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happy74827 · 26 days

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

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

WC: 2889

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

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

『••✎••』

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

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

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

But maybe he was.

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

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

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

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

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

It was terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deserved better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was exhilarating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something he couldn’t understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted. Bold. If you only knew.

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

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

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

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

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

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

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thisstormbringsstrangeloyalties · 3 days

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The Dark Defender - A Dexter Fanfiction (Part 1/6)

Read this story on Ao3

Story Summary: Meg Winters has a perfectly normal life and a wonderfully perfect boyfriend. Until she stumbles across a perfectly dark secret… and now her very life is in danger. No, not from the Bay Harbor Butcher whose waterlogged body of work has just been uncovered. But from something much closer… Desperate for help, Meg reaches out to a new hero in town, The Dark Defender, dealer of deadly vigilante dirty work. However, once Meg puts out a plea to The Defender, she must deal with the consequences, both bad AND good.

Author’s note: I wrote this story out of frustration with how I thought the Dark Defender from season 2 was SUCH a cool idea. I felt the fact that the Bay Harbor Butcher only killed other killers was something everyone just kind of slept on? It was only mentioned in passing a few times by civilians and only spurred one really shitty copycat. Personally, I think someone with such a strong moral code and harsh form of punishment would have developed SOME sort of cult following. And the Dark Defender would have been a good jumping off point for that. It would have been so cool for Dexter to have his darkest secrets revealed, only to turn around and discover that a huge group of people are ROOTING for him and that they think he’s actually doing the right thing. Definitely something I think he’s always craved, but never expected to find. Ugh. Okay. Enough rambling. Onto the story.

Wordcount: 2,189

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Meg Winters had a perfectly normal life and a wonderfully perfect boyfriend. She had been dating Zach O’Connell for nearly a year now, and they lived together in a small cottage in Miami.

The past year had felt like a dream to Meg. She worked in a bookstore. Zach worked in a retirement home, caring for others just as he cared for her. But it had been at the bookstore where they’d met. He’d come in looking for something to read, and she’d helped him find what he was looking for. And then he’d come back. He’d come back again and again. He had insisted it was for the books. “Your recommendations never miss,” he had insisted. “I can never put them down.” But it was never books they’d talked about.

Zach seemed to Get Meg in a way no one else ever had. He shared nearly all her interests, turned up whenever she needed him most, and somehow always knew what to say. When he’d asked for her number, she’d given it readily. When he’d asked her out, she couldn’t say “yes” fast enough. Things moved quickly then. Within weeks, they had A Song, they had A Spot, and then they were looking at A Place. Before they had even reached their half-year anniversary, they had moved in together.

There was tragedy, of course. Not long after they had settled into their new home, Meg’s best friend, Stephanie, had gotten into a terrible accident. Struck by a car while she was out running in the early hours of the morning. The driver had never been found, and the paramedics had said Stephanie was lucky to still be alive. Well, almost alive. Stephanie was in a coma, and no one knew when, or if, she would ever wake up.

The accident had very nearly destroyed Meg. Stephanie had been her closest friend since childhood. They’d done everything together. Meg couldn’t imagine a world without her.

The only thing that had kept Meg from falling apart completely was Zach. For some reason, he and Stephanie had never really gotten along, but after the accident, he’d pushed all that aside for Meg. He’d held her through every sob that wracked Meg’s body. He’d stayed up with her during every sleepless night. And he’d gone with her to every bedside visit in Stephanie’s hospital room. He’d even taken turns with Meg, reading all of Stephanie’s favorite books aloud. The doctors had said it was possible she could still hear them and that speaking to Stephanie might help guide her back to consciousness.

The ordeal was more painful than anything Meg had ever been through, and consequently, it had brought her and Zach together in a way she had never experienced with anyone before. They hadn’t even known each other for a year, and yet it felt like they had been together for a lifetime.

Meg really thought she had found The One. She was prepared to spend the rest of her life with him. They were perfect for each other. They could weather any storm together. Nothing could possibly tear them apart.

Or at least that’s what Meg had thought.

Until she found the box.

Living in Miami meant living with constant heat. And living in constant heat meant that any fault in the house’s air conditioning was a problem to be addressed immediately.

She had work off that day while Zach, on the other hand, had a full day at the retirement home, and though she wasn’t needed at the bookstore, she couldn’t stop herself from curling up in bed with her nose in a book. She was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t notice how unusually warm the room was until a drop of sweat rolled down her nose and landed in the middle of the page.

She blinked, staring at the small soaked spot in confusion. Then she looked up. For the first time in at least an hour, she took stock of her surroundings. Everything seemed normal except for the uncomfortably stuffy temperature. Meg strained her ears and picked up the telltale hum of the air conditioning unit. Well, that was odd.

She marked her place in her book before closing it and getting out of bed. She wandered over to the bedroom vent, tucked almost under the bed itself, and put her hand over the grate. A measly stream of cool air poured out. She frowned. Was something blocking it?

She bent closer and peered through the grate. In what little light penetrated the vent, she thought she could see the silhouette of something in there.

She slipped her fingernails under the edge of the grate and worked to pry it free. Soon enough, she had loosened it enough to jam her fingertips underneath and pull it completely off. She set the grate aside and plunged one hand into the vent. She was half a forearm deep when her fingers brushed against something smooth and angular. She froze, grabbed ahold of it, and pulled.

She sat back at she looked at the small box in her hands. It was plain and made of finished wood. Her heart pounded as she hesitated at the latch. She felt like she had just stumbled across something she wasn’t meant to view.

Finally, steeling herself, she flipped up the latch and opened the box.

Her stomach sank at the sight that greeted her. Sitting on top was a bra. One of her bras. Her nose crinkling in distaste, she pulled it out and set it aside only to uncover more of her things beneath. Socks, underwear, a diary she had kept in high school, a diary she had kept in middle school. There were CD’s Stephanie had burned for her, old postcards addressed to her, even a USB drive she recognized as her own from her college days. She felt like she was going to be sick.

This was Zach’s box. It had to be Zach’s box. In fact, some sixth sense told her it was undoubtedly his. But why? They lived together, there was no need to keep a stash of her things, especially things this… personal. Why this invasion of privacy?

But still, something deep inside told her Zach had started this collection long before they’d started living together. It felt like some strange profile he’d put together, something to understand her.

She thought about how Zach had sometimes seemed to know her better than she knew herself, and pieces of a puzzle she didn’t even know existed started clicking into place.

She kept digging.

At the very bottom corner of the box, tucked away like they were the most secret thing of all, were what appeared to be… clumps of hair. Meg’s stomach turned as she pulled one out and examined it. It was short, brown, and bound by a thin rubber band. She set it aside and began pulling out more clumps, each tied together with another rubber band. As she pulled them out, a sense of unease began to weigh more and more heavily in her gut. There was something about the samples of hair that felt almost sacred, like there was a sense of pride behind each one. They almost felt like— like… Meg stuttered mentally over the word that rose so damningly in her mind.

They almost felt like trophies.

She pulled out another clump of hair and came to a halt. For the first time, the hair she held looked familiar to her. She sat unmoving, staring at it, willing herself to remember where she had seen it before. Then it came to her.

David.

David was one of the bookstore’s regular customers. Or at least he had been. He was a tall, handsome fellow with bright green eyes and ridiculously curly, pale blond locks. She’d recognize them anywhere. She’d spent plenty of time staring at them whenever David came into the store and leaned uncomfortably far over her counter, chatting about increasingly personal subjects with her. Every once in awhile, he’d gain enough nerve to ask her out. She’d politely turned him down each time, but David seemed to be under the impression that she’d change her mind if he just wore her down a bit more.

Once Zach had started coming into the store, he and David had encountered each other only a few times. Zach would walk in to find David bent over Meg’s counter like a vulture. Then he’d look at Meg and Meg would give him a “please help me” look, to which Zach had always obliged with gusto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Zach would barge into the conversation, leaving no room for David’s unwanted advances. After a few minutes of quiet frustration, David would give up on his pursuit for the day and leave in a huff.

After this had happened a couple times, David had stopped coming to the bookstore entirely. Meg assumed that, with Zach in the picture, David had finally accepted defeat. She couldn’t say she missed him or his patronage. But now, as she turned the curly bundle of pale blond hair in her grasp, she began to doubt it was as simple as that. A cold dread began to creep up her spine as his disappearance suddenly felt a lot more nefarious.

Her skin prickling with revulsion, she dropped the bundle of hair into the discard pile and picked up the next one in the box. She froze as it came into sight. The cold dread rose into a white hot rage.

She did not need to think about where she had seen this hair before. She recognized it immediately, knew it as if it were her own. The chestnut brown with the red highlights. It was Stephanie’s.

Meg’s hands shook. Her vision turned scarlet. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear something apart.

Zach. This was all Zach. Zach had done this. He had never really liked Stephanie. Of course, he had done this. He had been the one to hit Stephanie with his car. He had been the one to put her in this awful coma. This was a fact that Meg now knew in her very soul.

She wanted to fling the box away. Destroy it and everything inside. She wanted to run all the way to Zach’s place of work and beat him with her fists until there was nothing left.

But Meg did neither of these things. Instead, she reverently set Stephanie’s hair down next to David’s and reached for the box of horrors once more. There was still more inside and she knew she had to see this through until the end.

There were only two clumps of hair left, both blond and both similar enough to Meg’s own hair color and texture that, for a brief moment of terror, she thought they belonged to her. But then, no, they were most definitely not hers. That one was too dark and the other one was too curly. Unlike the other samples of hair, these two were not held together with a rubber band. Instead, they had each been tied up with a beautiful bow of ribbon, one a deep, midnight blue and the other a sleek, crimson red.

Meg stared at them, trying to figure them out. There was something special about these two samples, that much was clear. But what?

Once more, she felt the pieces of this new puzzle clicking together, and that’s when she knew.

Zach had mentioned before that he’d been in previous relationships. In fact, he’d been in two rather serious ones, but whenever Meg had asked about his exes, he’d clammed up. All she knew about them was that things had been perfect… until they weren’t.

“They just changed,” he’d told her simply. “And I knew that we’d never be able to work things out.”

And that was that.

Meg had tried not to pry. Zach had always been so quiet about his past, and she had never pushed him to say more than he was comfortable with. From what little she’d heard, it didn’t seem like the kind of stuff someone would want to relive. But now she wished she hadn’t been so understanding. She wished she had squeezed every last detail out of him.

She looked down at the hair in her hands again. This was all that remained of those two mysterious exes now, she was certain of it. And as she had this thought, another certainty settled over her, one that made her head spin and her stomach twist into knots.

She was next.

Meg sat unmoving for a long while, clutching the remains of her predecessors. Then, like a switch, she came back to life. Mechanically, she began putting everything back in the box, taking extra care to arrange it just as she had found it. She closed it, latched it tight, and slid it back into the open vent. She took time to make sure the box was positioned so the air flow was unblocked, then she replaced the grate, climbed back into bed, and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

#posted this on ao3 awhile back #buuuuut thought it might be fun to post it here too heehee #Dexter #Dexter fanfiction #Dexter fanfic #dexter morgan #Deb Morgan #Debra Morgan #Angel Batista #Bay Harbor butcher #the dark defender #and my silly little OC Meg Winters #plus my subtle wish fulfillment of getting Joe Goldberg on Dex’s table #may he rest in pieces </3

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