My Actual Pipeline To Being Proship

Bro’s the Type to..

synopsis- little yuji head canons, fluffy :3

navigation station 🚊

bro’s…

the type to tuck your hair behind your ear and smile at you

the type to stare at you with a boyish grin

the type to tell you to say “ahhh” and feed you

the type to cover your eyes during a scary movie

the type to ask if you’re going to finish your food and eat it before you can

the type to see something cute while shopping with nobara and buy it for you

the type to send you messages constantly during the day about the most miscellaneous things

the type to hog the bed in a starfish position

the type to get offended when you don’t call him by his nickname (yuu or ita)

THE TYPE TO TREAT YOU RIGHT GIRLIE‼️‼️

We all need an Itadori in our lives. LMFAO ME WHEN I COME UP WITH A NICKNAME VS NICKNAME MOOD BOARD POST ( ^ω^ )

I keep seeing these on tiktok and wanted to make my own, hope it was enjoyable

snezhnaya toy salesman

p/s: please watch "toy salesman" if you haven't!

Brother / Sister duo both very in denial and guilt ridden about their incestuous feelings for one another, so they both get partners. They both try to be good partners, but are constantly so distracted by how angry they are that their sibling has a partner that they end up distracted.

The brother despises his sister’s boyfriend, thinks he is a lowlife and a loser. Completely undeserving of his sister’s love. His sister hates his girlfriend with just as much vitriol. Shes plotted and considered killing her constantly for the crime of daring to steal her brother from her.

Finally they reach a boiling point, fighting about how they hate each other’s partners, only for it to devolve into passionate kissing and declarations of love.

Let’s just say those “relationships” didn’t last long.

‘i just hope ieiri-san figures out how to change you back soon,,,’ 🐈 (part who knows based on this fic)

WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

Hold me down

Till I stop shaking.

Hold me down

While you slit my throat.

Hold me down

While you slowly break my pride, my trust, my faith and my bones!

Hold me down

While my gates are open.

Hold me down

While you get a taste.

Hold me down

While you share my spoils.

Don't let any parts go to waste!

Feeling lonely one day, you decide to make an account on a hookup app. You scroll through accounts, mildly amused at the pickings, until you stumble across one. The woman's profile doesn't feature her face, but the picture shows a woman wearing a dress — and a necklace — that you recognize immediately. Even the style of photo is familiar. It's not mystique the photographer was going for — she literally doesn't know how to keep her face in frame. It's your mother, wearing a dress she only wears when going on a date, and a necklace you bought her for Christmas.

You think about your mother having a hookup account for days. You think back and forth to yourself, should you message it and see what she says? Should you... try to meet up with her? Wouldn't it be funny? You imagine the look on her face and her flustered voice when she shows up to hook up with someone and it's you. One night, after partying with some friends, and getting cross faded enough to make some bad decisions, you do it. You match with her and send her a quick "Hey~ heard you're looking for a young girl to have fun with."

She answers a few hours later, just as sleep is about to take you. "Hi... you're into older women?" She replies. "Oh yeah. I can't get enough of cougars." You respond. You two have a bit of a friendly back and forth for a while, playfully flirting among some small talk to break the ice. Without giving away too much information, you talk about yourself. Everything she tells you, however, is something you already know.

When the time comes for her to ask for a photo of you, you quickly pull down your shirt and squeeze your tits together, taking a low angle shot with your plump lips the only part of your face shown, parted in an attempt to look sexy despite barely being able to see straight.

"You're so cute. I almost feel bad for what i want to do to you" she says. "When can we meet up?" Nerves are not an issue. Courage is not an issue. Self control is and right now it isn't in the room with you. "Is tonight too late?" There's a pause, with the *is typing* message on the screen. Finally, it reads "Unfortunately, yes. But... can we meet tomorrow? I want you."

You decide to borrow one of your friend's clothes, since you figure she knows your outfits and tastes by now. Well, most of your tastes anyway. If you dress like your friend, she might not catch on until it's too late. You do your makeup differently, going through efforts you normally wouldn't. You tie your hair differently. Capping it off with a face mask, you head to the meeting spot.

She approaches you, double checking it's you from the hookup app. You push your voice lower than normal to obfuscate, easily done since your throat is dry from last night. After the meet up is confirmed, you head to a hotel with her. The moment you two get into the room reserved for the night, she all but tears off your face mask and grabs your face in her hands before making out with you aggressively, sliding her tongue down your throat and trying to pull off your clothes. You go along with it, surprised at how strong she is compared to what you know of her at home.

She pushes you onto the bed and all but tears your pants off of your legs, your panties almost becoming a casualty of her hunger as she gets to work eating you out. It's rough and inelegant, she clearly doesn't have that much experience muff diving. That's okay; you put your hands in her hair and guide her head until her nose is rubbing against your clit, her tongue thrashing eagerly in and out of your dripping wet hole. When she comes up for air she puts two slim, smooth fingers inside, fingerfucking you so well you can't help but moan for her. What she lacks in oral skill she more than makes up for in her dexterity — her fingers reach deeper, more turn-on spots inside you than your own do and your body becomes a quaking less for her.

As you come, you drop your guard and say "Fuck...! Yes, Mommy!" At the top of your lungs, only for her to answer not with the name you gave her in the text conversation, but with your own, actual name. You stare at her in shock as she straddles your thigh, pressing your clits together and scissoring with you. "When did you...?" You moan and throw your head back, barely able to finish your sentence.

"You think I wouldn't recognize my own daughter's tits? The ones I made?" She laughs, a laugh more mean than you're used to but fuck if it doesn't make you almost come again right then and there. "The same tits I've been fucking myself thinking about for years? I've held back for so long around you, and you just offer yourself to me. Of course I'm gonna eat you right up. You asked for it." That pushes you over, and you cum, shuddering and shaking as you do.

The rest of the day is a blur of being used by your mother, hazy recollections of you moaning and mewling for her to make you cum again and again and again. She doesn't let you rest for a moment, and watching her cum only makes you want to do more to please her. To be a good girl and earn her cum and to be able to taste more of the sweet nectar from her pussy. She makes you taste your own, sometimes mixing the two. She makes you call her Mommy like you're a child all over again. It's only when it's time to check out that she reluctantly puts her clothes back on, or at least the minimum to be considered decent.

"We're continuing this when we get home, little girl." She says with a wink, dragging you out of the hotel room.

what I say: “it is what it is”

what I mean: “I have cried about this for hours and have probably self harmed and contemplated suicide over this.

I just...want a boyfriend really bad. I whine as I lay on my big brother's bed watching him play video games. Excuse me? No one wants me! I whine and pout shoving my face into his pillow. How could no one want you? I'm not socially pretty enough... The fuck you mean by that?! He starts smashing buttons on his controller. I mean that I find myself pretty but the world around me doesn't. Guys don't want a big girl to love only fuck.

He groans as he loses his game and turns to look at me. Those little boys because you can't even call them men. Are stupid, your damn gorgeous he chucks his controller to the side. I don't dress like all the other pretty girls do, I sigh and sit up to look at him. And? You don't need to be showing off to get a guy. But it would help! I'm not gonna sit by and let my little sister whore herself out for attention. But- no buts! You love when I wear my skimpy clothes around the house. Yeah! Around the damn house where only I can see...and how do you know I love it?

You stare...a lot. I point at him, like right now. How can I not? You're in my bedroom in a T-shirt and panties. Panties that I can obviously see, I'm just a guy. And I'm just a girl... That really wants a boyfriend! I whine again and throw myself back causing my shirt to rise and show off my pink panties. You don't need a boyfriend, big bro huffs and stands from his chair. Yes I do! I wanna feel loved! I feel my big brother's hands pull my shirt down trying to cover my panties. He doesn't move his hands after, no guy in your damn circle is good enough. What about- no! If you want a guy he needs to be good for you.

I sit up again being face to face with him. Then who? Who will ever be with me? I'm tired of games. God, you don't even notice do you? Big brother says with a huff, notice what? Me. Look at you right now, in my shirt, the prettiest pink panties, in my damn bed, and whining to me. Who do you come to when you want that attention you crave so much? Huh?...you..yeah me! Who puts up with your bratty little girl attitude?...you...me! Who spoils the hell out of you?!...you... Me! And you still say you want a damn boyfriend!? He's agitated and glares at me.

Y-yeah but you're my big brother...things kinda go like that... No they don't! I gasp as he grabs my hair Big brothers don't usually do the things I do for you. I should be telling you to get out of my shirt, my bed, and to put some damn pants on. He pushes himself between my thighs, but instead I'm admiring it all and getting fucking hard! I whimper when I feel his bulge against me. Big bro your being mean, good! Maybe then it will get through your damn head. He suddenly kisses me aggressively, crawling on top of me. He's hungry for this kiss as I feel a hand in my hair, the other groping my body, and his hips grind into mine.

He doesn't let me pull away until we both need the air. T-this is- shh he softly pecks my lips again. Just let big brother handle it all, big brother can be your boyfriend. I have been your damn boyfriend this whole time. I feel him meanly tug in my panties making me whimper. Right? Big bro has been such a good boyfriend to you? Just been a little too stupid to see it. His voice is stern and he tugs again when I take too long to answer. Yes! Big brother has been the best boyfriend. I bring a hand down trying to stop his tugging. That's what I thought, he growls as he sits up pulling my panties down with him.

Too damn naive? Stupid? I don't even know to see that you had a boyfriend this whole damn time. Boyfriend and girlfriends kiss...and do naughty things... I mumble as I feel his fingers play with my cunnie. And Big Brothers took too long to do that? But we've kissed in the past...stupid girl just doesn't remember. What? And we're doing naughty things right now aren't we? He slaps my cunnie a couple times making me jolt. My pretty girlfriend little sister...is going to take her big brother's boyfriend cock, right? Since that's what she so desperately wanted. I look at him my mind is racing thinking of all the things he's done and the things he just said but I still nod my head.

I have to admit I'm a little disappointed you don't remember last time... He leans down and kisses me again. You keep saying last time- the first time you ever got drunk little sis... Looked like a straight up whore sucking on my cock. I didn't fuck you that night though... I want you to remember that. He pushes his sweats down to free his cock and my eyes widen. That night was you? Yeah, you did so well! like a good little girlfriend does. He laughs and runs his cock through my folds making it nice and wet as I whimper.

That's so mean you know I couldn't remember whose cock I had sucked- before I can continue whining I gasp as he pushes into me. You really think your big brother, your boyfriend! Was gonna let you suck someone else's cock? He groans as he keeps bullying his cock into me. My back arches and I grab onto his shoulder, fuck. Always knew you'd be so good for me, he grunts. He pushes my thighs back even more as he starts to thrust in and out of me. My mind is fuzzy as I let him, he gets rough quickly. See what a good boyfriend and big brother I am to you? When I don't respond he lightly slaps my face, don't go dumb on me yet.

He grips my hair again pulling my head back exposing my neck. He leans down and starts to leave a mess of bites and hickeys. What am I doing to you? He growls and I moan fucking me. And who am to you? My big brother! Suddenly he's pushing me into a mating press and I squeal. And? My boyfriend, I try to hit his chest to slow him down. Your what little girl? My big brother boyfriend! Im suddenly cumming hard on his cock. Doesn't matter that I'm squirting as he keeps drilling me. I'm fucking you through this to get it into your dumb little sister head.

I'm a mess under him as he keeps going. Tears are coming to my eyes I'm dumb and in so much bliss. He kisses me again, good little sis. Your big brother boyfriend is going to cum. He moans please, pretty please, I moan. Cum in your little sis girlfriend? You finally learned, he kisses me as he makes sure every inch is inside of me as he cums. We are both panting and tired messes. Relationship status? Taken by my big brother, I say with a giggle before pulling him into another kiss.