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fanaticsnail · 3 months

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Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,020+, 600+, 600+, 980+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Zoro, Usopp, Sanji

Warnings: wet dreams, gn!reader, swearing, oral (character receiving) masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, , NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. This little series has been so much fun to write. Gif Source Here. Massive shoutout to @feral-artistry, @i-am-vita and @indydonuts for helping brainstorm with me about these ones.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

“Hah-... fuck-... j-just like that,” he huffed and panted, looking down at you as you knelt beneath him. Your hands were splayed over his thighs, anchoring yourself from your position beneath him and bobbing your head against his pelvis.

Breathing through your nose, you hollow your cheeks and listen to him guide you on to best please him. You looked so beautiful like this, on your knees and worshiping his cock with your lips, tongue and throat. Taking as much of him in your mouth as you could had his thighs shaking, toes curling and breath huffing in curt pants.

“L-Look up at me?” you followed through with his question, arching your brow in curiosity as you continued bobbing against his cock. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted and eyes beginning to swell with a dopey glaze over them. Rolling your eyes, you closed your eyelids and continued your motions pistoning his cock between your lips.

Reaching down, he carded his fingers harshly though your hair and grasped it into a firm fistful at the nape of your neck. You whimpered against his cock, sending vibrations up from his knob up his spine and had tingles rise on the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t a question,” he chastised you with a husky groan, “Eyes on me.” He guided your head down to take in more of his cock, using his grip on your hair to rock your head against his thighs. You whined, looking up at him with your eyes looking innocent while his cock defiled your mouth.

Instinctively, he let out a noise somewhere between a mewl and a growl and began matching the pace of your mouth by bucking his hips up to meet you. Joining his other hand at the back of your head, he continued manipulating your head to bring him closer to the edge. His thrusts began to stagger, his eyes growing wide as he felt the rapid approach of release coming to him.

“F-fuck, stop!” he chanted your name like a prayer, desperately trying to pull your mouth away from him before he shot his heavy load down your throat, “Stop! Stop!! I’m gonna cum! I-I’m gonna cum in your mouth!” He could feel you smile against his cock, continuing to suck and bob against it to take him further down your throat.

Immediately curling your hands behind his thighs, you aid him to buck and grind his cock into your mouth. Although he tried to pull away from your face, the twitch of his cock over your tongue had him surge forward and double down rutting into your lips.

“No, no, no, nnnghh-!” he attempted to relay, his jaw falling slack as he emptied himself into your mouth and down your throat, “C-Cumming. I’m cumming… f-fuck, oh fuck!” He rode your face through his climax in languid and staggered thrusts, shooting rope after rope of pearlescent cum over your tongue and uvula. You gag a little on his knob as it brushes with the back of your throat, but continue bobbing against his thrusts.

Finally feeling the last of his salty, umami load spill into your mouth, he looked down into your eyes as you pulled away from him. Gazing up into his face, you open your mouth and reveal your tongue to him. Your mouth was completely empty, no trace of himself on your tongue, in your cheeks, or over your lips.

“O-Oh, fuck,” His eyes rolled back in his head as he released his exclamation in a breathy moan. Just as he reached down to caress your cheek and lovingly draw you up on your feet, your face dissipated into a scentless spell of wispy vapors, your eyes were the last thing to leave his sight.

“Wha-? Where are y-you-?” he blinked a few times, searching for your face by his abdomen. Where he expected to see your fluttering eyelashes, he was only met with his twitching and rapidly deflating cock, his cum sticking to the loosely lying blanket hanging limply over his hips in his hammock. He growled in frustration and shame, furrowing his brows and clapping his hand over his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Flinging the covers off his waist, he shook his head and looked around the shared sleeping quarters of the Going Merry: only to immediately meet his gaze with your body lying peacefully with Chopper cradled firmly nestled on your chest. Breathing out a deep, forlorn sigh as he stepped out from his hammock and towards the bathroom: his shame painting his waist in a sinful display of pearlescent cum.

“Fuck,” he huffed under his breath.

Venturing firstly into the bathroom to clean himself up, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep with that image of you sucking his cock, and painting your throat with ribbons of his lust. He splashed some water into his face before venturing above deck towards the kitchen in a bid to quench his thirst.

The soft hum of your voice choking on his cock rang with the silent swell of the waves in his memory. Shaking his head, he could still feel the way your lips and tongue caressed his knob and raked down his shaft.

A flutter flooded through his chest, a shudder rolling from the base of his coccyx up to his skull as he was once again flooded with pleasure. His cock swelled beneath his pants, his knob twitching against the material and straining against the waistline.

He first started by pinching at his chest, enjoying the warmth left behind by his slow, teasing motion. Picturing your hands rubbing against him behind his eyelids, he permitted himself to whisper your name as he imagined your hands and lips on his skin. Diving into more of the fantasy, he traveled his hands lower down his chest and scratched his skin with blunt fingernails.

Just as his hand began to snake down his stomach and dive beneath the waistline of his sweatpants, he heard a soft call of his name from behind him.

“You okay?”

Roronoa Zoro

Without missing a beat, Zoro calls over his shoulder at you in a gruff bark.

“M’fine,” he halted his wandering hands, pressing the heels of his palms against the kitchen sink and hooking his fingers beneath the countertop while hanging his head. He heard you walking towards the fridge in the corner of the room, his dropped three-point earrings bobbing as he slowly raised his eyes to gaze out of the window.

The ringing of several glass bottles and movement of dishes within the door of the fridge had Zoro focussing on those single motions as opposed to what he was doing moments prior.

A gentle touch on his forearm called him out of his daze and prompted him to glance to you from the corner of his eye. Looking down at your hand, he noticed the brown, glass bottle offered out to him. He wordlessly grasped it without turning to face you.

Both of you removed your perspective screw caps from your beer bottles, him staring out the kitchen window and you resting your hips on the bench beside him gazing at the kitchen door.

“Were you just-,” you began, halting as he spoke over you.

“-Yes.” The finality of his tone fell from his lips like a warning bark to not go on further. As you took a swift swig from your bottle, you decided to ask for further clarification.

“And you were thinking about-,” you bit back your smile as he again interrupted your train of thought.

“-uh huh.”

Both of you lingered in the silence, the tension feeling thick in the air as you and he remained beside one another. You rose your bottle to your lips and gulped down the liquid with gusto. Zoro’s eyes watched you from the corner, his mind drawing comparisons to how easily you took his cock between your lips in his dream.

Releasing the bottle from your lips, your tongue flickered out to collect the frothed remnants left behind from the amber liquid before placing the bottle on the bench behind you. His eyes darkened, the lingering lust simmering in his chest and flooding his cock full of his pulsating want.

“You know,” you smirked, gently bumping his shoulder with yours with practiced familiarity, “I-... uh-... I didn't know you thought of me like that, Zoro.”

“M’sorry,” he muffled his apologies from between his teeth, arching his back in a low stoop while drinking the rest of his beer. You gently nudged him again with your shoulder, this time remaining behind and leaning into him.

“I didn't say I minded,” you murmured with a bashful smile over your features, “But… Wouldn't you rather the real thing?”

Immediately, Zoro's hands clapped over your shoulders with his eyes mere inches from yours.

“Don't start something you can't finish,” he warned you, already feeling on edge from his earlier touch and from the remnants of his dream propelling him onwards with a fiery intensity. Your eyes slowly dart down to his lips and back up to meet his eyes with a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Who says I can't finish?” you tease back at him, gently reaching up to clasp his wrists on your shoulders. “Look, we're all a little pent up here. Let me help you out. We're friends, right?”

Zoro's shock was evident in his features, his lips parting as he gazed longingly into your eyes. As you offered him only a smile in further confirmation, he sighed out with a small smile in a mirrored reflection of your own.

“Right,” his confirmation was met with a soft bob of his head and his grin rising to a more flirtatious expression, “We're friends.”

Usopp

He snapped his gaze over towards you as his hands froze their adventure against his own skin.

“N-No, I just-... I just-... I’m okay, I just wanted-... um-...” Usopp stuttered over his words, sheepishly pleading with himself for his cock to lessen. Your head lulled to the side as you examined him curiously.

His fluster rose up to pool in his cheeks and widen his eyes. Beads of sweat began to cascade down his temple to drop down his chin the longer he felt your gaze cast over him.

“What are you-...?” your eyes gently dipped to the pole pitching the front of his pants, prompting you to immediately snap up your eyes to meet his gaze with shock.

“I-I-...” he began, his fingers snapping out of their dip beneath his waist and flinging to the side of his face in a gesture of surrender.

“Did… Did you say my name?” you asked, lips parting and darting your eyes between his. His fluster only rose as his breathing came out in a series of huffed pants. He sheepishly moved his right hand to grip the scruff of his neck as his lips pulled back to reveal a soft, grimace-like smile.

“You know, i-it’s funny to me how-... How, you know?” he uttered sheepishly, avoiding your gaze while mentally screaming at his cock to reduce its swell, “You know? How you can-...” His eyes gently sought out your gaze from the corner of his eye.

As soon as his chocolate-colored eyes met with yours, his heart palpitations began to increase as he fought with the former images his brain vividly prepared of you earlier.

“I mean, c-can-...?” he continued to stumble over his explanation as he struggled against your gaze. You knew exactly what he was doing, the pitch in his pants would have informed you as such. His mind was racing, his heart was fluttering, and his face was struggling to keep up with the guilt of it all.

“I-I thought I f-found a mole?” Usopp managed to choke out. You continued searching his gaze, struggling with his explanation while choosing to ignore the tent in his pants. “Y-Yeah. A mole. You know how dangerous unchecked moles can be! I need to go and seek out medical attention for the mole.”

“A… mole?” you nod, truly not believing the prose he'd concocted, but refusing to acknowledge the more likely happenstances. “Perhaps-… It might be an idea to see Chopper? About, you know. The mole?” Usopp bobbed his head in enthusiastic acknowledgement, softly expressing his gratitude in his pleading eyes.

“You know? I think you're right. I'm gonna go see him, uh… right now!” At that, Usopp immediately sprinted out the threshold of the kitchen door, fleeing onto the deck of the Going Merry in an absolute embarrassed fluster. His feet had never carried him faster, and his motivation to escape from your presence and simply find a corner to cry in was too strong to have him remain behind.

You are left alone in the kitchen, feeling a pang of guilt at the fact you were so dehydrated after cradling Chopper on your chest in the night. He was a little heated blanket, but his fur would cause you to sweat some nights and the strands became prickly after a while.

Not expecting any of the others to be awake at the time, you were shocked to see Usopp up at this time. Shocking you more was the soft call of your name as his hands traveled over his pleasure points on his body. You didn't think he viewed you in that light, and you truly could admit you hadn't thought of him erotically.

Until now.

Sanji

Frozen in place, his mind failed to hold him accountable by stumbling over unspoken words in his mind. What was he to say? “I had a dream about you and I was so overwhelmed by the way I felt for you that I physically couldn't contain myself any further? I behaved like an idiot and decided to find solace in the one place I thought to be vacant as refuge for my impure thoughts,”? He couldn't admit that. Not out loud, at least.

“You…” your voice stuttered as you froze in place, “...you had a dream and decided to masturbate in the kitchen because you felt safe here?”

Sanji’s blood flooded his face, the hue on his cheeks as bright as a vibrant tomato. He felt steam almost rising from him as his hand still cupped his nipple and fingertips lay dormant at toying with his hemline.

He felt your approach behind him, your hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking against offering him a gentle touch and recoiling from your advances. Slowly turning back around, you walk towards the cupboard and grab a drinking glass and turn towards the refrigerator.

Silently opening the door, you bend to locate the glass decanter of tangerine juice Sanji had prepared a few nights prior and pour yourself a glass. Sanji continues to remain frozen and unmoving, his whole body feeling several rushes of shame reaching over him. He had accidentally confessed his feelings aloud, while you caught him in the act of touching himself, and then acted as if it was nothing to you while getting what you first ventured to the kitchen for.

“Sanji,” your soft hum pulled him from his thoughts and prompted his hands to snap away from his needy skin. “Please know, I don't blame you. It gets rather… frustrating, being at sea for so long. Especially sharing close crew quarters and bathing spaces. I understand.”

The blonde chef turned his blushing face towards you, his expression sheepish and ashamed. His lips parted in shock as his gray orbs darted over your form. You took a sip from the tangy juice, finishing the liquid and placing it on the table your hips were leaning on.

“I’ll-... I'll wash that,” he stuttered over his tumbling words, gesturing to your glass, “Please, just leave it there and try to get some rest. It's not even close to dawn, and you need your sleep.” You slowly begin to smile, a soft smirk tugging up your lips.

“And leave you here alone with your thoughts running wild?” you huff a small laugh at him, “Why don't I clean this, and you can tell me all about your dream, hm? I could help you start meal prep for the crew, while we chat, for when the rest of them wake up.” Sanji’s blush intensified, almost bleeding down into his chest and shooting tingles down his fingertips.

“Y-You-... It didn't-... It wasn't-...” he stuttered, prompting your laugh to rise further as you approached him. Rising to your toes, you give him a soft and gentle kiss on the cheek before nudging him with your hip out of the way of the sink.

“One of those ones was it?” you teetered off your laugh, gently filling the sink with warm water and gathering dish soap to rinse your water glass. “I don't mind a bit of lewd conversation from time to time. Go on, pretty boy, talk to me. I want to know.”

Sanji’s nose began to release a few drops of ruby blood. Reaching up his hand, he rubbed at it with his knuckles while a soft smile drew over his lips.

“Alright, then,” he smiled, reaching for the tissues at the side of his work station and cleaning up his nose, “Don't think any less of me when I tell you. I don't want you to see me as some sick pervert. I-... I respect you so much, and I don't want you to-.”

“-Sanji,” you cut him off, turning to the side and shaking your head affectionately at him, “You are a sick pervert, but it doesn't mean I love you any less. Go on, let me have it. What's this sick fantasy that's held you hostage in your dreams?”

Sanji chuckles, slowly nudging his hips playfully with yours to return your earlier sentiment. Sighing out his frustration, he begins relaying not one, not two, but fourteen fantasies he's had about you specifically in graphic detail. Each scenario is more extreme than the last, causing both of you to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“And the last one? It was just a bit of throat fucking? That's it?” you huff your laughter, slowly aiding him in peeling and grating the potatoes to form oval-shaped domes for fried rosties, “No sex, just oral? How boring.”

Sanji chuckled again, going over to the sink and washing his hands after setting the eggs in ceramic bowls to rise in the oven, a water bath placed beneath each savory pudding.

“It was rather anticlimactic,” he admitted, drying his hands on a plush tea towel. “I mean, I still-... It still-... I-...” You ventured over to the sink and began to lather your hands in silken suds and rinse them beneath the warm water.

“You still finished,” you completed his sentence for him. He nodded, his earlier blush returning to his cheeks. Sighing out a little, you chastised him with a playfulness in your eyes and a small smirk drawing up your lips.

“You need to get laid, chef,” you noted to him, “Give your mind something else to focus on.” Sanji rolled his cigarette, placing the filter in his lips and fishing out his lighter.

“Why, you offering?” he asked while flicking the wick to ignite the flame. He took a lengthy inhale before choking out his exhale as you shrugged out your answer.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

#one piece #x reader #dreaming of you series #usopp #zoro #sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #op usopp #usopp x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #straw hats

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happy74827 · 5 months

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

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

WC: 2889

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

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

『••✎••』

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

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

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

But maybe he was.

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

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

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

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

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

It was terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deserved better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was exhilarating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something he couldn’t understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

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

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

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

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

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

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