiate you while he reaches behind himself for a pillow. You watch passively as he brings it round and lifts your lower back off the bed and slipping the pillow under you. The new angle makes you groan softly, rocking your hips up to change the stimulation.

Lip perks up at the noise that leaves your mouth at a particular thrust. His lips quirk up as he repeats the motion, setting a steady roll of his hips. You choke on the whine that escapes you, leg jerking up gently.

"Yeah? Right there?" Lip's voice is taunting as he continues his shallow thrusts. All you can do is nod, whining loudly as he grinds his tip up against your walls.

You're reaching for Joey before you can think, left hand slipping off of Lip's arm and over your head. And Joey's up in a second. Joey is out of the chair almost the moment you started to reach for him. He slips his hand into yours and up your arm, gripping your elbow gently. His other hand comes to your face, tracing over your features softly.

Lip's hands tuck under your knees, pushing your legs to your chest as he thrusts into you at a steady pace.

You keen and squeal loudly when the band in your stomach breaks, hips jerking upwards. A groan tears from your throat as you lurch forward, pressing your forehead against Joey's while your eyes flutter shut.

"Shit.." Joey whispers while you whine, walls clenching around Lip's dick when he pushes back into you. You can hear Lip huff softly from above you, but you miss the glance he gives Joey.

"Didn't tell me they were easy t'squirt.." Lip grunts, punctuating that with a firm roll of his hips.

"I didn't know they could..." Joey's voice sounds amazed next to you. The meaning of Lip's words settles on you when you lay back down. You can't help but inhale sharply, opening your eyes to find Joey. He must see it on your face because he's smothering your face with kisses.

"No, 's okay, baby. Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart, so fuckin' good.." He mutters into your skin. You exhale heavily, leaning into his affections and melting further into the mattress while Lip rocks into you slowly. Joey places one last kiss to your cheek before pulling away to take you in. Your eyelids feel heavy as Lip buries his face in your neck. You hum shortly as the rocking of his hips picks up it's pace while he kisses up your neck and nips at your jaw.

Lip’s mouth is right next to your ear as he holds you close, rocking his hips up into you rhythmically. His voice is low when he speaks up, making you glance at Joey quickly.

"You been keepin' that a secret from him? Hm? Do that jus' f'me?" Lip mutters quietly before placing a quick kiss to your neck, his words making your head fuzzy. After that, Lip picks up his pace. Thrusting up into you with deeper strokes and more erratic timing. He nudges nicely deep inside you and you know when Lip comes by the way his hips stutter before giving one last rough thrust. The feeling of his release trapped in the condom adds an extra warmth that makes your jaw drop, turning to look at Joey while you come back together. Joey places soft kisses over your face as you breathe slowly, trying to string your thoughts together outside of just Joey. Lip places soft bites to your chest and shoulder, rolling his hips a few times before rocking to a standstill. He sighs heavily before he pulls away from and out of you. You whine at the loss, shaking your head slightly. Lip huffs softly at you as he tugs off the condom, tying it off and grabbing his boxers off the bed.

Joey gets up once Lip has his boxers on, getting up and collecting his own things while Joey unbuttons his shirt. The two of them side eye one another while you push yourself over, catching your breath as you stare at the ceiling.

Once Lip is dressed, he crosses to the side of the bed. He brings a hand to your cheek and places a soft kiss to your forehead.

"See ya later, sweetheart," Lip mutters. You hum quietly, raising your hand goodbye as he leaves. The door opens and shuts, leaving you and Joey alone again.

Joey's in just his white tank top when he sits on the bed next to you. His hand is gentle as he brings it to your face, caressing you jaw gently.

"You doin' okay in there?" He asks you softly, eyes darting around your face. It takes you a moment before you nod, turning to press a soft kiss to his palm.

"Very okay," You whisper, watching his face. Joey nods, biting softly at the inside of his cheek. You bring the hand closest to him and set it on his thigh, tapping it gently.

"Thank you... I know you didn't like the idea," You tell him, watching as he thinks. Joey shrugs and leans down to give you a soft kiss.

"Just don't get any ideas about leavin' me.." He mutters. You huff at him, giving him a much firmer kiss than he did.

"Wouldn't dream of it.." You tell him after he pulls away. He hums, turning your head so he can place soft kisses to your jaw. You can't help but whine when he bites softly at your neck, feeling the familiar warmth stir in your stomach.

"Joey," you sigh, catching a glance at the very obvious tent pressing out of his unzipped jeans.

"Just need ya t'give me one more.." Joey tells you softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "You can do that for me, right?"

You're nodding before he even finishes his sentence, opening your legs wider for him to climb between.

"Y'did so good," he sighs as he settles between your legs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Let me take care of you now.."

"Hey," Joey flags down the bartender that looks most like him. He skims the name on his tag quickly and huffs at it. "'Lip.'"

"You got'a problem with that?" He raises his brow like it's a challenge.

"No," Joey huffs again, straightening up as he prepares himself. "Got a favor to ask ya."

"What is it?" Lip side eyes him, taking a rag from the counter and wiping down a glass. Joey sighs heavily, leaning against the counter and looks down at his hands.

"So... So my partners got this fire under their ass about maybe bringing someone into the bedroom," Joey starts. Lip furrows his brow, looking up from his glass. "I don't think it's a good idea. And I want to prove 'em right."

Lip huffs quietly and Joey wants to throw a fucking peanut at him. He doesn't. But he wants to.

"So," Joey starts again. "The favor is, you flirt with 'em. I make a fuss and we invite you in. You prove I'm right."

"You want me to fuck your partner?" Lip furrows his brow, looking at Joey like hes got two heads. Joey clenches his jaw, swallows his pride, and nods. He watches Lip as he processes this information, nodding absentmindedly.

"This like uh.. Like a trick question? You gonna come back and kick my ass if I flirt with 'em?" He questions. What a bizarre fucking request. He doesn't get paid enough for this.

"Why would I kick your ass? Literally asking you right now, I didn't say anything about kicking your ass." Now Joey's confused.

"You're asking me to fuck your significant other, sorry if I'm a little skeptical." Lip jabs, resting his palms against the counter.

"Both clean so that's not an issue. Unless you.. You clean?" Joey leans forward like it's a secret.

"I'm clean, asshole," Lip huffs. Joey rolls his eyes, how is he supposed to know if some stranger he just met was clean.

"Let me think about it." Lip says, setting down his rag. "Let y'know when you come back in."

Joey wants to groan, throw a fit, roll his eyes. But hes just asked a stranger to fuck is significant other with no prior background so he can't blame him. So, he instead pushes away from the bar, rapping his knuckles against the surface.

"Yeah, you let me know.."

[sstrwngers]

lamb to the slaughter

Chapter 1 - 493 words

warnings: general show warnings, mention of rape, if more, please let me know ❤︎

“You will eat the flesh of your sons and the flesh of your daughters.” — Leviticus 26:29

Your head was bowed, your hands perfectly upright, and the tip of your middle finger just inches from your forehead. The old, creaky record player you found at an estate sale filled the dimly lit living room with soft music. It was just you and the meal you had prepared.

You gave thanks for the food before you, then opened your eyes to admire the spread: fresh market potatoes, cut with precision; seasoned, slightly burnt broccoli from the bottom of the fridge; and the centerpiece—a medium-sized cut of flank steak. Garlic, onion powder, salt, and pepper were all you needed, cooked to a perfect 120 degrees. Biting into the meat was a moment you lived for, melting on your tongue like pudding. But the man you took it from was anything but perfect—a serial rapist with a penchant for animal abuse. Yet here he was, on your plate, and he tasted wonderful.

While most would grumble about cleaning up after a meal, for you it was a second reward. How thoroughly could you tidy your little kitchen? How much evidence of murder could you wash down the drain? This was when your thoughts were most ordered, quiet, and reserved. You could reflect on who you had killed and why. A smile crept to your lips. You didn’t often revel in your kills, but this one was special—he tasted so good.

────────────────── ♱

A woman was found six stories below a hotel. Legs broken, blood everywhere. Her head lay at an awkward angle, her eyes fixed on the hotel’s water fountain. Scenes like this never bothered you. Maybe it was your years profiling for Miami Metro, but really, it was your after-hours hobby. Forensics came and went, but your gaze often followed Dexter Morgan. Something about him felt off—the way he held himself, the way he spoke. It reminded you of yourself, and that couldn't be good.

Detective Quinn stood beside you, rambling about alcohol in her hotel room, something you’d already deduced. “Ms. L/N, would you quit staring at Morgan's biceps?” His tone was teasing, but the last part of his sentence was low enough for only you to hear.

“Well, Detective Quinn,” you replied with a smile, “I’m just ensuring our team does a good job.” You winked and turned your attention back to the fountain. Something about it was drawing you in; it felt important.

Standing before the fountain, eyes closed, you heard soft footsteps approaching. “For such a man, your steps are remarkably quiet.” You turned to see Dexter standing before you, silent, his gaze shifting from the body to you. “And now you’re being quiet too, I see,” you said, facing the fountain again.

There, something in the water caught your eye. You reached in, the cold water up to your elbow. “Are they looking at us, Dexter?” You didn’t look at him.

“No.” His voice was rough. “Test this for prints. Don’t tell a soul, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[fleurderome]

Brian Moser

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper ♡⊹ fem! reader

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A hot, muggy evening in Miami. The air, thick and humid, as if saturated with the aromas of salt, perfume and something elusive, vibrated with the rhythms of Latin music pouring out of the Miami Beach club. Inside, under the flickering neon lights, bodies twisted in a sultry dance, surrendering to the power of the music and the night. Brian, hiding behind the mask of the charming Rudy Cooper, sat at a table in the corner, sipping rum on the rocks and watching the girl dancing. She moved with the grace of a jaguar, her body, flexible and graceful, as if created for this dance, told a story of passion and fire. Every curve of hers, every movement of her hips, every flutter of her eyelashes – all of it was saturated with sensuality that stirred his blood and excited his imagination. Brian, accustomed to cold calculation and control, felt something primal and wild awakening inside him. His "dark companion", usually dormant in the depths of his subconscious, stirred, greedily catching every glance, every gesture of the girl. But this time, something unfamiliar, disturbing, was mixed with the dark instincts – an attraction that took his breath away and quickened his pulse. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her dance was hypnotic, plunging him into an atmosphere of heat and ecstasy. The girl seemed to be playing with him, teasing and attracting, forcing him to forget about the mask and show his true face. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, Brian stood up and headed towards her, maneuvering between the dancing couples. When the music stopped, he was standing next to her, looking down at her. The girl, slightly out of breath, met his gaze with a challenge and a smile. "You dance like you made a deal with the devil himself.." Brian said, his voice, usually smooth and emotionless, slightly hoarse. "And he's not losing."

♡ ︵ · ꒰  🧁 ꒱ · ︵ ♡

credit: @anitalenia

[maisie183]

The silence between us

Pairing: Dexter Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve just started working at Miami Metro as a forensic scientist, and though Dexter Morgan initially seems distant and emotionless, his quiet presence begins to draw you in. As the friendship slowly develops, you find yourself falling for him, even though you’re convinced that he doesn’t share the same feelings. Little do you know, Dexter is battling an internal conflict of his own.

Warnings: Mild language, psychological tension, slow-burn romance, minor violence (typical for a Dexter setting), angst  

Word Count: 1,343 words

Miami heat had a way of sticking to your skin, making every breath feel heavy and damp. The cold blast of the A/C inside Miami Metro Homicide was always a relief, though the sterile environment felt unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

You weren't sure what you expected from your first day as a forensic scientist in the trace evidence department, but the place was already bustling when you walked in. Detectives scurried from one desk to another, phones ringing off the hook, and conversations about cases filled the air.

You were just trying to find your footing, balancing coffee in one hand, a new ID badge in the other, and navigating the maze of desks when you spotted him—Dexter Morgan. Everyone knew his name. He was the mysterious blood-spatter analyst, infamous for being exceptional at his job but with a demeanor that left people guessing. You’d heard whispers about his distant personality, the kind of guy who never really let anyone in.

He was there, sitting quietly at his desk, eyes focused on some blood-pattern analysis, the sharp angles of his face set in concentration. His posture was relaxed, but there was a coldness to him—a silence that felt unnatural. You swallowed and continued on, trying not to stare.

Over the next few weeks, you settled into your role, working on trace evidence analysis alongside Dexter, though you rarely exchanged more than a few words. It wasn’t until the third week, during an unusually gruesome case involving a triple homicide, that you finally had a conversation that wasn’t purely professional.

You were both tasked with examining the scene. Dexter was working on blood spatter while you gathered trace fibers. The quiet tension in the room seemed to thicken as you moved around the scene in silence. It was hard to ignore the way Dexter was so methodical, calculating, and completely detached from the violence.

“Does this stuff ever get to you?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice slightly muffled by the forensic mask covering your mouth. You weren’t sure why you were talking to him, but the eerie stillness of the crime scene and his distant nature compelled you to reach out.

Dexter didn’t look up from his work. “No.”

One word. Simple. Cold.

You blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Not even a little?”

He paused, turning his head slightly to glance at you, his eyes unreadable beneath the fluorescent lighting. “Should it?”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I guess not. It’s just… a lot to process sometimes.”

He nodded, but there was no flicker of emotion in his expression, nothing to suggest that he understood what you were saying on any level. You decided to let the conversation die, returning to your work, though his cold demeanor lingered in your mind long after you left the scene.

----

Despite his distant nature, you found yourself paired with Dexter more often than not. Cases brought you together, and while most of your conversations were minimal, you began to notice small things. The way his eyes would narrow when examining a particularly puzzling pattern, the occasional, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips when something amused him (though that was rare), and the fact that he seemed to enjoy your company—not that he’d ever admit it.

Lunches at the food truck parked outside Miami Metro became routine. You never ate together, per se, but it became normal to run into him, grab your food at the same time, and exchange brief conversations about the cases you were working on. His responses were always short, but he was attentive. The more you spoke, the more you started to see cracks in his cold exterior.

One afternoon, after a particularly long day in the lab, you both found yourselves in the break room. You were rummaging through the fridge, searching for your leftover sandwich, when Dexter walked in, grabbing his own lunch from the fridge. For a few minutes, the two of you ate in silence—something that had strangely become comfortable.

“Why trace evidence?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. You looked up, startled that he had initiated a conversation.

You shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s a puzzle, you know? Small things people don’t notice can tell the whole story.”

Dexter nodded, his gaze sharp. “I know what you mean.”

There was something in his voice, something dark and distant, that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You couldn’t quite place it, but you found yourself wanting to peel back the layers of whatever he was hiding.

“Why blood spatter?” you asked, returning the question.

Dexter’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Patterns are predictable.”

You smirked. “People aren’t.”

His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, there was something there—something unreadable but undeniable. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Dexter looked away, his mask back in place.

----

Over the next few months, you and Dexter settled into an odd but comfortable rhythm. You never defined it as a friendship, after all, Dexter wasn’t exactly the friendship type. But there was a familiarity in your interactions now, a quiet understanding that neither of you acknowledged aloud.

And yet, you couldn’t help but notice the way your chest tightened whenever he was near. The way his voice, calm and detached, made your heart skip in ways it shouldn’t. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that you were just overthinking things, and that Dexter, of all people, was probably the least likely person to ever reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t even seem capable of them.

But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering late at night, thinking about him. Thinking about the way his eyes lingered on yours during those rare moments of vulnerability. Wondering if there was something—anything—behind the cold mask he wore.

You were foolish for letting yourself feel this way. Dexter was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a riddle with no answer. And yet, you found yourself getting lost in his silence.

---.

One evening, long after everyone had left the office, you were still there, finishing up some final touches on a report. You were surprised when Dexter’s presence filled the doorway.

“Still here?” he asked, his voice as neutral as ever.

“Yeah, just finishing up,” you said, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your tired eyes. “You?”

“Same.”

There was a pause, a strange heaviness in the air as Dexter walked further into the room. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to say something, but instead, he moved to the window, gazing out at the darkened skyline.

“You don’t have to stay so late, you know,” you said, trying to break the silence. “You could let the rest of us handle things once in a while.”

“I don’t mind,” Dexter replied, his voice soft.

You watched him for a moment, the familiar tightening in your chest making it hard to breathe. There was something about the way he stood there, so completely isolated from the world around him. Something about the way his eyes looked out at the city but never really saw it.

“Do you ever feel… lonely?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted asking.

Dexter turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted. “No,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—something human.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Dexter turned back to the window, his mask firmly back in place.

You swallowed, the silence between you suddenly too loud. You stood from your chair, gathering your things. “I should go,” you said, your voice tight. “Goodnight, Dexter.”

He didn’t reply, and as you walked out of the office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were falling for a man who would never be able to love you back.

----

To be continued???

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

Writers Note: I just looked at the poll I did a few days back, and saw that a Dexter story was most appreciated from the voters. So here it is. For this story I again used an AI writing tool to help bring it to life, since as I said before, I am not a writer, I am a reader. I hope that is okay. The last thing I want, is to disrespect the writing community in any way. Btw, if someone has already posted a fic with the same themes/idea, tag them so I can also tag them on the pic here.

[viinchester]

Dexter :: Masterlist

Welcome to my Masterlist for all things I've created regarding the TV Show “Dexter”! I will try to keep this as updated as possible.

Click here for my Main Masterlist

━╍═══════════════╍━

× Contents ×

Last Updated On

Requests

🌶️ ☔ 💥 🧸 🕳️ 🎭 🔞

Writing Masterlist

Gifs Masterlist

Tag List

━╍═══════════════╍━

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

1. Last Updated On

September 23, 2024

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

2. Requests

Requests are OPEN for the following characters:

Dexter Morgan

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper

You can try to request something for characters that aren't on this list as well, however it's much less likely that I'll actually write for them.

On how or what to request, please check out My Main Post About Requesting!

3. 🌶️ ☔ 💥 🧸 🕳️ 🎭 🔞

I use one or more of the 7 emojis to give you a better understanding of what the content involves. Here's a guide on what they mean:

🌶️ ➞ Smut, usually contains sexual content and/or physical intimacy

☔ ➞ Angst, usually contains emotional pain of some kind and/or evokes sadness/melancholy

💥 ➞ Action/Violence, usually contains fast-paced events and/or physical conflict, often with graphic descriptions

🧸 ➞ Fluff, usually contains feel-good situations with a focus on comfort and/or affection

🕳️ ➞ Dark Stuff, usually contains heavy, disturbing, and potentially triggering topics (Mental illness, (sexual) abuse, trauma, etc.)

🎭 ➞ Drama, usually contains intense emotional shifts and/or emotional turmoil, with moments of tension, conflict, and/or resolution

🔞 ➞ Mature Content, usually contains explicit content that is not suitable for minors (Graphic sexual scenes, extreme violence, mature themes, and/or other adult-oriented material)

‼️ These emojis are only to give you a quick overview, please still read the warnings on each story to make sure they're suitable for you ‼️

4. Writing Masterlist

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper:

✒ Haunted Reflections

☔💥🔞(🕳️🎭)

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.

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

Word Count: 3.271

×

✒ Shape Of You

🌶️ 🕳️🔞(☔)

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.

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

Word Count: 3.271

⊸

Dexter Morgan:

✒ Nothing yet

5. Gifs Masterlist

⏯ Nothing yet

6. Tag List

I don't have a tag list yet. If you want to be tagged in the future for anything specifically (all writings for a specific character for example), feel free to let me know and I'll create one and put you on it!🙏🏼💞

[the-oblivious-writer]

Shatterpoint

Debra Morgan x Reader

Part One: Debra’s Perspective

Summary: You die doing what you always do, putting other lives before your own. It's what Debra Morgan both loved and despised about you.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) death, graphic depictions of violence (blood/gore), gun violence, phycological trauma, depression, grief/loss, and vomiting

Notes: Someone requested Debra Morgan angst so......... here it is! I ended up writing a part two from Dexter's perspective (platonically), so that'll be out tomorrow. I've been wanting to write platonic fictional dude characters x reader for some time now

Dexter’s Perspective

The first time Debra breaks down, it's in the middle of the Miami Metro parking lot. You're three days dead, and she's just found one of your forensics reports tucked into a case file – your neat handwriting mapping out blood spatter analysis, methodical and precise. She vomits behind her car, heaving until there's nothing left but bile and grief.

The second time is at your funeral. She watches them lower your body into the ground and something inside her splinters. The sound that tears from her throat isn't human. Dexter has to physically restrain her from jumping into the grave after you. Later, she'll have no memory of this – just the dirt under her fingernails and bruises on her arms where her brother held her back.

The third time destroys her completely.

It's been two weeks since that convenience store security camera caught your last moments. Two weeks since a frightened kid with a shaky trigger finger turned your chest into a crime scene. She's standing in your shared apartment, trying to pack up your things because that's what people do, right? They pack up the dead's belongings and pretend it helps.

Your forensics kit is still by the door where you left it that last morning. She opens it, and your scent hits her – latex gloves and that shampoo you loved and something uniquely you. The organized compartments blur through her tears. Each tool precisely placed, because that's who you were – someone who brought order to chaos, who could look at blood patterns and tell stories of violence with scientific detachment.

She starts throwing things. Your carefully labeled evidence containers shatter against walls. Your case files scatter like dead leaves. She's screaming, but she can't hear herself over the roaring in her head. Over the echo of your voice from that last argument:

"You can't keep running forever, Deb. I love you, but I can't chase you anymore."

The neighbors call the police. Fucking ironic, isn't it? Angel finds her surrounded by the wreckage of your professional life, clutching your laminate to her chest. She's laughing now, a horrible broken sound, because isn't this exactly what you were afraid of? Her inability to handle emotional intimacy, to face her feelings instead of drowning them in rage and whiskey.

They take her to the hospital. Put her on leave. Make her talk to department shrinks who use words like "complicated grief" and "post-traumatic stress" and "survivor's guilt." As if labeling her breakdown makes it more manageable.

She dreams of you. Not the you from the security footage, bleeding out under fluorescent lights. But the you who used to wake her from nightmares about the Ice Truck Killer, who knew exactly how she took her coffee, who could make her laugh even at crime scenes. The you who saw her walls and loved her anyway.

"I'm sorry," she tells your ghost. "I'm so fucking sorry."

But you're not there to forgive her.

Dexter finds her one night, sitting in your office at Miami Metro, organizing blood slides with obsessive precision. Trying to find patterns like you taught her, as if understanding the science of death will somehow make losing you hurt less.

"You're starting to worry me," he says, in that awkward way of his.

She laughs, sharp and bitter. "Starting to? Fuck, Dex, I'm starting to worry myself."

The security footage plays on repeat in her mind. She's memorized every detail – how you raised your hands, trying to de-escalate. How you stepped in front of the teenage clerk, protecting her. Your body jerking back, a crimson flower blooming across your chest. The way you looked surprised, almost confused, as you fell.

She keeps working cases, because what else is there? But every crime scene becomes yours. Every victim wears your face. She gets reckless, aggressive with suspects. Takes stupid risks because maybe, just maybe, if she's fast enough, smart enough, brave enough, she can save someone else's you.

Angel takes her gun after she nearly beats a convenience store robber to death.

"This isn't what they would have wanted," he tells her gently.

"Yeah? Well, they're not fucking here to want anything, are they?"

She finds one of your hair ties under the bed and falls apart all over again. Remembers how you used to gather your hair back before leaning over evidence, that little furrow of concentration between your brows. How she used to tease you about being so serious, so focused. How you'd smile and say, "Someone has to be, with you charging around like a hurricane."

The hurricane is all that's left now.

Some days she can almost pretend she's healing. She goes to work, follows leads, eats when Dexter reminds her to. But then she'll catch a glimpse of the forensics lab, or smell latex gloves, or hear someone mention blood spatter analysis, and she's right back in that convenience store, watching you die on an endless loop.

The department shrink asks her what she thinks you would say if you could see her now.

She doesn't tell him about the letter she found in your forensics manual. The one that begs her not to let grief make her harder, not to let loss change how fiercely she loves. She's already failed you there.

Instead, she says, "They'd probably say I'm proving them right. About running away. About not being able to handle my feelings."

But that's not entirely true, is it? Because this time she's not running. She's standing perfectly still, letting grief consume her, letting the absence of you hollow her out until there's nothing left but echoes and regret.

The security footage plays on. You raise your hands. The gun fires. You fall.

And somewhere in Miami, Debra Morgan keeps breaking, keeps shattering, keeps failing to put herself back together.

Some things just break, and stay broken, and all we can do is learn to breathe around the shards.

-----------

A/N: Not me changing my format...

[lilsimon]

his angel

pairing // brian moser x fem!reader summary // even angels have nightmares. and for his little angel, byines always there to sooth you. warnings // comfort/hurt/comfort (if that's a thing). comfort. tiny bit angst. brians a big softie. brian is byine. word count // 760 smth A/N // first fic bloggg lets goooooooooo writers block is overrrrrrrrrrrr and tbh i just needed some comfort since i was lowkey feeling down and nun was doing the trick

slowly rising up from the comfort of your bed and turning on your nightlap, you sit up while groaning. slipping on some short grey shorts, a pair of fluffy white socks and a big, warm comfy hoodie, you make your way out of your room, in through your living room. You stand still for a second, rubbing your eyes while yawning.

you make your way to the frontdoor of your apartment and out into the hallway. walking over to your neighbours door, the sound of pen scribbling on paper echoing. with a heavy sigh, you slowly knock on the door and hear some scrambling on the inside and a heavy thud. hope he's okay, you think while yawning again, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes again.

then, you're met with your neighbour, and boyfriend. brian moser. hair a bit ruffled, a hand running through his hair and one down his chest while sniffling and shifting his feet from one foot to the next while his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

''why're you up at this time, angel?'' his voice breaks the silence, turning his head a bit down to look at you. he cups your head with one of his hands, his gaze lingering on your mouth for a bit before meeting your eyes again.

'i had a nightmare, byine.'' you whisper softly, scared that he'd just dismiss you and tell you that you're annoying for interrupting him.

''wwh, angel. it's okay, byines here for you now, isn't he?'' he coos, picking you up bridal-style, closing the door behind you.

''mhmm.'' you hum a reply quietly, nuzzling into his neck while he walks to his room with you in his arms. you can feel the way his hand rubs soothing circles on your thigh and arm. slowly closing your eyes, you feel him lay you down on his bed and the way it dips when he lays down next to you.

you hold your arms out for him, wanting him close. he lets you reach out for him, finding it so cute that his little angel wants him close. He waits a bit before ou let out a whine, ''byine, please. m'mere, i'm tiredddddd.'' he grabs your wrists softly and pulls you close, resting your head on his chest. hearing his slow, controlled heartbeat and the rise-and-fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

the rise and fall of your lover's chest growing distant. the way his heart beats close to your ear becoming a distant memory, you open your eyes and is met with a dark barren land. a small tree in the distance, it's leave slowly falling of the branches. you can see the simmliar tree behind you, framed by dark, burnt-looking dead grass.

''i never really loved you, y'know.'' his voice echos from your ears. Looking up, you see him. he stands at his full height, hands in his pant-pockets, eyes fixated on the dark land in front of the two of you.

''w-what?'' you stuttered, standing up to look at him better. He doesn't offer you a single glance, keeping his eyes out on the land in front of the two of you.

''i never loved you. everything i did was play-pretend. to make you care. break you down. the sense of control so close, but always so far from you.'' he looks at you, his gaze sharp, cold. ''the second i knew who you really were, i hated you. you annoy me.''

his gaze was sharp and cold, sending shivers down your spine. the dreamland in front of you start shifting into pure darkness. brian slowly fades from your vision. ''i hate you. i never even liked you.'' and poof, he was gone.

the darkness infront of you slowly starts swallowing you whole, trying to take you under with it. you kick, and scream, but it's like something is holding you down. like something is keeping you from kicking, something over your mouth to muffle your crys. a voice, it's calling for you. it's the darkness. it's always the darkness wanting to swallow you whole.

''angel, wake up. angel, please, wake up.'' the voice grows louder, and louder. the darkness slowly turning into a bright white light.

i panic and try to sit up but something is holding you down. brian.

''angel, please. it's just me, it's your byine.'' he pleads, holding you down while you keep kicking him.

''brian?''

''angel? oh, god, angel.''

he hugs you so close. while muffling some inconsistent words and sentences in a hushed voice.

''i love you, byine.''

''i love you too, angel.''

[mysticqueer]

mirrored souls ch.2

masterlist

Bay Harbor Butcher Suspect Commits Suicide After Damning Evidence Surfaces

Yesterday at approximately 10:34 pm a body was discovered in a remote area of Miami. The cause of death appeared to be suicide via explosion. The body, while severely damaged, has been identified as Sgt. James Doakes of Miami Metro Homicide. The body was found only hours after damning evidence surfaced in regards to Sgt. Doakes’ relation to the ‘Bay Harbor Butcher’ case. While the details of the evidence condemning Sgt. Doakes is unknown at this time, Captain Matthews of Miami Metro Homicide assures the public that all evidence points towards the Butcher being off the streets of Miami.

A photo accompanies the article: a group picture zoomed in on a short, well-built black man in a police uniform. Even through the photo, you can almost feel the man’s intense, piercing gaze. 

There had been no further investigation into the Bay Harbor Butcher case after Doakes’ untimely demise. It later came out that the evidence in question had been a box of blood slides; each slide correctly matched a different victim of the Butcher’s. You absently poke at the large bandage on your cheek covering the three-inch incision the mystery man had left behind.

Dismembered bodies, wrapped in plastic. Blood slides of his victims. Criminals who managed to slip through the tide of the law. 

The Butcher is still out there.

The thought isn’t entirely unpleasant to you. You’d paid close attention to that case, back in the day. You remember being confused as to the scrutiny the unidentified man had been receiving. He was only hurting people who deserved it: just like you. You’d never voiced your opinions aloud, but you’d secretly been rooting for the Bay Harbor Butcher throughout the state-wide manhunt. When the case had closed–main suspect deceased–you’d stopped paying close attention to the news outlets milking the case for all its worth. But you paid attention now.

James Doakes had been a loner. An ex-special ops soldier. It seems he’d suffered from severe PTSD and was known to be intensely committed to a sense of justice. It all checked out–of course, it’s easy to accuse a dead man. You have your doubts now. Sure, it was possible that the man who’d kidnapped you was nothing more than a copycat, a wannabe. But something about the depth of his gaze told you otherwise.

It only took a quick search of Miami Metro’s staff profiles to find him. A familiar face: normal, unassuming, with the forced sort of smile everybody had in identification photos. You read the name accompanying the picture:

Dexter Morgan

Forensics Expert

-

You should let it go.You know that. You’d been lucky to survive the Butcher–Dexter Morgan’s–grasp. Nobody else had ever escaped from the killer. You should leave Florida, move on with your life. 

But there was something inside of you, a hole waiting to be filled. A longing, an ache, for connection. Feelings that perked up at the idea of finding somebody who might understand, really understand. When Dexter Morgan’s eyes had met yours, it was the sole moment of your entire life that you felt seen. Not just seen, but understood, justified. Like your souls had been connected, mirrored for just a second. He’d let you go because you were like him. Because you worked to make the world a better place, whatever your personal motivations may be. You didn’t know Dexter personally, didn’t understand why he did what he did. But you wanted to. 

That was how you found yourself sitting in a cafe outside Miami Metro’s police station. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. In the past few weeks, you’d come to know Dexter Morgan much better. You’d traced his routine–extra careful not to be spotted–he’d leave his modest apartment around 9 am, head to the station, go out to a nearby food stall for his lunch break, back to the station, then home. There was little variation in the man’s schedule, only breaking for the occasional crime scene or coffee break. You’d even memorized his usual coffee order–white mocha, almond milk. Not exactly what you’d expect from one of the world’s most notorious serial killers, but then, you drank primarily frappuccinos, so who were you to judge?

You didn’t believe for a second that Dexter truly hadn’t noticed you. He was too smart, too precise, too observant, if his killings and framing of his co-worker were anything to go off of. It was the only time of your life that you simultaneously watched and felt watched. The crawl of a familiar car in your periphery. The uneasy feeling of eyes on you when you checked into a hotel. Green eyes meeting your own across a coffee shop, only for a moment–only with a hint of recognition. Sure, it could be your imagination. But you had a feeling that Dexter Morgan was watching you just as much as you were watching him.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, actually. More like you were playing some strange game of cat-and-mouse; getting as close as you could without being caught, and vise-versa. You knew Dexter had no reason to try and kill you again. And he knew that you wouldn’t turn him into the police. Doing so would be entirely self-incriminating. The both of you had the same goal, and you had no reason to fight one another. Your interest in the man was more curiosity than anything, and you imagined his was as well. It wasn’t everyday you met a fellow killer that you didn’t kill yourself.

Just as you’d anticipated, there were no interruptions the second time you decided to take out Rufus Beyer. You’d followed your previous plan to a T, easily stabbing his drunk ass to death in his own bedroom. You’d staked out his home the next day (risky, you knew, but you always enjoyed a bit of a thrill) as Miami Metro Homicide examined the crime scene. Rufus’ absence had been noticed far sooner than you’d anticipated, but even monsters had loved ones. 

You’d watched amusedly as a familiar car pulled into Rufus’ parking lot, revealing a familiar man with reddish hair and a button-up shirt. You knew that they wouldn’t find any evidence–you were far too careful for that. And you kept your every move unpredictable: you’d always thought that’d been the downfall of most famous killers, having an easily-traceable niche. But you didn’t leave behind playing cards or cut off your victims ears or anything weird like that. A stabbing here, a strangulation there, the occasional ‘accidental’ fall down the stairs. None of them could be traced back to you, not without a lot of effort–and who would put in the effort for these people? They were monsters with a list of enemies longer than a Starbucks menu. It was easy. Too easy, maybe. It’d been so long since you’d encountered a challenge. 

That’s why the frantic beating of your heart was more excitement than fear when Dexter Morgan exited the house, briefcase and camera in hand, before his eyes fell onto yours once again. You were parked pretty far from the street, certainly not drawing attention. He’d known what he was looking for, and he’d known that you would be there. Any chance of a coincidence vanished when the corner of Dexter’s mouth had quirked up, his right eyebrow lifting up as if to say, ‘that all you got?’ 

You smirk back at him. You’d always loved games.

[dexteri0us]

i know i haven't been perfect, but give it some time; 'cause not a single day goes by where you don't cross my mind

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, injuries (burns and cuts), louis greene, and you know... dexter's dark passenger

summary: requested: "dexter being super protective of you and when he finds out someone hurt you he immediately starts hunting him to kill him"

w/c: 5.5k

a/n: spoiler alert? it made me sad that dexter didn't get to kill louis, so here we go.

Louis is taking me to the hospital. Don’t freak out. Lab mishap.

You pressed send and the text appeared in a blue bubble, under it, there was a Delivered sign that quickly turned into Read.

Which hospital?

Jackson Memorial.

I’m on my way.

You didn’t really like it when people fussed over you. It felt unnecessary and only brought you discomfort most of the time. But this time, you couldn’t deny the relief knowing Dexter would meet you at the hospital.

“Who are you texting?” Came the voice from the driver’s seat.

You cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “My boyfriend.”

“Dexter?” Louis asked with a feigned curiosity.

You couldn’t stand him anymore; he was such a fake asshole it was physically hurting you. And today was honestly the last straw.

You’d spent the better part of your morning setting up your experiment, testing your final samples. The data was supposed to solidify your findings and allow you to finish your thesis.

Everything was in place, your samples loaded into the centrifuge as you triple-checked everything. Everything. The protocol, the settings on the centrifuge, spinning the rotor with your hand, ensuring that it was balanced and the lid was closed tight.

Louis had been hovering all the fucking time. You had tried to ignore him, but you couldn’t exactly tell him to go fuck himself. The lab at your school was a shared space.

“You really think you’re going to finish today?” He’d mocked you. But that didn’t throw you off. You knew you were, because you were prepared.

But then you stepped away from the centrifuge for just five seconds to retrieve your laptop. When you returned, you put the laptop next to the machine and pressed the start button on the centrifuge, causing it to whir to life, the rotor spinning faster and faster. Then suddenly, a sharp, metallic clunk echoed in the room, followed by a horrific screech. The centrifuge rattled violently and the lid flew open. Glass shards and liquid shot out like shrapnel and you barely had time to shield your face with your arm.

The pain was instant. A jagged piece of glass sliced across your forearm, and a burning sensation spread where the liquid splashed onto your skin.

“Shit!” Louis exclaimed, rushing forward with exaggerated concern. “Are you okay?”

You just clutched your arm, blood seeping between your fingers. The burn on your forearm throbbed, angry red splotches already forming. Your vision suddenly became blurred with tears of pain and frustration combined, but you held them back. You were not going to cry in school.

The commotion drew others into the lab, including your supervisor. And of course, Louis was quick to throw you under the bus. And, okay, you weren't wearing your lab coat, but nobody really was if they did something as simple as loading samples into a centrifuge.

Your supervisor sent you to the nurse, telling Louis to escort you in case you got dizzy. The nurse bandaged your arm and sent you to a hospital for further treatment. Louis chimed in, playing the part of a kind and worried colleague, and driving you there himself.

“Yes; Dexter. He’s on his way, so you can just drop me off and head back to the lab.”

“Nonsense. I can't have anything else happen to you.”

Bullshit. He wouldn’t even blink if the shards had hit your carotid artery and you bled out right there. Who knows, maybe that had been his plan all along. Louis had it out for you and Dexter, his petty vendetta against you couldn't be more transparent.

“Louis, please.” You closed your eyes in exasperation, your eyes still burning from the tears that tried to push their way through. “I know that you messed with the centrifuge. I don’t have proof, so don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything. But at least have the decency to stop pretending that you’re innocent.”

You saw his jaw flex and his knuckles get white from how he clutched the steering wheel, but he didn’t say anything. Frankly, you were getting uncomfortable being alone with Louis in the car, but luckily, the hospital came into view.

You tried to convince Louis to go, but he wouldn’t budge. He knew you hated his presence, and he reveled in the feeling that he was making you uncomfortable. You also had a hunch he waited for Dexter so he could provoke him too. He was like a lurking predator, leaning against the far wall, as the nurse gave you a sympathetic smile, adjusting the bandage on your arm. The burn cream was cool against your skin, but the sting of the injury sent vibrations through your whole arm.

The door opened, and your muscles finally relaxed. Dexter stepped in, his focused gaze sweeping the room. His eyes landed on you first, taking in the bandage on your arm and the nurse’s careful work. Then, his gaze flicked towards Louis.

Louis straightened up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Dexter, hey! Don’t worry, YN’s alright. I made sure she got here safe.”

Dexter ignored him. If he hadn’t, he might have done something… nobody here needed to see. There was going to be time for that to do it right. Instead, he made his way straight to you.

“Hey,” you said with a tired smile.

His hand reached out to cup your head, his thumb brushing your temple and over the edge of your eyebrow in a soothing manner as his other hand hovered over your injured arm, as if to make sure it was still attached. His brows were furrowed, his shoulders and chest stiff as if he was holding his breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Getting burned by an oven hurts more.” You tried to lighten the mood, but humor wasn't exactly his way of coping.

“What’s he still doing here?”

“I think he wants to steal you away from me.”

“YN…”

“I don’t know, Dex. He’s a fucking vulture, you know that. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t.”

You weren't even joking anymore; it wouldn’t surprise you if Louis had done this to get Dexter’s attention. Or get back at you for having Dexter’s attention. Louis had probably been obsessed with him long before you started coming to the Miami Metro’s forensics lab to work on your thesis. Louis, as a graduate and now a lab tech at your university as well as a senior intern at Miami Metro, was supposed to be your guide, to help you acclimate.

You had known Louis from school, and ever since he’d started working at Miami Metro, his ego had been bursting through the roof, so you hadn’t been so psyched when you’d found out you’d have to share a working space, but hey, what could you do. At least, he was genuinely eager to assist, proudly showcasing his knowledge of the lab’s high-tech equipment and Miami Metro’s most famous cases. But his favorite thing to do was name-dropping Dexter. Louis had never said it in those words, but Dexter was like a god to him.

“He’s a genius. Everyone here knows it. Stick with me, and you might even learn enough to impress him.”

You’d fought the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m here to work on my thesis, Louis. Not to waste my time.”

Louis had always been too loud, too close and most importantly, too self-important for your liking, and you’d thought back then already, that his admiration for Dexter bordered with obsession.

And when you finally met the famous Dexter Morgan, you were surprised how underwhelming it was. You actually expected another loud and arrogant scientist, but he was the exact opposite.

One morning, while you were struggling with the calibration of a piece of equipment, a calm and monotone voice spoke behind you.

“You’re off by a millimeter.”

You jumped out of your skin, closing your eyes to regain composure before turning around and finding Dexter with his hands in his pockets, just standing there. You hadn’t met, but you knew what he looked like.

“Fuck, thanks. Were you trying to give me a heart attack to keep me from using it? Jesus Christ.” You were still shaking off the jumpscare you just received.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good. Dexter, right? The guy who specializes in puddles.”

“Blood spatter analyst,” he corrected with a nod, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the lack of reaction to your joke. You introduced yourself and shook his hand, before he left without another word.

To him, you were just another in a parade of visiting academics, someone he’d forget as soon as your project ended.

Well, apparently, you liked to talk, making it hard for him to ignore you. It's not like you were targeting him specifically, you were just a naturally friendly person.

Vince's attention wasn't exactly hard to earn, especially if you were a woman, but Dexter noticed how you laughed even with Angel. Not that Angel was a touch-me-not, but it was still surprising to see you navigate the station with such ease, like a newcomer staking a claim in unfamiliar territory. You didn't force yourself into conversations; you didn't even have to. You had your own gravity around you, and people were magnetized to it.

“If you need something, Louis is your liaison.” He tried to brush you off one time, gesturing vaguely towards the open lab door.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, undeterred. “But Louis is busy explaining to someone how he’s basically the second coming of Einstein, so I figured I’d ask the real expert.”

But you didn’t wait for him to respond, taking the hint and leaving him alone. For now anyway. It made the corner of Dexter’s mouth twitch, but he caught himself and got back to his work. He thought about it for a moment before deciding that it would be suspicious if he was the only one ignoring you.

Over the next few weeks, you made a habit of dropping by his desk. At first, he found your presence… perplexing. You asked too many questions – some of them genuinely insightful, others just… so absurd. You often hovered just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be intrusive. And your sense of humor seemed to exist solely to see how far you could push him before he reacted. And to create a bond with his sister.

You and Deb shared that bark, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The sarcasm often rang through the breakroom, and while he wasn’t one to eavesdrop, one time he heard a mention of his name.

“Does your brother ever smile?” you asked Deb, leaning against the counter.

“Well, you know, occasionally.”

“Yeah, what’s the occasion? Winning the lottery? Accidentally putting sugar in his coffee instead of salt?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. Why would I put salt in my coffee? But unlike him, Deb laughed.

“More like when someone's bleeding out somewhere. You don’t even wanna see that, it’s creepy as hell.”

“He’s fascinating actually,” you said when you stopped laughing, taking another sip of your coffee.

Fascinating. Most people called him odd, socially awkward, or at best, smart. His victims called him sick or a freak. But fascinating was new. And unsettling. He didn’t particularly like being noticed, but he found himself not minding your attention. Dexter realized that when he came in on Louis scolding you for talking him.

“He’s not your friend or your assistant, okay?” Louis snapped at you, his voice rising in frustration. “I am. So, stop bothering him and do some actual work.”

Before you could respond, Dexter stepped in, his voice firm. “Woah, Louis. Thanks, but I think I can handle myself.”

“I’m just saying, she’s supposed to focus on her thesis—”

“And she is. I also don’t mind helping her.” He turned to you then. “At least, when she ends up working here, she’ll already know the ropes.”

Dexter wasn’t serious, he didn’t even know if you ever wanted to work in forensics. But to Louis, the words felt like a slap. For months, he’d bent over backward to gain Dexter’s respect, but he’d never earned more than a dismissive glance. And you just waltzed in, cracked a couple of jokes, and suddenly, you were like Dexter's personal pet.

It was clear he didn’t like how Dexter responded to you. You noticed how his behavior changed, becoming petty even at your university lab. It was like he was waiting for you to make a mistake while his jokes grew meaner, more passive-aggressive

However, Louis was still essentially a random guy. He wasn't your superior, so you didn’t let him scare you off. If he wanted to report you to your school, you had Vince's backing, and now Dexter's too, you hoped. You believed you hadn't done anything wrong, you still got your work done, so there was no reason to feel guilty.

That meant that you never limited yout contact with Dexter, who also grew more responsive over the time. You figured out that most of his laughter stemmed in ridicule, with his brows furrowed and looking at you like you were an alien which made a smile grow on your face, so you decided to lean into it. Did it make you look dumb? Yes. Did it make Dexter laugh? Yes in capital letters.

Deb was the one who finally pointed out what you had been trying to make painfully obvious for weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Dexter,” she said incredulously, smiling at him as if asking are you serious? “Are you blind, or just stupid?”

He looked up from the folder, his expression blank. “What are you talking about?”

“YN. The girl from the lab. She’s been flirting with you nonstop, and you’ve been staring at her like she’s a new blood sample. Do you even know how to human?”

His whole face scrunched up, going over your past interactions in his head. “She hasn’t been flirting. She’s just… talkative.”

Deb rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. “Oh my God. You’re hopeless. She’s into you, Dex. And honestly? I think she’s kind of awesome. She’s smart, funny, and she’s got this great thing where she acts like an airhead just to see your face do that confused frown thing. It’s hilarious.”

Dexter’s frown deepened. “She does that on purpose?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Seriously, ask her out before she gets bored and moves on to someone who actually knows how to crack a smile.”

Weeks passed, and to Deb’s disdain, Dexter completely ignored her amazing advice. But she wasn’t one to sit idly by and she had had enough.

One afternoon, as you were bent over a microscope in the lab, Deb stormed in with an unyielding grip on Dexter’s arm.

“Hey, YN!” she said, her voice unnaturally cheerful.

“Uh… hey, Deb. What’s going on?”

She didn’t waste any time, her hold on Dexter's arm tightening as she shoved him into the room.

“Dexter has something he wants to ask you,” she announced, crossing her arms and giving Dexter an expectant look.

Fiddling with the pen in your hand, your eyes darted warily to Dexter, not really sure what was going on. And from the looks of it, Dexter didn’t know either. He looked genuinely confused, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words, but nothing came out.

“Uh…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Deb groaned. “He wants to take you out. On a date. There. It’s done. The cat’s out of the bag.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A warmth surged through you, a small flicker of happiness bubbling up, but then you saw the horrified look on Dexter’s face, and it fizzled just as quickly. You turned back to Deb.

“Wow, Debra. I didn’t know you moonlighted as a matchmaker.”

“I don’t. But someone has to get the ball rolling.”

“And the first step is holding someone hostage?”

“Hosta– are you fucking kidding me?” She turned to her brother, jabbing a finger into his ribs, making him flinch. “Dexter, tell her!”

But before he could say a word, you got up from your chair and headed for the door.

“I appreciate the effort, Deb, but can we discuss this later? I need to bring these to Louis before he has a meltdown.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him,” Deb said as she watched you leave.

“I’d rather not,” you quipped with a smirk, closing the door behind you.

But maybe Deb had a point.

Maybe he should ask you out.

It had been a while since he’d had a girlfriend, and perhaps it was time to change that. Saying no to you outright might be suspicious, and blending in was a cornerstone of his life. Besides, you weren’t so bad. Being around you wasn’t unpleasant. It made sense.

That's actually what he said when he finally asked you out: it makes sense. No fumbling over words or overly rehearsed lines. And you actually liked his reasoning. It was honest in its own way and you appreciated the lack of pretense.

That was one thing you’d learned about Dexter during your time at Miami Metro: he liked a logical approach, unlike most people who responded to emotion, whose actions were driven by feelings. He felt things, sure, just not in the same way, and he rarely expressed them outwardly.

It wasn’t like you were absolutely positive that it could turn into something meaningful or that a relationship with Dexter would last, but his way of interacting with the world was so unconventional that you simply felt drawn to it.

Dexter never really offered grand romantic gestures or gush over your presence in his life. But he noticed things you liked and made small accommodations for them. He listened with the intent to understand. And while he wasn’t exactly overflowing with emotion, you saw the quiet ways he cared.

You’d once mentioned in passing how receiving gifts made you uncomfortable, the pressure to perform gratitude leaving you uneasy. So when you joked that a specific brand of coffee was your lifeblood, he didn’t hand it to you wrapped in a bow. Instead, the next week, it simply appeared in the breakroom.

He wasn’t selfish about it, like most people were when they insisted on seeing your reaction. No, he just wanted to make you happy. And with that, he scored a double.

However, ever since you started going on dates, for the lack of a better word, because neither of you ever labeled it that way, he started second-guessing himself. He became more careful, often overthinking and calculating his answers. You suspected that Deb might have been partly to blame. She was too blunt sometimes, too quick to get into his head. But you made sure to let him know that he was more likely to scare you off by saying nothing rather than saying the wrong thing.

“You’re more confident about that than I am.”

You'd told him that he was the living embodiment of having a wall up. And not any wall. It was as if someone else had built it for him, and he was struggling to climb over it.

“You’re not even bad at climbing. You’re just trying to figure out where to put your hands.”

It was a strange way for your to put it, but you managed to create a whole think tank in his head which often left him with a dull ache between his eyes. He found himself admiring your honesty, the way you refused to put on a mask just to please the people around you or conform to societal expectations.

It’s not like you outright spilled your deepest, darkest secrets, but you gave him glimpses. You hinted at your own traumas that had shaped you, so matter-of-fact and so human.

It stirred something within him. For days, he debated whether to share his own scars, until he finally did, one night during a quiet walk along the beach. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his chest when he told you about his mother, the blood, the screams everything. Well, almost everything. He expected recoil, but it never came. You didn’t judge, it didn’t scare you away; you just looked at him with the same attentiveness, maybe a joke on your tongue about how that explained his line of work, because that's how you coped. And somehow, knowing he knew that made it easier for him to breathe.

And that night was also the night he kissed you for the first time. He didn’t plan for it. He just simply looked at you and the moonlight twinkling in your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a different kind of urge. One he didn’t have to fight or wait to satisfy it. He let himself feel.

Later that evening, you also invited him to spend the night at your place.

He’d be lying if he said that he regretted a single second spent with you. Yeah, you never seemed to stop talking, never seemed to stop moving.

“It’s like you’re daring your neurons to keep up,” he’d said to you one day.

“Well, I need to keep my synaptic connections in shape, right?”

But still, you made the chaos seem… manageable. You were a walking paradox, bringing a strange sense of order to his life, a balance. He started to think that this was his final and definitive chance at happiness. And he wasn’t going to screw it up. Nobody was going to take you away from him. Nobody, and it was in his control.

Before you could discuss it further, the nurse came back with a new bandage.

“Your boyfriend, I presume?” she asked with a warm smile, glancing between the two of you. But Dexter barely looked at her, his focus was entirely on you.

“Was it him?” He tilted his head toward Louis, his voice low enough that only you could hear, but you saw the nurse make her way to you to apply the bandage.

“Not here,” you murmured, darting a glance toward Louis, who was still lingering near the door.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension, spoke up. “She’s going to be fine. The burn isn’t deep, and the cuts didn’t hit anything major. Could’ve been worse. You might’ve earned yourself a Nobel Prize for dedication to science, though.”

She smiled, and you saw Dexter’s lips twitch into a grimace that was supposed to look like a smile.

“What chemicals?” he asked.

“Phenol and chloroform mix,” you replied, and the nurse followed up.

“Not ideal for skin, but we got to it quickly. Keep the bandage clean and dry, and she’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks,” Dexter said shortly. Then, turning back to you, he added, “I’ll be right back.”

“Dex…” you began, knowing very well where his mind had taken him. And honestly, a part of you didn’t even want to stop him, because you wanted Louis to leave you alone.

“I said I'll be right back,” he repeated, his voice stern.

Dexter straightened to his full height and walked toward Louis, a predator closing in on its prey.

“So? How is she?” Louis asked as soon as Dexter approached him.

“How do you think, Louis? I suggest you stop fucking around or I’ll make your life really difficult.”

“What?” Louis laughed with faux confusion. “I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, and I think you’ve done enough. You can leave now. And if I find out you had anything to do with this, anything at all, you’ll wish it was you sitting on that hospital bed. Do you understand?”

“Geez, Dexter, are you –”

Dexter took a step closer without raising suspicion from other people.

“I’m serious, Louis. Do you understand?”

Louis nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Louis turned on his heel, but before making his exit, he turned to Dexter one more time. “Well… Catch you at work.”

Dexter ground his teeth, closing his eyes as he tried to suppress his need to protect you from Louis right then and there. He’d started seeing crimson the moment you texted him about Louis taking you to the hospital. Now, it was spilling everywhere, the red taking over his body, causing it to shake and ring in his ears. He wanted to fucking kill him. Louis had been trying to provoke him for quite some time, but he just crossed a line. Nobody will ever hurt you without consequences.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice brought him back to the present, your hand lightly brushing over his back as you tried to comfort him, ground him.

“No. I think I’ll kill him.”

You snorted. “Okay, drama queen,” you said, and hooked your arm around his, making your way out of the hospital.

Dexter hadn’t said a word during the drive, not a single one.

He’d even turned on his marching music, which he rarely did when you were with him. That was a signal in itself. He was thinking. Hard.

Once you reached his apartment, he tossed his keys onto the counter with an unusual force, and without a word, he headed straight for the first aid kit.

“Dex, I just got it bandaged. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. I want to see for myself.”

You weren’t entirely sure if this had something to do with the whole I don’t trust nurses thing or just general paranoia, but you decided not to argue.

“I know this isn’t your fault, but you should’ve worn your coat,” he said, his voice almost shaking as he held back from lashing out.

“I know.”

Dexter gestured for you to sit on the couch, taking a seat himself on the low table in front of you. He gently reached for your hand and began unwrapping the bandage.

“Tell me what happened.”

You described the incident in detail, including your suspicions that Louis might have been involved. Dexter gave you that Kubrick stare as his jaw tightened at the mention of Louis’ name.

When he uncovered the burn ringed by shallow cuts, he muttered a quiet Jesus.

“Once it starts blistering, you can’t scratch it, okay? It could get infected.”

“Yes, doctor,” you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s what the nurse said.”

It made his head twitch as he gave you a look. But he didn’t comment, instead gently placing your hand in his lap as he prepared a fresh bandage.

“Do you have any other samples left?” he asked, and it warmed your heart knowing that he cared about your lab work, too.

“Yeah, I should have some stored at the station,” you said. “Unless Louis decided to get rid of them too.”

“I’ll head back and check on them for you.”

“Well, I’m coming too. I need to get back to the lab, it’s not like I’m incapable of running the experiment again.”

That was a hard no. He didn't even have to think about it.

He didn’t like the idea of you being back at the lab, not when Louis was going to be there. But he also knew he couldn’t keep you away from the lab for long, so he needed to do this fast. He convinced you to stay at his place until the next day, at least. After all, you did feel tired from the burning pain and the pills that started to kick in. As Dexter stood to leave, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before kissing you on the lips, anchoring himself to you before heading back to work. And to take care of Louis once and for all.

It was easy. Louis was obsessed with serial killers, but he still lacked the skillset Dexter’s usual victims challenged him with. Now, he was going to give him the full-time experience.

He broke into his apartment and waited until Louis got home. A sharp prick to the neck and strapping him to a chair. Not his usual routine, but this wasn’t really to satisfy his urges. This was to protect you.

Once he was all tied up, Dexter broke a capsule of smelling salt under his nose and Louis' eyes shot open. Dexter wasn’t going to waste much time here, but he brought something to make it more enjoyable for himself.

“Wakey-wakey,” Dexter’s voice broke through the fog of Louis’s confusion.

He blinked, before he started thrashing against the rope. “What the hell?!” he shouted, panic rising in his voice. “What is this?!”

Dexter stepped closer to him, a faint curl of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. In his right hand, he held a bunch of vials filled with liquid.

“Do you know what chemical burn feels like, Louis?”

“What?” he asked, confused at first, but then it dawned on him. “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t do anything! I was just looking out for her. A-Accidents happen! Labs are dangerous places if you’re not careful, you know that!” Louis rambled, making Dexter watch him with an amused smile.

“Accidents don’t usually involve sabotage,” Dexter said evenly.

“Sabotage? Jesus, Dexter, you're blowing this way out of proportion. You're doing all this for some chick? Does her pussy feel that good?"

Dexter lurched forward, his fist connecting with Louis's face before he could react, the chair creaking against the floor as it moved with Dexter's strength. He leaned down to Louis’ eye-level, pointing a finger at his face. Louis squeezed his eyes shut, his bloody face scrunching in fear.

“Don't push it, Louis,” he said through his teeth. Dexter was quick to recover, his calm mask slipping back into place. “Let's talk about the fact that accidents always seem to happen when you’re around.”

Louis coughed, spitting blood onto the plastic-covered floor.

“You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.”

Dexter’s lips twitched. He rose to his full height and backed away just to put down one of the vials and take a piece of cloth instead. He poured the chemical on it as he talked.

“It’s called pattern recognition,” he said, coming around the chair to stand behind Louis. “You should be familiar with that by now.” And with that, he stuffed the wet rug into his mouth. Louis twitched and thrashed, but Dexter was stronger. He made sure the cloth didn’t fall out, that Louis got the exact taste of what you’d gone through.

“How is it, Louis? You have my full attention now! The only time I’m willing to listen to your bullshit!”

He tortured him some more, before pulling the cloth out. As soon as Louis’ mouth was free, he started coughing. Then, Dexter poured some of the prepared solution on his glove.

“Did I get the concentration right, or was it too strong?” Dexter asked, rubbing his covered fingers together, the rubber shining under the kitchen light. Louis’ breathing quickened.

“Please. I won’t go near her again. I swear!” Louis cried out.

Dexter leaned in close again, his face inches from Louis’.

“You’re right. You won’t.”

And without further explanation, he pressed the gloved hand against Louis’ arm, holding it there long enough for the sting to start. Before Louis’ scream got too loud, Dexter stuffed his mouth with the rug again as he writhed in pain, the burning sensation spreading.

“That’s just a fraction of what she felt. And you’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood tonight. Otherwise, I would pour it right into your fucking eyes, your mouth, I would cut your skin open and fill it up before stitching it back together.” Dexter put his still wet hand on a different part of Louis’ arm, watching him squirm. “I would make you fucking drown in it.”

Dexter stepped back, watching Louis’ chest rise and fall with his heavy breathing, some tears sliding down his cheeks, mixing with his blood. Dexter closed his eyes, bathing in that satisfactory feeling as he breathed in, the smell of chemicals and sweat and fear tickling his nostrils. He made his way to the counter where his knives were splayed out, taking the sharpest one and making his way behind Louis again.

“Goodnight, Louis.”

And with that, he sliced his neck, blood spilling onto the plastic underneath the chair.

When he came home that night, he found you still on his couch. Safe and sound. Your bandaged arm rested on the book you were reading, and when you looked at him, you greeted him with that casual smile of yours.

It was so genuine, so automatic. Like it had been waiting just for him. He couldn’t let himself be the reason you’d ever lose it, couldn’t let his or anyone else's world dim yours.

Without saying a word, he approached you, pinched your chin between his fingers and tilted your head to kiss that smile, because he knew it would only make you grin wider, and that’s what he wanted. He was making a silent promise, to you and to himself, to keep it safe, because seeing you light up like that, illuminating his dark world was everything he needed. And he wanted it to last.

[willieverseetheland]

mama?

Dexter Morgan x reader

based on this ask!

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, violence, domestic violence, all the usual Dexter stuff, very much angst Summary: Following Rita’s death, Dexter and reader become close as they deal with the aftermath.

It was a quiet evening. You were sitting on your balcony watching the full, glowing moon. You were deep in thought when your phone began to ring, pulling you back to reality. The caller ID said Dexter Morgan, you thought this was strange as he and Rita were supposed to have left on their honeymoon. Maybe they decided not to bring Harrison along after all. But when you answered, it was a woman's voice.

"Hello? This is Debra Morgan with Miami Metro Homicide, is this y/n?"

"Yes?" You replied with a slight quiver in your voice, confused. Homicide? What is happening? "There's been an incident, Dexter thought you should know. However, he's preoccupied at the moment. Rita..."

Her voice begins to shake, you can sense that she's about to cry

"Um, Rita's been murdered, I understand you two were close."

It was like the entire world stopped. Murdered? Rita was the loveliest, sweetest, most pure-of-heart person you knew. Who would possibly have wanted to hurt her?

The phone slipped out of your hand. Thankfully you were already sitting down, or you may have fell off your balcony. You can hear the woman repeating "hello, are you there?" over the phone. But everything was static. Nothing made sense. As it all began to settle into place, what really happened. You let out a loud sob. Shaking violently, tears streaming down your face. You bang your fist on the ground, screaming. Angry at the world, or whatever higher power that existed. As you sat there and sobbed, you began to think about Harrison, Dexter, Astor, Cody, everyone else who knew and loved Rita. God! Poor Harrison. He hardly got to know his mother.

You think of all the times you saved Rita from Paul. All the late nights scared it would be the last time. Scared, because you didn't know when it would be the last punch, kick, slap. There were honestly times you thought he would kill her. You thought you had prepared yourself for this, but how could you, how could anyone. When he died, you were there to support Rita of course, but deep down you were glad. You saw first-hand how he treated her, how it affected the kids.

Rita was like a sister to you. You considered yourself like an aunt to those kids. A piece of you died today, something you don't know if you'll ever get back.

--

You were awoken by the sound of loud honking. You open your eyes to see the bright morning sun over Miami. It made you angry, how could the world go on when yours came crashing down less than 24 hours ago. You look around, you must've cried yourself into exhaustion and passed out on your balcony.

You go back inside. Your cat comes up to nudge your leg. You look down at him and he just stares at you and meows. You wish you could be like him, blissfully unaware of all the evil in the world.

You go to make a pot of coffee, but you just collapse on the floor of your kitchen. How can you go on? Rita is dead. Harrison, Astor, and Cody just lost their mother. Dexter lost his wife. And yet the world keeps spinning. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, it's your boss. You look at the time, you were supposed to be at work an hour ago.

"Fuck" you sigh, leaning your head back against your kitchen counter

You answer, telling him you won't be coming in today, death in the family. He can be a dick at times, but he's understanding when it comes to this.

You scan your apartment. Eyes settling on the picture on your bedside table. You walk over to it, picking it up. It's a photo of you, Dexter, Rita, and the kids at Rita's birthday party. You place it face down; you can't bear to look at it right now.

Dexter lingers in your mind. God! How could you be so selfish? He must be in shambles right now. Grieving the death of his wife and having to be responsible for little Harrison. Maybe you should go check on him, see Harrison. Might take your mind off of things. Or make things worse. You don't know. Either way you need to do something.

You throw on a sweater and your shoes. You know the house is likely still a crime scene so you can't go there. Dex and Harrison are probably with his sister, who conveniently lives at his old apartment, so finding the place won't be too difficult. You drive like a bat out of hell, trying to get there as fast as you can.

You arrive and knock on the door, no one answers. You knock again, still no answer. You figure nobody is home, so you turn to leave. As you start walking away, you hear the handle turn, and the door unlatch. You turn around, seeing Dexter peering out from the crack in the door. You greet him with a warm smile as he opens the door fully. You immediately lean in for a hug, which he doesn't move away from but doesn't exactly reciprocate. He just stands there with his arms at his side, stiff. He does lean his chin on your shoulder though. He sighs in relief, shoulders loosening.

"Deb called me last night, told me what happened. I know it's probably a stupid question, but how are you?" You look in his eyes, sincerity and empathy written all over your face.

He knows this is hard on you too.

"I'm doing okay, I have to, for him." He turns to look at Harrison, sleeping soundly in his crib.

You two go to sit on the couch, you place a hand on his shoulder, trying to be comforting.

"I found him sitting in a pool of her blood" He turns to look at you, face empty, exhausted.

Your hands fly to your mouth as you gasp

"Dexter, my god. I'm so sorry" Tears begin to well up in your eyes

"If it's too much you don't have to answer, but how did it happen exactly? Deb told me she was murdered, but not what happened."

"You've seen the trinity killer on the news, right?" He turns to look at you

"A single cut to her thigh, slicing the femoral artery. She bled out." His voice is steady, concise.

Anyone who didn't know Dexter would think he's unbothered, but you know this is just him. He's devastated on the inside.

"I, I uh... that's horrible, I'm sorry you had to see that." Your voice is soft, comforting.

"If it's any help, I wouldn't mind watching over Harrison for a few days, while you get the funeral things figured out. And Astor and Cody, if needed."

"They're with their grandparents, they don't know yet. They're coming back today. Thank you, that would actually be a big help." He gives you a slight smile, you can tell it's forced but you appreciate the effort.

--

The days go by, each one as painful as the previous. Everyone tells you to take it one day at a time, but nothing is changing. Nothing is getting better. Her funeral was devastating, you cried the entire time. You tried to stay strong, for the kids, but seeing her lying there, you couldn't. She looked beautiful, like she was sleeping. Astor and Cody went to stay with their grandparents in Orlando, which you know is hard on Dexter. He really loves them. You switched your hours around so you could work nights and watch Harrison during the day while Dex is at work. Harrison has been the only highlight of your life recently, one of the only things you have left of Rita. He's truly an amazing child, and thankfully he doesn't seem to be affected by what happened. You know Dexter was really concerned about that.

You've tried to be there for Dexter as well, but he hasn't been as accepting. You understand though. However, it's what Rita would want you to do. She always trusted you to take care of her family. You considered Rita to be like a sister, and it's what you would do for family.

You take Harrison back home that afternoon. Dexter has the biggest smile on his face as he takes Harrison into his arms, he's a great father and loves Harrison so much.

"How was he?" He questions

"Wonderful as always, he's such a little angel" You smile

"But the real question is, how are you, Dexter?"

"You don't have to worry about me, I'm fine" There's a hint of irritation in his voice

"Dexter, but I do worry about you. You've just suffered a great tragedy. I just want to be sure you're okay"

"I just told you I am okay, why do you care so much anyways?" He shakes his head and places Harrison in his crib

"It's what Rita would've wanted!" You exclaim

He turns around to look at you, you can see that he's distraught. Being a single parent is never easy, especially one that's grieving.

He sighs

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I really am okay, I promise" He gives you another one of his classic fake smiles, you know he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so you don't press

"Alright, if you insist"

--

It's been almost a year since Rita's death now. You still miss her like crazy, but things have gotten easier. Harrison is walking and talking which has been very emotional, you wish Rita was here to see it. He's become a part of your regular routine now. Dexter offered to pay you to be his nanny, but you declined, quite aggressively. Dexter kept insisting but you would not accept under any circumstances. Spending all this time with Harrison has also meant spending quite a lot of time with Dexter as well. You've grown to really care for him.

One morning, you were over at Dexter's feeding Harrison breakfast. Dexter was getting ready for work. He came out of the bedroom, shirt unbuttoned. You couldn't help but stare, which made you feel guilty. You admired his hands as he swiftly fastened the buttons, his arms as he rolled up his sleeves, his sculpted chest peeking through the top of his shirt. You felt wrong. He comes over to give Harrison a kiss on the head. As he walks by, his shoulder brushes yours. You blush, in embarrassment and due to your true feelings. As you airplane another spoon of yogurt into Harrison's mouth, out comes something that shocks you to your core.

"Mama" Harrison babbles

You and Dexter immediately make eye contact. Your eyes are blown open wide, mouth agape.

"I'm so sorry, I have no idea why he would say that" You panic

"It's alright, he doesn't know any different" Dexter reassures you

You and Dexter just stand there, looking at each other. He smiles, a genuine smile this time. Something you've missed seeing.

He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close. He brings his hand to your cheek and leans in, placing a tender kiss on your lips. You immediately melt. You felt so guilty for feeling the way you did, falling for a man who was grieving his dead wife. You bring your hands up to hold his face. Deepening the kiss. When you pull away, you can't help but smile a big goofy grin. Dexter is smiling too, which makes your heart flutter.

You stand there in comfortable silence, before Dexter announces he has to go, and that he wants you to be here when he gets home. He kisses your cheek and leaves. Your heart feels so full. However, you still feel guilty, like you're betraying Rita, but you also feel like this is what she would want. You know her family well, and you love them like they're your own.

You lay Harrison down for a nap, kissing him on the forehead. You grab a cup of coffee and go outside. It's a chilly spring morning. As you're looking out over Miami, a white butterfly lands on your finger. A tear rolls down your, cheek. You've never been much of a spiritual person, but you know it's her, and suddenly everything starts to feel like it's going to be okay.

...

Literally almost cried while writing this, I love Rita so much. I hope I did your vision justice! Sorry it's so long lol

[happy74827]

You Must Be Haunting Me

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Even after a year, you’re still haunted by the Ice Truck Killer.

WC: 2643

Category: Angst, No Comfort {TW: Not Proof Read 😞}

I did another one!! Are you guys proud of me? 🥹

So, rewatching the season, I forgot how sassy he was so I wanted to really show off that aspect in this one. Then my patience was over it, so the ending is just kinda… bland. But it’s okay because it’s Brian (he seriously needs more attention FOR REAL).

Anyway, for those 14 Brian fans… this one’s for you 🫶

『••✎••』

The dark circles beneath your eyes. The way you can barely stand on your feet, your body so exhausted that you can hardly lift a finger to defend yourself. You’re like a walking corpse, and he's the one responsible for putting you in this state.

It started one year ago. One year ago, you moved to Miami and became the victim of a killer. It wasn't until his brother came along and put him six feet under that you began to heal and get back into the normal, everyday routine. But then he showed up.

It was one of those nights where you’d randomly get a jolt in your sleep. You sat up straight, the sheets pooling at your hips as you looked around the room. Your breathing was shallow, and sweat was beading on your brow. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you slowly laid back down.

"You sleep soundly."

His voice caused your heart to stop. You knew who it was, the same man who had terrorized you, who made your life a living hell. Slowly, you turned to your side, staring wide-eyed at the dark figure at the end of your bed. Your hands began to shake and tremble as you reached for the lamp on your nightstand.

"Oh, don't bother."

In an instant, with the sound of fingers snapping, the lamp's light went out. You could hear a chuckle coming from the intruder, and you were paralyzed, afraid to make a move.

I mean, it couldn’t be him, right? It was just some sick joke. He was dead. He couldn’t be here.

He couldn’t.

But, god, he looked the exact same. The curly dark hair, the pale skin. He was just a silhouette in the darkness of your room, and yet, you could tell that the grin he wore was the same grin that he had on the day you met him.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost." He mused, moving closer towards you. His weight caused the bed to dip slightly, and you could feel the fear begin to take over your body. "Should I start saying boo?"

Your throat was dry, and you couldn’t speak; all you could do was stare at him, frozen in place. He lowered his head in amusement and chuckled, leaving his lips once more.

It was when his eyes weren’t on you that broke you out of your daze. You shot up from the bed, nearly tumbling over yourself as you ran to the dresser, grabbing the nearest thing you could find and throwing it at him. It was a vase, one that held a bouquet of flowers, that shattered against the wall, causing him to look up.

"…Was that supposed to scare me?" He asked, raising a brow as he tilted his head, an almost bored expression on his face. "You’ve got the aim of a blind man."

"Get out of my house!"

The sound of your own voice startled you. Anger wasn’t necessarily the emotion you normally felt, but now it was the only thing that was running through you. Anger and adrenaline.

He stood from the bed, taking a step closer to you, the broken glass crunching beneath his feet. You didn’t care; you took a step back, holding your hand out as if it would stop him from coming any closer.

"Get away from me, you psycho."

He laughed. He actually fucking laughed.

"Psycho?" He repeated, "That’s a new one."

"Stay back." You hissed, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

He took another step.

"Don't touch me!"

Another. He was only inches away from you now, and the thought of him being so close made you want to vomit.

The annoyed sigh he let out when he noticed your hand trembling was enough to set you off. You didn’t think twice; the only thought in your mind was to get him out, and so you did.

When he was walking towards you, your mind remembered the small kitchen knife that you left on the counter. Quickly, you ran past him, dodging his hands as he reached out to grab you, and grabbing the knife, and in one quick motion, you turned and stabbed him.

"That’s not going to—"

It went right through his chest. He stared down at the knife, then up at you, with that all-knowing expression.

He sighed again, "…work."

What the fuck?

In the next moment, he vanished, and the knife fell to the ground, the clattering against the linoleum floor echoing through the house.

For a minute, you thought it was a dream. That is, until he appeared in the chair beside you, his arms crossed, his eyes boring holes into your face.

"You can’t hurt me." He said, his tone flat, his eyes narrowed, "I can’t either. Not physically, anyhow."

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"I can fuck you up, though." He continued, "In many ways. Mentally, emotionally… The possibilities are endless."

"What the hell is this?" You questioned, your brows furrowing, "Are you some kind of— of, what, demented Casper?"

His expression was unreadable, but then again, he always had that look on his face.

"Casper? Wow, seriously? You remind me why I don't watch movies." He groaned, shaking his head.

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you won't like my answer."

"Try me."

"You’ve lost it." He shrugged, "Completely off the hinges, you know? And that's saying something, considering who you’re talking to."

"I don't—"

"Have a mental disorder."

"What?"

"That's what it's called. When someone has delusions of grandeur, where they think someone is after them. Someone, of course, meaning me." He explained, a grin spreading across his lips. "But, no. It's all in your head. Just. Like. Me."

The words sank in, and you stared down at the floor, your mind processing everything he was telling you.

"No, I'm not crazy." You murmured, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear.

"You're not? Well, how else would you explain me being here?" He asked, cocking a brow, "I’m dead, remember? My dear brother made sure of that."

"I—"

"And you know damn well I’d never wear this out of the office. It's not exactly the most flattering."

It was then you noticed what he was wearing.

He had his lab coat on. His entire outfit was the same thing he wore the day he met you. You were with Debra to question him about Tucci’s recovery and, god, if he didn't make the biggest impression.

It was pretty hard not to like him when he was giving one of his patients, a little boy, a lollipop from his jar and making a joke.

You remember telling Deb, 'What a nice guy'.

Oh, the irony. The fucking irony.

"What a nice guy." You found yourself repeating before looking him up and down, your lips curling in disgust. "You were just fucking with me the whole time, weren't you?"

He shrugged, "What's it matter now? I'm dead."

"It matters to me."

"Would you like me to apologize? To beg for your forgiveness?" He asked, a mocking tone in his voice, "Would that make you feel better?"

You were silent.

"Wouldn’t do anything." He continued, "And it certainly wouldn't change a thing. But, hey! By all means, you go right ahead and play pretend. Maybe then, you'll sleep better at night."

You scoffed. He was such a piece of shit.

"How much are you gonna torture me, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, "Torture me like you did, Debra? Like your brother? Are you just going to follow me around like a bad smell? Make my life a living hell, like you did theirs?"

"I didn't torture him." He stated, a hint of malice in his tone, "He's my brother."

"Like that means shit."

"He was just like me. A lot like me, in fact." He went on, his eyes flickering over to you. "I could see myself in him."

"Well, he killed you." You countered, "That doesn't really seem like brotherly love."

"He did what he had to." He shrugged, "That Harry… he was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

You were quiet again.

"And Debra?"

"A pain in my ass. Always sticking her nose in places where it doesn't belong." He replied, shaking his head. "But, then again, that was her job, wasn't it?"

"You broke her. You tore her apart." You snapped, the memories of the past year filling your mind. "She really loved you. She really did."

"I know."

"You don't care."

"Not at all." He said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. "Not in the slightest."

"Fuck you."

He laughed, his laughter filling the room before it faded out, leaving the both of you in a heavy silence.

He had a different aura around him this time. It might be the aura of a dead man, a hallucination. But he still felt so… present. Even his mannerisms were the same—the way he moved his hands, the way he tilted his head. His eyes still had that glint of mischief. It was so real.

So. Fucking. Real.

"If your just in my head, why can’t I just kick you out?" You asked, finally breaking the silence, "Make you go away."

"Because, even after a year, I still affect you." He answered, his voice low. "Even though you try to ignore it and push the memories back, I’ll always be there. In the back of your mind."

"Why couldn’t you be my dead childhood dog or something? Why do you have to be some crazy serial killer that ruined my life?" You said, shaking your head.

"I'm not boring."

"Neither was my childhood dog."

"Rocky didn't have a single interesting thing about him. All he did was drool and lick himself." He countered, his lips pursing.

"How the hell do you know— oh, fuck this. Just go away." You groaned, rubbing your temples.

He didn't respond, and the room was quiet. For a second, you thought he actually listened. Then, you heard him hum.

"Hm. No."

"Jesus Christ."

"Now, that's really a name I haven't heard in a while."

This was how it became. For months, you would have these random conversations with him, and no matter how much you tried, he would never leave. Everywhere you went, he was there.

Work.

Shopping.

Even at the damn bar.

You had no idea what this was. You didn't know if this was a side effect of the trauma you went through. Whether it was your mind trying to cope or just the result of a lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it was draining the life out of you.

You felt like a shell. Your coworkers knew something was wrong. The way your eyes were dull and lifeless, the dark circles, the slump in your shoulders.

They were concerned—except Debra. She was too concerned about the case to pay attention to anyone else.

You weren't really sure what day it was. Or month. Time was going by, and you were slowly dying mentally, as he put it.

"Is this because I can't sleep?" You asked him one night, staring at the ceiling, your voice hoarse, "Because I can't go to sleep without seeing your face? Or is it because I don't have the energy to live?"

"I would say both."

You groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's not what you did." He replied, his eyes locked on yours, "It's what I did."

"Yeah, well, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The two of you sat there in silence before he cleared his throat.

"How are things with my favorite bloodhound?" He asked a curious tone in his voice. "Is he still sleeping with that cute blonde, or did he wise up and break it off?"

"Rita. Her name is Rita." You corrected him, shaking your head, "She’s his girlfriend, not his flavor of the week."

"Hm."

"And, for your information, they're fine. Great, actually."

"How disappointing." He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. He genuinely looked upset, which caused a snicker to leave your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are." You replied, looking over at him, "You're so pathetic."

He blinked.

"You're a dead man. Dead. How can you be disappointed about his love life?"

"I'm his older brother." He stated, his jaw tightening, "I want what's best for him."

"Really? Then why aren't you in his brain, harassing him?" You questioned, a smile coming onto your face, "You know what? I bet he's sleeping great. He doesn't have to deal with this. Not like I do."

"I would love to give him a good old-fashioned night terror. It'd be easy, too. He's not exactly the most stable." He replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his brain is too messy. He's always been that way."

"I guess he takes after his brother."

"He took after our father. The one thing I did was make him forget about it." He retorted, his tone harsh, "Notice how he never talks about the old man? Or the past? Now it’s only me. That's because of me. I took him from that shitty childhood. I gave him a better life. A better everything. I could’ve given him the world."

You were quiet.

"Instead, he killed me." He spat, the venom in his voice obvious. "Because of that stupid, half-witted sailor mouth."

You honestly had to give your brain props for this one. He was too realistic. He was too Brian.

"You know what?" You began, sitting up, "I really am feeling a lobotomy."

At that, he actually laughed. Now that… that was different from the chuckles and snickers, this was a full laugh, something you haven't heard since you met him. It was loud, it was obnoxious, and it was the only thing you could hear.

It was the last thing you heard before the most amazing thing happened.

You fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up to a pounding on your door and an annoying ringing. Groaning, you pulled the pillow over your head, hoping the noises would disappear. Instead, they only got louder, and you had no choice but to get up.

"Coming, coming!" You shouted, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the door, the banging and the ringing still going on.

When you opened the door, you saw Debra.

"Good. You're up." She greeted, her expression annoyed. "Where were you last night?"

"Sleeping. What are you, my mom?"

"I called you. I even sent someone by your house. You weren't here." She stated, a slight bite in her voice, "And I'm not your mom, but if I were, I'd spank you."

"For what?"

"We have a meeting in five minutes." She said, checking her watch, "Get dressed. I'm waiting."

"Shit."

In record time, you threw on some jeans and a shirt, and within the next three minutes, you were out the door and in the car with Debra.

But as she pulled out of the driveway, he appeared directly in front of her.

"Hey, watch—"

But he only winked at you before disappearing. And at the time, you found it nothing but him being a prick. But, later on, you would realize.

This was the last time you would ever see him.

A month went by. And another. And another.

Then, a year.

The visions of the past still came. The thoughts of him were still there. The memories were still fresh. And sometimes, if you listened closely, you could still hear that laugh.

But you weren’t afraid anymore. You had no reason to be. And so, you moved on. You continued living because that's what he would've hated. And that made you smile.

Because, now, it wasn't him haunting you.

It was you haunting him.

[zaddyluvr]

Sins & Secrets - Chapter 2

masterlist

TW: mentions of rape

December 2002

No, I didn't just move away to escape my past, I moved away to escape the monster within. I thought I had healed- that I was better, but looking back into those eyes. It unlocked a part of me.

He found me that night, he helped unleash me.

12/3/2002

I was going into my third year at the University of Miami, studying to be a nurse. Every now and then, I would get together with my parents for dinner. One night, my father gave me a call that an old family friend would join us for dinner. When I opened the doors to the little Italian restaurant that night, memories unlocked. Horrors that were suppressed from my mind for years up until that very moment, when I looked into my father's old friend's eyes.

Adam used to live with my parents and me when he was in the process of getting a divorce from his wife. Losing his wife meant losing a chance to fulfill his desires, but that would no longer be an issue sleeping in the guest room across from a young innocent girl.

Stepping through those doors, I remembered. I remember every single night he came into my room late at night and had his way with me. I remembered every scream and all the cries that came out of my mouth as he did whatever he pleased.

Surely, my parents would have heard their little girls' screams just across the hall, right? But no one ever came and Adam stayed for months. No one ever believed me or would listen, so one day, I stopped believing it myself. Up until now.

I kept my mouth shut all throughout dinner as my mind raced. Everything was starting to come together, every nightmare, every panic attack, all led to him.

Never in my 23 years of living had I ever felt a single ounce of love towards anyone. I never cried when my friend moved towns away, or when my boyfriends broke up with me. As much as I tried, I felt nothing. Maybe Adam and my parents were the reason why.

I had to do something.

After dinner that night, I returned to my apartment and lay awake in my bed all night. Until a thought came into my head. Urges filled within me, dark urges. I needed to protect that poor little girl and any others he may have done this to.

12/5/2002

I had a plan, and I was going to execute it perfectly.

Here I was, with Adam sedated on his couch with a sedative I had stolen from my hospital internship. Finding where he lived was simple really. I had this intuition that I was not the first to become his victim. Asking some minor questions to my parents and searching on the sex offender registry made him easy to find.

As he lay unconscious on the couch, I thought of all of the monstrosities he had committed. Even worse, my parents knew and still let him sleep in their house with their young daughter. I wanted him to know how it felt, to have no control and be totally and utterly helpless.

I had to stay in control and commit this justice in the right way, otherwise, I could face the rest of my life behind bars. I had planned to stage an overdose but killing him in a gruesome way would satisfy the darkness within me much more.

Then, I heard a creak in the floorboards.

"Shit."

Someone was here, but who? Adam lived alone, and it appeared my parents were his only friends, considering his charges. I hid in a dark corner of the room as I watched a man walk through the shadows.

From what I could tell by the moonlight illuminating his face, he had short, messy brown hair and appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s. He approached Adam, still out of it, on the couch and leaned down to look at him.

Fuck, he's going to know I was here. My mind raced as he looked around the room just moments away from discovering me, when I noticed what he was holding in his right hand.

Pictures of young boys and a picture of me.

That's when I lost it, a sob escaped from the back of my throat before I could stop it. More senses came rushing back, Adams's hands touching me, forcing me to take him.

I snapped and lost control. On instinct I stood up and reached to grab the hunting knife,I brought just in case, sheaved in my pocket, and went to strike.

The world was spinning around me, darkness filling my vision. Just as I was about plunge the knife through my rapist's chest, a hand caught my wrist and sent the knife across the room.

"Who are you," the man's voice whispered in my ear, his hand still gripping my wrist.

My heart raced, I was completely helpless, just as I was before. I ripped my hand from his grasp and backed away from him. The moonlight shone across his face in a beam of light, his eyes were empty and dark. He stepped forward again and I fell back into the wall.

My gaze dropped to the half-a-dozen photos on the floor. He had dropped the photos of the little boys and me when he caught my wrist. I took a shaky breath, and he followed my gaze to the only photo of a girl.

His dark expression changed, and I could see a tinge of pity in his face.

"Y/N?" he asked, looking back at me.

I took a deep breath, and nodded.

The man sighed, "Jesus."

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[hybristosomniac]

Update on that Brian Moser fanfic I mentioned-- It still exists, but it's on the backburner for now as I've grown a bit more intrigued with writing something else for him! I'm personally a dark romance enjoyer in fiction- i mean, what else would you expect from someone who loves Bynie as much as i do? So i'm writing something a bit more similar to the book Haunting Adeline in terms of themes of stalking and such<3 anyways, stay tuned for that!