#dexter showtime

[bebx]

Tragic brothers.

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

[dexteri0us]

i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter

summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."

w/c: around 5k

a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)

You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.  

Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.

You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy:  I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.

You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.

“Can I help?”

“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.

You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.

“I could make you something to eat…”

Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.  

“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”

“I said no.”  

You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.

“Do you want–”

He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”

Finally. Bait taken.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.

You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.

His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”

You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.

“Who’s them?”

Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.

He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.

“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”  

Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.

His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.

He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.

Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.

The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.

Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.

Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.

What the fuck?

He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.

“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.

Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.

He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.  

“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.

You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.   

The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.

Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.

He was in the mood. And it hit you.

He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.

“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”

His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.

“Not today.”

“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.  

“Drop it.”

“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”

The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

That was easier than you thought.

“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.

“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”

Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.

“You really want to test that theory?”

You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.

The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.

Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.

“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”

Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!

“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”

“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”

And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.

“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.

Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.

Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.

Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.

“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”

You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.

Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.

“Listen to yourself. So messy.”

Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.

Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.

“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”

The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please, can I come?”

“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.

Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.

Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.

The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.

Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.

“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.

Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.

Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.

One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.

Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.

He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.

You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.

He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.

“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.

You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“You think you can?”

The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.

 “You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.

“Let go of the headboard.”

Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.

For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.

Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.

You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.

Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.

His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.

Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.

He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.

You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.

Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.

But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.

“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.

Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.

With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.

“Oh, and your hands only.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

His face dropped again.

“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”

You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.

“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.

He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.

“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”

“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.

“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”

You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.

He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.

“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”

“It kinda has.”

He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.

a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!

[megustasqualo]

damn dex

[tinythebunni]

thinking about dexter who takes you on one of his “hunts” and lets you see who he is fully! lets you see his dark passenger!

🍭🫧🩷🐬

“you can’t make a noise bun. i get you think this is fun but it’s not a game. this urge i have, i do this so i can control it. do you understand me?”

you nod, biting ur lip and batting ur pretty mink lashes. you’re barely listening by da time he’s finished his speile and honestly you’re so horny by how demanding he sound you can’t even fully process it!

you guys met almost a year ago, being introduced by Angel! you went to school with his sister and she loved you so much she took you on her babysitting trips! he came home to you letting Harrison, or H.R as you call him, paint your nails and giggle about girls at school!

Dexter was mesmerized by you. the glossy hair, your brown skin, the dark gleam in your eye paired with the innocence you seemed to possess. he couldn’t get enough.

“i need words. not nods, words. ‘m already taking a risk with you even knowing. you gotta tell me this is okay.” he whispered, his left thumb and forefinger pinching your chin.

“mhm Dex! this is perfectly fine! i’ll be quiet! like a mouse!! won’t even know m here. i pinky promise on my perky tits!” you beamed up at him.

he doubted you could even keep quiet for ten minutes, but the excited expression you wore made it hard to say no.

an hour later and a whole lot of plastic later, you were sat on a counter swinging your legs while Dex circled his next victim, waiting for him to wake up.

he felt the anticipation under his skin, paired with the slight annoyance from hearing your nails click-clack on your phone. your bedazzled phone might he add, that he bought for you after he broke your old one stalking someone. how sweet of him!

eventually the loser woke up and the ritual began. Dex cutting his cheek for the blood slide, showing the killer his victims, and then the kill.

with the knife pointed above his victim and the dark gleam in his eye, he got ready to end his life. but then, the slight whimper that left your mouth mad whim pause. he glanced over at you and saw your thighs clenched and eyes hazy.

wait, were you getting off on this? he smiled a little bit. it was nice. someone you could deal with his dark passenger and his facade. he wanted to take care of you, to make his babydoll feel good. but he had to take care of this man. this scum of the earth.

he was gaining movement in his legs again, so dexter had to act fast. “not so fast doc.” he growled out, still looking at you.

he plunged the knife into his chest and watched as your hands clung to the counter and you bit your lip. holy shit, you really were horny from him killing someone.

his perfect girl. he was so, so grateful for you.

[maycanady]

If God is in the details, and if I believed in God, then he's in this room with me. I just wish he'd brought an extension cord.

DEXTER 1.02 "Crocodile"

[roemantics]

rewatching Dexter S1!! I’ve always had a soft spot for Biney

[subtlebloodshed]

Make it hurt

cw. rough sex, mean mocking, dom!brian, fsub!reader, crying, manipulation but reader doesn't know it, brian as rudy, brian is his own warning

Rudy is hands down the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. He remembers all your favorite things, always knows how to make you laugh, and somehow nails every romantic gesture that makes your heart melt. Honestly, you catch yourself wondering all the time how you got so lucky—what you did to deserve him, or how many orphanages you must have built in a past life to end up with someone this amazing. But one thing’s for sure: he loves you. And he loves you so well that it blows your mind how easily he fucks you like he hates you.

And right now, it feels like he despises you. 

You saw it in the dark, hungry look in his eyes—the promise of exactly where you are now. Your hands are bound tightly behind your back with his tie, your body arched against his as his bicep wraps firmly around your throat. His teeth graze your shoulder before sinking in, sending a shiver through you, while his hand claims your breast with bruising intensity. Each relentless thrust pushes deeper, making it clear he’s lost in his desire, your comfort the furthest thing from his mind. 

“S-Slow down, baby…” You whimper through your breathless sobs, tears running down your flushed cheeks.

“God, are you crying?” Rudy grunts with a chuckle, his hand on your breast moving up to shove his fingers into your mouth, effectively gagging you, “You’re fucking pathetic, sobbing over my cock when you should be grateful for it.” 

The grip on your throat tightens, cutting off just enough air to send a wave of panic and thrill racing through your body. For a fleeting moment, you’re certain this is how it ends, but the fear only heightens the intensity of everything else. The pressure on your airway and the relentless ache between your legs blend into a haze that leaves your vision swimming, every nerve alive with sensation.

Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for reprieve, nails digging into curves of his abdomen begging for mercy. Rudy groans at the sting, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, “Stop fucking struggling, take it, fucking take it.” 

“Rud–Rudy, please, I can’t– I can’t take anymore…” You croak out tightly, your discomfort evident. 

“Does it hurt, doll?” He asks, his hips slowing for a moment as his grip on your throat loosens enough to give you a moment to breathe. He plants kisses over the back of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling against your skin. This moment is one of reassurance; he still loves you, no matter how hard he’s drilling into you– he’s still your Rudy and he’d do anything for you.

You nod, sniffling back your tears and trying to ignore the drool running down your chin. His hand moves to tilt your head to look at him, his eyes scanning yours–studying you. Rudy is checking if you’re okay, if he should actually slow down. When you give him a slight nod with that desperate and needy look in your eyes, he smirks and leans in to plant a kiss to your jaw.

“It should hurt.” He spits before he shoves you face-first down onto his bed roughly as his hips start their assault on you again.

[ashyy-slashyy]

a goofy dexter drawing for you freaks

[marvelsgirl616]

I’d lie to the police for him. <3

[bebx]

Dexter: s06, e07 — Nebraska

[niksplaceofhorrors]

me? obsessed with him? why yes…

only watched the movie for the plot tbh🤷🏻‍♀️

check out the tiktok maybe? @/cam4rgos

[p34ce0fm1nd]

my babygirls are sociopaths

[maycanady]

DEXTER 7.01 "Are You…?"

[roemantics]

I always feel so so bad for Deb

[creekmotel]

[subtlebloodshed]

Talk to Strangers

description- After a rough day at work, you find comfort in your favorite place: your boyfriend Rudy's arms. After a steamy night, you wake up to discover more about him than you ever wanted to know.

word count- 3.6k

cw. brian moser as rudy cooper x f!reader, fem terms, drinking, drunk sex, surprisingly gentle sex, oral f!receiving, unprotected!piv sex, biting, canon typical violence, gagging/vomit mention, dismemberment, manipulation/gaslighting, domestic violence (kind of?), strangulation, brian is his own warning.

You knock on Rudy’s door with a six-pack of his favorite beer and a bottle of red wine, leaning against the frame. You’d had the worst day at work; it felt like everything went wrong or crashed around you. Nothing more in this world comforted you like him: his strong arms, warm, inviting scent, and those pretty green eyes. Being with Rudy was like being at home–entirely relaxing and soothing. 

Rudy opens the door in his boxers, a smile on his face and one hand almost instantly pulling you inside. 

“Hey, beautiful,” He murmurs against your temple as he plants a kiss there, his nose nuzzling in your hair, “Why didn’t you let me know you were stopping by?”

He’d barely put his hands on you and you're melting into his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I did, must’ve missed it. Were you sleeping?” You ask, pulling away enough to set the drinks down onto his desk. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he shrugs, “Yeah, dozed off in bed, long day, I guess.” 

You naturally move to the kitchen as if you’ve done it a million times before. Getting on your tiptoes, you pull out a wine glass. “Tell me about it, I cried as soon as I got in my car.” You sigh, making your way back out to grab the bottle and settle on the couch. 

“You want to talk about it, doll?” Rudy asks, moving over to sit next to you after he grabbed the six-pack. He takes your bottle and pours your glass for you. 

“God no, I just wanted to be with my boyfriend,” You say, taking the glass and sipping much too large of a sip from it, “Maybe get a little bit of dick.”

“Well,” That draws a grin from him, his lips brushing the top of your ear as he whispers, “You definitely came to the right place for that.”

—

A bottle of wine and six-pack of beer later, you both are tangled up on his bed. There’s a giggle between every kiss and every movement is clumsy, uncoordinated. His head is buried in your neck, peppering kisses, bites, leaving marks all over your skin. Each sense is filled with him– him, him, him. Every experience with him felt like that from the moment you met. You fell so fast, so hard. And Rudy made it so easy and so damned sweet. 

“I’m so in love with your body.”  He murmurs against your skin as his hands trace patterns across your bare abdomen.  Most of your clothes never even made it to the bed, a trail of fabric littered its way like rose petals. 

Your hand tangles in his hair, guiding his head towards yours for another kiss. The flavors of beer and menthol flood your mouth, a combination that has become familiar and addicting. You have grown accustomed to everything that is uniquely him and crave it like a drug. It's as if you stopped needing air the day you met him.

His hand pulls your thigh over his legs before sliding up to firmly grasp your ass. You grind your hips against him, feeling desire pooling between your thighs and drenching both of you. He hardly needs to touch you to elicit such a reaction anymore - just one look from him and you're ready for him.

“Please,” You whisper, pulling back and resting your forehead against his. It's tender, loving, soft– his beautiful face melting into that darling smile as he guides his fingers through your wetness. How could he still look like a Disney prince with his hand between your legs? 

"Here?" He teases, rubbing slow circles on your clit and studying the way your eyes flutter closed in response. "Or here?" His voice dropped an octave as he slowly pushed the tips of his fingers into your hole before returning to your clit.

You whine in frustration, pushing your hips forward into his hand and trying desperately to gain more than he was giving, “Rudy, I need you, stop teasing…” You plead.

He knows how easy it is to rile you up and play with you. “I’ll take care of you, doll.” He smirks, rolling you onto your back. His lips find their way from your neck down to your chest, pausing to explore every inch of skin and eliciting gasps and moans from you. When he playfully bites down on your hip bone, you squeak in surprise. “Just lay back and let me work my magic.” 

Rudy doesn’t have to tell you twice, you simply lay your head back and let your eyes close. The warm, wet trail of saliva followed his tongue as he traced it over your hip bones, then down to your mound, and the junction of your legs and thighs.Your grip on his hair tightens as his tongue makes contact with your clit.

“Fuck, Rudy…” You sigh as you roll your hips towards him for more contact. He chuckles softly at your eagerness, holding you down by placing his hand on your lower abdomen.

"Easy now, don't get too greedy," He mutters before biting down on your inner thigh and sucking softly. "Take what I give you."

You nod in agreement, loosening your grip on his hair slightly. "O-okay."

Rudy seems pleased with your submission, continuing to pepper kisses along your thighs. "Good doll, good…" He praises as his other hand moves between your legs to tease around your entrance and lubricate his fingers. Slowly, he slides two fingers inside of you and you let out a sharp moan, pushing back into the pillow. The pace is gentle and slow at first, his fingers opening you up and preparing you for more. His tongue continues to work its magic on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

Your body arches as Rudy's skilled fingers and tongue work in tandem, pleasure building steadily. The room fills with your soft moans and the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers. Your hands tangle deeper in his hair, holding him close as your hips begin to rock against his face.

"God, Rudy, don't stop," You gasp, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. You can barely open your eyes to look down at him, but you’re so glad you do. He looks gorgeous like this– his dark curls tangled in your fingers, eyes closed in concentration, nose brushing against your mound. 

He hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your thighs begin to tremble as the tension in your core builds. And the moment he opens those breathtaking eyes to look up at you, the dam breaks and you cry out, waves of ecstasy washing over you as your orgasm crashes through your body.

Rudy works you through it, lapping up your release as your body quivers beneath him. When the last aftershocks subside, he plants a final kiss on your inner thigh before crawling back up your body.

"You taste divine," he purrs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, mingled with the lingering flavors of alcohol.

Your hands roam over his muscular back, feeling the strength coiled beneath his skin. Rudy's erection presses insistently against your thigh, hot and hard. You reach between your bodies to wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

"I need you inside me," you breathe against his lips. "Please, Rudy."

He groans, rocking his hips into your touch. "Anything for you, doll."

Rudy positions himself at your entrance, teasing you with just the tip. You whimper arching your hips to try and take him deeper. He chuckles softly, nipping at your earlobe.

"Patience, doll," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to savor every moment with you."

Slowly, torturously, he sinks into you inch by inch. Your breath catches in your throat at the stretch, your walls fluttering around him. When he's fully sheathed, he stills, giving you time to adjust. No matter how many times you’ve taken him, the full length of him always left you breathless. His forehead rests against yours, those mesmerizing green eyes locked on your face.

"You feel incredible," Rudy breathes, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "So perfect for me. You were made to take my cock."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a renewed fire in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Your hands slide up his strong arms to cup his face, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. As your tongues tangle, Rudy begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you gasping against his mouth. 

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. "God, Rudy, you feel so good."

He picks up the pace, driving into you with powerful thrusts that make the bed creak beneath you. Your nails rake down his back as the pleasure builds, leaving faint red lines in their wake. Rudy growls, burying his face in your neck as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The room fills with the sounds of your shared passion– skin slapping against skin, breathless moans, and whispered sweet nothings. Rudy's thrusts become more erratic as he nears his peak. He slips a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your oversensitive clit.

"Come for me again, doll," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come, let me feel you."

His words and skilled touch push you over the edge once more. You cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him. The sensation triggers Rudy's own release. He buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he spills inside you.

For several long moments, you both lay there panting, bodies slick with sweat and tangled together. Rudy presses tender kisses along your jawline before capturing your lips in a languid, post-coital kiss. When he finally pulls out and rolls to the side, you whimper at the loss.

“Mm, come back…” You whine as you wrap your arm around his abdomen, head settling on his chest and leg strewn over his. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his hand running through your hair softly.

"Feel better now, beautiful?" he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You nod, nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a yawn, “Much better.” 

—

Hours later, you stir a bit, waking up with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. Maybe drinking the whole bottle wasn’t the smartest move. You turn over, hand reaching out for Rudy but he’s not in his usual spot next to you. 

“Baby?” You murmur, sitting up to look around. He’s not in the bathroom– the lights off. You grab the robe you keep at his place, wrapping it around yourself as you stumble through the apartment, still slightly buzzed.

Maybe he’s in the kitchen? You make your way through the apartment, slightly stumbling since you’re still a little drunk, a frown set on your face as he’s not in any of his usual spots. That’s when you feel a cold draft hit you next to the living room with a sigh. He must have left the freezer door open, when would he even have opened it?

You creep towards the cracked door. You’d never even seen the inside…had you?

Your fingers grip the cold handle, and you pull the door open just enough to peek inside, curiosity gnawing at you. And what you’re greeted with is enough to make you sick. 

A frozen woman’s body lies in pieces on a metal table, limbs neatly arranged as if pieces on a board. Your boyfriend stands over her, bone saw in hand, cutting through one of the limbs with a practiced rhythm.

You stagger backward, your breath hitching in your throat, eyes wide and disbelieving. The bottle of wine and the six-pack seem like artifacts from another life, the cozy intimacy of just hours ago obliterated by the macabre sight before you.

Rudy looks up at the slight noise you make, but makes no effort to move. His face flickers through a spectrum of emotions: surprise, irritation, and finally, something calm and unreadable. That calm, more than anything, makes you begin to tremble in fear. 

"You're awake," he says simply, as if you’ve just caught him reheating leftovers instead of dismembering a human body. His voice is steady but there's a tension behind his eyes, something calculating, as if he’s evaluating your reaction. He doesn't stop working, the bone saw whining softly as it slices through icy cartilage and bone.

You want nothing more than to run, scream, throw up– but your feet are planted frozen to the floor in fear and disgust. 

“You-you…” You mutter, heart in your throat as your hand comes to your mouth, the other wrapped around your abdomen in a guard, “What have you done?” The walls feel like they're closing in on you and you fight down the bile that seers through your esophagus, threatening to escape with each breath.

Rudy sets the saw down with precision, slipping off his gloves like he’s just working on a project. "I was hoping you wouldn’t see this," he says, his tone almost regretful. "Not like this, anyway." 

It clicks together like some fucked up grotesque puzzle, “You’re the killer I’ve been reporting on for months.” You manage to croak out, pure anguish settling over you. How could you have never guessed? How many times had he fucked you in the same bed as these poor girls? How many of them sat in his passenger seat with his hand resting on their thigh like you had?

In some fucked up way, the thought of him cheating on you makes you just as sick. 

But no, this isn’t real, this can’t be real. This has to be some twisted nightmare, a drunken hallucination that will disappear once you rub your eyes hard enough.

But no matter how hard you try, the moment doesn’t fade away.

“Listen, I know this is a lot to take in,” Rudy says, moving from around the table to approach you. You should run, why aren’t you running? “But I’d never hurt you, you know that right?”

His hand comes to your hair, petting it as he’s done a hundred times before but this time, it felt like a façade, his way of lulling you into relaxation. 

“Don’t you trust me?” He says, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. You feel disgusted, every touch from him is tainted by all the blood he has on his hands. He’s a monster—and by all means, you should treat him like one. But he’s looking at you with those forest green eyes, they’re so full of emotion like he’s begging you to trust him. 

‘Trust?’ You want to scream at him, every nerve and warning sign igniting in your body. The rage inside you is boiling: you had trusted him so foolishly, how you had no knowledge of the monster you shared a bed with every night. But your frozen, mouth agape, more conflicted than you had ever been in your entire life. 

This shouldn’t even have to be a conversation. The moment you saw him with that saw in his hands you should have ran, called the police, anything than stand here like you are right now.

Of all the emotions swirling within you, one nauseated you the most; you were jealous. The Ice Truck Killer only killed prostitutes. It gnaws at you, the thought of him touching them, the same way he’d touched you. His hands on their skin. His lips against theirs.

Your thoughts are a tangled mess of rage and self-loathing as you try to articulate any of it. “You’re—you’re just sick…we…we can fix it. You just need help…” You stutter out, the words even more pathetic than they had been in your head. He wasn’t some broken little boy who needed fixing—he was a serial killer. A wolf in sheep’s clothing you’ve let devour you whole. 

“You think I haven’t heard that before? I spent fourteen fucking years in a ward getting ‘help’. It didn’t change anything. This is who I am.” He shakes his head, reaching his hand out to caress the side of your face. 

“I-I don’t understand,” You deny, bringing a hand up to grab his wrist. You don’t pull him away, however, you just stand there in confusion holding him, “You were good, you’re…you’re good. You wouldn’t…” This doesn’t even feel real, you are trapped in a haze of fear, disgust, shock, and confusion. All you want to do is disappear or go back in time and live blissfully unaware. You’d give anything to have not woken up or let yourself get curious, you didn’t want to have to face this. 

“Hey, hey, doll, look at me,” Rudy cajoled, hooking his finger under your chin to meet his eyes, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You just have to stay calm, alright?”

You have trouble focusing on his eyes, your rationality a million miles away, “O-okay? How is it going to be okay?” 

Rudy sighs, leaning his forehead in against yours, “You know I love you, right? More than anything.” 

You just nod dumbly against his head, your fawning response settling over you. He says he loves you and as long as you behave, he’d have no reason to hurt you. You didn’t have to end up on the table all the other girls had. You were important to him, different– better than them. 

“Good, baby, good.” He mutters, planting a kiss against your lips. He’s ice cold to the touch, the time in the freezer showing with the red on his cheeks. It’s something you would have teased him about had you seen it in a better setting. God, it’s hard to think. The sight before you eats away at every positive memory you’ve ever had– your brain feels like utter mush right now. 

Your fingers tremble against his wrist, and it’s not from the cold but rather the unbearable weight of what you’d seen. The man who held you so tenderly, who made you feel safe, was the same man who had been dismembering women and arranging them like frozen sculptures in public like a gallery of horrors. 

“Rudy…” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the freezer. Your grip on his wrist tightens, but you still don’t pull him away.

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple as if this were any other night, as if you weren’t standing in front of proof that the man you loved was a monster. “It’s a lot to process, but you don’t have to be scared.”

The way he says it—it’s almost comforting. Almost.

But you are scared.

Terrified, actually.

Not just of him, but of yourself. Because as much as every bit l in your body is screaming at you to run, another part of you—the sick part of you that has spent nights tangled in his sheets, breathing in his scent, tracing the lines of his body with your fingertips—wants to believe him, wants to believe that somehow, someway, this isn’t as bad as it looks. You want to believe that there’s a version of this story where he’s still the same man he was a few hours ago, where you can wake up tomorrow and pretend you never saw a damn thing.

But the body on the table won’t let you forget.

Your stomach churns as your eyes flicker to it again, the pale, dismembered limbs arranged with precision. You gag, clamping a hand over your mouth, and Rudy’s grip tightens just enough to remind you of his strength.

“I need—” Your voice cracks. “I need a second.”

“Of course,” Rudy says smoothly, finally letting you go. Your body stumbles back before you catch yourself against the door.

He watches you, not like a man afraid of losing his lover, but like a predator waiting to see what his prey will do next.

You could run.

You should run.

But where would you go?

Your phone is in the bedroom. Your keys, too. And Rudy—Rudy is faster than you, he'd beat you to the front door, watching you with those green fucking eyes, as if he can hear every frantic thought racing through your mind.

“You’re thinking of leaving.” His voice is calm, but there’s a warning beneath it.

You shake your head without hesitation, even though you both know it’s a lie.

Then, with a rush of adrenaline, you’re sprinting to the door. If you could get to a neighbor's door, you could scream and someone would help you. 

Your hand is on the handle and you are pulling it open, you’re going to make it out.

A surge of pain radiates from your head and your vision goes for a moment, the sound of the metal door slamming filling your ears. His hand is tangled in your hair and he’s pulling you back against his chest, then his bicep is wrapped around your throat. 

“I told you to stay calm, this could have been different. Why didn’t you listen?” 

The sound of his voice is distant as you can feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness from the lack of blood flow to your brain. 

You want it to stop. 

God, please someone make it stop.

Stop. 

Stop. 

Stop. 

“You should have listened, doll.” 

Stop.

authors note- it was originally supposed to be a drabble and i got carried away. oops. hope you enjoyed! <3

taglist- @brian-mosers-cumsock, @butterbabyflapjack (wasn't sure which blog to tag)