#And Dexter going like “Dexter... Moser”

[anakinmoser]

[swetblom]

hiii ♡♡ could you write something for os!brian?? i'd be happy with absolutely anything, i just want more content with my boyy

hi sweetheart! of course. this is x angel! reader cause she’s like default to me lol!

brian’s gone. you wake up to an empty bed, the sheets still holding the lingering warmth of his body. the apartment is quiet, the kind of heavy silence that feels wrong — like the world’s been paused and you’re the only one left moving. but then you see it.

on the kitchen counter, resting against your favorite coffee mug, is a small, velvet box wrapped in a red satin bow. your heart skips, and a smile blooms as you reach for it, fingertips brushing the silken ribbon. there’s a note tucked beneath it, folded with care.

with all my devotion, my angel — your admirer.

you bite your lip, chest tightening. you know it’s brian. you always know. he’s the only one who calls you angel with that mix of reverence and hunger, like he’s tasting the word every time he says it. but he never signs his name. only ever “your admirer”. like he’s something sacred and secret, something you shouldn’t name aloud.

inside the box is a delicate silver bracelet, a tiny red bow charm hanging from the chain. you touch it softly, feeling the cool metal against your skin. you’re wearing his gift long before the coffee finishes brewing, the chain resting snug against your rest, the bow winking at you with each reach of an item.

brian comes back late that night. you’re curled up on the couch, drowsy but waiting. the door clicks open, and he steps inside, bringing the scent of rain and the dark, smoky air of the city with him. “hey, angel,” he murmurs, voice a low rasp as he shrugs off his coat. you rise to greet him, and he catches you by the waist, holding you close.

“missed you,” you say against his jaw, your arms winding around his neck. his skin smells of copper as his rough hands settle on your hips, pressing, kneading. “i know.” his thumbs slide beneath the hem of your sleep shirt, brushing the bare skin of your waist. “i left you something.”

“i saw.” you pull back to show him the bracelet, moving your arm from around his neck for the charm to gleam in the light. “it’s beautiful.” brian’s eyes drop to the chain, and for a moment, they soften. he reaches for your hand and places a light kiss to your wrist to almost set his a silent pledge to you in stone. his jaw flexes, something dark and wild sparking beneath the surface. “you like it?”

you nod, tracing his cheekbone with your thumb and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in a bit. “i love it.” his hands tighten, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “good. that’s what i want.” you blink up at him, the world narrowing down to the press of his hips, the look in his eyes. “what’s wrong?” he shakes his head, but his smile is thin, taut.

it’s later that week when you hear the news: a woman found dead in her apartment, bludgeoned to death, wrists tied behind her back with red satin ribbons. there’s a dark, nasty knot in your stomach, something cold and slippery twisting as you watch the news report. the reporter describes the woman as a waitress, late twenties, last seen leaving after her shift with a man but they couldn’t get a good look at him.

you frown. the photo with the woman inside of it, next to the report, looks all too familiar. “do you know her?” you ask brian as he watches the screen, his jaw working. he’s sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes dark and unfocused. “no,” he says, but his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, slow and possessive. “why?”

“she looks like…” you swallow, the taste of metal on your tongue. “she looks like that waitress from the night we went out last week.” the one who battled her eye lashes and made it a mission to touch his hand, laughing too loudly at things he didn’t say. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. you were too busy liking how he asked you to sit on his side of the booth with him and feeling his rough hands squeeze your thigh underneath the table the whole night, his fingers flexing each time she looked his way.

now, though… now, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something. brian’s thumb presses harder, his grip firm, grounding. “you’re imagining things, angel.” you nod, leaning into his warmth. you’re being paranoid. you settle the feeling with a fidget of your bracelet, charm twisting behind your fingers.

[crank2006]

early seasons antagonists

[saudrag]

coming again with mosercest because we’re allowed to have nice things

[mullermoment]

does this parallel make sense to ANYBODY but me. am i alone in this. it's ok if i am

[anakinmoser]

Abso-fucking-lutely.

I can and will make the most unhinged, intricate, problematic stories just for me — and you @asherisawkward, obv (and maybe @atticuseros too) — simply because I want to see the twisted up storylines that run rampant in my brain come free on paper. Also why it takes me so long to update. I need to be in the right headspace, especially for certain scenes — and I'm directly talking about the first two official chapters of In The Blood — because if I'm not, or if I don't like how they're coming out, I'll just rewrite them over and over till I'm satisfied.

Same thing applies to my art. I will make it only when and if inspired. Otherwise I may end up not touching a pencil for months on end.

I am not a "content creator" I am a writer and artist. I do not make the works that an audience demands, or that I think will be popular. I make the works that I'm passionate about, when I'm passionate about them.

[viinchester]

Shape Of You

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

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

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

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew you should be glad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

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

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

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

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

It stirred something deep inside of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[happy74827]

Contagiously Human.

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Killing was always the easiest part for him, but this… you… well, as fate would have it, that created a new problem for him. {GIF Creds: brothermoser}

WC: 1881

Category: Plot-Driven, Maybe Some Fluff/Angst…?

Someone asked me if I’d ever thought about writing Biney… and well, I decided to put my thought into actual words 🤷‍♀️

Just for some minor clarification, this is pretty much a “what if” fic in which Dexter does not end his life. This being said, I picture this taking place around season 5-6 ish.

『••✎••』

Hesitation.

The thing that makes or breaks a killer. The line that separates predator from prey. It's the pause between life and death, the time a man takes to make the decision, and whether he'll live to regret it or not.

He’s never had hesitation. Not once. In fact, he relishes in it; he finds peace in knowing that he can decide one way or another and be content with either outcome. It makes him a dangerous man, unpredictable, a ticking time bomb.

His baby brother, his blood, had the disease. The disease of being too much of a good person, feeling guilt, having morals, a sense of what's right and wrong. He was weak, he hesitated, and he wasn’t even aware of how much the disease was eating him alive until that Trinity Killer came around.

He was supposed to protect his brother, save him from himself, and show him the proper way of things. The way of survival. Of the hunt. But no, Brian wasn’t there to catch him. To stop him.

So, as all good brothers do, he’s here to fix him. To set him straight and rid him of the disease. Forever.

It's an easy task, really. His little brother is so trusting and caring that he'd do anything for the ones he loved. Why not start by showing him why he shouldn't?

Because clearly, the loss of his apparent wife wasn’t enough. He needed to understand, truly and absolutely, that the world would only disappoint him. It's a harsh lesson but a necessary one.

So, that led him to you. His brother’s friend from school. The woman, aside from Dexter’s poor excuse for a sister, that his brother actually cared about.

Just like him, you were naive. Trusting, too. Friendly to everyone, completely unaware of the monsters that hid in the shadows. His brother included.

You might’ve never killed someone, but with everything else, it was clear why his brother was so interested in you. He always loved the innocent ones.

So, the question was, how would he go about it? He could take you somewhere, but the element of surprise was an important factor. You had to believe you were safe and comfortable before he could make his move.

A Debra repeat? Or a more... Unique approach. He'd think about it, plan it out, and strike at the perfect moment.

He wouldn’t hesitate, after all.

When the day presented itself, the stars had aligned, and everything was just right; he made his move. It was noon, a warm Sunday.

You were in your little bookshop, reading one of the books in your free time. Business had been slow today, as most people were enjoying the weather.

You never saw him coming. He was the type to blend into the crowd, the type that you'd see once and forget about. The type you'd pass on the street without a second thought.

He had his ways, of course, and his way was simple. A simple, kind greeting. One that had your eyes lighting up as if you'd never seen another person before.

He was charming, handsome, the perfect man to lure you in. You didn’t stand a chance.

That's what led him here, picking up your fallen book and handing it to you, watching the smile that graced your lips.

A romance novel, of course. How ironic.

"Oh, uh, thank you. That’s very kind."

You smiled, a hint of blush dusting your cheeks. Far more tame than that Debra woman, thankfully. He didn’t have to fight back the urge to roll his eyes.

"Tea and romance? Can’t say I blame you." He pulled a gentle grin, one that had you blushing further, more so of embarrassment this time.

"It's the first of a series. A favorite, actually, I’ve been rereading it." You explained, holding the book to your chest. He didn’t miss the way your thumb rubbed over the spine, fond and gentle.

Just from that, he knew. He was going to have fun with you. “Believe it or not, I read the first one too. A few months ago, actually. It was quite the page-turner. The ending had me on the edge of my seat, I swear."

You laughed, soft and airy, and for a moment, he found himself smiling genuinely. His lie was working, and he couldn’t believe it was that easy.

"I've only heard mixed reviews on it.” You spoke, moving to place the book back on the shelf. "I'm glad to hear you liked it. Marienne’s death was hard, wasn't it?"

"Very." He agreed though it was a lie. He had to pretend he cared. "It was a shame; I really enjoyed the character."

"You did?" You raised a brow, surprised. “Most people didn’t. Given that she doesn’t even exist.”

Shit.

He cleared his throat, a slight pause. He was so blinded by the idea of finally getting to his brother that he'd forgotten.

You were a reader, an author; of course, you would know the ins and outs of the story. The characters, the plot, and every little detail. Why would you not?

First rule of hunting. Don’t get cocky.

"Alright, I admit. I've been caught." He gave a small shrug, his voice holding a hint of sheepishness. Maybe you’d fall for it. “I couldn’t help myself; I figured you wouldn’t appreciate my love for fantasy books."

"Fantasy?" You tilted your head, and he knew. You bought it. You were a sucker for fantasy; you didn't like it when others looked down on them.

"I'm a bit of a nerd. Guilty pleasure."

"I didn’t peg you for the fantasy type…” You raised your eyebrow, though a smile still rested on your lips—a look of amusement.

"Really? Most people can't seem to look past the collared shirt.

"No, it's not that. It's your aura." You shook your head, and now, it was his turn to raise his brow. What the hell did that mean?

"My aura?"

"Those books in your hands..” You nodded towards his bag, a small smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. "You're definitely not a casual reader. My guess is everything in there is a throwaway.”

"And that means...?"

"You're bullshit through and through. You don't like romance or fantasy. In fact, I think you absolutely hate it."

Oh. Oh, you clever thing. Now, he truly understood why his brother connected with you so much. You'd figured him out, and yet, you had no clue. You were clever, smarter than you let on.

"Alright,” He held his hands up in mock surrender. He was enjoying this; for once, someone could see through his façade. See his true self. It was a rush.

“If you’re so smart, what do I like then?"

"Hmm, let's see...” And just like that, you were off with him in tow. You were taking him along on a trip through the shelves, looking through the genres, searching and searching.

He was intrigued, his eyes locked on you, his ears drinking in the sound of your hums and contemplation. Your mind was running, spinning, thinking. You were truly in your element.

"Well, let's start with what I know. You like horror." You said, turning towards the horror section and picking up a book. "You seem like the type who enjoys the dark side of humanity and likes to see the bad guy win."

Damn.

He was almost impressed. Almost.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Eyes. They tell the most about a person. You’ve seen a lot, and it shows. I could tell just by looking at you. Your eyes are... Cold. Empty." You said, and it was then that he realized you were more observant than you appeared. Naivety might’ve not been a part of your personality, but trust was. You trusted a lot. Too much. “Are you a cop, by chance? You've got the whole detective thing going on."

"Prosthetist, actually." He answered, his hand reaching out and picking up a book at random. He wasn't a fan of fiction, not really. He preferred nonfiction; it was more realistic—less pointless details.

"Oh, wow, I was completely off. I didn’t expect that." You mused, looking up at him with those eyes. You had such an expressive face; it was amazing how easy you were to read. He could practically see the gears turning. How could he use this?

"Expected an axe murderer, did you?" He joked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe. Wouldn’t that be a twist?" You grinned a glint of amusement in your eye. “Speaking of, that’s probably what you like. Thrillers. Those kinds of stories are full of twists and turns. No one is who they appear to be. Kinda like you, hm?"

"Ouch."

"Sorry, am I being too honest?"

"No, I like it. Keep going." He was having fun. With Debra, it was exhausting. She was so stubborn, so headstrong, she never listened. It took him about three coffees just to have enough patience to deal with her sob story.

But with you, you were a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to force himself awake or hide his boredom. He could just enjoy it, relish in the moment, and the fact that you were so easy to play with.

You pulled out three books: two thrillers and one horror. A classic and a new one. "These are what I recommend. Start with Primal Fear; that’s the one I believe you'll like the most. The first one might take you a while, but if you stick with it, the sequel will be worth it.

He reached forward, his hand brushing over yours, his touch lingering as he took the book. He purposely brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, just enough for a spark to go through your veins.

He saw the way your breath hitched, and he smirked. This was too easy.

"Thank you, you've been a great help."

"One more thing before you go." You spoke, stopping him. His eyes moved up from the book to your own, and there he saw something that made him falter.

Something that made him freeze longer than he should have.

You had a fire behind those eyes. A flame that burned with a passion, a curiosity that threatened to eat him alive. A want, a need, to get into his head. To peel him open and look inside.

Your eyes weren't cold or empty like his. They were alive. Full of life.

"Books don’t impress women,” Your voice was low, a secret, something meant only for him to hear. “It’s the passion that opens their hearts. You have nothing if you can't show it."

"I think I've misjudged you." He spoke, his hand resting on the shelf above your head. He had no choice but to lean closer, and he felt the way your breath fanned across his skin.

"Oh?"

"Yes. You're a lot more than you appear, aren’t you?"

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

The question was left unanswered. He didn't give a response because, in truth, he didn't know.

He left that day not with his brother’s cure or even the thought of him. He left with three books.

Three books and the disease he believed to be immune to…

Hesitation.

[@numetalnerd2007] Since you asked, I figured this would automatically mean you were interested. At least I hope you were 💀

That being said, please be nice to me for this one since it’s my first time writing for Biney here (and I haven’t rewatched season 1 in forever), so his character probably isn’t 100% solid. It’s a work in progress 🙏✨

Also, for all my Joe Goldberg fans out there, did you catch the reference I made? I see a slight resemblance between Brian and Joe, so I wanted to sneak it in a little something. I think it’s the hair, honestly.

[methylholicbm]

CHAPTER 1 | FIXATION | BRIAN MOSER

Description: Crime scene cleanup isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills—and it keeps you close to the mess. When you're called to a lifeless body in a pool, you're expecting a routine assignment. What you get is Dexter Morgan: unreadable, clinical, oddly magnetic. The scene is sterile. No blood. So why does it cling to you? Word Count: 1k (a little over)

༺♱༻

"You're all standing around debating the head wound, and no one thought to check the pulse?"

I dropped my bag with a dull thud beside the body, crouching low enough for my fingertips to press gently into the still-warm blood puddling on the tile. A broken mug lay nearby, soaked in wet shades of deep red.

"That's not your job, cleanup girl," Doakes snapped from somewhere behind me, his arms crossed like always, his voice heavy with whatever pent-up angst a cop like him would have.

I didn't look at him. Didn't need to.

"No," I muttered, brushing hair out of my face with the back of a glove. "I'd just rather not have a corpse lunge at me. That's normal, right?"

He huffed something under his breath about "goddamn weirdos" and stalked off, probably to go grunt at someone else who didn't deserve it.

I stayed there, crouched by the body, eyes half-lidded and dry, like I hadn't quite woken up yet. The man's face was still frozen mid-expression—shocked or scared, I couldn't tell.

I've seen worse.

Dexter passed me, staring down at his gloves, before someone's voice cut through the air. "Morgan L/N. There's a body at The Seven Seas Motel." Dexter pauses and looks down at me and back up at them before taking off. I shrug and catch up to him before he can fully leave the scene.

"Hey—Dexter, right? Mind if I catch a ride? Since we're going to the same place anyway." He looks at me for a moment. He's probably asking himself why I can't just drive there myself. I hope he doesn't ask. I can't tell what he's thinking, but something is turning his mental gears. "I won't talk, promise," I add jokingly.

He half smiles, I think, and leads me to his car. The car ride is eerily silent. I try to look around, but I'm afraid that he'll think I'm looking for something if I do, so instead I keep my eyes fixated on the road and rub my fingers against a small area of my throat.

Dexter glances over at me, but if he has something to tell me, he doesn't say it out loud. We whip past the slums of deep Miami, empty alleyways still managing to look haunting even during dawn, overweight older men flashing their gold teeth and rotten gums, slender sexy ladies flipping their hair or throwing themselves at the nearest Porsche, and finally, a big-ass crime scene at a tacky motel.

Dexter and I make our way out of the car and through the piling of cops outside, pulling black vinyl gloves on, until he's stopped by Vince, or as everyone else knows him, Masuka. "What are you doing here?" He says to Dexter, who looks at him pointedly, like he was waiting for Masuka to realize how dumb that sounded.

"It's a crime scene?" Dexter says.

"Yeah, but there's no blood."

For a second, I believe Dex zoned out, his facial muscles contorting ever so slightly before returning to normal, something unreadable beneath his calm exterior. "Are you okay?" I ask him, and he quickly looks at me and then back at Masuka, who leads both of us to the body. He and Angel lift the cover over the body, revealing pieces of flesh completely drained of all of its blood.

I look over the body parts that aren't fully wrapped for evidence yet.

"How does a killer get rid of all the blood..." Dexter says haphazardly out loud, like he meant to say it in his head.

"It's hard to say, especially since the body is in good shape." Angel retorts.

"No prints either," Masuka says, further adding to the confusion.

"It's very clean. Near surgical cuts... looks like he didn't have time to finish though." I say, pointing to the unfinished cut on the victim's upper left thigh.

"Right. Which means it's possible he was interrupted. LaGuerta's working on finding a witness." Angel says.

I look over my shoulder at LaGuerta fraternizing with other cops and some reporters just itching to find a way in. I walk away from the scene to go and look around the rest of the motel.

I peek into any window, seeing if it's possible that someone could've seen something from their bedroom, but all I'm met with are off-white, barely even white actually, blinds with untouched rings of dust on them. I get to a half-open door and push it open to see a taller woman that I recognize seeing once or twice but have never actually had a real conversation with. "Don't look at me like that. It's a disguise." She says. Officer Debra Morgan.

"I wasn't going to question you, Debra." I say, leaning on the doorframe. She's a little taller than me with her heels on and has this air of confidence wafting around her. She meets my eyes, at first with a snarky look, and then she laughs.

"Well, you never fucking know, you know?" She says, blowing an exhale of smoke out as she speaks. Her heels clack on the grimy, off-white linoleum as she switches her weight onto her other foot. "Who are you anyways? One of LaGuerta's?"

I crack a smile at her. "As if I'd be caught dead running orders for anyone at Miami Metro. I'm simply just a TCST. Y/N L/N. However, I've been working closely with you guys as of late; Miami is just more lively than my home office in Ft. Lauderdale." She ashes out her cigarette in an ashtray and comes to stand by me. I turn, and we both look out at the crime scene unfolding before us.

"I haven't seen you up until now." She says to me.

"I lurk. Quiet. I don't like drawing too much attention to myself, you know? It puts you in a position of vulnerability." I say coolly, not noticing how weird that sounds to just say out loud to someone. Instead of being thrown off, however, Debra just smiles at me and walks off to the rest of the officers.

"You're right." She says, not turning to look back at me, and then she disappears into the clutter of cops.

I catch Dexter before he manages to leave. "Could you drop me home?" I see his face; it says, 'Not really, I don't even know who you are.' But his mouth comes out with a different set of words.

"Sure," he says, but the hesitation in his voice sounds louder than the word itself.

༺♱༻

✦ ⛧ Masterlist ⛧ ✦

[anakinmoser]

[frozenbarbieathotmaildotcom]

Childhood friends

Female reader! Unprotected sex! Pussy eating, alcohol, best friends.

Also this is my first time writing in two years so please don’t come at me.. this is so shit btw😢

@brian-mosers-cumsock here you said you were hungry and you are now fed🤍

You both knew each other since childhood basically since you both got in the hospital at the same time and were coincidentally around the same age. So you guys just talked to only each other and mostly because you were roomates. Once we got out we bought different apartments in the same building since he’d bring the girls he’d kill there and Debra. Debra Morgan. Dexters foster sister. His fake sister.

“Hey I brought groceries for dinner tonight since she’s gone” I say and I hug him. He hugs me back and lets me inside. I put the groceries on the counter. “You look a bit put together today. I like” he smiles and chuckles. I got water from his fridge and drank it. You guys always flirted a bit. After all you were each others first kiss since you knew you wouldn’t experience in a million years being in that place.

“Mm?” You smirk drinking water. “Last night Deb gave me exciting news.” He smiled all giddy. “Yeah what is it?” I was happy that it might be something about Dexter. It meant he was getting somewhere. “Well, you know how I paid a visit doing “cable repair” work? Well he just got the legal documents that dad died and he’s got to clean out his house. I convinced Deb to invite me over for support and a to pose as her boyfriend. So this would be the “first” time I’m seeing him. So tomorrow I’ll spend time with him.” He smiles big. I looked shocked and I hug him. “Are you serious? This is good news! I had a feeling today was good so I brought wine” I pull it out from my bag.

“Yeah pop it open then..” he smiles. “I’m gonna start dinner, you pour us some.” He gets pans out and starts open the packing to the steaks. I pour us two glasses of wine and I sip on it.

“Well im really happy for you.” He seasons the steaks and I peel the potatoes and I put a pot of water to boil. “I’m pretty excited for tomorrow I already packed” he smiles big. It was cute seeing him excited and giddy. “Good I’m glad.” He washes his hands and cooks the steaks. I smell it in the air. “Mm smells amazing.” We finish cooking and we sit and eat at the table.

“That was so good” I smile and I gather our dishes and I start washing them. By this time he’d have two glasses of wine and me I had 1 and I was finishing my second. We had a huge buzz so our cheeks were flushed and we were smiling. He came up behind me and helped washing the dishes. “Mm dinner was great.” I scrub the dishes with his hands over mine.

His head was resting on my shoulder and I move my head from side to side and then he speaks against my neck. “You smell pretty” he kissed slightly. “Yeah it’s my new perfume..” I washed the dishes off with water. His hips were getting antsy behind me and I could feel him getting aroused against me. I smile and I finish the dishes and I turn around and I face him. I looked at him and I smile. He leans down and kisses me deeply. It was so eager, hungry like.

My hands go in his hair and I moan softly. He parted my lips. It was forceful but gentle. He groaned and our tongues massage each others. He rocked his hips against mine and I moan a little louder. “Brian..” I say against his lips in between kisses. He picks me up and takes me to his bed.

He lays me down and starts kissing my neck and I gasp softly. His hand was on massaging your thigh going further up. Both of you undress each other quickly. He kisses you again and trails to your neck. He kisses your boobs and then your stomach. He spread you legs with his hand and he kisses the inside of your thigh. I put my hands in his hair fighting the urge to just push him between my legs.

He looked up at me and smiled. He kissed my lips and then he parts them and kisses your clit. I moan softly and I wanted him to continue. I spread my legs a little more for him and he hooks his hands on my thighs to keep them open. He kisses my clit gently and sticks out his tongue letting it glide up and down wanting to hear you.

“‘Mmm Brian” I moan as my mouth falls open slightly. My hands grip his hair a little more. He sucks on my clit and licks my hole. I quiver at that. He sticks it in there a couple of time and he groans. “You taste so good..” he says as he’s buried between your legs. My eyes roll back when he said that. He puts two fingers inside me and I cry out. He curls them inside me and he sucks my clit. “You sound and taste heavenly. You’re so beautiful.” He groans against my clit.

He continues to fuck you with his fingers and you cum on them. You moan his name loudly “Brian” You arch your back which makes you hips go against his mouth. You shudder as your orgasm subsides. Your breathing was uneven and you close your eyes. He leaves a small kiss on your lips and goes up to kiss you. He strokes your cheek and whispers in your ear “you are so divine..”

“You want more? Hm?” He kisses you. I shake my head yes and he keeps my legs spread. He leans down and kisses me gently as he still caresses my cheek. He lines his dick with your hole and look at you for permission again and when you shake you head yes again he allowed himself to slowly sink into you. Inch by inch so very slowly. He was a good sick and was thick too. You kiss him and you moan loudly.

“You feel amazing..” my eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure and I bit my lip slightly. He lets me adjust and once he feels I’m ready he rocks his hips slowly at first. He moan in your ear and kisses your neck. “You feel so good.. so soft and warm. You feel pretty.” He put his hands on my hips and goes in and out a little faster now.

I moan loudly and I cover my mouth. One of his hands takes my hand off my mouth and whispers “I want to hear your voice and your beautiful sounds..” he moaned against your neck. “Faster Brian…” I whisper in a gasp. He obliged and thrusted faster yet still gently so he could hit the spot deep inside you. My head falls back and I moan louder. “Mmm fuck you feel so good-” I cut myself off by moaning. My boobs bounced with his thrusts and he grabbed them gently and kissed my neck again.

He sucked on my neck as he moaned. He left a hickey and kissed over it gently. He lifted one of my legs and put it on his shoulder making him go deeper. He thrusted better like this. It was easier. His eyes roll back slightly and he moan. “you feel like a dream” my hand went down to rub my clit and he grabbed my wrist stopping me. “Let me..” he said in a gentle whisper.

He rubbed my clit faster than I was going to but it fell so good. “Brian keep going..” I cry. My eyes roll back again and I open my eye and I look at him. He looked so good right now. He was moaning and fucking me fast. Our skin was warm with a thin layer of sweat. His hair was messed up and his breath was ragged. My leg was on his shoulder as went deeper and deeper. My pussy pulled him in saying I wanted more and that I loved this.

“You’re so good” I moan. My hand reaches up and touches his jaw. It made him feel a bit vulnerable since you did that when you wanted to soothe him or calm him. He whimpers softly as he moans my name. My pussy tightened around him as I heard him whimpering desperately. His fingers moved faster on my clit as he felt me squeeze around him. I came on his dick and I moan loudly. “Brian Brian Brian Brian..” I chanted his name like a prayer as I came.

When you came he lost it. He whimpered and he thrusted deep inside of you and came. He moaned your name against your neck and kissed it as he whispered “you’re so amazing..” He hips were still bucking slightly as he emptied himself inside of you and his hand left your hip and his other left your clit.

“I’ve been waiting..” I said and he finished “so long..? Me too.” He smiled and he was out of breath. So was I. He kissed me and he pulled out gently. He laid next to me and hugged me. We pulled the covers over us and we fell asleep in each others arms.

[atticuseros]

the weeping angel

; (prayers, from the elder brother, brian moser)

by atticus

Dexter was always the one who cried.

Even as a child, before I knew the names of emotions or the sharp anatomy of longing, I understood that Dexter cried more than any boy should. He fell into the world with a weeping heart, so tender and breakable it was as though he was carved from the softest part of Heaven. While other boys wore scrapes and bruises like medals, Dexter would trip on a step or nick his hand on a thorn and the tears would spill from him like he had been wounded by the world itself.

I remember our mother would fuss with panic, fluttering over him like frantic wings. “Dexter! Oh, sweetheart, what happened?” She never looked at me that way. I could have disappeared into the wallpaper and no one would have known. Maybe it's because I looked too much like my father. And yet I did not envy my baby brother. I watched her rock him in her arms, and I thought he looked like something holy, something worth protecting with blood and teeth and bone.

I would’ve stood in front of a moving car to spare him a scrape. I would’ve let the world fall apart if it meant he wouldn’t cry again.

And yet the world did fall apart. So terribly.

Our dear mother, radiant even in death as her body torn like a garden ripped up by wolves. And the blood... it painted the whole room in grotesque of holy art. I didn’t cry. I watched and counted each of her breath and scream. But Dexter wept like he was breaking open. His sobs were so sharp, so pure, it sounded like a bell turned inside out. He didn’t understand it then. He barely remembered it afterward. But I did. I remembered every second of it. Because I didn’t cry. And he did. And I wished, how I wished, I could’ve taken that pain from him, even if it tore me apart inside.

Time moved on as it always does with cruelty and cold hands. They took us and separated us like wolves tearing pups from the womb. And I waited, I waited through the heavy ache of wanting someone whose face I saw only in dreams.

In the hospital, I watched other children cry and felt nothing. But when I imagined Dexter crying, wherever he was, I wondered if someone was there to hold him. To hush him. To tell him he was still good.

And then, I found him.

He's grown and lean, but still the same boy underneath. Still beautiful, and still breakable. My angel, my other half. I wanted to hug him and see if he's going to cry when he sees me, I would drink them if I could and scoop them from his cheeks like holy water, to feel close to the heart I never had.

But he didn’t remember me the way I remembered him. He didn’t look at me with softness.

I never wept. Not when we were torn apart. Not when they told me he’d forgotten me. Not when I saw him live happily ever after with the Morgan family. I did not cry when I killed to find him. I did not cry when I saw him look at me with a stranger’s gaze.

But I did cry when he lifted the blade.

There was peace in it, in a cruel way. As if our story had always bent toward this ending, like trees leaning to the wind. He was close. Closer than he had been in years. He knelt beside me like a mourner before a shrine, and his trembling beautiful hands touched my face.

Then, when he pressed his forehead to mine. I felt seen, I felt held, and I felt known for the first time.

And something inside me broke.

And I wept a silent tear.

It slipped from the corner of my eye, slow as a prayer.

And then, he cut my throat.

I didn’t fight him. Not really. Because if he needed me to die to be whole, I would die. I would die a thousand times for him.

I felt the blade slip across my neck like a kiss from God. The blood came hot and fast but I didn’t care about the pain. I cared about his face—and there it was just like before, with his eyes wide and lips trembling, and those awful, perfect tears shining in his lashes.

He cried again.

And I could not bear it.

I did not care about death, but I cared more that he was crying. I tried to lift my hand, to reach out and wipe them away but they were wrapped. I wanted to smile for him, to tell him, "Don’t cry for me, Dexy. You are not the villain here. You did nothing wrong." But I couldn’t move, the blood choking me as I fought to breathe.

I struggled against the red tide rising in me, tried to fix my shattered neck and to pull in one last breath, not for me, but for him. So I wouldn’t burden him with the sight of me dying. So he wouldn’t carry the weight of my ending. So he wouldn’t carry the memory of my corpse twitching. I didn’t want to be a weight on his soul. I didn’t want him to remember me bleeding, I wanted him to remember that I looked at him like he was something divine.

So I held on one breath, then another, as long as I could.

And the truth is: he was always the one who cried.

And I was always the one who would bleed, suffer, and die—just to see him smile instead.

But if I could choose again, if God gave me one hour to relive in this cruel, tender world—I would still choose the hour he cried in my arms. I would still choose to die by his hands. I would still choose him.

[lost-in-the-bookshelves]

Okay SO Dexter Fic Idea

I read a lot of fanfic but I’ve only written a very small amount myself.

But I’m SO tempted to start a Dexter Fic.

Bc like - I love the show.

And it drives me batty how many of the interpersonal issues could be solved or at least HELPED if anyone on that show would willingly talk about their feelings out loud at any point ever.

But like none of them do! And somewhat understandably! Bc none of them actually know how!

So I really want there to be a character with some emotional intelligence who could go up to these people and be like ‘let’s chat for a minute’ and help them figure out how to talk through some of that rampant emotional turmoil.

Then the gremlin part of my brain is like “but what is the most chaotic way to go about this”.

And I’ve decided the funniest & most chaotic OC with emotional intelligence I could create would be the affair child of Laura Moser & Harry Morgan.

Bc I think the sheer existence of said affair child would make Dex, Deb, and especially Brian’s heads explode simultaneously.

Like just imagine an AU of S1 in which there’s just this gal around Deb’s age who shows up and is sticking her nose into any & all things related to Laura Moser & her death. Bc she knows that was her mom’s name & she had two older brothers, but they all got separated when her mom was horrifically murdered. So she’s just very openly digging into this and bringing up ALL KINDS of secrets from the past & whatnot. They wouldn’t find out that Harry was her Bio dad until later in the season/fic bc I think it’d be most dramatic & upsetting for everyone involved if they find that out only AFTER she’s become friends with everyone.

Also I think Deb would refuse to interact with her if she knew this was her dad’s Affair Baby right off the bat.

And I also just really want Deb to have a sister/female bestie who can be there for her.

I think Dexter would have a strong emotional reaction that he wouldn’t know what to do with, at being faced with a person who is both tied to his Before Family, and his After Family.

And I think Brian’s head would probably explode as he tried to figure out whether it mattered more to him that she was Laura’s daughter or that she was ALSO Harry’s.

[viinchester]

Haunted Reflections

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

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request by: @ireallydontknowohcrabs

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

Word Count: 2.321

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It couldn’t be. But it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It would be perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[miange1]

your up for writing extremities like knife play right? can we get Brian Moser from Dexter with knife play pls? 🙏

BRIAN MOSER

very short, gender neutral(no gentiles mentioned much), knife play(duh), reader does have cuts on their body but they just like cat scratches and very few are that deep, rough sex, riding, gay stuff, i have a HUGE crush on pilot kelson, he's so cute, writing for him next, cock warming, stab threats

"keep still or i'll go too deep again." he was laid back on his bed, the knife tracing places he would make you think he was going to cut— just to slice a completely different place and catch you by surprise.

"brian..i.." a strained, weakened moan came from you, your thighs trembling as he made a shallow cut way too close in between your legs. your arms tightened around his shoulders, a small yelp bubbling from your throat and becoming a melody to his ears.

"hush, you like it." it wasn't a question, he knew you liked it. you were making his dick wet as it is and you weren't even moving that much. a few blood drops trickled in between your thighs, and tickled you a bit but made you twitch all the more.

"please let me—" when you had slightly tried to move, he put more pressure on the blade and put a quick and painful slice next to the multiple little cuts. this one was deeper, making you moan out in absolute pain but fuck it almost made you cum right then and there.

"i told you to keep still."

you were trying so damn hard.

he seemed to stop for a moment, like he was trying to make some sort of decision. he moved positions for a bit, setting the knife in between the two of you and you gave him a face of confusion.

"you're gonna ride me, and it's gonna be the pace that i want." oh, you got it now. "touch this knife, it's a blade through your stomach."

"fuck, brian.."