#dexter morgan angst

[polydeuces]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; You linger in Dexter Morgan’s shadows, close enough to feel the darkness he hides so well. You know his secrets, his rituals, the thrill he keeps hidden from the world. Silently, you wait for that perfect moment to step into his path—so he can finally see that he’s been hunted all along.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (688words) mentions of cults, stalking, potential violence, intrusive thoughts, and elements of psychological tension.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He was supposed to be the predator.

You’d watched him for a year now, the man who walked through the world with an all too familiar blend of invisibility and quiet command. Dexter Morgan, a blood–spatter analyst by day and something far more dangerous by night. But those were his surface-level disguises. You’d begun to peel back the layers, unraveling the nuances of a man who navigated life in the shadows, just as you have for so many years now.

It started innocently enough—fleeting moments when you’d caught sight of him on the crowded Miami streets, merging into the sea of faces like he belonged there. But you knew better. You knew what it was to wear masks, to walk amoung people undetected, unseen and unnoticed. There was something about him, the way he looked at the world, made him all the more intriguing.

So you watched. Carefully, hidden, with a patience you’d honed over years of practice, you observed him as he slipped out of his office at night, slightly tense in his gaze, focused, distant, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Often times, you’d follow him to the places he frequented; his home, abandoned warehouses, places where the thin line between light and darkness blurred. You learned his routines, the way he’d pull his signature black gloves onto his hands, the way his eyes would sweep across the streets with a meticulous attention to detail before stepping into his own hidden rituals.

It fascinated you.. his dance, this performance between worlds. His life was a careful balance of precision and secrecy. And then there were his victims. You’d seen him work, watched from the edges as he sized up those he deemed worthy enough. You hadn’t intervened— after all, it wasn’t about them. It was about him. You needed to understand his purpose, what drove him and what rulebook or code tethered him to this life.

You began to study his life beyond the night as well, picking up pieces of Dexter Morgan, the man, the father, the blood-spatter analyst, the widower, the mask. You’d slip into his world unnoticed, lingering at places he went during the day; you listened to his colleagues, his sister and the casual comments that painted a picture of someone, friendly, yet distant, the “nice guy” who kept to himself.

You learned his patterns, his preferences, even the small, old habits he indulged in when he thought no one was watching. You uncovered the Dexter he showed to the world, the façade that kept his true nature hidden.

But you could see it—the subtle tension in his jaw, the guarded look in his eyes that surfaced when someone got too close, the small tells of a hidden life. The knowledge inside you—the kind of intimacy that was both exhilarating and forbidden—you knew him in a way no one else did, knew him not by the lies he told, but by the silence he kept.

So, you kept waiting, biding your time. You wanted him to know that he been seen, that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. You wanted him to understand that he was no longer the only one who lived by a code of shadows. You watched him for countless nights—slipping in and out of his world like a phantom, leaving a sense of unease that you knew would begin to gnaw at him.

Until finally, one night, you decided it was time.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

note; i have a taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show.

[bebx]

Tragic brothers.

Dexter: Dexter Morgan and Brian Moser. Genesis by Valzhyna Mort † Abel’s Body to Cain by Joseph Fasano

[viinchester]

Shape Of You

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

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

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

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew you should be glad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

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

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

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

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

It stirred something deep inside of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[happy74827]

You Must Be Haunting Me

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Even after a year, you’re still haunted by the Ice Truck Killer.

WC: 2643

Category: Angst, No Comfort {TW: Not Proof Read 😞}

I did another one!! Are you guys proud of me? 🥹

So, rewatching the season, I forgot how sassy he was so I wanted to really show off that aspect in this one. Then my patience was over it, so the ending is just kinda… bland. But it’s okay because it’s Brian (he seriously needs more attention FOR REAL).

Anyway, for those 14 Brian fans… this one’s for you 🫶

『••✎••』

The dark circles beneath your eyes. The way you can barely stand on your feet, your body so exhausted that you can hardly lift a finger to defend yourself. You’re like a walking corpse, and he's the one responsible for putting you in this state.

It started one year ago. One year ago, you moved to Miami and became the victim of a killer. It wasn't until his brother came along and put him six feet under that you began to heal and get back into the normal, everyday routine. But then he showed up.

It was one of those nights where you’d randomly get a jolt in your sleep. You sat up straight, the sheets pooling at your hips as you looked around the room. Your breathing was shallow, and sweat was beading on your brow. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you slowly laid back down.

"You sleep soundly."

His voice caused your heart to stop. You knew who it was, the same man who had terrorized you, who made your life a living hell. Slowly, you turned to your side, staring wide-eyed at the dark figure at the end of your bed. Your hands began to shake and tremble as you reached for the lamp on your nightstand.

"Oh, don't bother."

In an instant, with the sound of fingers snapping, the lamp's light went out. You could hear a chuckle coming from the intruder, and you were paralyzed, afraid to make a move.

I mean, it couldn’t be him, right? It was just some sick joke. He was dead. He couldn’t be here.

He couldn’t.

But, god, he looked the exact same. The curly dark hair, the pale skin. He was just a silhouette in the darkness of your room, and yet, you could tell that the grin he wore was the same grin that he had on the day you met him.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost." He mused, moving closer towards you. His weight caused the bed to dip slightly, and you could feel the fear begin to take over your body. "Should I start saying boo?"

Your throat was dry, and you couldn’t speak; all you could do was stare at him, frozen in place. He lowered his head in amusement and chuckled, leaving his lips once more.

It was when his eyes weren’t on you that broke you out of your daze. You shot up from the bed, nearly tumbling over yourself as you ran to the dresser, grabbing the nearest thing you could find and throwing it at him. It was a vase, one that held a bouquet of flowers, that shattered against the wall, causing him to look up.

"…Was that supposed to scare me?" He asked, raising a brow as he tilted his head, an almost bored expression on his face. "You’ve got the aim of a blind man."

"Get out of my house!"

The sound of your own voice startled you. Anger wasn’t necessarily the emotion you normally felt, but now it was the only thing that was running through you. Anger and adrenaline.

He stood from the bed, taking a step closer to you, the broken glass crunching beneath his feet. You didn’t care; you took a step back, holding your hand out as if it would stop him from coming any closer.

"Get away from me, you psycho."

He laughed. He actually fucking laughed.

"Psycho?" He repeated, "That’s a new one."

"Stay back." You hissed, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

He took another step.

"Don't touch me!"

Another. He was only inches away from you now, and the thought of him being so close made you want to vomit.

The annoyed sigh he let out when he noticed your hand trembling was enough to set you off. You didn’t think twice; the only thought in your mind was to get him out, and so you did.

When he was walking towards you, your mind remembered the small kitchen knife that you left on the counter. Quickly, you ran past him, dodging his hands as he reached out to grab you, and grabbing the knife, and in one quick motion, you turned and stabbed him.

"That’s not going to—"

It went right through his chest. He stared down at the knife, then up at you, with that all-knowing expression.

He sighed again, "…work."

What the fuck?

In the next moment, he vanished, and the knife fell to the ground, the clattering against the linoleum floor echoing through the house.

For a minute, you thought it was a dream. That is, until he appeared in the chair beside you, his arms crossed, his eyes boring holes into your face.

"You can’t hurt me." He said, his tone flat, his eyes narrowed, "I can’t either. Not physically, anyhow."

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"I can fuck you up, though." He continued, "In many ways. Mentally, emotionally… The possibilities are endless."

"What the hell is this?" You questioned, your brows furrowing, "Are you some kind of— of, what, demented Casper?"

His expression was unreadable, but then again, he always had that look on his face.

"Casper? Wow, seriously? You remind me why I don't watch movies." He groaned, shaking his head.

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you won't like my answer."

"Try me."

"You’ve lost it." He shrugged, "Completely off the hinges, you know? And that's saying something, considering who you’re talking to."

"I don't—"

"Have a mental disorder."

"What?"

"That's what it's called. When someone has delusions of grandeur, where they think someone is after them. Someone, of course, meaning me." He explained, a grin spreading across his lips. "But, no. It's all in your head. Just. Like. Me."

The words sank in, and you stared down at the floor, your mind processing everything he was telling you.

"No, I'm not crazy." You murmured, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear.

"You're not? Well, how else would you explain me being here?" He asked, cocking a brow, "I’m dead, remember? My dear brother made sure of that."

"I—"

"And you know damn well I’d never wear this out of the office. It's not exactly the most flattering."

It was then you noticed what he was wearing.

He had his lab coat on. His entire outfit was the same thing he wore the day he met you. You were with Debra to question him about Tucci’s recovery and, god, if he didn't make the biggest impression.

It was pretty hard not to like him when he was giving one of his patients, a little boy, a lollipop from his jar and making a joke.

You remember telling Deb, 'What a nice guy'.

Oh, the irony. The fucking irony.

"What a nice guy." You found yourself repeating before looking him up and down, your lips curling in disgust. "You were just fucking with me the whole time, weren't you?"

He shrugged, "What's it matter now? I'm dead."

"It matters to me."

"Would you like me to apologize? To beg for your forgiveness?" He asked, a mocking tone in his voice, "Would that make you feel better?"

You were silent.

"Wouldn’t do anything." He continued, "And it certainly wouldn't change a thing. But, hey! By all means, you go right ahead and play pretend. Maybe then, you'll sleep better at night."

You scoffed. He was such a piece of shit.

"How much are you gonna torture me, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, "Torture me like you did, Debra? Like your brother? Are you just going to follow me around like a bad smell? Make my life a living hell, like you did theirs?"

"I didn't torture him." He stated, a hint of malice in his tone, "He's my brother."

"Like that means shit."

"He was just like me. A lot like me, in fact." He went on, his eyes flickering over to you. "I could see myself in him."

"Well, he killed you." You countered, "That doesn't really seem like brotherly love."

"He did what he had to." He shrugged, "That Harry… he was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

You were quiet again.

"And Debra?"

"A pain in my ass. Always sticking her nose in places where it doesn't belong." He replied, shaking his head. "But, then again, that was her job, wasn't it?"

"You broke her. You tore her apart." You snapped, the memories of the past year filling your mind. "She really loved you. She really did."

"I know."

"You don't care."

"Not at all." He said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. "Not in the slightest."

"Fuck you."

He laughed, his laughter filling the room before it faded out, leaving the both of you in a heavy silence.

He had a different aura around him this time. It might be the aura of a dead man, a hallucination. But he still felt so… present. Even his mannerisms were the same—the way he moved his hands, the way he tilted his head. His eyes still had that glint of mischief. It was so real.

So. Fucking. Real.

"If your just in my head, why can’t I just kick you out?" You asked, finally breaking the silence, "Make you go away."

"Because, even after a year, I still affect you." He answered, his voice low. "Even though you try to ignore it and push the memories back, I’ll always be there. In the back of your mind."

"Why couldn’t you be my dead childhood dog or something? Why do you have to be some crazy serial killer that ruined my life?" You said, shaking your head.

"I'm not boring."

"Neither was my childhood dog."

"Rocky didn't have a single interesting thing about him. All he did was drool and lick himself." He countered, his lips pursing.

"How the hell do you know— oh, fuck this. Just go away." You groaned, rubbing your temples.

He didn't respond, and the room was quiet. For a second, you thought he actually listened. Then, you heard him hum.

"Hm. No."

"Jesus Christ."

"Now, that's really a name I haven't heard in a while."

This was how it became. For months, you would have these random conversations with him, and no matter how much you tried, he would never leave. Everywhere you went, he was there.

Work.

Shopping.

Even at the damn bar.

You had no idea what this was. You didn't know if this was a side effect of the trauma you went through. Whether it was your mind trying to cope or just the result of a lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it was draining the life out of you.

You felt like a shell. Your coworkers knew something was wrong. The way your eyes were dull and lifeless, the dark circles, the slump in your shoulders.

They were concerned—except Debra. She was too concerned about the case to pay attention to anyone else.

You weren't really sure what day it was. Or month. Time was going by, and you were slowly dying mentally, as he put it.

"Is this because I can't sleep?" You asked him one night, staring at the ceiling, your voice hoarse, "Because I can't go to sleep without seeing your face? Or is it because I don't have the energy to live?"

"I would say both."

You groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's not what you did." He replied, his eyes locked on yours, "It's what I did."

"Yeah, well, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The two of you sat there in silence before he cleared his throat.

"How are things with my favorite bloodhound?" He asked a curious tone in his voice. "Is he still sleeping with that cute blonde, or did he wise up and break it off?"

"Rita. Her name is Rita." You corrected him, shaking your head, "She’s his girlfriend, not his flavor of the week."

"Hm."

"And, for your information, they're fine. Great, actually."

"How disappointing." He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. He genuinely looked upset, which caused a snicker to leave your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are." You replied, looking over at him, "You're so pathetic."

He blinked.

"You're a dead man. Dead. How can you be disappointed about his love life?"

"I'm his older brother." He stated, his jaw tightening, "I want what's best for him."

"Really? Then why aren't you in his brain, harassing him?" You questioned, a smile coming onto your face, "You know what? I bet he's sleeping great. He doesn't have to deal with this. Not like I do."

"I would love to give him a good old-fashioned night terror. It'd be easy, too. He's not exactly the most stable." He replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his brain is too messy. He's always been that way."

"I guess he takes after his brother."

"He took after our father. The one thing I did was make him forget about it." He retorted, his tone harsh, "Notice how he never talks about the old man? Or the past? Now it’s only me. That's because of me. I took him from that shitty childhood. I gave him a better life. A better everything. I could’ve given him the world."

You were quiet.

"Instead, he killed me." He spat, the venom in his voice obvious. "Because of that stupid, half-witted sailor mouth."

You honestly had to give your brain props for this one. He was too realistic. He was too Brian.

"You know what?" You began, sitting up, "I really am feeling a lobotomy."

At that, he actually laughed. Now that… that was different from the chuckles and snickers, this was a full laugh, something you haven't heard since you met him. It was loud, it was obnoxious, and it was the only thing you could hear.

It was the last thing you heard before the most amazing thing happened.

You fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up to a pounding on your door and an annoying ringing. Groaning, you pulled the pillow over your head, hoping the noises would disappear. Instead, they only got louder, and you had no choice but to get up.

"Coming, coming!" You shouted, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the door, the banging and the ringing still going on.

When you opened the door, you saw Debra.

"Good. You're up." She greeted, her expression annoyed. "Where were you last night?"

"Sleeping. What are you, my mom?"

"I called you. I even sent someone by your house. You weren't here." She stated, a slight bite in her voice, "And I'm not your mom, but if I were, I'd spank you."

"For what?"

"We have a meeting in five minutes." She said, checking her watch, "Get dressed. I'm waiting."

"Shit."

In record time, you threw on some jeans and a shirt, and within the next three minutes, you were out the door and in the car with Debra.

But as she pulled out of the driveway, he appeared directly in front of her.

"Hey, watch—"

But he only winked at you before disappearing. And at the time, you found it nothing but him being a prick. But, later on, you would realize.

This was the last time you would ever see him.

A month went by. And another. And another.

Then, a year.

The visions of the past still came. The thoughts of him were still there. The memories were still fresh. And sometimes, if you listened closely, you could still hear that laugh.

But you weren’t afraid anymore. You had no reason to be. And so, you moved on. You continued living because that's what he would've hated. And that made you smile.

Because, now, it wasn't him haunting you.

It was you haunting him.

[amongaesthetics]

OK, so I’m re-watching Dexter (the TV series with the serial killer not the cartoon with the little kid scientist who wants to be evil). And I’ve got two really big thoughts that someone needs to hear.

The first is that the kind of started Dexter off as being sort of ace/aro. They went into a lot of things in the beginning about how he’s dating his current girlfriend (Rita) because she’s got issues with sex and he wanted to avoid sex in his relationship and how he could never be in love with her. And this gave me a little bit of mixed feelings in how I think about it, because whenever they assign these sorts of traits to bad people it’s supposed to be evidence of how fucked up they are. Like, “look at Dexter, he’s a fucked up serial killer who does not enjoy sex and can’t be in love with someone, he’s really-really messed up”.

I think it’s problematic because it’s making the ace/aro representation that we do have more of a representation of how people who fit within those categories are not truly human. But on the other hand, they cement this ideology even further through Dexter‘s character by eventually making it that he is in love with Rita, that he does enjoy sex with her. He marries her and has a child with her and starts to fit within this range of normal, except for the fact that he is still a serial killer and this is supposed to be exemplifying him becoming more of a “real person” while he does those things.

The other big critique I have as I’m re-watching is that, all of Dexter’s problems are caused by himself with exception to the first season. The first season, Dexter’s big bad brother Brian is back in town, killing people, reaching out to Dexter and causing him to question his foundations and his choices and Deal with a lot of trauma, while also trying to deal with the fact that his brother wants to have a relationship with him. That’s not really Dexter‘s fault. However, he consistently makes bad choices throughout the rest of the seasons where he’s like “maybe I don’t have to kill this guy. Maybe they can teach me something. Maybe I can learn from them. Maybe I’ll just get close to them and everything will be fine…”. For example, the serial killer that does kill his wife, like the guy who is sister eventually ended up seeing him kill, like those serial rapist murderers that he deals with in season 5 who set a trap for him, like him trying to make friends with that ADA serial killer, like his NA sponsor who tries to burn alive his step kids.

His issues aren’t that he is a serial killer, it’s that him being a serial killer defines the way he approaches every other relationship that he tries to enter into and causes him to enter into relationships with dysfunctional murderous people who want him dead.

[ostaramaclay]

Me and @ghostlyaugustine just finished writing our new AU fic 'Staged', set during the Dexter S4 finale The Getaway. We wanted to answer the question; what if it had been Deb?

Please check it out, and let us know what you think!

[mymy4802]

Not going to lie I cried like a baby at the end , I’m not happy with the final but the scene of Harrison killing Dexter was beautiful. I truly feel like Dexter was finally at peace with himself, and was happy to be killed by his son rather than being in jail waiting for the death penalty.

Now that I’ve said that ,I'm going to rewatch the series from episode one to nine in hope that I can forget episode ten and I’ll try to convince myself that Harrison ran away with Dexter.

I might even write a fanfic about it while I'm at it

[willieverseetheland]

like you mean it (pt. 1)

Dexter Morgan x fem!reader

Summary: You haven't felt very appreciated by your (serial killer) boyfriend recently, so he shows you how much he really cares.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, implied smut, language

Pt. 2

From the moment that you met Dexter, you knew he wasn't like everyone else. He can be a little socially inept at times, as well as insensitive. However, at the same time, he's incredibly loving, charming, and funny. You love him and all his quirks. Compared to the men you’ve been with in the past, he’s a saint. He's respectful, kind, and you actually feel safe with him.

But at the end of the day, he’s still a man.

He has a hard time seeing things from your perspective, which can cause a lot of arguments, that are almost always one-sided. You try not to nag but it's hard feeling like the only one putting in effort. He often forgets the things that you tell him. You figure he doesn't find importance in the same things that you do. Lately you've been feeling a little neglected. Monday you asked him to come over for dinner, but he said he was busy. Wednesday you asked him to go lunch with you on his lunch break, he said he was busy yet again. You had a movie date planned for Friday; he bailed last minute because he was...busy.

You always get excited thinking he’s going to say yes, planning cute outfits, spending time on your makeup and hair, all for him to say no. You end up sitting on your couch in front of the tv, with a pint of ice cream instead.

Finally you convinced him to come over tonight. You would love for it to be a relaxing and romantic night, but you know you need to have a talk with him. You hate having these talks because it can feel like talking to a brick wall at times. You know he means well; he just doesn't see it the same way or doesn't even mean to make these mistakes in the first place. But it is hurting you, and you're tired of feeling like your boyfriend doesn't want you.

Of course, he won't be here until late. He has to "take care of a few things first". You knew blood-spatter analysis was a complicated job, but you didn't think it would require this much overtime...

Even though you're slightly mad at him, you don't want him to starve so you make dinner for the two of you. As you're setting the table you hear your apartment door unlock.

In walks Dexter, with his adorable face and dorky smile. You may be irritated but you can't help but smile at the sight of him.

"I made dinner, would you like a beer?" you ask

"Sure" he says with a soft smile

He comes over to give you a kiss on the forehead. You make a half-ass smile in response. When you don't kiss him back or even look at him, he can tell something is wrong.

"What did I do?" he frowns

You immediately sigh

"Dexter, I...I just feel like you don't care. About me, about us."

"What? That's not true at all, why do you think that?" He exclaims

"You've been so distant recently. Gone all the time, always bailing on our dates, always busy, you hardly call or text! I just wish you would put in a little more effort, that's all." You can feel tears begin to form; you didn't realize you were this upset about it.

"Y/n, you know I'm busy with this case, they just really need me right now." He's looking at you, looking through you. You can't read any emotion or remorse on his face. This only makes you want to cry more.

"It feels like I don't mean anything to you! I feel like you don't want me anymore." You can feel your face getting hot and your chest tightening. "Fuck, do not cry right now" you think.

You bring your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to ward off the tears.

"What do you mean? Of course you matter to me; I've just been busy." he has a look of confusion, like he can't understand why you would feel this way. He's here now, isn't that all that matters?

"Well, it just doesn't feel like you mean that."

"Well I do, you're my girlfriend, of course I want you." he sighs

"Then prove it! Show me that you mean it." You look into his eyes, you think you finally see it, regret, remorse, guilt.

He brings his hand up to your cheek, he finally sees how upset you are. You sink into his touch, stepping closer to him.

"How? Change? How do you want me to show you that I want you? That I care?" He's looking into your eyes, brows furrowed.

Even with all the hurt and anger, all you want to do in this moment is kiss him. Feel his body against yours. Not only has it been long since you've had any quality time or even a deep conversation, but you also haven't had sex in weeks. You feel guilty for thinking that in this moment, but you just want to feel close to him, connected.

You place your hand over his

"Stay the night. Be with me... Fuck me, like you mean it. Like you want me, like you care."

SURPRISE BITCHESSSS! I told y'all I was on my writing GRIND. If you want a part 2 lmk! Someone return the favor and write Dex fics for me please and ty <3

[fortheloveofwonderland]

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

[polydeuces]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; After weeks of silent observation, you finally step into Dexter Morgan’s world, confronting him in a dim alley with the knowledge of his darkest secrets. Drawn to your cryptic words and unnerving calm, Dexter is left with the choice; uncover the first traces of a deeper and more dangerous connection or lead the life he has been for years.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (833 words) Themes of stalking, manipulation, morally gray dynamics, psychological tension, and mentions of violence.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He felt restless, a sense of anticipation swirling beneath him. It was then that he spotted you— standing at the edge of the alley, how had he not seen you before? He’s usually very aware of his surroundings. Your silhouette was sharp against the dim glow of a street lamp. There was something undeniably captivating about you, an energy that pulled him in like gravity. He hesitated took a step closer.

“Dexter Morgan,” you said, your voice low and velvety, as if you had been waiting for him. The sound sent a shiver down his spine.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, the question spilling from his lips before he could stop it.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile. “I know far more than just your name.”

He felt his heartbeat quicken, the sudden rush of adrenaline igniting his instincts. Who was this woman? Why did she feel so.. familiar? “What is it you want?” he asked, his tone laced with caution.

“I know the real you and I want to help you understand,” You replied, stepping into the light. The glow illuminating your features— striking eyes, an intensity that felt almost magnetic. “You have urges, Dexter. Dark ones. I know what it feels like to wrestle with them.”

He felt is composure slip. No one spoke of his urges, not in the way you did. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” you countered, taking a step closer to him. “You hunt those who deserve it. You’ve chosen a path, and it is a path that many have traveled before you.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“Someone who has been exactly where you are,” you replied. He felt as though your gaze would pierce straight through him. “And someone who can lead you to others like you, if you’re willing to follow.”

Dexter hesitated, a flicker of intrigue battling against the instinctual wariness that had kept him alive all these years. You were unlike anyone he had encountered. She was unlike anyone he had encountered, sure Lila and Lumen had their own allure to them. But you were a riddle wrapped in shadows, and the thought of uncovering more about you, about this connection, was too tempting too resist.

“What do you mean, ‘others like me’? he pressed, squinting his eyes slightly.

“There’s a community,” you revealed, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.“They embrace the darkness, turn it into something powerful. You can help them use that power to perfect their craft, and they can show you how to embrace your true self without guilt.”

His breath caught in his throat as you spoke. Your words echoing in his mind as he tried to decode it all, there was a strange allure in your tone. “What’s in it for you?”

Your expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. “Understanding and liberation,” you said simply. “You have the potential to more than just a monster, Dexter. You could become a force, a leader of your own.”

The weight of her words pressed down on him, igniting a fire of both fear and fascination. He had prided himself of his code and only ever working alone, never sharing his work with others, not completely. Yet he felt the pull of your promise tugging at him, until his cautionary voice screamed at him that this was a dangerous game.

“Why should I trust you?” he challenged? thought his resolve was already weakening.

“Because I am just like you,” you replied, stepping ever closer, the air thickening with tension. “And because I know you’re not as alone as you might feel you are.”

The darkness inside Dexter whispered that he could have finally someone who understood the weight of his secret life, but he was torn between skepticism and a deep need to belong. He inhaled deeply, his thoughts whirling with potential.

“Where do I find you?” he asked, the words escaping him almost against his will.

“You’re smart, Dexter, keep an eye out for the unfamiliar hiding within the familiar.” You said, your voice a sultry promise. “I will be waiting for you. Just as I have been.”

With that, you turned and vanished into the depths of the night, leaving him standing alone, grappling with the unsettling knowledge that he had encountered someone—an enigma who reminded him of himself. That scared him more than anything before. As he took a step back into the fray of the city, a new darkness unfurled within him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going on a journey that would change everything.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

taglist; @delsbtch @crustaceanwitch @stre3tleopard | taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not of my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show and the writers involved. thank you.

[bebx]

Dexter: s06, e07 — Nebraska

[viinchester]

Dexter :: Masterlist

Welcome to my Masterlist for all things I've created regarding the TV Show “Dexter”! I will try to keep this as updated as possible.

Click here for my Main Masterlist

━╍═══════════════╍━

× Contents ×

Last Updated On

Requests

🌶️ ☔ 💥 🧸 🕳️ 🎭 🔞

Writing Masterlist

Gifs Masterlist

Tag List

━╍═══════════════╍━

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

1. Last Updated On

September 23, 2024

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

2. Requests

Requests are OPEN for the following characters:

Dexter Morgan

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper

You can try to request something for characters that aren't on this list as well, however it's much less likely that I'll actually write for them.

On how or what to request, please check out My Main Post About Requesting!

3. 🌶️ ☔ 💥 🧸 🕳️ 🎭 🔞

I use one or more of the 7 emojis to give you a better understanding of what the content involves. Here's a guide on what they mean:

🌶️ ➞ Smut, usually contains sexual content and/or physical intimacy

☔ ➞ Angst, usually contains emotional pain of some kind and/or evokes sadness/melancholy

💥 ➞ Action/Violence, usually contains fast-paced events and/or physical conflict, often with graphic descriptions

🧸 ➞ Fluff, usually contains feel-good situations with a focus on comfort and/or affection

🕳️ ➞ Dark Stuff, usually contains heavy, disturbing, and potentially triggering topics (Mental illness, (sexual) abuse, trauma, etc.)

🎭 ➞ Drama, usually contains intense emotional shifts and/or emotional turmoil, with moments of tension, conflict, and/or resolution

🔞 ➞ Mature Content, usually contains explicit content that is not suitable for minors (Graphic sexual scenes, extreme violence, mature themes, and/or other adult-oriented material)

‼️ These emojis are only to give you a quick overview, please still read the warnings on each story to make sure they're suitable for you ‼️

4. Writing Masterlist

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper:

✒ Haunted Reflections

☔💥🔞(🕳️🎭)

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

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

Word Count: 3.271

×

✒ Shape Of You

🌶️ 🕳️🔞(☔)

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

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

Word Count: 3.271

⊸

Dexter Morgan:

✒ Nothing yet

5. Gifs Masterlist

⏯ Nothing yet

6. Tag List

I don't have a tag list yet. If you want to be tagged in the future for anything specifically (all writings for a specific character for example), feel free to let me know and I'll create one and put you on it!🙏🏼💞

[happy74827]

Burning Bridges

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.

WC: 1951

Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort

I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.

『••✎••』

Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.

He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.

The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.

He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.

"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.

"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.

"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.

"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.

And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.

So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.

Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.

You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.

At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.

“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.

You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."

Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.

"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.

"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."

He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.

"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.

He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."

He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.

Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.

"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.

"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.

"I don't know. It's probably nothing."

But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty. He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.

Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.

This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.

Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.

He never got that far.

A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.

“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even. The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.

"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"

The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.

"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"

"I’m not—”

"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"

The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.

"Who?" He repeated.

The man choked, unable to speak.

"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."

The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.

“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."

"Who was it?"

"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"

"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.

"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."

Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.

Lila.

Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.

Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.

He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.

He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.

“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.

[eringobragh420]

WWE 🎟️ Damian Priest 🎟️ Seth Rollins 🎟️ Roman Reigns 🎟️ Jey Uso 🎟️ Jimmy Uso 🎟️ Solo Sikoa 🎟️ Cody Rhodes 🎟️ Randy Orton 🎟️ Gunther 🎟️ CM Punk 🎟️ Bron Breakker 🎟️ Rhea Ripley 🎟️ Liv Morgan 🎟️ Finn Balor 🎟️ Dean Ambrose/Jon Moxley 🎟️ Pat McAfee 🎟️ Tiffany Stratton 🎟️ Bo Dallas/Uncle Howdy 🎟️ Dexter Lumis/Mercy 🎟️ Ilja Dragunov 🎟️ Karrion Kross 🎟️ Ludwig Kaiser

SUBJECT MATTER 🛑 children under 18, pedophilia, necrophilia, just general ickiness 👍 smut (noncon, cnc included), angst, drama, fluff, violence, minor gore

[urdadstype]

Masterlist

Many characters from different series/movies and famous people blurbs and headcanons!!

You can ask me to add someone if you want and I’ll see what I can do!

Fluff-☺️ Angst-😔 Smut-🔥

Dc Universe

Richard “Dick” Grayson

Bruised Nights - Dick comes home with more wounds than usually and reader gets angry at him for not being careful☺️

Bruce Wayne

(Nothing yet)

Marvel

Deadpool

(Nothing yet)

Matt Murdock

(Nothing yet)

Eddie Brock

(Nothing yet)

The Vampire Diaries

Damon Salvatore

(Nothing yet)

Stefan Salvatore

(Nothing yet)

Enzo St. John

(Nothing yet)

Kai Parker

(Nothing yet)

Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

(Nothing yet)

Juice Ortiz

(Nothing yet)

Half-sack

(Nothing yet)

AHS

Kai Anderson

(Nothing yet)

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

(Nothing yet)

Sam Winchester

(Nothing yet)

BTVS

Spike

(Nothing yet)

Teen Wolf

Scott McCall

(Nothing yet)

Stiles Stilinski

(Nothing yet)

Jordan Parrish

(Nothing yet)

Theo Raeken

(Nothing yet)

True Blood

Eric Northman

(Nothing yet)

Dexter

Dexter Morgan

(Nothing yet)

Joey Quinn

(Nothing yet)

Horror movies

Jerry Dandrige

(Nothing yet)

Ghostface

(Nothing yet)

Celebrities

Jordan Riki

(Nothing yet)

[mattsturniolosmuse]

Request Steps

Who I write for:

The Outsiders:

Dallas Winston

Darry Curtis

Sodapop Curtis

Ponyboy Curtis

Johnny Cade

Steve Randle

Two-Bit Matthews

Shameless:

Carl Gallagher

Ian Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

The Hunger Games:

Peeta Mellark

Gale Hawthorn

Finnick Odair

Harry Potter:

Fred & George Weasley

Draco Malfoy

Theodore Nott

Tom Riddle

Scream:

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Charlie Walker

Ethan Landry

The Summer I Turned Pretty:

Jeremiah Fisher

Conrad Fisher

Steven Conklin

Percy Jackson:

Percy Jackson

Luke Castellan

(I will do both the older movies and the newer ones)

Heartbreak High:

"Eshay" Ca$h

Dusty

Malakai

Anthony

Spider

Others:

Skip from "Class"

Dexter Morgan from "Dexter"

Tom Holland

Timothee Chalamet

Henry Hart/Kid Danger from "Henry Danger"

Bryton Myler

Ben Azelart

Matt Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo

Nick Sturniolo

I will do anyone, unless I don't know enough about the character. The ones above are just the ones I do best.

Fics I Will Write:

Smut

Fluff

Angst

Fics I Will NOT Write:

Rape

Incest or stepcest

Pedophilia

Anything homophobic or racist

I prefer specific requests!!! Thank you so much everyone.