#myc x reader

[yokiidokii]

May I request hc's of The Gang with a male reader that's new to Cognito?? Just a normal guy that was suddenly thrusted into a crazy company to work in

I thank you for taking me up on my offer, I hope the wait wasn't too much! I wanted to write something good and I wasn't happy with my first go around so this was my second take >:)

And may I just add, HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE!

Warnings: Absolutely nothin, you are so safe baybe <3

-

Reagan

Another one??? She'd sigh but considering how good for both her and the company Brett turned out to be she can't complain about it.

She'd have probably gotten all of her "You aren't who you say you are" theories out on Brett so luckily you are spared. for now.

Would give the most thorough tour. Like you will know all the places that you need to by the end of this tour along with a good handful of the people who work in them.

I feel like Reagan would be pretty interested in what job you would be there to do? Like she's got no clue what you were hired based on- please tell her it wasn't the firmness of your handshake.

Regan reeks of a burnt-out gifted kid it's because that's what she is SO I'd imagine that she would be incredibly good at helping you figure out all that shitty 'welcome to the company keep us a secret or we disappear you' papers. Like she knows why there are so many but it can get overwhelming for a first-timer to read about all the ways your employer can see in on your life when you aren't paying attention and also how many ways they plan to kill you.

She would be vaguely interested in your outside life, maybe not as much as some of your other coworkers so it may not come up as often as either of you would like compared to general water cooler conversations.

Okay sweet girl would try and be entertaining or fill the quiet with jokes or something and it would absolutely come out like a threat SHE'S TRYING SO HARD SHE DOESN'T MEAN IT.

-

Brett

WOW!!! Another guy in his exact position? Your impending friendship has to be fate.

He'd be more than glad to show you around! This place is pretty easy to get lost in but he assures you that you'll get used to it after a while.

Brett has the most heart, he found his family at this place! So he's going to try his best to give you all the reasons why this place may be a madhouse, but it's a madhouse ~with heart✨

He's got something nice to say about basically everyone and everything that resides within Cognito, so you'll have at least one reason to like everyone here!

Pretty laid back but very welcoming! I mean he was once in your position. Sometimes you get some serious imposter syndrome being surrounded by all these cool brainiacs and walking, talking conspiracies, so if you ever need to talk his office door is always open <3

This man is as warm as the fluffiest thickest comforter you have ever seen and doubly as welcoming so he's sure to try his darndest at including you in things and introducing you to his friends!

Would be so willing to listen to you talk about your life outside of work, but if you don't want to? That's cool too! He can talk about his life outside of Cognito! No bonding time lost ;)

-

Andre

Being normal doesn't always mean being boring. He is invested in finding out what interesting secrets hide within the walls you've put up.

So okay, he will genuinely try and help you around if he's tasked to. He can show you the places you need to be and introduce you to a handful of cool people HOWEVER he will sit back and laugh as you experience the madness. He enjoys the confusion and probable moral panic.

He won’t leave you floundering though. Andre is a talker, the tour will be full of weird info he knows but he will also be asking you questions about how you ended up here like the whole time? He’s just a curious lil fella :) 

Also would be someone to lounge in your office, if you don’t have anything to decorate it off the bat he might think it’s a little bit boring however he won’t say anything. But you may start noticing more small and funky novelty objects appearing in your office.

(It’s him. All of them are from him and they are so silly) BUT! They all stay, they hold sentimental value AND they make your space less boring and more homey :) TRIPLE WIN!!!

-

Myc

Helpful in his own special Myc kinda way, like a little bit of an asshole about it but not so much that it feels like he’s being a total dick? He’s still helpful but he’s using terms from Cognito that you definitely do not understand yet. He’ll explain it son, he just wants to watch you squirm for a minute as you try and figure it out what the fuck he’s talking about.

His tour would be like some emotional rollercoaster? You don’t really know what’s going on here so he’s going to fuck with you. Hyping up what’s beyond this door as some big scary bad thing and it’s not, it’s just craft services- it’s just to amuse himself.

Simillar to Andre in that he will laugh and tease you about shit, but he will absolutely have more amo because of the whole mind reading thing? More stuff akin to him mentioning Brett’s lovely memory of Dane Cook routines in episode 1. It’s just the Myc special baby well one of them anyway ;) 

He’d obviously have a preference to tell you more nice things about the gang? Even those might not sound nice but uh- they are for him? HOWEVER he will tell you to never tell them or he will find you. You are slightly unsure if it’s a real threat or not???

-

Gigi

Ok, Gigi would be one of if not the most helpful to be able to show you around.

Based on how she acted with Brett- she might flirt with you, but like who would complain about that have you SEEN HER????

Knows where the best places in the office to get cell reception are 

She lives for the gossip and will gossip about all the coworkers she introduces to you. Is it true? Probably. Will you trust her? Up to you~ it’s all true okay– eat this shit up. SHE HAS THE GOOD SHIT.

Honestly? Her welcome would be nice? Like her own work is super chaotic but she knows how the fuck to handle all this. She knows how to help you deal with all this chaos.

Would ABSOLUTELY look you up on social media to know what you’re all about.

Ears are always ready to listen. Absolutely ready to listen to you spill all the tea about wherever in the company you do end up in. Even if it’s her own she knows interesting shit is always happening within these walls - GIVE👏🏻HER👏🏻THE👏🏻DEETS

OK SO NOT TO BE RUDE BUT- She is going to judge your bland ass office hardcore. She just is, it’s a fact of life. She’s got recommendations right away.  Follow her orders. Please-

-

Glenn

Actually kind of wholesome??

You might actually get a decent tour, I think it’s fair to say based on him that it would be pretty biased? Especially about what part of the company he hopes you’d join *wink wink nudge nudge*

The tour would probably be surprisingly thorough? Especially his section and Andre’s! He knows the most about those two places so that isn’t the most shocking? Though some of the other places get the bare minimum knowledge.

He would also be able to show you the best places for napping, Old man naps <3

There might be a little less said, but what is said is important. So if he gives someone or something a compliment know that he means it.

I mean he was a normal man once, he still kinda is? Y’know minus the dolphin stuff? So if you need someone to hash it out with when the company gets too much you could come to him. If he likes you enough he might let you launch a missile somewhere- please have restraint. Please.

He’d probably also want to talk, please indulge him in getting to talk about his life at least a little bit with serious responses and care. He deserves some genuine care too and it makes the whole… whatever you two have going on feel more mutual to him :D

[faithsxoxo]

my requests r open folks!! i’ll do oneshots n headcanons n all that

[sin-sidejob]

INVITE TO: THE HIVE

— sent by Myc Celium

꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝

| Myc Celium Masterlist / main masterlist

꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝

Fanfics / Ficlets

Halloween

𓈒 𓂂𓏸˚⋆｡ॱଳ afab / NSFW / Zombie myc

Oral Preferences

𓈒 𓂂𓏸˚⋆｡ॱଳ afab / NSFW / how he pleases you

Drabbles

⋆｡ॱଳ Valentine’s

⋆｡ॱଳ New Years

⋆｡ॱଳ Lazy Fuck

⋆｡ॱଳ Public Sex (feat. gn fat reader)

Headcanons

𓈒 𓂂𓏸 what he watches

꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝ ꒦ ͝ ꒷ ͝͝

….. you selected: ACCEPT

[ben-pincus]

hey guys! i feel like i just need to clear this up

if you see this image on pinterest, ITS MINE! it was put up there without my consent, i’ve asked whoever put it up first to take it down, but i’ve gotten no response whatsoever. i made it back in november of 2022, and for proof that it’s my work and that i didn’t just steal it off pinterest:

i know the timelapse really does nothing, but it just shows how i was the OP for this image! if you see it anywhere other than tumblr please let whoever reposted it on another platform know KINDLY that the OP doesn’t want their work reposted on different platforms, thank you!

[xmycxx]

bc i cannot get the idea of tattoo!artist ellie x reader out of my brain , here are some headcannons

you met when you went to get your first tattoo at some place your friend reccomended you

you're getting like, a tiny butterfly or something basic adn hella nervous

does seeing ellie with her fern tattoo in her button up help?

no

it makes you more nervous

you physically cannot stop yourself from staring at her hands

it's not made better when she starts talking you through it, eyes lingering longer than they probably should

just imagine being nervous and sitting in a tattoo chair, her pulling up your shirt and getting started and talking you through it

"You're doing so well for me, just sit still and look pretty for me mkay?"

when you go to pay her for it, she just says: "no charge for a pretty girl like you, although, you could pay me back with a dinner?"

and just when you thought you couldn't get any gayer for this tattoo artist, she shows up for a casual dinner in a grey button up, black jeans, silver chain and silver rings

but it's okay bc she's stuttering as much as you are, askign you how the tattoo is healing and if you're gonna turn up again

despite literally using needles for a living she's oh so gentle when she takes your hand across the table, doodling little shapes on it with her fingertips

couldn't be more of a gentleman to you, walks you home, awkwardly like teenagers with her hands in her pockets

so nervous with the first kiss, her hands barely make their way upto your waist before you kiss her, hands under your shirt/skirt finding the way upto your tattoo and tracing the shape, smiling into the kiss

you're definitely thanking your friend for that reccomendation

Part 2 or nah?

edit: I wrote a part 2, and other bits, and some other stuff

[justasfunsober]

Inside Job characters as John Mulaney quotes

Bc anytime I make a new blog I have to do this.

Reagan Ridley

Brett Hand

Andre Lee

Gigi Thompson

Magic Myc

Glenn Dolphman

[jrandreal]

Intro & Masterlist

Hey, I'm Diego! Welcome to my Inside Job Blog! I'm autistic and this show has captivated me in a time of struggle. I draw, write, theorize, and generally discuss the show. For writing, I mostly do x reader headcanons.

> Asks open! {Writing requests, art requests, comments, questions, & anything else. I love having a flooded inbox.}

Theory Masterlist:

Ridley Diploma

Dietrich Kluge

Robe-O-Reagan

Writing Masterlist:

The gang (Everyone):

The gang realizing they have a crush on you

Rand:

Autistic reader immune to his abrasiveness

My art tag

My theory tag

My writing tag

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 5/?

So, here it is, another part! Still have no clue how long this series will go, this part took forever to write, I kinda just go whenever I have inspiration, so we’ll see.

Synopsis: Greg comes over for a visit and Mycroft notices some changes in you.

Same Page Masterlist:

You were already fast asleep on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket draped on top of you by the time Sherlock said goodbye to John and made his way inside Mycroft’s house.

Mycroft was on one knee next to the couch, his hand absently brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Is she alright?” Sherlock approached his brother quietly, not wanting to disturb the scene in front of him.

Mycroft’s mouth twisted as he stood, removing his hand from your head.

“I think so. She really wore herself out today, I hope she didn’t make herself sick.”

“Has she ever…”

Mycroft shook his head, anticipating his brother’s question.

“She’s never run away from me. She has tried to come after me before when I tried to leave for work a few times, about a year ago. I tried to leave her with several of your…friends. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, even John. She wouldn’t have it.”

Sherlock frowned, “She’s never been particularly clingy with you before.”

Mycroft gave a slightly sardonic smile, “Yes well, there are a lot of things about her that have changed.” He sighed. “I suppose she thought that if she left me alone, the way-“ if Sherlock didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Mycroft almost chocked on the words before continuing, “the way she left you alone before—well, you know—that I would’ve done exactly what you had done. She thought she’d lose us both, I suppose.”

Sherlock stared down at you. You looked so peaceful, so unlike anything he had seen from you since he’d been back. It cut him deeply to think that you actually felt responsible for your brothers’ safety. That was his and Mycroft’s job, to look after you.

“She didn’t blame herself for-“ Sherlock didn’t even want to finish the sentence.

Mycroft turned to look at him, and Sherlock almost recoiled at the look in Mycroft’s eyes. He looked…heartbroken. Almost…vulnerable. Almost.

“Yes. She did. After she got over the shock, and the denial, that’s all she could think about for months on end. She kept asking me what I thought would’ve happened to you if she-“ Mycroft swallowed, “if she hadn’t left you alone that afternoon. If she’d let John leave and remained nearby to make sure you were alright. If she’d been more attentive to your needs, your feelings. I didn’t know what to say to her. I couldn’t tell her that you weren’t actually depressed…” Mycroft trailed off, breaking eye contact with his little brother.

Sherlock was horrified. He now understood Mycroft’s pain, his hesitance to breech this subject. A small, selfish part of Sherlock was now glad that it had been Mycroft, not himself, that had been here to deal with the tsunami of a wake that his death had left behind.

Neither brother spoke for a while. There was nothing left they wanted to say. Not about this.

A knock on the door cracked the still air, and Mycroft stiffened when you flinched awake.

“Myc…”

Mycroft rested his hand on your shoulder, “shh, it’s nothing, get some rest alright? Sherlock is here with you.”

Mycroft stood to open the door, surprised to see Lestrade standing there.

“Inspector,” he greeted cordially.

“Sherlock…shared his little secret with me earlier,” Greg said awkwardly. “I thought I would come and see how Y/N is now that…”

Mycroft nodded slightly. He didn’t quite understand the relationship you had with all of Sherlock’s friends, but he was glad you had so many people that cared about you.

“I see, unfortunately she’s resting right-“

“Greg?”

Mycroft turned to see you, wrapped up in your blanket, a slight smile gracing your lips.

Lestrade grinned back at you.

“Hey N/N, are you alright?”

Mycroft stepped back while Greg embraced you, glancing sideways when Sherlock stepped up next to him.

“I’m ok,” came your muffled reply.

No one in the room really believed you, but no one was going to speak up about it either.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Greg as he stepped further into the house and shut the door behind him.

“I’m here to see you, of course,” he smiled down at you, and Mycroft was surprised when you smiled back, albeit a bit wearily.

The smile dropped quickly however, and your eyes seemed almost haunted as you choked out your next words.

“Have you known about…”

Greg shook his head quickly, “No, no I haven’t. I found out just after John.”

Your relief made Mycroft feel uncomfortable, and more than a little guilty. He had thought this might happen, that you might form some kind of bond with the ones that had been truly deceived. He had somewhat expected it.

What he hadn’t expected was the twist in his gut that came now. What was it?

It took him a few moments to realize the true meaning of this unfamiliar feeling, and when the realization hit it was like a backhand across the face.

Jealousy. He was jealous.

But why? Why should he care about the bonds you forged with the ‘Baker Street Crowd’, as he thought of them?

The answer was simple, really, but Mycroft didn’t want to believe it.

As hard as the last two years had been, as uncomfortable as he was in his position as caretaker…

He would miss it.

He would truly miss the way you ran to him for every problem, the way that you looked at him like he was Superman, capable of solving every trouble and pain that shook your whole world.

He didn’t want that to go away. He didn’t want you to form a bond with Lestrade, or with John, heck, even with Sherlock, that would rival the one that you had with him.

He hated feeling this way, thinking this way. It was selfish. It was wrong.

But he couldn’t help it.

You had grown up so much closer to Sherlock, and he hadn’t cared for so long.

But now that he knew what it was like, to be so close to you, to be the big brother that you wanted to comfort you…

He didn’t think he could go back to the way things had been like before.

“How long can you stay?”

Your voice snapped Mycroft out of his reverie, and he had to swallow his annoyance at Lestrade’s response.

“Hey, I’m here for as long as you need me,” he turned to look at Mycroft, “as long as it’s ok with your brother.”

No. It wasn’t.

Mycroft bit back this response when he saw the pleading look on your face when you turned to him. He forced a polite,

“Yes, of course.”

Whatever you needed.

…

‘As long as you need me,’ turned out to be the rest of the afternoon, and after mere minutes of watching you and Lestrade catch up, Mycroft disappeared into his office under the excuse of getting some work done. He hated the way you seemed to be getting alone with Lestrade, especially right after you had just run away from him to be with John.

He was noticing a pattern.

You were beginning to gravitate towards the people who had shared in your pain, the people who had also been lied to. The people whose grief had been real. It was probably good for you.

But that also meant that you were gravitating away from him. The liar. The faker.

The betrayer.

Would you ever look at him the same way again? That look of complete and utter trust, the one he had slowly become dependent on over the last two years. He needed you. He needed you to need him.

He hated feeling this way.

He hated himself for it.

…

You finally told Lestrade that you would be fine if he left, once it was close to dinner time. He said his goodbyes, and finally left to join his wife for dinner, with a promise of, “I’ll see you later.”

Something about Lestrade’s visit seemed to have energized you, which made Mycroft nervous, especially after your tiring excursion with John.

So when you asked Mycroft if you could make dinner tonight, something you’d not done in over two years, he was hesitant to say the least.

“Are you sure you’re not tired? You’ve had quite a day.”

You nodded resolutely, “I’m fine. Please Mycroft?”

You were as stubborn as Sherlock when you made your mind up, and Mycroft figured he would win no brownie points with you by arguing. So he relented.

“Would you like any help?”

You shook your head firmly, “I can do it.”

…

Mycroft didn’t stray far from the kitchen, ready at a moment’s notice for you to call out to him for help.

But you didn’t.

In fact, you seemed to be completely capable, even enjoying yourself, alone in the kitchen.

Mycroft hated it.

He wanted you to get better, he really, really did, but he didn’t want that to mean that you completely pulled away from him. And he felt now like that was what was happening.

Not that he’d ever admit how he felt. Not to anyone. Even himself.

After dinner, you insisted on cleaning up, and Mycroft was truly amazed at your new energy level. He supposed that’s what he deserved for underestimating you.

After dinner and cleanup, you headed towards the stairs leading to your room.

Mycroft stepped forwards, “Are you going to bed? Would you like help?” With your lower energy level, due to your usual lack of sleep and irregular eating habits, he was shocked you were still standing, much less ready to walk up stairs.

You didn’t even meet his eye as you shook your head firmly, “I’m fine. Tell Sherlock I said goodnight. Is he going back to Baker Street?”

Mycroft was taken aback, “I—I’m not sure. Do you want him to?”

You shrugged, still not meeting Mycroft’s eye.

“He can do whatever he wants.”

You walked up the stairs without another word.

…

“I’m worried about her.”

Sherlock frowned at his older brother.

“You’re worried because she doesn’t have separation anxiety?”

Mycroft sighed, “I’m worried because of her complete change in personality. It doesn’t make sense, and it isn’t healthy.”

Sherlock shrugged. “And what she was doing before was healthy? Maybe this is a good thing, maybe it means she’s healing.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Or maybe it means she doesn’t trust us enough to tell us how she really feels..”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen her with you,” Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I’ve never seen anyone trust someone as much as she does you.”

Mycroft hung his head, something that shocked Sherlock.

“That was before she knew how much I’ve lied to her.”

…

Sherlock decided to head back to Baker Street that night, despite Mycroft’s protests.

“What if she wakes up again and needs you?”

“She was fine tonight, Mycroft. You need to let her be fine.”

Though Mycroft would never admit it, that comment had stung. Was he really so desperate for his little sister’s company that he refused to let her be alright?

No, no that wasn’t it. He knew his little sister, had spent the past two years getting to know her better than she knew herself.

He wasn’t accepting this new side of you, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew it couldn’t last. Not yet, anyway.

This kind of improvement would take time, and a lot more work than had been accomplished in the few days that Sherlock had been back.

You still needed your big brother.

And he was going to be there for you.

…

To Mycroft’s surprise, the night passed without incident, and so did the next morning. You let Mycroft cook you pancakes, but you seemed particularly silent that morning, not even asking him if Sherlock was going to be there that day.

Eventually Mycroft decided to leave you to your own devices, and he went to his office to get some work done.

A few hours went by uninterrupted, until Mycroft realized it was nearing lunchtime. He was desperate to keep you on your eating schedule, especially while this energy of yours lasted and you seemed to have no objections to food, so he shut down his work computer and left his office to find you.

He expected to find you on the couch, watching something or perhaps reading.

What he didn’t expect was to find you sitting on the floor next to the stairs, your back against the wall and your knees pulled up against your chest. He rushed to your side, and your head jerked up when you saw him standing next to you.

“Mycroft…” the croak in your voice, along with the tears sliding down your cheeks, struck Mycroft right in the gut. How long had you been sitting there like this, while he was busy not paying attention to you?

“Sweetheart…” Mycroft kneeled on the floor in front of you, tilting your head up so that you’d look at him, “what happened?”

Despite his efforts, you tilted your eyes down to avoid his gaze.

“I-I was just trying to go up to my room…but I guess my crazy day yesterday finally caught up-caught up to me because I just-just fell down and I couldn’t find-find the strength to get back up.”

Mycroft began looking you over worriedly.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

You put your hand against his chest and pushed him to arms length, “Mycroft, no, it’s ok. I’m fine.”

He sighed, “Why didn’t you call for me?”

You shook your head, still desperately avoiding his searching gaze.

“I’m fine.”

Mycroft sighed again, “You’re sitting on the floor because you can’t stand.” He brushed your hair away from your face, “You know it’s ok to need help, right?”

Your lip started quivering, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet Mycroft’s. He forced himself to keep eye contact, despite nearly flinching from the look in your eyes. It wasn’t that broken-glass look he had seen so often, but you looked so…

Sad. But more than that, you looked alone.

You broke eye contact, casting your eyes towards the floor and leaning against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“I can’t need help all the time.”

Mycroft winced.

“You don’t need it all-“

“Yes I do!” You sat up suddenly, looking up at your brother. “You haven’t gone to work in-in two years, Mycroft! And don’t think I don’t notice how tired you get, I know I’ve-I’ve kept you up with my stupid nightmares.” You were crying now, and yelling, and Mycroft was at a loss for what to do. Every time he thought he had you figured out, every time he was sure you couldn’t surprise him anymore with your emotions, you peeled back another layer and he was lost again. He wished he could understand your feelings, he had tried so many times, but it just wasn’t him.

“Please don’t say that.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and even. “I chose this. I want to be here for you.”

You shook your head, “But it can’t always be like this. Sherlock’s here now, I should-“

“Should what?” Mycroft raised his voice, “should magically get better? That isn’t how it works. We all want things to go back to how they were, but these things take time. You have to be patient.” He sighed, “where did this desperation come from anyway?”

“When Greg and I were catching up…he was talking about some of the cases he’s been on recently. It made me realize…that’s what Sherlock wants to be doing. That’s what you want to be doing. Your work. You shouldn’t have to spend all your time looking after me, you-you guys have lives too. I’ve been selfish.” You looked up. “I’m sorry Mycroft. I’m trying to do better.”

Mycroft felt like he’d just swallowed glass. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe, tried to speak, all of it just left him with a scratchy lump in his throat, and nothing would work properly. You stared up at him, blinking slowly, waiting for his response.

“Don’t…” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t every say anything like that again, do you understand?”

You were confused, “I only meant-“

“No!” Mycroft regretted his tone when you flinched in his arms, and he softened. “No. This isn’t your fault. I know you’re trying your hardest, but I would stay home with you for the rest of my life if I thought that I could help you in any way. You are more important to me than anything, especially work. And Sherlock feels the same way, I know he does.”

You pondered this for several seconds, before meekly asking, “Are you angry with me for running away?”

Mycroft sighed, “No. I’m not. I was very worried, but I’m not angry. I know why you left.”

You sniffled, “I’m not sure I know why I left. I was angry, but…I don’t ever want to leave you like that again. Even though you-you lied…you’re by brother, and I trust you.” You smiled weakly at him, and he felt his spirits lift. “I really, really trust you. And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize. But thank you.”

Mycroft slowly got to his feet, lifting you in his arms. “I think you should get some rest. You look exhausted.”

You leaned against his chest as he carried you upstairs, and when he laid you on your bed you reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Mycroft? Will you stay with me?”

Mycroft smiled down at you.

“Always.”

Taglist: @navs-bhat

@isabellavere

@chaoticglitterkitten

@peachycupotea

[pomegranateshrimp]

Andre Lee x Reader headcanons

omgggg I’ve been having such brain rot of him lately 😭🩷 literally love him sm

Some nsfw/mentions of drugs under the cut, proceed at ur own risk

• makes a bunch of random drugs/potions for his own personal use, sells them on the side

• has probably had/try to have had sex with everyone at cognito

• had a warrior cats phase when he was younger

• refuses to wear “real shoes”

• gets high and plays COD with myc

• IMMEDIATELY bought the COD nicki minaj bundle the second it came out, refuses to play any other skin (except maybe snoop dogg)

• definitely the type of person to bully little kids on roblox 😭 (during meetings too)

• him and myc have definitely done it more than once

• lost his virginity during college, the girl told him he had a super big dick and was shocked he was a virgin, he never looked back

• slept with everyone at the school by the time he finished

• definitely tried shifting when it got popular on tiktok

• addicted to his phone

• knows how to roller skate, or just like a rly random sport cuz his parents wanted him to do one but he didn’t like any of them

• BURNT OUT GIFTED KID

• owns a rainbow vape that’s jolly rancher flavored (bubblegum is acceptable)

• heroin is the one drug he won’t take, he gets super panicked when on it and rly paranoid

• him and Gigi are SUPER close 🩷 literally best duo on the show

• has gotten in trouble with everyone at cognito

• if he fr met Ron he would hate him, especially cuz I feel like Ron would be a very anti-drug kinda guy

• he’d definitely be into the use of aphrodisiacs

• alien fetish.

• tentacles (he literally talked about it in an episode so technically canon)

• he loves overstimulation

[cognitosclowns]

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.

JR

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!!!! 

[froggy-frogz]

Hey hey hey :D what's UPPP? I have very important request. So, the 'gang' as Brett likes to call them, x reader. (Inside job x reader) Now, the reader is like, really sleepy. Sleeps all day everyday. I need the reader to be a clingy sleeper. I also low-key want the reader to like, invent a cloud he can sleep on. Like it's a real fucking cloud, but he just sleeps on it.

(he/they pronouns) 🤭

The Gang x GN!Reader

A/N: I did HCs so I hope that's okay!

Brett

He thinks it's really cute and will try to steal it from you. Not because he wants to be cheeky or mess with you, he's genuinely impressed you were able to make something that's like a real cloud.

Can't wrap his mind over the science of it, and when he tries to ask you, you're asleep so-

Will join you to sleep on it, if you make room for him.

He's not one for bragging, but he will tell everyone at work about it, in or outside of the gang. He's just excited you made something like this.

Can't say he would get annoyed that you spend most of your time on it, but he can only make so many excuses to JR/the higher-ups.

Reagan

It's a bit of jealousy or pure impression for Reagan, she is extremely impressed but suprised in herself that she didn't think of it first.

Will join you in your cloud, and for the first time in her life, she sleeps well [/hj]

She pesters you on how you made it, and ngl, even if you don't tell her, she'll probably figure out how to make one.

Gigi

She thinks it's the most amazing thing you've made.

Unlike Brett, she WILL brag about it to anyone who listens.

She's so haughty about it that the gang kinda has to stop her, but, in the end, she's very proud of you.

Isn't the biggest fan of laying in the cloud with you, but will find you in goofy poses to take pictures of you in. She may or may not post about it depending on how much you care.

Myc

Honestly, I don't know how much Myc would like the cloud.

He would probably find it weird.

Cue forward to a couple of weeks later when he gets high as shit and is floating around with you, fast asleep.

The gang would be like "Where the hell are Myc and [Y/n]" and boom, you two are conked out on the cloud.

Andre

Like Myc, he's going to get high as hell on your cloud.

If you three ever go missing, the rest of the gang has a pretty good idea of where you went.

He's obsessed with the cloud ngl.

It might as well be his cloud now too.

Glenn

He's not one for crazy science, so I'm not sure how much he'd enjoy it ngl

[yokiidokii]

How would the gang react to a reader who constantly says sorry ? like for every stupid thing at the end of a sentence due to being Bullied majority of their life . So now I their adulthood it’s just kinda automatic “oop I’m sorry” even when it’s not necessary

My smile is immeasurable- I do this so often you have no idea. I have absolutely been worried about not knowing if I was gonna do the request just right. This is not one of those times. I did have a surprising amount of trouble with it though? Despite it being something I myself do constantly lmao, ah well I hope I did it justice!

Also hi! I was in college so this is so very late and I’m so sorry about that <3 My prof mentally threw me around like a rag doll and I came out with my brain fried.

Warnings: I don't think any? Maybe some general allusions to anxiety just because of the prompt itself? Andre mentions weed but uh- nothing else! Relatively safe<3

Reagan

I feel like she understands, I could see her thinking of it more in a like, a logical sense? Not like she doesn’t understand the more emotional side of it- she’s got her own issues. But in the like “Oh, usually when people do this it means they are scared of what people think and don’t like conflict. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gets it, and I want to be absolutely clear- I cannot see her being one of those people saying “It’s fine.” Because like, for her it doesn’t feel like it ever really is? But she will be the person to help you feel like, it’s okay that you said it but know that you do not have to. You didn’t do anything wrong.

If you want to tell her the reason why you do this, apologizing and explaining she will feel for you. I mean we’ve seen her school experience, we had one friend and a buncha kids who were way older than you and treated her like shit. Also her father, very much her father.

She won't ever press you or act like you aren't trying harder to get better but she'll make sure in her own way that you know it's all gonna be okay one day.

One day you won't have to think about the past and everything will be okay <3

-

Andre

Andre may or may not have told you about his experiences with his family and how they really affected him.

You have probably also- at least once maybe seen him without drugs and how that can make him.

Long story short he is in no position to judge even if he for some reason wanted to.

Would offer you some weed

He means well and will not pressure you if you say no, though he will totally ask “Are you suuuureee?” because he cannot stress enough the wonders of medical marijuana

Whether or not you take it is up to you, but he will absolutely let you chill either in his office if you're at work or at his house- would come to your house to make sure your comfy if you need it<3

He is a loving man with lots of his own experience in this kind of regard and he will help you no matter what!

He is more than the drug guy though please literally let him be known for more than that he deserves it so any tips he's used to help himself out he will give to you.

A very caring man with his own issues and lots of advice and love to give if you'll have it~

-

Brett

Oh honey, this man? This man understands.

Brett will apologize after you do because both of you think that is is somehow both of your faults.

Though he will undoubtedly let you know in every way he possibly can that it is not your fault in any way and that he loves you.

He would absolutely mention therapy- it helps him! It might help you?

He would absolutely be holding your hand anyway and if you do apologize while it happens, he’ll squeeze it in his own and shoot you a quick “No need to be!” before continuing the conversation. He doesn’t wanna spend the whole time acknowledging it just in case putting too much attention on it in the open would embarrass you or make you feel worse.

But he will be there for you, and he will be listing off things that he’s learned to help him when he can’t stop doing it either.

-

Myc

I can see Myc start by just being a little bit sarcastic. Like he isn’t entirely sure why you do it just yet, but he doesn’t want you to be saying it and thinking that you did something wrong.

He gives those like “Oh yeah? You’re sorry?” and you know that if he had actual eyes, he would be giving you a look of ‘You really wanna do this rn?’.

And he will probably continue to do so even after he knows why.

He isn’t going to treat you differently per se, at least- he acts like he isn’t going to…

But you feel the tentacle that was already wormed around your waist squeeze just a little tighter before you end your sentence to remind you that you didn’t do anything, and you don’t need to apologize. 

I mean he gets it, he got bullied. He ended with a different outcome for himself, but he still understands. It sucks, and even if you don’t want to think about it or you don’t want to constantly feel like life is repeating itself over and over again but sometimes it’s just going to feel that way even if it isn’t.

Though Myc will be there to help you understand and work through all the woes of getting to inside your own head.

-

Gigi

She would raise her brow at it at first.

Hit you with that “Honey you didn’t do anything wrong.” and make sure you know that it’s all okay.

Is teaching you how she ignores her haters constantly, if you say anything about it not being on the same level and you start apologizing again, she is going to lovingly slap you in the face with her words (She would not lay a hand on you ever-)

Comparing yourself gets a “tsk tsk” from her and a long list of all the parts about you she thinks are beyond stellar.

Gigi would be very honest -like the most honest maybe- about whether or not you actually have anything to be sorry about. 

If you do, she’ll accept your apology but try to figure out a way to do it in a way that won’t encourage you to do it when you don’t actually have to.

And when you don’t, she places a hand on her hip and gives you a look, eyebrow raised just lightly in a ‘really?’ sorry of fashion.

She’s not questioning it; she knows it happened. But she’s asking if you really wanna do it, you know that she will no doubt spend her time talking your ear off about not doing this again.

She does it with the upmost amount of love I promise- but like,,

Do you dare question her? I wouldn't

-

Glenn

Okay. I don’t want to say Glenn doesn’t get it at first, but out of all of the people in the gang it feels right to say he might take the longest to adjust and learn how to handle it.

But just because he might not get it at first doesn’t mean he’s rude!!

It’s more of a “What? Why are you saying you're sorry? You didn’t do anything?” Kinda confused-

He’s a confused ol man, forgive him.

Though, he would understand the bullying thing like 100%

He’s no stranger to rude comments or being talked to as if he has no feelings, typical bully behavior even if he wouldn’t talk about it or call them bullies, just,,, assholes?

That and the feelings that come from thinking about those comments is something he understands, and something that he can try and a headspace he will gladly try to help you out of.

[faithsxoxo]

REQUESTS -

fandoms i write for :

➥ inside job (reagan ridley, brett hand, andre lee, gigi thompson, myc) ➥ life is strange (max caufield, chloe price, rachel amber, nathan prescott, victoria chase, kate marsh)

what i will write :

➥ fluff, angst, etc ➥ smut

what i wont write :

➥ fetishes (scat, piss, cnc, non con, petplay, etc.) ➥ yandere, tsundere, anything like that ➥ student/teacher ➥ male reader

in your request :

➥ please be specific!! include exactly what you want, not just "can i have ____ x reader pls" ➥ specify reader gender as well, either female or gender-neutral

[sin-sidejob]

It’s about that time of the year again

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

[ben-pincus]

do you still take inside job reqs?

yepyep i just kinda died for a while AGAGAGGAGAGAGAGAGAG

[xmycxx]

tattoo!artist Ellie x reader pt. 2

Part 1 | Sketchbook hc's

im guessing you prolly initiate the second date since ellie initiated the first

like a nervous text about a dinner or something, but instead she takes the lead and just tells you to "be ready by 7, wear something cute :)"

so you pick out your nicest outfit, cute dress, nice buttonup, what have you

you're thinking you're going somewhere super fancy and really nice so you go all out, jewelry and everything

this woman shows up, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, surprised that you're dressed up that much, doesn't say anything

and brings you to a fuckin bowling alley

you're Livid bc you dressed up so much to come to a cheap bowling alley and you're so close to screaming at her in front of everyone there bc everyone's looking at how overdressed you are

but you can't bring yourself to when she already looks this nervous and feels guilty about making it a surprise, so you just ask her why she did that

and she tells you how she didn't know what to do and asked someone for help, and then Joel gave her the idea of a surprise and she just tried her best to impress you

your anger all but melts off when you look at her in her hoodie, nervously scratching her neck, tattoo peaking out, hoping you aren't gonna be mad at her

so you just sigh, smile at her, ask her help for removing some of the jewelry you wore bc the last thing you want is your necklace coming off

and she's so sweet about it, tucks them all away in her pockets for "safekeeping" and pays for everything, helps you into the bowling alley shoes while making a joke how you're cinderella and she's your prince charming

she's weirdly bad at bowling, she has no clue while Joel suggested this as she watches the ball go into the side lanes over and over again

does this stop her from trying to teach you?

no, no it does not

she mansplains each step to you and is your biggest hypeman when you win

eventually she gets sick of losnig so when she's in the bathroom, you sidle over to the counter and pay for the kids fences

she's so happy, she swears up and down that she is gonna marry you just for that

you end up almost getting kicked out, laughing your asses off as she takes you in her beat up car to a 24hr diner, begrudgingly lets you pay for milkshakes and dinner for you both

you steal her fries, she plays footsie under the table about it, she tastes like oreo from her milkshake when you kiss her, you taste like chocolate

drops you home, grinning and still feeling guilty about the fiasco from earlier

you completely erase all her guilt, kissing her everywhere but her lips, teasing her at your front door until she grins, finally kissing her on the lips and promising her a third date

except, maybe you'll plan it this time

she goes home with a grin on her face, your jewelry in her pocket, still there for safekeeping, your perfume on her hoodie

Part 3

A/N: I'm honestly loving this AU, i'd be open to requests if anyone has any