#Rudy Cooper

[ireallydontknowohcrabs]

THIS IS SO BRIAN CODED ⋆˚✿˖°, that man is unfathomably jealous (slight nsfw)

obsessed!brian who gets suspicious of this coworker you keep talking about. You keep talking about him, how he’s such a good friend and that he’s sooo helpful. Seriously, who this guy? Brian can’t stand the fact that someone other than him is spending time with you. So, he comes to the most reasonable conclusion and kills him while he has you tied to his bed frame. He doesn’t need a reason to kill, but the idea of having more of you to himself is so appealing that he goes around disposing of anyone wasting your time. Besides, having you in his bedroom is the most convenient for the activities when he’s returned from a hunt.

keeping you tied up in his bedroom, where no one else can see what he does to you.<3

[viinchester]

Shape Of You

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

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

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

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew you should be glad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

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

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

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

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

It stirred something deep inside of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ashyy-slashyy]

this came to me like a fever dream

[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.

[apartmentlaw]

is there literally any audience for brian moser fics? bc i rly wanna write for him…. 👀

literally on my hands and knees begging for requests

[roemantics]

rewatching Dexter S1!! I’ve always had a soft spot for Biney

[jujupedraws]

Dex is so much harder to draw than Biney omg

_(:3 」∠)_

[gxxdomen]

same fucking energy help

[ireallydontknowohcrabs]

Brian Moser NSFW ALPHABET˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

long overdue, I hope u guys enjoy!

MINORS DNI 18+ content! Themes of knifeplay, amputation, uhhh average brian moser freakiness!!

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Brian would most definitely pet your head and play with your hair in bed, we’ve seen in the show sooo!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of  theirs and also their partner’s) HIS ARMSSS, you cannot tell me he wouldn’t enjoy putting his partner in a chokehold during sex. As for his partner, he has a thing for collarbones and breasts.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) If you did something upset earlier, he’ll likely cum on your face or on your collarbones.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) As much as Brian cares about you, I feel like he would fantasize about amputating you. He adores being needed so if you were to get into a terrible accident where you’re immobilized, he would pop a boner if you needed help bathing or changing.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Brian has had sex with multiple women, safe to say he knows what he’s doing

F=Favorite position (this goes without saying) Missionary, against the wall, and any position where he has control.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He’s more serious but if the situation calls for it he’ll joke around a bit, just to lighten the mood.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Neatly trimmed, clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment?  the romantic aspect) He’s very passionate, He’ll pepper kisses all around your body and worship you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) If you aren’t together yet, he’d break into your bedroom and jack off to the scent of your panties and take photos of you in compromising positions. ( this man is a FREAK)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Choking, amputation, dacryphillia, vulnerability, fear play, bondage, and a lot of body worship. He takes his sweet time dragging knifes across your body while you’re tied up, helpless and vulnerable. He also goes crazy for your pained whimpers and cries that come out when he over stimulates you. I could go on and on about his kinks and fantasies.

L=Location (favorite places to do the do) His apartment, and in a dark, well hidden alleyway. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) He’ll get an erection on the spot if you start begging for him. Bonus points if you’re injured or you start crying.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Nothing that involves him losing all of the control. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Excellent at eating pussy. He prefers receiving though.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He enjoys slow and sensual but if he’s riled up he’ll go fast and rough. Big fan of manhandling. Also a fan of taking care of you and being gentle. Both are pleasurable for him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He does them a lot in his office. They’re fun.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He’s down for anything really.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Brian lasts several rounds. He has a lot of stamina.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) If you count tying ribbon, knifes, and gags as toys then yes!!!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) HUGE TEASE. He finds it amusing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Brian will let out a few grunts and moans here in there, but he usually pants.

W=Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) If hes just finished a kill he’s going to be really horny so prepare to fuck in his freezer while his apron is covered in blood. He’ll push off whatever’s occupying space to make room for your body.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He’s canonically big, so I can see it being lengthy with a thick base. Slightly curved upwards, with the tip being a light pink.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) He can go for several rounds, and even longer if it involves one of his favorite kinks. (*cough* *cough* begging and knifeplay)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Even after you fall asleep, Brians going to spend some time admiring your resting face before he finally rests.

[re-jeracize]

started watching dexter

[saudrag]

my murder brothers romance

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount: 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

Hello again, Miami. 

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left. 

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it. 

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit. 

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said. 

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond. 

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already. 

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal. 

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt. 

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive. 

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it. 

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood. 

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all. 

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me. 

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I��ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”  

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out. 

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit. 

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch. 

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached. 

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in. 

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I? 

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.” 

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.” 

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you. 

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?” 

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!” 

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?” 

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn’t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?” 

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first. 

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It’s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued. 

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at. 

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?” 

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction. 

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it. 

Interesting. 

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you. 

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite. 

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.” 

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already. 

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer. 

This should be fun.

[viinchester]

Haunted Reflections

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

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request by: @ireallydontknowohcrabs

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

Word Count: 2.321

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It couldn’t be. But it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It would be perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[filmbropilled]

me watching Dexter S1 (I was deeply disappointed but it delivered anyway)

[happy74827]

The Perfect Gift of Appreciation

[Rudy Cooper (technically) x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Being severely injured with zero money to back up your bills, you decide to take an emergency visit to the only doctor you personally know.

WC: 2897

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff,

A lot of you actually liked my Brian fic (love y’all), so I wanted to make another for you guys. I’m sad that there’s still none 😔😔

『••✎••』

He was absolutely pissed. Granted, he didn’t actually tell you, but the way his face fell into utter disappointment when he finally answered his door was all the information you needed. You couldn’t help but frown, your hand moving to cover your poorly bandaged arm as you watched him.

It made sense; the man had just come home from his shift, and his outfit was still intact with his suit and lab coat, with exhaustion weighing on his eyes. The man looked downright miserable, and with you looking like a wet rat from the rain and the blood seeping from your wound, he couldn't imagine a less welcome sight.

You both just stood there staring at one another, the rain pounding against the umbrella over your head. The wind was picking up, and you knew it was going to storm harder. You really couldn’t stand the look he was giving you.

"Hey, Rudy," You managed out, swallowing hard as the pain began to seep into your voice. You endured quite a lot to get here, and you weren’t about to let your pride show now.

The man before you let out a tired sigh, leaning against the doorframe as he closed his eyes.

"You do realize what time it is, don't you?" He questioned the usual cheerfulness of his voice, which was replaced with annoyance. It hurt a bit to hear, but you didn't blame him. It’s quite rude to show up unannounced, and it was even worse considering you showed up after 2 am.

Your eyes averted downwards, feeling ashamed for even showing up here. The last thing you wanted was to bother him, especially at a time like this.

Yet, you couldn’t go anywhere else. Money wasn’t quite flowing well in your area, and it was bad enough to where you had no insurance. You were a simple college student, working odd jobs here and there while balancing school and the like.

The job you had recently obtained was a janitor position for a nearby grocery store, and things seemed pretty good for a bit. It was not enough to pay those outrageous health bills, but it was getting you by.

"I need a favor... I know it's not exactly the best time to be asking, but please, just listen—" You began, the words spilling out of your mouth just as you’ve rehearsed them a million times.

Before you could continue, Rudy opened his eyes and looked down at you with a small frown. He already noticed the way you held your arm and the way you kept glancing at it. He knew what this was about; he knew the moment he opened the door and saw the desperation in your eyes.

Your name fell from his lips, drained and tired as he rubbed his forehead. He was silent for a bit, just as you were, and when he finally looked back up, his frown grew deeper.

"You seriously can’t afford to get simple treatment? How do you even know if I have the right supplies to fix something like this up, huh?"

You didn’t reply, merely biting down on your lip as you looked away. It was true, you weren't sure. Yet, Rudy had always been so kind to you, always willing to offer his help and support when you needed it.

The man sighed, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe he was doing this; he had to wake up in a few hours, and now he had to deal with this.

The only thing keeping him from saying no was the look you gave him.

You weren’t one to beg or ask for help. You usually dealt with things on your own, and when you couldn’t, you were willing to work it off. He admired that about you, how you weren't the type to depend on others.

The fact that you were even here, soaked to the bone and asking for his help, proved to him just how serious the situation was.

You had no other choice, and he knew that.

So, without a word, Rudy stepped aside and gestured for you to enter. The relief was immediate, and before he could blink, you were inside, the sound of the rain slowly fading behind you.

The warmth of his home was a great contrast from the outside, and you couldn’t help but sigh contently as he threw his coat off and led you down the hall.

His duffel was still beside the couch, a sign that he had just returned moments before. Somehow, it made you feel worse, knowing that you interrupted his much-needed rest.

You followed Rudy through the living room, landing in the kitchen where the door to his basement was. You were about to follow him downwards, side-stepping past him, but a hand slammed against the doorframe just before you could.

Startled, you looked up at Rudy, a brow raised at the sudden stop. He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, and it made you grow uncomfortable.

"Stay here. I’ll be up in a minute, okay?" His voice changed slightly, sounding far more awake than before.

"Can’t you just do it down there? I mean, that’s where all your stuff is, right?"

Why go through all the trouble of bringing everything upstairs?

He shook his head, his lips pulling into a tight line. It looked like he was thinking something over, and when he finally spoke, he seemed hesitant.

"Just trust me, okay? Just wait here. I promise I won't be long."

You frowned, wanting to question him, but Rudy was already moving down the stairs. The door shut behind him, and the next thing you knew, you were left alone in the kitchen.

Confused, you couldn't help but stare at the door.

Why didn’t he want you down there? That was pretty odd behavior for someone who loved to brag about his work. You couldn’t recall a time when Rudy wasn’t so open about what he did.

So why the sudden change?

You didn’t want to question it, and instead, you hummed and sat down in the chair. You could hear his footsteps echo downstairs, and you waited patiently for him to return.

The sound of the basement door opening was almost instant, and when Rudy entered, you noticed the big medical box in his arms. You couldn’t help but watch the man walk around his kitchen, his movements slow and calculated as he made his way over to you.

Rudy placed the box onto the table, popped it open, and began to pull out the gloves, rubbing alcohol, and gauze. The man grabbed a chair and pulled it across from you, and as he did, he glanced up at you and smiled.

Your mind, however, was still elsewhere.

"Hiding a body down there, or something? You were taking forever, know..." You mumbled, your gaze shifting from the box to Rudy.

He chortled at the comment, glancing up momentarily to give you a small smile before resuming his task of pulling out the medical supplies.

He didn’t say anything other than the comments about your wound. How’d you get it? If it hurt, how long ago did it happen…

You know, the typical doctor questions.

Rudy took your arm in his, his hold gentle as he carefully removed the cloth that was once your makeshift bandage. You winced, hissing as the material peeled away some of the dried blood, and it caused Rudy to glance up at you apologetically.

As the cloth finally came off, Rudy didn’t make any type of comment. He didn't react to the deep cut on your arm other than the occasional flicker of his eyes. To you, it was absolutely jarring. It looked so much worse than you expected, and you couldn’t help but glance away as the man poured the alcohol onto the gauze.

He must’ve been used to this kind of thing, considering he didn’t so much as bat an eye.

The alcohol felt cold against your skin, and you bit your tongue to prevent the pain from escaping. Rudy didn't say a word as he cleaned up the wound, and you took the time to glance at the man.

Rudy was focused, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on your wound. He was careful but quick, and his actions were precise and methodical. The way he moved was almost fascinating, and before you knew it, he was done with that part.

Rudy tossed the now bloodied gauze into the trash can that was temporarily beside the table and then reached for the next item.

The numbing shot.

The man paused, his gaze lifting from the supplies and up to your face. Rudy, the sweet and caring guy, had a very different face whenever he worked. He had his usual soft and comforting smile, but the way he constantly looked at your arm was so… cold.

He almost looked bored.

You blinked, and suddenly, he was staring at you, his brows raised.

You stared, unable to find the words, but the moment he spoke, the spell was broken.

Rudy gave you a sheepish smile, gesturing the shot in his hands. He warned you about the small prickle, gesturing to the shot in his hands, the prickle that’s never just a prick of the skin. It’s always quite painful.

The needle was tiny, but the feeling of the sensation entering your body was enough to make you grit your teeth. You felt your face grow warm, the embarrassment washing over you as the pain became a dull ache.

It didn't last long, and soon Rudy was shaking it around, supposedly making the numbing effect act faster.

Then, the waiting game. He told you around five to ten minutes, depending on your tolerance, and that's how you both ended up sitting across from one another in silence.

Rudy was tapping his fingers against the table, the only sound filling the air. You couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged, and the occasional yawn that escaped him.

"I’m sorry," You said, finally breaking the silence. His facial expression didn’t help you feel better, the frown on his lips growing deeper as he shook his head.

"Don’t be sorry." He mumbled, his eyes closing briefly as he inhaled sharply. "Truth be told, I actually despise apologies. And it's not like you did this to yourself on purpose, anyways…"

That was true, you supposed. Still, the guilt wouldn't leave you alone.

When the man didn’t receive a reply, Rudy looked at you with a tired smile. His hands moved over the medical box, and with a slight push, it was out of the way and no longer between you.

Rudy then leaned forward, placing his elbows against the table, and folded his hands beneath his chin.

"You know, I miss this."

You blinked, tilting your head at him as a soft smile formed on your lips. "Me being clumsy and annoying?"

He chuckled, a sound that brought warmth to your heart, and the exhaustion was temporarily forgotten.

Rudy shook his head, and as he did, his smile faded and was replaced with something a little more sad. "Skin. The human body. Blood. The life force. I just miss it, I guess... I love what I do, don't get me wrong, but it can be a little boring at times.. It gets repetitive. The smiles are nice, the gratitude of those I treat, but sometimes I can't help but think about other things. More exciting things, y'know?"

"Suturing my arm is exciting to you? That's pretty weird, Rudy, and that's coming from me…"

You were only half-joking, and Rudy was aware. The man was silent for a moment, his gaze averted as his smile slowly returned.

A soft chuckle left him, and he leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms against his chest.

His eyes closed, and the smile on his face grew.

It wasn’t a sad smile, nor was it happy. It was a smile that said many things but nothing at all.

When his eyes finally opened, they were different. The smile was gone, and so was the warmth in his expression.

The smile he wore now was a familiar one, and the glint in his eyes was one you knew too well.

The box was moved back in front of him, and with a swift movement, the scissors and tweezers were in his hands.

Then, the conversation was over, and so was the waiting period. He did check to see if it was numb, but the moment you confirmed that it was, he went right back to work.

It was silent for the most part; you felt no pain, and Rudy was careful as he did his job. It was going by rather quickly, and with the silence that fell between the two of you, you couldn’t help but look down at your arm.

He was already halfway done. The numbing was working like a charm, and with how quickly Rudy was going, it was almost like a superpower. For a man not in his element, he seemed like he was pretty damn well in his element.

Maybe he did have a body hidden downstairs. Give him some practice.

Rudy stopped for a moment, the sudden pause causing you to lift your gaze and look at him. He was holding a new needle in his hand, a black string-like material in the other.

He was staring at your arm, the concentration on his face strong as he held the items up. It was a rather odd sight, and you couldn't help but lean closer to get a better look.

Rudy blinked, his focus snapping up at you, and he gave you a lopsided grin.

You watched him for a moment, the man simply staring back at you with the same grin, and after a moment of silence, he put the tools down.

"And, presto." He said, his grin widening, and before you knew it, he was packing up the box.

Damn, that was fast.

He wrapped the wound in an actual bandage, moving at the speed of light, and before you could even comprehend what was happening, Rudy was already finished.

The man got up, stretching out his back as he did, and he glanced down at you with a soft smile.

"I don’t keep any antibiotics around here, but a simple store trip can fix that. You don’t need anything fancy, just a simple infection control, and you should be good to go. It doesn't seem to be too bad, and if it gets any worse, then we can look into that later... at the ER."

"Right." You mumbled, not having the energy to protest. The sarcasm, the jokes, the humor... everything was gone. You were drained, and now that the whole ordeal was over, you felt yourself slouching against the chair.

You looked up at Rudy, and before you could speak, he was already talking.

"Don’t worry about it. I’ll drop you home tomorrow morning before I go in. I’m seconds away from passing out, and you look like you're about to fall over."

You nodded, a silent thank you falling from your lips. Rudy gave you a nod in response and then gestured towards the hallway.

It wasn’t too long after that you found yourself walking down the hallway with a spare pillow and blanket. The guest bedroom was empty, and when you entered, the lights were off.

You didn’t question it, and instead, you set the pillow and blanket on the bed and made yourself comfortable. He said he used this room a lot, but somehow, it looked so untouched. It wasn’t dusty, but the way the room was set up proved that it wasn't often used.

Still, you were far too exhausted to give it a second thought.

Rudy walked past the doorway, a pair of keys in his hands as he waved them around. You heard him mention something about locking up and going to sleep, and after he left, the hall was silent.

And then, after a few minutes, the house was silent.

As you lay there, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. Your arm was still numb, and you felt nothing as you gently placed your hand against the bandage.

There was no pain, no nothing. It was just ugly, and yet you were grateful.

You didn’t even know Rudy for that long. A mutual friend introduced you to one another, and ever since then, it has been a whirlwind of events.

Especially due to your overbearing clumsiness.

But tonight? What a true blessing.

You couldn’t thank him enough. Maybe you could make him breakfast in the morning. That sounded like a decent enough gift.

Unless you happened to break his kitchen or yourself, you’d have to see how things played out.

And with that, you rolled over, your eyes slowly drifting shut.

You were out within a minute. And fortunately for Rudy, so were his neighbors.

It was a rather quiet night, after all, and with his soundproof walls, no one could hear a thing.

Even with the preparation for the next present for his precious Ken, the perfect gift of appreciation, no one could hear the sounds of his true work.

Well, no one except you.

[@ghostheartbeat, @numetalnerd2007] Here’s your tag, besties! Go wild! ☺️☺️

I hope you guys liked the "realistic" approach I took here lmao. I felt really devious about this plot 😈

[redscrawl]

Brian Moser they could never make me hate you <3

Creds under the cut

Tv show: Dexter

Red song lyrics are from American Psycho the musical. (yes thats a thing)

Quote with the black background and the light blue are both from the Dexter fandom wiki

Blood quote is Kait Rolkowski

Characters are Dexter Morgan and Brian Moser from the show Dexter <3