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kumoofthemaken · 2 months

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@dragontamer05 asked the prince:

send IMPRESSED for a scene from my muse's past in which they tried to impress someone, successfully or not

Glimpses of the Past

"Brother, brother!!!"

The pitter-patter of small feet soon quietened; Not because the younger prince stopped in his tracks, but rather because he was now flying at his elder at dangerous speeds. Zooming right past palace staff with little regard for the expensive crystal china which proceeded to tumble to the floor with one final, pitiful shriek as it shattered into fragments upon the ornate tiles.

If Prince White Cloud had slowed down enough to witness the carnage, he would have likely cried. All big, teary eyes and trickles of snot, he would have likely become a rain cloud in his own right.

His little Rain Cloud. A common nickname used by the elder, a smirk creeping onto the Fog's features as a pale hand ruffled the storm of white fluff adorning the top of the much shorter youngster.

Alas, the time was scarcely for rain. The little bullet of white practically slammed into his brother's form, earning a muffled "oof" from the taller Misterian.

"Chén loa! What's the matter, you little scoundrel? Missed me this much already?" The Red Fog teased relentlessly, slender digits already buried in his brother's hair. A few giggles escaped the snowy prince, even when his entire frame was being shaken with the energetic ruffles.

Prince White Cloud had always been a timid child, prone to indulging in various degrees of escapism. Perhaps sitting hours upon hours in the royal tutoring halls did not serve him as well as the King and Queen hoped - yes, he was indeed a naturalborn prodigy, absorbing knowledge like a hungry sponge and picking up skills with near unprecedented speed. But here was the catch:

The timid Prince White Cloud was also a ball of pent-up energy. Eyes darting to-and-fro, captivated by every noise and sight, especially when he was supposed to be sitting quiet and doing maths. Needless to say, his half-completed papers oft earned him quite the scolding from his father.

Scorned jade eyes looking down upon his son whose own likewise verdant gaze failed to meet his. Lord Crimson Haze could easily fill the room with his presence, even without the use of Mist. Every true King ruled with love and fear alike, commandeering both with the practiced finesse of a maestro - and the nation was his faithful orchestra.

It was something that the Cloud liked to question. Why did one need fear to keep a people obedient..? "Because each people is made up of sound minds and fools alike. And the sooner the fools get tall ideas, the sooner a nation teeters on the brink."

He never did like how freely his father deemed other Misterians "fools". When his Brother called him an idiot, it was somehow much kinder.

His Brother was kind. Grumpy sometimes, but kind.

He wanted to be like Brother. Dutiful. Focused. Worthy of being called a Prince of Misteria. Perhaps even, one day, worthy of the Sword in Crystal.

Crystals were supposed to focus light, weren't they..? Single-minded. Channeling fire from the sun without the use of magic. He liked to imagine himself in a similar manner. That, if he could only set his mind to one, singular thing like Brother, that his passion could set fire to the sky.

So he took up the blade. Not because he truly loved the weight of a handle in his grip, or the dangerous glimmer of cutting-edge lethality. Not because he honestly believed that the sword was his spirit, nor wanted to bind a part of himself to it forever.

"Brother!!" White Cloud hollered, a red flush of excitement flooding his cheeks. "Let's spar!! Right now!!"

Red Fog allowed one brow to climb higher. "Sure, I should be free after class -"

"No! Not after claa-aass! I don't wanna wait! Please! Now!"

"Brother I -"

"Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl -"

The heir to the throne let out an incredulous sigh. If there was anything the boy was truly weak to, it was his little brother's barrage of pleas. "Fine."

And so, that was what became of Prince Red Fog and Prince White Cloud's lives from then on. Daily spars, wooden blade against wooden blade, cautious and afraid to draw blood. Eventually, the elder's thrill-seeking, crazy streak demanded live weapons. White Cloud obliged gladly, happy to delve deeper into the mind of his beloved Brother. Was there a meaning in the rush of adrenaline, leaving them panting and their hearts racing rabbit-like with each close call as their weapons met? Was this... the true Red Fog, the feverish glint in his eyes as he gave everything, everything that he was -

- to mastering this one thing.

The one, singular thing that made him, truly him. His Brother. His, and no one else's.

They became one another's obsession. But there was still one thing that the Red Fog valued higher than his own kin. It was the art of combat. It was the weight of the handle in his grip, the dangerous glimmer of cutting-edge lethality. And he honestly believed that the sword was his spirit, and one day bound a part of himself to it forever.

....Naturally, if his Brother was obsessed with swords, so was White Cloud.

"Keep going! Have at thee!" The crimson prince swung wildly, a strength behind the slice that sent his younger reeling. A puff of white Mist escaped the shorter boy's lips, dissolving harmlessly into the cool air of the courtyard.

"Hyaaah!"

Clang. Clang! Their blades met, casting sparks. It was more than combat. It was art. Their steps like ancestral dance, passed on throughout the generations. Tracing the lines carved in the dust and taking to the sky, circling one another like raptors, locking talons. Like a pair of mighty Mist Dragons, ensnared in the coils of one another's strength. Nothing in the whole world existed aside from them, their personal accelerando, their shared passion and the bond of understanding forged, steel-strong, between their thrumming hearts.

And it was then that he parried the Madou, a masterful stroke redirecting its fury like one would calm a racing melody into softer notes. The impact deflected, the younger Prince tensed his whole body and delivered a powerful kick that finally threw the crimson swordsman off-balance.

Shiiiing.

The blade of his sword stopped a mere hair's breadth away from his Brother's jugular. Something in his mind screamed that it was wrong. You idiot, you absolute fool! You could have killed him. He could have killed you.

"Brother...!" He called, breathlessly. Jade eyes alight with the burning ardor of victory.

Crimson eyes, so unshakable, were wide. For once, his elder did not speak. Did not chuckle and twirl his own weapon, ever the showoff. Did not reach over to find a head of snowy locks and ruffle the Cloud until it became a rightful Cumulus. Prince Red Fog was silent, and suddenly, the bond of understanding was broken. White Cloud had no idea what could possibly be going on behind the veil of vermilion.

"B....brother..?" The younger Misterian took a step forward, jade orbs overcast with worry. This wasn't... right. It did not feel right. Was victory supposed to taste this bitter? When the rush of adrenaline was so sweet?

...Would his Brother love him more now, when he finally surpassed his singular obsession? Now that he was the one who held his sibling's life in his hands, the thin red line of everything that he stood for.

"Did I do good, Brother?" White Cloud let out a broken giggle, panic rapidly consuming what was once a crystal-clear mind. "Or d-did I do something wrong? A-are you mad at me?"

He shattered something. He shattered something. He shattered something.

Red Fog, seemingly zoned out, snapped back to reality. Dusting himself off, he rose from the dirt, holstering the Madou and abruptly taking off. All that was left as a reminder of his presence - the swift red streak across the sky.

Their secret sparring ground was found out a few days later - and they were both punished severely for their recklessness in playing with their lives. However, as terrifying as his father's righteous wrath was - there was something infinitely more terrifying to the youthful Cloud, a shadow that now haunted his thoughts every passing day.

Brother did not want to spar with him anymore.

Not even with wooden swords.

#you send me this and I give you brothers angst >_>...#[[ask response #[[drabble #codependency tw #dragontamer05 #drabbles are like fic so okay to reblog btw. had a question like that again recently :)#so in case anyone wants to

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hskinhome · 6 months

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could 1 get a nepetas matchmaker spread... w1th <> meul1n...

-ruf1oh

Sure thing! I’ll use this spread as requested and my Homestuck Kickstarter deck!

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Cards 1 and 2 are the upright Hanged Man and reversed Sun cards, respectively. While this isn’t traditionally indicative of a moiraillegiance, it does show that the relationship caused some new revelations in your life. Things were put on hold for a while, and you slowly became a changed person. This change, however, was most likely harmful. It’s possible that Meulin was a bad influence on you, especially if he acted like a homewrecker in both the romantic sense and the literal “your home is in danger” sense. It’s also possible that it’s the other way around, with you affecting Meulin negatively.

———————————–

Cards 3 and 4 are the reversed Knight and Six of Swords, respectively. These cards led me to think that you also had a hint of pitch in your relationship! You had those rivalry aspects, but Meulin’s anxieties and lack of being a proper, healthy moirail may have caused difficulties.

———————————–

Cards 5 and 6 are the reversed Knight of Pentacles and Lovers card, respectively. Meulin struggled to be a proper moirail, possibly trying to figure out how to move forwards in that quadrant. This caused conflict in the relationship, perhaps causing one of you to return to those old homewrecker habits, as mentioned in the first card. Your emotions became charged, and the relationship began to fall apart.

———————————–

Cards 7 and 8 are the reversed Nine of Cups and Page of Swords, respectively. This harkens back to the unhealthy moiraillegiance, as you may have felt dependent on each other, but in reality, it wasn’t working out as it usually should have. It’s possible that your bad habits got you in hot water, and you or Meulin were exposed for not being as good a partner as you should have been.

———————————–

This one is a lot more negative, but as Meu says, if it seems wrong, it probably is!

#homestuck #homestuck kin #tarot #abusive relationship tw #cheating tw #infidelity tw #codependency tw #rufioh nitram kin #meulin leijon kin #mod nepeta

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sclfmastery · 2 years

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“It’s all FUCKED now, isn’t it?”

“Well, then, I’ll bring it all down with me, eh?”

Like a throne burning?

No, a world.

NO, MORE PROFOUND STILL!

A bond between two people.

A bond more ancient than stars, as far as I know.

As far as I know.

You should notice

You should notice that

You should notice that THERE IS NO OTHER NO OTHER FOR ME NO OTHER PERSON NO OTHER PURPOSE

NOTHING!!!!!!!

BUT!!!!!!!

YOU

YOU....!!!!!!!

AND YOU DON’T CARE!!!!!!

I HOPE YOU DIE!!!!!!!!

I HOPE WE BOTH DIE!!!!!!!!!!

#....wow i'm shaking LOL)#this is why i only write the master sparingly these days)_#ic #open #caps tw #shouting tw #suicidal ideation tw #master of a nothing place (Dhawan)#i just know what's gonna happen #she's gonna be all over yaz and vice versa and once again the master will be nobody but the person to despise and defeat #i'm tired why can't dw allow character growth #there's plenty of other recurring villains they can keep around #codependency tw

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 6 months

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Day 9: Slumber Party, with all additional prompts (Watching someone sleep, Possessiveness, and Murder fantasy)

Vampire AU. Dream watches his precious bloodbag sleep after his first feeding, and fights the urge to tear out his throat and drink his delicious ichor all at once. Warnings for stalking, past abuse and torture (not of Tommy, for once), intrusive thoughts, violent thoughts, trauma, body dysmorphia, extreme dehumanisation, possessive behaviour, obsession, codependency, and grief.

ao3 link

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Tommy talked in his sleep.

It wasn’t a surprise, Dream supposed. If anyone wasn’t able to shut up even in their sleep, it’d be Tommy. Loud, outgoing, human Tommy.

He had to admit, he was a little jealous. Humanity was a gift cruelly ripped from him, his curse imparted without consent. The sun forever torn from his grasp, the feeling of fresh air breathed through his lungs, the taste of fresh fruit, the changing of his face in the mirror, all taken by selfish whim.

He still had nightmares of being cattle, passed around from cruel hand to cruel hand, the venom coursing through his skin, laughter as he whimpered in pain. He’d wiped them all out long ago, of course. He’d made sure he was the last bearing his curse left alive, a monster turned protector. But seeing Tommy there, the scabs over his wrist red and raised, he felt more like those people who’d forced him to humiliate himself to spare his siblings than he ever had before.

Not in their torturous cruelty, of course. He was nothing like them, the way they took joy in his humiliation, treating him like worthless cattle at best and a toy to abuse in every way possible at worst. No- he saw Tommy much like the siblings he worked tirelessly to keep from meeting the same fate, forcing a smile across a battered face and asking for more if it would spare them. He would never understand that, never in his life.

What he understood was the hunger.

Until he’d gotten a taste of Tommy’s blood, feeding had always felt like a chore, like forcing ash down his mouth. He got through on as little as possible, the memory of the agony of teeth and venom in his skin burning at the thought. It was necessary to keep his strength up, heal from the sun’s stubborn rays, protect the mortals he’d taken on as his own, but it was an unpleasant and humiliating process for both him and the poor soul who’d generously volunteered.

But he and Tommy had been fighting over something insignificant, something he couldn’t even remember, and in the heat of combat, blood had spilt, staining his sword. The smell alone was distracting enough it was difficult to keep a fighting stance- when, after they’d resolved whatever it was with a laugh, he’d dared to have a taste, he was intoxicated.

The ambrosial taste of Tommy’s ichor, inexplicably utterly addictive, had haunted him ever since. He wanted to tear Tommy to shreds, open up his throat and drain him dry. Bash his head on the floor and sink his fangs into his flesh while he couldn’t fight it, and tear out his flesh to get to the delicious liquid inside. He wanted to eradicate Tommy to gorge on his blood, and he couldn’t stop thinking of killing him and digging into his heart to get to the prize inside.

The difference between him and the others was that he hated it.

Dream didn’t want to hurt Tommy- of course he didn’t, that was ridiculous. He was fun to mess with, but that was different to fucking killing him. He wasn’t some animal, cattle to use and throw aside. He was his friend, and very much an equal to him in every way.

Well, not exactly, but that wasn’t because he was human, was it?

He wasn’t- he wasn’t going to be like them, not now, not ever. He wasn’t going to let anyone treat his Tommy like that, forcing him to debase himself and act like an animal and call himself worthless. Tommy didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that, not even the bastards who took joy in making him smile and laugh while they sunk their fangs into him. But if anyone deserved that the least, it was his bloodbag.

He’d made sure the deal he’d made was fair and just. L’Manberg for Tommy’s blood, anytime he wished. He hadn’t pressured Tommy, hadn’t threatened to kill everyone he loved unlike some people, simply provided a fair trade- his freedom for L’Manberg’s. And, of course, he chose to become Dream’s bloodbag.

Of course, because he knew Tommy. He might have presented himself as a big, manly, rude and inconsiderate lout, but the boy was kinder than anyone he ever met. The way he hid it belied that fact- even the kindest of people who are open expect praise, the fawning servitude of a dog that Dream was sick of being forced into, yet Tommy did good while obscuring it, so none would know. No one who didn’t spend hours in his wall, unblinking as he quietly observed.

To keep him safe. Of course. No other reasons.

Absently, Dream ran gentle hands across Tommy’s curls. They were tangled and matted, stuck out in awkward directions, perfectly imperfect. Dream wished he could be like that- he missed the way his hair stuck in too many directions, the acne that pockmarked his face, the scars that were proof he could survive anything. He felt like a porcelain doll, forced into eerie perfection. He almost wished it was true that a vampire could not see themselves in the mirror- it’d be far kinder than the constant reminder he was a prisoner in a body so wrong.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice was slurred, his words hard to make out even though he was talking his little head off, but that word was clear, and Dream felt a mix of angry possessiveness and pure, innocent joy bubble up in his chest in a confusing array.

Of course, wanting to tear Wilbur limb from limb was an expected feeling. Tommy was his, after all. They’d made a deal on it and everything. Tommy was his bloodbag, not to torment and treat as property, but to care for and cherish dearly as someone valuable. The idea of Tommy having any other family felt like a betrayal of that, and some dark part of him screamed that he needed to hurt Tommy for that, too. That it was a betrayal on Tommy’s part, that he needed to be taught his place, that maybe Dream deserved what happened to him, and it’d be a kind thing to do it to Tommy too.

No, no, no. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to- to force Tommy to walk on all fours, or carve rituals into his back, or make him eat from the dirt, or any other of the fucked up shit he was so kindly treated to before having his humanity stolen from him, a violation of his personhood he’d never inflict upon another. As awful as the abuse was, there was no greater pain than feeling every cell in your body die and slowly twisting into a horrifically wrong form, too perfect and uncanny.

There was a reason Dream was the last. He wouldn’t change that ever. He was firm, at times, but not cruel, and it’d be a cruelty above cruelties to subject another to his very special hell.

He focused on the warmth in his heart, like the sunlight he dearly missed. The tone Tommy said that word in, even if it wasn’t yet the correct name, was so familiar. It was the way his siblings said his name, sweet and soft and loving. He missed them so- they’d grown from being so little and in need of his care into bigger than he’d ever be so quickly, and then they were gone. Sometimes, on the worst days, he regretted sacrificing everything for people who were so fleeting. But now, he could see them in Tommy, his silly jokes, his childish insistence that he wasn’t childish.

It was almost as addictive as his blood.

He ran a finger over Tommy’s wrist, guiltily. He knew how much that hurt, from painful personal experience. The way media portrayed vampire bites was a cruel lie- it was agony, like being eaten alive. Fangs dig into your skin, tearing at any flesh to let the blood flow. Venom entering your bloodstream, like fire in your blood, keeping you still and compliant but not at all dulling the pain. The sickening nausea and exhaustion afterwards.

Predictably, Tommy had woozily made his way home and passed out halfway down the Prime Path after Dream had drank from him, and Dream had had to carry him home and tuck him into bed as he mumbled nonsense, a look of terror on his face. He’d done the same the first few times- except he usually woke up to mocking laughter and bruises. Sometimes, newer ones would take pity. They never lasted long.

Kindness was something punished by a world of cruelty. Even Dream, as good a man he tried to be, was not immune. Was it so bad if he was a little selfish? It’s not like he was cruel to Tommy- the opposite, really, he treated him as kindly as he could. He shouldn’t have felt guilty over that.

After all, why should the cat apologise for having to eat the rat to survive?

Prime, he already was starving, imagining how Tommy’s ichor tasted. It almost reminded Dream of how being alive felt.

It would be fine to take another bite, he reasoned. Tommy was asleep. Tommy wouldn’t feel a thing. He’d be able to watch over him, make sure he was okay. It was fine. It was.

Stroking Tommy’s hair like a parent would a child with one hand, he grabbed Tommy’s wrist with the other and sunk his fangs into the raised circles, red and tempting, and as he feasted, he tried to ignore how Tommy’s eyes opened just a tad, how Tommy whimpered in the quietest voice.

He would think it merely a dream later, Dream told himself. It was kinder. And they made a deal. It was fine. Tommy was fine.

After all, Tommy was his.

#My writing #cprimetober #c!primeboys #dream smp #stalking tw #abuse tw #intrusive thoughts tw #Trauma tw #body dysmorphia tw #dehumanisation tw #possessive behaviour tw #obsession tw #codependency tw

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f-zzysocks · 2 months

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the self destructive urge to get into an abusive relationship

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jamieloveslearning · 2 years

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Had therapy today. Lots of things to realise.

About the anger I feel over being neurodivergent: I need more help than I allow myself to take and sometimes more than i have access to. (Or even more than I'm willing to reach out for.) When I'm talking about my neurodivergence, I'm not "exaggerating" or "trying to be quirky and different". (That's one of those guilt trip lies that my brain tries to come up with and it seeps through my subconscious undetected.) I'm just stating my needs. I have needs. This is not my fault.

About the dreams: my therapist says they're all connected with a common theme, a struggle against identity and allowing myself to be my identity. There are stages of growth and separation that children go through with the relationship with their parents. My mother never allowed me past the toddler stage. Again, this is not my fault.

She said this is what's called "meshing", I beleive. Where ones identity hasn't fully detached from their parents. In my case, I feel responsible for my mother's feelings, and dependent on her for validation and direction. Since I am psychologically meshed with her, if she is dissapointed in me, I am dissapointed in me. There's a little her in my head.

On top of that, I essentially viewed her as "god". I searched for "god" and when there wasn't proof, I looked to leaders that could tell me what "he" was saying. (Cause obviously I just have something missing, something wrong and sinful inherently about me that prevents me from acsessing god. Obviously I had to rely on other, complete, holy people to tell me what to do, right? /s) But it was just the people's own directions of how to live my life. Guess who has been the authority figure around me for 99% of my life? Mom. Of course she's the ingrained "replacement for god".

But here's the thing: I didn't "turn out" to be something sinful in the eyes of my mother. Her prejudices got in the path of my identity.

She isn't the authority of my identity, my life, here. I am.

#online diary #codependency tw #internalised ableism #internalised ablisim tw #religious trauma tw #tw religious trauma #religious guilt tw

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darkdoverpseeker · 7 months

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18 + ; 🕊

literate to adv. literate writer looking for fandomless threads, ocxoc and open to all gendered pairings.

friendly towards dead dove and nsfw themes, throuples, trans, non binary and poc muses.

i'm mostly looking for mxm and mxnb at the moment, but i'm more than happy to double and add in another pairing!

my writing style is multi-para and my ideal reply lenght is about ~30 discord lines per response, though it depends on context and quality matters more than quantity.

my favourite genres are modern settings, urban fantasy/low sci-fi, character-driven, (usually darker) slice of life and dystopia.

here's some of the tropes i'm interested in, in no particular order!

• obsession

• codependency

• trauma

• mental illness

• dysfunctionality

• stalking

• psychological horror

• manipulation

• crime

• (mild) bdsm dynamics

• wholesome stuff

• addiction

• social commentary

• paranormal

• revenge

• blackmail

• whump

• recovery

• hurt/comfort

• redemption

• pillow talk

i'm open to playing (and playing against) both premade and new ocs, eager to share my plot bunnies.

plot-nsfw ratio would be 90:10 or 80:20, with me mostly playing switches but being open to any role.

we can discuss limits in private ♡

like and i'll reach out.

like if interested!

#oc x oc #m x m #1x1 rp #fandomless rp #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #obsession tw #codependency tw #stalking tw #manipulation tw #literate rp #spicy #discord rp #rp #roleplay

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beefcliff · 9 days

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a little comic about codependency and napkins.

#codependency #breakup #depression #isolation #tw codependency #tw breakup #tw depression #tw isolation #dissociation #tw dissociation

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rinhaler · 1 month

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I Guess I Can't State My Feelings Too Soon

Your big brother is jealous and he hates himself for it :(

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ step brother!taiju shiba x f!reader

Genre: porn! (minimal plot) Notes: my first tokyorev fic since i moved blogs wheeee did NOT think it would be taiju but i cannot stop thinking about that man Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, stepcest!, jealousy ♡, possessiveness, co-dependency, virgin!reader, male masturbation ♡, sex toys ♡, porn consumption, panty theft ♡, unhealthy relationship, power dynamics. Words: 3.5k

He often wonders if you realise how ungrateful you come across, sometimes. Not only ungrateful, but disrespectful to boot.

Do you know how hard your big brother works? You’ll say you do, if he were to ask. But he’s sure you have no idea. He shielded you from the horrors of his world as you were thrust upon him out of nowhere. His new, beautiful step-sister who’s eyes would spill tears around raised voices. What choice did he have? You’d never understand or be able to comprehend his way of life or the world he had built for himself and his family.

As your other siblings grew up and drifted away, Taiju kept you dependent on him. He made it so you had to rely on him for everything. He’s putting you through fashion school while subsidizing your very existence. He keeps you fed and clothed all in the comfort of his beautiful penthouse.

You want for nothing.

And he’s never made you feel inadequate for your obvious dependency.

He doesn’t use it as a weapon or hold it against you. He just adores you, wholly. His beautiful little sister, the sweet little darling who needs her big brother to do everything for her. It motivates him, truthfully. When things feel hard, mundane, tedious, he reminds himself who he’s doing it for.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Takashi.” you smile, giddily, waving like a schoolgirl with a crush as you watch him leave.

He waves, too. A wide grin on his face as his eyes scrunch up with joy. It soon fades, though, as he finds himself accidentally walking right into your brother’s chest. Taiju’s expression harrows, though you don’t register it as you focus on the way Takashi smiles at you before excusing himself.

You’re ungrateful, and disrespectful.

His neck and jaw jerk as he tears off his tie. He’s visibly irritated, but you’re too naïve to realise. You greet him, excitedly, though you’re soon left feeling dejected when he opts to ignore you instead.

“Get me some wine from the cellar.” he demands. Without a please or even a glance in your direction, you know something is wrong. You’ve never been one to deny him, however, slinking away to the lounge to retrieve an aged red from the wall-built cellar.

He looks at you when you return, sliding the bottle to him across the marble countertop of the kitchen island separating you. It’s a brief look, that makes your heart throb with hurt. He’s mad at you, but you don’t know why. Soft yellow eyes that only offer gentle glances are showing you a side to your brother you didn’t know existed.

His pupils are almost slitted like a wild animal, eyes you’ve never seen before where your brother is concerned. He sighs, watching the cogs clank in your brain as you try and analyse who this man is before you.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t think he’s capable of staying angry with you.

“Would you like a drink, little sister?” he questions. It stops you from thinking, momentarily.

It’s a first. He’s never let you drink before, let alone his prized cellar wine. You take a seat on the bar stool regardless, nodding excitedly at the prospect of having your first real drink with your favourite brother. He twists off the lid and slides the glass he’d gotten for himself over to you.

Your heart rate quickens as his eyes, those same, predatory eyes, remain fixated on you as he pours. The wine spills like blood, sloshing into your glass until it’s halfway full. And somehow, without even watching what he’s doing, he managed to not spill a drop.

He takes off his blazer and sets it down on the counter. You watch him as he rolls up his sleeves and turns away from you to fetch another glass for himself. His muscles flex and you see his exposed, veiny arms sheen with sweat as he reaches up to grab the nearest glass.

“Pour it for me.” he tells you, setting it down as he turns to face you again. His eyes seem tired, now, but still unfamiliar to you. And so you find yourself nodding, doing exactly what your big brother has asked as your hairline begins to form beads of sweat.

You don’t look at him, not even briefly, as you start to pour. You’re slow and patient, but you feel him staring at you all the while. And it’s menacing. Even with patience and focus, you spill a drop onto the pristine marble.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

You move to find something to wipe it up with, but he stops you before you can even jump down from the stool. He presses his thick thumb into the cherry red liquid, seemingly absorbing it all before he raises it to his lips. You watch keenly as your brother’s tongue juts seductively from his lips before he meticulously licks over the pad of his thumb to taste it.

He clears his throat and leans across countertop.

You feel so small.

“Was that your boyfriend?” he wonders, eyes glued to you as he speaks with a low, gravelly tone. He sips soon after, making mental notes of your responses as you process his words.

“U-Um, no, Taiju,” you shake your head. You feel blistering heat in your face as you think about your classmate, and the intimate thoughts you’ve had about him for weeks now, all while your brother’s attention is entirely fixed on you. “We’re in the same class! He came to drop off some books he thought might help me.”

It’s a confession that is entirely the truth. He isn’t your boyfriend and you’re sure he never will be. Not unless he makes the first move, that is. You’re far too shy to even suggest that your feelings for him a more intense than they should be for simple classmates. Taiju nods, finally looking away from you as he takes another drink.

“Finish up and go to bed.” he commands.

You nod, too nervous to argue. You’ve never seen him like this or even heard him be so curt with you. It won’t bother you to go to bed, not one bit. Hopefully tomorrow he’ll be back to his usual, loving self.

He leaves you alone as he strides towards his study, finally giving you the chance to breathe. You knock back the remainder of your wine and pick up your book bag and school supplies, your pace hastening as you get closer to your room.

“Oi.” Taiju speaks, voice booming through the hallway before you can open the door to your bedroom. He leans against the doorframe to his office, arms folded as his eyes squint at you. “If you want to have people over, clear it with me first.” he demands.

“Oh,” you sigh, and it’s riddled with relief as you realise that is what the problem has been all along. He’s upset you’ve invited a stranger into his home without asking. It’s understandable, and you’re soon smiling again as you look at him. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.” you admit, regretting it almost instantly as it soon feels irrelevant to have said.

“I don’t want boys I don’t know here alone with my little sister.” he tells you.

He approaches, and your anxiety soars once again as you sense a looming threat in the air and the shortening distance between the two of you. He smirks as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, your breath hitching at the contact while he forces you to look into his saffron gaze.

“You are very dear to me,” he confesses, “If anyone were to take advantage of you… well. You’re going to do as I ask next time, aren’t you? We won’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course… I’m so sorry, I should have—”

“You should.” he snarls. “But I forgive you. Go to bed, now.”

You nod, feeling slightly more upbeat after hearing he’s accepted your apology. He stops you from retreating to your room, though. His large, heavy hand encasing your forearm in a tight grip whilst his thumb still caresses your chin. It drifts, though, pulling the fat of your lower lip before he pulls it away. He taps his own lip twice, his expression still unamused as he looks at you.

“A goodnight kiss, princess,” he orders. You nod, it’s not out of the ordinary to kiss him goodnight. You stand on your tip toes before leaning in to peck his lips. They’re soft, and fit against yours beautifully as both of your eyes close during the contact. It’s chaste, to the point, and yet you’ve never felt an intensity during a kiss from him like you have just now.

His eyes are gentle, again. And the smile he offers is earnest. He kisses your cheek before you go, whispering in your ear sensually enough for a chill to traverse down your spine.

“Good girl.”

He opens the door to your room, remaining in place until you go inside. He shuts it after you get inside, leaning his back against the nearest wall as his head thuds against it. The cold metal of his rings cools down his flushed face, though he finds himself breathless.

Not from the act of a simple kiss, it’s the shame. Feelings for you, his sweet little sister, bubbling to the surface despite trying to repress them for so many years. He’s jealous and he’s ashamed of himself for letting things go this far. But you are his.

His sister.

His responsibility.

His property.

“Jesus Christ—”

He catches himself. He kicks away from the wall and rakes his fingers through tousled hair as he decides to distract himself with work in his office.

It’s taken blood and sweat to reach what he’s achieved. From being a sixteen year old menace to society, he’s now a highly respectable businessman with a chain of restaurants under his belt. Among other, less legal sources of income, of course.

It’s all for you.

As he looks through business expenses and documents from his lawyers, all he can think of is you.

It’s all been for you.

It’s always been for you.

He pushes his hair out of his face, noticing how it’s starting to cling to his forehead as he sweats profusely. Thoughts of you plaguing his every thought. His cock begins to throb in his slacks. His eyes drift from the papers scattered across his desk to his computer monitor. And then, slowly, they sink to the locked top drawer of his desk.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He ignores the drawer, instead, deciding to ignore his responsibilities as he types Pornhub in the search engine. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he speaks, exasperated as the homepage is flooded with an assortment of trending step sibling videos.

His heart pounds as he scrolls for a while, but eventually finds the willpower to click away, opting to find something else. He’s a simple man with simple taste. He’s always been into rougher stuff, deciding something along those lines will be best to quickly rub one out and clear his mind so he can focus on what he actually needs to be getting on with.

He clicks on a video, immediately cringing at the corny plot and dialogue as he unbuttons his shirt and rids himself of his belt. He’s panting as he pulls out his cock. If he’s been honest, his cock has been leaking since you fetched his wine so obediently.

He hisses when he realises he’s thinking about you again.

And soon enough he’s willing himself to concentrate on the girl in the video getting fucked within an inch of her life. It’s loud, rough, aggressive. Just how he likes. He tugs desperately, a vein popping in his forehead as he eagerly tries to get off to what he’s seeing.

It’s your fault.

He’s wondering if you’d ever be into fucking like this. He’s sure you’re a virgin, so he’d have to be careful with you at first.

“Fucking stop,” he whines.

He wants to cum to her, the girl in the video. It’s a lie, though. He wants to cum to you. He wants to hear how gorgeous you’d sound if he were the one to defile you for your very first time. Your own step brother, infiltrating your walls and making you cum around his cock.

“Shit,” he keeps trying to concentrate on her. His eyes soon wandering to the locked drawer again. He glances one final time at the video, grunting as he continues to fuck his fist until ultimately giving up.

He searches something new. Something he’s never beat one off to before. Softcore virgin. He grimaces as his finger hovers above the enter key, he knows he won’t be able to finish otherwise, but part of him thinks it’s not too late to turn back. His eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the sheer amount of results that are step-sibling videos. He considers it, again. He really does, but as he continues to scroll, he starts to take an interest in the masturbation videos.

The soft, feminine moans immediately make his cock jump. It’s perfect, it’s so sickeningly perfect because he can pretend it’s you. And if he’s this far gone, he feels no need to deprive himself anymore. He lifts up his keyboard, sliding the locked drawer key from a hidden compartment underneath. His hands are practically shaking as he tries to slide it into the slot. He quickly turns, breathing heavily as he almost rips the drawer from its place as he opens it.

He scoffs as his hand flies to a clear fleshlight, yanking it out and setting it down on his desk before he retrieves what he’s really been avoiding this whole time.

You’ve never had to do laundry, and he doesn’t do it either. He hires staff to come through the week to do tedious things like cleaning the apartment and washing dirty clothes. It’s been about a fortnight since he saw an opportunity laid bare before him.

You were at school, a fact now he’s growing to despise as he imagines you flirting with Takashi Mitsuya during your classes. But he was working from home, too irritated to handle business dealings in person on that particular Thursday. And he happened to see a maid emerge from your room with a laundry basket, a frilly pink thong atop a pile of outfits you’d worn through the week to college.

He wrestled with himself, he did.

But it wasn’t too difficult to distract the maid for long enough to pocket them for himself.

The video continues to play, his cock gushing as he stares down at your panties. He’s too far gone. He’s too aroused and his mind is muddied as he thinks about everything going on in his life and yours. You’re too honest to lie, Mitsuya isn’t your boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean he’ll never be.

He snatches the thong and strokes his cock with it in hand. His eyes roll back, a broken moan leaving his lips as he continues to pleasure himself. He stops abruptly, though, as the woman in the video he’s watching stops teasing her clit. She shows off a dildo, slowly rubbing it through her wet folds until she eventually begins to push it inside of herself.

She’s cute, but she isn’t you.

If he closes his eyes, however, she is. He looks to his fleshlight, deeming this the closest he’ll get to fucking you no matter how desperately he yearns for it. He carefully guides his tip into the plastic pussy, moaning a little louder than intended as he bottoms out.

He bites his lip as he recalls the woman in the store squeezing her thighs together as she helped him pick the toy out. It makes him laugh, briefly, as he recalls how forward she had been. He fucked her in the changing rooms as she insisted she’d need to see what he was packing so that she could help him pick the perfect model.

She sent him away with the biggest size.

Your pussy won’t feel like this, though. He’s certain you won’t be so generous and accommodating. Your tight little virgin cunt will fight against him, but he’ll make it fit.

“Jesus, fuck—” he groans, admitting defeat for the final time as he brings your panties to his face and almost suffocates himself with the material.

His chest swells as he inhales, before it deflates with shuddering breaths as he savours the scent of your used unmentionables. He picks up the pace with his toy in tandem with the woman in the video. His moans are boisterous and uncaring, he’s lost the ability to feel shame as he imagines you bouncing on his cock crying his name and trying to become accustomed to his length.

He needs it more than air.

He needs it more than he needs to fucking breathe.

“Shit, ah—” he grunts, he bites his lip as he continues to pound into the fucktoy in his grip. He grunts stridently as he spurts into the fleshlight. He watches through heavy, lidded eyes at the clear plastic, watching how his balls tighten and deposit his creamy load into the faux pussy. “Fuck, Taiju.” he sighs, but laughs as he slowly begins to stroke himself with the toy. He hisses, feeling sensitive from his release as he milks himself of every last drop he can drain.

He exhales breathlessly once he’s done. His chest rising and falling as he allows his body to melt into his leather chair. He looks around the room, and he looks at himself. The crushing reality of what he’s just done weighs down on him. He’s spent, but finds enough energy to put your panties back in the drawer, locking it promptly.

The fleshlight, on the other hand, he leaves out after making space for it on his desk. He winces as it rolls and his sperm begins to drip out onto the glossy, chestnut tabletop. The comedown from is euphoria is like reaching a new low. He can’t even bear to look at the scene of his filthy indiscretion any longer.

But as he’s about to stand, the door swings open.

“Taiju?” you pout.

He scrambles to hide his exposed lower half under his desk and dump some of the papers littering his desk over the sticky fleshlight. He can’t hide the grimace on his face as the corner of one of his documents begin dampen from his cum.

“O-Oh, sorry, I forgot to knock… I should have knocked.”

“Yes, you should.” He says, gruffly, “What is it?”

You’re quiet, allowing your sock covered foot to glide across the wood flooring as you awkwardly look down at them. It’s not like you’re scared to talk to your brother, but you know he doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s in here. And you don’t want to embarrass him.

“Answer.” his order startles you, his voice almost thunderous as he commands your attention. Your eyes fill with water, but you bat the tears away as you speak.

“I thought I heard you yelling. Or… in pain.” you tell him, voice below a whisper as you confess you’ve been unintentionally listening. “I thought you might have hurt yourself.”

Pink dusts over his face, you can even see it from only the light of the monitor. He looks around, suspiciously, though you don’t notice or comment on it.

“Why were you listening to me? Can’t you sleep?” he wonders. “… Don’t worry. I’m fine.” he assures you.

“I was worried. A-About earlier. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me… I promise I haven’t got a boyfriend and I’ll never bring anyone here without permission again.”

He smirks at that, all of his teeth bared and you still don’t understand what kind of sick depraved man your big brother really is. Maybe you aren’t as ungrateful or disrespectful as he thought; it was wrong of him to even assume that when you’ve been nothing but a doll the whole time he’s known you.

You poor thing.

You’ve been fretting over your brother’s wellbeing and state of mind since he sent you to bed so long ago. He’s been on your mind this whole time. You’re more like your big brother than you even realise, he thinks.

You’re so timid.

So obedient.

So good.

“You must be so tired, princess…” he coos, and you nod dumbly. He tuts, feeling sorry for your innocent nature and naivety, but sweet little you thinks he’s sympathetic to your exhaustion. “Do you want me to help you sleep? Shall I play with your hair like I used to when we were younger?”

“Really?” you ask, eyes lighting up at the proposition.

“Of course,” he nods, grinning wildly. “What are big brothers for?”

#🦋 — luxe writes #taiju smut #taiju x reader #taiju shiba x reader #taiju shiba smut #shiba taiju smut #taiju shiba #shiba taiju #taiju shiba x you #taiju shiba x y/n #tokyorev x fem!reader #tw jealousy #tw possessiveness #tw codependency #tw stepcest

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