#BRETT HAND X READER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Celebrities use Tumblr as well.

#BRETT HAND X READER

msg4andre · 1 year

Note

pls gimme some teasing brett through his pants…

GRR yesyeyseys

“C-come on you know I need more than that…”

You’re 100% sure you could get fired for this, but Brett just had to be needy at work. “I thought you wanted me to take care of you…” Your voice was low, dangerous. It only made Brett more desperate. “I do! I-I just need more than this, please? I’ll be really really good I promise!” The brunette’s back pressed further against the closet wall as you cupped the bulge in his pants.

Your fingers strategically found Brett’s leaky tip and brushed it with your index finger, gliding over the weeping slit which made Brett ‘s hips buck into your hand. Arousal seeped into your panties, Brett’s teary eyes were so pathetically hot your pussy couldn’t help but pang and throb at the thought of his big shaft filling you up. You gripped his member and Brett yelped.

“Keep it down, you don’t wanna get caught, do you?” You said, giggling at the way Brett’s eyes bulged as he feverishly shook his head ‘no.’ You got down on your knees and licked a stipe on his clothed dick. “G-God, y-your— your mouth…” He whined. Even through the fabric of his pants he could feel your tongue skillfully prodding at his shaft, swirling around it leaving a wet patch of you spit and his precum on his crotch area. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck…”

The feeling of incoming euphoria took the reins. Brett thrusted his hips into your mouth and threw his head back, he was actually going to cum in his pants. Your hands came up to his hips and shoved them against the wall. You weren’t in the mood for his ‘horny puppy’ pace. “Please let me take my pants off, let me fuck your mouth, please!” Brett was willing to start crying for you if it meant you’d him go loose. Your mouth, your pussy, he just wanted to shove his cock deep in you and let you ride him until he couldn’t cum anymore.

Everything felt hot. You watched with intent as Brett looked up, knees shacking uncontrollably. Just as he was about to burst…

You let go.

Sadistic pleasure bubbled and raged in your stomach as you watched Brett’s heart break all over again. “Wha- no. No. Nononono please! You— You can’t leave me! I need it, I need you, please! mommy-!” He babbled but you shushed him quickly. “I’ve got a meeting to get back to, baby. If you’re that desperate you can wait for me here.”

#brett hand smut #brett hand #inside job #inside job x reader #brett hand x reader #he’s so baby girl I fucking love him

2K notes · View notes

andreslver · 7 months

Text

brett being so down bad. he constantly whimpers and babbles when fucking you, no matter if he's dominant or submissive, he'll always show how much he loves fucking you.

he's fucking you from behind on your bed filled with plushies and nice blankets and piilows and all stuff he's bought for you to spoil you. he admires how pretty you looked in your outfit today that its such a shame that he had to rip your tights. with one deep thrust, he reaches down to your face and hands you his phone and says "buy whatever you want, sweetheart".

he continues fucking you while you struggle scrolling on his phone. he starts to slow down and look over your shoulder to see only a few things in your cart, "come on, baby. you need to buy more than that. i promise, you can get anything you want"

#blehhh #i havent written anything in so long #brett hand #inside job #inside job headcanons #brett hand x reader

300 notes · View notes

sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x afab/fem!reader

note: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, pet names, afab anatomy but no talk of tits in an effort to stick close to gender neutral, dominant brett hand, breeding kink, daddy kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex (wrap that rascal), slight exhibitionism, slight public sex, domestication, housewife kink, cum play, no pronouns but use of gendered pet names like mommy & others like sweet thing, baby, sweetheart, and babydoll.

You got separated from the group once Brett lost control, everything getting immersed in a hazy, green blast. Nothing worked when trying to calm him down, deescalate the situation and keep everyone safe. It blew up in y’all’s faces, literally. Waking up against rubble and debris, not seeing where you landed or where you are, you’re nervous.

There’s no modern tech on you and you’ve got no way to reach Reagan or Andre, get in touch with Gigi or Glenn or Myc. You’re absolutely alone until they find you. Or Brett finds you.

The two of you had been dating for a while, and you’re endlessly in love with him. Tirelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Brett’s a sweetheart and nothing but doting and kind to you, and he’s in therapy. How lucky are you?

Not as much now that he’s not himself and currently lethal, leveling several structures and sending you and your coworkers flying in different directions and under the influence of heavy chemtrails and 80’s nostalgia.

Your footsteps are tentative, wary of the unsteady rubble you walk upon and try to breathe through your shirt, pulled over your nose and squint through the dust in the air. There’s not much light, it’s dark out and nighttime. The cold seeps in more and that fear of being alone and vulnerable at night starts to sink in and soak your bones.

No weapons on your person, rendered useless and defenseless without any of your gear or comrades, it’s safe to say you’re terrified beyond all belief. Walking softly, slowly turning over chunks of masonry and debris to walk better and find a way out of the barely standing structure you find yourself in.

Moments pass and you try to think of other things like what you’ll do when you get home, if that show released it’s second part yet so you can stream it soon, and attempt pathetically to calm yourself. It’s not working.

You hear footsteps and you freeze, your body pressed to a wall and trying your best to hide in the looming shadows encompassing the formerly standing building. Pinpricks crawl up your neck and stand at the nape of your neck and across your arms. Your heartbeat has never seemed louder.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you want to see me?”

it’s Brett, and you don’t see him but you hear him, can’t decipher where he is in relation to you from his voice, anywhere a possibility you don’t want to explore. Crawling up in a ball and shutting your eyes would be better, shutting the world out and forcing yourself to wake up from such a terrible dream.

But the sight of candy apple green eyes tears that hope from your lungs when you shudder, never expecting yourself to be afraid of him. The fear isn’t even about Brett, it’s about the limitless possibilities and outcomes of what could happen. He’s drenched so heavily in chemtrails it must be like standing too long near Chernobyl.

Feels so wrong.

“Why aren’t you talking to me? Did I hurt you?” He sounds like the Brett you love, and you’re worried he knows that, using that to get to you. He hasn’t spotted you yet, walking around and you press yourself into the brick behind you, wishing you could just disappear, dissolve into nothingness so it would all go away.

You don’t mean to, but your ankle nearly buckles isn’t the awkward position you are standing in. The sound is tinny in the darkness and silence of the rubble and his reaction is instant, eyes on you under a second.

“There you are!” Brett’s words would be endearing in any other circumstance, and he approaches. His hair isn’t as floaty anymore, but it still shifts unnaturally, like seaweed in an ocean current midair around his head in an unearthly halo. Eyes are bright green but less painfully neon and now more of a muted acid hue. You miss his eyes. “Was worried about you, baby, you sure you’re okay?” He dotes, nearly mirroring your brett as he cups your cheek.

When did he get closer?

“You seem fine, just shook up. Poor thing.” Brett coos, smiling down at you childishly in his usual manner but everything seems so unsettling, like his persona got dunked into a murky pool of liquid from a backalley at 3am. Unnatural and unsafe.

“Hey, c’mon sweet thing, talk to me.” He prods, raising your face up with his hand on your cheek and you oblige, looking up at him with fretful eyes that he frowns at. Your hands clench and fidget at your sides, entirely too overwhelmed but still needing to do something.

And it’s him in there. It’s still Brett. Just doused in chemtrails, no big deal.

“Hi Brett.”

He laughs, a giggling little sound that is usually very fitting but now a bit surreal in his current state. It remind you of glow sticks the way he shines out. You don’t like it.

“Hey there yourself,” he chimes, taking his hand in yours and squeezing, before he nearly lets it fall, his expression falling with it, “out with it, what’s wrong? You’re not smiling.”

“I don’t smile all the time.” Comes your immediate response and he clicks his tongue, brows furrowing and you regret not filtering your thoughts from words. “You don’t, but you smile around me. Tell me why.”

“Brett-“

He backs you up against the brick, looming a bit overhead and a part of it gets your bones staticky, indecisive in whether or not you wanted to kiss him or kick him.

“Use your words well and tell me why, or I’ll make another use for mouth.”

You gape, body choosing for you on the kiss him option and let him come closer, him murmuring between your lips as he closes in and cages you against his form and the shadowy enclave of the brick. “Good choice.”

Brett is all around you, a hand at the nape of your neck soothing and smoothing down the pinpricks while the other is at your side, kissing at you impatiently until he bites, humming in a pleased note when your mouth opens up and he ventures in, playing with your tongue as his hand ventures beneath your shirt, untucking it.

“Going to continue to be good for me?” He asks in your ear after breaking for a breath, marking up your throat and the underside of your jaw in bites as you squirm, the former unease in your belly turning fuzzy and warm, turning the danger into something attractive than daunting.

You nod and he squeezes tight at your hip, a warning and you answer aloud, “yes sir,” him rewarding you with a softer touch and undoing your pants as he takes them off. “Sir?” Brett laughs, shaking his head and his hair floats still, hovering like your waning rationale.

“You can do better than that. You know what to call me.”

Brett’s hand snakes between your legs and ghosts over your underwear, him practically beaming when he feels the pooling slick soaking through. “Yes Daddy.”

His eyelids flutter a fraction and ministrations falter, coming back and his eyes burn brighter and his grin in sardonic, a bit twisted. That reminder of don’t trust, don’t tell.

“Ohh that’s a new one, we’re keeping that, right baby?” He asks, plunging a digit into your cunt and holding a leg up around his hip, your chest covered and safe from the cold but waist and below is another story, trying to feed off the unnatural warmth he emanates now. “Mhmm.”

“There’s my sweet thing, smiling, all you needed was some lovin’ huh?” He asks, more to himself and aloud than anything as he preps you with his fingers, hearing the squelch and growing tired of having to angle his wrist a certain way. He tears the underwear apart.

“Just needed someone to play with your pussy and turn your brain off, right?” Brett prompts a moan from you as he breaches a second finger in and his thumb rolls over your clit, warmth flooding everywhere and your eyes flutter open to see him staring you down behind lidded eyes, glowing green deeper now that reminds you of that light at the end of Daisy’s dock in that Fitzgerald novel.

It kinda’ is a welcome home light. And you go to it.

Your hand threads through his hair and smashes his lips to yours as he groans darkly into your open mouth, excited and eager hands shift your legs around his then busy themselves with his belt buckle, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing which he more than notices. Whimpering as he tugs at your lip, he peers down at you while he lets his belt open.

“Easy f’me babydoll, daddy’s going to take care of you.”

It sounds so good in this voice, all gravelly this time ‘round and the difference sells the experience, and the way he’s shifted, using the weight he carries and taking up space rather than weaving his way through it.

“Need you daddy.” You whine, feeling his thumb over your clit rolling circles that get you throbbing, squirming between him and the brick wall behind you.

“Patience, baby, I’ve got you.” Brett drawls, nudging your nose with his as he frees his dick from the confines of his briefs and Levi’s, bobbing in the space between your legs and looking so damn good you could’ve eaten it.

Another time.

“This pretty cunt gonna’ take it all you think?” He muses into the column of your throat before angling his head against you so he can see between the two of you, one hand holding your thigh up and parting it wide while the other fists his already drooling dick in his palm, pearlescent droplets of precum pooling at the tip. “Gonna’ be good for me?”

You nod, smiling blearily in a dopey grin and run your hands over the back of his letterman jacket, and into his hair while the other slides down to lift underneath his shirt, wanting to feel him whenever you could.

He breaches your walls in a single movement and you whimper, head landing back against the brick and hear him grunt, deep from his chest as he bottoms out in you. Brett’s head hangs for a moment before he looks back to you, eyes staring from beneath his full lashes and still having that unnatural green.

“Just knew this little pussy would take it.” He mutters and snaps his hips back, hands moving to cup your ass and bring you closer so he can thrust back and forth in a punishing, cervix-bruising pace. God, you’d feel him for days.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud but he hears it nonetheless, grinning against your temple while he fucks you like a ragdoll, “that’s right, gonna shape this cute little cunt until it’s molded around my cock, gonna’ be my little toy, right? Let me play with you?”

Moaning behind kiss swollen and puffy lips, you affirm his statement and thrust your hips back into his, sending a reverberating groan through his throat out that turns into a dark chuckle, his pace slowing a fraction only to move forth harsher, the sound of skin and your debauched moans painfully loud within the silence of the destroyed structure.

“Gonna’ keep us here, you and I,” Brett begins to ramble, punctuating his words with snaps of his hips that get you seeing stars, “gonna’ breed this little cunt and get a family from you, stay here happy for the rest of our lives.”

“You going to let me give you a child, sweet thing?”

“Mhmm.” You whine, clutching at him and grinding down on his dick, a pathetic mess of yourself with slick smeared between your thighs, “Gonna’ make you a daddy.” Brett groans aloud and rewards you with a hand moving from under your thigh to your clit once more, pressing in those rolling ministrations that get you clenching awfully hard.

“Wanna’ cum Brett — I need it.” You’re rambling at this point, incoherent and cockdrunk as he plunges in and out of you, nothing but sex on the brain and none of the ramifications. It would be your problem another day, another moment, but for right now it was everything.

“Need what baby? Gotta’ speak, got that pretty voice of yours — make it useful.”

“Want your cum, wanna’ stay here with you and let you knock me up over ‘n over,” you’re spitting out words as fast as they form because you’ve barely got the headspace for anything else but cumming on his dick, “get pregnant and have your baby, make you a daddy — please lemme’ make you a family.”

He whines in the back of his throat as he bites at your neck, your words hitting deep somewhere in him and loses his even pace in lieu of fucking you frantically, practically jumping your form with how desperate he is to flood your cunt. Brett’s hand still rolls it’s thumb over your pulsing, sensitive clit.

“God yes, make a little mommy out of you, see you get all swollen and round with leaking tits to feed our kids — fuck,” he’s speaking to you in equal to the wind, voicing aloud not just his plans but his dreams, wishes to have a life with you, “cum f’me baby, gush around this cock then I’ll give you what you want.”

you mewl, squirming and bucking while chasing that high that already has begun to sprawl like white-hot lightning in your bones, curling and pooling within your belly, feeling Brett slide in and out while he punches the breath from you while prodding at your cervix.

“Gonna’- I’m going to, fuck fuckk.” Brett snaps his hips in whip-fast motions once, twice, and you’re gone. Everything whites over and fades into blank noise, like getting submerged in bath water as you shake and shudder, taking him in as he fucks you through it, suspended only by his hold.

“Fuck, you look so p-pretty,” he stutters just like his pace, falling frantic in how he chases his orgasm after yours, Brett crumbling as he finally cums and floods your cunt, slick smeared between the both of you all over your thighs and lower abdomens, white ropes and rivulets accompanying your arousal. Brett snarls out your name in a broken groan against your collar, voice deep.

He bucks his hips and mutters nonsense into your ear, milking every last drop into your silken cunt and more, “cant wait to see you all knocked up, gonna’ make you a mommy. Swear.” You’re barely conscious enough to process his words, but you do, whimpering and squirming against him in pleased, soft tones as you still have your eyes shut tight, toes curled and feeling absolutely cloudy and airy — breathless.

Brett eventually finishes emptying himself inside of you, sticking close and keeping you on his cock as you come down from your highs and blink blearily back into reality. Shifting, causing you both to groan, you reach out and smooth his hair back and get him to look at you, green glow now gone and fucked out of him as he stares up at you back to himself.

“Hi Brett.” You murmur once again, this time feeling much better about him and his safety. His arms coil around your waist as he burrows into your neck, doting kisses across your skin and soothing the burn and bite of his marks.

“Hey honey.” Brett murmurs, sleepy and lethargic now and you smooth a hand through his hair, scratching idly and getting him groaning happily against you as your other hand rubs across his back and the rough fabric of his jacket he still had on.

“Ready to get out of here?” He nods against you in response and helps you stand, soft moans and sighs passing as he slips out and you feel cum slip forth from your overfilled cunt onto your thighs. Hurriedly getting redressed, sans your tattered panties, you stand before one another and he tries to apologize but you shake your head, cupping his cheek and saying you enjoyed it.

“Hey Brett?” You ask later on, walking hand in hand back with the group on the way to Cognito Inc after regrouping. “Yeah?”

You grin, beaming at him, squeezing his hand.

“Wanna’ do that again sometime?”

He opens and closes his mouth, giggling for a second before turning back to looking at you, squeezing your hand back while his other thumbs the velvet box in his jacket pocket.

“Absolutely.”

#inside job #my inside job #personal inside job #Brett hand #brett #inside job brett hand #inside job brett #brett hand x reader #brett x reader #brett hand x afab reader #x afab reader #x fem reader #brett hand x fem reader #brett x fem reader

1K notes · View notes

christineedaaee · 11 months

Note

might I request headcanons for brett hand where after the still valley episode, the reader kinda sorta swipes his blue letterman jacket just cuz (I want one so badly I don’t think you understand) and his reaction to seeing them wear it?

please, and thank you

i died but im back now!! and yes. id love to steal that silly blue letterman RAH

-he was looking for his blue letterman like ALL over the place

-poor lad thought he lost it :(

-so he asked the gang, and when they immediately said they hadnt seen it, he KNEW something was up....

-his brett senses were tingling...

-so when he went to you, and saw YOU in HIS blue letterman he almost died

-like, he froze up for a moment, just watching you get coffee at like 2AM

-"brett.. are you okay?"

"YES I'M OKAY I AM PERFECTLY FINE-"

-then you realise that he's probably like... hopping off the WALLS from you wearing his jacket

-he's like,,, RED in the face by now

-looking like a tomato

-and you then tease him about it, which makes him even MORE red

-so in short, he'll go from white boy to tomato boy in 0.2 nanoseconds if you wear his letterman

-he might let you keep it

-he just might because you look amazing in it <3

#brett hand #brett hand x reader #inside job #reagan inside job #inside job brett #inside job gigi #bring inside job back #inside job netflix #inside job x reader #brett hand inside job #theres-a-starmaan #poo

396 notes · View notes

cognitosclowns · 2 years

Note

What do you think the Gang does when they have a crush? How do they react to realizing they're into someone? Thanks!

YYYEEEAAAA <333 This is. so cute mwamwammwamwa I love how fluffy and soft this is

all sfw!! Brief death mention for Myc's

Reagan

She's... oddly happy?

She expected that when she'd get a crush she'd feel. I dunno, dread? A Horrible Sinking Feeling That Would Crush All Excitement In Her? Pure Misery Of Some Sort? Kinda like how her parents were-

but no she. actually feels kinda. content about it. who would have guessed.

DON'T GET IT WRONG, SHE'S DEFINITELY NERVOUS JUST. not actively Panicking about it. yet. It'll come, don't worry MSMNSD

This hasn't happened in a HOT minute. And even then, most of her crushes growing up were like. Boybands. Carl Sagan. Ada Lovelace.

She isn't USED TO HAVING,, actual IRL crushes. People she can actually talk to, and interact with, and see. daily. constantly.

Yeah it’s the moments where her love for you sneaks up on her that,, really get her palms sweating.

UGH it’s. inconvenient in the best way. she feels silly and childish and also absolutely delighted. Like oh god she’s starting to ask if you want to hang out after work???? Help her with paperwork??? She doesn’t feel like herself, but also she’s finding a newfound love for taking the risk of opening up to someone???

TLDR. Stress. But good stress. Appreciated stress and inconvenience, that she has wrangled into something domesticated.

Brett

He falls in head first and never even thinks to dig himself out

TRULY HE STRIKES ME AS THE TYPE TO FALL SO HARD.

It’ll probably be after some Small Special Moment that was probably meaningless to you but everything to him?

Remembering his coffee order. Staying up with him to talk on the phone the day before a Big Presentation, to make sure he’s okay.

IT JUST ALL HITS AT ONCE. Like it’ll start as that and then ever little thing you do becomes so beautiful to him. Rose tinted glasses, sure, but isn’t rose such a pretty color?

AAA <33333 he’s so gooey and sappy and just UGH. Puppy love. He isn’t that close to you yet, but he’s already so attached!!!

He goes out of his way, more than usual, to do stuff for you? Like not in a creepy obsessive way (he worries himself A LOT about being. too much.), but just trying to help out wherever he can!! He wants to express how much he cares about you as often and as thoroughly as he can!!

This also means. you 10000% know he’s crushing on you. like instantly.

IF HE ASKS YOU OUT, PLEASE ACT SURPRISED. COME ON HE’S DOING HIS BEST SMDNSMD

Gigi

aaaAAAAAAA

She feels like a kid again what is this. what is she doing. how embarrassing. MSNDMSD

LIKE SHE. It's like when someone makes a really, really stupid joke and you're like Goddamn It I Shouldn't Find That Funny But I Do And I Hate Myself For It

YEAH ITS KINDA THAT FEELING

She's forgotten how it all feels like tbh?

it clicks when you two are doing something, and she is laughing her ass off like she hasn't laughed in 10+ years, and the very inconvenient realization hits her that she’s more comfortable with you than anyone else in her life right now. Like she’s back home.

For a second it kills her tbh.

She learned very, very early on that getting too attached to ppl in this line of work is usually just. a very uncomfortable hassle, if not actively agonizing mistake, so she really tries not to.

and yet, she’s can’t stop laughing, and she doesn’t want to try. She’s just so happy.

Oh well. The sun is shining and you are beautiful. There are worse mistakes to make.

Andre

wow.

For him it feels like. idk. coming up for air when you’re swimming. That cool, fresh feeling all the way down his lungs.

Like sure yeah he flirts with people, he’s flirty, he’s a flirty dude, but. this is so different

every interaction with you feels like there’s static energy building in his chest. Like if he actually touches you, there’ll be this massive explosion of colors and light that’ll make him feel balanced again in a way it hasn’t felt in decades.

It’s chemistry babey!! Pure and simple!! It’s that amazing swirling excitable connected feeling!!

He chases it so much!!!!!! <33333!!!!

He goes out of his way to interact with you, to talk to you, to meet you and walk with you and just. BE with you. He feels so much happier and calmer when you’re around.

he doesn’t know. quite where to go from that. He tries not to think about it too much, because the idea of what he’s feeling Right Now going away, or having to change, is terrifying.

Live in the moment, right? When has he ever thought ahead! This is good enough. He wouldn’t risk this for the world.

Myc

Well. Shit.

He hates it but also. he's been around the block long enough to know there's nothing he can really do when it gets to this point.

You think you're his first crush ever? NAH sdmnsmd he's been around for 4000 years, practically nothings new for him.

It is rare, though. He tries not to make a habit of it, for obvious reasons

He will, probably, try his usual Techniques (tm) to see if he can get the Feeling to fuck off though.

Distancing himself, remembering all your faults + the shit you do that annoys him, all the times you've pissed him off and are going to piss him off. How it's gonna feel when you’re gone.

If none of that works? Welp, not much else to do but hang on and enjoy the ride, however long that goes for.

50/50 on if he'll initiate an actual relationship

Sure, he's accepted his crush on you, that doesn't mean he's gotta go and get himself all attached. That's a whole different ball game.

If he does, you're more important to him than you could possibly imagine. He might not say it, but you are.

Glenn

He feels guilty??

Like holy fuck you could do so much better than him. Like so much better than him, oh God

This is also why he’s not even gonna think about asking you out. At least not for the first little while (6-10 months). Even if you start showing interest, this man is gonna be way too chickenshit.

He’s also. not subtle in the slightest. We’ve seen how he acts when he’s flustered, he’s an Absolute Bumbling Baboon of a man.

The most awkward attempts at flirting you will ever have to endure MSNDMS

mostly it’s whenever you swing by his office you will get the most Geriatric White Yeehaw Man flirting. he is not good at it and will be banging his head on his desk after you leave.

GOD I can’t decide,,, whether or not he’d ask for advice. Part of me feels like he’d try to keep it Bottled Up Like A Good Soldier but also. I can totally see him caving and spilling the beans to Andre or Gigi at the Slightest Provocation.

WHICH WILL OFC END IN,, at least a little bit of teasing. And some pretty decent advice. So maybe not all too bad of an idea

Overall?? Panic and guilt with a healthy dollop of Yearning, wishing he had the balls to actually approach you about it.

Italicized Oh Moment

It's a surprise, but it isn't jarring? It's just this little Moment (tm).

Like putting the last puzzle piece into place. He's looking at you as you dance to some old 80s jams he's got playing in his office, half-singing the lyrics, and it just clicks that oh. he loves you. That’s what that horrible, cloying, feeling in his chest his. ah. Alright then.

He feels a little selfish for it, because if he were to ask you, it’d put you in extreme danger. Being close to him vs being officially with him, in that way, are two very different things.

But of course he does, because it’s you. He couldn’t possibly think of a way he’d let that opportunity pass him by. Maybe he’s selfish for it, but the future is someone else’s problem <3 right now he’s got you dancing in his office, he’s happy with that.

Alpha-Beta

oh fuck oh shit oh nononononono absolutely the fuck not nope nuh-huh try the fuck again nOT ON HIS FUCKING WATCH HE ISN'T-

he buries that shit 100000 meters down and pretends it never happened <3

come onnn this man,, has created his entire personality around being

absolutely perfect. Without needs, without wants, without attachments, The Ultimate Lifeform (tm) etc etc

hating humanity with every fibre of his being

this isn't a cutesy 'ohoho I haaaate it sopooooo much' NO HES FUMING HES SO GENUINELY IRATE.

its so inconvenient. its throwing a wrench in everything it is ANNOYING. You are ANNOYING. You ANNOY him >:(

^^ lies and half truths

He'll catch himself looping your laugh in his head and just. Gives himself a Look (tm) in the reflection of his tube.

He’ll have to actively resist initiating conversations, because he knows it’s gonna make him insanely happy to hear your voice and he’s trying not to get attached.

Is it all gonna come to a head in some Great, Crushing, Overwhelming Realization that his love for you completely outshines his hatred of humanity?

YEP BUT UNTIL THAT HAPPENS ITS DENIAL CITY BABEY 💃💃💃

aaaAAA <333 BRRBRBRB THIS WAS. SUPER CUTE. As always, feel free to add your own ideas, and thanks so much for the ask!!!!

2K notes · View notes

shiggyscumrag · 1 year

Text

Puff Puff Pass

[Getting high with Brett and then fucking the shit out of him!! CONTENT WARNINGS: oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, cursing, praise, drug use: weed]

Let’s just say he had a pretty fucking stressful day at cognito and just wanted to get home to you. The gang asked if he wanted to go for drinks, and he almost gives in when you step in.

“Actually Brett and I were planning on spending the night together at home.” You speak up wrapping your body around his arm. Looking down at you, looking back at them, then back at you again not knowing what to do. Brett is a yes man and can’t say no to anyone, especially not the people he loves most in the world! The love of his life v.s. His work family! Before anyone can speak up you squeeze his arm and say “Have fun guys!” Brett slowly starts being pulled away after you start walking towards the exit. He speaks up as the office door is closing on him.

“Can’t say no the wife gang, I’ll drink with you guys later!” He gives a wave and the door barely misses his nose almost pinching it shut. He then turns to you “I didn’t know we had plans to stay in tonight?” He felt bad for not remembering you saying anything about a date night.

“Well you looked stressed this past week and haven’t been getting the best sleep so I thought you could use a night in.” You say squeezing his arm slightly. He loved the sentiment truly, he was also relieved he didn’t forget a date night. He would’ve felt terrible. You don’t deserve a man who doesn’t remember a simple date night. You could do so much better-

“I got some weed so that you could really relax. I was thinking we could just smoke, cuddle and watch a movie. Sound good to you?” You spoke interrupting his thoughts. You were always good at stopping his over thinking, even if you didn’t know it.

“That sounds really nice actually.” He smiles getting into the car. Once you’re back at your shared apartment you decide it would probably be good to get some food. When Brett goes to start making food you stop him.

“Hey hey mister, this is a lazy night so you’re not cooking and I’m not either. I thought we could order in dinner and some snacks since we’re gonna be soaring in the clouds here soon.” You chuckle, hands still placed on his chest from trying to stop him from entering the kitchen.

“I guess that would be pretty nice. We have been cooking a lot lately so we could afford to splurge. Ah what am I saying let’s do it!” He screams as he launches his arms in the air. It looks like he’s doing a victory pose.

“Perfect, I’ll order and it will be a surprise because I know you love surprises.” You say pulling out your phone ready to order.

“I do love surprises. What movie do you wanna watch while we wait?” He asks moving to grab the roommate off the mantle.

“Whatever you would like babe. I just want to spend time with you, plus I’ll probably be to busy starring at your handsome face.” You smile “And you know rolling the joint but mostly your handsome face.” You add shrugging your shoulders. He gives you a chuckle and a kiss on the cheek once he’s settled on the couch. While you sit there doing your thing he scrolls through Netflix trying to find the perfect thing to watch. Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling till her finds it, the perfect movie of all time… Shrek 2! You snicker at his choice and continue to pack the joint full, slowly and meticulously rolling it into the perfect shape. You grab the lighter and watch as the end ignites, taking a deep draw you let the smoke fill your lungs before you exhale right into Brett’s face. That definitely pulled his attention from the movie.

“It’s all ready babe!” You say with a grin wide across your face. You look excited, eager for him to take a hit.

“Thanks!” You pass him the joint and he places it to his perfectly plump lips. You see his lips purse a bit while inhaling the smoke. He immediately starts coughing, face red and eyes teary. You grab the joint from his hands and quickly put it in the ash tray. You grab the bottle of water sitting on your end table and hand it to him telling him to take a sip. He follows your instructions immediately and practically inhales the whole bottle in one gulp. Your astonished at how he does it before he starts coughing again pulling back to reality. You pat his back slightly and rub it while he calms down, the coughs slowly dying out.

“Are you okay? Can you breathe alright? Do you need more water?” Questions are flying from your mouth panicking that you might have just killed your boyfriends perfect lungs.

“No no I’m alright, just burned a little.” He choked out through strained coughs. You watch as few tears fall down his puffed up cheeks. You kiss them as it’s the only way you can think it would make him feel better.

“We can stop, I think that’ll be best since it clearly hurt you.” You say beginning to put out the joint. He immediately grabs for your hands gripping your wrist.

“You don’t have too! I just won’t smoke, which is no big deal to me.” He says eyes wide with a slight look of hurt sprawled on his face.

“Brett it was meant to be for you, not me, so I don’t want to make you feel left out if I’m the only one smoking. That’s just not fair to you.” You explain turning to hold his hands.

“No please don’t stop just cause I can’t. This was for us to enjoy not just me. Plus, I like watching you smoke it’s really hot.” He protests, his cheeks growing red again at the confession.

“Okay.” Is all could squeak out and you pinched your thighs tighter together. A swirl of nervous and excited energy burn in your stomach. You pick the joint up out of the ash tray and once again put it between your lips. You take a quick drawl and then another longer turning to Brett and slowly letting it out to engulf his face. Once you’re done you see him lean forward while looking down and your lips and back up to your eyes. You meet him the rest of the way and press your lips against his. He pulls away after a second kiss and whispers

“Could you kiss me with the smoke in your mouth?” You can see the contact high starting to hit him, red haze in his lidded eyes. You scan his face determined to memorize every inch of it in its current dazed expression. You nod your head giving him a quick peck to his lips before beginning to take another hit. Holding it in you lean forward and capture his lips in a deep kiss. Pushing smoke into his mouth between the fight of your tongues. You feel his hands find their way to your hips, giving them a slight squeeze when he finds the perfect spot. You part your lips slightly out of breath and quickly set the joint down in the ashtray in desperate need to find his lips again. He pulls you on top of him now straddling his legs. Your hands reach up and find refuge in his Carmel locks. His hands are gripping deep into your hips when he pushes you down onto his hips beginning to grind yours to his. You pull away panting as you look down and let out a small moan. You can’t miss the way you hear him groan as you start grinding harder against his hard on. You pull away cupping his cheeks as you stare deeply into his brown eyes.

“I want to fuck the shit out of you.” A small grin on your face as the words leave your mouth, but Brett can’t miss the look of desperation in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t want anything more.” He says as he reaches to take your top off. He stares at your newly exposed skin, still warm from the hoodie you just wore. He starts at your left shoulder slowly kissing his way down your collarbones to your right shoulder. Then moving up to place a deep kiss on the pulse point on the side of your neck. A breathy moan slips from your lips as you grip his shoulders. He pulls and captures your lips and he goes to unclasp your bra. You pull down on his shirt, urging him to take it off. After pulling of your bra he reaches down and pulls of his shirt. You almost start drooling while staring down as his juicy pecs and toned abs. You start kissing and leaving hickies across his chest. Your hands make their way down to his sweatpants pulling down the waste band and feeling that he has no boxers on. You looked down eyes wide and mouth dropped. Maybe the high was kicking in because you feel sober people don’t get this shocked when they see their boyfriend not wearing underwear under his grey sweatpants. It’s kinda expected. None the less he notices your expression and let’s out a chuckle.

“Sweatpants just feel most comfy this way.” He leans forward starting to kiss you again while tugging at your pajama pants. You pull back standing up and pulling down your pants and underwear in one clean sweep. Stepping out of your pants you quickly fall to your knees and start pulling down his sweats. He lifts his lap allowing you to strip him of his pants as you begin to kiss his shaft. You leave a kiss with a small lick to his tip that makes a small hiss leave his lips. bars.

You lick a long strip up his shaft before beginning to hollow your cheeks and suck him off. You would like to say you had some patience but when it comes to sucking his cock you are anything but patient. You push yourself as far down on his cock as you could bobbing your head fast and sucking hard. You feel his hips buck as you suck particularly hard near his tip. You then see him shiver and let out a whimper as you pull his cock and start sucking a vein on the underside of his shaft. Going back to give his tip more attention you begin to bobbing your head up and down again. He couldn’t help himself and held your head down on his cock when you neared his base. A loud groan leaving his mouth as he bucks further into your mouth. You glance up at his face and see his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched shut. After a minute he pulled you off his cock and placed a chaste kiss to your lips. He lifts you off your knees from in front of him and pulls you into his lap again.

“I’m sorry babe I can’t wait any longer.” You respond with only a moan as you feel him drag his cock through your folds and slowly circle your wet hole. “You alright?” You can only nod and he takes it as encouraging and starts pushing in. You feel the drag of his vein against your walls, it makes you toes curl in pleasure. Your hands dig into his shoulders and you press your face into the side of his neck, a whimper escaping you as he bottoms out. “Oh fuck, you feel so good. So wet for me.” Brett knew just the right words to get you going. Before he could even say anything else you began to bounce on his lap. His hands find your hips fast and grasp tightly as a moan breaks from his throat. A shocked filled moan might I add. He guides you up and down his cock, staying a nice steady pace, hard and deep. You bounce and bounce till you feel your legs beginning to burn. You let out a whine and fall down onto his lap with tears burning in your eyes.

“Brett, my legs hurt. Please fuck me.” You hold onto the sides of his face looking deep in his eyes.

Kissing the underneath of your jaw he begins to thrust up into you. “I got you baby. You did so well. Such a pretty girl, my beautiful girl.” His thrusts are hitting deeper than before, you feel a pressure building in your stomach. It feels like a fire is burning your skin from the blush that has taken over your body. Brett’s praise mixed with the way his cock drives you crazy is making you go feral. You begin to suck hickies into his neck as you run your hands through his hair. Your beginning to over stimulate him causing sinfully loud moans to come out of him. Gripping onto your hips with a bruising strength he begins to babble out incoherent words.

“Baby- fuck holy shit. You feel- oh fuck- so fucking good. I’m gonna cum soon.” You pull away from his neck to look at his beautifully blissed out face and kiss him hard.

Pulling away you tell him “Cum inside me.” That sentence alone was enough to throw Brett right over the edge. With his hips stuttering you feel hot ropes of cum seeping into your walls as a loud moan comes out of him. You continue to grind into him to fuck him through his high. He then suddenly pulls you off of him and throws you down on the couch quickly getting between your thighs. Before you knew it his face was buried in your cunt eating you out like a man starved. His tongue went deep into your hole sucking his and your cum from your cunt as he then started to give your clit the attention it deserved. Circling your clit with his tongue he inserted his middle and ring finger into you hitting your g spot with every thrust he gave. Your head rolled back as the pleasure built up in your stomach, it felt like a million butterflies flying around your stomach. The heat on your chest begins to build as your hands dig and pull at Brett’s hair, the overstimulation taking over. One particularly hard thrusts of his fingers sent you hurling over the edge as you screamed out his name as you came all over his mouth and fingers. Shaking he rode you through your high and pulled out his fingers placing them in your mouth to lick them clean. You immediately complied and you could see his cock twitch when your tongue wrapped around his fingers. Once you were done and let his fingers go with a pop he gave you a deep passionate sloppy kiss. Spit and cum mixing in both of your mouths.

Pulling away he spoke up “This is a lot better than drinks.” You couldn’t help hit giggle and sit up giving him another kiss. Just as you pulled away you heard the doorbell ring. Your food must be here. “Talk about perfect timing.” Brett quickly stood up and put his sweatpants back on running to the door to grab the food. You hysterically laughed at his enthusiasm and simultaneously fell in love with him all over again.

#brett hand #cognito inc #brett hand x reader #brett hand smut #cognito inc smut #brett hand inside job #inside job #inside job smut #fypage

935 notes · View notes

insidethejob · 9 months

Note

hi /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ if your requests are open you could do one about brett and prompt 42

Prompt 42: “You want me to fuck you..? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me?”

Welp, I Guess I'm Stuck

Yandere! Brett Hand x Fem! Reader Tw: NSFW [No actual Smut], Drunk! Reader, Dubious-Consent 🔞18+ Content due to dark and adult themes. Read at your own risk

Brett felt his stomach tighten as your hands roamed his body. You were giggling and whispering in his ear. Brett knew you were drunk, but it was hard to hold himself together.

"I love you in your suit, but god you look so good in normal clothes."

He laughs, trying to avoid the awkwardness. "You look good, too, Y/n."

You push his hair back, before playing with a loose strand. Brett could feel his face darken and his hands tighten on his wheel.

"So where are we going, Brett baby?"

"I'm taking you home."

"Aww," You cross your arms, frowning, "I was hoping you'd be more..." You lightly touch his tight, "Interesting."

He slammed the breaks, causing you to fall forward. Your eyes widen as you bang your head on the dashboard. Brett gasps and is quick to grab you and inspect you.

"Oh my god! Y/n are you okay? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... Oh my god!" He says as he starts to freak out.

You shake him off, "It's fine Brett... Don't worry about it."

But he does worry about it. The anxiety of you being mad at him takes over his mind. He frowned when pulling up to your home. You sloppily get out, before going to the drivers side.

"Do you want to come in, Brett?"

He looks at his alarm and frowned when seeing the late time. He was going to deny and mention work.

"Please?"

He looked at you, his face red. How could he say no when you're looking at him like that?

-----

He examined everything in your home. It was so you, and it made him smile.

"Do you want..." You were going to ask him if he wanted something to drink, but your eyes slowly started to droop, and you fell forward. Brett was quick to catch you and laid you on your couch.

You wobbly got up, not being able to keep yourself straight. He sat down by you, to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. You leaned on his shoulder, trying to gain yourself. You giggled to yourself, before looking up at him.

"You're so pretty," You say, rubbing his face. "I want to fuck you."

His body freezes as you lightly grace his neck. You lightly run your tongue on his neck, causing a shiver to run down his back. He leaned into the couch as you move to his lap. You play with his hair and his nails clinging to the seat cushions.

You remove your shirt and Brett looks away, trying not to feed into his boner. Your hands were all around him and he could feel his body flush. You stopped, confusing him, and he finally looked at you.

You look up at him, tears gracing your eye, "Do you want to do this?"

Brett could feel a knot in his throat. You could do whatever you wanted to him. He took a deep breath before speaking, "You want me to fuck you..? Would that make you happy? Would it make you love me? I would do anything to make you happy."

You blushed fiddling with your hair, "I don't want to overstep-"

"You could use me however you want, Y/n," He grabs your face, pulling you in close, "You can use me like your boy toy."

"Well, you shouldn't say that if you don't mean it, because I might just do it."

#brett hand #brett hand x reader #inside job #yandere brett #brett x reader #yandere brett hand #yandere brett hand x reader #yandere inside job #yandere inside job x reader #brett #yandere brett x reader

310 notes · View notes

urfavoritegirls · 1 year

Note

cuddling headcanons w brett and andre ? :3 love ur theme btw

✮ CUDDLING HEADCANONS (ANDRE + BRETT) ✮

thank you anon also first request!

cw: drug stuff (andre lol), sfw

ANDRE LEE

✮ he would love cuddling up against you after work or during work

✮ just anywhere tbh

✮ your his favorite pillow

✮ prefers being big spoon but wouldnt say no to you holding him

✮ i feel like hes one of those people that would aggressively sniff the moment you cuddle against him

✮ (you just smell really nice to him)

✮ for the long hair readers he will try to braid your hair

✮ "andre your just twisting it like a candy cane"

✮ also could stay like that for hours

✮ hungry? he has candy in his pocket. thirsty? wow he pulls out a flask full of water from his jacket. he just spawns them out of nowhere

✮ yall are that one couple that cant keep their hands off each other

✮ just one thing is that you will never cuddle in his office

✮ even he knows its a little too dirty

✮ personally likes cuddling on the couch after eating a edible watching a shitty movie

✮ laying all over your body

✮ who needs blankets when we have andre

BRETT HAND

✮ please hold him

✮ little spoon preferably but if you want him to hold you he will gladly say yes

✮ always facing you so he could look at your face

✮ cuddling in his pyjamas are his favorite

✮ one of those people that wear sweatpants to bed

✮ always hums a little song when you guys cuddle

✮ loves talking to you about literally anything that comes to his mind

✮ "did you know cotton lasts for 100 years so lil' brett could possibly outlive us"

✮ also enjoys talking about his day to you, even if you where there

✮ goes on side tangents a lot

✮ he likes keeping water by the bed so he doesn't have to get up from your embrace

✮ he prefers cuddling in his or your bed under the covers all warm

✮ play with his hair he loves the feeling

✮ just loves being in your arms

sorry these are short im tired

#inside job #brett hand #inside job x reader #andre lee #andre x reader #andre lee x reader #brett hand x reader #brett x reader #cuddling #inside job headcanon #headcanons #inside job headcanons

1K notes · View notes

bxttxrflybxddie · 2 years

Note

omgggg hcs for himbo malewife brett!!! (would be be a house husband??) 🥺🥺

|Brett Hand as a House Husband|

a/n: BRETT!! ugh i love him sm and ty for requesting! also sorry that this took WAY too long, i havent rewatched inside job since like december 😭 ty for reading!

pairing: househusband! malewife! brett hand x pregnant! afab! reader

post type: headcanons + some drabble

requested: yes!

word count: 1.2k

warnings: afab reader but gender neutral, pre-established relationship, pre-established marriage, mentions of pregnancy and BIRTH, slight angst! (brett's familial trauma mention), FLUFF, fambly, use of mommy when describing reader but like not seriously yfm

ever since his family left him, something he's desperately wanted was to bring some good into the world and prove to himself that he would never be like — be better than them

because a negative and a positive are better than nothing

so, when the day came when you both found out you were pregnant, he was ECSTATIC

if you work at Cognito Inc, he'll break the news to everyone before you even have the chance 😭

you take one (1) day off because you're not feeling well and your phone buzzes every minute w a new text from your coworkers

pleaseee don't be mad he's just very excited !!

if you don't work with everyone, he's still gonna gush about it to The Gang™️

"and this is a photo of (name) and i right after we found out!!"

"brett this is the 16th time today you've showed me that picture"

no matter what he's gonna beg you to take maternity leave as soon as possible

then he can finally spoil you !!! please dear reader let him take care of you while you're pregnant 🥲 it's his love language

as much as he wants to be a good father, he knows that he doesn't know what to do when it comes to 'Good Father Experiences'

^ he DEFINITELY tells his therapist about the pregnancy! they know about his trauma and parental fears, they're so proud of him!

it's one thing to want something and it's something completely different to take the leap!!

brett starts working (even more) overtime in preparation for the little baby

he tries to balance the world on his shoulders; you're giving him a BLOODLINE, you're not allowed to lift a finger!!

after a serious talk about how this makes you feel, he'll back off and take tiny, short break

towards the end of your pregnancy, when the baby's arrival is right around the corner, something in brett switches

his domestic dreams and desires to be seen as useful combine into a very plausible reality of staying at home and taking care of the family

taking care of your family

of course he still has his job, but he doesn't really need it; he's saved a lot of money throughout the years!

he can be a good house husband for you !! cook and clean for you while you work hard at your job !!

a part of brett wants to give the little cutie everything he didn't get as a child; an unconditional amount of love and an unfaltering support system

mr. hand will not so subtly drop hints about his wants for the future

it's early morning; approximately 5 am. the deep purple of the sky seeps its way into your shared room. the crib standing out as the new addition.

your ginger husband holds you. his warm and built chest against your back as you lay on his left arm. his right hand running it's thumb over your grown belly. the three of you awake (the little one making sure of that) but not up, admiring the peace before the day begins.

"i'm so lucky." he whispers; you can hear his golden smile in the way he talks. "i can't wait to be a good father."

"really?" you ask. sarcasm is heavy with your tone; but there isn't any menace behind it. you already know he's going to be amazing.

"mhmm." his hand cups ever-so-slightly. he does this when he talks to the baby. "i'll cook you yummy dinners, help with homework, go to your games- or recitals- or concerts!, help pick up your toys, play catch, everything. and anything."

he hums adoringly and holds you closer. it's in that moment you just know.

he's panicky when it's go time. he has the brown, paper sack for breathing, and the bags filled of everything (the internet said you needed) for the hospital.

the delivery was LONG but the baby arrived all safe and sound!

you and brett shed quite a few tears upon seeing the entirely new person the both of you created

he was SOBBING

the first couple of nights were really rough; especially when it came to adapting to the new sleeping schedule (or lack of)

but as time went on, the two of you learned!! and the experience became easier

the baby likes to eat!! a lot!!!

brett takes the night shift when it comes to feedings and changings, he insists!

when the baby just wants to cuddle at 2am, you can hear brett humming while rocking them

"you'll never know, dear, how much i love you."

you flutter open your eyes to see the golden light of the lamp illuminate your husband. his attention completely on your comforted baby in his arms. a soft smile found it's way onto your unenergized face.

"please don't take my sunshine away."

once it's been a few months, brett has to make the decision on wether or not to go through with completely quitting his job and taking care of your little family

he wants to. every cell in his body is screaming at him to take the plunge and never look back!!

but he works for the government in all it's evil glory, would they even allow him to quit?

he calls reagan and asks for advice. she's his bestie and would definitely at least give good advice.

unfortunately this is where he finds out that only way to leave his job is to get fired 😭 just because of how much of a huge secret it is

he quickly thinks of ways to make that happen before deciding otherwise

but !! she tells him that since he's pretty enough, he could convince JR to let him work from home. most of his job is inspiring his co-workers and he doesn't always need to be in person to do that

after begging on his knees, sobbing having a serious discussion about the future, brett's able to work from home!!

there is one condition; the children and the workplace must stay SEPARATED

cognito inc. can't afford another mr. ridley situation

brett and jr shake on it

he won't lie he doesn't like not being able to have 100% free time with the family :( but 2 incomes are better than 1 in the long run

speaking of the workplace The Gang™️ LOVES hearing stories about your baby

especially Gigi!! i personally hc she has some experience with kiddos herself so she loves to listen and give advice!!

glenn also gives advice but.....brett don't take it pls

myc reads brett's mind sometimes to see if he thinks abt you and the baby as much as he talks about you two and the answers YES

andre makes sex jokes abt you and brett CONSTANTLY

"ehehehehe. you've seen their mommy milkers."

"don't say that, a-dog :( what the heck, man."

aunt reagan comes over and babysits frequently!! she also spoils your kiddo(s) often lol if they pick up a passion for machinery she is by their side in a heartbeat!

brett is an amazing father overall as he promised!! from the newborn stage he's been listening, learning, and always tries to improve himself and his fatherly skills

he bandages any boo-boos

reads them to sleep before tucking them in

helping them do their hair in the morning before preschool

he already wants more children 😭 calm down sir

walking through your front door after work to be welcomed by hugs and giggles is a dream

and for brett, a dream come true

especially when he gets to hear you say the most cliché, magical words he's always wanted to hear

"honey! i'm home!"

#inside job #brett hand #x reader #x you #fluff #malewife #house husband #brett hand x reader #headcanons #drabble #pregnancy #birth #king i love him sm #THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭

1K notes · View notes

msg4andre · 1 year

Note

brett hand being a people pleaser?

nah brett hand being a pussy pleaser!

BRETT IS SUCH A PUSSY PLEASER!!

A good punishment for Brett is not letting him eat you out. Whenever he’s being too needy or if he’s gotten himself into trouble again you refuse to let him taste you. By day two he’s on he’s knees at the foot of your bed, crying and begging for you to let him make you come. Once he gets his pussy privileges back you bet he’s gonna eat GOOD. Sit on his face and ride his tongue. Count on Brett to lap at your folds like a man starved, you swear he can’t even breathe, but that really doesn’t matter to him. All he cares about is making it up to you for being so bad :(

Brett’s nose bumps your clit, vibrations from his moans make your juices flow out of you like a faucet. Buzzing in delight you squeeze your plush thighs around his head to which he hums adoringly. “Good…good boy Brett.” You groan, tugging at his hair. His cock twitched at your words; desperately trying to please you further, he lapped at your fluttering hole faster, making sure to pay close attention to your sensitive pearl. “Brett!” You squealed.

“Am I doing good?” He asked to which you nodded vigorously. “Yesyesyes so good, baby! Don’t stop!” Brett’s whole body flushed. He continued to suck and lick, the tight knot in your belly getting tighter and tighter and with a final scream of his name you came undone on his tongue. Being ever so sweet, he was more than happy to clean you up.

#brett hand x reader #inside job #brett hand #inside job x reader #brett hand smut #brett spaghett

1K notes · View notes

limerami · 1 year

Text

I just thought that Brett would be someone who would just randomly burst into your office and be like "Y/N, would you still love me if I was a fish??"

And then be really happy when you be like "ye :D"

#inside job brett #brett hand inside job #brett hand #brett hand x reader #inside job

844 notes · View notes

sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Insidious Inside Job: Halloween pt. 2

Note: Inspired by skoshibuns fanart on instagram + I have songs linked with each segment for the specific portion that goes with the monster, the plot, or both + reminder, I may be an english major but this thing is barely proofread

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, AFAB + GN PRONOUNS, RAW SEX (wrap that rascal), monster-fucking, tentacle fucking, inhuman creatures, furry fucking? One brief scene of alluded almost sexual assault/assault (that gets stopped and interrupted) incredibly vague nothing actually happens, drug use/roofied/narcotics, I guess, werewolf (slight A/B/O dynamics), breeding kink, talks of missing body parts and death, cockwarming, somnophilia the undead, zombies, doctor play, doctor kink, doctor/fake patient, living dead, experimentation with cadavers and dead bodies, mention of illness/cancer, various Halloween-y phenomena + probably more

Content: smut, spooky scary spectral holiday smuttening, monster and inhuman creature fucking, usual debauchery you can expect from me, dicks and pussy, inhuman and monster genitalia, reader has AFAB nethers/genitalia and a cunt but I don’t describe about tits so folks are safe, I used gender neutral pronouns all throughout as well. Mentions of underwear and generalized clothing but no bras or gendered articles of clothing. Southernification of Robotus (you’ll see) + probably more

! ! ! This is part two, with Reagan + Brett + Andre + Robotus + Myc. Part one, located here, includes Gigi + JR + Glenn + a bonus character ! ! !

Reagan Ridley: MAD SCIENTIST

• songs: Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand

- You were used to the chaotic cadence that came with knowing and loving the reclusive Dr. Ridley, enjoying the maniacal dynamic and aiding her in her experiments, helping her tidy up should a test go awry. You aided her in all her endeavors, even the unsightly ones, and that dedication and mutual trust blossomed into friendship and then eventually love and list. Simple creatures, you two were, and instincts were a gravitational pull as equally potent to magnets as to mankind.

- The latter half of the year, when the weather turns and the leaves change and shed their green covers to don the classic golden hues, is when she came alive even more. She found energy in the fall and winter weather, more likely to be within the confines of her laboratory and adding scrawled, scratch-like lines into her notebooks and texts, running about with her coat billowing behind her like a shadow tethered to her, fluttering beside her with the grace of a conspirator.

- There were times when she would not need your assistance and you would be free and left to your own devices, wandering about the extravagant library and traipsing through the halls, snooping where you shouldn't, and happily receiving your punishments. Life was good and continued to be so, almost mundane in an unnatural, phenomenal way. There was no dark side of the moon to you, only the light because the shadows were your home, and the person you called lover languished alongside you in Moonglow-shaded craters.

- But your favorite moments had to be when it was you she was examining, you who she was teasing and playing with, black patent leather gloves that were entirely unsafe and unethical in a lab environment used on your form, drawing out pinpricks of chills. Especially now as Reagan hums at the sight of your disheveled state, silent beside her idle noises and internalized dialogue as if she is annotating already-written notes within the confines of her brain of you as her hands draw out more data to analyze, almost pulling all your secrets pool forth from moaning lips via her ministrations.

- Reagan is seldom tender or ginger in her touch, not in a harshness but more in a neutral, guiding, directing manner. Like moving you about with the same grace as working with her equipment and tools, movements memorized and muscles well-accustomed to all that you are. She can be softer, in aftermath moments where your body and senses can not make heads or tails of where the two of you ended or began, fully enwrapped and enveloped in one another like coiled vines of ivy, cascading upwards and intertwining in great efforts. But now, her touch is not soft, but steady and purposeful.

- Cold gloves remove clothing and secure straps onto your body, across your limbs, and holding you tight against a weathered and soft wooden table, built with the intention to be used for medical seminars and demonstrations. You lay, naked and taut upon a staged table in the center of an empty auditorium for the use of educational experimentation presentations and viewing seminars for research and study. The arena on her property is empty, no event planned for today, just the two of you in the grand room and feeling infinitesimally small, yet powerful simultaneously.

- "Not too tight?" Dr. Reagan Ridley asks softly as she busies herself with hovering over the straps that secure your wrists and ankles to the examination table, gloved hands running along oiled leather seams. "Perfect." is your answer and her smile matches the word, pride in her eyes at her wonderful assistant, her previous lover. "There's my darling, now what are te rules?" she asks, unbuttoning her labcoat to expose her blouse and slacks beneath, slinky and clinging to her body in a way that makes your firsts clench just so, palms opening and closing with the yearning need to touch.

- "Nuclear is stop, gradient is slow down, and prism is keep going, or good." you answer, squirming a bit against the restrains for show and shuffling your ass against the soft wood, feeling the cool air caress your exposed, already leaking pussy. "Wonderful," the Doctor trails off, wandering away from the table and leaving you to lay spread and scan your eyes across the planetarium-painted ceiling above and marvel at the gold leaf details in the stars and constellations, drawing you back in when she returns and adjusts her gloves with a small thwack, "now, where should we begin?"

- You don't respond immediately, not knowing how or where to answer, unable to distinguish a clear mood in her dark eyes for what she wants and what she is planning to take from you. The hesitation makes Reagan decide on her own, a dark chuckle emerging from her lips and settling in the base of your spine, curling like a funnel stormcloud. "Alright then, guess it's up to Doctor's orders." She smooths softened leather against your inner thighs and parts your lips, blowing cool air in puffs against your exposed cunt and clicking her tongue in notes as her mind wanders in fascination.

- "I think I'll start here, test your sensitivity first hmm?" she asks aloud, mainly to herself, the table raised to her waist so she can easily maneuver around you and toy with you, like a doll. It feels all like a pleasurable version of The Princess Bride's pit of despair but mixed with a sex dungeon and none of the latex. "There, how does that feel?" it feels good, decent, not enough as the first portion of her pointer finger breaches your walls, the texture not adding much besides a cooler sensation. You answer the same, and she hums before moving on, shifting in a manner reminiscent of a cat's sly sway.

- "Space for improvement, good." she comments, a stray hair falling into her forehead from her tight ponytail, dark hair pulled back and away from her face and allowing you to fully watch her move and her shifting expressions. She thrusts the finger into you, slowly and watching as you clench around her, gaping and closing in a rhythmic pattern. "And this?"

- "its g-good too," you choke out, shifting your head from looking at her to nothing, eyes shut and you try not to squirm, letting her venture as she pleased, "but not good enough?" Reagan asks, and you nod in agreement, prompting her to curl her finger upwards, matching with her second finger, and smirking, brows arching as she watches you grow more and more disheveled.

- "ah," you moan out, lip tugged between your teeth as you bite down, fists clenching and unclenching once the pleasure begins to initially build, feeling it bubble forth in your belly like a tide pool on the beach, collecting and growing as more gets put into it. "Now that's a reaction, keep speaking beautiful." she directs, curling in upward strokes from within your walls

- You nod, mewling a bit as your voice breaks and pitches, feeling her slide in another digit, pointer finger to ring finger all slotted. Her gloves are thicker, making the stretch a bit wider than what you're accustomed to, and you break a tad, grinding your hips down and wriggling, aching to get something more, and that something ends up being Reagan's attention.

- "Oh this won't do, I think you need some more advanced methods." Reagan murmurs, enjoying the look on your face as she steps back and out of your line of vision, holding back laughter as you whine and make confused tones, wondering why she stopped when she had finally gotten to the good part. "Easy now, just a moment, you can be patient for me, can't you?"

- "Yes, Doctor." She whips her head around and drops the tool in her hand, and you're worried for a second she didn't like you saying that but she arrives moments later with a silicone dick and a small vibrator in hand, accompanied by a sly grin. "Doctor, hm? We're keeping that." she states as she sets the items in her hands down beside you on the flat table, now away from your sight before you could see any of the specific characteristics or facets.

- You squirm again, chills from the exposed air finally overriding the pleasure in your veins and cooling your body. Reagan tuts at that, smoothing her dry glove up your thigh in an attempt to warm you up, "phrase?" she asks, gentle and present as she looks at you. "Prism." she smiles and nods before her expression shifts, popping the cap off a bottle of lube and warming it between her hands as she looks you over, a small smile emerging once she spots your cunt, clenching around nothing from the show she put on of her rubbing her palms together with her exposed forearms rippling.

- "Ready for me?" she asks, adjusting her gloves and then sucking off the slick residue from her one hand, purposely staring you down as she does it with intent. "Always, Doctor." a shudder that she fails to try and hide rolls through her spine at that, not fully used to you ever calling her that, especially when you're bare and at her mercy.

- "good answer." Reagan responds, lubing up the silicone and sliding it through your folds slowly, watching as you tense and begin to grind. Her hand plants your hip down still, forcing it to stop as she fixes you a warning look while she props the dick near your cunt.

- Sliding it in, she sinks the silicone dick deep into you and watches as your cunt takes it in, noting aloud how the gloves prepped you better than what she does manually glove-free. Keening out, you force yourself still and feel her hand move to instead grip your hip instead of planting it still, guiding you along in a tempo that matches the ministrations of her other hand, fucking the fake dick into you over and over slowly, picking up the pace gradually.

- "That seems to be treating you better. You agree?" barely managing a nod, you respond with a grunting moan as she angles the silicone against a spot of nerves, making you jolt and gasp. "I'll take that as a yes." Reagan jokingly responds to herself, reaching the hand once on your hip to reach away and grab the vibrator, eager to get your pent-up self breaking and shattering like glass.

- You don't realize what's happening, too blissfully unaware due to how she continues flicking her wrist, rocking the dick into you at a pace that builds tension but doesn't get that knot of pleasure unraveling at all. When the vibrator comes to life and thrums in her hand, your head whips up in that instant Pavlovian response, knowing she's about to make you see God.

- "Holy fuck please use that thing on me." you blurt out immediately, drawing a laugh from her that's dark while she fixes you a warning look, a brow raised and you rush to find your words. "Please, Doctor." Reagan hums, pleased, and then reaches down to plant the vibrator on your clit, rolling it in circles and shapes that make your legs struggle against the stirrup-like straps, body wriggling and squirming as it tries to get comfortable to handle getting fucked this way.

- "Well would you look at that, pretty damn effective." She muses, upping the vibrator speed casually with one hand as the other splits you open on the silicone cock with ease. "Next time we're going to have to test this with having both of your holes filled, probably get you squirting in minutes."

- The idea alone that she planted like a seedling in your head blooms, making you even more turned on if possible. The way the dick nestled the spots inside that already got you seeing stars? Multiplying the effect. And now the vibrator rolling over your clit and thrumming incredibly sends you over the edge, barely able to warn her coherently before you cum with a squealing moan.

- "Fucking gorgeous," Reagan marvels, fucking you through it and lowering the setting on the vibrator, still keeping it there but rolling it in softer, smoother motions while she gently fucks the dick into you, working through an orgasm that she manages to draw out for roughly a minute or so. "So goddamn pretty like this."

- She keeps going for a while until your legs stop shaking, then she removes the toys from you and moves about, undoing the straps and stirrups holding you then grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping you up in it. You sit up and scoot over to the side of the table, legs hanging off as Reagan stands before you, smoothing your hair back and checking you over.

- She busies herself with rolling her fingers over the slightly indented marks where the straps were, double checking to make sure you were okay but she doesn't catch your adoring, sleepy look until you tap at her arm and then raise your hand to lift her chin, beaming dazedly at her. "Hi Reagan." you murmur, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw lazily.

- "Hello yourself, feeling okay?" she asks, amusement in her tone as she looks you over, making sure you're fully covered in the blanket and warm, trying to prevent you from getting overly cold.

- You giggle and look up at her, grinning wide and honest, "I could not be any fucking better than I am right now, now gimme' a kiss." Reagan obliges, and everything fades as it always does around her, in the best and most comforting blur.

Brett Hand: FRANKENSTEIN��S MONSTER

• song: Body - Mother Mother or My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine

- Brett wishes he could manage to carve a place for himself in your life and at your side with as much ease as he has with loving you, completely enthralled and enamored with everything you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you’ll be. He’s fascinated by you and the intricacies in your movements and routines, the way your brows furrow when confused or frustrated, the smile you don’t show unless you’re caught by surprise and unable to remember hiding it.

- He gathers these little facets of yourself like river rocks and stones, wearing them down in the revisits of his memory, rolling them flat and small but soft in the way he reveres them. If only you loved him like he loved you. If only you actually knew him, not just of him. You’ve met before, known of each other practically since his initial creation. Yet he’s not satisfied because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be with you, only knowing you at the arms reach that he has from you helping him and fixing him up.

- You’re an assistant to his father, his creator, an up-and-coming scientist fascinated with his methods in Reanimation and modern-age necromancy, hoping to study his techniques and model some of his talents with your own. His father, Dr. Quentin Hand, made all of his siblings as initial creations and had Brett last, the youngest and most rushed one of the collection. He was an accumulation of spare parts, the battered bits left in the barrel, a literal representation of what comes from patchwork scientific craft and lacking interest. That’s not to say you didn’t treat him kindly or matched his father's lack of enthusiasm.

- No, you treated him carefully, just like the rest of his siblings. You gave him extra attention and care, sewing back on fingers should they get snagged and fall off his hand, making a few jokes all the while you thread the needle and fish it in and out of his flesh about how his hand’s should be better taken care of, especially since it’s his last name.

- his heart was monitored and he prayed you hadn’t caught the speeding up of the pace, the rapid ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his pre-owned heart firing off in awe of you and your presence. If you did, you don’t mention it and you just continue hemming and stitching him back together, returning his ring finger back onto his left hand with care, humming all the while some song stuck in the back of your head.

- “there,” you nearly startle him, pulling him from his reverie with a pat to his knee as you sit up from your chair and clean up, putting your supplies away and disinfecting, “all fixed. Let me know if there’s any trouble with your seams again and I’ll patch you up — no sweat.” His eyes, one hazel and the other bright blue, peer up at you with nothing short of pure adoration. It’s always there, poor boy can’t do anything to hide it. He just loves you is all.

- "Thank you, I'm sorry you have to always fix me up all the time." Brett states, rubbing his arm subconsciously, truly meaning it and knowing it had to be at least a little redundant to mend him after every trip and fall or tumble down the steps. Poor thing had no balance, something you try to work on in your spare time between projects and lessons with Brett's father. You turn, taking your gloves off and disposing of them while looking his way, a sad frown on your face making his dissipate like smoke. "Why are you sorry for that? It's not something you can help, sweet boy, and besides --" you trail off while stepping near him and fixing his hair and looking down at his still-sitting form, "I'm happy to help you, its what I'm here for!"

- and with that, you depart, heading to another appointment to experiment under supervision, He dreads the days that come forward now, nearing when you would be leaving since your education under the apprenticeship of his father ends to a close. You'd be gone, with your own experiments and helpers, a life completely devoid of him. he likes to think you'd write him or call, maybe see his name scrawled in your looping cursive handwriting and hear your words drawn across a page and yearn to find your love within them.

- but even he, Brett, a lovesick optimist knows that would be too good to be true. Within the month, you'd pack and leave and the spanning acres of his family's estate would be empty of your presence. Your quarters would miss your belongings, the posters, and art on the walls, the little personal items and books littered about. It would be as if you were never there, but to Brett, he would always remember you being there. He may have been reanimated, but the days where you roamed the halls and came across his sight were the only days he felt truly alive.

- Little did he know that you had been planning your departure for years and hoped you would go about it, what exactly you would leave or sell, what you would pack, how you would pack, and who you would take with you. "Dr. Hand, I have a request," you start, making casual conversation while you've currently got your forearms embedded in a cadaver's inner organs, organizing things, "I was wondering if I could take one of the experiments with me when I leave early this week?"

- Doctor Quentin Hand is no meek creature, nor does his stature indicate such. he was almost frighteningly tall, but with age has developed a slight hunching slouch making him roughly 6'5 with the rugby player's stature. The man is thick and bulky, with a head full of auburn hair turning grey and the shade of sunned strands with his age. "Depends on which of the creations you'd call to you, and if they'd like to go. The eldest are off limits, but should one of the children agree, you are free to take them. But only one."

- he is currently invested in combining chemicals to inject within the bloodstream when reanimation is to take place later, and luckily so. He misses your entire face light up, beaming from ear to ear behind your surgical mask and eyes glowing with excitement. "I've already decided who I'd like to bring with me."

-"Oh?" he doesn't even turn, swirling an open beaker that smells of disinfectant and acid, "who?". Dr. Hand shows no concern and even that worries you, knowing there was little love shown to the creations, and none whatsoever to your favorite. "I was planning to take Brett, the youngest of them."

-He waves a gloved hand and nods, "Of course, pack his things if he hasn't already. Be sure to invest in a lot of sutures and sewing materials as well, you will definitely need it." if you didn't need this formal apprenticeship, you would've killed him with his own reanimating equipment. "Yes sir."

- later, when you have cleaned up, changed, and wrapped up the experiment which once again went as a success, you settle down in your room and continue backing up your personal belongings into extra bags and suitcases for the items you gathered in your time here. A record plays, crackling initially but still pouring out the cadence of the Lungs album from Florence + The Machine as you wander about, clearing your shelves and delicately folding posters and emptying the walls.

- just as you flip over the vinyl to the b side, a knock rattles against your door. When you open it, you didn't expect Brett's tear-stained face to be the first thing you see. Nor did you expect him to rush and hug you, drawing you into his form and holding you close while he buries his head in your shoulder. "Why do you have to leave?"

- You think it's cruel, but it was always going to be a surprise for you to take him with you. The feelings were obvious and only reciprocated a few months ago. Sadly, you couldn't act on them until you got out from under the eyes of Doctor Quentin for Brett's sake and safety. But now that's not a worry, and you leave after breakfast tomorrow morning with the patchwork babydoll of a man before you.

- The sight enough is heartbreaking, especially with the direct feel of his tremors shaking through him, and then through you with the closeness. It takes several attempts to ease his cries and pry him up from your shoulder, stepping back to close the door behind him then flicking the lock shut before you cup his cheek and lift his head upwards. "Brett, sweetheart, how could you think I'd leave without you?" you soothe, thumbs rolling over his cheek and swiping tears away. "I wanted to surprise you but I think you need to hear it now, I'm taking you with me. I was never going to leave without you in the first place."

- Brett blinks blearily, wiping the tears from his multicolored eyes to stare at you openly and dart his gaze between your own eyes. "You're serious?" he asks, still buried in disbelief, "why would you want to take me, you barely even like me." Brett's met with laughter, not caustic or harsh and at his expense like what he's used to, yours is lighthearted and kind, just like your eyes. "Sweetheart, I care for you a great deal beyond just liking you." you say, taking his hands in yours, the ones you've constantly tended to like the rest of him.

- "What does that mean?" Brett asks, squeezing your hands tight and finding it impossible to look anywhere in the room besides your face. "It means I love you, silly thing, and I refuse to let you stay here any longer when you deserve the world. Let me show it to you." His tears reappear again but its relief, the feeling that swarms his body and makes him feel shrouded in Moonglow. You care for him, you love him, that his years of pining after you and hoping, praying for a miracle were worth it. You loved him, your silly ragdoll.

- "Say it again." he says, his hands moving from yours to your waist, brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up with ease, aching to feel more of your warm skin in his palms. "I love you Brett." you murmur, forehead pressed to his as you press your palms to his chest, fingertips tracing the material of his henley while humming in a pleased tone once his hands begin to wander.

- "One more time." he whispers as he leans forward to catch your lips with his, admiring how your eyes flutter shut when he does. You kiss, lips shifting back and forth as you murmur how you loved him into his open mouth like a secret, and he'd cherish and protect it as such. Brett pulls back, palms cupping your warm cheeks just as you had previously with tender grace and you spot his tears have ended.

- "I will never let you down," he promises, smile bright and crooked, perfectly him and equally as charming, "I swear, you'll never regret this, never." and you know its the truth, not because he says it but because you've known for ages that there was no one else you'd care for this much. As if he was made solely for you, perfectly patchworked together.

- In an act of bravery or stupidity, you grab his hand and step backward towards your still-made bed, peering up at him from lidded eyes. "I know that, but how about you show me just how much you love me right here, hm?" you tease, loving how his mouth fell agape and his arms fled to your waist again, eagerness steeped into his actions like tea. "Can I?" brett asks, always the soft, chivalrous, perfect man. "Absolutely." you respond, already ushering out of the shirt and baring your chest to his hungry, heterochromial eyes.

- he spares no time in crowding you against the bed, climbing atop your languid form and pressing doting kisses at your lips then making his way down to your neck, eagerly leaving hickeys and marks while he undoes your belt and shucks your pants down. He bares your underwear to him and leaves you to kick off your socks with your pants, making a pile on your rug you don't mind at all. "Can I taste you?" he practically pleads, lifting up to stare down at you, beating you to the question you were just about to ask him, making you laugh once more, still that lighthearted sweet sound. "Maybe later, and then ill be able to suck you off. Right now I just want you in me, Brett. That okay?"

- he's torn between crying, busting a load in his jeans, or both. Brett just nods, lip tugged between his teeth and moving with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive puppy, kneeling on the floor to help you slide off your underwear and nearly drooling the second he spots your bare cunt. He's running on more basic, bare instincts but wants nothing more than to flood your cunt with his cum and keep it there, keep himself there as long as he can. Never wants to leave you, and he never wants the marks and signs of him on you to fade either.

- "are you-" "yes I'm sure Brett, now can you please take your clothes off so I can ride you?" he nearly trips over himself in the process of standing and yanking off his shirt, which he does in that hot lift it from the back of the neck and tug it forward trademark style that has a new layer of slick pool forth. His jeans are mid-rise but are slung low, boxers peaking out briefly before he abandons those too, revealing one appendage you never had to mend. You're a bit glad, you ended up with a surprise too tonight, who would've thought?

- Brett returns, not knowing where to sit or lay until you shove him back to sit against the pillows upright, allowing you to sit on his lap and lay your arms over his shoulders while hovering, teasing before you to be gifted this man's virginity just like you were given his heart and soul. "You sure, baby?" you murmur, knees outside of his own and pressed chest to chest, "I can wait however long you need to." Brett grins, playful and teasing in his own way, and nips at your lip. "I'm okay, m'good, cant wait t'see what it feels like to be buried in you, probably even warmer than you feel right now." He emphasizes with a large and running up your bare spine, sending you arching and your knees threatening to buckle. You sometimes forget how big he is, and with the hefty dick bobbing near his stomach, you're not sure how you could have ever forgotten.

- "Take me then, babydoll" and he does, large hands encompassing your hips as he guides you to sit on his dick, slowly letting it enter and let you get accustomed, "there you go, nice and - fucking tight" Brett murmurs, voice deeper and getting you more riled up than you know what to do with. You had seen him bare plenty of times, but never fully, and the experience was doing you wonders right now as you rested for a moment and let him breathe before you started bouncing on him and making him cum way earlier than you know he'd like. You'd enjoy it anyway.

- He whines after a few moments, his hips shifting and making you both groan, his head falling back into the pillows and his fair falling into disarray, strands of auburn and reddish brown falling into his forehead. "Please, just fuck me, have me I just need you." Brett whines into your neck again, no tears this time as his arms wrap tautly around your form, allowing you to feel divinely sculpted muscles hold you tight and made your walls clench, relishing in his squeaking moan. You'd break him. good thing you know how to put him back together. "Easy baby, I've got you." you murmur, smoothing back his hair before you lower to your haunches and lift your hips, slamming back down and sending him yelling your name while biting his teeth into your shoulder.

- Oh yes, you were absolutely going to break him.

- You fuck yourself on him, feeling his hands grip and drag across your body as you use him, rolling your hips in shapes, occasionally spelling his name out through your gyrations and smiling to yourself as you watch him fall further and further into a mess, hair mussed, mouth agape and eyes tight shut. The skin of his lip is nearly broken open from how much he's bitten and tugged on it, puffy and reddened on his flushed and freckled face. Brett rises and clings back onto you, suddenly shifting his hips and fucking up into you, letting you hear louder slaps of skin against skin while he manhandles you. "M'gonna' cum, gotta' cum can I please cum — I wanna cum so bad, please." he begs, planting kisses at your collarbone and pulse sporadically between broken moans and pants.

- You never expected the reaction nor your own, unable to fight the feeling emanating from your soaked and silken cunt as he fucks up into it, stretching you wide in a way you'll never be tired of. "You can cum, go on and fill me, Brett, wanna' feel you for days. Please Brett, make me feel good." your boy delivers, jackhammering into you and making you cry out, tugging at his hair while his hands plant themselves at your waist in order to maneuver you around, biting deep at your shoulder when he cums with a broken, shattered shout of your name.

- The way his hips stutter in that frantic pattern, battering your cunt that has you squirming and grinding, you cum rapidly and heavily, whiting out and feeling your surroundings blur to nothing as you repeat his name over and over, clawing down his back as he slows and finally stops, holding you impossibly close. You take longer than he does recover and return to the world, head lolled back and breathing heavy, allowing brett to lay the two of you down and upon the pillows, wrestling the comfort and sheets over your sweat-slicked body and his.

- He always wanted to be a part of your life, and now, years later, he can't stop smiling and hasn't stopped since. Your silly, smiling ragdoll of a husband.

Andre Lee: W E R E WO L F

• song: Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

- Andre was superficially open, not talking of more intimate aspects of his life but being carelessly free with the rest, and the personal factoids and tidbits emerge in passing comments in conversation send your brain whirling.

- he’s never answered any of your questions as to why he avoids full moons or why he’s unreachable during some times of the month, closest you’ve gotten was Myc cracking a joke about menstruation but you know damn well from a fuck ton of personal experience that he’s absolutely packing heat.

- he’d been sick the past few days, not fully present in meetings and a bit light headed. It got shrugged off as side effects from any number of drugs but you knew better. The disregard and dismissals that came from him when you showed concern were what made that worry and concern grow, manifesting and sprawling into a thorny expanse of knots tugging at your conscious, fixated on helping him.

- so you stand before an older home, 1920’s brick masonry hidden behind modern day paint, sidled beside the other brownstones on the block and fish out your key on the chain he gifted you, a little cartoonish duck smiling brightly while flipping you off, and turn the series of locks in the door while balancing some takeout on the other side.

- after several moments, you make it inside and lock back up, setting your keys alongside Andre’s in the bowl near the door and spotting the matching fuck duck keychain and smiling before making your way through the house, easily navigating through the darkness and making it to the kitchen to drop off some takeout for the egg drop soup he always ordered when sick. “Andre?” You get no response, the house quiet and your brows furrow while your lips purse, that worry unfolding again, “sugar? Where are you?” You get no response and your words echo in the house

- you get no response but you hear a groan, muffled and heady, soft and barely heard. But it’s his, and you drop everything in your hands upon the counter and follow the sound, brain a slurry of what ifs and remembering his medical history should you need it. By the time you make it back further in the house and to his bedroom, the doors locked shut. Real shut. You knock harshly and call to him, voice a bit desperate “Andre honey, you okay?”

- “go away.” It’s him, but not, deeper and meaner that the Andre you’re used to. It’s not a deterrent. “Not if you’re not okay, let me in.” You try the doorknob again and he shouts out “it’s not safe for you right now, go away.” He says more but you don’t hear it through the door. “What do you mean it’s not safe, Andre let me in.” you cry back, banging the side of a fist against the door, beating it loudly trying to persuade him to let you in. Probably not the most convincing manner.

- “GO! You’re not supposed to be here, m’gonna hurt you.” confusion could not even begin to explain what was going through your head, throat taut with fear, “Andre, I could give a fuck, I’m not leaving you like this.” He’s pleading in a sad rage, like a storm with no lightning, all thunder, “I don’t want t’hurt you, please, please just go.” You refuse, and say the same before you break the lock on the door then try and come in, not getting through until you back up and ram a shoulder into it once, twice, finally busting it on the third impact.

- he had warned you for good reason, and the yellow eyes that meet your gaze from a huddled, shadowed corner solidify that. “Should’ve run.” comes murky from him, his mouth moving oddly and you realize with horror he’s not in his regular body. It’s a larger, hulking form of shaggy fur in muted brown and chestnut hues, dusted with black and grey into a slurry of fur. A fucking wolfman was not on your list. “Werewolf?”

- “Yeah.”

- “Considering our jobs — this isn’t all too horrifying.” He bares his teeth, canines glinting, “I take that back — somewhat.” Andre chuckles, darker but remains curled in on himself in the corner of the room, staying far away from you. “Why am I not supposed to be here sugar?” You ask softly, stepping hesitantly further into the room and eyeing him warily, unsure about the entirety of this situation and wishing Elliot fucking Mothman had better-prepped staff for other forms of cryptids.

- “‘cause I’ll fuck y’ and I won’t stop.” He growls out, nails digging into knees bare of clothing and covered in fur, “not safe f’you, I could hurt you.” He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, eyes turned away and trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner, wanting to keep you at bay before his senses and instincts took over and took you. Andre doesn’t see you, but he feels you in the room. The way you smell and he puffs of breath, the thud of your heart.

- so he immediately clocks the second your pulse races at his words and how your heart flutters, along with your cunt. Andres eyes snap back to you just in time to see a shy but sensual smile on your lips. “What if I want you to hurt me?” Is what he hears from your lips, and he forces himself to sit still, ignore the erection against his thigh and the urge to fuck you until your womb got stuffed to the brim and he got you knocked up. “You better mean that.”

- “oh,” you strip yourself of your shirt and other clothes swiftly, like a subtle strip tease but far smoother and graceful than anticipated, “I mean it. Show me how much you love me sugar, I can take it.” You walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, curling up against the pillows and grin, spreading your legs and exposing the entirety of yourself, eager to mark off this box on your sexlist checklist. “Fucking better.” Is what Andre responds with, rising slowly and missing the tall ceiling by merely a foot, taking his gangly form towards the bed and closing his eyes, sniffing visibly and having his body falter, your scent encompassing any logic he had left.

- “look at that,” he chitters, teeth making his grin a bit more daunting, “already spread for me. Cute. Now turn around.” Andre orders, lurking before the bed as you shift, resting on your folded forearms and raising your ass in the air. “Good,” he praises, a hand grazing your arched waist while he settles behind you, “couldn’t follow orders earlier, but that’s just because you were worried, hm? Going to be good f’me now. I know it.” Andre settles himself on his knees behind you, arms planted on either side of your torso and he leans atop you, breath fanning your ear as he teases you, makes the eager nerves alight as goosebumps trail across your bare, vulnerable form.

- “gonna’ let me fuck you? Let me bury my cock in your pretty cunt over and over until there’s nothing left in you but me?” He muses, erection tapping at your ass and feeling much heavier than what you’re used to. You hum, trusting him to take care of you and fuck you right. “Mhm, let you stuff me like a fuckin’ brood mare, now please, c’mon and fuck me Andre.” He swats your ass with his hand, watching the fat of it jiggle and your waist bend high, “don’t have to tell me twice.”

- You bite back a few comments the second he brushes his flared, sloped cockhead into the opening of your cunt, the tip alone bringing a stretch of pain. Burying your head in the pillows around your forearms, you mewl and whimper aloud tossing both your head and your ass back. Andre’s one hand is beside your torso to plant himself while the other is on your hip, guiding your hips back towards him so he can slowly enter and sink his cock into you. "Atta' babe" he croons, breath fanning across your back in a way that makes your spine tingle.

- He lets out a whine that huffs hot air across your spine, sinking in his cock as much as your cunt can fit, several inches still untended to between where the two of you meet. His balls brush your clit when he bottoms out, and he stills, Andre's restless lungs beating his chest into your back and you can feel him through and through. "Fuck, tight little cunt, gonna' fucking break it." Andre groans low and heady as he begins to rock back and forth, in a humping motion that sends his balls smacking into your clit with little pats, making you grateful a hand now plays underside and holds your belly while the other holds him up, your body on the precipice of collapse with the angle, the feeling, all of it.

- "fucking stuff me," you blurt, pathetically trying to rock your hips back into his and you cry out each time, bulbous cockhead nudging your cervix with each shift, feeling him in your guts, "breed me full, knock me up." These were words you had used previously during sex with him, the concept not being new, only to the situation at hand. With Andre being fueled by rampant urges and instincts, barely holding on, your words were like an on-switch that sends him immediately pressing you into the bed and snapping his hips roughly, snarling. into the skin of your neck like he's on a mission, and in a way, he is. Meant to mate.

- "ah, oh fuck, Andre." you keep crying out his name between crying out incoherencies, encompassed by the way he absolutely fucked the breath from your lungs, knocking everything out of you and then drawing it back in just as he slots in, and out of your drenched, dripping cunt, slick now sprawling from his dick and balls, your thighs, to the torn and tossed sheets beneath. There's a fleeting, barely conscious thought of now knowing why sex was called the beast with two backs, the words of Othello never even a full thought as you get plowed from behind.

- oh yeah, you were never going to leave him to deal with a full moon alone, not if this is what your good deeds and diligence get you - being bent over like a broodmare and fucked like it's a need to survive, to breathe. You are livin' good.

- "taking me so damn well, gonna' pump you full, fill you over and over until others no space inside that I haven't covered." he rambles, hurried and frenzied and deep in pitch, snapping his hips rapidly as the sound of skin slapping melts into a blur with the heavy pants and breaths, the snarls and moans and groans the two of you let out, animalistic and primal, fucking elite and top tier in your honest, raw-dogged opinion. "Gonna' give you a child, claim this fucking pussy, all of it, s'all mine."

- You groan out, burying your head in your forearms and feeling his weight atop you, the way he keeps bullying his giant dick into you and fucking you apart, working you like dough in the way he works you over. "Like that? Like me marking you up, being Andre's breeding bitch?" he snarls, sounding so potent in your ear where his head hovers, splayed across your back while his hips do the work.

-"Just feel that," he murmurs, hand pressing into the fat of your belly to press against where he thrusts into you, making you squeal into the pillows as he shows off, his demeanor so contrasting than how he usually is, even in a raging fuck, "gonna' fill you to the brim, baby, already stretching you wide. Belly full of me."

- "God, please — fuck," you're babbling, fucked out and quote literally drooling upon your forearms and the pillows holding your head up, as backing into his thrusts and mewling with the brush of his balls against your clit, everything wet and sloppy, "wanna' be bred, wanna' be yours — I wanna' be yours." Andre lets out snarling laughs, darker than abyssal skies, into your shoulder blades which he litters with nips and bites of sharp teeth, little pinpricks adding to the utter euphoria of getting absolutely pounded.

- "gonna cum, arent'ya?" he drawls, leaning to huff through his nose near your ear and you smell him, sex and musk and earthy amber, you wanna drown in it. "Go on, soak this cock so I can fuck you stupid." It takes a few thrusts later, but you do and you absolutely blackout, the world turning into a white canvas that slowly lifts as you feel Andre fucking into you, pace hurried and faltering as he babbles rapidly, stitching together curses and praise like an ornamental garland.

- Cum is absolutely pouring at that point, rivulets stuck in smears across your ass and thighs, drenching his balls and making them smack wetly against the mouth of your cunt. He's come already at least twice by the load of it and is working on a third orgasm that makes your ass ripple with the force behind his thrusts. "All mine, no one gets to see this, have this, my pretty mate." he's talking to just himself at this point, assuring insecurities while nearly fucking you through the mattress, hell it's a miracle the bedframe hasn't broken. Or the wall.

- You whimper and moan weakly, just taking it at this point because all you feel in your bones is the warmth of orgasmic bliss, full lethargy and no intent to move, feeling so sated and tender than you could simply pass away with a beaming, I just had sex grin that would out do anyone else's, besides Andre's. What plucks the strings of reality a bit is a moment his teeth latch onto your shoulder, marking rows of teeth into a bite marking you as his. He fucks you through it, coming with a shout of your name that is more of a gravelly howl than anything, cum literally flooding your cunt and dripping down everywhere, making a mess of everything.

- Andre's near whimpering, fucking into you weakly while his erection softens inside you, laying on top of your form before wrapping his arms around and having you both shift onto your sides, him spooning your considerably smaller form in his considerably sized state, completely enveloping you in his hold, warmth, and love, soothing your fucked-out and pumped-full state onto the precipice of slumber.

- "M'love you." he mutters into your neck, nuzzling against your pulse as his arms coil around your belly, ensuring you stay in his arms and snug around his dick, "love you too." is what you reply, sounding not like your own voice in the exhausted, airy lilt. It's the last thing you remember before being woken up in the morning to an apologetic and scruffy Andre, back to normal with a plate of breakfast in hand.

- "Andre, honey, we are definitely going to be doing that again."

Robotus Alpha-Beta: D E M O N

• songs: Devil’s Advocate - The Neighborhood or Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd

• fanart: by @olexxx right here

- you’re desperate, and tired of calling after things in the light and day that don’t answer. You now call out for and beg for something from the night, standing in the crossroads with a box of offerings in your hands and a plea so heavy on your tongue it weighs you down like an anchor to a boat, dividing the seas currents in cleaverlike strokes. Crying out into the night, screaming for an answer, yelling out that you’ve done the right things brought the right stuff, made the right calls, you’re frustrated and distressed in the middle of this night, clad in clothing that the wind whips around your form, slinky against your chest and thighs. You’re a vision of desperation in this witching hour, and who would he be to deny your broken-hearted, bargaining pleas?

- “mighty pathetic looking, aren’t you, pretty thing.” He strolls out from the tree line, hands in his pockets of the seersucker suit he wears, hiding his eyes in the shadows while he meanders his way over dirt path and dandelions, plants dying in the markers where his footprints lay. “Pray tell, what brings you to my spacious lay of the woods?” He drones, and you’re too consumed in your own ordeals to fully analyze his appearance and demeanor, ready to bargain and barter down to the bones should it go that far.

- “I just wanna’ deal. That’s all.” You start, laying the tin box down on the ground between the two of you where you stand in the clay dirt and ash of the crossroad, pitch black sans the one flickering, sad looking streetlamp. “What will you take for sparing someone’s life?” Is what comes from your lips next, and he’s almost surprised at the dedication you show in selflessness, musing to himself in the ongoing internal dialogue that you should get one of those flimsy gold stars.

- “Depends on a lot my dear,” the demon drawls, hands gesturing in a manner that reminds you of evangelical television preachers or cable game show hosts, “who am I curing and what ails your beloved patient?” He picks the dirt from his fingernails and you wish you pry out the nails from that tin box you got from a coffin, and force them one by one into his skull for his nonchalance, his disinterest in a deal that meant more than the world to you.

- “my friend, she’s sick. Cancer. I want her cured and for her to live a healthy life and die naturally of old age. What will you accept in exchange?” You’re direct, straight and to the point, shoulders squared and eyes flint and steel, fire flickering in the shards of your irises. Refusing to let him abuse a loophole, you’ve stressed every requirement and plan — ramming the nails in straight. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He drawls, crooked grin smarmy and slimy in the snake oil style, making you envision car dealerships and the price is right but shrouded in brimstone and fire. “The question isn’t what I’ll ask of you, but what you’re willing to offer, dear.”

- he claps his hands together, a MontBlanc pen appearing in his hand and a weathered paper, looking older than your entire bloodline in the way it looks like if the wind blew a fraction harsher, it’d disintegrate. “Alright pet, lay your offers on the table and I’ll see what I’ll accept — but remember,” the demon before you with sky blue eyes pauses, looking like a walking business advert with his suit and tie, shiny cufflinks and a glittering Patek Philippe watch, “no promises.”

- you bite back the myriad of things you’d like to say to this bastard in human flesh-trimmings, but you need your friend more than anything. She’s your world. You’d give your own up for her, and you plan to do exactly that. “My entire self —“ he raises his brows, lips splitting into an amused grin and attempts to interrupt, but you wave a hand and fix him a look, the don’t fuck with me while I’m talking stare, “for part of the week, for the rest of my natural, long and healthy life. You’ll get Tuesday through Thursday, and I will be free to do what I wish the remainder of the week, every week. Sans holidays which I get to myself.”

- he’s still smiling as if it’s within the job application but looks about as pained as if he’s suddenly contracted a bout of irritable bowel syndrome. “And you’re completely mine the entirety of those three days, the full 72 hours?” You nod, face as polished as stone, equally as cold and ungiving. Hes never encountered a wayward soul like yours. Intrigue mars his mind more that he’d care to admit, but it makes the results of bartering so much better. “We have a deal then.”

- he scrawls in loopy old fashioned cursive, slanted and sloped in a manner that reminds you of history class, and fills in the blanks of his document signing your life away to him. He flattens the paper, then signs it himself and hands it to you to sign as well. You spot the larger A and B initials, shortened to AB, but can’t make out the last name, only the large R and the mussed squiggles behind it. Doctorish scrawl, hasty and impatient.

- you sign your signature and life away, not regretting it the instant you get a series of texts from your friend, her energy and liveliness returning in an instant. You pocket your phone then get dragged forward by the elbows, calloused fingertips and softened palms cup your cheeks before drawing you into a fleeting kiss. He pulls away and before you can act, he vanishes in a cloud of ash and dust, the contract within your grip and an emptied tin box at your feet. A kiss to seal the deal.

- you don’t see him until the next week, spending your time with your loved ones and with your best friend, cherishing and relishing in how she’s safe and healthy again and she would always be. The chime of reality rings twelve times, the man appearing in a click of loafers against the tile floors outside your apartment and wraps of his knuckles against the front door, coming to collect you. You’re alone and have been, making sure to be in the comfort of solitude once your first day as a demon’s bitch begins. AB opens the door and strolls in, hands in the pockets of some pinstripe slacks and a chain dangling from near his hand to a slim pocket on his suit vest, thin white stripes against navy fabric making his already tall form elongate.

- the demon struts in with the casual air of devil-may-care, eyes like a cats in how they’re languid but attentive, drawing everything in and sitting until something interesting pulls his direct attention forth. “Quite a home you’ve got here, just you?” AB muses, sauntering with the air of a spoiled house cat. “Yes, just me, now can we get on with whatever you have entailed for my next 72 hours, the suspense Y’know, got me absolutely hooked.” You respond, end of your sentence dripping in sarcasm like a freshly immersed pen nib into an inkwell and equally as dark.

- “impatient too, aren’t you just a bag of tricks,” he muses, lulling and faux cadence in a demon's silver tongue taste, “all in due time. Best to wait and see you squirm.” AB stands before a bookcase, fingertips tapping along spines of books then dusting over a picture frame with your friend, weary Polaroids paling in comparison to this snapshot of her and you several years ago, faces lit in the warmth of lanterns in summer sunset. He holds it longer than he’d deem appropriate, and he doesn’t seem to care or know why.

- “are you always this articulate or does it come with the Armani suit?” You snap, knee bouncing as you sit on the couch, lips chapped from how frequently you’ve gnawed on them in your nervous state, wanting to lose your sanity but unfortunately finding yourself incredibly lucid and stable. Against all odds. “Naturally, pretty thing, some creatures possess decorum and manners — I see you speak from inexperience.” He teases, setting the frame down and wiping his hands on his slacks, adjusting the cufflinks that glitter with initials laid in obsidian and platinum.

- He continues speaking, giving you no opening once more to speak or further deride the demon before you, meandering about your home as if he was not just showing the place, but was trying to sell it as a realtor and making the process as painfully personal as possible. "Do you have a tendency to get squeamish or easily frightened?" "I doubt it, due to how there's a demon I'm casually conversing with, so I'm going to have to say no."

- He chuckles darkly, and you see a glimmer in those glacier eyes of something far colder, and you mark it down for later. "Clever, but such a costly trait. Mind your tongue." You sit and take it in stride, having been braced for an overgrown petulant toddler playing around in daddy's suits. "Since you're being so patient," he mocks, he rolls his sleeves to the forearms after shucking off his jacket and snapping it away in a move that makes you think of hammerspace, "we'll get started. You are to shadow me as I go about dealing. Mind your tongue, presence, and entire demeanor. You are here to help me, gain insight on a modern human mind and soul, not to aid anyone but me due to how I control something far greater than your own life."

- He doesn't hesitate to gut you in the way you've been hung out to dry, hollowed like a side of beef swinging from a hook in a walk-in freezer, dripping onto a frozen floor in tandem with your bravado slipping. AB glances over your expression and smiles, childish and juvenile in a charming, redeemable fratboy sort of way. "Alrighty, now let's get you started."

- and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you began the first day of deals. It flew by, as they all would, you watching from the sidelines or removed from sight to watch as a deal went down. You could clock the bastards who were overly cocky, thinking they could outsmart someone so much older than them it was like the universe looking upon Earth's moon. Planet to sand grains. Pathetic - no match.

- the souls would fade one by one and you would spend your hours prior to the deal observing them from the outskirts in strangers behaviors, deception now a part of your ensemble in equal to your rings or shirt. "Did you observe me before we struck my deal?" you had asked later on in the duration of your servitude, roughly a year into your partial work weeks under the eye and lens of the demon. He laughed, a chiding yet lilting sound that resembled when storm clouds rumbled when the sun still shone, "Oh absolutely I did, my dear, quite entertaining and almost heartwrenching the way you went about your plans. Absolutely precious."

- AB speaks over his cocktail, Pappy Van Winkle bourbon dark and syrupy in the basin of his Waterford crystal glass, sliding about the thick ice cube like molasses, "I will say you have been the most entertaining of my companions in a long time." The way he says it lingers and you assume it's longer than you could perceive, centuries being seconds to the being beside you. It is a fleeting moment of wistfulness before he clocks his newest wayward soul and stalks forward, running a hand through his hair and barely messing his strands up, the greying streaks in his auburn hair falling upon his forehead like a staged motion, queued up to go for a movie scene.

- You tried not to watch more than you needed to when having to help him with his deals, but this time in the low light of a seedy corner alley bar, he glittered like the cufflinks he always wore. Dark obsidian and platinum, simple yet something so potent about it resembled him. If you hadn't sold your life away to the entity, he'd resemble a side character from American Psycho, far too charming to make it into the main role. It was harder to hate him than how he looked, the manner in which you dealt your days away gave you your friend back and a more stable life, albeit the hellish tasks.

- You didn't quite care for how much you cared for him, why you get enamored with him and all that he encompassed. It was disastrous and bordering a Stockholm syndrome, or at least that's what you told yourself when indulging in ice cream and childhood movies. What worsened your situation was an event that occurred in your off hours, out with friends and enjoying yourself in a night of freedom and levity. It went wrong, as you assumed it could, but had not expected the situation to unfold as it had nor the end result to your night.

- "I still don't understand, you crushing on your boss? Understandable, not doing shit about it, perplexes the fuck outta' me." Rory, a friend from high school mentions and brought a series of laughs from your booth at the club. "It's improper-" You're suddenly cut off. "Since when did you ever give a shit about proper?" another friend chimes in, and you sigh before downing the remnants of the drink before you. You get up, go to the bar to get a drink and avoid the terrible topic along with trying to escape the environment altogether. It's not your scene, too loud and overwhelming. It gets even worse after the initial sips of your drink when the world turns hazy and you don't know where you're going, nor whos leading you away.

- "Move them this way, out of the light - there, I told you no one was going to find us here." one of the two figures surrounding your hazy, barely conscious form voices, the other laughing along as they work at your shirt before a dark laugh comes from the opening of the alley, and a glint of polished silver meets the glare of a streetlamp. Its something out of a noir film but you're relieved when you hear his voice, trying to sit up and failing. His name falls from your lips, faint and sad sounding, and his glacier eyes melt away into a darkness never seen before even in the furthest of depths within the oceans.

- It takes no time for him to dispatch the two who had drugged you, the rage pouring off of him in waves you can almost see, even in your bleary state. It's as if someone coated your brain in a fog and dipped it in some liquid nitrogen. "Oh, pretty thing, what have they done to you." is what he says when he crouches near your form, bloodstained but almost holy, a savior without wings. You try and answer but he shushes you, lifting you into his arms securely with the strength beneath his tall, barrel-chested form. The two of you dissipate from the alley and leave behind blood trails no one will find, bodies gone as well to languish on hooks in rings of hellfire AB will personally see to.

- The next thing you recall after being saved up in his arms is waking in a bed far too luxurious to be your own, and enveloped in silky sheets and even silkier pajamas, deep navy blue wrapped around your form so comfortably you just snuggle back into the pillows before you fully wake to reality with a start, remembering what almost happened and sitting up, flying out of bed and wandering out to figure out where the fuck you were.

- "there you are, dear, feeling okay?" is what greats you, AB sitting at a couch reading from a book that once again looks more ancient than your entire bloodline, genuine concern feeding into his expression and making you blink, sleep still laden in your heavy eyelids begging you to go back to sleep. "You saved me." he shrugs off your comment, rising to meet your form in the doorway and taking you by the shoulders, trying to turn you around back into the bed you left. "Go on to bed, I'll bring you something-" he fixes you a look, "its an order, go rest. Your loved ones know you're safe and sound. Now, bed."

- You fall back asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, and the next time you wake there's a change of clothes on a chair near the bed, a plate of food on the nightstand, and a pitcher of water with clean glasses readily available. In no rush, you take your time eating and then getting ready before padding barefoot out into the home you find yourself in, spotting AB finally in a kitchen you'd drool over in an issue of Architectural Digest. "There you are, rested?" you nod, cupping your glass of water in your hands and seating yourself down at a barstool beside the kitchen island, glancing around at the sprawling chef's kitchen, "they've been taken care of." AB trails off, in a casual button-down and slacks, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest, taking a second before he looks over at you with steely, ice eyes.

- "No harm will ever come to you." your brows furrow at that, wondering why he would care so much about a person he literally owns. You voice it out loud and he guffaws, looking at you incredulously as if the answer was always there, and in a way, it had been. "Dear, you're mine. Contract bound and now, by design. No one ever lays a hand on you let alone exists a second afterwards." The glass in your hand is set down and you lean back in your chair, staring at him and wondering if the entirety of the past months of partnership you were not the lone one pining. He validates it when he approaches and falters, warming once you breach the gap and take his hand into your smaller one.

- You finally break, grasping for him and hugging him close as his bulkier form bends to hold you, knees bent in order to acclimate to your seated position. He rubs your back as you shudder and shake, warm broad hands soothing you down and facing you until he kneels and looks up at you. "I promise you, you're safe." and you want to say you believe him, but you still don't feel it, just take his hand off your knee and imbed it into your heart so he can feel how it beats, how the fear creeps into your lungs like an infection. there's no need, for he cups your cheek and tilts your chin to meet his gaze. Then it's over.

- the waiting ends, and he kisses you, tender and delicate and something so utterly unlike him that it takes you aback, almost slack-jawed for a millisecond before you realize it's him kissing you and you relish in it, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer until he's caged you in, safe from harm. He groans, and you part your legs at the sound, letting him fully press against you in the chair and wrap around you. "My pretty thing." AB groans against your lips, and you whimper at the sound of it so broken on his tongue, so different than the calculated and meticulous tone he took.

- "Prove it" is what flies from your lips as you bite his, feeling him grin darkly against your mouth as he lifts you into his, different from the bridal carry form the other night with how he hefts a handful of your ass into his palms while your legs wrap around his waist while he carries you into the other room. "Gladly." is whispered once he deposits you into a lavish dark bed, his own, and strips himself of his shirt and bares a chest scattered in auburn hair matching in grey streaks like his head, making you wonder about what lies lower.

- He doesn't make you wait long, and he strips himself of his boxers and pants, planting himself above you and grinning at how you observe his body and movements, letting you gasp in surprise once he lets a shudder roll through and some red markings reveal themselves, cuffs and bands of red marks paired with inscriptions of languages so old they outdated writing itself. You trace a few as he undresses you, mouth over them lavishly and kiss them tenderly, trying to show and give all the love you can to make up for what he's missed.

- "Never going to let anyone touch you," he murmurs, breathless against your skin as if he's the one rendered weak before you, "only mine, m'all yours. Gonna' keep you safe and sound." AB's wrecked already and he's hardly touched you let alone himself, the evidence leaking and resting heavily upon your now bare thigh. You feel not just safe and content, but powerful and hungry, greedy for what lies within arms reach. You get granted a freedom in his presence finally, and you take every step in stride.

- "All mine," purrs your voice in his ear, tugging on auburn locks and feeling your body thrum like musical cords when he groans low and deep, reverberating from a barrel chest that covers your form, "going to make me feel good? Treat me right, make a mess of me? Show me just how much you actually care and that I'll always be yours? Go ahead, AB, give me your all."

- "All?" he growls darkly against the column of your throat, nearly snarling if it wasn't for the pleased smirk present with teeth with slight points, "oh dearest, ask for more, don't you know I'd give you everything?" he murmurs low stripping you fully bare and letting rough and calloused palms from another lifetime's work wander your body, mapping out your skin like a cartographer. At that moment the words were euphoric enough, but his hips grinding against yours until he slotted against your weeping cunt was the emphasis to your already wavering body, the final blow to your grip on reality. Oh, what a plunge it was.

- AB rocks against you, forehead knelt down against your collarbone in a piousness akin to prayer and nudges his swollen cock against your cunt, hips grinding once, twice, before he slides into you and fills you. It's a stretch that makes you cry out, nails embedded in his skin near his markings as you whimper and cry out his name. Your chest squirms and your hips remain stilled, his broad hands encompassing your hips as he does so. With his head against your shoulder, he gets to see himself disappear into your slick-soaked pussy, and the sight is too moving for his eyes to handle. Thumbs bruise your hipbones while he stills then asks you questions he repeats several times before you process them, already hazy and fucked out and he hadn't even actually fucked you yet.

- "May I move?" your body reacted before you could even form a response, legs shifting so you can take him in deeper and fuck up back onto him, nearly squealing out as you feel him absolutely stuff your cunt, walls clenching and sending the both of you into a hurried frenzy. "There's your answer." you bite, literally and figuratively as your teeth sink into his ear. His hips stutter and you smirk, so proud of yourself before locking your legs and rolling him beneath you, still seated on his cock but now residing on top, beaming down at him with your hands planted on his marked, hair-covered chest.

- You don't even warn him before you slam your hips down, relishing in how he jolts and buckles, eyes shutting then opening back up, so torn between the feel of you and how you look, an angel of his own making seated above him and using him like a throne, getting yourself off and being nothing short of resplendent. AB thrusts his hips up to meet your grinds and ministrations, one hand splayed across your ribcage while the other snakes down to rub at your clit, beaming with pride when he feels you shudder and falter.

- "You're so pretty." comes broken from the demon beneath you, reduced to merely a man with the way you use him, treat him, love him and fuck him all at once, centuries worth of longing packed away emerging forth into glacier eyes now as warm as spring skies, and the look he gives you sends you over the edge as a crushing blow. He catches you, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you as the orgasmic, earth-shattering waves take you under. He anchors you, falteringly weak thrusts getting him to where you are in seconds, cumming and stuffing you full with a cracking groan against your heated flesh.

- He holds you, sitting upright with his arms wound around your torso and holding tight, hands splayed across your back and side as your head nestles into the crook of his, nose at his pulse and smelling hints of rosemary and bergamot and ash, and you burrow closer, wanting to sink into him like bed, he's more comforting than down comforters and pillows anyhow. It takes a while before the witness behind your eyes fades, his humming being what plucks you forth from an orgasmic abyss and you smile against his skin, soaking up the silence and him breaking it.

- "About that contract-" you joke, and AB laughs breathlessly before turning to you with a devious smirk, hands wandering and eliciting a squeaking moan from your lips, "I think I'd be open to renogiation." he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth before your lips meet his and he hums, licking into your mouth and staking claim to it just as he had you.

Magic Myc: Z O M B I E

• song: Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

- You'd been there when Myc's dead body got carted in. There were more people making jokes, cruelly grateful for his absence compared to the small group that actually missed him, and mourned him. And you were one of the very few who loved him enough to grieve his loss in such a manner it would even overpower the longing of the moon should it ever lose the sun and stars.

- He wasn't everyone's taste, hell, he was barely your taste. But you still loved him anyway and trying to work, eat, and live without him got harder and harder since he got eradicated from your life as swiftly as one strikes down a cleaver against a cutting board, final, irreversible. Permanent.

- You had thankfully been granted leave, getting enough pitying looks to send you to the comforts of home only to realize that home made it worse. All his things were there, little knickknacks and gag gifts Myc had gathered over the years, polaroids taped to the walls with glimpses of misadventures. One that gutted you the most was a picture of you, Andre, and Myc, the two of you smiling wide while Myc lifted the two of you up for the picture, all flipping off the camera and laughing like hyenas.

- Andre had been a rock of support, the two of you leaning on each other to cope and work through the loss, not knowing how to handle the loss, Andre losing a best friend and you losing a lover. It crushed you, the chasm of grief and depression consuming you whole, entangling your ankles and dragging you down in the depths like being snared in a siren's trap.

- the point where you broke down wholly and entirely, letting out ugly cries with the snot and tear tracks, getting puffy with reddened eyes in the freedom of your home. A formerly shared home is now all yours. The brownstone mocked you, once an inviting and fun space now too bright and whimsical to be fitting for one mourning a lover. A friend. A soulmate.

- in the midst of your breakdown and rattling full-body tremors, you don't hear the back door locks slowly turn one by one, the keys only belonging to one person, long dead. You don't hear something entering your home and locking back up, in the perfectly redundant routine that belonged to an everyday pattern. You don't hear Myc return into your life because you're too busy crying about him leaving it.

- "I leave for five seconds and you've already gone batshit - damn and I thought I had problems" his voice startles you, making you nearly fall off of the couch when you whip your head around to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. "You're not real." is the first thing you utter, terrified to move in case the illusion your grief-wracked mind conjured would dissipate and vanish, leaving you alone in your loss and the empty house, pathetic and sad enough to best a wet kitten.

- "You'd think that, but here I am, alive and unwell." Myc responds, sarcasm prominent but still an underlying fond tone only belonging to him comes out. It's rougher, dirtier almost in a backroad gravel kind of way like his vocal cords got tossed through a concrete mixer. "Gonna' say hello or what?" he teases, gesturing with a tendril or two and extending them, wanting a hug from his favorite person. You practically leap over the back of the couch in an effort to reach him, launching yourself into his body and nestling your head on the underside of the mushroom cap, feeling fanning gills brush the top of your head in addition to the bulbous partial veil that glows and humms against your head.

- He still smells like earth and musk, pollen and petals. and weed, and you've never been more relieved to smell the absolutely pungent aroma of weed in your life, laughing while you cry into where his neck would be. "You think I would just ditch you? No way, stuck with me for the rest of your little life, shitheel." Myc mutters, bumping your nose tenderly with a blunt nudge of a tendril, making your nose scrunch and a smile appear on your puffy, crying face.

- "wait, how are you even here?" you ask, leaning your head back enough to look at him in the dim light of your home, shadows cast over his form and hiding the majority of it sans little segments and divots of bioluminescence and ornate patterns. "You died Myc, how in the fuck are you even alive?"

- he doesn't immediately answer, and you step back to pace with a hand running down your face, immediately ranting and getting wrapped up in the concept of Cognito Inc. doing another stupid and silly science project without considering ramifications and wondering just how this will blow up once more when it concerns the love of your life, Myc.

- when he's remained silent, not saying a word in the midst of your rant about Reagan and how she's got to stop playing god, you realize he hasn't said a word and turn to find him standing very still and looking down to his tentacles as if in deep thought. Worrying, consuming, deep thought.

- "I-," he starts, moving to turn in your direction, almost looking past you, or through you, making your anger fade as concern takes over, "I don't know."

- You haven't been this worried in a long, long time. "Honey, what do you mean you don't know?" Your concern multiplies, swarming nervous moths within the cage of a chest you have, fluttering in your ribcage and making your bones itch. "Myc, do you remember getting here?".

- the uncharacteristic silence speaks enough volumes to have filled a home library, making you send a few hurried texts to the gang group chat and ignoring the silly contact names in lieu of finding a solution to this as fast as possible and trying to keep Myc stable. You turn and flick a lamp on, unable to find reason in the darkness, and barely stop the scream that almost fled your throat.

- "I just wanted to see you, I don't know how I got here-" he pauses, unaware of the terror in your eyes and the tears welling along the seams of your lower lids, threatening to overflow with the sight of him, "I just wanted you."

- You wish you were crying for other reasons beyond the sight of him, maybe even some happy tears with how he came to you because he loves you, dragged his undead self all the way to your backdoor to you.

- You cry instead at the state of him, the chunks of flesh and tissue missing, the greenish ghastly hue to his surface, tears and gouges in places where his body's mass would fill. He is dead. undead technically, and in your shared home's living room sounding close to tears himself with how confused he sounds and you're just about to break down at how butchered he looks. He is yours, and he was supposed to be fine always. Why did this happen, and why to your Myc.

- He says your name, and it is so broken it doesn't suit him. Myc's a jovial, mocking asshole that makes you feel loved, even with pet names accompanied by curse words and expletives. You respond to a few more texts and enlist the help of Reagan and ask Andre and him to come immediately. You barely have the energy to continue standing, so you absolutely don't have the strength to deal with this alone.

- You gather him close, sitting the two of you down on the couch and just try and breathe, sit there with each other and pretend things will all be okay and wait in the meantime for Reagan and Andre to appear in order to get some ideas going on what to do or how to go about this entire situation, the others on standby and there for support should you need it. You've never been more thankful for the friends you have.

- "M'not going to leave you." Myc says, determination steady within his now weathered voice, as if it was skinned and tanned like an animal hide in the sun, "I don't wanna' go." Your hands grip him tighter as your fingertips trace over patterns and textures on his surface, humming a note against the light within his partial veil beneath the cap.

- "Nothing could take me from you, and I won't let anything take you from me either." is what you choose to comfort him with, knowing that humor was a strong suit and that comedy wasn't something to include just yet, reality to raw to disinfect with the sting of punchlines.

- Andre and Reagan soon arrive, disbelief covering their features the instant they enter the door and a litany of questions follow with Andre's tears as he and Myc hug, bubbly watery giggles erupting forth from both him and you at the relief. Reagan pokes and prods, then takes notes from what you could tell, and remains as confused as you are.

- after a while and many frustrating moments, the two leave back to their respective lives. Andre promises to come the next day and Reagan plans to run tests bright and early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the night is yours with him and the two of you alone. You try and make the best of it by familiarizing yourself with the way it felt to be enveloped with Myc, to feel those tendrils around your frame holding you close.

- and as with all things with Myc, it turned sexual suddenly and rapidly, making you appreciate his ease in removing you from a current situation with his attention, touch, and care. A gift tethered in mycelial networks and fungi.

- the two of you don't even make it to the bedroom, Myc being so eager to have you in any which way, he fucks you on the floor against the plush living room carpet, letting you know how thankful he is for your precious ass in his life (both literally and figuratively) as he fucks you to delirium.

- next thing you know, you have his voice in your ear while two tendrils splay your bare thighs open, tentacles notched in the crook of your knee and thigh as he pumps the tips of three appendages in and out of you, commenting and praising you for how slick you are and how welcoming your cunt is to him, like a homecoming once your greedy pussy sucks him in like even your spongy inner walls missed him.

- "god you're so fucking wet, all for me right? getting all gushy and messy for me only." his words hit just the right buttons, perched and murmured right beside your ear as he thrums, twisting the tips of his appendages within you and barely showing signs of him being affected. The two little tendrils that have collected droplets of slick tease and prod at your ass, occasionally breaching the tight ring of muscle and allowing Myc the pleasure of hearing that broken, higher pitched cry you moaned out with his name on your tongue, grinding into his ministrations and begging for more.

- "mhmm, all for you Mikey," you moan softly, brokenly, in a way so soft it competes against battered butterfly wings, "all yours, always yours, even m'pussy." He laughs, fucking you harder at that like a reward, groaning happily and letting the waves of pleasure spread rather than him holding back and halting his own enjoyment. Now he can fuck you.

- “damn fucking straight.” He curses, fucking you with earnest while he sits behind you, feeling flush and warm while he feels you tense and clench around him. Then follow suit once he breaches your ass, fucking into you shallowly and slowly there, easing himself in and loving the way your jaw falls slack and your hips seem to have a mind of their own. You prop your feet at an angle and use it to better fuck yourself on the makeshift cock and tendrils of Myc’s appendages, loving how you felt him in both holes and stuffed full, practically gushing around him and soaking the couch cushion beneath the two of you.

- good thing they’re washable.

-“all mine, always gonna’ be mine.” He mutters, movements stuttering as he nears orgasm but tries to hold out, “my baby gonna’ let me stuff them full? Until it leaks, hm?” You nod, voicing a yes against the skin of his closest to you and cry out once his tendrils brush at your cervix as you grind down and thrust back and forth against him.

- “please Myc, wanna’ cum, want your cum, want you to make me feel good.” You drawl in a plead, hands smoothing over him beneath you and sliding up and down his cock, reaching a hand to play with your clit until he smacks it away and replaces it with an appendage and shakily strokes and he gets closer to cumming. He shakes beneath you, Myc shuddering and stuttering once he voices his nearing euphoria.

- he cums, flooding your cunt and having it spill forth, pollock-like flecks of cum splattering your inner thighs and allowing you to slide better and take him in, cumming shortly after with a scream of his name and an orgasm that lasted nearly a solid minute, senses gone and world as white as fresh snowfall.

- there’s silence for a moment, your back resting against his front, tendrils not still inside you caressing and tending to your sweaty, tired body. “Hey, hon?” He draws you out of your reverie to turn to look at him, “pretty good for a dead man.”

- “fuck off, dear god.”

- Myc cackles and leans back into the couch cushions and pillows, and the joy that thrums in your heart soothes the ache of his death, loving him in any state, even when he’s being a little shit.

—Happy Halloween—

Tags: @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @carnalcringe @bluebaronness @flyingspicerack

1K notes · View notes

hxney-lemcn · 3 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me

summery: reader ponders their feelings.

tw: angst.

a/n: okay so...this is my first time writing a generic fic, in which I mean you can imagine whatever character you want. So uh...I hope I did this right. Also, listen to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' by Karen Fukuhara. It's *chefs kiss*

wc: 0.4k

Master List

“Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you Birds singin’ in the sycamore trees Dream a little dream of me”

Rain drizzled, gently pattering against the windows. I watched as the clear drops raced down. My brain was racing yet it was blank all the same. That growing pit in my chest ached as I listened to that familiar bittersweet tune. I loved to listen to it, yet it always brought me into a somber trance. The gloomy weather only seemed to add to my mood.

“Say nighty-night and kiss me Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me While I’m alone and blue as can be Dream a little dream of me”

I frowned. I understood that longing feeling. Being alone and wishing for someone to love you. Although the singer is singing about their lover, my mind wandered to who I was crushing on. The thought of him kissing me, the thought of him holding me and asking me to stay with him, it loosened that hollow feeling just a little.

I had been pining over him for so long, it was starting to hurt. The pattering of my heart when he smiled at me so handsomely, started to ache. The warm flush that I used to bask in that he’d always manage to cause, started to grow cold. The usual happiness I felt when I’d look at him turned bitter. Yet no matter how much it hurt, I still found myself falling for his charms. The bitterness would leave, if only for a little while in his presence, only for it to come crashing down when he was gone.

“Stars fading but I linger on dear Still craving your kiss Now I’m longin’ to linger till dawn dear Just saying this”

There was no one to blame but myself. I had spent so long dwelling on my feelings, on pretending like they weren’t there, that it started to warp. I was by his side for so long, that it felt like he overlooked me, that if I were to disappear from his life, that he wouldn’t even notice.

The answer to my problems seemed easy on surface level. Just confess, get these feelings off my chest and be done with the whole deal. Yet, after this long, he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed how my gestures ran deeper than just friendly. How I dropped everything to make sure he was okay. Not only that, but he hadn’t hinted at liking me back. We were just friends, and even if it hurts, I don’t want to lose that. Because I care for him as a person, and if he’s happy, then that’s all I could ask for.

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dream whatever they be Dream a little dream of me Dream a little dream of me”

99 notes · View notes

blatantlackofdecorum · 1 year

Note

do you write for multiple characters at once? liek simple headcannons but w a few characters included? if not just ignore this but if you do what about ron, brett, and / or andre (feel free to pick who u wanna write for lol) with a Short™️ reader ? i really love what you've posted so far :P

I do! of course, and thank you!! I’m including height headcanons for everyone too.

Brett Hand

- brett stands at around 6′2″ or 74 inches. he’s the second tallest of the three, but has always been a little intimidated by anyone taller than him. so he mentions it less than ron does. - the type of man to buy you stools for your kitchen if he see’s you struggling to get anything. he won’t even mention it to you, but some days you randomly notice a lot of unannounced furniture. if he see’s something starting to wear or tear, he’ll just get you a new one. call him irresponsible with his money all you want, he just wants to make things easier for you. - oh the hugs are supreme. whether he’s checking in on you at work or simply just gotten home, draping his arms across your waist and hugging you from behind, to his chest has to be one of his favorite things. you could practically use him as a pillow and he’d still just be happy to have you with him. - would not hesitate to pick you up if needed. piggy back rides? he’s literally built for it, need to grab something high up? he’s right there without a second thought. he does tend to lay out his house a bit differently when the two of you start dating, if he knows you’ll be over he sets out any coffee supplies you could need on his counter so you don’t have to stress over it in the morning. - he does worry though, he knows you can take care of yourself but, if someone hurt you, especially while he wasn’t there, he couldn’t live with himself. just a little more cautious about your safety, (will splurge on any self defense tool you could ask for) he will not hesitate to get weirdly protective the second someone so much as looks at you wrong. - will occasionally call you short or shorty, but if he ever sensed it making you uncomfortable he’d stop. if he knows you well enough, he’s able to read you like a book. very hypervigilant.

Ron Staedtler

- ron is definitely the tallest of the three at a staggering 6′4″ or 76 inches. he’s also definitely the one that mentions it the most. he’s used to being the tallest person in the room, but he is such a tease.

- this man spends most of his time with you in his arms in some form or another. pda is already a strong-suit of his. leaning his head on your shoulder while you’re working? his fingers laced with his or his arm snaked around your shoulder? he loves it. can’t get enough of it. - definitely holds stuff above your head, waits for you to reach up and kisses you when you do. that’s practically his favorite move, and he pulls it off quite well every-time. he’s a pain in the ass but he really does love you.. he does get over affectionate sometimes, so prepare to be occasionally smothered in pecks. - will just grab stuff off shelves for you if needed, don’t think you won’t get a chuckle or two out of him as he does though. (if you get tired of his shenanigans and climb on the counter though he’ll cheer you on regardless)

- i’d say you get scary dog privileges but he’s more mildly concerning if anything. that being said if anyone ever tried to mess with you, they can prepare for an awful surprise when he stumbles upon it. he’s a nice guy but he knows how to kick some serious ass.

- very soft, will spoon the living hell out of you, (and doesn’t really have a preference between big spoon or little spoon) on one hand being coddled does feel pretty nice, and the other, he gets to wrap around you.. win win.

Andre Lee

- andre is our shortest member of the three, at 5′9″ or 69 inches, 😌 this only means that he isn’t used to people being much shorter than him in relationships, which means he’ll definitely notice it more. - he finds he actually does like being the taller one, but he is not nearly as showoffish as ron. if he sees you struggling to reach something? he’ll grab it for you. it was originally how the two of you met, you were struggling to grab a coffee cup from the top shelf of one of the cognito kitchens, and he noticed. not wanting to be awkward he grabbed it and delivered it to your desk.. than realized he made it a bit more awkward. - prepare for a lot of time spent with his head resting on yours, especially if he's tired. he falls asleep holding you a lot ( otherwise he tends to have trouble staying asleep) usually leaving you half awake and tangled in limbs. not that you really mind it. - might crack a few more jokes about it if he’s high, but he usually has a higher standard for humor than that, (absolute lie, if you so much as say ball around him he’ll giggle like a mad man) bad habit. if anyone else ever jokes about it though prepare to be lectured, only he can make fun of his s/o - would not hesitate to provide you platforms or heels if you were insecure (or dysphoric) about your height, but he thinks it’s just a part of you and won’t hesitate to remind you of that. prepare for him bragging over his perfect partner anytime you mention feeling insecure. - he’s just stupid in love with you, your height will never change that. <3

#inside job #brett hand #brett hand inside job #brett hand x reader #inside job brett #brett inside job #ron staedtler #ron staedtler inside job #ron staedtler x reader #inside job ron #ron inside job #andre lee #andre lee inside job #inside job andre #andre inside job #andre lee x reader #inside job headcanon #inside job headcanons

509 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

assdad

I'm A Dad With A Secret

burakkurokkushu-ta-

Black★Rock Shooter

deuteragonistnepgear

Deuteragonist Nepgear

loveyourselflovegod

Love is in the air

drow-skies

drow skies