dating site serial killer

A male and female serial killer meet on a dating site, not knowing each other’s dark intentions to murder their date. It gets awkward once they realize what the other is really doing.

The Johnlock Fallacy

The Johnlock Fallacy goes like this: If two characters of the same gender are friends, claim LGBT representation to make them gay. But the focus of the entire fanfic should be about them having sex. No humor, adventure, or action. ABSOLUTELY NO FRIENDSHIPS AT ALL. Because that’s totally not the “gays are always sexual” stereotype… Gay people apparently just can’t have friends.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are the namesake of this cliche, but Hanzo Shimada and Jesse McCree are treated like this as are Junkrat and Roadhog, Ike and Soren from Fire Emblem, and Bayonetta and Jeanne.

I’m still waiting for the Sherlock fic where Watson is gay, but ISN’T fucking Sherlock.

Like, he comes out as gay, and Sherlock comes out as asexual, and he dedicates himself to being John’s wingman. USING HIS DETECTIVE SKILLS. Like, he’ll be looking at potential boyfriends and just whisper things to John like “he’s had four breakups in the past year, I saw his phone over his shoulder”

And Sherlock being worried and telling John not to go to gay bars, just use dating sites, because gay bars attract serial killers. And he’s rattling off lists of serial killers that preyed on young gay men and how many people they killed, and John’s like, “YOU’RE NOT HELPING, SHERLOCK”

But no. They always have to be screwing.


Pairing: Dean x Reader (with a little something special.)

Warning: Language

Word Count: 1182

You walked in the door pulling your jacket off as you kicked the door shut behind you. You hung up the jacket then your keys on their appropriate hooks so you’d be able to find them easily in the morning. Your feet were throbbing from a long day at your herbal shop and you were completely ready for a quiet night in. You already had a relaxing evening on the couch planned with TV shows to catch up on and a nice bottle of wine in the fridge.

Everything was going according to plan, you were dressed comfortably in your favorite worn in shorts and band tee and settled on the couch with your glass of wine sitting on the side table within easy reach. You had escaped reality and fully into your show, going along with your favorite investigators on their new case, when your phone chirped beside you. You ignored it, a commercial break would come along soon enough and whatever it was (because that was definitely not your text message alert) would still be there.

The chirp came again then, as if on cue and the two were somehow working together, the show went to commercial. You picked up your phone, looking at the screen and furrowed your brow. You didn’t recognize the alert. “What the hell is matchmaker?”  

You stared for a moment then it came to you. That stupid dating app your best friend Robyn had installed on your phone. Apparently, she had also pushed you into the dating pool by adding something because the app was alerting you to your new match. You rolled your eyes and tapped the alert opening the app.

You picked up your glass of wine and tipped it back finishing it off, you would definitely need it because all these dating things were the same. You sighed as you tapped the NEW MATCH IMPALA67 at the top of your screen. Your jaw dropped. “Bull.. shit. Yeah, right. Why the hell would he need a dating app?” You scanned the stats underneath the picture of the handsomely rugged bad boy sitting on his very impressive car.

Dean Winchester
Age: 35
Location: Lebanon, Ks
Seeking: women
Status: never married
About: Rolling through town
No strings attached.

“Rolling through town? Okay so he’s using this to get laid?” You poured another glass and sipped while debating whether you should even message him back. Your thumb hovered over the message button, “what could it hurt to see what he said? I mean he’s in Kansas, why would he ever be in New Mexico?”

You tapped the message button and read.

Impala67: Hey beautiful, what are you doing tonight?

“How original.” You said but quickly hit reply and immediately snorted at the username your friend chose for you.

ClassyRockInsight:  I bet you say that to all the ladies.

You took another sip of your wine and your phone chirped again.

Impala67: to the beautiful ones, yeah. Although I’m surprised you got back to me so quickly on a Friday night.

You chuckled softly.  “At least he’s honest.”

ClassyRockInsight: I’m a little too tired to be out on my feet all night after doing that all day. I’m not twenty anymore.

Impala67: You and me both. You going to answer my question or is it classified?

You started to type but paused for a moment. Weren’t you the one who told your friend that only desperate guys and serial killers were on dating sites? You looked at his picture again and told yourself he might not even look like that but what harm could come from texting? You glanced up at the TV where the show you had been watching continued to play. A show that highlighted the creepy and scary side of the very thing you were now questioning. So do you go against your first assessment and continue talking? You closed your eyes and took a deep breath then looked for the answer.

You were extremely young when it happened for the first time, when some instinct deep inside told you where to find your favorite toy that had been misplaced. Your mother called it woman’s intuition with a smile and said it was nothing to worry about while your father had searched for a logical answer and said you simply had photographic memory. Of course he never came up with a good answer when you started to sense things before they happened. Your mother taught you to nurture it and not be afraid of it. You had relied on it on many occasions and this would be no different. You hit reply.

ClassyRockInsight: I run a small shop in town. I got home and decided to relax on the couch with some wine maybe watch a few shows but instead I seem to be talking to you.

Impala67: Nice. A business owner, huh? Wouldn’t be selling classy rocks, would you?

You laughed as you tapped out a response.

ClassyRockInsight: My friend set this up on my phone. That is apparently her little joke. I sell herbs and spices, things like that.

Impala67: So.. classyrockinsight?

ClassyRockInsight: I like classic rock and I’m .. insightful, I guess? Haha

Impala67: Makes total sense now. :)

ClassyRockInsight: So what do you do?

Impala67: Pest control.

ClassyRockInsight: I did not expect that.

Impala67: What’s that mean?

ClassyRockInsight: That I can’t see a face like yours in that business.

Impala67: Family business.

ClassyRockInsight:  Ah, makes total sense now. :) So, aren’t I a little out of your area?

Impala67: Are you implying that I only talk to women for one thing?

ClassyRockInsight: “rolling through town No strings attached.” Your profile pretty much says that.

Impala67: Do you like strings?

ClassyRockInsight: I’m having a hard time figuring you out.

Impala67: I’m an open book, just ask.

ClassyRockInsight: Okay, aren’t you using this for hook ups?

Impala67: If I happen to go through their town and we meet up, sure.

ClassyRockInsight: going through their town?

Impala67: my job takes me all across the country.

ClassyRockInsight: Honestly, how many women have you met?

Impala67: full disclosure. One. And my brother told me that I shouldn’t believe it was a woman because it could very well be a man.

ClassyRockInsight: lol  I would have said the same thing. When my friend was telling me about this thing I told her it was full of serial killers.

Impala67: Of course.

ClassyRockInsight: So my next question, naturally, is are you a serial killer?

Impala67: I guess you could say that.

ClassyRockInsight: What?

Impala67: Pest control, remember?

You barked out a laugh. Your show was completely forgotten as your night took a turn and definitely not for the worse. Your evening had changed into a relaxing night of pleasant conversation with a dark haired stranger.

As you fell off to sleep that night, a thought occurred to you. You were going to have to take back what you said about dating sites and Robyn would never let you forget it. Maybe you’d keep this one to yourself for a while. Dean Winchester could be your little secret.

Continue to part two.