mila 🪽

brian mosers wife | mosercest dni

[brianmoserfreezemeplease]

Introduction 🪽

hi, i’m mila. 20 years old. minors dni. i’m relatively new to tumblr, so please excuse my current layouts of posts !!

brian moser defender |yy debra morgan(‘s) lover | currently larping season 1 🎀🔒

Who will I write for?

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫

𝐝𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧

𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 - 𝐨𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧

I’m happy to take requests, i might not get around to everything though as i’m busy with school and my own writing!

💘🔒🪽

[purplecement]

the horrors persisted but they were weirdly hot

[kuradoberijam]

Dykey but in the way Brian Moser is dykey.

[late-night-with-the-devil]

christian camargo in presidio med gif dump :p so cute

[purplecement]

hes genuinely so creepy omfg look at that fucked up little evil smirk, cant belive deb saw this and didn't think danger was afoot

[christianlostfilms]

Christian Camargo In the series Presidio Med 2002 - 2003 1x13 1x14

[brianmoserfreezemeplease]

i adore debra morgan dont get me wrong but the way brian hated her is HILARIOUS like pls the way he was smiling while strangling her

[luvbiney]

Thoughts on brian moser today:

I love him he is the most handsomest strongest most intelligent boy in the world

[purplecement]

he's GEEKED, cheesing and giggling in the background LOOK AT HIM OMFG he rlly hates her😭😭

[straplovinglesbiandegenerate]

i love his stupid little lab coat i wish they let him keep it in the final episodes he looked so cute

[purplecement]

the way I was screaming and hollering and crying when this happened even though the whole end of season one was spoiled for me LIKE WHY WOULD YOU KILL HIM OMFG DEXTER MORGAN MY BIGGEST OPP

[theyluvcamargo]

the speed he pulled those headphones out cracks me up every time 😭

[holydeathspirit]

brian casually keeping dolls in his place is so 🩰🩰

[imonsomanylists]

What is up with this med play shit, not to kinkshame or anything

.....So...Is, uhm, is dental play a thing..?

[brinemoser]

Just this whole scene

[fallnstr]

𑁥ಎ squiring for brian for the first time, aka little surprise ♡ w. he’s a little mean, cause you makes you hold it but who says he isn’t being soft about it??

you feel dazed. stars shooting behind your eye as brian’s chest lays soft and warm behind your back. he’s calm but very interested in how your body is reacting to his. every time he seems to move up the bed to get a better look at your pussy, you can’t help but push closer to him and whine. maybe it’s because his hands are abnormally calloused, and they feel so good running tight circles into your sensitive clit or maybe it’s the fact that he’s peppering small kisses on your shoulder, neck and hairline as his fingers destroy your cunt.

the kisses are soft, almost feather like. your wetness is making a mess of your inner thigh and your hips are meeting his fingers greedily. “inside, please,” you whine, glancing up at him with sweet eyes. you grab his wrist, pulling him down further to where you’re leaking from his abuse, wanting his fingers inside.

he obliges without a word, inserting his fingers smoothly. his pace is slow and languid—teasing—until you start bucking your hips faster. he doesn’t make you chase it too much but of course he has to watch you stupidly whine for a bit then give you what you want. once he does, you began heaving for air, his shirt falling from your chest because of the fact. the lace of your bra reveals its self to him but he doesn’t linger on the—because you start clinging to the bicep. you’re clinging to the same arm that’s practically ruining you, just as your walls are onto his fingers. he wondered how much you’d cling to him once you’ve come.

and, as if on key, you pulse around his finger. “mm, brian. i feel it—can i?” your voice is weary. “wait a little longer,” he demands. places a kiss onto your temple and keeps his eyes locked on how succulent you are around his fingers. you’re making his whole palm disgustingly wet, and the sounds are so sinful that they send a dark thrill through him. “yes,” you silently whine. his fingers stay consistent, never faltering, ensuring he doesn’t throw you off. your body does a good job of letting him know how well he’s working you—if the way you look doesn’t already give it away.

you’re sweet like this, pliant. you let him stretch this moment for as long as he wants, never complaining or resisting, just gasping and clinging to him tighter, silently begging for release. it’s so cute that he lets you come a little soon than he would’ve liked. “go ahead, angel.”

your legs tremble as you come hard around his fingers, nails digging into his arm. and somehow, you and your pussy get even louder than before. much, much louder. first he hears it— the extra sloppy wet sound almost like leaking water but then he sees it— the spouts of liquid flowing coming from between your legs, slipping onto his sheets and fingers.

he looks down at you, into your already lost eyes, with a grin, “aren’t i lucky?”

[fallnstr]

hii!! idk if you’re taking requests / ideas rn but i was wondering if u had any blurbs or anything in mind with brian and sugarcoat! reader? loved her introduction and needed to see more 💗

been gone for a while! had some crazy writers block but i can definitely give you something to build your little requests on!

you’re just as attentive as he is. he’s all quiet knowing—watches from afar and leaves sweet gifts you swear you only mentioned once. maybe not even out loud. you see every twitch, every uneasy shift when someone annoys him. the way his smile tightens when someone smiles too long at you. so, of course, you notice his behavior. a weird cut on his knuckle that he waves off—“cut myself at work,” he says. a night where he’s too still, too quiet, and you can feel the way he’s listening for the news to say something specific. that one time he forgot to hide the look in his eyes—that dead calm—when someone bumped into you too hard at a bar.

most would run, tell the cops. that’s a human feeling. but you? no. you don’t bat an eye when the rug in the hallway in front of your apartment door changes. gone one morning, replaced by a new one the next day. you just run your toes over the edge and say, “didn’t know you had opinions about rugs.” he shrugs, offers a short smile then presses a small kiss to your head to almost make it forget about it. not even when, you come home to a new lock on the door—one you didn’t ask for. one he never brings up. you notice, of course. not because you need a key but because the key for the new one was already hooked in placement on your keychain where the other one was before. you just kiss his cheek and say, “thinks that one’s sturdier.”

you’re simply too loyal to budge. the cat kind. you rub up against danger because it’s yours. you stay because it makes you feel alive. you like being chosen by someone who could break you, but doesn’t— and who might break others for you.

there’s one night—it’s a bad one. you can feel it the moment brian walks through the door. his body’s loose the way it gets when he’s keeping tension out of his voice. his smile is wrong—too soft at the corners, too much breath behind it. he tells you dinner smells good, kisses your cheek, lets you lean into him—but his eyes are elsewhere. you don’t ask. you never do.

you just tuck yourself into him while you eat, keep your voice low, soothing, all casual sweetness and laughter like sugar on your tongue. he doesn’t laugh, not really. just hums here and there.

later, in bed, the lights low, you both lie still—waiting for sleep to take over. “i miss you when you’re not here like this,” you say softly. you don’t look at him when you say it. not yet. you just keep tracing slow, lazy shapes on his chest with your nail. half-hearts, circles.

he’s silent. his glaze shifts from the ceiling fan above to you (the top of your head). trying to see if this is a trap. trying to figure out how much you know. “and what,” he says eventually, low and even, “do you think I’m doing when i’m not here?”

there’s no warmth in the question. no venom either. it’s the sound of a man preparing for loss. you shift to look at him and your eyes are so damn soft, it cracks him—a little.

“nothing i want you to explain,” you say, voice like a lullaby. “whatever it is, brian, I don’t care.” you smile, a little wicked. a little dreamy.

you move closer, mouth grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper: “you’re careful. you’re sweet to me. you love me the way i want to be loved. that’s all that matters.” then, quieter: “I don’t care what you do. just come back to me.” then you kiss his ear, right at the top, almost to seal it.

his hand, slides down your back and ghosts over your hips as you pull back to get a look at him. he’s chasing your eyes, trying to see if there is something malice— anything. but he fails. his breath shortens, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be chosen like this.

“you should care,” he says, calculated.

you shake your head, lips brushing his. “but i don’t. i chose you.” you kiss him softly, cupping his lips with yours.

the next night, he’s a little earlier then usual. you’re just happy to see him, he shrugs his jacket off and meets you at the couch. he flops down and instantly opens his arms to you which you happy move into, putting your legs over his. “not gonna shower?” you take him in as he looks at the tv in front of you. as your eyes meet his neck, you notice it—a faint spatter of something dark at the collar of his shirt. “not yet,” he replies, tugging your legs further up his legs. you tug at the hem of his shirt, “take this off.” he looks at you, slightly confused but sits up and lets you pull it over his head anyway.

“i smell that bad?” he grins. you shake your head and lift the shirt to show him the blood on the collar. without another word, you stand from the couch and walk to laundry room. he mentally scowls at himself. It’s not often he makes mistakes like that. he has to admit—he was distracted, still thinking about your voice from the night before. the way you said I chose you like it was simple. like it meant something permanent.

he hears the doors open of the washing machine open and close then start again before the pitter-patter of your feet come to him. you flop back onto the couch and curl right back up to him. he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just stares at you, his chest quiet, his eyes caught on your profile like you’re something unreal. “how lucky am i?” he questions to himself. “lucky as hell,” you smile, smashing your lips onto his.