evilwrongdoer - Tumblr blog

evilwrongdoer · 1 day ago

Text

brian moser x psychiatrist fem!reader

tags 🔪⋆.*:･ֶָ֢ explicit sexual content, 18+, kidnapping, acrotomophilia, sexually charged dismemberment (you survive but he takes a piece of you), horrorporn, medical kink, possessive behavior, body worship

You're a psychiatrist who works at the same hospital as Dr. "Rudy Cooper". And though Brian doesn't really like you, he is oddly obsessed with you. Maybe because you know he's somehow a fake, though you just can't say how, and don't fully realize how deadly a fraud he really is until it's too late. Not even after a masked man kidnaps you, and only lets you free after taking one of your legs.

Suddenly that odd, handsome prosthetist you work with is all kinds of helpful in crafting and personally fitting you with a new one. And somehow, even though he's helping you, it feels like he's fucking with you. Getting inside your head.

note: i gave you a surname because i hate 'yn ln' so you are officially known as Dr. Rose

chapter 1: no more coffee

No one else seems to see it but you. But there’s something so haunted about the new, handsome prosthetist you work with at Mercy Hospital; Rudy Cooper.

“Please,” he’d said when you first met him, dark eyes shining bright, “Call me Rudy.”

You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t trust him.

For one thing, his smile isn’t genuine. His gaze so often creased with an affable curve, yet their bedrocks are always dull and black. Cold. Unfeeling. Not at all matching that attractive, fake smile plastered so easily on his face.

He’s hiding something.

At least, you suspect he is.

Maybe you think this because of your background in psychiatry; his depthless gaze ticking so many boxes for potential sociopathy. Not that that is inherently a bad thing, but…

No, it isn't just that. Some instinct in you insists that there's more, but whenever you think you have a grasp on it, it slips right out through the door. Leaving you thinking you must just be paranoid. Suspicious about nothing.

It's probably nothing.

But, still…

Something about him–nothing, apparently–it puts you on edge, even so.

That nothing about him. It seems, somehow, to wear the rest of him like a skin. Makes him feel like a shadow pretending so well to be human. Like he’s hiding something in plain sight–something only you appear disquieted enough to see. And whatever he needs so much to hide, to bury some place so deep beneath this handsome charade, so masterfully that no one would ever think to peel it back and discover what was hiding underneath…

Something about that puts you on edge. Something about him does. Which is, of course, crazy–he's perfectly charming and everyone you work with loves him, all of his patients adore him. You're the only one whose thoughts twist up at the mere mention of his name or glance in his direction.

It really shouldn’t bother you as much as it’s started to. Maybe you’re developing some sort of complex. I mean, plenty of your patients are hiding things. Masking. Pretending. It’s human nature to bury the aspects of ourselves we don’t want others to see. But none of your patients do so quite as convincingly as he. None of them make you question yourself like he does.

Maybe you’re on edge for absolutely no reason.

You don’t remember when he started bringing you coffee almost every morning.

It had seemed so harmless at first.

What are you talking about–it is harmless. It’s coffee. And he’s always so nice when he brings it.

But.

Still.

Something about him…

To be honest, and if we’re overlooking the whole ‘you’re being paranoid’ thing…

It’s almost like he knows you suspect him of something.

Like he’s trying to ‘win’ you over.

Like your suspicious nature’s a challenge. One that he and all his mastery of playing people must beat. Either due to whatever he was seemingly hiding, in and of itself, or because it was merely a game to him; a game that he must win. Simply to prove that he could, that he will. That nothing–not even your wary, questioning nature–could stop him from championing.

Paranoid or no, one thing was certain; you’re sick of him gallivanting around your office all the time, being so friendly. And yes, you’re fully aware that makes you some kind of an asshole, seeing as how he’s done absolutely nothing to earn your distaste. But you have enough to worry about in life to also be constantly questioning just what the fuck this loveable, good-looking colleague could be hiding beneath all that seems faked.

This is why you’ve decided to put an end to it, regardless of whether that makes you an ‘asshole’ or no.

No more friendly outings to lunch together, no quick stops to the cafeteria or employee lounge. No more stopping by your psychiatry office unannounced, no more gossiping about the higher-ups. And definitely no more coffee.

He stops by your office again, as he so often does since he started working here a mere few months ago. He was the talk of Mercy Hospital for a while–that young, yet extremely talented prosthetist–with such a promising career, and did you hear that he’s single?

Most people thought that was a good thing, but you just saw a red flag, even if it was the same sort of flag you saw in you, being single yourself. Because why is someone as dashing and accomplished as he still on the market? He was certainly flirty enough to have someone on his arm, and yet the only person he ever bothered was you, and he never once asked you out. If he had, you could have turned him down already. It makes what you’re going to do this morning so much more awkward when you don’t have an aversion to romance as your scapegoat for sending him out. ‘You just give me a weird, creepy, somewhat… ‘I don’t even know what to call this but you seem like you’re hiding something’ vibe’ doesn’t exactly ease off the tongue sounding right.

Sunlight dazzles in through the small, bay window of your psychiatry office, lightly warming your chestnut desk, and… yep. Here he comes. You hear his footsteps drawing, and then he pops into your opened doorway like a handsomely budding rose.

He flashes that smile that wins everyone other than you over, though you’ll admit it at least speeds your pulse. You’re not blind, after all.

Speaking of roses.

“Dr. Rose,” he kindly greets, far too chipper for this early in the morning. Two coffees in his elegant hands, of course, and you ignore the pang of guilt that raps upon the walls of your heart.

It’s better this way. He can stop wasting his time pretending to be something he’s not, buying you coffee, and you can stop questioning his seemingly innocuous and nothing but friendly motives in a fit of rising paranoia. Win-win.

With it still being early enough for this uncaffeinated version of you to feel like a walking corpse, the little smile you offer in return across your desk feels forced.

Guess he isn’t the only one masking things this morning.

“Dr. Cooper,” you begin, and see his handsome smile falter.

“Uh oh,” he muses, lips pursed as he lingers in the door. “This can’t be good.”

He reads you so well.

Too well.

He’s a prosthetist, he’s not in psychology, so why is he better at unspooling people’s minds than even you are?

You stuff that into the column of reasons for why you’re justified to end things like this.

“We should talk.”

He quirks a brow. Leans one shoulder against the doorway; white lab coat stretched taut across the bridge of him. “Why do I feel like you’re breaking up with me?”

When that inexplicably warms your face, he kindly laughs.

“Relax, doctor,” he needles with a grin, “I’m just kidding.” His expression falls more grim. “But, seriously… what did you wanna talk about?”

You sigh. Feeling even more like an asshole than you have all morning anxiously reenacting this awkward encounter over and over in your mind.

Just say it just as you rehearsed it. It’s not that hard.

“You really don’t need to keep bringing me coffee every morning.”

That is not how you rehearsed it–you were supposed to say to never stop by your office again unless it’s for a professional reason! You’re already fucking this up!

His face dons the lightest, speculative frown. “I know, but…” He offers the smallest shrug from his casual slouch. “I like to. And I don’t mind. You’re like a zombie without it, so I’m just doing my part in keeping my colleagues in line…”

He laughs at whatever your constricted face is doing.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he assures. “I buy Gus in Housekeeping one, too. Black with a dash of irish cream. I don’t mind.”

Guilt creeps its spiderlegs over your mind. You really are an asshole. But you’re not backing out of this. You’ve been amping yourself up enough to actually go through with it for quite a while.

“Look…” you begin, and see his brows furrow. Rubbing one wrist sheepishly beneath your desk as you add, “I really appreciate the, um… The…”

A little smile creeps upon his face the longer he watches you floundering like the world’s most awkward, dying fish.

“The coffee?” he asks, and you’re forced to suppress how your ears heat up.

“Yes,” you say, more succinctly; adopting your psychiatrist’s tone. “Yes, the coffee. I appreciate it, and your, um… your friendliness, but…”

He exhales something like a laugh, tilting his head. “So you are breaking up with me.”

“There’s nothing to break up!”

His forehead’s creased at your heightened tone, and you yourself don’t fully know why you’re so defensive, other than for how embarrassing this is. You don’t have a good reason to end your friendship with him. But you’re ending it all the same.

“Look,” you try again, tucking your hair back a bit more tensely than what’s required. Not really meeting his gaze as you say, “I don’t really have time for relationships of any kind outside of work, and that includes fraternizing with colleagues.”

He eyes you for a moment in speculative silence. Seeming puzzled. A brand of suspicious all his own.

“What’s prompted this?”

You blink a few times at the question. Forced to consider his fluid, unreadable tone. “I beg your pardon?”

His dark eyes drip across your features as though searching for something. Uncharacteristically solemn, though he doesn’t seem sad or anything; he seems…

…You have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s perhaps the only person who comes in here who so effectively closes you off from their thoughts.

Just one more tally in the ‘remove this weirdo from your life’ column.

“I said,” he repeats, quite clearly; eyes never leaving the discomfort of yours. “What prompted this? You ending things?”

He waits while you can’t seem to answer. Impatient enough to add:

“I’ve never hit on you.”

Your face warms up again. “I know that.”

One brow slowly rises. “So is it because of that…? Or–”

Your embarrassment won’t allow you not to cut his line of questioning off.

“Look–this has nothing to do with you personally–”

Lies.

“–Or with whether or not you’ve hit on me, or…”

Why is this the most humiliating conversation ever?

You straighten yourself behind your desk. Run your palms flat across the length of your dark, pencil skirt beneath your chestnut desk.

You’re a professional. A decorated, medical journal-published doctor. Act like one.

“Dr. Cooper,” you try again, doing your best to sound calm, though it’s hard with that clever little smile of his this inspires, like he knows it’s all a front.

“Dr. Rose,” he returns, just as cordially.

You swallow your inhibitions. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for any outside fraternization while I’m at work beyond what’s immediately related to my patients and the psychiatry department at large.”

He scoffs at you.

The bastard scoffs at you, before flashing that handsome smile of his as though nothing’s wrong.

“So no more friendly hospital outings or professionally courteous coffees, then,” he wonders casually, “I presume?”

He’s really good at making you feel like an overly-cautious asshole, isn’t he?

“I’m afraid not,” you say, “and it’s nothing personal. I just… need to stay focused on my work. I have a research paper coming up.”

More lies. But what does it matter–he doesn’t know. Though you can’t help but think that those wheels spinning in his mind might suspect so.

If he does, he doesn’t note it. Merely smiles, before pushing up straight from his previous lean against your office doorway.

“Well,” he remarks, “I’d just hate to get in the way of all of that with a harmless, annoyingly friendly gesture.”

Your insides squinch up. “It’s not annoying, I just…”

He waits for you to continue, but you’re not about to tell him what this is all really about. You’ll sound like one of your overly paranoid patients.

He slowly smiles, though it feels performative, like so much else he does. A mask of playing nice. And for a moment, you both just watch each other like that. Both biting back your hidden thoughts. Yourself, too uncertain and unwilling to press on, while he…

…You still have no idea what he’s still doing here. Nor what he’s thinking at all.

“I’ll gladly pay you back for the coffee,” you say to excuse him, but he just kindly waves the offer off.

“No need, Dr. Rose,” he says, as charming as ever, though it barely scrapes the surface of his eyes. “I was happy to do it. And if you ever need some comradery or caffeine…” His olive gaze slowly creases. “You know where to find me.”

He leaves your coffee on the bookshelf by the door, which lampoons you with even more guilt than you’re already wracked with. Though it’s hard to regret your decision to finally go through with this with the way his parting glance raises every hair on your nape. With how it somehow makes you feel hunted.

#brian moser #rudy cooper #brian moser x reader #dexter #rudy cooper x reader #ice truck killer #love this sm

220 notes · View notes

evilwrongdoer · 9 months ago

Text

AGH SO GOOD ILY

Broken and whole

pairing | Viktor x gn!reader

no warnings just passionate kissing

a short drabble until we wait for the next three episodes with jesus viktor <3 (he’s always been so fine)

– let me know if you would like to get tagged in arcane fics

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

In the night sky as the moonlight shines through the windows, the lab was filled with the low hum of machinery. It had a faint metallic scent of Viktor’s latest work. You leaned against the wall, watching him from across the room as he worked, utterly engrossed in his latest project. He had changed so much recently, both in body and spirit. The hextech augmentation now coursing through his leg gave him a powerful, refined look, yet you sensed a hidden struggle behind his carefully guarded gaze. You knew how he was. His mind was only half here, the other was lost somewhere between ambition and uncertainty.

He hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on the delicate mechanisms of the device in front of him. You admired him, his steady hand, his unwavering concentration, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with a fire that was part passion, part burden. Yet you could see the toll it took, even if he would never admit it.

“Viktor,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted, and his intense gaze softened slightly as he saw you. “Ah,” he said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t realize you were here.” There was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your presence offered him a reprieve from the depths of his mind.

You approached him slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. “I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s been days, Viktor. You need to rest.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face, but it melted quickly, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “Rest,” he echoed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “It feels like a luxury I cannot afford.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so worn down, so caught between his dreams and the demands of his body. “Even visionaries need a break,” you murmured, reaching up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. He was warmer than you expected, his skin cool to the touch from the metal but still unmistakably him.

Viktor looked down at your hand, as if surprised by the intimacy of the gesture. His gaze softened, and he let out a soft, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile breaking through the intensity of his features. “You always have been, haven’t you?”

There was a warmth in his voice that pulled you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the cold metal and complex machinery that surrounded you. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders under your touch.

“Viktor…” you murmured, your voice almost trembling with the unspoken words you had held back for so long. He looked at you, truly looked, his golden eyes reflecting something vulnerable, something raw that he rarely let show. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the softness of his skin against the hardness of his prosthetic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze focused solely on your face, as if you were the only thing grounding him in this moment.

“I worry about you,” you whispered, your voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the lab. “You give so much of yourself, but you leave so little room for…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For someone to care for you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his hand lifting slowly to touch yours, his fingers tentative but warm. “I… I hadn’t realized,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. “But with you, it feels… different.”

A moment of silence passed between you, and in that silence, the unspoken words lingered, the weight of everything you had both held back coming to the surface. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Viktor leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours.

“Different how?” you asked, your heart pounding as you felt his breath against your lips.

“Like I could… lose myself in you,” he whispered, a vulnerability in his voice that shook you to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed yours, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands moving to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There was a hunger in his kiss, a desperation that spoke of the weeks, months, maybe even years he had spent holding back, afraid to want this, to want you.

The passion between you ignited, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you both. Viktor’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every inch of you, as if he were afraid you might vanish. His breath was ragged, each exhale a confession of how long he had kept himself from this moment.

He pulled back, only slightly, his golden eyes searching yours, his face open in a way you had never seen. “You…” he whispered, as if the words failed him, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You could see the storm of emotions in his gaze. Desire and hope. They were all woven together, vulnerable and unguarded. You wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him holding you, his heartbeat quickening against yours.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your fingers trailing down his arm, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “I’m here. Let me carry some of it with you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he held you close, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I never thought…” His voice cracked, and he took a moment to steady himself. “I never thought anyone could love someone like me.”

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet self-doubt that he kept buried so deep. You tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze with all the strength you could muster. “I don’t love you despite anything, Viktor,” you said, your voice steady. “I love you because of who you are, all of you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then he kissed you again, harder this time, as if pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers pressing into you as though you were his anchor, the one steady point in the storm that was his mind.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet of the lab, lost in each other. Viktor’s hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch tender, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every detail of this moment. And in that embrace, in the warmth of his kiss, you felt him let go of the weight he carried, just a little, as he allowed himself to surrender to you, even if only for this fleeting, stolen moment.