#dexter really just went “k” as reader casually ran over someone lmfao

[nestingdoves]

♡ dexter morgan x sibling reader

♡ incest. implied biological but adopted works.

♡ gender unspecified reader. jealousy, possessiveness (reader towards dexter). anger issues (reader). reader has repressed murder tendencies. manslaughter/murder cover-up (dexter and reader). depictions of gore. sibling kissing. reader is a lil freaky about dexter being bloodied.

♡ don't like? block/scroll and move on, easy peasy

imagine you and your brother dexter getting adopted by the morgan family. you, who always clutched tightly to dexter. you're practically inseparable, though that's mostly on account of your clinginess.

but you're otherwise the perfect child - withdrawn, dutiful, getting along better with your foster mother than your other two new family members. always cleaning up, tidying up beds, getting lunches ready - always stuffing another granola bar in dexter's lunch because that specific flavour is the one he likes.

things with debra are horrible. you're always antagonizing each other, subtly underdoing each other's work, tattling to your mom and dad about every other thing.

only dexter can get you to behave, his brow setting and lips pressed together. "that's not how we're supposed to act."

the conflict with debra is really the only issue you have with your adopted family- that and how venemously protective you are of dexter. going somewhere? you need to sit beside him. he stole debra's food? you'll either own up to it and proclaim that he'd do no such thing. (you watched him eat it.)

but you don't display the same tendencies as your brother; so when harry takes you out, sitting you in a boat and asking if you ever felt urges... you say no. because you haven't. not in the same way that dexter does. but all the same, he knows something is off.

and when dexter comes home with bloodied shoes, you clean it off, scrubbing your fingertips raw. when someone is bothering you, picking on someone, you tell dexter first. ride home, call dexter. want to go to the theatre, call dexter. nightmare, crawling into dexter's bed.

harry is, understandably concerned at how close you are with dexter but doesn't act on it. yet.

but there's a yawning reach inside you, something that demands to snap, a temper short and fists fast. but dexter always takes you back, reminding you how to act. to behave. though he never reprimands you whenever you deck someone for calling your brother "weird".

when he goes to the dance, you sit at home, knuckles tight, breath hot as you think of some girl putting hands on your dexter. but when he comes home, tells you how boring it is, you exhale, breath shuddering in your chest. because he's still yours.

still yours even when he comes home with lipstick stains on his neck, yours when he comes into your room the second you make a distressed noise. he's yours when he catches you staring at your hand once when you cut your palm, watching the blood rain down your wrist (and it haunts like a memory). yours when his calloused hands, strange cuts on his own palms as he wraps your hand up.

he's yours, yours, yours.

and you'll hurt anyone who gets in your way.

but even then he's yours when he's teaching you to drive and he's talking about some girl harry wants him to see. about debra who grabbed his sweater without asking.

you see red, red, red, and hear a woman screaming as your foot hits the metal. only interrupted by dexter's calm "there's a person in the road" moments before you crunch right into them.

neither of you move, sitting their casually in the car, as if you didn't just run someone over. the windows are down, the evening air washing over your skin. you can hear moaning and crying outside your window. can see dexter's eyes watch you through the rearview mirror. he doesn't say anything.

but neither do you.

he doesn't say anything when you reserve the car and rev right back over them, feeling the car jolt beneath you both. you continue to smear guts and entrails over the pavement until the sounds stop.

"stay here." he says, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, jaw setting as he unclips his belt. you watch him through the rearview window as he opens the trunk, pulling out bags and some cleaning junk that he left inside.

when you climb out, he passes you a pair of gloves. something inside you squirms, hot and sticky, as you look at the gore pressed into the tires. seeing dexter work, muscles flexing under his shirt, mouth drawn into a thin line, pulling intestines from the undercarriage.

an itch started inside you, gnawing at your gut and bones, a presence that demands the harvest. as always, you listen to every word dexter says, every command as he helps you clean up the mess.

washing the asphalt is harder but gallons of water pours the mess down the gutters. cleaning out the front grill is harder but - dexter does it all. telling you quietly as he always does how to take care of things like this.

that yawning hunger doesn't relent. doesn't relent when you two hose down the car and wash off your hands.

"you need to calm down," he says quietly, finally as he sits in the driver's seat. your pulse is beating fast in your chest. he's noticed. he always notices.

reaching over, you brush your fingers over his cheek, smearing the blood over his cheekbone. his eyes dart to you then back towards the road.

when he continues speaking, beginning to talk about rules and guidelines, a code that you don't care to understand for, you unclip your seatbelt and reach over, pulling him towards you and kissing him like a part of you is trying to eat him.

"we're not supposed to do this." dexter says, brow furrowed. he always says things like that to you; like he's memorizing a guidebook. maybe you don't give a fuck.

"we're not supposed to run over a guy, not call the cops and cover it up either," you say. "I think we're past the point of what's allowed."

"oh," he says, as if he hadn't thought of that. and this time, he doesn't stop you when you kiss him again, when you lick the blood spatters off his face, when you all but shove your tongue down his throat and crawl into his lap.

dexter doesn't tell harry about you. but he doesn't go out with girls (or boys) anymore, even though harry sighs and tries to coax him. tries to coax you too.

and if you're a little less angry, a little less ferocious, and that's something.

(later, when the family goes hunting minus doris, harry catches you just watching a fox struggle in a bear trap, doing nothing to put it out of its misery or looking away. and as his heart sinks, he realizes that maybe he should have paid attention to you too.

but when he brings you up to dexter, your poor, sweet brother just shakes his head and says, "no, they're not like me". because as much as you protect him, he protects you, too.)

when harry finally passes, dexter is the one who takes your hand and leads you away. debra laments about how siblings shouldn't share apartments but it doesn't matter. none of it matters when you know, feel it in your bones, that dexter won't leave you.