methylholicbm

[methylholicbm]

quick little check in!

a/n: hey guys, long time no post; this week has chewed me up and literally spit me out. family shit hit the fan, i got into a car accident, people i care about made me feel small, and overall i lost any motivation i had to write. it’s been a lot. too much, honestly. no worries though because ill be good in the next few days! i’m slowly crawling back to baseline though, and i’ll get to the story updates + requests as soon as i can. thanks for being patient with me. im also planning on revamping the page layout while i take some time so feel free to flood my inbox with requests and any other things you’d like to see such as hcs, scenarios, fluff, or aus in general. im currently just focusing on paying for school, working, and resting while i get the chance to and I can’t wait to update in the near future! 🩶

anyways, stay frosty barbies 💌

[methylholicbm]

for my non web readers: this is the experience you get when you're on web so when i format my posts this is the blog thematics i have in mind.

edit: complete with the FIXATION soundtrack lmk if you guys would like to see me post that as well <3

[methylholicbm]

cough is this thing on..

okay anyways hi I'm so nervous

could you do one where Brian and Dexter both like reader?? Don't get me wrong Brian loves his brother (/platonic) but he doesn't like to share you, so after you get drinks with Dexter when you come home he's immediately jumping your bones

jealous!brian x reader

cw: rough sex / dom-sub dynamics, mild bondage (handcuffs), jealousy and possessiveness, emotional manipulation / toxic relationship dynamics

you’re giggling over a margarita and dexter sits across from you with a canned hard seltzer. recently you’ve spent a lot of time with him due to work and the stress has been getting to you, you wondered if he felt so same so you invited him for drinks. surprise surprise, he’s not really a drinker; therefore the evening has been partially you getting tipsy and him making very bad small talk. he looks at you with a weird intensity though, it’s like he’s trying to figure you out but also how he could make you his.

“hellloooo, dex are you there?” you say waving a hand a few inches in front of him

he seems to snap back into existence and nods. “yeah… what did you say?”

“i gotta go, i didn’t realize it was so late. plus i drove so i probably shouldn’t drink much.” a part of him looks a little disappointed but if that’s the case he hides it well. before we can part ways i pull him in for a hug as if it’s something casual. i smell his cologne all over and something about his arms around mine feels safe? you start to wonder what it would be like to be wanted gently, instead of dangerously.

you pull away and look at him in the face. you almost kiss.

later in the car, you shoot brian a text, ‘gonna be there late, got caught up.’

he responds back almost instantaneously, ‘ill leave the door open.’

when you pull up outside of his place it’s roughly 2:34 am, you push up his door and inside he’s shirtless in the kitchen sharpening a knife. you lock the door and drop your bag on the table before coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his torso. “you’re so sexy like this y’know.”

he finishes what he’s doing and places the knife down. he turns and rests his hands on your hips, “i do know.” he says plainly, with a smile on his face. then he leans down, breath warm against your neck as he kisses down past your jaw. you feel him pressing into you through his jeans and his hands caressing your back, it feels like all the other fling nights, but then he stops.

you can hear him inhaling. once, and then twice. he pulls back, hands retracting with him. "your wearing something new?" he asks.

"no?" you raise an eyebrow.

brian tilts his head slightly, and his smile falters, its not super noticible, but you see it nonetheless. “smells different,” he mutters.

you pull him back towards you for a kiss. “I used a new lotion, maybe thats what it-" he moves my hands from around his neck and steps backwards.

“no, not lotion... it's his cologne.” the look in his eyes is unreadable, but its not angry, not even hurt, just... there. "are you fucking dex now too?"

you scoff and try to sound like you're not offended. “he hugged me goodbye. he just wears a lot of it and i didn't think it would stick on me.”

“hm,” he pauses, and then, “guess it did.” at this point you're horny and getting hot and bothered by all this sudden tension.

"look if you dont wanna fuck today i can go home now since you're just not feeling into it." you say, more tired than irritated.

the room is now quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the wall clock. "i didn't say that." he says low. he closes the distance in two steps. "you came here to fuck, right?" he trails his hands down your arms and holds your hands in front of you

your silenced, yet unsure if its because youre really turned on or really dont wanna piss him off more than he clearly is. before you can say yes or even nod you feel something cold on your hands. "since you wanted to try someone new. i wanna try something new." he lifts you up by the thighs, his bulge pressed against you.

you don't protest, you couldnt even if you wanted to because youre handcuffed.

brians breath is steady as he carries you, one arm beneath your thighs, the other bracing your back. he tosses you onto the bed like you belong wherever he puts you.

“brian—”

"quiet." his tone isn’t sharp, but hes definitely not asking for backtalk. his hand slides up your thigh, gripping just hard enough to leave faint imprints, while his eyes stay locked on yours. he pulls your legs apart with one hand while the other trails slowly up your stomach and stops at your throat. “you can keep pretending this is just casual...”

he leans over you, his voice dropping to a murmur just beside your ear. "but you should know im not to fond of sharing.”

you start to open your mouth to reply, probably with some snarky comment, but he instantly shut you up with his lips on yours. its agressive but not enough to hurt, definitely enough to bruise.

you squirm under him, your hips shifting toward him instinctively and he surpresses a groan when he feels it. he sits back, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his dick, he doesn’t even fully undress. he quickly moves your panties aside and rubs himself through the wetness of your folds.

"you're into this huh?" you bite your lip at him.

"im into you, brian." and whatever patience he's been sitting on the edge of gives in as he lines himself at your entrance and pushes the full length of his dick in all at once. he lifts your restrained hands over your head and pins them intro the mattress.

having nothing to anchor on your body arches into him more and more as you chase your climax. he watches you crumble beneath him, the sounds you make turning into soft little sobs of neediness. "can you kiss me?" you whimper out between moans.

and he does. his kisses are less rushed than before but still hungry and punishing. he still has you pinned with one hand and now he plays with your clit with the other. all the motions and overstimulation threatens to push you to the edge, he pushes into you relentlessly, your clothes are damp with sweat and it clings to your skin.

your orgasm comes through you rapidly, and your legs tremble around him as your moan cuts into the air. he fucks you through it and when your body starts to twitch again, sensitive and far too overstimulated, he doesn’t stop. he adjusts the angle and thrusts in deeper. he pulls out when he's close and cums over your aching core.

your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath, your face is flushed with exhaustion and adrenaline. brian is still kneeling between your thighs, staring at you and debating whether to fuck you again or clean you up, then he uncuffs your wrists. you stare him down.

"don't look at me like that." he says.

"like what?" you question, pulling your shirt down and searching for your other fragments of clothing that are partially scattered.

“you know what im talking about." he pauses. "i don't care if you did something with dex or if you didn’t.” he stands up, grabbing a towel from the edge of the bed and tossing it your way. “i care that you brought it here.” then its silent. the silence stretches in the air, tension like a rubber band.

"and i care that i was naive enough to figure you may have actual feelings for me." that hits, and its more than jealousy, its hurt.

youre too sore to speak in any kind of comforting fashion, so instead you sit up slowly and drag the towel between your legs. brian watches you and then he walks to the bathroom, grabs a warm washcloth, and comes back to kneel between you once again. his gentleness feeling very somber for the moment its there.

he runs the cloth between your thighs, cleaning the mess he made. “you always get like this when you feel threatened?” you whisper, a shit attempt at trying to lighten the mood.

"less threatened... more like territorial."

you take a minute to lift his face to eye level. the worse part about messing around with him is you can never tell how he's feeling. “you should go before I say something i can’t take back,” he murmurs finally.

you bite your lip, hands dropping from his face and a look that shows how badly you felt punched in the gut. a part of you wants to ask him if he really wants you to leave. if he would rather you stay and make apologies and love.

but you dont. you bite it back and nod at him, trying to seem unaffected but how cold he is, even when he's touching you so heavenly. "right..."

he stands up from the bed and tosses the washcloth into his laundry basket. he watches as you get up shortly after him and pull on the rest of your clothing. you leave the bedroom, ghosting the hallways and stop when you reach your bag by the door. he says nothing but he opens it for you and lets you step out. thats when he finally looks at you.

"next time, if you really want him? dont come here at the end of the night." you dont respond, you cant. he closes the door on you. not slamming it but its not exactly like it's soft either.

on your way walking to the car your phone buzzes in your pocket.

'hope you made it home safe, tonight was nice. the moon looks pretty too, kinda like you.'

a/n: this one is really angsty so lmk if u guys want a second part bc i have the feeling this one isnt over. <3 ty for requesting ! ill also be building out a new layout for an askbox link directly from posts, a navigation with everything, and a masterlist for all the oneshots as well. also lmk if u want head cannons soon or even more mood boards etc!

[methylholicbm]

I just wanted to add to this that some is this is why I write Brian the way I do in my smut one-shots. I try to build an established relationship with the reader that isn’t entirely just sex first and u can tell that there’s already connection and bonding underneath it. That’s all goodbye 😭🩶

[methylholicbm]

CHAPTER 7 | FIXATION | BRIAN MOSER

Description: You wake alone, missing Rudy despite the growing fear that something about him isn’t right. After being invited on a tense road trip to Dade City with Debra, Rudy, Dexter, and Rita, you find yourself torn between paranoia and desire as Rudy’s subtle flirtations continue. Word Count: 2.3k A/N: Two new fanfics will also be releasing this weekend! Initials: J.P. & H.L.

༺♱༻

The silence in the house makes me miss him. I wonder what it’d be like to not wake up alone. Legs tangled between sheets, hitched breathing mingling in heat, skin against skin. I don’t think my empty bed likes those thoughts, however, because when I push myself up, I see only an untouched side of my bed. I remember buying a queen-size bed for my apartment because I thought I’d find the love of my life in Miami, and I did, but it was just my job.

I shouldn’t be missing him, but I can’t help it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about the warmth of his palm on my wrist or the glint in his eyes when he looked at me like he already knew what my body wanted before I did, but I do, and I know it’s sick. Wanting someone who might be a threat but smells like safety, the feeling he put between my legs, and the soft tension he’d create in the air by simply gazing at my lips too long.

The worst part is, I’ve felt more alive in a few moments with him than I have in months of monotony, and yet, he’s still Deb’s boyfriend. That, really, should be a stop sign, a dead end, a moral absolute, but before I can think on it anymore, work calls me back to life as I groggily look over at the time and realize I have 30 minutes to get to Metro Miami. I rub my eyes and glance over in a nearby mirror when I get up; I’m half expecting to see my same dreary disposition, the same far-off look in my eyes, but I don’t. My skin isn’t dull, my eyes hold a spark similar to a flame, and the line on my neck begins to feel less like a wound of my past and more like a battle scar.

If I was ever going to face my fears of Rudy, of the fire, of speaking up, then I would have to do it head-on. I dig in my closet and grab a button-up; it’s apinstripe button-down blouse, tightly cinched at the waist and flaring gently at the hips. Then I put on black-washed flared jeans that sit low on my hips and have a waistband lined with a snakeskin pattern. I pace around the house looking for matching socks and hold a hairclip in my mouth while looking for my purse and badge. I stop at the door, deciding between pumps and those beat and battered blood-stained boots. The black pumps win.

I throw my stuff in the car and push my keys into the ignition, then I see my face in the rearview mirror, and instead of raccoon eyes and a sour expression, there's my lips in black cherry lip gloss and wide eyes cornered with wispy little lashes. What’s the most important, though, is that there’s a smile.

The traffic lights on the way to Miami seem to breeze by; it’s not begrudgingly tiring, and the people who sit outside of the Metro when I pull up are sweet and wave at me. Perhaps they always did, and I’m only noticing it now. Regardless, I walk to the door of the building with a sway that had been lost to time since I was a teenager, and the wind lifts the hem of my shirt just enough that I could catch stares. I scan my badge and give a lazy wave to the security officer at the front.

Debra, thankfully, is the first person I see. “Damn, girl, hot date after work?” She says, eyeing me up and down, and I roll my eyes at her.

“I could only wish. I haven’t been on a real date in ages.” I respond. We walk side by side to the employee lounge; she goes on about some cases and Laguerta possibly being replaced. I’m listening but not actively; with as much as I think about work, for once I’d like to feel like I’m clearing my head. Debra props open the lounge door with her shoulder and plops down on the sagging vinyl couch, kicking her boots up on the coffee table. “Alright, you wanna hear the news?”

I sit across from her, folding my arms and leaning back with a smirk. “Lay it on me, Morgan.”

She levels her eyes at me, and that already tells me she’s going to ruin my day. “So, Rudy and I are going up to Dade City.” My stomach tightens, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Okay…?”

“Well, it’s really for Dexter… Rita is coming too, obviously, because she’s his girlfriend, and you…” She points at me, chewing her bottom lip. “You should come.”

I blink. “Why?”

Deb shifts, “It’s this whole thing. Dexter just found out his biological dad left him a house out there, and he’s been weird about it, like he always is, and I don’t know, I feel like it might be a good idea if we also go up there and be there to support him, y’know?”

“You want me to come be the...what? The family therapist?” I scoff and swing open the fridge and fish for a water bottle.

“It’s for neutrality,” she says. “You’re the one person who’s not directly emotionally invested in Dex’s life but who also kinda gets him?” She briefly pauses when she sees that I’m still unconvinced. “You’re not obligated,” she adds. “I just thought… you know, it might be good for all of us. Get out of the city and maybe breathe.”

I trace my fingers along the edge of the fridge door handle; the beeping from it being open too long threatens to go off. “When are we leaving?”

Time goes by fast, and then I think, looking back, I should’ve said no, because now the strap of my backpack stings my hand a little while I wait outside my house for Rudy’s car to pull up. I’m in a black halter top; it’s now off the shoulder because of a bad DIY job. Thanks, Debra, for knowing how to sew. Then there are flared lounge pants that sway in the breeze, paired with platform flip-flops that slap softly against the concrete as I switch my weight from one foot to the other. A heavy canvas backpack digs slightly into my hand, lip gloss catching stray hairs as the wind blows.

Rudy’s car comes to a slow stop in front of the curb, its tires screeching against scattered leaves and bits of gravel. I see Deb in the passenger seat, leaning half out the window with her shades pushed up in her hair and a smile already spreading across her face.

“Road trip time!” she calls out, like this is spring break and not an emotional and volatile trip to dig through Dexter’s daddy issues. She’s got a gas station coffee in one hand and is frantically waving the other. I roll my eyes, but I’m already walking toward the car.

The driver’s side window rolls down slowly, and Rudy’s arm drapes casually over the steering wheel. The rim of his sunglasses catches the light. He’s wearing a crisp navy blue shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a smirk spreads across his lips when his eyes land on me. It’s oddly relaxing.

I slide into the backseat, the scent of Rudy’s cologne sinking into the fabric. He pulls off from the curb with one hand, eyes flicking back at me through the rearview mirror. “Everyone buckled?”

“You a seatbelt narc now?” Deb says, slapping his arm lightly.

“I have a cop in the car.” He answers, smiling at her with an intentionally flirtatious expression. The highway hums under the car, and the silence that follows is somewhat peaceful.

A little ways into the drive, Rudy hums along to the low music playing; it sounds like old rock similar to what I listened to in high school, and Deb starts monologuing about some asshole from Narcotics who keeps stealing her parking spot. I watch the side of Rudy’s face. The eyebags under his eyes sit pretty, and he has been tapping rhythmically on the wheel, but still he smiles to himself. I wonder if he slept last night, genuinely.

We stop for gas halfway to Dade City. I stay in the car while Deb runs in for gum and an energy drink, and Rudy stays behind to pump gas. When he gets back in the car, he glances at me through the mirror, then leans his head back casually against the headrest and speaks low, “You’re wearing lip gloss.”

“Looks good,” he adds, eyes shifting back to the front. I’m actually giddy instead of scared for once. Deb hops back into the car with a crinkle of plastic bags and an absolutely annoyed face because, apparently, Florida convenience stores are ‘fucking dumb as shit.

The rest of the drive is lighter. Deb makes fun of the tiny town signs we pass, and Rudy plays along. I look at myself in my phone camera to fix my hair, and then I pause. I put gloss on for no reason in particular, but he noticed. Maybe I did it for him.

When we pull up to the house, it’s night. Rudy and Debra get out of the car, and he offers to hold my bags when he grabs his and Deb’s out of the trunk. “Let me.” He says, and for once it’s not partially hostile; it’s pleasant, so I let him. We ring the doorbell, and when it opens, Dexter looks… surprised? Did he not know we were coming?

“Dexter. Hi.” Rudy says, and it’s… eager. He hasn’t met Dex up until this point, but even his voice sounds like there’s too much enthusiasm in it. It must be a scary experience meeting your cop girlfriend’s brother, who also happens to know exactly how to kill you and make it look like an accident.

“Surprise!” Debra yells out with a big but unsure smile on her face. She hugs him and goes on some spiel about help with ‘old wounds’ and stuff like that. “And this is Rudy.” She says, Dexter sticks out his hand, but Rudy goes for a hug. Dex is stiff.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you.” He says it in the same voice he uses when he speaks in tongues to me, as if there’s a secret lingering underneath his words. “You must be Rita.” He says, moving over to greet her and giving her a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh, and we brought Y/N along! Figured why not since you guys are friends too and stuff.” I attempt to crack a smile at him, and I catch full sight of Rita. She’s so beautiful; I couldn’t imagine how Dexter got with her. Not that he’s bad-looking, but she’s borderline angelic.

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things.” I say, hugging her, and I pull back, and she’s all smiles.

After inspecting the house some, we conclude with the fact that we’re really sleeping in this random dead guy’s place. Rudy and Deb are taking the sofa bed, and Dexter and Rita are taking the main bed. “I don’t mind sleeping at the hotel. I can catch a cab up there.” Rita and Rudy look up at me like I just killed a puppy.

“I think I found an air mattress earlier in the closet; I’ll go find some clean sheets too.” I bite my lip and force an open-mouth smile.

“Great. Sounds good.” I avert my eyes and go to the bathroom to lock myself inside. Why would I ever say yes to this idea? I press my forehead against the bathroom mirror and exhale. The air in here smells like mildew and lemon cleaner. The wallpaper’s peeling, curling in the corners like it's trying to escape.

I don’t cry or panic. I just sit on the edge of the tub, arms resting on my knees, wondering how I ended up in a house with a man who might be a murderer and a girl who doesn’t know she’s sleeping beside him.

A knock interrupts the stillness, and it’s a gentle three taps.

“Y/N?” Rudy’s voice comes through the door slightly muffled. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” he says softly, “because I’ve seen that look you get when you’re pretending to be.”

I hate that he knows me like that.

“I just came to say that Rita left you the sheets in the hallway; they’re clean too, I promise. Plus the air mattress is already blown up.” Then I hear him walk away.

I wait until I’m sure they’re all asleep, scattered into the rooms of this crime scene pretending to be a home. I open the door slowly, and the hallway is dim; the only light is the moon slipping through the frosted window. The folded sheets are there, like he said, with a small post-it note with a heart resting on top. ‘Cute,’ I think to myself.

The living room is half-shadowed, and the sofa bed is pulled out, with Rudy’s bare shoulder peeking from under the blanket and one arm thrown over Deb’s waist like it belongs there. I force my eyes away, and the air mattress hisses as I adjust it. I freeze every time it squeals against the hardwood, wincing like a kid trying not to wake their parents after a late night.

I make the bed quickly, throwing the fitted sheet on with practiced clumsiness, then lie down and stare at the ceiling. The room is quiet enough that I can hear every shift and every breath, including Deb murmuring something in her sleep and Rudy responding with just a low noise. I feel like I’m in the wrong bed in the wrong house in the wrong life.

When I’m around them though, it’s never anything new.

༺♱༻

✦ ⛧ Masterlist ⛧ ✦

[methylholicbm]

just wanted to say thank you for your writing !! you write brian so beautifully and unlike anyone else and just wanted to say that i really enjoy each one of ur one shots + ur series ! thank you for your service <3

awee thank you so much i definitely appreaciate comments like this it makes me wanna write so much more content for you guys !! <33

also i write him in that way because i see that most of the time hes' written as very primal and carnal and honestly i dont see him that way unless its in sex, hes very worshipping and i feel like he would WANT to have someone he could feel soft with like how he wanted to be with dexter. some of his action in the show prove that he isn't really always 'violence first.'

as always, leave req for one shots u want while waiting for chapter 7!! it doesnt even have to b smut!

[methylholicbm]

i saw you were wanting reqs! could you write something with reader wearing one of brian’s shirts (to bed or just to wear around the apt) and he’s CRAZY into it?

ive gone ahead and written in your request here!

[methylholicbm]

i have this idea in my mind of smut with brian where reader is somewhat troubled like rita in the beginning of the series when she's scared and uncomfortable about having sex, but eventually opens up and tries it with brian. the image i have in my mind is that due to all the stress that intercouse brings reader, she decided to go down for brian but shes so terrible at it its almost miserable😭 also! brian and body worshipping oh god. it lives in my mind. it would be nice with the same type of troubled reader:) and fem reader would be preferred! hope i gave u some inspirations:3

brian x 'celibate!'reader

cw: sexual trauma (past), implied murder, awkward oral sex, emotional vulnerability, soft explicit content, aftercare, slight body worship.

its morning time, the sun is spilling through the windows and the sky cuts into the blinds. you turn over to find that brian is no where to be found in bed. he doesn't work in the lab today and usually he'd tell you bye before he leaves. you shield your eyes from the light as you push yourself up out of bed.

your in a soft but thin robe when you step out of the bed. you've been slowly ajdusting back to having a man next to you while you slept and it's been emotionally tasking. you never felt comfortable showing off your body to brian nor having him touch you in any way that wasn't otherwise platonic. comforting hugs, kisses, and the occasional wrapping his arms around you was tolerable at most but things would never go any further past that.

the last time you were sexually active was when a childhood friend of yours brutally broke your trust, and shattered your self image in the process. it took lots of therapy, and police involvement, to even attempt to wash away the sin in your skin. he's apparently been released a few months ago so you've been especially on edge as of recent.

you look through the basket on the floor for something to throw on and happen to come across one of brians shirts. it smells like him, rainfall and clean car seats mingled with faded traces of his cologne. you slip it on, he wouldn't mind you dont think. you step out the room, brian's on the couch.

his eyes meet yours when you walk towards him, the soft padding of your feet hitting the floor as one of the only sounds in the room. you sit next to him, both feet under you and leaning on his shoulder. he’s reading a book about something you’re uninterested in. “you okay?” he asks.

you look up at him, he’s not looking at you but you can tell he can feel your eyes in him. “im fine, I just missed you in bed.” he chuckles seemingly to himself and flips the page of his book.

“really? i was giving you space. figured you’d want it.”

you look at him and raise and eyebrow. “how come?”

“you’ve been moving a lot more restlessly in bed. quietly saying to ‘get off of you,’ whimpering in your sleep…amongst other things.” you bite your lip and practically shrink into his shirt. “before you start thinking it’s you, it’s not.” he starts back again, but you cut him off.

“im sorry baby. mark is getting out of jail again and…” you can practically feel your eyes start to swell with tears but you push it down. “it’s just resurfaced some bad stuff.” the room is silent. brian is still very casually reading his book, unaffected. after a while however, he finally decides to speak.

“oh, that’s what you’re worried about? i was scared it was something I did.” he pauses to, once again, turn a page. “i doubt you have to worry about him now though. actually, im sure you don’t.” first you look at him with genuine confusion, but his face has a small but prominent smirk on it, he hums softly to himself.

“…are you sure?”

“absolutely positive, babydoll.” he answers coolly. you don’t know what comes over you, it’s a mixture of excitement and relief of no longer being afraid. you take the book from his hands and place it on the couch cushion on the other side of him, the you straddle his lap and throw you arms around his neck. he’s more shocked from the sudden contact than you are, but he rests his hands on your waist.

“whatever happened to him, thank you baby.” Brian kisses your forehead and takes the time to look over your appearance, hair unkept, skin dull but face bright, and his shirt clings to your body in all the right places. he bites a lip and can feel himself hardening underneath you. it takes a bit for everything to register for you but once you feel it you pause. “fuck, sorry… you just look so good like this.” he lifts you off of him and moves you off of him to sit back where you were before.

“i can just go take care of this and-“

“can i?” his eyes shoot up to yours and he raises a brow. he’s the hesitant one for the first time. “I’ve done it before… once. Let me take care of your problem how you took care of mines. he doesn’t complain or even attempt to stop you, he lets you move off the couch and crawl between his legs on the floor.

there’s no doubt that you’ve practiced in your head a million times before but having to actually do it is somewhat mentally excruciating. you know brian isn’t mark, you know he’s never taken advantage of you, so why would it start now? your hands already fumble trying to unzip his pants and the size throws you off guard a little bit, you’ve always seen the imprint but not the real thing.

you take him in one hand and place the tip in your mouth. it’s clumsy, your shoulders are stiff, you’re hesitating every tongue movement, and you’re more focused on doing things right instead of pleasuring your boyfriend. you catch a rhythm, unsure if it feels good for him since you’re avoiding eye contact, but at least it’s consistent. at some point you gag a little bit too hard and have to bite back your own embarrassment. then come the apologies.

“sorry, I think I definitely underestimated myself… I just didn’t want you to have to-“

brian, probably relieved that whatever that was is over. places a hand on your face and softly kisses you, his thumb ghosts over your lips when he pulls back. “you looked scared. i don’t ever want you to feel that way with me.”

he pulls you into his lap again, ignoring his boner to focus on you. “we can start slow, let me take care of you?” he speaks softly and slowly, but most important, quietly. you nod to him and you both work together to take the shirt off of you, then you’re left in just underwear and no bra.

he holds you by your waist like you’re the most precious item in the world and lays you onto the couch. he doesn’t go straight to oral, he pauses, glides his hands against your thighs and up to your torso. he’s mapping out your body, taking care in the process instead of rushing the moment. then he places a trail of kisses down your stomach.

in between kisses he mutters sentences like “you’re perfect.” and “every bit of you is art.” corny yes, but god is it turning you on. he goes further towards your inner thighs, places kisses on the outskirts and inside until he nears your center. he looks up at you into your eyes, searching for a sliver of your discomfort and when he finds none he kisses your clit.

he starts slow, taking his time to build up if necessary, and caressing your thighs when they start trembling. he lifts your legs up higher so you can rest them on his shoulders, and he eats you out like it’s his last meal. kisses cross paths with places that were once feasted upon and what once used to be brutal assault has become patient bliss.

when you do cum, your hands are holding brian’s wrists, he doesn’t care that your fingernails are digging into thin skin, he only cares about how you’re feeling. your knuckles turn white and he takes his sweet time after cleaning you up with his mouth.

he sits up and pulls your legs over his lap while you continue to lay down. he massages one with one hand and cradles your face with the other. “I won’t make you do anything you aren’t ready for babydoll.” he pauses, and looks into your eyes. “seeing you when I wake up and being with you is enough.”

you smile at him and you guys stay there on the couch, his caressing your skin and you catching your breath knowing that you no longer feel used but instead feel wanted. his breathing gets steady next to you, he’s sleeping, midday. you hold his hand and close your eyes.

and you don’t say it out loud and you’d never say it to his face, but for the first time in forever, you really do feel safe.

a/n: everyone writes brian having carnal sex and all of mines are soft :3

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REBLOG IF IT IS OKAY TO COME INTO YOUR INBOX AND SAY THE RANDOMEST SHIT I CAN THINK OF BECAUSE I REALLY WANT TO INTERACT WITH YOU.

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READER MOODBOARD

i decided to drop this because i figure that i wanna capture the vibes of how your reader is percieved.

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it’s gotten to the point I quite literally dream about christian camargo as himself.

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your camera roll dating brian moser ⋆₊˚⊹♡

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Smut request for Brian x Reader

Brian teases reader by slapping his cock on her clit just to see her squirm and get more and more desperate until he's generous enough fuck her

Anyways thanks for your service, have fun!

brian x virgin! reader

cw: virginity loss / first-time sex, explicit sexual content, overstimulation, light praise kink & possessive language, reader is inexperienced but consenting, power imbalance,mention of bodily fluids/cleanup, mild biting & marking, soft aftercare, light fluff

you've been with brian for a few months now. he does all the normal boyfriend things, brings you flowers, takes you to work, kisses you before he leaves the bed, makes you meals that are surprsingly very well made. most people think it's the bare minimum, but seeing as he's your first boyfriend, you believe he's going above and beyond.

youre standing by your closet before he comes to your house, moving around hangers and rummaging through the dresser nearby. at last you pull out a silk lingerie nightgown he bought you on your 4 month anniversary. its ivory and is lined with black lace. 'you don't have to wear it, but in case you ever want to.' he said.

you slide the nightgown on, its cold, and smells like factory, which is fitting since it never left the box. you peruse the perfumes lining the dresser and pick up a dark pink and black bottle with a black crystal on top. versace crystal noir, it was brian’s favorite scent or at least you assumed so since when you’d wear it on date nights he was attached to you the whole night. just a few sprays is all it took.

you go out to the kitchen and begin making a light meal, figuring he’d be exhausted after work, or whatever he does when he’s out so late. he even mentioned once that he would bring you to work one day. a car door closing draws your attention once you put the plates on the counter and you rush to the door before it can be opened, waiting like a puppy for its owner.

brian unlocks the door and steps inside, his attention isn’t on you at first, he has the attitude of someone who really didn’t wanna be bothered but when he sees you his eyes light up. he scans over your whole body, taking in the glistening of your legs and arms to the suppleness of your thighs and your ass that was just barely covered. “hi baby.” you say kissing his cheek.

he closes and door and leans in to wrap his arms around your waist, he nestles his head in your neck and you gently run your hands through his hair. “long day?”

“you smell so good.” he mumbles. you giggle at him and a hand that was resting on your lower back finds its way to grabbing your ass and inner thighs. “you wore it.” trying not to writhe under his touch, you pull his head up and look him in the eyes.

“of course i did.” you say pulling away and giving him a 360. “i also cooked, figured you might be hungry after work.” he takes his jacket and shirt off, then follows after you to the kitchen. he eyes the plates on the counter while leaning against the island.

“i think im hungry for something else.” he says and in a matter of minutes you’re being lifted off the floor and onto the island. he does a once-over looking at your body splayed out between his arms, his muscles tense and relax and he leans in to your ear. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

you cover your face but he doesn’t stop looking at you, his breathing is heavy and he looks like a wolf that’s been hungry for days, and realistically, that wasn’t far from the truth. he wasn’t waiting for himself though, he was waiting for your permission. you don’t want your stuttered words to ruin the moment you nod at him, lips briefly parted. he roughly pushes his lips into yours, tongues interlocking and you soft moans only fueling his lust.

he pulls from the kiss and begins to kiss your inner thighs, first gentle but kisses turn to sucking and biting, marking you as his. he stops right before your panties, the wetness seeping through, and his grins up at you and pulls them to your ankles and finally off on the floor. he pulls you forwards and pushes your legs open so you’re fully exposed to him. he was taking his sweet old time and you were resisting the urge to make it obvious how badly you wanted him.

when his tongue hits your center, you swear you’re going to cry, not in pain but in pleasure. he slides his tongue up and down your folds and lightly sucks over your clit. he slides a finger inside you, then two, and slightly curls them inward. you’re so pathetically desperate for more that you find your hands tangling in the soft curls of his hair and grinding yourself against him.

you moan out and cover your mouth to muffle it, scared that if he hears you then he’ll stop. he does. he pulls his fingers out of you and doesn’t waste time licking all of you off of them, holding eye contact and biting his lip in satisfaction. he unbuckles his belt, his bulge is so big in his briefs that it looks like it’s growing.

you get off the island and drop to your knees like he said a silent command. “let me do it—” he stops you mid way, he finishes undressing and the full length of his dick springs out of his briefs when he pulls them down. he gently picks you up and carries you to the bedroom bridal style and lays you down. he opens your legs wide once again but this time his centers himself at your opening.

you bite your lip then stop and he must’ve seen you. “is this too much?” he asks. you shake your head at him. “good.” you watch as he rubs himself between your folds, he grazed over your clit and sees the way your whole body squirms. an idea lingers in his mind and he grazes over your clit again, this time intentionally.

something about it gets him off. the view of you being influenced by barely any friction and the our thought of how he could destroy you right here right now hangs in the air. he slaps his dick against your wet center and your clit, your hands grip his biceps. “please brian.”

his dick slides between your folds again, slowly, teasing your clit just enough to make your legs twitch. your body bucks forward, trying to take him in, but he doesn’t let you. he presses your hips down, holding you still like your desperation is all the more enticing.

"you've been so patient babydoll." he kisses along your jaw.

your legs tighten around his waist, your thighs slick with wetness just begging to take him. "tell me how bad you want it." he says, his lips trailing from your jaw and down your neck, his breathing is hot and he lighty grazes his teeth against your skin. "with your words. i wanna hear your pretty voice begging for me"

he slaps the head of his cock against your clit again, harder this time, and your whole body twitches under him. you whine a little.

"please brian, im ready...i can take it." brain dips his head and catches your lips in a rushed and messy kiss, it's sloppy and he doesn't rest until you're groaning into his mouth. he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

"i should make you wait." he doesn't.

instead he presses his tip inside and you can feel your eyes roll back into your skull and you latch onto him, arms wrapped around his back and pressing him into your neck. he slightly pulls back and groans into you while he pushes himself further in.

you're squeezing around him, whimpering into his ear and murmuring incomprehensible pleas. "you're so fucking tight." he says. when he pulls away from you you're a sobbing mess, panting at only half his dick inside you and leaving light red marks at where your hands previously hung on for dear life.

he gives you the rest of him in one slow, brutal push, and you cry out a mix of 'oh my god' and his name. "fuck," he speaks, voice shaking. "you’re doing such a good job taking me." you’re gasping, legs trembling around his waist, nails pressing little crescent moons into his back.

he pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, your whole body arches and he groans into your shoulder, lips dragging along your skin. he pulls out and thrusts into you harder this time, still slow but relentless, like each push is a question and your body keeps answering yes. finally you reach your climax and your head is thrown back into the pillow. he grabs your jaw, turning your face to look at him while he continues to fuck you. "thank you princess." he kisses you passionately, is hips never stopping; it's overstimulating, and when he pulls back there’s something similar to awe on his face, maybe even love.

his pace quickens and his breathing turns uneven, and you can tell he’s close. he presses his forehead to yours and pulls out to stroke himself over you, and strings of warm cum hit your stomach and between your legs. "fuck..."

your both exhausted, you reach for a shirt of yours on the floor to clean yourself up but he stops you. "let me." he disappears out the bedroom and comes back with a warm rag and wipes you down gently. he’s quiet, swift. then he tucks you into his arms, one hand smoothing over your hair and face, while the other lazily rubs over your thigh.

you lay there absolutely wrecked while his breathing evens out, yours is still catching up. he kisses your temple. "you didn't have to do all this, you know that right?"

"i wanted to." you're quieter than before, not ashamed but slightly embrassed and moreso scared that you've upset him. he doesn't respond, instead just draws imaginary circles on your thigh. “you always do things for me,” you murmur. “flowers. dinners. taking care of me even when i don’t ask. this was the first thing i ever did just to make you feel good. and i know it’s small but... i just wanted to give something back.”

he doesn’t say anything at first and just pulls you into him even closer. he buries his face in your neck and when he does speak, it’s quiet. "i don't deserve you." you smile to yourself and breathe in the scent of sweat and conditioner.

you stay like that, no more words, just breathing and warmth, until sleep takes you both.

a/n: get ready for the next few weeks to just be smut posts bc u guys rllly delivered for the reqs. i was so excited to do this and im rlly hoping ygs love this! ty anon for requesting this <3 mwahsies stay tuned for the next chapter AND another req coming this weekend! 💉

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reqs!

i wanna make a brian and reader smut sb but i have no ideas guys help ill post it asap.

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THINGS THAT COULD HAPPEN (BUT WON'T) VOL. 1

When we finally pull up to my building, the streetlamp cuts us in half—me in the light, him still shadowed. I reach for the door handle, then pause. “Do you want to come in?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Tea, or coffee, or… actually, I think I only have tea.”

His fingers tap the steering wheel once, twice. His eyes stay on the dashboard, he’s thinking, quite intently at that. “Tea sounds good.” He looks over at me. We’re just two normal people, no awkwardness here.

We walk up the stairs side by side, every step feels louder than it should be. My key sticks in the lock, and I fumble for a second longer than I should. His presence at my back is heavy makes me a little nervous but after a few more sloppy attempts, the door creaks open, and I flick on the light. Golden light spills across the room, juxtaposing the red wine walls, and complimenting the white plush pillows, unintentionally cozier than normal. I kick my shoes off at the door, he doesn’t.

I move to the kitchen, trying not to overthink the fact that I’ve actually convinced him to come in my apartment. Not just that, he chose to be.“I’ve got chamomile, lavender, honey dew, and green tea.” I pull a tin from the cupboard and hold it up like a peace offering.

“Chamomile’s fine.” He says gently. I set the water to boil, and the hum of the kettle fills the space like white noise, but I can still feel him behind me, scanning everything in the room attempting to make sense of it all.

“You can sit, y’know,” I tease. He sits on my worn out couch uncomfortably, not because of the furniture but it looks like he’s uncomfortable in the space. “If the couch is threatening you, can you let me know?” I joke, he looks up at me and cracks a slight smile, but it does get him to be less tense.

Steam curls up from the kettle, and I pour the tea into mismatched mugs—one with a chipped rim and a fading skull, the other with some tacky Florida slogan on its side losing it’s saturation. I pass him the better one without a word. We sit across from each other on the couch, mugs in hand, air static. I tuck my legs under me and he sits rigidly, as if unsure of what to do with himself.

I sip. So does he.

“Seems like I’ll be seeing more of you?” I say eventually.

“Seems like it.”

I glance at him. “What were your plans after this?”

He looks up at that, and there’s something like surprise in his eyes, maybe he didn’t expect me to ask, or maybe he wished I didn’t.

“Seeing my girlfriend.” he admits, setting his mug down with care. My heart pangs, I have no clue have no clue why though.

“Oh wow, there’s someone who can get into this icy exterior of yours?”

“Something like that.” There’s no irony in his tone, does he not think theres an obvious mask here? I study him for a second.

“You ever think about talking to more people, making friends even?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are on the steam curling from his tea, like it’ll tell him something he doesn’t know, or it’ll answer my question for him.

“I used to,” he says, he takes a breath and I wait for more.

But there isn’t anything, just the sound of the AC whining on.

“Well, drink your tea before it gets cold.”

His lips twitch again. “Fair enough.”

Then for a few minutes, we sit in comfortable silence. After a while, I ask, “This was nice.” He looks up intently. “I mean, as nice as it could be for two strangers.” I clarify, but my voice is softer now. “Or not. I just figured… sometimes being alone makes everything worse.”

He watches me. Really watches. The way people do when they’re wondering if they can be seen, too.

And slowly, he nods.

“…Yeah, I get what you mean.” The silence strings along for longer than wanted, but we don’t complain, we don’t even end up speaking again. We drink the tea and whatever is left is victim to the air. I walk him to my door and we make our goodbyes, and I swear for a second I see longing in his eyes before he speeds off down the road.

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CHAPTER 6 | FIXATION | BRIAN MOSER

On your day off, you drift through Miami like a ghost, haunted by the weight of memory and a growing sense of danger. A visit from Debra offers a flicker of comfort, but it’s fleeting. The past creeps in through the cracks — your parents’ death, the fire, the boy who saved you. When Rudy arrives uninvited with lilies in hand, you begins to wonder if he’s always been there… and if he ever truly left. Word Count: 6.3k A/N: hey guys so I know this chapter was supposed to be released last week but it wasn't finished and I also had quite and interesting last few weeks. I got throw-up drunk on tuesday after a birthday dinner and I speed wrote down everything I could think of last night and revised it today. I also spent like all my paycheck money on very dumb things. Moral of the story, stay home and write fanfiction. I wanted to do another 4k word chapter but i figured to do an extra 500 or so for every day I missed so enjoy this extra long one! The goal was 10k but I'm sure this A/N is long enough as is. (edit: IM ALSO LOOKING FOR A PROOFREADER SO DM ME IF UR INTERESTED <3) XOXO INEI <3

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I didn’t sleep. Not fully anyway.

I lay there with my arms over my eyes until the light coming through the blinds turned from gold rays to dimly lit streetlights. I swing my legs over my bed and invite the cold into my body from the floor.

I still don’t touch the knife; it’s become a staple on my kitchen floor now. Instead, I step over it and pour myself a glass of water and debate what I should do with my day off. Work distracts me from thinking about things, and for the first time I have nothing at all to do. The sirens are gone. The girl next door is gone, too. Just a taped-up doorframe now, I watched them drive off with her in the backseat, tears spilling out of her eyes.

I sink into the couch in nothing but my underwear and a button-up that smells like the back of my closet. The TV has a telenovela playing quietly while I try to convince myself I didn’t imagine any of last night, or yesterday at all for that matter. I try not to focus on the recognition in Rudy’s hands and his movements.

When I go to check the news on my phone, I realize it isn’t on me; I must’ve left it in my bedroom. I trudged over to my bedroom and grabbed it off the dresser, but not before noticing a glint from the corner of my eye. It’s a small glass jewelry box that looks like it hasn’t been touched for years, and that’s probably because it hasn’t.

Two rings.

My parents’.

I stare at it for a while; it shouldn’t be opened. Hell, I have no reason to unpack that box of trauma. I open it anyways, maybe out of weakness or missing home. The rings look lost to time in the dim lights of my bedroom. One being a split shank silver ring with a 2.3 carat, light pink, pear-shaped diamond, and the other a simple silver band with an eternity Celtic knot going around it.

My mother’s ring smells faintly of cherry lotion and strawberries, and my father’s of ash and smoke. I used to think that was what “home” smelled like. Sweetness and ignition.

She’d bake strawberry cream cakes for dessert, humming while she worked. Then she’d wash them clean, lotion them up, and leave after dark. “Selling cherries,” she’d say, smiling like it was a joke. I didn’t get it back then, but now I know. She was kind and pretty and with a man whose eyes wandered often, so she sold herself to feel wanted; at least it’d be for money or maybe the thrill. Could be both.

I reach for the second ring. My father’s. I used to pretend it meant something, like one day they’d both walk me down an aisle and I’d finally be loved the way I was, not in the way they handcrafted me.

He was scarily loud. Not outwardly aggressive, but enough that there was never a question of ‘would he?’ but ‘when will he?’ Despite the number of cigarette packs I’d seen him go through and how often he would smoke, he had a charming off-white smile, and his demeanor changed in front of the right people. “You look prettier today.” He’d say when I looked in the mirror, cigarette in one hand and caressing my shoulder with the other. Aftershave and smoke lingered in my nose when he walked out of the room.

I’d sit by the counter with my knees swinging off the stool, pretending not to notice when they fought between bites. They weren’t good parents, but they were mine. Then after they were gone, the only thing that stuck with me was that smell… and the sound of fire.

The house fire happened so fast I don’t remember anything but heat brushing its hands against my legs and kissing my cheeks and screaming tainted with panic and worry. It wasn’t my parents’, though; it was the neighbors’. My name was in their mouths when I came staggering out of the wreckage, as if I were some walking miracle.

“The girl who survived.” They said.

“She must’ve had a guardian angel.” They whispered.

They didn’t say that when I stopped talking for months, when my eyebags suddenly looked more like black eyes, or when I flinched every time someone struck a match. They said it when they could point a camera at me.

Eventually, the story faded, and with it, the sympathy. The relatives who took me in got tired of the therapy bills and the nightmares and generally didn’t have a use for me after my stardom was obliterated. I got passed around, then left alone. That’s when I started doing stupid shit just to see if anyone would stop me.

Little did I know that no one would.

Now I just keep the rings to remind myself that love can burn a house down, and theirs did.

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the rings, but eventually, I get up and throw on clothes. A cotton tank, a loose skirt, and the only sandals I can find in the midst of papers strewn about and the abandoned clothes from last night. When I reach the front door, I realize that I don’t know where I’m going. I just leave.

The streets are warm but breezy; it’s actually quieter and more serene without the working crowd and the nightlife. It makes Miami feel smaller and calmer. I should take more days off. I walk into a bookshop café I used to kill time in back when I couldn’t afford real coffee. The bell on the door jingles when I enter. I order an iced Americano, then sit at the corner table, my keys, phone, and sunglasses splayed over the table next to the coffee.

People’s conversation and chatter filter in like background noise.

There’s a girl resting her head on a guy’s shoulder, laughing into her straw. Two men sitting side by side reading the same book, holding highlighters. A woman with gray braids feeding cake to another woman with a ‘lost in love’ look in their eyes. My brain starts playing pretend again, sorting through memories of when that used to be me like it’s going through a file cabinet.

In one of them, I’m still with Liam. We’re complaining together about how bitter the espresso is, trying to avoid the moody barista’s gaze and stealing bites from each other’s plates. We’re trading pecks back and forth, and it reminds me of when I was still someone’s first choice, someone’s favorite girl, no matter that tragic backstory.

I close my eyes and see his mouth. I remember his voice; it’s deep but not volatile… It’s kind, and the way he said goodbye that day at the airport was like it was only momentary, like I’d see him again in a few months and not never again.

“Don’t forget about me,” he said.

“As if I ever could,” I replied, hand on his chest and longing eye contact just screaming, “Stay with me.”

I open my eyes again, and the café is back to now. The couple near the window kisses softly, and suddenly, for a second, it’s not Liam I imagine across from me. It’s Rudy.

His hands are bigger, not as delicate but definitely stronger. They’re soft but also ever so slightly rugged. He’s sipping black coffee, eyes tracking me the way they always do, and then he smirks and says something that’s probably really clever, but I don’t hear him. His knee brushes mine under the table, he mouths out an empty promise to me, and his thumb grazes the inside of my wrist.

I blink and shake the thought away like it came from someone else’s brain. What the fuck am I thinking about? I toss the coffee in the trash and walk out before I let it get worse.

I walk the side streets, past murals and cracked sidewalks and corner stores with gangs of men sitting around sharing stories of lives unlived on the side of the building. I stop in front of a nail salon I used to go to when I thought my looks were my best asset. The neon signs buzz softly, pink and flickering, and I watch a kid argue with his mom over a jacket in the parking lot.

I stop at a gas station and go inside; the man at the front looks me up and down when I enter, but I’m not paying much attention. When I reach the freezers, I yank a water bottle out and give the guy a $5 bill for the water when he asks for cash or card. When I walk outside, I lean against the wall and take a sip, then pull out a cigarette I didn’t know I still had. I don’t even light it, just hold it. It reminds me of my dad, because he always looked so calm with one of these in his hand; even when the world was shit, he had something to do. I press the filter to my lips and pretend to speak silent pleasantries into the orange filter. Eventually, I head toward the beach.

Not the touristy one though, the little one tucked behind the nicer condos, the one where you can still find seaweed upon the sand and the water looks more green than blue. I sit in the sand underneath the sun, not tanning, not even lounging. Just there with my feet buried under warm grains, eyes half-closed, and every now and then, I look up to watch people walk by.

Two kids are digging a hole, a man throws a frisbee too far, and the woman next to him walks with a dog who goes to chase it. I wonder what life is like when it looks like that. Is it peaceful? Sweet? I smile when the kids look my way and they smile back; I imagine my own picket fence life.

I fish through my phone and pull up an old photo of Liam. Just to prove to myself that he was real and that he instilled me with love I can’t replicate. It’s an image of him leaving the dentist with a kid’s sticker and thumbs up. The lighting’s bad, so is the angle, his smile is soft, his eyes are sparkling, and I remember his affinity with always keeping me around no matter the occasion. Happy, bright…alive. God, I miss living.

I lock the screen.

On the way back to my house, I think about Rudy. Not on purpose, and not in detail, it just happens. His cheeky smiles, the way he pulled me away from Zach without raising his voice, how he danced, and the way he held me like I was already his.

Back home, I don’t go inside right away. I sit on the porch step with the key in my hand and let the fading sun warm my knees. I watch a dragonfly hover over a patch of overgrown grass and think about what it must be like to only live for a few weeks, to not have time to regret anything. It doesn’t take long until I hear a car pulling up to the street. I steadily eye it from the window reflection and turn when I hear the car door close.

“Can I come in?” Rudy says, bouquet of stargazer lilies in hand, my favorite, and strolls up the walkway.

“What are you, a vampire?” I say to him, cracking my door partially open.

“I could be.” He says it absolutely flat but is still smiling up at me. I wave him in and disappear into the house. I can hear his footsteps pace up the stairs, and I quickly assess my living room and kitchen, picking the knife off the floor finally and setting it on the counter near the sink. He comes in the front and closes the door behind him.

“Sorry for your loss,” he says to me. He reaches the bouquet out and grins. I take the flowers wordlessly and put them on the living room table.

“Make yourself at home, though… I’m sure you’ll find your way around.” He’s still by the door; he can’t see me, but I know he heard me. He walks up next to me and looks in my eyes, with that stupid fake smile on his face. His gaze lingers on me for a beat longer than necessary, then he softens just slightly.

“Do I seem that predictable?” he says, his fingers trailing my arm and swaying over my skin in soft, repeated motions. “Thought you’d connect dots faster…” His eyes linger on my neck; the scar matches the measure of my breathing.

I turn and push him away from me ever so slightly, my heightening anxiety of him staying in my home any longer than necessary and the lust between my legs fighting for control of my next actions.

“Why are you here?” I ask, finally.

“To see you? Can’t let Debra’s friend be all moody.” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“You should’ve called,” I mutter.

“You wouldn’t have answered,” he replies. I say nothing. He strolls over next to me by the coffee table and looks around the living room like he’s never been here before.

“Stargazer lilies,” I nod toward the flowers. “These aren’t for mourning.”

He tilts his head at me. “They mean devotion.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Not yet,” he says, then smiles like we’re in on something together. The way people do when they’ve already decided where the night is heading, even if one of them hasn’t caught up yet.

He sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, and looks at me. “Are you going to sit?” I hover near the table for a second too long before finally lowering onto the opposite end of the couch. I don’t lean back or manage to relax, and I definitely don’t miss the way his eyes trace the slope of my legs, the curve of my knees beneath the hem of my skirt.

He notices me noticing, doesn’t apologize or acknowledge it, but instead he just smiles and looks up into space. “You smell like the beach,” he says, voice quiet now. “And cigarettes.”

“I quit,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest, a defensive gesture I immediately regretted. The scent of stargazer lilies, heavy and sweet, seemed to thicken the air between us, cloying and invasive. He simply watched me, his eyes dark and unreadable, a sliver of a smile ghosting over his mouth.

“Do you ever truly quit anything, Y/N?” he mused, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the quiet room. He leaned back, stretching one arm along the top of the couch, his posture annoyingly casual. My eyes trailed the motion, stupidly catching on the shape of his bicep under that damn shirt. My stomach clenched, a mix of unease and something far more primal.

“So maybe… It’s just a pause,” he started, his eyes now fixed on mine, too knowing. “A moment to catch your breath. He paused, then tilted his head. “That’s usually when things get good.”

I shifted, the worn fabric of the couch scratching uncomfortably against my legs. “You sound like a fortune cookie.” I say deadpan, the growing irritation fitting on my face.

“Do I?” He chuckled softly, a sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Or are you just not listening, pretty girl?” His gaze dropped, lingering on the scar at my throat, then slowly traced a path down to where my skirt rode up slightly above my knees. The air crackled, thick with unspoken things. I felt exposed, seen in a way I hadn't been in years, and the urge to kick him out was a test against my resolve. My eyes, despite myself, flickered to his lips, then back to him. He caught the movement, a subtle shift.

“Curious?” he asked, the word a soft challenge.

“Wary.” I countered, my voice low.

“Smart girl.”

I should ask him to leave. I should. Instead I found my gaze drawn back to his lips, and it was the smallest shift in his expression, the way his smile slipped and his brows softened, that told me he was thinking about mine too.

“Rudy,” I said, a warning in my tone, but my voice didn’t come out sharp enough.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said. “Unless you want me to.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I will,” he said, low. “Don’t worry, I’m gentle.” An easy smile smooths across his face.

There was something deliberate in how he said it, like he knew too well what it meant to be rough. Maybe he was thinking about the past and trying not to give himself away. I stared at him a long moment, the weight of his words settling between us, then I stood.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said, voice lower than I meant it to be. “I just know I keep having these nightmares and… and you’re always looking at me like I’m some kind of porcelain doll and saying all the right things at the wrong time.” I calm myself down and sit back on the couch, a little closer this time.

“Rudy, if you know something about me that I don’t, can you please just tell me? I’m…” I pause and look him in the eyes, then straight at my hands fidgeting with each other in their own little dance. “I’m scared.”

He watches me, chest rising a little slower now, like he’s waiting for me to act. “What’s scaring you?” He says.

“I haven’t told Debra, or anyone for that matter. Someone is watching me or following me. I’m worried, but I guess I just figure that they haven’t harmed me, so I technically have nothing to report….” I watch him for a reaction; he must not know I’m talking about him. Is that why he’s so relaxed about this?

“Yet.” He says plainly.

“What?” I subconsciously scoot backwards into the armrest of the couch.

“They haven’t harmed you yet.” He scans my face, then places his hand on mine. “I’m sure you’ll be fine though. You always were resilient.”

“I—” Rudy gets up from where he’s sitting, the haziness of the moment going with him. He straightens his shirt and goes to my kitchen and fills a water bottle with water, then he places it on the counter and grabs the flowers off the coffee table. He places them inside and makes it look nice and pretty.

“You don’t own a vase. Fix that.” Before he wanders out of the kitchen, he stops at the utensils drawer and taps the counter. Locks eyes with me. His fingers trail off the marble. He doesn’t open the drawer; he doesn’t need to. He already knows about the knife; he probably always did.

“You lock your door, right?” he asks casually, like we’re still talking about vases and flowers.

“Yeah,” I answer; it comes out unsure.

“Good.” He pauses, right by the couch, towering just slightly above me now. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you. Debra would have a fit.” It’s said sweet, too sweet… like honey masking poison.

I blink, and he’s already leaning in, hand ghosting along the back of the couch behind my head, never touching, just there. I can smell the cologne ghosting his clothing and see the light freckles dotting his cheeks, and the intimacy of the space is almost claustrophobic. “Yeah. Especially if her boyfriend is flirting with another girl.” I say coldly, but he doesn’t move.

“What if that girl likes him?” His eyes train themselves to never forget what my lips look like, and I bite my tongue. “You’re not arguing back.” He moves back quickly, as if he hadn’t closed the distance between us in the first place, and somehow makes the cool AC air feel like steam building in the room.

He makes his way to the door again and doesn’t look back until his hand’s on the knob. “By the way,” he says, like an afterthought. “I think I like you too.”

Then he leaves. The door clicks behind him, and it sounds like a clock ticking louder than it should. I exhale, finally, and speed-walk to the door to lock it. I softly toss my head against the wall; I don’t know if I want him to fuck me or fuck off.

I go in the kitchen and grab the knife; I wash it like it’ll wash any trace of him off. I repeat his name to myself, trying to get myself to remember him in any way, shape, or form. No matter what way I say it, though, it never rings any bells. I look over at the flowers. How would he even know my favorite flowers?... It makes no sense to ask Debra… and only Liam and Zach would know that.

Only Liam and Zach.

I go back to sit at the edge of the couch and pull my laptop out from underneath the coffee table. It's dusty and honestly kind of forgotten. I don’t even know what I’m looking for—answers? Names? Proof that I’m not crazy for thinking he knows more than he should?

I search: “Miami missing girls 1981.” Then “Miami Beach unsolved crime archives.” Then just “Rudy Cooper.” Nothing relevant, but I keep going, clicking through old reports, falling into the void of dead links and really weird websites. One image stops me; the rest of the images on the site won’t load except for one of a charred bedroom with a stuffed angel plush lying on the floor. The picture flickers, and the computer dies.

“Fuck!” I shout out and slap the computer shut. I rummage through the papers underneath the table for the charger, plug it in, and put it to the side. I lean back and rub my eyes. I breathe in that fucking cologne of his still lingering in the air; it’s stuck in my clothes, threading itself into my skin. At some point I fall asleep, at least it feels like I do.

I’m in my bedroom, or a cleaner version of it at least. The light is unnatural, and the flowers Rudy brought are on my nightstand. I look over at the door that’s ajar, and like some cruel joke, he’s walking through it in minutes. He’s shirtless, lean muscle pulled tight over bone and definition, especially in his arms. His hair’s messy; little streaks from the lamplight fall over it and show dark brown, his mouth tilts as he sees me looking, and I feel stupid for pretending I wasn’t.

The air smells like iron. “You’re beautiful,” he says, voice gentle, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “You always were.” I try to speak, but he pushes me gently down onto the bed, not with force…no…but with scary caution and diligence. He leaves a trail of kisses down from my jawline and down my scar, where he lets his lips linger a little longer. He moves to the soft skin of my neck, and I can faintly feel teeth, but it doesn’t hurt, not until I feel the cold of a knife being lightly dragged across my hip. It doesn’t cut into me, but the contact makes a breath hitch in my throat. His eyes stare into mine, tension so thick you could drown in it. He leans in to kiss my lips.

I wake up gasping for air. Stupid fucking wet dream.

It’s still dark out, and I yawn, then rub my eyes with my hand. I reopen the laptop, and when it turns on, the bedroom image is gone. I click on another link. Something about a teen escaping from a mental hospital—no relevance. I lift the laptop and take it with me to the bedroom, and I continue reading. Blah blah, October 3rd, blah blah, shipping yard, blah blah, picture of the teen once he was returned to the hospital. I stop. The teen looks frenzied in the image, but there’s something about his eyes I can’t shake. They’re staring back at me. I drop the laptop on the bed, and finally the fear sets in.

They look like Rudy’s.

Brian Moser…? Who the hell is that?

I close the laptop once again and shove it under the bed. For the first time, that knife feels less like a danger and more like it’s protecting me. I go to grab it and then sit on the edge of my bed with the knife in my hand, just holding it like a lifeline, like it might start whispering answers if I’m patient enough.

My heart won’t stop thudding against my ribs, and the air feels too thick to breathe. I try not to replay the dream. I fail. His mouth, his hands, the slow kiss down my scar like he’s drinking in the pain I’m soaked in. The knife never cut me, but I felt it.

I check the time: 4:03 AM.

It's too early for coffee and too late to call anyone.

I get up and walk the apartment because something in me needs to move, or else I’ll explode. My fingertips trace the hallway walls, and I turn on lights as I pass them, then back off every switch like a security checkpoint.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face, half expecting to see someone else behind me, but there’s no one. Just me, looking more undone than I ever remember.

I dry my face, then move back to the living room. I pull out the knife and stare at it for a long time.

It’s not just a knife anymore.

It’s a boundary that was crossed.

A symbol of someone’s reckless view of love.

A reminder that if I’m not careful, I’ll end up just like the angel plush on the floor of a burned room.

I grab a pen and paper. Maybe if I write this shit down in ink, it’ll feel less like madness and more like evidence. I list what I know, or think I know:

Rudy knows my favorite flower.

He knew about the knife.

He showed up unannounced, again.

He lingers too long, stares too closely

He’s charming on cue, but only when he wants something.

I keep dreaming about him, like a perv…

His eyes look like the boy from the hospital photo.

I stop writing, and I underline that last point until the pen nearly tears the paper.

I grab a phonebook. It’s ancient and yellowed, but I haven’t thrown it out. I flip through pages, looking for anything that stands out. It’s pointless, but I’m grasping for straws that I pray will pull me out of my frenzy.

I call Debra. It rings twice, then voicemail. I hang up. What would I even say? “Hey, your boyfriend might be stalking me. Also, I had a dream where he kissed me and slid a knife down my body.” Yeah, that’d go over well.

I sit back down on the couch, the paper still in my lap, the room now glowing with morning light. I haven’t blinked in what feels like hours, but I can’t stop feeling like something’s wrong. I can feel it in my body, in the way my pulse doesn’t settle. When I finally drift off again, it’s not sleep. It’s something closer to passing out.

And when I wake up, the house is still. I’m completely restless and drained of whatever life a walking body is supposed to have. My phone blares to life. It’s Doakes.

I don’t answer the call; in fact, I watch the screen until it dims, then set the phone face-down on the table and stare at the knife in my hand. My palm is curved around the handle like it belongs there. I stare at the edge of the blade; you’d think it’d be janky, rusted, and old by now. I guess he took really good care of it. Then a memory clicks.

I remember a different room with hazy, diffused, white lighting and cheap, peeling wallpaper.

I was maybe 14. They’d placed me in some temporary home with linoleum floors and a kitchen that smelled like dirty mop water and lemon-scented cleaner. The woman who watched me… I don’t remember her name, only that she had long fingernails and red rosy cheeks that made her face look swollen.

There was a man there, too. Wasn’t hers, but he came around quite often. I think he fixed the heater or dropped off boxes. One day, I don’t remember what made me hide; I just remember knowing I had to.

I’d seen a knife on the counter—a steak knife, thin and sharp. I snuck it into my pocket before slipping into the tiny hall closet. It smelled like coats and old cologne and the gross damp closet smell that builds up worse over time. I crawled behind the vacuum and pressed my knees to my chest.

My hand never left the handle. My fingers ached from gripping it; I was more scared of being caught than I was of having to use it. I listened; footsteps, voices, and laughter that didn’t sound right followed. At last… footsteps again. Just one set; they were slower and much, much closer. Right past the closet door.

I remember holding my breath until my lungs gave up. I remember thinking, if I die, no one will come looking for me. That thought didn’t scare me as much as it should have. They didn’t find me that night, whoever they were. I don’t remember what happened after. Only that I kept the knife under my pillow for weeks until the rosy-cheeked lady noticed and took it away. She said it ‘wasn’t safe,’ as if anything else was in her house.

Back in my apartment now, I let the memory settle over me. I press the flat side of the blade to my palm and stare at the faint reflection in the steel. I’m not scared like I was then. I’m just… biding my time. I don’t think I know what for, though.

The silence is heavier than it should be. It’s like a weighted blanket, and I feel like something is about to shift and hasn’t decided whether it’ll be good or bad yet. Then there’s a knock on the front door. It’s not loud or aggressive, but it's sudden enough that I flinch and almost drop the knife.

I become deathly silent, my heart pausing with me. Then another knock, twice this time, followed by a muffled voice.

“Y/N? You home?” Debra’s voice rings a little clearer when I sit still, and I’m brought back to my senses.

I swipe the knife off the table and shove it into a drawer, not even bothering to close it properly. I tug the closest sweater off the back of a chair and shrug it on, trying not to look like someone who spent the last day and morning fucking spiraling. I smell, not horribly, but I pray it isn’t noticeable. I yank my hair back in a thrown-together ponytail, and when I open the door, Debra’s standing there with a plastic bag of takeout and a suspicious squint in her eyes.

“Jesus, you look like shit, and not in the party girl way,” she says. “Did I catch you sleeping, or are you the next crime scene?”

“Both.” I mutter, stepping aside so she can come in.

She kicks off her boots by the door, casually. She’s only been here three times or so, but I guess I can’t really judge since I crash so many nights at her house. She drops the bag on the counter. “I brought tacos. Figured you could use carbs and a friend to eat them with.”

I try to smile. It only works halfway. She doesn’t sit yet, just stands there, eyes flicking over my apartment like she’s checking for something. Does she know about Rudy, and is this when she jumps me in my house?

“Everything okay?” she asks, voice gentler now.

I nod. “Yeah, just tired. Kinda restless.” I force a laugh. It’s not a complete lie.

“Mm-hmm.” She leans against the counter. “You didn’t answer my texts.” I didn’t see them. I don’t say that, because she’ll ask why, and honestly I don’t want to explain how I spent my morning Googling burnt houses and seeing my face in the pictures of the corpses.

I open the takeout bag just to avoid her eyes. “You been home all day?” she asks; it’s casual.

I nod again. “Took a walk yesterday. Just woke up not too long ago. Enjoying my day off and all.”

She hums. “See anything interesting?” The plastic rips a little as I reach for a taco. My hands are steady. That scares me more than if they were shaking.

“Not really.” She watches me too closely, like she’s waiting for me to crack. Like she already knows I’m not telling her something.

“You know… Rudy was acting weird last night.” I can feel my pulse steadily rise in my neck. In my veins.

“Weird how?”

She shrugs, grabbing a taco. “I don’t know, kinda…distracted? Kept looking at the sky and said he was tired, but he never gets tired. He’s like, so fucking obsessed with being present.” I don’t say anything. Just chew slowly and nod like that’s interesting.

Debra finally sinks onto the couch and kicks her feet up. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought… never mind.”

“What?” At this point I’m just getting her to keep talking and shoving my taco down my throat so I don’t have to speak back.

She shakes her head. “Just like…he was different, somewhere else, with someone else. Then he showed up this morning with this dumb-ass grin, whistling. Who fucking whistles? Anyways, it was the strangest fucking thing.” I force a laugh again, but it feels faker.

“You ever get that feeling like… you’re missing something?” she asks. “Like something’s happening right under your nose and you don’t know what it is, but your gut is screaming?” Yeah. Every second Rudy’s in the same room as me. I look at her—I mean, really look—and for the first time in a while, I feel guilty. Not because of what I’ve done, but because of what I’ve been allowing to happen.

“Yeah, more often than you might think.” I reply, my breathing comes out fragmented, but I try and force my body to relax. Debra doesn’t push; she just eats another taco and turns on the TV. It feels like she’s letting me sit in the lie until I’m ready to dig my way out. I lean back beside her and close my eyes for a second. I wish this was what life felt like all the time, not the paranoia or the fear but genuine friendships and having someone who cares about me by my side.

I’m in no way the good person I think I am; I’m just hoping I can spare Deb the shards from when her glass illusion gets shattered. I lean on her shoulder, and for a moment it feels like real comfort instead of something fake. She leans her head on top of mine, and we sit there watching a shitty T.V. channel, with our bare-minimum tacos and false senses of security.

We didn’t say much after that. The show we left running looped into some low-budget murder mystery noir film, and Deb started nodding off mid-conversation.

I took her jacket off and put a cozy blanket over her, cleaned up the wrappers, and stepped out. Not because I needed air, but because I felt like I was lying by just breathing near her. The diner isn’t far, one of those late-night joints that looks like it’s straight out of the Archie comics. I sit at the counter and order coffee. The best black coffee for miles.

The woman behind the counter watches me; I’m the only other person in there except for an older guy nodding off in the corner. She’s older, tired-eyed, with a name tag that reads ‘Vicky.’

“You alright, sweetheart?” She asks, half-wiping a mug, half-scanning the restaurant, and her eyes land on me. “And don’t worry about ‘crazy Todd’; he’s always here, but he won’t harm ya, babydoll.”

“Just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t home.” I say. “Again.” She smiles like she’s heard that line before. Then her head tilts.

“You ever live off 31st, across from the condos?” she asks. I nod slowly.

“My husband, y’know, he was a firefighter, said he pulled a little girl outta that wreckage. Oh, and boy, did that place reek of domestication and cigarettes. The girl wouldn’t stop saying thank you, even while coughing smoke all up out-a her lungs.”

My pulse quickens… So it wasn’t just a bad dream. “That was me,” I say before I even think to lie.

Vicky’s eyes soften. “You poor thing.”

There’s that phrase again. It rings in my ears again, but it reminds me of when people used to feel this strange kind of pity for me. I almost laugh because it seems that day follows me everywhere, in scents, in dreams, in lovers who smile too long, and in men who know things they shouldn’t.

She keeps talking. “He always said the weird part was the call; apparently someone phoned it in to the station from a payphone some blocks away or so. No name, just gave the address and said some weird mumbo jumbo, saying they saw the fire, and then hung up.”

A shiver runs straight up my spine. That wasn’t fate; it was a choice. That was him, Rudy. Before showing up at my front door with the lilies, before butting heads with Zach, and before his voice said my name so smoothly, because now I realize, he already knew it.

He saved me once, but maybe he just didn’t want anyone else to take what he’d already claimed.

༺♱༻

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