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Claude Monet

“I dunno, it feels kinda weird,” you say, leaning your head against your arms as you curl on one end of the couch. Your older brother, on the other end, lets out an exasperated groan. You hope it is an exasperated one, anyway.

“C’mon. I’m not asking much from you, here.”

“…Except for…” your eyes drift down his body to the blanket on his lap. It fails to cover the rhythmic movement of his hand, and you wonder why the two of you ever thought it would.

“…Well. Sitting here and being a… an… inspiration,” you grit through your teeth and tear your eyes away from him entirely.

“Ok, yeah, fair point,” he grunts, and from the corner of your eye, you can see him reach his other hand under the blanket as well, “And you know, I’m— I’m thankful, really…”

He hisses something under his breath, “fuck” most likely, and you try to keep your eyes strictly on whatever 80s horror movie you have playing on the TV. Some guy just got stabbed by an Alice Cooper -looking hobo, probably possessed by Satan, but you still find yourself glancing where you shouldn’t.

You hate that you can’t even blame this idea completely on him. Obviously, it’s him out of the two of you who wants to jerk off to the sight of his sibling. He begged it from you, assured you that you’d be safe, that he wouldn’t touch you — and truthfully, he hasn’t. But it’s you who gave it the go, talked about him letting it out, once and for all, an exorcism of the feelings that plagued him.

“But it would make this quicker, y’know?”

When you turn to look at him, there’s a wry half-smile on his face. You make the mistake of glancing down, at his lap, at his hand moving up and down under the blanket, stroking—

There’s teeth in that smile when you look back up at his face.

“Unless you want this to last longer?” he asks, the teasing grin and wiggling eyebrows unable to hide how hopeful he sounds.

“Wh- No! Christ! Of course not!” you cry out, indignant and your face too hot. You have half a mind to hit him with a pillow. Of course you don’t want this to go on any longer than it has to, what kind of person would?! It’s already bad enough to know that your own brother is looking at you like that, that even now he’s probably wishing he could just press you down on the couch and—

No. None of that.

“Why do you even need me to call you that? I never call you ‘big bro’. No one calls their brother ‘big bro’.”

Is his hand starting to move quicker?

“‘Dunno. Sounds hot,” he says heavily, “C’mon… Just say it. Please?”

He’s leaning forward on the couch, and his eyes are fixed on you so intently that you can’t look away. Some part of you fears that if you do, he’ll just… pounce on you, like some stupid dog that thinks looking away equals submission equals permission.

You do want this to be over with sooner rather than later, don’t you?

“…‘Big bro’,” you mutter. It sounds awkward. Stilted. Reading the lines of a teleprompter.

“Like you mean it.”

Something knots at the bottom of your stomach. Something inside you quivered just now to the deep, growling cadence of his voice.

”Big bro,” you repeat, like you would say his name, and you watch eyes wide as his flutter closed for a second, and a throaty whine leaves his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, keep saying that…”

“You… you want me to just repeat it or… or keep talking or what…? Big bro?” you ask, and try to keep your eyes on his when they open again, and not an inch lower.

“I’d have thought that that would just make it weirder for you, like, just underlining that we are family, how—” your words halt with a realisation, and you curse under your breath, “Fuck. Fuck…”

He blinks, eyes suddenly just a bit darker and more intense as he stares at your shocked face.

“You like that?” you ask, your voice fragile, a question you don’t want an answer to but you have it before the words even leave your mouth.

“…Can’t say I mind it.”

The understatement of the century.

“You like being reminded that we are siblings?” the words feel sticky on your tongue, but they rise unbidden before you can stop them, “I thought you’d have wished that we weren’t, so it’d actually like… like theoretically be possible for us to— but you actually like it, don’t you? You like that you’re not— that I’m not just some… some random pretty girl but your sister, big bro?”

You don’t understand where these words are coming from. Judging by his wide eyes, he doesn’t either. A grin, giddy and apologetic in equal measure, spreads on his face as his hand starts to move faster under the blanket, and you begin to fear it falling, having to see what you are causing, him with his cock out and hard for you.

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop…!”

You fear what that sight would do to you. It’s already bad enough that you can’t tear your eyes off of your big brother, how that familiar face twists into an expression you have never seen before, and shouldn’t have ever seen. His eyes almost flutter closed, but not quite, their dark gaze burning and never leaving you. His mouth hangs open, not quite an ‘o’ shape and more like the open-mouthed grin of a canine, piercings and teeth glinting sharp in the cold light of the TV.

“Jesus— Fuck, this is really what turns you on? Making your little sister watch as her big brother jerks off to her?” you hear yourself whimpering, your voice sounding breathier and much less disgusted than it should. You hate that you find yourself wondering what marks that wolfish mouth would leave, and you hate the longing, warm ripple between your thighs.

He’s cursing under his breath, in between the animalistic groans and whines. Strings of “fuck, fuck, fuck, baby sis” interspersed with your name. His hips are bucking, you can even see his leg kicking under the blanket. And when he leans back, his spine arching against the back of the couch more beautifully than you’d have ever imagined from him, you can barely breathe.

“Is your baby sis making you cum, big bro?”

You have your answer in his eyes, wide before they roll back in his skull. In his hips that stutter up, in the wet, growing stain on the blanket. In the tongue that lolls out from between his sharp teeth, a red carpet for all the throaty, helpless sounds of a man cumming his brains out.

He slumps against the couch, boneless and exhausted, a stupid, drunken smile on his lips. You just made your own big brother cum his brains out.

And when he turns to look at you, bliss written all over his face, you know it won’t be the last time.

we're all born from adam and eve so technically the entire human history is just the greatest and longest lasting incest orgy ever

Sexy.

itadori "you're not heavy at all" yuuji

now it’s no secret that this man is incredibly strong. even though his baggy clothes do well to mask his physique, it’s still apparent that he’s fit and toned. and, miraculously,  when the hoodie comes off you’re stuck gaping at the sinews in his biceps. just layers of muscle that’s typically hidden underneath the thickness of his clothes and it’s mind whirring. dizzying. he’s lean– boasting a body fat percentage that’s in the single digits. even without cursed energy, he’s extremely athletic and rivals his most formidable opponents. it’s literally revealed in the first episodes that he can throw a lead ball with enough force to bend a soccer goal post. then he further proves the point by tossing a car over his shoulder in the latest screening. he’s gifted with superhuman strength. so imagine his disbelief when he hears you sheepishly mutter, “I’m too heavy,” when the shoes you’re wearing are uncomfortable and– like the gentleman he is– offers to support you the rest of the way. he genuinely thinks you’re joking at first. playing a prank (a rather unfortunate one) just to make him crack a smile at the exaggeration and easily retort. his brows furrow as he frowns. “heavy? you’re kidding, right?” he huffs, incredulity written on his sharp features and a sound that borders a snort leaves his lips, "you're not heavy at all." but when he glances over at you, awkwardly shifting on your feet, he realizes that you’re serious. and immediately his heart drops. like someone’s ripped it out of his chest and thrown it onto the pavement. yuuji racks his mind for the person that could’ve plagued your self-esteem: a friend? a past lover? what fool would open their mouth and have the audacity to state that? he’ll ruminate about it later– fix what he can now. and gosh, yuuji is perfect at smoothing bandaids over your insecurities. “okay,” he drags a heavy hand down his face and mumbles, “okay. since you wanna listen to the crap that other people say.” before you can react, the blushy haired male has one arm underneath your legs and the other supporting your back. he sweeps you off your feet. literally. it’s a single, fluid motion that shocks you to the point where you’re barely registering his next half-hearted scold, “which isn’t true, by the way!” you’re conscious of the way your legs are dangling in the air and your arms are hurriedly thrown around yuuji. “yuu!” you yelp but he’s laughing at the breathy pitch of your voice. and he’s already striding past crowds of people with you in his arms. he doesn’t break a sweat or even start to breathe heavily because, let’s face it, yuuji’s a strong guy. this is nothing to him; it’s barely a warmup. and it would’ve been swoon-worthy if it wasn’t for the incessant chastising within you. “I’m too heavy for you to carry,” you repeat but he pointedly stares straight ahead. lets his fingers press against your soft skin and is grounded with the weight of you in his arms. and it’s not like he’s brushing off your insecurities. no, yuuji’s listening to them with unconditional compassion. he presses you closer to him so you’re enveloped in his warmth and immediately you recognize the steady beating of his heart. and the next time he speaks, his voice has softened considerably, “why’re talking 'bout my beautiful girl like that?” and while you’re gently cradled in yuuji’s arms, you realize he means you. 

saying “but im just a little girl!!!” when big sis touches me, she said “that makes it even better” and i wowowowowowumwow

Windmills at Haaldersbroek, Zaandam by Claude Monet (1840 - 1926)

One order of Hypersexual youngest! 🍨

It all starts because Little Sister's libido is way too high. At first, it was controllable for her but then it got worse. Her hands weren't enough, she didn't dare to buy toys. Eventually though Mom finds out, her poor baby! Buys her toys and has a sit-down. Shows her exactly how to use the toys, making herself and her baby cum multiple times.

Until those toys aren't enough either she gets tired but her need is still there. To the point, she's in tears so needy. Everyone in the family feels so bad for the little one. Until Big Brother offers himself. Lil Sis is shy at first not daring to ask, multiple times Big Bro has found her in tears needy. Fucks her right on the spot, reassuring her that it's okay.

The first time that happened he fucked her right in the hall. They made a mess, her cum all over the floor. Both panting, sweaty and tired but at least little sis was satisfied. Plus Big Bro had fun, Cumming all over her.

Until she finally gets the hang of it. Pulling her Big Bros cock out whenever she wants. At the dinner table, while he plays video games, the moment he gets home from work, and while he’s sleeping. Mom and Dad get used to the sight of them fucking all over the house.

Heck! Sometimes they even rub her little cunnie for her if they feel like Big Bro is getting tired. She had over stimulated him so many times just asking for round after round, either Dad or Mom has had to step in a few times.

Eventually, the whole family becomes free use for the youngest. All are willing to satisfy her needs whenever.

Dad would pull her off her Big Brother-sensitive cock. And sit her on his thigh, she’d be a whiny mess grinding on it. As Dad chuckles telling her to calm down as he unzips his pants getting ready to fuck her.

Mom would be able to tell when Big Bro is getting tired. Would be over in seconds sucking on her babies clit to work her up and get her tired quicker. Would finger her Big Brothers cum back into her pulling another orgasm.

Cute collage I made

Creampie o’ clock