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♡ GUILDLINES DAYDREAMS ABOUT TAGS ⠀ dark writing n sexual visual reblogs, eighteen plus 𝟅𝟈 ⠀ ANONS MOST RECENT . . . inbox open to you!
let’s switch things up!
how do you think it would be if brian walked in on angel!reader killing instead of vice versa ?
love you xoxo
she’s still gonna be her little sweet self cause nothing can take that away from her but brian?? he’s seeing hearts!! ♡♡ love you even more!!
᧔•᧓
you’re standing over him. the man tied down, mouth gagged, the plastic already soaked red around the edges. your hands are gloved, a scalpel still gleaming between your fingers. your hair is clipped up, neat, like it’s just another delicate task you had to handle after brunch. your expression is calm. focused. almost clinical. beautiful. and brian can’t help but watch silently.
the room is warm. still. lit only by a single lamp in the corner, its light golden and gentle, casting long shadows across the walls. there’s a faint hum from the refrigerator, a tick from the old clock on your mantel, and underneath it all — silence. thick and unbroken.
then you hum. your favorite tune — the one brian plays for you sometimes when you’re curled up on his couch with tea and your legs folded beneath you. the melody trickles from your lips, delicate and sweet, and then you part them to sing a line or two, almost inaudible. you don’t even realize how disarming it is. how wrong. how perfectly, impossibly right.
brian should say something. should run. but he doesn’t. instead, he just watches you — tilting his head slightly, like trying to see you from this new angle. the real one. watches the way your mouth curls faintly at the corners, like you’re pleased with yourself. watches the way your weight shifts gently from foot to foot, skirt swaying around your knees like you’re waiting for cookies to finish baking.
eventually, you look up. not scared. not guilty. just… surprised. “brian?” you blink. “what are you doing here?” you look at him like he’s just come over for tea. like he’s early. like you didn’t just flay a man open like a science project in the middle of your living room.
and maybe that’s the worst part — the part that breaks something in him and makes it impossible to walk away. because you’re still you. sweet. lovely. all lace and light. only now… not so harmless. he exhales slowly, the soft click echoing through the stillness. “i should be asking you that,” he says, calm. steady. almost impressed. “but… I think I already know.”
you pout a little, pressing your lips together like a child caught in a little white lie. your fingers play with the hem of your glove, picking at the seam. your brows furrow slightly, sheepish. “you’re not mad, are you?” mad? he steps closer. one pace. then another. “no,” he says softly, eyes never leaving yours. “i think i’ve been looking for you my whole life.” your gaze softens instantly, wide with surprise — and something shy. flattered.
“he was a bad man. promise.” your voice is quiet. earnest. like you’re explaining why you spilled juice on the carpet — not why there’s a corpse bleeding out on plastic wrap three feet away. brian doesn’t respond right away. he just takes you in — the blood dotting your cheek like a freckle, the gleam of your eyes in the lamp light, the way you’re holding the scalpel like it’s just another tool in a craft kit. “you believe me, right?”
he looks down at the man. the marks are clean. the cuts are symmetrical. there’s no evidence of struggle, no panic. only precision. brian tilts his head and studies the scene the way someone might admire an oil painting — details, texture, layers. and then he looks at you. brian just stares at you for a moment longer, caught in that strange space between disbelief and awe. your lashes flutter. your skirt sways a little with each shift of your weight.
he moves toward you. slow, careful. not like he’s afraid. like he’s reverent. “i believe you,” he says. you smile — beam, really — like he’s just told you he likes your outfit. “i only pick the bad ones. the really, really bad ones,” you gleam.
“i can tell,” brian says, stepping around the body to stand beside you, eyes still on you, not the mess. “you’re… good at this.” you perk up. “you think so?” with soft eyes, he makes sure to get the blood smudged on your cheek with his thumb. “i know so.” you giggle, pleased, and brian feels something shift in his chest — a terrifying, perfect kind of surrender. you’re everything. beautiful, unholy, his.
do not copy my work, translate it, feed it to ai to manipulate or alter, make content based off my au’s, steal my au’s completely, try to ask permission to copy my work in any form or steal my blog or post layout themes! if i see anything that even resembles mine and you don’t @ me then you will be blocked.
m’ sweet when you are sweet to me!
this is a safe space and i intended for it to stay that way so don’t come onto my blog with hateful intentions or you will be quickly blocked. i don’t entertain mess lol.
don’t like what i write or how i run my blog? block me. don’t go out of your way to tell me how much you don’t like it cause i don’t care.
most if not all of my fics are female reader—anytime i write, i envision a black reader but anyone can read it unless it directly says x black reader.
types of work: headcanons, au’s, and standalones (drabbles), no full fics unless i just naturally write them.
this is a secret blog from my main so i can’t follow back! srry!
anyone can interact, and i say this not as a “i don’t care that minors read smut” but in a “people are going to do what they want regardless of what i say” type of way. for minors, i would feel comfortable if you only interacted with my sfw which is almost none. anybody 17+, i open my blog to any thing you like but still be mindful. blank blogs will be blocked. you can atleast put something in your bio and add a profile picture. m’ just gonna assume you’re a bot.
the content i create and interact w might be sexual, dark or both ( read further down to see different content m’ willing to write )
don’t spam like, i don’t want to be shadowband. also don’t like more than 2 posts without reblogging or i will block you.
inbox is always open for friendly chatting, including emoji anons. i advise anons not be be rude to anyone or/and me or i will block you from sending me asks all together.
i only write male characters x female/general reader, no male because i can’t write what i don’t know about.
i don’t take request for au’s but i do take request for work built off a already made au. this is what this account is about!
about au’s, don’t send any questions or work suggestions that include anything that might make the reader think that she is white or of a lighter complexion ( like blush, skin turning purple or red ) keep your readers neutral just as i keep mine so everyone is comfortable.
i won't always answer your asks or feel a spark with them so don't be discouraged when i don't respond!
mi YES’S: mindful spanking, choking kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, tummy bulging, cheating, light toxic relationships, creampie, breeding, hairpulling, overstimulation, edging, cervix fucking, light anal (depends on what m’ feeling like), degradation, friends w/ benefits, double penetration, sweet and passionate sex, masturbating, light somnophillia, dacryphilia, tounge fucking, stalking, slapping, perverted actions, spit, mirror sex, squirting, aftercare, nudes, slut-shaming, possessiveness, edging, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, age gap ( ex. f! 25 & m! 30-40s), cumming inside, finger fucking, dominant & submissive, filming, gagging, consent, begging, praise, dumbification, pussy slapping, clit stimulation, light clit biting, manipulation . . and anything else.
with dark content i think it’s mindful that i try to list my NO’S in full so here they are: ageplay, dub-con, piss, shit, feet, pregnancy in general and sex, male anal play or penetration, polyamorous relationship, threesome (maybe, on my own accord), daddy kink, ddlg, scat, bdsm, cnc, race/ethnicity play, abuse in any form, rape, incest/step-sibling play, throat bulging, hate sex, secret affairs, pet play (?), lactation kink, brat taming, food play, public sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, hybrid! fem reader, heavy gore, aging up underage characters, self harm, misogyny, not legal! age gap, vomit, romaticising any types of disorders (ex. eating disorders, anorexia, etc.), grooming, knife/gun play, cherry chasing, period sex, blackmailing . . and anything else.
if i didn’t list something here that you would like, ask first n’ i’ll answer to see!
if you have a question about any of my guidelines, feel free to ask in my inbox. but do not say slurs, ask me am i red or blue or say anything about religion.
could you possibly do a brian x angel baby reader whereeeee: maybe it’s like he sees her for the first time, she’s dancing and having fun at rita’s birthday or some event and she looks soooo magical he falls in love instantly, she steals his heart on the spot !
of course! first meet?? long long long overdue! ♡ w. y/n used once . . i hate using it :(
᧔•᧓
it was supposed to be a quick stop. a favor to dexter. a polite appearance at a birthday party for someone he barely knew — rita, he thinks, the pretty one with the gentle smile and the two kids tugging at her arms. brian was going to show face, blend in, then disappear. but then he sees you.
the sun is gleaming from the large sky in the background of Rita’s house. too bright, almost blinding — but it doesn’t blind him to the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye —soft laughter spun up in the warm hum of backyard chatter. he turns, only half interested, only half aware, and the rest of the world shuts off.
you’re dancing barefoot in the grass, skirt fluttering like petals around your thighs, a drink in one hand, and that smile — god, that smile — radiant and entirely unbothered by anyone watching. there’s something otherworldly about you. maybe it’s the way you toss your head back when someone calls your name, sunlight catching in your hair like it’s made of only the purest material or how your skin looks good enough to take a bite out of from where he’s standing.
brian doesn’t breathe— just watches, as he always finds himself doing. you’re not even looking at him, not aware of him at all — too busy laughing with the music, teasing rita, laughing with cody, and stealing a cookie from his plate. and he swears his heart actually stumbles in his chest or maybe his arteries aren’t pushing enough blood to reach his heart.
you’re light. you’re warmth. your joy dipped in lace and softness and grace. you don’t belong here, not in this too-human world. And he wants to take you away. but he stands there, completely still, a quiet man in the shade with blood on his hands and a heart he thought was long dead — suddenly aching.
but the aching is too much— so much—he waits. not out of patience, but because he needs a second — to breathe, to make sure he doesn’t walk straight up to you looking like a man who just had his entire axis shifted. eventually, you drift off from the dancing. the music fades a little, replaced by the low hum of conversation and laughter. you’re reaching for a bottle of water when he steps closer, slow and smooth, like he’s done this a thousand times. (he hasn’t.)
“hot out here,” he says casually, offering a crooked, harmless smile. you glance up at him, big eyes blinking like you hadn’t even noticed anyone nearby. “oh! yeah, i didn’t realize until i stopped spinning. kinda dizzy now.” you giggle. it hits him like a truck.
“i’m brian,” he says, trying to keep his voice from dipping into anything deeper than polite. your face lights up with that sunshine-against-skin smile and you shake his hand — warm, soft, weightless in his. “m’ y/n. you’re dexter’s friend, right?” you laugh again, like the whole world is funny and sweet.
you blink at him, kind. curious. he nods, grip tightens just the tiniest bit before he lets. “yeah. something like that.” you lean in, conspiratorial, “he’s weird, right? but like… in a cute way.” brian actually huffs a quiet laugh. “that’s one word for it.” you giggle again. “you’re funny.”
you say it like you don’t know what you’re doing. like you don’t understand that he’ll replay that sound in his head tonight until it burns itself into the walls of his apartment. someone calls your name. you glance back, give a little wave, and then look at him again with that soft, floaty warmth. “it was nice meeting you, brian. i like your voice. you sound like you should be on the radio.”
and then you’re gone. just like that. off to twirl back into the party, completely unaware of the way you’ve just undone a man who thought nothing could touch him. brian watches you disappear into the crowd, still holding the bottle of water you never opened.
⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: TIED IN A SILK, WHITE BOW . . ⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀ DOLL! READER
୨୧ DOLL! READER is everybody’s idea of perfection. always in the shortest little shorts and the cutest heels or loafers, with eyes rounder than her acrylic nails and a voice as sweet as spun sugar. there’s not a single thought behind those big, fluttery lashes — besides how bad she wants to tell that stranger how cute their top is and ask where it’s from. she adores taking pictures of anything that pleases her: her boyfriend half-smiling when he thinks she’s not looking, or how pretty the moon looks in the clear she leans into people when they talk, lashes dancing, gaze wide — like she’s truly fascinated, even if she forgets what they said five seconds later. walking on the inside of the sidewalk type of girl. who looks good in whatever color she’s given.
୨୧ DOLL! READER who’s the walk-on-the-inside-of-the-sidewalk type of girl. the kind who looks good in any color she’s given. the kind who giggles like it’s second nature, even when nothing’s funny — just because the world sounds better that way. she gasps over the littlest things: perfect flowers, seeing her own reflection (she obviously stares for a while), handwritten notes. always has a mini perfume in her purse that smells like vanilla sugar and baby pink dreams. she says things like “you’re sooo pretty, I’m obsessed” with her whole chest and means every word. she’s soft, flirty in that unintentional, dizzy way, always skipping steps when she’s excited.
୨୧ DOLL! READER who carries twenty different lip glosses just to match her ever-changing vibe. and her boyfriend — he swears she’s all sugar and no sense. but he knows exactly which gloss is her favorite. he always walks on the outside — because she forgets every time — and he always switches her back without a word.
— BRIAN MOSER work here.
— DEXTER MORGAN work here.
© 2025 swetblom — don’t imitate or copy my work.
asks are open for her. doesn’t matter who’s she’s paired with! dexter or brian— just send!! pls read guidelines though!
umm, m’ so fucking excited i could scream . . literally. she’s my everything. already working on some stuff!
Hear me out..
Celebrity model/actress reader x FRUSTRATED Brian..
Hes been looking for ‘perfection’ and true artistry this whole time and has finally found someone who HAS to be camera ready at all times 💞
- xoxo MUAH 💒
STOOPPP ARE OUR BRAINS MUSHED TOGETHER?? i was literally thinking of making a doll! reader and her being perfection! ohmygod anon!!!
Ur writing is the BOMB but wuld you eva consider writin 4 otha CHARAS of Christian Camargos? Cause I’m sure you’d ADORE him in Harlem aria 🤭
- xoxo 💒
first, thank you so much! second, m’ not sure honestly. i’ve definitely seen people make edits of him in the movie but i haven’t personally watched it!
