#dexter morgan/reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happy74827 · 20 days

Text

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.

136 notes · View notes

c0ffinshit · 1 month

Text

Hello, You. (Dexter Morgan x Stalker!Reader) PROLOGUE

a/n: hello, you. (get it? hehe). ANYWAYS sorry i've been gone for a while. i've literally been depressed for like months but I'M OKAY NOW. i promise. so, in honor of my mental health being good now, i wrote this story about a reader who REALLY needs to see a doctor. word count: 1,466 warnings: dead dove: do not eat, mentions of attempted rape (and rape in general), assault, borderline psychopath reader, stalking, like one mention of abortion, joe goldberg core

Hello, you. Dexter Morgan, you sick and beautiful freak of nature. I know what you’ve done. I’ll stay quiet for now since I’m such a good girlfriend. Well, about the girlfriend part. You don’t know yet. But you will soon, my love.

I would tell you how long I’ve been following you, but I fear it would make you more likely to run the other way. But the thing about that is I don’t want you gone yet. You don’t know yet that you desire me to. The same way I enjoy and crave you.

Ever since Rita died, your life has been fading colors, Dexter. You lack a desire, a need to kill, and feel that release. And I understand that better than anyone. Sure, the context may differ for us, but it always leads down the same path. You don’t have that drive, but I do. And more importantly, I want to give you that purpose you feel you lack. I’ve done everything to get your eyes to meet mine, but everything never works. It’s like I’m some piece of glass you can ignore. You want to look past me, Dexter, but I find that incredibly flustering when I’m standing there. I’ve quit jobs at places frequently and wore heavy makeup and ugly clothes, all for you. You can’t ignore me forever, Dexter.

Now I sit in a nearly empty store, just for you. It’s like I said, you can’t ignore me for long.

The store is bland and uninteresting, a place I would never expect you to be. Of course, this is where you’ll see me finally. You wouldn’t be able to unsee me. I’ve dyed my hair and changed my appearance. It’ll be hard to recognize me of the changes I’ve made. I know you’ll think: I’ve seen this girl before, but I can’t place where. But the truth is that you’ve noticed me in everything your eyes have touched. At supermarkets and malls, where I just watch you and your children enjoy a day out together. Then, your wife was murdered brutally by the Trinity Killer. Now, did I have connections to the Trinity Killer to cause her death? No, unfortunately. The death of your wife was still all him. But I quickly struck when I knew it was my time to shine. The children, not including Harrison, were finally gone. Now that I can manage. You, Harrison, and I could finally be the perfect family together.

But you had to make things complicated. First, it was Lila West. Now, I don’t like cheaters, Dexter. But here’s the thing about that. It's hard to compare all of your actions and say that cheating on your wife is the worst of them.

She was a serial arsonist. Lila didn’t understand anything about you, but she was good at taking care of your so-called addiction to heroin. You told her what she wanted to comprehend. Lila tried to save you when you were unsavable in her eyes. She wanted to save the unsavable.

Next thing you know, she’s off to France after almost killing you and Rita’s children in a house fire. She ran from you when you didn’t choose her over your wife. Pathetic, honestly. As much as I can say that I would do the same, I would be wrong. Dexter, I’ve known you for years now. We were coming up on our fourth year together. My fourth year in your life without you knowing of my existence.

Then that girl came into your life. What’s her name?

Oh, right, Lumen—the poor girl from Minnesota who sweetly begged for your help in the killing of her rapists. As much as she got in my way, I will admit, I did like her for you.

If I failed to exist, you would've destined to be with her. How funny fate works, though, since she left your sight in the blink of an eye. Was that my doing? For the most part, it was all her. Lucky me that I didn’t have to do anything before she told you that her dark passenger had left her and how she finally managed to heal from the torment. It's funny how someone so tortured by her past could move on so quickly, unlike you, who seems forever stuck in that cargo container.

My point is every girl in your life has left you in some capacity.

And the only male figure in your life failed you. I, however, understand that you don’t need saving or fixing. Killing is a part of you. Harry made that very clear to you. He tried to save you by shaping you into a hero. But as we both know, that didn’t last very long.

Now you’re here in Iron Lake, New York. Ten years clear from killings. I’m sitting outside the homely yet bland store, waiting for you to leave. Yes, I plan to follow you home. But I have a good reason. Tonight’s the night I tell you of the accident you saved me from, how you caught the man that could’ve killed me that very night. You rescued me by slaughtering him.

You probably don’t remember that night. I don’t blame you for that. It was just another kill for you. But allow me to enlighten you.

It was when you were still in Miami, November 1st, about nine at night.

I was leaving a bar after another sad night alone. A man follows me out of the bar. I can’t remember his name or his face. You would be better at recognizing his name and his face than me. All I do recall is someone grabbing me as I left, pulling me into an alley. His hand covered my screams, his other holding a hunting knife to my throat.

"Shut the fuck up, or this goes straight through your fucking neck." The man threatened, pressing the knife deeper into my neck.

I’d be powerless my whole life, always a second choice, but I never pled for what happened to me. But I don’t blame him for what he targeted me—a vulnerable young woman leaving a bar in early November. It’s a recipe for murder.

My voice tries to scream out more, my body thrashing against his. The man's grip moves away from my mouth, moving down my body. I feel tears swell in my eyes as his hand pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties. I knew where this was going, and I was terrified. I couldn’t afford a police investigation or an abortion. I would have to carry the baby, that fucking rape baby.

Suddenly, the knife he was holding drops out of his hand. His threatening pleas of my silence turn hushed as I hear his body thud against the pavement. The loose rocks and debris scratch against his body as you drag him away. My eyes are shut tight, too scared to open them. But I knew it was you, the Bay Harbor Butcher. Things like this were happening all over the city. Stories of your heroism, saving all walks of life. You were a hero, never the villain. I just never thought it would happen to me.

The dragging briefly turns shushed as I feel your eyes on me. "Go. Run far." You say in a hushed tone.

My eyes shoot open, and it feels like my feet think for me. I do as you say. I ran, and I ran fast. My feet and lungs held my body as upright as they could. Finally, I reached a gas station near my apartment before I became tired. I ran five miles the night, just on adrenaline alone.

That’s how you saved my life that night, Dexter. Three words. You had given me a purpose and something to fight for.

It wasn’t hard to find you after that. I searched in forums across the internet, talking of this Bay Harbor Butcher persona of yours. Of course, I never encountered you on any of those, which I should’ve figured. So, my search efforts had become ten times harder. So, I did what any logical person would do and found patterns within your murders, all criminals who either went under the radar or were recently released. You try to save the people, like some sick and twisted Batman. When, if anything, you follow closer to Bateman than the caped crusader. I did what a cop or detective couldn’t have done in a year. After all that time and effort, I found your name and shady Iron Lake cabin: Dexter Morgan, a man in the countryside with a girlfriend who's a cop. Shame for her since she won’t live to hear my declaration. But even if she does, she won’t like what she hears.

#dexter morgan #dexter showtime #michael c hall #dexter morgan x reader #send help #i want him #dead dove do not eat

55 notes · View notes

congratzams · 2 months

Text

𝖎��𝖈𝖚𝖇𝖚𝖘

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: dexter morgan

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: dexter had to save his own skin and you had a little bit too much of faith in him; fake priest!dex

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: church related themes, mentions of somnophilia

𝐀/𝐍: bear with me, I've only watched one season of Dexter but I've fallen hard for the character and there's so little content of him 😭 also, I'm far from religious so the details might be a bit off for those who attend the church

Dexter only became a priest because he had to; his vigilante activities were discovered and he had to save his own skin. At that moment, a small town far away from Miami seemed like a good choice.

Oh, and how people were too trusting of him once he stepped into the unknown territory. A couple smiles here and there, some occasional name-drops and all was good. Soon enough, he became a wolf in sheep's clothing. Who would dare to suspect a priest?

Sure, he had to do his own research before taking the role, but it was not as difficult as other things he had to learn. Camouflage was one of the many skills he had mastered in order to survive.

But you, oh, sweet and ingenue you. You had to show up and put his plans to the test. You always stayed behind after masses, even during late hours, seeking advice from his priest persona.

And it almost seemed like you wanted Dex to look at your manicured fingers toying with the hem of your pastel pink skirt. Maybe you weren't so naïve as he initially thought.

But the suspicion could've been only a part of Dexter's own twisted thoughts, stirring something up in the deepest parts of his mind. That way, your next encounters could've been summarized as his eyes marked by a new and dark glisten, especially whenever he looked at you during the mass or when you got too close to him while sharing your worries. Dexter certainly did not put the ‘Holy’ in ‘Holy Father'.

Soon, your confessions began to approach this certain ‘warm’ feeling in your womb and impure thoughts and impulses — which you believed to be the devil's work. Dexter couldn't dare to risk his disguise and have you all for himself, even when there was a suffocated plea written all over your eyes and your will seemed to weaken the more you asked for his help.

So he requested you knelt in front of him and confessed to him all of your sins. To see your chest heaving with every word you said, oh, he felt like the Lord himself.

He could also see with such clarity the ones involved in your fantasies: a certain red-headed that forces the lady to succumb to lust. And to that, his eyes stared deep into yours, locked in place, as if you were his new prey.

“Father, I think I may be under the influence of an incubus…”

Dexter, as the priest, seemed to give it a thought. “Do you feel like this creature has sexual intercourse while you sleep?”

You shook your head before his voice reached your ears, now deep and full of maliciousness. Maybe his dark passenger should pay you a visit.

“Would you like it to?”

#dexter morgan imagines #dexter morgan x reader #dexter morgan

53 notes · View notes

dancingisdangerouss · 1 year

Note

God I need some dexter mogen headcons just enything about dexter morgen x reader I am begging you. There is not enough fan fiction about him.

It is indeed criminal how few things there are out there for him. Which is weird, because I know you hoes on here love a suave, cocky serial killer with a thing for blood, so I don’t get why he’s not more popular. Like??

Anyway. Here are some headcanons I’m pulling out of my ass:

Dexter is a Dork. If you remove the serial killer/Dark passenger vibes, he’s like just a nerd with weird fascinations. He strikes me as a very scientific guy, like you could ask him about molecules or some shit and he’ll excitedly prattle on for an hour about it.

He’s doing his best to come across as a regular guy, so he would be a very thoughtful lover. Taking literal notes down about things you like, stuff you mention wanting, etc. so he can surprise you with gifts. That adorable, doting boyfriend couldn’t possibly be a killer, right?

Dexter loves blood. We know this. It’s his life, his work, his obsession…So like a vampire, he comes a-runnin’ like a faithful puppy anytime you’re bleeding from something, just admiring the wound with a sense of great awe before sucking on it.

He’s so into it, he’ll even do what some guys do with their semen, where they spray all over the girl’s face and chest, except with his own blood. Finds it erotic to cut himself at just the right spot to make the blood mist all over you, gulping and huskily muttering about how fucking good you look like that before plowing you into the wall.

He needs a lot of reassurance. He talks about being a monster and a bad person in a flippant manner, but I think, deep down, it hurts knowing what he is. He plays it off like “oh yeah I’m a bad guy who kills bad guys, anyway, want some fries?” but I feel like he actually feels hurt and isolated by what he is, and just craves acceptance.

Dexter can be… a tad possessive and overprotective. He’s loved and lost a lot in his life, and he’s not about to lose you, too. Any guy talking to you? He’s puffing his chest and posturing, intimidating the man to leave. Someone hurting you? Even just by giving you a playful smack on the shoulder? His hand is around their wrist in a serpent’s grip, like, “you wanna lose that hand?”

As seen in the show, he doesn’t think he likes sex and acts like he’s indifferent to it, but dude is a sex fiend. He loves incorporating his kinks into it, too—assuming you know what he does in his spare time, that is. Would love to tie you down naked with plastic wrap, take a sample of your blood and lick the wound clean, and fuck you while you’re bound to the lab table, whimpering and unable to touch him back.

He’s also a very verbal guy in the bedroom. A real teasing, silver-tongued bastard who knows exactly what to say to make your knees weaken. If you have any kinks, he’ll take full advantage of that, whispering the filthiest of things into your ear. I personally think he has a really nice voice in general, and would use that to his advantage.

Aftercare. BIG into aftercare. We’ve seen with his lovers he’s very affectionate and playful, and I get the vibes from him that he would want to ensure your absolute comfort, however you prefer.

#penny for your thots #he’s so underrated tbh #hope these were something along the lines of what you’re looking for?#it’s been a while since I watched Dexter tbh #asks #anon #dexter #dexter morgan x female reader #Dexter Morgan

199 notes · View notes

sanctum-of-ramshackle · 1 year

Note

You know, there's something that's been on my mind lately. What if Yuu was like Dexter Morgan from "Dexter"?

[OOC]: Hi! Writer here. Yeah…MC/Yuu being like Dexter Morgan sounds like an interesting concept. I mean the show itself is extremely mature with both homicidal and…other elements.

Let’s just focus on the murder! Wow. That sounds terrible out of context…

So about MC/Yuu being like Dexter Morgan, that’s gonna raise suspicions around NRC as almost everyone in the magical academy is guilty of something. Though I’m sure MC/Yuu Morgan may understand these students and friends of theirs are just acting like how normal teenagers behave.

Except I’m thinking whenever they defeat an Overblot battle and learn how the Dorm Leaders were the way they are, there’s gonna be blood shed.

[WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS. DNI IF YOU’RE UNDER 18!]

[I REPEAT! DNI IF YOU’RE UNDER 18 OR SO HELP ME YOU’LL BE DISGUSTED FROM WHAT I WRITTEN DOWN BELOW!]

MC/Yuu Morgan is meticulous when it comes to deposing human bodies and there is a lot of victims on their list of people who harmed their friends.

I don’t think I can write everything as there’s obstacles like Royal guards, high magical security and so on, but I can give an example to how MC/Yuu Morgan does their duty.

[Example: Dr. Rosehearts a.k.a. Riddle’s Mother from HELL]

(I hate her so much because she’s a prime example of the Authoritarian Parenting style.)

If MC/Yuu were able to travel to the Queendom of Roses, they need to be equipped with whatever sharp instruments they can find and supplies for keeping blood stains off of surfaces.

Also finding drugs to incapacitate their first victim in another strange world, Mama Rosehearts from the darkest corner of the Underworld.

They would sneak inside the Rosehearts Residence and if she’s still awake, they’ll quickly inject her with a syringe with the drugs from earlier.

Next cover the kitchen area in plastic, set up the surgical tools and other handy equipments to butcher the remains.

Also the laboratory glass sheets for collecting biological samples. (Blood samples, to be exact.)

Then they strip and tie the body down on the kitchen table.

Dr. Rosehearts: *Wakes up perplexed* Hm?

MC/Yuu Morgan: *In a monotone voice* Oh look. You’re finally awake. *Pulls out their scalpel*

Dr. Rosehearts: *Gagged with tape sealed on her lips shut* What is the meaning of this?!!

MC/Yuu Morgan: Do you know why you’re stuck like this? *Cuts her cheek as it bleeds*

Dr. Rosehearts: *Winces*

MC/Yuu Morgan: *Takes the blood sample as their reminder* You forced your son to be in misery. You took away what every child deserves. A childhood. A happier, safe kind. I have murdered plenty of those kinds of people back home. *Holds their scalpel against her neck* I hope your choices are what is best for you, not him. *Pulls their tool away*

Dr. Rosehearts: *Sighs in relief*

MC/Yuu Morgan: *Pulls out a huge cleaver*

Dr. Rosehearts: *Muffled screams*

MC/Yuu Morgan: Shhh…It’ll be over soon. Or now. *Swings the cleaver down and chops right in the neck*

[The head and the body are severed, pools of blood spills off the table and on the floor shielded with plastic. With 10 seconds of remaining consciousness, Dr. Rosehearts can only see a haunting glare of the conditioned serial killer.]

MC/Yuu Morgan: “Off with your head.” Seems appropriate in Riddle’s case.

They would hack up the body like an anatomical puzzle game and stuff them in trash bags with tons of weights to prevent floating. Like what Dexter did filling his bags of victims with rocks.

MC/Yuu would throw them in the ocean, hoping no Mer-Creatures would scavenge through.

The news broke out of Riddle’s mother going missing for a week.

Nobody knows it was the Ramshackle Prefect responsible for the disappearance.

Almost all of the cases of missing people and horrific threats were caused by the unassuming magicless Ramshackle Prefect.

Now if there is an ending for MC/Yuu Morgan, they’ll probably change their name and identity like in Dexter: New Blood and try to pass on from their past actions, but keep coming back.

That concludes if MC/Yuu acts, behaves and pursue like Dexter Morgan.

#The Master of Sorcery answers #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #Dexter #Dexter: New Blood #Dexter Morgan #MC Morgan #Yuu Morgan #twisted wonderland mc #twst mc #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader

81 notes · View notes

cuntghoulie · 2 years

Text

Intro + Requests

Miasmatically = cuntghoulie

Hi, I’m Grey! I’m 20 years old, I go by any pronouns! I’m also a writer, and want to start writing for some of my favorite characters!

All readers are GN unless otherwise specified.

Requests: OPEN

Characters I will write for:

Dexter Morgan (Dexter)

Bo Sinclair (House of Wax)

Pinhead (Hellraiser)

Tiffany Valentine (Bride of Chucky)

The Man (Hush)

Baby Firefly (House of 1000 Corpses)

Otis Driftwood (House of 1000 Corpses)

Art the Clown (Terrifier)

The Driller Killer (Slumber Party Massacre 2)

Ash Williams (Evil Dead)

Amanda Young (Saw)

Josef (Creep)

The Lost Boys (The Lost Boys)

Father Paul Hill/Msgr. John Pruitt (Midnight Mass)

Frank Castle/The Punisher (MCU)

Dean Winchester (SPN)

Sam Winchester (SPN)

Castiel (SPN)

Crowley (SPN)

Jack Delroy (Late Night with the Devil)

Kurt Kunkle (Spree)

Billy Loomis (Scream)

Stu Macher (Scream)

Mark Hoffman (Saw)

What I will not write:

SA, DD/LG, p/do shit, etc.

Everything else is fair game, these are murderers for god’s sake.

Yes i’m just writing for my faves, n what about it

53 notes · View notes

aterimber · 1 year

Photo

Looking for something new to read?

Look no further than my Patreon! I post new short stories every 2 weeks and already have 100+ just waiting to be read!

3 notes · View notes

southern-fried-simpin · 2 years

Text

Sup Y’all here’s the Characters I write for and other stuff

Updated 3/2/2024

Jerome Valeska

Jonathan Crane

Jervis Tetch

Edward Nygma

Harvey Bullock

Bruce Wayne

Alfred Pennyworth

Lucius Fox

Darkiplier

Antisepticeye

Dexter Morgan

Kano ( from Mortal Kombat)

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

Will probably add more later but that’s all for now 🤙🏼

#jerome valeska #jonathan crane #harvey bullock #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #Darkiplier #antisepticeye #dexter morgan #kano mk #x reader #simpbur #fics #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin vox

18 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 2 months

Text

Rusty | Chapter 9 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - You and Spencer embark on a night on the town and things grow awkward fast when you met a handsome stranger. Spencer’s jealousy leaves him determined to show what he’s capable of. But even that doesn’t go quite to plan.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, smoking, making out, swearing, jealous Spencer, tears, mild argument, erectile issues, fingering, titty sucking, coming untouched, coming in pants, vomit, build up to dissociation.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 9 - A Cowboys Cowgirl

Spencer sat on the porch as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, jabbing his finger at the screen of his new phone. It had no buttons, just a large touchscreen. It unlocked by reading his face and didn’t have the same kind of tactile quality he was used to in a phone.

Unfortunately, they simply didn’t make devices like his old one and he’d had to settle for this iPhone, for which he had no idea how to use.

You’d somehow managed to sort it so it could keep the same number and magically transferred all of his existing contacts onto it. It all went over Spencer’s head and he stopped questioning it.

Now he was attempting to send Garcia a text message after receiving one from her, positively disbelieving he had spoken to both Luke and Morgan but wouldn’t answer her calls.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to write a reply, his fingers not dexterous enough to figure out the touch screen keyboard. As he finally corrected all of the spelling mistakes and hit send, he heard the door to your lodge open.

He was hesitant to go along with you to the 11th Street Bar for multiple reasons. For starters, bars were not fun when sober, not that he’d ever particularly enjoyed them when he did drink either. Then there was the fact that in two years he’d never interacted with these people and according to you they already thought him rude. He didn’t like socialising, why could no one understand that?

He pushed himself up from the chair, his knee aching slightly but the pain was lessening. You locked the door to the lodge before gliding down the stairs and down the path until you were closing in on him.

It was only when you were in front of him that he could fully appreciate you and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he took you in. You wore a floral, off the shoulder dress which stopped at your knees and showed more skin than he ever dreamed of seeing. Pairing it with your red riding boots and you looked almost like a local, the epitome of a cowgirl.

You also looked absolutely ravishing. Spencer’s raging heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to show you exactly how divine he thought you looked. But his slack jaw and wide eyes said enough and you blanched a little, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You scuffed your boot in the dirt. “Never seen a genu-wine cowgirl before?” You impersonated a southern drawl.

“I…I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just…you look…jeez Y/N.”

You giggled at his inability to form a coherent sentence. You had rendered him speechless.

“Well you know, I want to fit in around these parts.” You swung your hips side to side, the dress billowing around you as you did so. “Don’t look so bad yourself, stud.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush red, the heat quickly spreading down his neck. He still wore his black jeans, the ones he’d noticed you checking him out in yesterday. He also dusted off an old button down from back in his BAU days, in a dark purple colour.

He tucked it into his jeans and left the top few buttons undone. He spent a long time taming his hair and forewent a stetson once he was happy with how it looked.

“Uh, thanks.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Gonna make being friends with you real hard if you keep looking at me like that.” You smirked at him, still impersonating that thick Texas twang.

“Just get in the car, okay?” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your outfit made him quiver.

You hid your amusement by turning towards the car, Spencer following behind. You paused at the driver’s door.

“Just gotta grab something from the trunk, jump in.” You called over the hood and Spencer nodded before cautiously sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Once he closed his door you sidled around to the trunk and opened it. You glanced up through the car to make sure he wasn’t looking before you lifted the trunk lining.

Hidden away in the empty shell that had once held a spare tyre was a black duffle bag. You quickly unzipped, revealing the wads and wads of bills concealed inside. You grabbed a couple of twenties and folded them, stuffed them in the side of your left boot before zipping the bag and secreting it back away under the trunk lining.

Soon you were hurrying around to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

***

The discomfort distended to every single one of his nerve endings the moment the two of you stepped inside the 11th Street Bar. The place was packed and all eyes were instantly on you.

As you sauntered inside you were met by wolf whistles and catcalls and it made Spencer feel incredibly protective of you even though it wasn’t his place.

He watched their hungry gazes linger on your bare legs and bare shoulders and move onto your clothed breasts and backside.

It made a pit form in his chest, more so when you sent smiles and winks across the room in various directions.

He wanted to blanket you, both physically and metaphorically. He wanted those animals to stop staring at you this way. He wanted you to stop enjoying the attention so much.

He followed you like a stray dog towards the bar, where you leaned on the counter, no doubt giving the balding bartender an eyeful of your cleavage.

“Well looky here, if it ain’t Miss Lizzie come back to join us.” The old man hissed as he spoke. “Lookin’ mighty fine tonight if I do say so too.”

“What, this old thing?” You glanced down at your dress before waving a dismissive hand at him.

Spencer felt more out of place than he ever had done in his life. This was quite honestly the last place he ever wanted to be.

Sensing the presence hovering behind you, the bartenders gaze lifted over your head to where Spencer awkwardly stood.

“And if it isn’t Cosmo, gracing us with his presence.” The older man scoffed. “Nice of you to finally show your face round here.”

Spencer swallowed, chewing on his lip.

“His names, Spencer and be nice.” You clucked. “Spencer, this is Cole.”

“What can I get ya missy?” Cole ignored the introduction and looked back at you. “No more of my home brew I hope.”

“Definitely not.” You shook your head. “I will take a shot of tequila and a beer though.”

“What’ll you have, Cosmo?” His eyes shot back up to Spencer.

“Uh, a ginger ale?” He posed it as a question.

Cole pulled a face of disdain and shook his head.

“Ain’t ever met a sober cowboy in all my life.” Cole muttered, turning away to get your drinks.

You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“I hate it here.” He whined. “Can’t we just go home and you can drink that bottle of scotch?”

“I want to stay. I like it here. You can go if you want.” You shrugged, turning back to face the bar.

Turning your back on him. You were turning your back on him.

“You think I’m going to leave you here with all these creeps staring at you?” He moved closer to you, his chest pressed into your back and he spoke against the shell of your ear. “There is not a man in this bar who doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, not turning back to him. “Might just be some guys lucky night then.”

Spencer felt the pit in his stomach grow larger, his heart practically falling into the open chasm. He put his hand on your shoulder again, skin against skin, and spun you slightly roughly back to look at him.

“Don’t make jokes like that.” He growled.

“Who’s joking?” You shook him off with a frown of impatience. “Just because you don’t want to bed me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t, Cosmo.”

Spencer’s mouth fell open, somewhat hurt at your crude summation of your fleeting relationship. Is that really what you thought? Did you really believe he didn’t want to? If only it were that simple.

He wished he didn’t want you so much. It would be far easier for him to not want you with a white hot desire. It had nothing to do with not wanting you, he just couldn’t have you. Not in that way.

When he couldn’t form any words of response, you spoke again, folding your arms over your chest.

“We’re just friends, Spencer. You made that perfectly clear. So as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I want. You wanna hang around? Fine. You wanna go home? Also fine. But I’m staying.” You spat, once again turning your back on him as Cole brought your drinks back over.

You were quick to down the tequila before thanking him with a flirtatious smile and paying him with a bill from inside your boot. You practically shoved Spencer’s ginger ale into his hand before brushing past him with your beer.

Cole was looking at him, an odd expression on his features. Spencer felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Girl’s a heartbreaker.” Cole shrugged after a while. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Careful how you tread there.”

With those sage words, Cole was walking away to serve his next customer, leaving Spencer reeling.

***

Two hours later Spencer had procured a table for himself but you wouldn’t stay still long enough to join him. The more tequila you drank, the more energy you seemed to have and you appeared to talk to everyone in the bar but him.

He was still nursing the same ginger ale, feeling much like a spare part. He deliberately missed two calls from Luke, staring at the device as it rang in his hand. He’d hoped after they spoke yesterday Luke would stop with the incessant phone calls. Spencer had half a mind to block his number. He didn’t want it to come to that, but something had to give.

He ignored his phone after a while and watched the way you worked the room. The whole bar was eating out of the palm of your hand, hanging off you every word. You were undeniably in your element.

And it only went to further Spencer’s belief that the two of you were from completely different worlds.

***

You lit a cigarette and meandered out the back of the bar for some fresh air, which you didn’t miss the irony of. The large rear garden of the 11th Street establishment was about five times the size of the inside, with a stage at one end and even an outside bar.

You leaned up against the nearest wall, the tequila pulsing through your veins and offering you that blissful tipsy sensation. You sucked on the cigarette and observed the goings on around you.

You’d managed to hide yourself in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for you in this little backwoods town. You’d taken all the necessary precautions, didn’t leave a paper trail.

The car parked outside was the fourth you’d stolen on your journey. Take one, drive it for a distance, abandon it and then find another far enough away from the first they wouldn’t be tied together.

You’d picked up this car just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. You’d broken into a junkyard for this particular vehicle as it was likely they may never notice it was missing. You changed the plates just in case.

The money in the trunk had been procured from your mother’s safe which not even her scumbag second husband knew about. She’d kept the nest egg of cash ever since you were a little girl and only you knew the combination.

“It’s for a rainy day, Y/N. One day I won’t be around anymore and I want to make sure you have everything you could ever need.”

It was as though she’d envisioned something bad happening to her. When she married the second time, he’d convinced her to put all of her savings into a bank account under his name effectively meaning you’d never see a dime.

But he didn’t know about the safe.

You’d taken a bunch of your late mother’s clothes too, brought a few more items with the cash, including the dress you wore now. Only ever cash, couldn’t leave a trail.

Bandera might not have been your first choice of hideout but you couldn’t deny it had its perks, and you were certain no one would ever find you here.

And if they did, you would simply run again.

You took another drag on the cigarette as a tall, dark and handsome stranger headed your way. Although on closer inspection he wasn’t entirely a stranger to you.

The man wore all blue denim, a large eagle on his belt buckle, bolo tie and black stetson. He was smiling at you as he approached.

“Hey there little lady,” he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You work at Busbees? I think I saw you there yesterday.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Oh, you’re the big tipper.” He chuckled. “I never forget a big tipper. Or a pretty face.”

“Elizabeth.” You held out your hand.

“Charmed,” he took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Grant.”

Without warning he plucked your cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag on it. He sucked in the smoke and spoke again as he exhaled it.

“Things’ll kill ya.” He chuckled.

“Live fast, die young.” You shrugged.

“Leave a good lookin’ corpse?” He laughed too, a deep, vibrating sound.

“Certainly appealing.” You agreed.

He took another drag on the cigarette before placing it back between your lips. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he did so. It lingered there for a moment or two, while you took your own drag.

Removing it from your mouth, you held it between your fingers as you blew smoke over his head. You leaned further back against the wall, puffing your chest out. He took a step closer to you and you didn’t mind at all.

You caught the scent of a musky cologne as he drew closer.

“I don’t mean to forward ma’am but you are hotter than a firecracker that’s been lit at both ends.” His lip quipped into a smirk.

You shuddered, the hunger in his eyes causing your legs to shake. You inhaled sharply as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

“Imma kiss you now, if that’s okay with you, little lady?”

You whimpered but couldn’t speak, so instead you nodded. Grant chuckled as he leaned in closer. His lips soon crashed against yours, his whole body pinning you to the wall.

You dropped the forgotten cigarette on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you fiercely, deeply. Your legs trembled at the sensation.

His hand that wasn’t on your face ran up your thigh and you moaned into his lips. And Spencer Reid was the furthest thing from your mind.

***

Spencer finally decided he’d had enough when two old twins who called themselves Boone and Butch invited themselves to sit with him. They proceeded to mock him on everything from his clothes, his hair, his accent, even his ‘city boy good looks’. He’d eventually excused himself to go in search of you.

The bar was small and it only took a few minutes to ascertain you weren’t inside. He pushed his way out the back door and breathed in the fresh air. It took only moments to find you, pressed up against a wall by another body who was kissing you with force.

One hand was on your thigh, beneath your dress and Spencer swore his blood froze in his veins. His brain must have short circuited because normally he wouldn’t have been so bold as to square up to a man of his size, but he found himself marching over and grabbing the large shoulder of the man kissing you and tugging him backwards.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer raised his voice, glaring at you and your kiss swollen lips.

You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, chest heaving.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” You spat. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Spencer?” The man spoke up, looking between you and him in heavy confusion.

Spencer tensed, slowly turning back to face the man whose lips were equally as puffy as yours. He hadn’t recognised him by the back of his head and now he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“G-Grant?” Spencer croaked.

“You know each other?” You took a step away from the wall. “I didn’t think you had any friends around here?”

“We’re not friends.” Grant spat, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “How do you know each other?”

“I asked first.” You cocked your head to the side.

Spencer was unable to speak, paralysed by the unfortunate situation he had found himself in.

“He asked me on a date and stood me up.” Grant hissed.

“Oh…oh.” You looked between both men. “Well this is sufficiently awkward. Looks like we have the same taste in men, Spence.”

Spencer reddened, averting his gaze to the floor and wanting to crawl into a dark crevice somewhere and never come out.

“Are you two…?” Grant frowned at the two of you.

“Friends.” You finished for him. “Isn’t that right, Spencer. We’re just friends. Which is why you had no right to march over here and tear us apart.”

“I really don’t want to be a part of this conversation.” Spencer mumbled to the floor.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you interfered. Why, Spencer? Why did you interrupt us?” You took a step closer to him.

“Please,” he looked back at you, eyes full of torment. “Please can we not do this here.”

“I ain’t looking to step on any toes, I didn’t realise y’all were-”

“Friends.” You barked, cutting Grant off. “We’re fucking friends.”

Without warning you shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders, the sudden touch causing him to flinch. But you didn’t notice it because you were already storming away. Spencer huffed out a breath and dared to glance at Grant who was looking at him in something close to pity.

“If I were you,” Grant clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, again causing him to recoil. “I’d go after her.”

“Duly noted.” Spencer groaned. “But can I just say…” he trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I should have apologised. I really am sorry for standing you up. I got here and I just couldn’t make it inside. I wanted to, I really did. But, uh, I’m honestly terrible at dating and I freaked myself out. I should have apologised, I wish I had. And I’m sorry.”

Grant inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not expecting that from him. He let his arms fall to his sides and offered Spencer a melancholy smile.

“You hush your mouth, it's water under the bridge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Listen ‘ere Spencer. There ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit, you get me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Spencer shook his head.

Grant chortled deeply, slapping his palm on his knee while Spencer simply stared at him, brows pinched.

“Layman's terms: there’s somebody out there for everyone. Don’t you go thinking there ain’t. Whatever it is you been through, ‘cos you have been through somethin’, don’t write yourself off. Go after your lady.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder again and Spencer winced.

He wanted to argue with Grant but it was completely pointless. Instead he forced a smile and nodded before turning on his heels.

He made it back out the front of the bar without incident and found you kicking around the dirt with the toe of your boot.

“You don’t get to do this.” You spat, arms wrapped around your body like a shield. “If you want me you can have me. If you don’t let me go.”

Spencer shuffled down the front steps, ambling towards you.

“I really wish it were that simple.” He reached you and cupped your jaw in his good hand, leaning in and resting his forehead against yours. “I want you but I can’t give you everything, there’s a huge part of me I just can’t give you. And you deserve the whole world, Y/N. I want you to have it all. But selfishly I don’t want you to have that with another man.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or do not deserve? Spencer, I didn’t want to kiss that guy. I did it because I wanted a rise out of you. I want you to want me.” You felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Let me be clear here,” he moved his hand to your cheek. “I have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. This has nothing to do with that.”

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before.” You confessed. “And I barely know anything about you. I don’t care if you can’t tell me your life story, I don’t even care if you don’t want to have sex with me! I just want…I want someone to care.”

A few tears escaped your eyes and Spencer brushed them away with his thumb. His breath was hot on your face and his forehead was a little sweaty against yours.

“I do care,” he admitted. “Too much considering I barely know you either. I don’t want you making out with other guys. But it’s unfair of me to ask that of you.”

“Spencer?” You whispered.

“Yes, Y/N?” He replied in equally hushed tones.

“Do you have any kind of proclivity towards me making out with you?”

He hissed, his body quaking at the mere thought.

“Right now?” He breathed. “I have an extreme proclivity towards it.”

And then his lips were on yours, chapped and rough just as you remembered. His tongue was quickly plunging into your mouth and he held you so close as though afraid you would disappear.

It grew exceptionally heated in a matter of seconds and you wanted to tear all of his clothes off right there in the middle of the street. He guided you back towards your car without breaking the kiss and soon you felt your back pressing against the side of the vehicle.

When he did end the kiss, his pupils were blown out wide with lust.

Not another word was shared between you. You handed him the keys silently and you both climbed into the car. In the passenger’s seat you had to clamp your thighs together as a heat spread through you.

You hoped that by the time you made it back to the ranch he hadn’t let himself overthink this.

***

He tensed up when he invited you into his lodge, hands shaking as he opened the door and closed it behind him. His nerves were written all over his face.

He slowly moved closer to you, once again cupping your cheek in his hand in such a delicate manner.

“I want to make you feel good.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over your own. “The way you made me feel the other night.”

You whimpered at the thought, desperate for any kind of pleasure he wanted to bestow upon you.

“P-please?” You whined as his hand slipped into your hair.

“I just, uh…you don’t need…I don’t need you to, uh, return the favour? So don’t…” he trailed off, frowning at himself.

Don’t touch me, you heard the underlying words.

“Okay.” You nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you. I think I just need to…test my boundaries if that makes sense?” He whispered before pressing his lips against you again.

“Hmm,” you mumbled into his lips. “Boundaries. Sure.”

He led you towards his bedroom blindly, holding out his casted arm so as not to bump into anything. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots. You did the same.

He tore his lips away from yours and ran his fingers down the fabric of your dress before stopping at the hem. You nodded, giving him the green light to proceed.

You had to help him remove the garment as he only had the use of one hand. Together you got it over your head before tossing it on the floor.

He made a whining sound between parted lips when he cast his eyes upon your body, clad only in a pair of lace panties.

His jaw clenched and you noticed it. You smiled at him, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. You kissed him again and moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt but stopped before you could undo any of them.

You weren’t sure if he meant he didn’t want you touching him at all and you didn’t want to risk this ending before it could begin so you moved your hands away.

Spencer led you backwards again and then laid you gently on the bed. He stood over you for a moment, eyes wandering almost lazily up and down your torso.

Swallowing a lump in his throat to stave off any fears, he started on his own buttons, again not the easiest feat with only one hand. Once undone he dropped the shirt to the floor leaving him in a t-shirt, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove that.

The bandage still remained snug against his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee. His purple cast started at the crook of his arm, only allowing a sliver of left limb to be revealed to you.

He did however pop the button on his jeans and shimmy them down his legs. You noticed a matching bandage on his thigh, you could only hazard a guess it was shielding wounds that were created by his own hand.

You tried not to look too long and let your gaze flick to his tight fitting underwear. There was a slight tenting within, but it was apparent he hadn’t reached full tumescence, maybe not even half.

His cheeks reddened as he noticed your slightly sad gaze on his crotch and he quickly climbed on top of you and stroked your cheek.

“It’s not you.” He insisted, kissing you again. “I swear to you, it isn’t you. It doesn’t always…do as it should.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you said nothing, opting to kiss him deeper instead.

He was trying to view it like an experiment without sounding too clinical. He wanted to gauge his boundaries, figure out how far he could push himself without crumbling. And with any luck over time those frontiers might expand to cover more ground.

His hand wandered your body in a vain attempt to recreate the pleasure you’d given him. His fingers brushed across your collarbones a few times before dipping between your breasts, across your sternum.

He palmed the swell of your left breast, fingers swiping out to ghost over your hardened peek. You moaned into his lips, bucking your hips against him at the sensation.

He did it again and elicited much the same reaction before doing the same to your other breast. You hummed into his mouth, writhing beneath him.

His own hips rutted against your leg and he was certainly getting harder. He didn’t let himself focus on his own arousal though, this was all about you.

And who knows, if he managed to take this step he may be able to take others too.

His fingers wisped down your torso, hand splaying out across the planes of your stomach. It travelled left towards your hip and his soft touch caused goosebumps to erupt beneath your flesh.

The fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties, down towards your thigh. He could feel the heat emanating from between your legs and he had to pull back from your lips to let a feral moan escape him.

He let his fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and you wriggled under him.

“More.” You whined, the same way he had done to you.

He kissed you again as he toyed with them, teasing you in a way that he could tell was driving you wild.

He let his fingers dance between your legs, feeling the soaked material and moaning again. He couldn’t resist any longer, he was desperate to feel you. He also worried if he took too long he might change his mind entirely.

He pushed the fabric aside and dared let his nimble fingers glide between your folds. He bucked against your leg and moaned into your mouth. He was fully erect now, you could feel it as he grinded against you.

His lips had slipped from yours in lieu of sucking on your neck, teeth nibbling against your skin. The friction caused by his stubble tingled and stung in the most intoxicating way.

His fingers brushed back and forth between your legs as though he wanted to collect every tiny drop of your arousal.

You were whimpering, begging him for more without saying the word. And he must have read your mind because suddenly, with no warning, he plunged two fingers inside of you.

You mewled at the welcome intrusion, back arching off of the bed and you swore you felt him smirk against your neck.

His long, nimble digits thrust as deep as he could, until he was completely buried inside of you. He hissed against your neck, unable to remember the last time he’d been inside a woman like this.

You clenched around his fingers, walls fluttering, tight and pulsing. It was such an unfamiliar yet conversant sensation. It caused a pinching in his stomach, a tightening in his chest.

He remained still for several moments, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, adjusting the overwhelming feeling that flooded his entire body.

It was new yet well remembered; he was both a novice and well versed in his craft.

You wriggled beneath him as he was still for so long you worried he was going to freak himself out. He raised his head from your neck so he could look at you.

His eyes were brimming with emotions, lips curled into the softest smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just a little overwhelmed by how amazing you feel.”

You cupped his chin and brought him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and mumbling, “more, please?”

Spencer sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you, driving impossibly deeper inside of you and brushing against your cervix.

A wanton moaned travelled from your mouth to Spencer’s and your thighs clamped around his hand.

He withdrew his digits enough so he could plunge back inside of you, gently at first but after a few thrusts he got a little rougher. But judging by the sounds you were making, he was doing something very right.

He continued with this rhythm, curling his fingers each time he pushed back inside of you, and each time he brushed against you, you shuddered beneath him.

He started scissoring his fingers, pushing his fingers against your walls and finding it dizzying how your body bent to his will. He was continuously rutting against you, the friction it caused was delirious.

His lips roamed across your collarbones, travelling further south. When his lips wrapped around your nipple your back arched off of the bed again and you whined.

He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen bud. He teased a third finger between your legs and your staggered breaths sounded out in delight.

As he dove three fingers inside your weeping cunt at the same time his teeth grazed your nipple, you howled so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from the stables.

Spencer smiled to himself around your hardened peak, slightly disbelieving he could make anyone feel this good.

He pumped three fingers into you, once again feeling the way you stretched around him. It was a heady feeling, and caused his cock to leak with precum.

The sounds of your arousal as he continued his thrusts filled the room as well as a string of moans from your lips.

He moved his lips to your neglected nipple and offered it the same treatment as the first.

Your thighs clamped hard around his hand and you could feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs. Spencer was relentless in his ministrations, pitching in and out of you, stretching you and curling his fingers, ensuring to hit your sweet spot over and over again.

He was rocking on top of you, his hardened member grinding against your leg. You could feel the wet patch forming in the front of his boxers and feel your own stomach starting to coil.

You cautiously cupped his jaw, extracting his lips from their venture. When he looked at you his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen.

You drew him by the chin for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, teeth bumping together as tongues fought to explore each other's mouths.

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, hoping that meant you were as close as he was. He continued to kiss you and plunge deeper, deeper, until you were trembling beneath him.

“C-close…” you stuttered against his lips. “S-so close.”

He moaned at the mere idea of making you come, increasing his speed with his thrusts, desperate to give you the pleasure you’d so easily given him.

All at once the cords holding you both together snapped. With a final shuddering breath as you nibbled Spencer’s bottom lip, your walls tightened around his fingers as you gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name under your breath as you came undone. The sound of his name on your tongue and the feeling of you coming around his digits pushed him over the edge.

Still rocking against you, he came with a stifled moan, burying his head into the crook of your neck and breathing frantically.

He withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss of contact but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

Your hearts beat erratically against one another’s while you fought to catch your breaths.

All at once, Spencer came unravelled. With his eyes closed he could see them, hear them.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

He’d pushed too far. The boundaries he’d been trying to test were coming crumbling down around him.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to…

Oh fuck.

“Fuck,” he suddenly pushed himself up and rolled off the bed, ignoring the twang in his knee as he got to his feet. “Gonna…fuck I’m so sorry.”

You watched him run to the bathroom through bleary eyes. He slammed the door closed behind himself and seconds later the sound of vomit hitting porcelain filled your ears along with Spencer’s retches.

You slowly pushed yourself up, the post orgasm haze still heavy and you blinked several times.

“Uh,” you croaked. “Are you okay?”

You were met with another horrid gagging sound.

“I’m so sorry.” His shaky voice followed through the door. “This isn’t…it’s not you.”

“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” You stood up on trembling legs and found your dress on the floor before throwing it back on.

“I swear it’s not…I’m so sorry. I pushed too far, I wasn’t ready.” He was sobbing, choking.

You rolled your lip between your teeth as tears welled behind your own eyes.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should go.” You swallowed.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Inside the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl, Spencer heard your footsteps get further away and then he heard the door.

Tears streamed down his face and the wet patch in his boxers made his stomach turn again. He retched once, twice and then narrowly managed to turn his head back over the toilet before he vomited again.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

“I’m not whole.” He sobbed into the toilet, emptying his entire stomach contents. “I’m never going to be whole again.”

He wailed, crying until his eyes were sore and he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. He vomited until there was nothing left to come up.

His whole body shook violently as he drew his legs to his body, ignoring the stickiness in his pants and the pain it caused his knee. He wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.

The tears wouldn’t stop, they just kept coming. He snivelled and sobbed loudly and fitfully. His temples started to throb and a near blinding headache came out of nowhere.

His vision grew hazier around the edges before it darkened. He’d been so focused on other variables he didn’t feel the rising anger in his chest.

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. And it wasn’t at all a surprise when he awoke covered in blood once again.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

125 notes · View notes

happy74827 · 16 days

Text

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.

20 notes · View notes

mlmxreader · 3 months

Text

let's talk about konigsblog. like, seriously.

if you're in the COD fandom, you probably already know exactly who they are and what level of depravity and disgust that they engage in. so let's talk about it.

for those who don't know: konigsblog routinely writes rape and pseudo-incest fic and tries to brush it off as "dark fic" and as "dead dove", whilst simultaneously trying to negate and undermine the experiences of irl survivors of incest, rape and other abuses by claiming that bc they're writing fiction, it's fine. anyone with a brain worth 2 pence can tell you that their excuses are bullshit and that they're just a fetisher who doesn't actually give a shit about the people who are genuinely hurt by such disgusting material.

now. I write dark fic routinely, I have written about topics such as trauma, heavy gore, serial killing, etc. what makes dark fic dark is the fact that it is about a topic of which you would expect in something akin to a horror film or a horror novel - something like the Dexter Morgan novel series or Thomas Harris' Red Dragon trilogy. dark fic is not, and never will be, the promotion, fetishisation and romanticisation of rape, incest, and pedophilia. the usage of "dark fic" within those circles is merely to avoid accountability and to avoid any and all criticism.

konigsblog thinks that they cannot be held accountable, as they're writing fiction, but when you look at genuinely dark novels from across the spectrum, you can see that they're nothing like whatever abhorrent fiction that konigsblog write. let me give you some examples:

in the Red Dragon trilogy by Thomas Harris, Mason Verger (an incestuous pedophilic rapist) is never written to be seen as someone who is desirable or whose actions are anything but disgusting. Hannibal Lecter (a cannibalistic serial killer) even says this openly several times that Verger is, essentially, a piece of shit.

in American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, Patrick Bateman (a misogynistic, homophobic, racist serial killer who sexually assaults several women before killing them) is never written to be seen as someone who you want to be near or want to know. he is written as a depraved, disgusting, human being, and is treated accordingly - the novel is written from his POV, but Ellis makes it clear that his actions are VILE.

in Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, the male lead (a pedophilic rapist) is routinely written in a way of which makes audiences DESPISE him and his actions as much as they do his ideology and his thought processes surrounding a child. Nabokov makes it clear that rape and pedophilia are something that should be condemned and can NEVER be something romantic or appealing in the slightest. (side note: Nabokov was a piece of shit who wanted Russia to colonise Ukraine, so he wasn't exactly a good guy anyway)

in The 120 Days of Sodom, Marquis De Sade makes it clear that the rapists and pedophiles within the novel are awful people and he makes it explicit in their actions as well as the way of which they speak; you are not supposed to side with them, or to feel anything except disgust and horror that someone can commit such atrocious acts without having a second thought. the rape scenes are written to PURPOSEFULLY make you (the reader) feel disgust and to feel hatred for these characters.

do you see the difference?

dark novels surrounding topics such as pedophilia, rape and incest are written in a way of which does NOT condone these actions and does NOT treat them as desirable or as material used for one to masturbate to. whereas what konigsblog writes is explicitly written to be the opposite - its written to be desirable, to be something that you (the reader) should find attractive and WANT, it's written for you to masturbate to.

how abhorrent can you be that you would sit there and try to condone such vile and depraved writings? how apathetic towards your fellow man can you be to engage with this?

and there's no point in saying "Well, don't like, don't read" - no. because this is genuinely harmful material of which promotes and fetishises the most abhorrent and morally bankrupt acts known to mankind. this is genuinely harmful, its not a kink that people aren't into and is tagged properly (bc konigsblog RARELY tags accordingly), it is taking the WORST thing that can happen to somebody and turning it into pornography.

if you engage with or even support konigsblog, you do not support or care for rape, incest and abuse survivors - you do not. and don't try and pretend that you do. so many survivors routinely, openly and honestly, talk about how rape pornography, especially in fanfiction circles, is abhorrent and should NEVER be celebrated, engaged with, or supported - and its a travesty that we have to keep doing it and we have to keep saying "no, stop it, this is harmful".

if konigsblog continues to produce these works, and continues to improperly tag and continues to expose these themes as desirable and attempts to normalise this - it is going to hurt people. it is going to cause someone to actually get hurt.

I'm gonna tag a couple of mutuals in this, if only so that they can add their 2 pennies as well; @mockerycrow @kivino

#call of duty #cod

67 notes · View notes

mattsturniolosmuse · 2 months

Text

You're Like Me

Young Dexter Morgan x Reader

Summary: You are also a serial killer, for the same reason as Dexter. You only kill people who deserve to be killed. When Dexter gets bullied, you stick up for him, starting a friendship.

Warnings: SMUT, oral male receiving, p in v, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex)

"Look! It's Dreadful Dexter!" Someone says, pointing to Dexter and laughing.

You looked over. Dexter was sitting at a picnic table, picking at his lunch. You felt bad for him. He was always a target for being picked on. He was just so much different from everybody else.

"Hey, leave him alone, won't you?" You call towards the bully. He looks at you and chuckles.

"What're you going to do about it, Miss Prissy?" He asked, crossing his arms.

You could do lots of things. Usually involving a roll of duct tape and a chainsaw.

"If only you knew." You say. He laughs and walks away, picking up a basketball off of the court.

You approach Dexter.

"Hey, Dex." You say. He smiles shyly.

"Hi. And... thanks." He says, packing up his lunch.

"No problem. Want to walk to class together?" You ask. He nods. He was in your biology class, and he was really smart. Right now, you were doing dissections, which you and him seem to be the only ones who enjoy it.

The walk to class was pretty much silent. You looked at him. His long hair was brushing over his face, and he was biting his lips.

You had to admit, he was pretty cute.

"You want to hang out after school today?" You ask to break the silence.

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I have... something to do."

You nod.

"Tomorrow after school?" He says instead. You smile and nod. You got to class, and you find your desk, and he finds his.

>>>><<<<

You were in the forest just outside Miami, looking for some new spots to take your victims. After an hour, you had found an old shack.

Perfect. You thought to yourself.

But when you entered the front, you heard voices coming from inside. You froze.

"What about her? Remember her?" A familiar voice said.

"No- no! I swear!" Another voice said, trembling. Then it started screaming.

You went further into the shack. Layers of plastic sheet covered the walls. And then you see him.

Dexter standing over the naked body of an older man, who was duct taped to a table. A saw was slicing through the mans arm.

Dexter jumps when he sees you.

"Y/N? I-i can explain!" He says, looking at you with fear in his eyes.

You just smile.

"Dex, you're doing it wrong." You say, taking the saw from him.

"You have to cut in a smooth motion, tip to blade. It helps make a cleaner cut and takes out less blood." You say, demonstrating.

Dexter looks at you.

"You're like me." He says, lips barely parting to say the words. You nod and blush, looking down.

He takes a step closer to you, and your bodies are touching. You look up into his bright blue eyes. But they aren't bright anymore.

Soon enough his lips are on yours. You freeze, not knowing what to do or how to do it. But soon enough, you're kissing back, your hands in his hair.

Dexter tilts his head, so you do the same, the opposite way. His hands trail down your sides and rest on your waist. He squeezes gently and you gasp. Dexter takes this opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. He spins you around and pushes you against the wooden wall behind him.

"Jump." He says, his voice deep. You obey, jumping. He catches you and wraps your legs around his waist, still pushing you up against the wall.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby." He says, his lips moving to your neck. He leaves a few love bites across your throat and jaw. You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pauses to lift it over his head and off of his body.

His lips attack yours again, his tongue forcing its way past your lips. You trail your hands down his stomach. He doesn't have abs, but he's still in good shape.

Dexter's hands fumble with the strings of your sweatpants. He finally gets them off, and his hand rubs circles through the fabric of your underwear. You moan slightly and throw your head back.

"W-wait, Dex." You say, looking him in the eyes.

"You ok?" He asks, suddenly scared.

"Yeah, I just want to try something first." You say. He puts you down and you push him against the wall, kneeling in front of him. You tug his jeans down along with his boxers.

"God, baby." He says as you kiss his tip, throbbing red and leaking precum. His body jerks as you take all of him in your mouth.

"Mmm..." He moans, tangling his hands in your hair. He tugs slightly, and you hum, sending vibrations down his dick. He pushes your head into him, and he hits the back of your throat, making you gag and drool.

"S-so good, baby." He whimpers. You feel him twitching, and not long after, his warm cum shoots down your throat. You stand up, wiping the excess off of your chin and kissing him. He turns you around once more, and you jump automatically. You grind into him, and he groans, hastily pulling your panties off. You unzip your sweater and reach your hands back to unbuckle your bra, still not breaking the sloppy kiss.

You are both now fully naked.

"You ready?" Dexter asks you, making eye contact. You nod, and he pushes himself into your wet folds, letting out the loudest moan yet.

You gasp at the new feeling. Sure, you've had fingers in you before, but this was different. He was a tad bit bigger than your little fingers.

"S-so tight, baby." Dexter says, pushing in and out of you, slowly getting faster in pace.

"D-dexter! Faster, please!" You moan, nails digging into his skin. He obeys, fucking you at an inhumanly pace. His face is buried in your neck, gently kissing the skin.

His lips trail down to your breasts, leaving huge hickeys all over. He lifts one nipple into his mouth, roughly kneeding the other.

"I'm s-so close, Dex." You say, cock drunk.

"Me too." Dexter responds. His pounds started getting slower and sloppier, and soon you feel his seed shoot into you. He keeps going, waiting for you to orgasm. You clench down on him. He moans sinfully.

"Come on, baby, cum all over my cock." He whispers in your ear. You release, whimpering in his ear, toes curling.

Dexter pulls out of you and places you on the floor, handing you your clothes. You guys silently dress and he pulls you in for a hug.

"I love you. I never knew I was capable feelings until I met you." He says, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you too, Dex. Now, what are we going to do with this body?" You say, gesturing towards the bloody mess on the table.

#dextermorgan #thedarkpassenger #xreader #smut

31 notes · View notes

dancingisdangerouss · 2 years

Note

Heyoo, hope you're doing well!

This is a dexter morgan x fem!reader request!

Consider this, established relationship, hot smut.

That's it.

(I am starved for dexter morgan fics)

So I definitely think Dexter would 100% be into bloodplay, and hope you don't mind that I went in that direction! With his obsession with it and keeping blood trophies from his victims, it just makes sense to me.

Summary: Reader does not know her boyfriend is a serial killer, but she does discover that he has a thing for blood, and suggests they bring it into the bedroom...

Warnings: Blood/bloodplay, slight ignoring of safe words, dark content, sexual content. Dexter is a serial killer and has been known to be unfeeling for the most part, and unable to control himself at times. Read at your own discretion.

“Fuck!”

You winced and dropped the paring knife, which clattered into the sink. Vinaceous blood rose to the surface, pooling in the palm of your hand. You set aside the potato on the cutting board, cursing yourself for such a clumsy slip.

“Y/N?” Dexter called from the living room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, no worries, it’s just a small cut. I think,” you hollered back, turning the faucet to the cold setting.

Just as you eased the handle up to start the water, Dexter materialized at your side, catching your hand in his.

“Oh! Hi, babe. You scared me,” you laughed as he drew your hand closer to himself, scrutinizing the wound.

As your eyes lifted to his, a shiver spiraled down your spine. An eerie shadow had crept over his eyes, an almost hungry glint present there as he lightly squeezed your hand, watching the fresh beads of blood dribble out. You cringed.

“Dexter?”

The blood spatter analyst drew your hand up to his mouth. His tongue flicked out to lap against the slice, slowly collecting the blood as it darted across the open wound. His warm saliva stung your skin.

“Dexter! What the fuck—?”

Dexter withdrew and met your gaze, startled, as though he were just now really looking at you. That corybantic shade lifted from his eyes.

“Shit! Sorry, Y/N, let me—” He hastily turned on the faucet, thrusting your hand beneath the cool stream. His broad shoulders shook with a nervous laugh. “I was just messin’ with you. You should’ve seen your face, it was adorable.”

You weren’t buying it. Grinning knowingly, you shut off the faucet, your hands running up and over his chest to link around his neck. “Well damn, Dex. I knew you were into blood in the streets, but I didn’t realize you liked it in the sheets.”

The poorly-hidden panic in Dexter’s face quelled. “Sorry?”

“There’s no shame in a blood kink, babe,” you reassured him with a wink. “You should’ve just told me! We need to be honest with each other if you want this relationship to work.”

“Oh…” Dexter’s lip quirked, relief tinging his expression. It was so cute, how he seemed to think he could hide things from you. To everyone else, Dexter was an unknown—a strange, unreadable man with blank pages inside. But you’d known him long enough to pick up on his emotions. There was nothing he could hide from you.

“Sooo…” You released him, fishing a clean paring knife out of the wooden knives block. “What say you? Wanna put dinner off a bit? Maybe…” you stroked the blunt end of the knife along Dexter’s collarbone and he stiffened, “we can explore this a little more?”

Dexter’s breaths quickened. “You’d…want to do that?”

“I can’t say yet whether I’m into it or not, but…” You kissed the tip of his nose. “For you? Anything.”

Dexter’s lips crashed into yours so hard, you nearly fell backward. He slid the knife from your hand and tucked it in his back pocket, beginning to lead you carefully toward the bedroom, all the while moving his mouth feverishly with yours.

You’d never seen him so excited before. Sure, he seemed to enjoy your sex life plenty, but you had yet to see this…animalistic side of your lover. You liked it.

Dexter kissed you all the way to the bed, only momentarily parting from you to root around in his closet for something. A shuffle of clothing and boxes later, he withdrew with a large plastic sheet in his arms.

“Well isn’t that convenient?” you teased as he spread the tarp out across the bed. “You’ve been wanting to do this for a while, haven’t you?”

Dexter chuckled, lifting you effortlessly onto the mattress as if you were made of nothing more than styrofoam. “Why else would I have giant sheets of plastic in my closet?”

Crawling atop you, he made quick work of his own shirt and belt, unzipping his pants but not yet removing them.

“You got a safe word in mind?” he asked as he retrieved the knife from his jeans.

You stared at the ceiling fan thoughtfully. “Fava beans.”

Dexter wrinkled his nose at that. “Is that a Silence of the Lambs reference?”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t that a little…morbid for this?”

You giggled, pulling him to you for another kiss. “Not when you’ve got a morbid boyfriend.”

Dexter smirked. “Fava beans it is. Quick question: How attached to that dress are you?”

“Huh?” You looked down at your handsome green sundress, which you had picked up years ago at a second-hand shop. You liked it, but it wasn’t anything special to you. “Not…not a whole lot. Why?”

With a feral grin, Dexter nudged the sharp side of the blade between your breasts, cutting a slow split down the fabric from cleavage to navel. His large hands slipped beneath the dress, ripping the last parts of the seam open to the bottom, fully exposing your undergarments.

“Ahh, okay, I can dig it,” you purred, wiggling as he began to peel your panties off.

He had the decency to at least remove your bra and panties by hand, tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder before bringing the knife back into play. He very carefully and meticulously drew the blade along your exposed throat, tickling the skin teasingly. Dragging it down your neck, he chose a spot at your collarbone, easing the knife into your flesh just enough to let a thin line of crimson follow in its tracks.

You shivered, wincing. The knife froze in place.

“Fava beans?”

You shook your head. “Trust me, Dex. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He ran an index finger gently along the new break in your skin, smearing the blood like red fingerpaint in little circles. You had a grotesque fascination with the look on his face as he did so, his wild eyes burning like hot coals as he leaned in to dab his tongue along the streaks.

You groaned against him and his hips bucked lightly into yours, that telltale hardness scraping at your core. The knife made its way down to your belly, nipping deeper into the skin than before as he allowed more blood to bubble up to the surface. He sighed contentedly at it.

Dexter’s fingers tucked into his jeans, yanking them down the rest of the way. He kicked them off, his boxers following suit before he re-planted himself over you, pumping his length while he sucked and licked across your bloodied stomach, groaning lustfully at the taste.

He flipped you onto your back, pulling your hips up to his as he ground against your ass, the firm head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You whined, wiggling encouragingly as he circled his hard erection around your weeping slit.

“Please,” you begged, digging your fingers into the bedsheets.

His cock breached your welcoming walls, fully plunging into you in one hard, quick thrust. You both moaned in unison at the intrusion, and his teeth raked across your shoulder.

Dexter began a slow rhythm, thrusting fully in and out each time in long strokes. All the while he continued to indulge himself with the knife, leaving thin little trails of blood artfully along your back and between your shoulder blades. How he managed to steadily cut you with such precision while simultaneously fucking you from behind, you’d never know.

Between cuts, he occasionally squeezed handfuls of your flesh between his fingers, forcing more blood to rise up and trickle down from the cuts. He licked all over the punctures as he continued to strike his hips against yours, teeth even nipping at the edges of the open wounds.

Heavy panting escalated alongside harder thrusts, and he groaned throatily as he dug the knife into a spot near your upper back, piercing deeper than before.

“Dex…” Your eyes fluttered open, the pain beginning to overwhelm the pleasure. “That’s a bit much, babe.”

But Dexter continued to thrust with reckless abandon, grunting and panting as he forced the knife deeper in time with his thrusting, his eyes rolling back. You couldn’t see his face, but you almost felt the shift in the air, the change in his movements as he pummeled you.

“Ah! Fava beans,” you whimpered, unable to handle it anymore.

Dexter said nothing verbal, still moaning deeply as he rammed into you, the knife now feeling like it was tearing through cartilage. It was almost like he had tapped into some other place inside of himself, and couldn’t even hear your cries.

“Fuck! Dexter! Fava beans, fava beans!”

As if breaking out of a hypnotic state, Dexter suddenly ripped the knife from your shoulder. Blood and cum gushed forth from flesh and cock as Dexter came hard, yelling out your name as he held himself still, hips rocking throughout his powerful orgasm.

The knife clattered to the ground and you fell forward as he released you, gasping for breath. Having snapped out of his reverie, Dexter pulled his soft cock from between your nether lips and scrambled off the bed, rushing to your side.

“Y/N! Shit, I didn’t mean to—” He frantically grabbed his shirt off the floor, pressing it to the gaping wound on your back. “Shit. Are you all right? Don’t worry, I can stop the bleeding, it’s not deep enough for stitches or anything. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize…”

“Clearly we need a new safeword,” you grumbled, sitting up on your hands and knees as he held the t-shirt firmly in place. “I mean, fuck, Dex, it’s almost like you’ve stabbed someone before.”

You never noticed the guilt-ridden look on his face.

#asks #requests #anonymous #slowly getting to all of these #I know I'm taking forever #dexter #dexter x reader #dexter morgan #dexter morgan x reader #dexter morgan x female reader #tw blood #tw bloodplay #tw dark #tw dubious consent #at least regarding the blood and inadvertently ignoring the safe word

288 notes · View notes