#caretaker!reader

[goldenempyrean]

Professor Romanoff Pt2

Hey :) This took far longer then it should’ve done, very sorry about that. I hope everybody likes this part. There was going to be a pt3 but i ended up combining them. I have some requests still backlogged so I’m gonna get those done soon as well

•CW• THERES A SCENE OF VOMITING IN HERE, ITS NOT TOO DETAILED DW BUT JUST BE AWARE THAT ITS THERE (Im gonna mark the paragraph with a ‘⋐’ symbol so feel free just to skip over it!), theres also more swearing in this then my usual mumbo jumbo, if I need to add anything else lmk ;) Note: I havent edited this well, i’ll fix it later :)

Summary: Nat’s pushing herself way too far and when you’re there to hold her close. The sparks of your feelings burst into flames. Wordcount: 3761

Read Pt1 Here

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Natasha couldn’t help but sigh as she stood woozily over the sink in the faculty bathroom, as that one moment replayed in her mind. That one moment as you walked away. The way your hair swished carefully at your shoulders, the way your body curved as you took your perfect strides towards the exit leaving her in absolute awe. Everything about you was perfect… Shit.

She hadn’t even realised just how hard she had fell for you. Now if she’d have known the effect you would have on her, Natasha never would’ve allowed you to get this close. She wanted exactly what she would never be able to have. I’m such an idiot…

Natasha leant down towards the sink as she splashed the cool water against her burning face as she sniffled. Sighing again as she looked over her pasty complexion in the mirror infront of her. Her forehead was damp with feverish sweat as she took slow breaths, trying to control her racing thoughts.

Just another few hours. Thats all it was. All she had to do was get a faculty meeting over and done with. Then she’d be able to go home. Home. Natasha never thought herself as a person to miss their home but as she stood weakly over the sink, she couldn’t help but long to be back in the safety and comfort of her room. Wrapped in the safety and comfort of your arms…

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By the time Natasha had gotten home it was almost 11pm. The meeting ended up running over by a mile. When she finally stumbled into her apartment, Natasha was burning up with her fever. Her apartment seemed to spin around her as she staggered towards her room. Stepping into her empty room, Natasha’s heart sank seeing her bed empty, just as it always was. She didn’t know why but she had half expected you to be sat there, just waiting for her to arrive back home. Idiot. How could she miss you when you weren’t even hers? She didn’t have long go dwell on the matter however. Moments later her tummy gave an irritated growl, a wave of nausea rushed over her as she struggled to fight back her gag as the contents of her stomach churned.

⋐ Fuck, fuck, fuck! Natasha bolted into the small bathroom which connected to her room. She didn’t have time to plaster her hair back before she began to heave into the bowl of the toilet, gagging as the remains of her lunch made their way up her throat. The moment seemed to last forever, just when she’d thought she was finished another wave came upon her. By the time she had finally finished Nat was exhausted. She slumped against the side of her shower, sliding herself onto the floor, the cool tiles felt amazing against her burning skin so she just led there, her face pressed to the floor. Now Nat knew it was gross, but at this point she just didn’t care anymore. She’d been dealing with feeling like utter crap all day, there was no point in trying to act prideful now. Deep down Nat she knew that she should probably get up, push herself up from the floor and get herself cleaned up and crawl into the comfort of her bed, but she just couldn’t. Her muscles felt weak and fatigued, slowly as she resisted the urge to move the room gradually grew darker around her. Maybe just another 5 minutes wouldn’t hurt…

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Nat awoke that morning to…silence? Her apartment was completely silent. Natasha hadn’t even realised that she was still laying on the cold floor of her bathroom until she pushed herself upright. How she’d even managed to fall asleep there was beyond her, the floor was far from comfy despite the fact it felt great against her skin. Nat slowly stood up, gripping the sink for support as she steadier herself. Looking up and at the mirror Nat grimaced as she took in her sickly appearance.

God she looked like crap. Hell, she felt like it too. She looked out and into her room, gazing at her still bed, longing to curl herself beneath the sheets. No, she had to go into work today, she had things to do, students to teach. She needed to see you again.

Thinking of work, she didn’t even know what the time was. Natasha quickly turned to the sink and cleaned herself up. She carefully made her way into her room only to near jump out of her skin as she saw the time on her small alarm clock.

10:20AM?!

“SHIT!” She hissed aloud, only it ignited the burn at the back of her throat causing her to break into a fit of coughing and splutters. Scrambling over to towards her drawers she was pulling out the first things which she grabbed. Luckily enough the outfit seemed to match and Natasha hastily pulled it on, throwing her sweat-drenched clothes from the previous night onto the floor beneath her. Within 10 minutes Natasha had managed to get herself somewhat ready. She gave herself a final look over in her hallway mirror, cringing internally at the greasy hair which hung sloppily by her shoulders. There wasn’t time to deal with this now.

She was so focused on getting out on time, she almost forgot to lock her apartment door as she raced out and towards the elevator. Once in the lobby she didn’t have the time nor strength to give her usual chippy greeting to the kind receptionist at the desk, instead she hurried past almost walking into the automatic door itself when it didn’t open instantaneously.

Nat quickly located her car and hopped it, silently cursing at the time as it popped on the car’s small electronic screen. 10:35. Her lecture had started 15 minutes ago… Nat mumbled a string of profanities as she sped out of the parking lot. Speeding off towards the direction of the campus.

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“Seriously again?” You quietly said under your breath, tapping your foot impatiently as the time ticked by. The feeling seemed to be mutual with the rest of your classmates. The same uneasy conversations began again, this time people seemed to be more annoyed rather then confused. There was a slight motion in the back of your head however that you couldn’t quite shake, was this your fault? You couldn’t help but wonder if your interaction yesterday had somehow deterred her to the point where she didn’t even want to come into her own lecture.

There was a slight guilt that washed over your thoughts as you tapped your pencil against the side of your open notebook. There was a part of you hoping that Nat wouldn’t show, hoping that you wouldn’t have to face looking her in the eyes. No. You had to see her, you needed too see her. Your slight feeling of guilt soon blossomed into a overwhelming concern as Natasha had still not shown. Two days in a row, something really wasn’t right. The supposed lesson crept by as time passed with no sign of Nat showing. There was only 20 minutes left now, was she really not going to show up?

A rapid flush of cold air swooped into the room as the main door to the hall swung open. An exhausted-looking Nat slowly dragged herself to the centre of the hall and slumped down at the chair behind her desk.

“Natasha?” You whispered quietly, purely out of shock and concern. For lack of words, she looked terrible. Not only did it look like she had barely slept, her forehead looked damp with beads of sweat. It was a mystery how she had even managed to walk around the classroom nevermind drive the whole way here in that condition, the reason for her lateness suddenly making a whole lot of sense now. “Just a cold” She had said… Lair.

“Get out your books please.” Nat’s voice came out in raspy string of words, “Just revise… Or something like that… Hh’tushhoo!”

“Professor?” Somebody spoke out, breaking the awkward silence which had fallen on the room.

Natasha barely looked up from where her head rested in her hands, she responded to the student with a congested mumbled of incoherent words she said before looking up only to wince as the light shone into her eyes. The student stayed silent for a moment resulting in an annoyed snap from Nat, “Well?”

The hissed tone of her voice irritated her raw throat, causing her to muffle a series of crackly painful sounding coughs into her elbow.

“N-Nevermind.” The student stuttered, clearly changing their mind about asking questions upon seeing how much the professor was out of it.

Now Nat usually had a strict no-talking policy during her lessons but she didn’t even seem to care anymore as the uneased students began talking amongst themselves. The loud bell rang in the hallway and people hurriedly packed away, many not daring to look at their professor as they rushed from the hall.

Collecting the last of your things, you threw your small backpack over your shoulder before slowly making your way to Nat’s desk, where she was sitting with her hand resting on her arms facing the table.

“You can sit down.” Nat looked up with a tired croak, quickly adding, “Only if you want too.”

You sighed, trying to mask your growing concern, “Of course I want too.” You kept your tone soft as you sat down, not wanting to aggravate the obvious headache she’d been suffering through, “Nat. Did I… Can we talk?” You stumbled over your words, struggling to find the right ones.

She looked up at you, finally bringing her hand from her hands for the first time since she’d entered the room, “I wanted to talk too.” She began but cut herself off, holding up her finger to pause the convosation, “Hh’heptsshoo! Hi’tshhhoo!” Natasha’s hair fell messily infront of her eyes and you had to resist the demanding urge to fix it for her, “Sorry…” Her hoarse voiced trailed off as she sniffled thickly, scrunching her nose as the relentless itch persisted.

“Bless you.” You cooed, allowing a undertone of comfort to seep into your words. You longed to hold her, to assure her she’d be fine. Your heart dropped at the thought of her spending the night alone in her condition, “You really shouldn’t be up and about with a bug like that.” You chided her lightly, keeping your voice soft.

“Im fine darling.” Your heart fluttered as you heard sound of her hoarse voice whispering the petname, “Its just some sniffles dear.” She cleared her throat as her words scratched against her aching red throat.

“We both know that not exactly true- bless you, bless you.” You blessed her kindly again as Natasha failed to stifle another set of sickly sounding sneezes, “You sound terrible, why did you come in today?” You let your hands rest of the table infront of you and to your surprise Natasha outstretched hers and cupped them within her own. Is this really happening?

“You worry too much.” Nat tried to assure you but her efforts were shallow, she cleared her throat again before asking, “Can we talk about… us?”

You shifted in your seat at the verbalisation of your complicated relationship. There was nothing more then you wanted than to be with Natasha. She was perfect. Now with Natasha mentioning the feeling between the pair of you, could this be real? Could this really happen?

“I was wanting to talk about that too.” You admitted, gazing longingly into her glassy green eyes, for a moment you swore you could see something in them, “What exactly are-

“Hhi’tshh! Hh..h’ischiew! Hhup’sssh!”

Nat’s head ducked down into her elbow as she failed to control her sniffling nose, she tried to apologise but broke off into of rather unpleasant coughing. Before you knew what you were doing you had already rushed around to her side of the desk and was running your hand down her back in soft circles as she came down from her fit.

Once she’d finally regained her breath Natasha leant back against you, her body exhausted seemed to move without thought, sinking into your warmth as her feverish body was wracked with chills. The feeling of concern only grew and Nat began to mumbled something against you. An idea slipped into your mind so you hesitantly hovered your hand above her forehead, silently asking for permission. Receiving a small nod from Nat you laid your hand upon her forehead, frowning as the heat radiating from her feverish head met your skin.

“Mmmh, you feel amazing.” Nat muttered, her shaky hand reached up and she rubbed her thumb against your cheek.

Oh Jesus. A burning redness embraced your cheeks, and the weight of your feelings truly sunk in. So… This is what love really felt like.

Your feelings seemed to distract you and had you had failed to notice Natasha shift from her position as she begun to stand. You stepped back, allowing her room when her knees suddenly gave way, sending her stumbling backwards, back into your hold.

“Woah woah. Easy there sweetie.” The petname slipped from your mouth like silk as you steadied her on her feet, “We should get you home. You’re in absolutely no condition to be here right now.” The concern and worry you were feeling clouded your mind, you had almost completely forgotten on why you had came over to speak in the first place. Whatever, that could wait. What mattered now was Natasha.

By the time your mind had registered what you were doing, you were already in the process of gathering Natasha’s things, packing them into her bag before pulling it over your back, insisting that you carry it for her. “Cmon. I promise I’m gonna get you home Natty.”

You were certain you saw the hint of a smile of her face as you called her that. You couldn’t be 100% sure as her face switched before she sneezed twice, sniffling afterwards but you swore that you’d seen it.

“You okay to walk?” You lowered your voice, almost as if the question was deeply personal. You let Nat think for a moment and when it became clear that she was too out of it to make a decision you took matters into your own hands, whispering sweet nothings as you helped her out of the hall and down the corridors towards to the entrance of the campus, not caring who saw. You instructed her to take a seat on one of the small benches, pulling out your phone to order a taxi. No way were you letting her drive in her condition.

A gust of icy wind swept through sending chills down Nat’s spine. You instinctively wrapped your arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer into your warmth. Natasha sank into your warmth as the pair of you waited for the taxi to arrive. You elected to remain silent, the only sound being that of Nat’s persistent sniffles.

It wasn’t too long before a car pulled into view, rolling down its window and calling your name. You jumped up, making sure to be ready to support Nat. You were glad you did when she her foot got caught, almost sending her flying forwards as she tripped. “You look drunk.” You joked lightly, trying to spare her the embarrassment.

“‘m dizzy,” She offered a semi coherent explanation as she made her way to the car, sinking into your support arms which graciously supported her body. Natasha ducked into the car, you weren’t sure wether to climb beside her but Nat spoke up softly, “Don’t feel pressured to come. You’ve already done more then enough.” Her voice was frail as she spoke, assuring you she didn’t need you to come any further but her eyes screamed another story, deep down she longed for you. Her fevered mind was racing with thoughts that she just couldn’t voice no matter how much she wanted too. You’d made her a promise and you wasn’t going to break it.

“When I said I’m taking you home, I meant it.” You climbed into the opposite side, pleasantly surprised when Nat leant against you mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear, “Now, where am I taking you?”

It took her a moment to think, before she croaked out the address of her apartment. The car began to move, the jolty road doing little ease her discomfort. You heard her moan as the car dipped inti a pothole causing her to bang her head into the side of the window, “You wanna lean this way?” You offered, shifting you shoulder so she’d be more comfortable.

Nat accepted this offering and she rested her body against you. She’d been doing this a lot today and each time it never failed to cause a storm of butterflies in your stomach. She was Natasha Romanoff. THE Natasha Romanoff. The infamous Black Widow. She was the ultimate soy, regarded worldwide for her skill and here she was laying against you, it felt like nothing else mattered more in the world. Yet in the back of your mind, there was a small dreaded thought that you just couldn’t face. Nat had a fever right? What if shes not thinking clearly, what if when shes finally back to feeling her usual self this relationship ends here. Had you been looking too deep into things? What if to her, you were just a friend… What if just another student to her?

You had to be sure. Eventually the car pulled up too a large fancy-looking apartment complex. Huh this must be where she lives when shes not at the compound. You got out of the car to open the door for the exhausted woman who was having trouble even pulling herself from the comfy leather seat of the taxi.

“Lets go you inside.” You encouraged her lightly, thanking the driver of the taxi as you closed the door.

“You’re amazing.” Nat muttered against you as you crossed the road to the entrance of the building.

Somebody from inside seemed to have saw you and came rushing out to the doors. Nat recognised the faint figure of the kind receptionist from earlier that morning. She seemed panicked at Nat’s state of health, insisting that she take her inside.

“Thank you, but I’ve got this.” You fake smiled and tried to assure the woman that you were both perfectly fine and didn’t need her help. She seemed almost offended by this, pulling Nat slightly inside.

Nat didn’t even seem to realise what was happening, her mind was far too clouded. All she did know that she was being slowly pulled away from you. She could make out your shocked face, why was this woman pulling her away. Why was she leaving you? …No!

Even in her fevered state Natasha easily broke free of the woman’s grasp, swinging herself around to knock the back of the woman’s knees, sending swiftly her to the ground, just hard enough to not cause her any harm. You heard the annoyed scoff of the receptionist who had quickly shuffles back away to the safety of her desk, as Natasha swayed woozily, the whole ordeal seeming to zap any of her remaining energy.

“Natty!” You called out, running up to her, wrapping your arms around her. You couldn’t stop the words spilling from your mouth as you held her close, “Natasha. I cant stay silent anymore. Nat I think- No. I know, I lov-“

Natasha was trying her best to listen, trying to fight the fog in her mind as you talked. Just as you began to say your final statement her nose began to twitch, “Hh’tshoo!”

“…you.” You admitted, almost shaking as much as she was as you poured out your feelings.

Nat was in shock. Had she heard you correctly? No. No. No. This was just her sadistic mind trying to trick her. There was no way she’d be tricked again. No… ‘I love you?” No! You must’ve said “bless you” and she’d misheard you… unless?

Her mind couldn’t comprehend what you’d said, she let out a small, “Oh.” Unsure of what to say in response.

Oh?! What was that supposed to mean?!

There silence was deafening as you both stared at each other, both of you unsure of what to say. Nat’s teeth began to chatter slightly despite her raging fever. It was then you decided to move, you cupped her burning face within your soft palm before leaning in and softly kissing her cheek.

Nat smiled. She felt dizzy, though this time for a different reason, an array of butterflies fluttered around as your gentle lips kissed her. She almost lost herself in the moment entirely. “Y/N.” She moaned softly as you pulled away, leaving your faces blushed a scarlet red.

“Can we really do this?” You whispered, as Natasha reached with a single hand to hold your own.

“We can make it work.” Nat responded through her smile. She didn’t hesitate for a moment before taking her other hand and placing it on the back of her hair, gently holding you as she pressed her lips against yours.

Fireworks. That was the only work to describe the emotions you felt in that moment. It seemed to never end but Nat had to pull away to muffle a series of coughs.

“You should probably head up to bed.” You spoke quietly, still concerned with her current state of health, “Go and sleep this off. You shouldn’t come in until you actually feel better.”

“Im fine sweetie.” There it was again, hearing the familiar petname made your heart almost skip a beat, “It sounds worst then it fee- Hh.Hnngxt! H...Hhep’tshoo!”

“Bless you.” You cooed and stepped inside to follow Natasha, “Well you sound lke you feel terrible to me so what we’re going to do is; get you inside, run you a cool shower so we can get that fever of yours down and then we’re going your to get more much earned rest. Im going to look after you Nat. How does that sound?”

“…That sounds perfect darling.”

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taglist: @karmasgxrl @midnight-lestrange @natashaswife4125

#sickfic #snzfic #marvel sickfic #whump #marvel snzfic #fluffy #mcu #snzfuck #natasha romanoff #sick!natasha x reader #femreader x natasha #natasha romanoff sickfic #sick natasha romanoff #reader x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff snzfic #snz #snzblr #natasha romanoff whump #caretaker!reader #caretaker!reader x natasha romanoff #fever #goldenempyrean

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

[ashersanity]

— “IT’S ALL IN THE FAMILY.”

— summary. because you — you stupid little fuck, should have known better than to assume the worst out of this sick family you’ve been unwillingly forced into from your parents unfaithful divorce. well, guess what? you were fucking right, and now — you only have yourself to blame, baby brother.

— content warning! incest, step-cest, dub-con at best, non-con at worst, brief mentions of bullying and violence, alcohol intoxication, manipulation, big brother whitney being a creep, whiny little sister kylar, daddy bailey being bailey, loser male reader, semi-forced blow job, cream pie, shit writing, no editing, no nothing and shittier plot with two disconnected scenes, went a little overboard with kylar. a little.

— word count? wait, you guys count the fucking words and don’t raw dog it in the notes app? like, real long, I guess. I mean, fucking long.

— asher’s note. “I did it purely for the sister fucking. @princesstokyomoon kept encouraging the filthy thoughts so I had to churn something out. something filthy — and I mean fucking disgusting shit, y’know?”

Divorces papers hastily signed away, the ink dotted onto the lines promising that this was indeed reality along with leathered suitcases packed to the brim. Family problems never were easy, much less when it had all happened far too quickly. To your parents separating, the familiar grip of your mother’s hand stringing you far away from the house you had grew up in, it all seemed like one bad dream. Unfortunately it wasn’t, no. This was the harsh reality of things, hands clasped on your shoulders as you were forced to introduce yourself to the man she had vowed to marry and the children he bore.

Fuck, if only your mother hadn’t remarried.

“This is stupid.” You muttered beneath your breath to which your mother, sharp as ever had somehow heard.

“Oh please, this is necessary. Unless you wish for us to keep on living in that cramped apartment? I am only doing what is needed for us to survive.” She sharply retorted back, not leaving much room to argue with as it was the truth. Your lives had been much more difficult since the divorce, selfish father that took everything else with him and went away to god-knows-where, probably off to spend it all in one go at the sleazy brothel in town. Filthy bitch.

Yes, it had been hard, but if you had been given one more year, finished school for real, graduated and got a job — Perhaps then, you would’ve been able to provide for the two of you and—

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, dear?”

Breaking out of your reverie, you had faintly registered then that you had arrived into this overly large establishment your mom referred to as your new home. Standing before you was probably the man she had fussed about so much during the uneventful drive. Dark, slicked back hair and stern eyes that dragged over your lips down to the curve of your throat, almost as if to criticize. His outstretched arm and hand stuck out waiting, that was probably for yours to shake which you reluctantly did.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir..?” You uttered coolly, enduring the firm grasp he had on your fingers till he finally was the first to pull away.

“Bailey.”

“Bailey.” You repeated back the unfamiliar name as if to slowly get used to it, knowing you wouldn’t.

“Whitney, Kylar, come down here and properly greet your brother.”

One boy — you assumed to be Whitney, a little older than you, stood at the top of the oaky staircase, perched over the banister. Ruffled blonde hair and sharp blue eyes hidden behind his fringe, eyeing you with disinterest as he made his way down the creaking steps and over to you.

“Nice to meet you.” He grinned, taking ahold of your hand in his with what was evidently a faux smile, one that didn’t quite reach his mean eyes that matched his father, a lingering streak of maliciousness in them. Even his grip, barely restrained in its force, threatened to crush your hand before ultimately letting go.

“You too.” Forcing a smile back, both of you knew then, the stifling tension that brewed in the air — Neither of you were going to get along here.

“Hey freak, its your turn.”

Another, you had barely noticed, a smaller girl scuffling about in the background, anxiously fiddling with the ends of her oversized sleeves, skittish green eyes purposefully avoiding your gaze whenever you so much as glanced her way. That must be the only daughter, Kylar. Cute thing she was, though your mind couldn’t allow yourself to continue that stray thought any further considering the implications that’d involve after meeting your soon-to-be-step-sister. Fucking get your mind straight, will you?

“P-Pleasure to meet you..” In contrast to her brother’s confident strides, she shuffled towards you before clasping your soft palms together in a hold, weakly shaking it.

“..Pleasure is all mine.” You replied, matching her weirdly formal way of speaking.

Well, she didn’t seem so bad compared to the rest.

The introduction didn’t last very long, lacking any real warmth usually found between two shared families merging together as one. It felt more stiff than anything though you couldn’t spare the thought to think it any further, an ushered murmur said to make yourself at home.

As you made your way over to your new room, hauling your hefty luggage up the wooden stairs, something within the depths of your guts stirred from the shared eyes that bore into the shape of your back, intently observing your every move.

The walls here felt unbearably bare.

Like the people that lived in it.

Ironically enough, your new room was much bigger than your older one, leaving little room to complain as you did when your mother had announced you’d be moving into a new place. All the reasons, no matter how good had earned nothing but a gentle shake of her head, dead set on her decision to drag you along. And to say you hadn’t even told Robin you’d be moving away, best friends since childhood that shared everything between the two, except for this apparently. Imagining his freckled face, worry etched across his features had you wanting to go back to the town you knew, knowing you couldn’t.

Sighing lowly, you sat down onto your bed, hearing the slightest crinkle beneath your weight as you felt an uncomfortable, sharp lump underneath it. That.. Reaching for the covers, you threw aside the thick blankets that covered the suspicious looking lump, revealing fresh packets of condoms haphazardly scattered across the sheets and an old, raunchy magazine displaying a cute-looking school boy getting brutally fucked against the lockers by his own bully.

Heat burned your face at the lewd sight, quickly shoving your little “gift” under your pillow so you couldn’t spare another glance at it. Fucking bastards and their sick jokes, “gifting” you shit like that.

You weren’t like them. Fucking perverts.

Were you?

Whitney was the first to change that.

From the first time he laid his eyes on you, you knew then what he thought of you, distaste apparent over his features, the slight curve of his upper lip curled into a snarl. It was obvious, your step-brother didn’t like you. Shit, maybe hate would be a more appropriate word for the things he’d do. Whitney had made it clear from the get-go, the empty names you’d call each other were utterly meaningless, rarely slipping past his own lips. ‘Little brother’. Fuck, you were a pain in his side more than anything else, dropping by unannounced into his life just like that simply because your shitty mother happened to divorce, meeting his dead beat father who then strung up with yours.

The blonde didn’t attempt to hide his obvious disapproval of your presence in his house, blatantly knocking his shoulder into yours whenever he passed by, mouth cruelly drawn into a snide grin as you toppled down to the cold, hard, wooden floor with a dull thud. The bullying didn’t stop there either, often encountering the delinquent in the school hallways, surrounded by his usual cronies that stuck to his side like a bunch of desperate, panting puppies, eager for his approval. They simply wouldn’t leave you alone, went through your damn locker too, ransacking everything that sat in there before carelessly throwing aside the remnants into a nearby trash bin, left to fend for yourself.

Weak, useless. That’s what you were to him, and nothing else. Soon enough, he’d get rid of you, have you snap and run away, it was merely a matter of time.

Well, that was the initial plan he had made up in his mind — Too fucking bad for the poor bully that life didn’t go always as planned, not when he caught you fresh out of the shower, worn towel snugly tucked around yours hips, a bit lower and he’d catch a glimpse of your— Fucking snap out of it, Whitney! The fresh droplets of water that’d trickle down the curve of your back, cascading over the smooth surface before gently dripping onto the fuzzy carpet below. Fuck. Didn’t help that he was staring a tad bit too hard, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your bare form shamelessly displayed before him. You were doing this on purpose, weren’t you? Tryna get him all distracted, fill his thoughts with nothing but your thighs sticky with his cum, your lips lightly parted to obediently suck on his fat cock, lapping away at the beads of pre-cum that trickled over the curved length.

Knew he had cracked the second his hand had reached for his cock, fisting his dick for all it was worth, hem of his shirt roughly held between his teeth as he jerked himself stupid to the thought of you. His annoying little brother, fucking bitch, oblivious to the effects you had on him whenever he came with a stifled curse, several strings of cum that’d messily splatter across the curve of his toned stomach and his cotton sheets, staining it.

You, of course, lay ignorant to his frequent glances trailing over your frame, mistaking it for the hostility he had shown you over the past few weeks. You were partially right, except this time it was out of frustrated lust, cock stirring beneath his ripped jeans at the mere sight of his younger sibling now. God, not even the dumb whores that’d sloppily suck him off in the grimy bathroom stalls between classes did it for him anymore, eyes shut in a haze to imagine it was your mouth instead wrapped around the tip of his cock.

Dumb slut. Dumb fucking slut you were, didn’t know what he had in store for you. Take it as payback from having infested his mind with thoughts of you that stray to other thoughts and to other.. that’d eventually end in the same scenario, fucking your slutty mouth wide open.

Yeah.. Actually having you choke down on his cock didn’t sound half-bad now that he thought about it.

So why not make it happen?

It had been a mistake then to accept his offer over drinks, get to know each other better, he had cheerfully claimed with a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder. Bullshit. Think he gave a shit about that? The only ache in his mind had gone straight down to his slowly hardening cock underneath his grey sweats as his plan was brought into motion, insistently pouring more and more of his friends stolen bottle into your cup until you had lost track of the exact number. Prideful as ever, you had gulped it all down, unrelenting despite the nausea that had crept in your guts and the dizzying blur of your vision.

A hint of a rosy flush had started to spread throughout your skin, lightly dusting your cheeks with half-lidded eyes intently gazing back at your older brother’s slouched form atop the cushioned couch. The dribbling liquid sloshed lazily in the glassy bottle that threatened to spill from your weakened grasp on it. TV faintly flickering in the background, playing some outdated show that had since long been forgotten by the two of you, leaving the remote abandoned on the coffee table.

“Cmon, don’t be such a baby.” Whitney would taunt whenever you hesitated in your sluggish movements, silently observing the rhythmic bobbing of your throat as you took quick shots from your half-full glass. Lightweight, he mused in his mind.

“I’m not a baby.” You retorted back with that fucking cute pouty expression he adored.

Fuck. That’s the look. That goddamn look of yours he was waiting for. Nothing better than some arrogant slut all fucked up, practically begging to be taken on his own fucking couch.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Whitney?” Shit, the way you’d call his name all whiny too, slipping past your own lips. Had his cock twitch like fucking hell, painfully aching between his spread legs.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Why are you so mean to me all the time?? What did I ever.. What did I ever do to you?? I—I just don’t get it.” You hiccuped pathetically, stumbling over your own words, already half-drunk from the fizzling alcohol in your system.

Ah, so you didn’t seem to get it at all yet, did you?

How cute.

“‘Cuz I wanna fuck your noisy mouth, that’s why.”

“..What?”

Blinking back at him, you didn’t even get the chance to register or mutter out another word before he was upon you. Knees firmly planted to each side, increasingly aware of his encompassing frame that towered overs yours as his clothed crotch faced your drunken expression. If it had been any other time, perhaps the blonde would’ve paused then to greedily drink in the sight before him, but this was Whitney after all and he never liked to waste time on silly notions like foreplay, preferring the rougher options that came along with it.

So, fuck it all, right?

With practiced ease, he hurriedly shucked down the elastic waistband of his grey sweats past his hips, hefty cock confidently springing free from the constricting confines of the cotton fabric as it lightly smacked against the curve of his bare stomach. Fuck, you haven’t had the slightest idea how long he had waited for this. Merely a matter of a few weeks for you, though for him, your older brother was dying to sink his dick in that whorish mouth of yours. Looked like you’ve never taken a real cock either, snugly shoved down to the hilt of your inexperienced throat that he’d train till it became a sixth sense to you, gratefully swallowing down his salty cum.

Calloused fingertips tenderly dragged along the swollen flesh of your bottom lip, bloodied cut reopening from the time the bully had split your face open on his fists for the whole school to see in the busied courtyard on a particularly rainy day. Licked his knuckles clean too after that rough beating you took, savouring the heady taste of the crimson mess you left behind, groaning all the while. Had him stupidly hard for the rest of the day, itching to relieve some tension once he got back home. Great times, really.

Now would’ve been the time then, probably— to sputter out your firm opposition over this, resist somewhat. Maybe kick the motherfucker in the balls, satisfyingly watch him writhe on the floor in agony before scrambling up the ancient staircase to hysterically yell about how you nearly got raped by your aforementioned step-brother, to your dozing mother. Christ, that would’ve been the sane decision to do then yet, the bubbling drinks coursing through your veins had thoroughly taken its effect on you, blood rushing down lower to the wrong region, the sinking realization nearly making you bolt upright.

Fucking fuck, you were hard.

And Whitney hadn’t failed to notice.

“Shit, are you getting hard from this?” The delinquent snickered hoarsely to himself, making a show to lightly tap at the growing bulge underneath your own jeans, all too visible despite the rough fabric that covered it. “Should’ve known you’d be into it. Your body speaks for itself, y’know. You want this, you cock whore craving slut.”

No, no. This was all wrong. Must’ve been. You liked girls, didn’t you? Squishy cunts and fat tits you could easily slip your cock into — god. Didn’t like guys and if you did, your step-brother who treated you like nothing but shit would’ve been last on the fucking list.

But you secretly do like being used this way, don’t you? Baby brother.

“I’m n-not fucking—“ Attempting to deny the harsh statement, you cut yourself off from the sudden intruding tip eagerly pressed against your lips, flushed cock head leaking thickly and smearing sticky pre-cum all over.

It wasn’t an order nor anything else that hung heavily in the air, a simple gesture, a subtle thrust of his hips that had his actions speak louder than any words would’ve been capable of. Either you do it or not, the delinquent couldn’t have cared less regardless, always used to getting what he wants and by god, if he wasn’t going to fucking get this. Because the signals alarmingly ringing through your head felt faint in the face of this, shakily inhaling the musky scent of your big brother’s throbbing cock subtly twitching in response to your feathered breaths against it, dribbling out more translucent pre-cum that melded with the scarlet stain of your bloodied lips.

Out of your damn mind — That’s what you were. To even properly consider the implication at hand here. Yet your lips won’t stop from parting, from sticking your pink tongue out, clumsily imitating the gestures of those submissive girls in the cheap porns you’d watch underneath your thin covers late at night, shamefully enough. Always thought you’d be on the receiving end of that one day, dutifully patting at the soft hair slotted between your thighs however here you were, shyly pawing at Whitney’s naked hips instead to steady yourself.

All your fault, all your damn fault so shut up and take it, alright? Shouldn’t have led him on like that, now you’re only reaping what you sow, slut.

A delighted sigh softly escaped from the blonde as you finally gave his dick some much needed attention, experimentally running the flat of your tongue along his leaking slit, coaxing out more dribbling fat globs of pre-cum before slowly and carefully taking his full girth in the warm depths of your tight, wet mouth. “Ah— Fuck. Yeah, that’s good.” No way can he hide the barely restrained, high-pitched, almost needy whimper that threatens to slither past him as you so prettily suck him down to the base, slobbering all over his throbbing balls that has him huffing out a cursed moan of satisfaction, eyes rolling back. “F-Fuckin’— god.” Can’t help the sheer guttural groan that slips out from how tightly his baby brother’s virgin lips sweetly glide around him, the uncertainty in your movements making it all the more endearing as you struggle to take him all in, saliva dripping over your chin to land in varying wet dots on the cushioned pillows. Looking so damn pretty like this with a mouthful of cock, your big brother’s pulsing cock specifically. So don’t blame him then when his hips automatically snap back, slender fingers instinctively reaching for the back of your head to entangle themselves through the soft strands of your hair, ruffling it.

Felt more like he was plainly fucking your mouth than you were sucking him off, sharp, punishing thrusts meeting your open mouthed lips to drive himself deeper in that warm throat that reflexively tightened around his length whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot — drawing another string of adorable, strangled whimpers from you. “Shit, you sure this your first time? You’ve got the mouth of a — hah, fuckin’ filthy glory hole.” Heat prickling up the nape of your neck at the direct statement uttered, the brief realization of your inexperience being taken away like this, from a blowjob. On the giving end. A first, that will mostly likely not be the only first after this, not when you’re unconsciously getting off to the thought for more in store despite your haze filled brain begging you to reason. Ah, fuck. He’s gone and got you stupidly cock drunk now, didn’t he? The bastard. Slurred mutterings tumbling out above you, almost hasty in how he handles you, wanting to truly savor this never-ending moment when his body can’t stop on its own, too eager to be fulfilled of this yearning pleasure he sought out from you firstly. Thankful for your lack of gag reflex that somehow has you forcefully endure the ruthless slam of his hips, struggling grip straining onto his thighs to brace yourself, promising to leave a fresh set of bruising marks on the tanned flesh.

“Gon’ be my lil’ cockwhore, huh? My fuckin’ slut. Goin’ to be so good for— fuck, big brother, yeah?” If treating you so obscenely like this grants him the privilege to have you beneath him, so stupidly on your knees then, fuck, is it goddamn worth it. Every multicoloured bruise splotched along the length of your legs to your elbows, inflicted from his unfortunate beatings took on at every turn. The cold indifference muddled across your features warping to an earnest scowl from simply acknowledging his presence alone, precisely what he wants. To finally recognize your older brother, the churning fear instilling within you, forced to submit to him and worship him rightfully so.

It’ll be more than that though, the sick realization dawning upon him of this opportunity handed to him on a silver plater, free of his taking, of course. Not some other replaceable slut he can find anywhere else by chance, but one forcefully bound to him whether they like it or not since what can you possibly do? Come running with tears in your eyes to your mommy about what your big, mean, older brother did to you? His father will certainly not be one to help you for that matter, that’s for damn sure. Who the hell will believe you then? No one. Fucking nobody. Inadvertently handing him free range to do whatever he so pleases with you, whenever, where the fuck ever. Oh, but it won’t only stop there, y’know. Ruining you fully for the sake of his own selfish pleasure, corrupt that naive view of yours that has you blush bashfully at a bunch of lewd illustrations plastered onto the printed pages. Soon enough, the majority of your days will be lazily spent in his room, leaking cock dribbling profusely from the kitten licks you’ll so cutely give him then while he absentmindedly scrolls on his phone, grinning proudly as you inevitably beg for more of him. And shit, Whitney isn’t one to disappoint either — he’ll have you rightfully rewarded for such behaviour, in public to be exact. Clip a nice, leathered collar around your neck along with a leash too, tug at it a bit to show off his newfound pet, his loyal little brother that sloppily sucks him off and happily sinks onto his hefty cock at a mere snap of his fingers. Drives him fuckin’ crazy merely thinking about it.

That’s right, suck on your big brother’s fat cock to selfishly earn his twisted love, his blind adoration and protection of your being. His pet. His slut. His beloved baby brother. His now blood, flesh and soul tainted thoroughly by him himself. Personally service him on your knees like the whore that he knows you are. Fucking get on your knees and earn it.

All too soon, despite wanting to stretch this further solely to ingrain the addictive noises of your stifled whimpers and drooling mouth inside his perverted mind, visibly struggling to take him all in as he shamelessly used your throat like some sort of flesh light stretched to the hilt — He can feel himself reach the brink of his limit, confident hips stuttering in their steady thrusts to greedily bury the tip of his quivering cock into the back of your throat one last time. “F-Fuck. Stay like that — just fucking stay like that.” He hissed sharply between strained curses, head thrown back like some cheap virgin whore who’s just received his first ever mind blowing blow job. The familiar overwhelming heat curling in the curve of his belly, like a coiling string on the verge of popping. Balls tightening in need, pulsing spurts of his fat load squirting out of the head of his cock to messily splatter across the surface of your pretty fucking face, ruining you for his own amusement.

Should’ve busted his load down your throat just to hungrily watch you swallow it down, though he supposes that the cum stained look adorning your pretty face is a sight to behold on its own, taking a good minute to appreciate the mess before him.

A blank, pristine canvas that he had helped ruin and stain with the filth of his very own actions.

It suits you, really.

“That’s a — hah, good boy.” Whitney heaved roughly between ragged breaths, the uncharacteristically gentle praise laced in his tone differing from his usually sadistic nature. If it weren’t for the sticky mess that obscured your vision along with the heat of his sweating palm placed flat across your forehead, you’d notice the strange fond, warmth that had settled into his softening gaze, a sort of reverence in of itself. “My good fucking boy.”

“So good for big brother, aren’t you?” He smirks knowingly at your hitched gasps of breaths, struggling so stupidly to form back a snarky insult as per usual.

Ah, he gets it now — really fucking gets it, glazed over eyes settling onto your evidently hard, twitching cock still tented pitifully against the front of your jeans, frantically humping at the air like some sort of rabid, horny and untrained puppy in heat, tongue lolling out. Aw, so fuckin’ cute when you’re cock drunk and needy for big brother. Makes him wanna do it all over again.

For that, he should be properly training you then.

“Whitney— fuckin’ cmon, please.” Whining so pathetically in a way that sends a jolt straight down through his spent cock, immediately standing up to attention once more. You’re really asking for it, fuck.

So damn cute, but so impatient too. Maybe he should fuck your virgin ass next, stuff it full of his cum and see what happens to that bratty mouth of yours then. Shut you up a bit.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just— keep still for me.”

Well, can’t be having his little new pet go frustratingly neglected like that, can he?

—

Kylar, your precious little sister, all too eager to be the first, but the second to sink her mark into you. Convince you a bit more.

Needy as she was, she wasn’t as bad as the rest that inhabited this sick place you reluctantly called home, a flicker of warmth among the distant coldness that resided in this house. Much unlike her brother, the dark haired girl didn’t seem to dislike you in the slightest, often shooting you the smallest of smiles whenever you two briefly locked eyes at the dinner table or in the shared hallways by mere coincidence.

‘Course, she did have her questionable moments whenever you caught her rifling through your drawers, namely the ones where your underwear lay neatly folded in the cubicle space. Promptly muttering out an unbelievable excuse as to why she needed your boxers before bolting past your stunned self, red in the face. Or that time she had decided to curl up onto your bed, lovingly burying her nose into the warm, silken sheets that you slept in, relishing in that sweet scent of yours she’d catch a whiff of as you drew closer next to her at the table.

..Yeah, she certainly had unresolved issues, but it beat the constant poking fun at that Whitney would do. The rough shoving into the metallic lockers that’d clank heavily from your weight, the shared snickering that came along with it and the forced blow jobs that you had somehow eased into over time despite yourself. Fuck, why were you even thinking of that asshole?

Freak or not, she didn’t harbour any of the senseless cruelty this town had to selflessly offer and that was good enough. Enough so that you had found yourself increasingly spending more and more of your time with Kylar whenever you weren’t forcibly dragged along to some shoddy place your big brother roped you into, leaving the loner to her own whims for the day.

So it was no surprise then when the two of you grew closer, a little more than you had expected so to be the one sat onto her worn out bed, her hideaway — she’d call it, a moment of respite from the constant teasing she had to go through from her older brother. A means of escape, perhaps? And for you, it was no different either, all the same. Gladly listening to her overexcited rambling about this and that, about the fine mangas she had newly bought at the local, dusty library, the half priced anime figurines she had found on display beyond the glassy windows that separated them — matching pearly bracelets made of shiny gems and rocks carefully picked at the park she’d sow together to gleefully tuck around your wrist, whining sorrowfully at her own being too loose for her delicate wrists. Cute. Your little sister was real fucking cute, more so than you’d like to admit at times.

So much so you couldn’t ignore the growing knots in the pit of your stomach whenever your knees fortuitously bumped against each other, a sign — a silent, repetitive warning of your shared proximity that was crossing past the treacherous line of two mere siblings. Yeah. Okay. So you found her cute, so what? Big fucking deal. Plenty of guys found a girl cute, didn’t mean jack shit, didn’t mean they wanted to fuck her till she clenched pathetically around them, sniffling miserably at being fucked brutally by their kind, soft-spoken big brother they naively put their trust into. Right, that’s what you were. Nothing more. A responsible big brother she could certainly put her faith into since her other piece of shit brother couldn’t bother with that shitty role, something you’d curse him for on the daily. One she could seek out at a moment’s notice, spend time with to her heart’s content like a normal, unsuspecting relationship between siblings should be.

Not some perverted creep of a big brother who’d steal periodic glances her way, instinctively trailing down to the soft, plump and pink flesh of her parted lips, glistening sinfully from the wetness of her saliva — a habit she unconsciously did despite claiming not to. Gulping thickly, you hadn’t registered how her seamless chatter had ceased to a stop, deafening silence befalling upon the both of you as you stared at each other like some sort of stiff actors awaiting for the next act on stage. Wait, were you staring? Fuck, you were — and she hadn’t failed to notice by the looks of it, blooming flush adorning her pretty, pale cheeks you’d like to press gentle, reassuring kisses to, squeeze under the weight of your palm. Maybe have her spill a few stray droplets of tears across the rosy surface while you’re at it, make her cry the same way Whitney did.

Oh, you’re such a fucking bastard for this one.

“W-What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Her sudden squeak had you stilling in your tracks, twisting the spread sheets without meaning to from the timid pitch of her shrill voice. Look at her, trying to hide behind her torn sleeves in an attempt to draw attention away from her bashful blush, becoming a fidgeting mess under your gaze.

Fuck, no. It was more than that, Kylar. It was the pout of your lips that you wore, the black strands of hair that frames your face so beautifully, the exposed sliver of skin of your thighs from that short skirt you slipped on. It was all you, but dammit all — fuck.

“Hm? No, it’s nothing — really.” Liar. Drawing back to create a manageable amount of space between you both, a reminder not to act upon those disgusting urges of yours, better not to. Bad idea to be thinking with your dick, no man’s ever made a reliable decision with that one. Even so, Whitney did it with you and — nothing particularly bad happened, did it? Would it be so wrong, if you were to do the same? Selfishly grasp for what you so dangerously desire, drop meaningless hints here and there to care for her wants, such a gentler option than any other boy could ever treat your dearest little sister?

Would it?

Too lost in your endless train of thoughts, your eyes connecting with Kylar’s green own that bore with such intensity you hadn’t seen before, almost as if contemplating — no, waiting for something to happen. Though you couldn’t tell what it was, her actions were enough so to speak on their own with how she shifted considerably towards you, used mattress dipping from the creaking weight over the wooden floorboards. Ah, was she..?

“Ky—?”

Before your mind was even fully given the chance to process it, like the leap taken before the shuddering dip of a waterfall, her inexperienced, virgin lips clumsily smashed into yours, knocking the wind out of the both of you from the abrupt step taken by your little sister. Sweet. So sweet. Pink tongue tentatively swiping along the scarlet cut of your bottom lip, ushered gasps accompanied by startled squeaks as she timidly gave you what she thought was a simple kiss, but felt more like a pornographic make out session with how she so desperately shoved her tongue deeper. More. Wants more of this, more of that honeyed taste she yearned to savour, to finally enjoy while her other dumb brother so greedily took you away every time she wished to be the one at your side instead. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all! He’s so mean, so why does he get to string you along whenever he so pleases? Should be her, only be her to fill that solemn space. Only her, only her—

“W-Wait, wait— Kyl— fuck.”

As if struck by the weight of what she had just done, the loner recoiled back instantly in a fit of panic from the sheer brashness of her actions. Oh, how could she let herself so easily fall to such temptations? What if you hated her now? Or worse, were repulsed by the kiss? Wouldn’t be able to live it down then, quivering lips and bubbling tears threatening to spill freely down the length of her flushing cheeks from her overactive imagination running rampant — because she’d rather die than to have you loathe her so.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to— umm.. I thought that maybe you.. wanted me to—“ The girl stuttered uselessly, trailing off in an aimless direction only to shrink back in her unbecoming position. Silence only answered her in return which she took as the harsh reality of rejection, mustering up all the courage she possibly had in her lithe frame to at the very least subtly peek at the current expression painted along your face. Would it be anger? Disgust? Disappointment even? Surely if you hated it that much, you’d have plainly kicked her right off the bed by now, right? Storm out in a fit of shock and never so much as glance her way again.

The sight to greet her instead wasn’t an unwelcome one though — no, far from it actually, her gaze deliberately falling upon the blazing flush of your face down to the evident bulge straining painfully between your legs, palm nervously placed over it in a half-assed attempt to keep your dignity at bay — shit. It’s one thing to be kissed by your younger sister but to get fucking hard from it is like shameful admission on its own, a visceral reaction that could not be denied no matter what reasonable excuses may tumble from your lips. “..It’s fine. I don’t mind, actually.” You’re really no better than Whitney in that aspect, but when an opportunity presents itself, it’s only fair to mindlessly grasp for it, is it not? More worrying is the debauched idea that forms in your mind in regard to the enamoured expression worn by her wobbly lips and wide-eyed look, not-so-subtly rubbing her plush thighs together in a hint of arousal. Oh, so that’s how it is. If the sloppy kiss itself didn’t confirm it then this surely did, a surge of confidence rushing momentarily through your body at your next actions. “Like I said, it’s fine, Ky.” That fucking nickname again. Unable to stop yourself from dragging your cute little sister closer towards you till she consequently found herself comfortably placed onto your lap, blinking stupidly at the bold move done by her normally gloomy, big brother. Silly girl.

“Siblings do it all the time, it’s not weird. It’s natural.” Lying through your goddamn teeth with a certain ease that even surprises you internally, but oh, is it so worth it as her viridescent eyes glimmer brightly to the whispered reassurance in your casual tone, acceptance easily slipping through. “But Whitney and I don’t—“ She starts, only for you to immediately latch onto her endless questioning with the seed having already been planted, too late to fucking back out now. “You and I are different. I’m nice to you and you’re nice to me, so it’s normal if you want to. We can do that cuz’ everyone else does it, alright? You don’t have to be shy with me about it, Ky.” Every carefully measured word to make it seem as though this was the norm, knowing fully you’d be seen as freaks and degenerates by your peers attending the nearby school. Not that they didn’t already think so with Kylar, the rumors having grown out to such an unhealthy proportion that it pestered the poor girl at every corner in the narrow hallways. Poor thing.

So isn’t it your job as her big brother to make it all go away? Make her feel better.

“Shh, just let me..” Soothing circles rhythmically rubbed in a recognizable pattern along the edges of her skirt, repeated affirmations of want so as to ease her chattering mind over the possible morality of this newfound situation. Could’ve said no if she didn’t secretly desire this, though her actions seem to say so otherwise with how she earnestly complies, willingly tucking her arms to her sides to let your hands do the rest. Good girl. So docile, like a porcelain doll, sharpening breaths noticeably deepening from the careful tugs of her short skirt, revealing the confirmation of her depraved wants as the wet patch of slick soaking through her plain, white panties is bared. Your adorable little sister isn’t so innocent as you thought, is she? Contrary to her modest choice of underwear. Getting fucking wet solely from being leered at so openly by her step brother, even going so far as to spread her soft legs for better viewing.

“See? Isn’t it frustrating to be left all worked up like this?” Agreeing nods promptly interrupted by the press of your thumb against her clothed slit, such a sweet, hitched gasp elicited from the lazy circles traced onto her swollen, twitching clit. A free view of your younger sister’s scrunched up expression morphing to one of pure, unadulterated pleasure, scarred fingertips tightly clutching at the fabric of your shirt, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment, really. “This good?” There’s no real need to ask when you can naturally rely on the shivering of her dainty figure, breathy moans of y-yes and feels good! along with the guiding of her needy fingers, flush against her slicked heat. A flick of your thumb is all it takes to have her turn into a babbling mess, bucking her hips up to meet your cupped palm, incidentally grinding onto your aching hard-on. “S-Shit, okay. Look at you, hah — so fucking wet already.” Barely able to discern the own pitch of your voice, but who the fuck is supposed to properly maintain their composure when your little sister is so prettily begging for your cock?

Effortlessly peeling away at the sticky fabric of her cotton panties, slipping it down the length of her legs to thoughtlessly throw away onto the wooden floor beneath. No time to fucking think, not with how cute her cunt looks, pink and dripping with slick coating the smooth surface of her inner thighs. Ah, and she’s already impatiently fumbling with your belt too, smiling so happily once it loosens to eventually tug your own underwear down too, leaking cock eagerly springing free from its restraints. “Want it that bad, lil sis?” Fuck, does it feel wrong to even be calling her so in your current predicament, yet so damn right too. The pleading nods, urgently clinging to your frame to press against as she grinds her sopping cunt along your flushed tip, whining whenever it knocks just right up against her puffy clit, squelching from the melding fluids. “W-Want it, want it inside, please.”

“B-Big brother—“

As much as you like the high-pitched mumblings of your dearest Kylar, there’s really only so much edging you can take before promptly snapping your hips up in tandem with her own, relishing in the slippery warmth that lovingly welcomes you, stretched folds accommodating to the sheer girth of your length. “Oh, fuck — Fuck, just relax for me. You feel so.. hah, so good.” Collectively sighing in relief at the intrusion of your pulsing cock squeezed so nicely by her constricting walls, having to steel yourself from the tight suck of her cunt snugly wrapped around your tip. “You’re doing so good for me, taking me so well.” Softly hushing her breathy whines intertwined with a mix of pain and pleasure, fingertips digging harshly in the tender flesh of her hips to guide her quivering frame up and down the length of your cock. Isn’t this what she wanted after all? Such a quick learner too, steadily bouncing to match the pace you had set, your wandering hands slipping past the hem of her loose shirt to greedily palm at her perky breasts which prompts another moan to exit her parted lips. Uncaring for the increasingly noticeable squeaking of the worn mattress when your little sis is so cutely riding you, doing her very best to satisfy your immoral urges and have you mark her slicked insides with your seed.

“What a good sister.. So good, aren’t you?” Cute, pink tongue poking out, begging for another messy kiss pressed onto her swollen lips which you dutifully oblige with another muffled groan. Sloppily planting your own against hers, treasuring every shuddered gasp to swallow down and stifling her open mewls. It’s borderline disgusting how desperate you are, savouring every thick inch engulfed by the sloppy suck of her baby sister pussy, reappearing briefly only to bury yourself balls deep once more into her defiled cunt. Isn’t really your fault with how fucking tight she is, is it? Barely grasping the reality of the situation which is the very high possibility of being heard from outside her room right this moment, but fuck — you can’t slow down, not right now, not when you’re already on the verge of spilling your cum deep inside. Damn Whitney, the bastard. Damn to hell your parents, your indecisive mother and her new husband, this is heaven itself right here. “I’m close—“ You huff out in a sort of warning, though it’s more of an invitation to Kylar, an opportunity for you to shoot your thick seed in her wanting hole, practically locking her legs tight around your waist.

Anything for you after all, huh? Her beloved. Her darling. You just didn’t know it yet! And to say it came true on its own, openly enjoying the sensation of your fat cock instinctively fucking into her tight, little sister hole. So close.

“Cum inside me, please. Let’s finish together, big brother. I-I’m close too—“

And that’s all you really need, precise thrusts upwards hastily turning into erratic humps to lazily grind against her ass, wanting nothing more but to see the dumb, drooling, fucked out expression painted across her adorable face, the convulsing of her cunt stuffed full of your length when she does have her first ever orgasm. A few clumsy circles drawn over her used clit is all it takes to have her cumming, slick trickling out of her fluttering cunt to drip over the base of your cock and stain the pristine sheets beneath. “Ah— God, you’re so fucking tight.” Fuck, fuck, fuck — Shoving the hilt of your cock as deep as possible into your little sister’s stretched out hole to rightfully mark her pink insides with your seed, spurting out thick, white strings of cum while you fuck yourself deeper into her womb and downright have her experience her first ever accidental cream pie too. It’s only then when she pitifully whines for you to stop that you do eventually pause, hips drawing back to stare in awe at the dribbling globs of cum spilling out of her sore cunt. “S-Sorry.” You mutter out apologetically with a sigh, the tension easing out of your muscles once she giggles softly in response to your strained apology. “It’s okay. I-I liked it a lot too.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm, I did.” Kylar sleepily mumbles back with drowsy eyelids, the exhaustion washing both over you all at once from, well.. all the movement involved. Let’s leave it at that, actually. Plus you deserve the rest, don’t you? Wouldn’t be fair to leave your adorable sister all alone in her twin bed without her older brother’s body to warm it with too, yeah? It’s fine to lay yourself down next to her curled figure snuggling closely against yours, drape an arm over her waist to remind her of your presence close by, make her feel secure and at ease. A silent, ushered promise to clean her up later once you two awaken, affectionately pressing a single kiss atop her head one last time before sleep takes her first. It’s your role to as the big brother, after all, isn’t it?

“..Good.”

#fuck #..fucking never. ever. writing this much within the span of a few days. ever. #FUCK SCENES WERE NASTY!!!! FUUUCKKK!! #I’m not beating the siscon allegations with this one #off to blow my brains out now #dol #degrees of lewdity #ITS ALL IN THE FAMILY. #whitney the bully #kylar the loner #bailey the caretaker #robin the orphan #big brother whitney #little sister kylar #daddy bailey #bottom male reader #top male reader #x male reader #character x male reader #asher writes

[starrspice]

Now that we know what Canon Eclipse is like I wanna see them interact with the grubbiest most gremlin Y/N possible

Bonus little call out from my friends @pika5544 and @miracleboymason

#fnaf ruin #fnaf ruin dlc #ruin dlc spoilers #ruin spoilers #security breach ruin #ruin dlc #dca fandom #eclipse #fnaf eclipse #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fanart #eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader #god i love eclipse #pls i want a Y/N that will turn them into a frantic nanny #make their caretaker side kick into overdrive #pls itd be so funny #my art

[injestedsoap]

ghost who loves himself a little more (by accident) when he has a partner to take care of. he is a care taker at heart, don't let him tell you otherwise, and when you come down in a crop top when it's just above freezing outside he marches you right back upstairs to get you dressed in real clothes. he fusses with you when you want to run out without a rain coat on, he shoves a veggie on your plate, reminds you about your medication, grumbles as he fills your water bottle every morning. taking care of you helps him remember to take care of himself too, he eats better when he's scolding you, actually goes outside when he insists it's a nice fucking day and you need some sun, brushes his teeth twice a day when he's reminding you to brush yours. taking care of you makes him treat himself a little better.

#ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley #i've been on a caretaker ghost kick lately

[mellowwillowy]

𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲 ♥

⤷ warnings — general yan warnings, gn reader

Bailey has always been a good boy. The two of you grew up together in the orphanage with joint hands, always backing each other from your caretaker's bitter ass.

Bailey is a good boy although he does have this sharp tongue that always finds a flaw in you, always teasing you for it.

Yes, Bailey has always been a good boy, never indulging himself in alcohol, cigarettes, and the likes of prostitution. And so, you become the subject of his carnal desires. What? Do you seriously expect him to only rub one out without feeling you clenching on his length? Dream on.

Bailey may be possessive at some point in time but he means well! In this town filled with nothing but perverts, you ought to cling to him even more. No, you don't get to sleep in your own room, you are sleeping with him. What would you do if a stranger sneaks into your room again? The idea of them feeling you before he could break their wrist and throw them out the window in fractured condition makes him snarl.

"You'll be sleeping in my room from now on, no retorting."

Bailey is a good boy, always waiting for you. Always waiting for you to finish your shower despite the 3 minutes rule that you break. Always waiting for you to finish your food despite going over 5 minutes on the dining room. Always waiting for you to come back home from your meetings with the others.

And always waiting for a miracle of you being alive.

Bailey has always been a good boy. The moment he sees you wandering in front of his orphanage, in the uniform you two once wore...

He knows it's you.

So why do you act like you have never recognize him?

"Just relax. I'll handle everything like always."

Bailey muttered into your ear as his hands held you in place. You were drenched in rain on your first day of school after you moved into this town not long ago. To shelter yourself from the rain in front of the orphanage's door step was not wrong. It was the timing. The moment Bailey's eyes met yours, he knew. He knew this was his only chance.

"You're coming with me and that's that."

---

--

-

Bonus because I wanna use some of his in-game lines.

Bailey stood by the doorframe, watching your figure sleeping peacefully in his room. He made you stay at his room with the reasons of 'rent-free room'.

How peaceful, how nostalgic. You, on his bed.

Just as the bed dipped because of his weight, your eyelids fluttered open.

"Sshhh... go back to sleep."

Was it a dream? You tried to sit up only to be hold back by a pair of hands.

"I told you to hold still."

From that, you were confident it was not a dream, especially with how firm his hold was. You pouted at him, glaring at him for holding you still. Unable to hold back, Bailey pressed his lip onto you, brushing it lightly. Upon pulling away, he relished in how your eyes widened in surprise.

"Surprised are you? You'll learn to kiss better soon."

Bailey pressed his lip against your face again, peppering it with kisses before pulling away and tucking you back into the blanket.

"Just something to remember me by."

To remember the night as something memorable and not a mere dream, for both him and you.

#dol #degrees of lewdity #yandere dol #yandere bailey #bailey the caretaker #dol bailey #yandere dol bailey #yandere x reader #x gn reader

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

I have full confidence that Price is the type of man to give you the clothes off his back if it means you’re taken care of.

Clothes got wet? Dry yourself off and here’s a shirt and pair of pants, yeah they’re bigger on you but it’s okay. Cold? Here’s my jacket, no, take it I’ll be fine. What happened to your scarf? You’ll freeze without one take mine. Need gloves? Here, you can have mine, don’t worry I have an extra pair. Why not give you the extra pair? Well you already put those on so there’s no point in asking for them back now is there? Sun blocking your eyes and you can’t see? Fine, here’s my hat just give it back to me when you’re finished and don’t lose it, yeah?

#HES A CARETAKER AND YOU CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price #price x reader #price x you

[warmfungi]

What fucks with me is an evil, despicable character, lost and alone while violently ill – abandoned without anyone to care for them... And then someone Finds them.

Someone who has no connection to them or isn't even remotely aware of their actions. To them, it's just a stranger that looks to be on the brink of death. As the villain, who's got more blood on their hands than they can brag about spilling, collapses onto the ground, this person rushes to them, completely unaware they're about to save the life of someone who's not worth their time.

However, I'm tired of this trope ending up with the villain back to their old ways in an instant. If that's your thing, sure – but I always find it annoying. Sometimes, I think, it takes a monster facing its own death to realize they should treat people better – were it not for mere coincidence, death would have swallowed them whole.

Instead, it only got to graze them – because someone cared. For once, someone cared, and the villain didn't plan to use it against them.

#whump #sickfic #villain x reader #villain x civilian #illness #look man when i say 'x Whatever' i mean platonic romantic or familial ok i do not care #this is being written as i think about a char whos my best friend #caretaker #fainting #caretaking

[anlian-aishang]

Hello, could I please request a Captain Levi X reader fic where he comforts a sick and injured reader please? Canonverse of course. I love your writing btw :)

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy, dear anon <3

Tags: levi x reader, fluff, canonverse, mutual pining, caretaking, broken bones + blood mention, reader is physically supported, platonic undressing/nudity, fem!reader Word count: 5800

Levi could not shake the feeling: had he been there, you never would have wound up like this. With that train of thought came a crash of regret, his one vow being to live without it. He could not turn back time and prevent the accident from happening, but there was one thing he could do to alleviate its aftermath.

Fresh off the return from the expedition, he had not even changed out of his uniform yet, Levi made straight for Hange’s office. “Put me in the infirmary tonight.”

Hange rolled their eyes and teased, “How about a hello or a please first, huh?”

“Hi, and please.”

Hange grinned, internally laughing for having expected anything more. “You got any good reason? Hurt or something?”

They already knew the answer to that. His grey shirt was just as ironed as it was before setting off beyond the walls. Not one wrinkle in his canvas coat. No rips in his cape. Certainly not injured.

“Or did you just want an easy shift?”

They both knew: only one person had ended up in the infirmary. They both knew: that one person was you. In a wordless, imbalanced eye contact, Hange communicated their knowledge of the nature behind his rare request. Levi communicated that if they uttered one word about it, they too would end up on the list of casualties.

“Yeah,” Levi spoke flatly, “that’s it.”

The section commander dipped their quill pen fresh, crossed out Nanaba’s name and replaced the assignment with his. “Consider it done, but you owe me!”

Levi merely scowled and promptly turned on his heel. Stewing in irritation yet also simmering in thought of how to repay them. Maybe some assistance with a titan capture, maybe just saving their ass again as he had countless times before. 

With the captain’s back turned, Hange hollered after him, “You would save yourself a lot of time and trouble if you just asked them out, you know, like a normal person!”

But Levi had already shut the door and started down your way. Gritting his teeth, by subduing a smacking, he considered the two of them even again.

// // //

Though he had sped down the hallway, Levi dampened his pace as he approached the infirmary. At your door, a deep breath as his fingers delicately inched along the handle, just enough leverage to let himself in as quietly as possible.

Golden hour seared the white walls and placed a spotlight on the lone patient bundled in bed. Your lips were trembling. Your breaths were uneven. Your body was tired, bogged down by stiff casts and bandages. Levi felt his throat instinctively tighten. Fists clenched at his sides, aching to do something - anything - for you. To brush the strand of hair from your face, to straighten you from the entanglement of your sheets, but he was woefully aware that any movement carried the potential to wake you, and with the look on your face - he determined that unconsciousness was not a bad place for you to be.

Levi shuffled his boots across the wooden floor, cautious of how creaky the panels could be. Slowly, he lowered himself to a seat on the bed across from yours, nothing but a nightstand and temptation between. With a sigh, he tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, searching for ironic escape from the scene he had begged to be placed in, but instead - all he could picture was what must have happened to you out there. How had you ended up injured but no one else? Where were your comrades? Your squad leader? Where was he?

“Alone out there,” Levi pitied. The one who was always thinking of others - in their time of need - no one showed up for them. Again, Levi released an exasperated sigh. He was well familiar with how cruel the world could be. Every now and then, it still managed to surprise him. In your case, he supposed. 

Come to think of it, the infirmary itself seemed in remarkably poor condition. Levi swiped his finger along the bedframe and scoffed at the dust that flew from his touch. At the allergen, he sniffed slightly, and through that noticed the musk in the air. Levi glared out the window and into the empty courtyard. A lovely spring evening you were both missing: budding trees, bloomed flowers… Flowers.

Levi surveyed your state, bargaining within himself for a handful of seconds. With no sign of your stir, he clutched the side of the mattress and hoisted himself to his feet. Despite the audible crunch of the comforter, you remained sound in sleep, silently granting your attendant permission to depart from your side - however temporarily. 

At the door, he turned back once again: on one hand - anticipating that you would remain at rest so he could sneak out, on the other - hoping that you would call out to him, Levi, please don’t go. His knuckles turned white around the handle before swiftly departing, cutting himself off from overthinking any longer, at least for a little while. 

// // //

It had only been ten minutes, but he swore he was going too slow. Picking all of the wildflowers he could find, he tucked them beneath his arm until he had assembled a makeshift bouquet. Just enough to flush out the hospital aura, but as his arm began to cramp, he realized there may never be enough when it came to you. Grateful to be outside, Levi waited out his blush before heading back inside. 

This time, more hurried than when he first approached - the guilt of leaving you alone in there propelled his pace. Hastily, he flung the door open, causing your eyes to do the same. 

“Shit…” Levi cursed himself as he watched your figure shift. Tiny groans echoed throughout the barren room as you came to. With a few harsh blinks, your vision adjusted to the scene. A stark but beautiful transition, dreamlessness to the stuff of dreams: Levi in the door frame, flowers in hand, overcast in the gradient of sunset. 

“Am I … dreaming?” Your words made his heart halt, Levi clutched the stems a little tighter. Your angelic voice fresh out of sleep was suddenly seized by a sharp inhale, speech weakened, “My… my head…”

He may have said something, but you could not tell. Merciless ringing in your ears combined with the pounding at the back of your head, leaving you oblivious to everything external. You cupped your palm around your forehead and winced through clenched teeth. Atop your hand came his, fingers wedged in the spaces between yours. His contact was your answer: this was not a dream for not even in your most self-indulgent desires would you have come up with this. 

His hand did not massage you, did not apply pressure, but reminded you of his diligent presence. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ve got you. It was what he longed to say, what you longed to hear. As your inhales and exhales diluted, you both regained the composure to settle for less forthcoming words. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open and were met with those of solid steel, “Levi?”

Cracks in your voice, he swallowed for you, “You’re burning up.”

Your lips parted in confusion, hardly believing the scenario you were in. I thought… Nanaba… Why is he…? Levi read your questions and chose to ignore them. 

He was conscious of it, but conscious not to mention it - the sweat that came off your skin and stuck his hand to yours. Instead, he paraphrased, “Don’t you feel hot?”

An autonomous response, you shivered, whether due to the temperature or a certain other factor. “N’No, I think I -” your speech was interrupted by a pair of violent sneezes - saying all he needed to hear. 

Levi closed his eyes and frowned, silencing the germaphobe within him, “I see.” 

Hiding behind your wrist, “Sorry.”

He reached into his chest pocket and lent you a handkerchief, “Don’t be.”

His gaze descended from your eye contact, granting an ounce of privacy. Now that you had sat up, he could see precisely the spot you had laid. A stiff indent on the pillow outlined your shoulders, nape, and head. Folds in the sheets likewise defined your stagnant sleeping pose. You hadn’t moved for hours. It prompted him to scan for more hints: your nightstand displayed no tissues, no tea. Levi stifled a disapproving sneer, substituting action for anger. 

Levi’s fingertips grazed your comforter, “Your bandages…” 

“Yeah…” a tinge of stuffiness in your voice, your movements staggered as you brought your limbs out from underneath your bedding. 

Upon revelation, his eyes widened. Your right calf had been swallowed by a cast startlingly thick. Your right arm had been painted red by blood-soaked bandages. The sight made you lightheaded, nauseous, Levi caught it, “Hey, don’t look at it. Look at me.”

Your throat bobbed in nerves, anxious whimpers emitted. Over your frightened sobs, Levi ordered over them, “Look at me. Look at me.” 

Past blurry eyes, you strained to follow his guidance. His steel gaze was dead set on your wounds. Lips remained their characteristic flat. Hands were gentle and stable in lifting your arm closer to him. Even as your blood soaked through to his skin, even as you cried in panic and pain, he showed no signs of rile. Observing his calm brought you closer to your own: infectious medicine. 

“It hurts?”

“Y’Yeah.���

Slowly, Levi lowered his hold until your arm rested on the bed again. He stood and made his way to the cupboards. In your gaze, past the twitch of your eyelids, you caught the focus in his. Jaw set, near-silent rolls of pills as he picked up bottles and read them, knuckles white around the acetaminophen. A coughing fit snuck up on you, and by the time it was over, he was once again at your bedside. Effortlessly, he twisted the cap off, and poured two pills into his palm. With his left hand, Levi placed his thumb on the bulb of your chin and pushed down, tugging your lips apart. In his right hand, pointer finger and thumb pinched the capsule and perched it between your top and bottom teeth. 

In his contact, you shuddered against him, yet his voice remained monotone, “Swallow.”

You raised your brows sharply, and at your sight, Levi realized how self-indulgent he was being. On the other hand, you were ignorant, too blinded by perplexion: the command of your captain and the tenderness of a husband. You sure this isn’t a dream? 

Levi reached into his coat and pulled out his canteen, untouched from this morning’s expedition. Again, his eyes honed in on your lips as his reach began to approach you again. God, chills once again seized you, you weren’t sure you could take much more intimacy without - well, you weren’t sure what you would do. Squeal? Giggle? You didn’t want to find out, so instead, you stopped him. Hand cupped his container, fingertips grazing, you tried to ignore it and affirmed, “I’ll manage.”

Levi’s eyes briefly widened, the rest of him froze. “Right,” you idiot! He scowled and cursed himself. He thought your feelings had been mutual, but your refusal reminded him that he wasn’t so good at this sort of thing. With a heavy sigh, Levi left your side and strode to the other side of the room. A harsh, unpleasant drag of wood on wood echoed throughout the room - Levi pulled the chair out from under the desk and slumped on it. Arms crossed, gaze sank to his toes.

Now it was your turn to chastise yourself. Nice work, now he thinks you hate him. The opposite was true, but how were you supposed to convey that now? He could not have been further away, nerves in your shin reaffirmed: there was no chance your leg would walk you there. 

Wordlessly, you both shared a simultaneous thought: Maybe Nanaba should’ve been here after all. 

For some time, the two of you sat in silence. Levi thought about retreating to his room, but something kept him planted in that seat. Hange had already humiliated him enough today, they would have even more if he came back and asked to be relieved of the assignment he pled for. Then, there was the question of who would replace him. Some half-ass recruit? Even if he called on a fellow veteran, he was sure that the last-minute shift would impact their morale, and therefore, their performance. Even if his feelings were unrequited, it did not affect the fact that he cared about you - though it would have been easier if it did. Leaving you with someone other than him was unacceptable - in this context or others - Levi jut his heel against the ground.

Just a few meters apart from him, but you were in your own world. Your body ached, your muscles tired, but nothing was more painful than this silence. You thought about trying to sleep, but that attempt would be futile, for this quiet was too loud. Your heart longed to run to him, to throw your arms around him, to dip your lips to his ear and tell him you were sorry. Legs and fear damned that option. Powerless, you leaned back, crossed your hands at the wrists, and threw the X over your forehead. Resigned. 

Inside and outside, “I feel gross.”

First, a side eye. Then, he turned his neck and shoulders. Even after you had shoved him away, Levi found it impossible to ignore you. Still, there was a lingering paralysis, a fear of letting himself go again. Invisible ropes reigned him in and kept him tied to humility.

You peeked out from under your hands, flickering eye contact made from across the way. Despite the distance, he could see the glaze of brimming tears, blurring your gaze. Lips quivering, both overwhelmed and let down, his name cracked in your throat. Levi could not hear it, but saw it in the weak motions of your mouth. His hands clutched the edge of the desk, fingers clenched, your call of his name released the last of his anchors. Swiftly, he crossed the room to stand at your side.

Blood caked to your skin. Sweat glossed over it. Gross was not what came to mind when he looked at you, but he could see why you felt that way. As for him, a shower was a necessity the second filth found him, but his lips stayed sealed. Something about recommending it to you made him feel even dirtier. 

Levi kept his gaze averted, scanning the room. A metal bucket would keep the water hot. A stack of washcloths adjacent might feel nice. A thick roll of gauze, he glanced to the clock, it was probably about time to change your bandages anyways. He began to start towards them.

No, don’t leave me again.

Before you could think, your hand snapped to his wrist, drawing a startle and brow raise from your captain. A cough scratched its way up your throat, you snapped to the other side and leaned into the crook of your elbow, sparing him. With each cough, your hand twitched around his arm. Painfully pathetic. After the fit, your voice was left broken, throat sore, craving steam and humidity.

There was one way you could get that, sweetheart. One place.

“Wait, Levi…” your arm shook as it rose to point. Bathroom door on the other wall, “will you help me in there? I kinda,” you tried to speak past the impending tickle, “I think I want a - ah…” three rapid sneezes, you groaned in their wake, “ngh…” 

Was it that each of your words was so obviously pained? Or was it his eagerness boiling over again? The interruption arrived before he could answer: “A bath?”

You sniffled away whatever irritant that was, and smiled sheepishly, “Sounds nice.”

Heart pounded in his chest, Levi swallowed his feelings down and replaced them with his reliable intuition. Grey gaze assessed your state. The injuries in your arm - you wouldn’t be able to hold onto him. The cast around your leg - he wouldn’t be able to hold you. Carrying you was not an option - not tonight at least - but otherwise, the venture should be possible. He just needed a little bit from you, he would shoulder your rest.

“Here,” Levi kneeled. Over the edge of the mattress, you looked down to see him awaiting. Inexplicable shivers were due to no cold. The solidity of his voice incinerated your wandering thoughts, “- alright if I?” 

His arm gingered towards your back, and with it came a run back of that last interaction - the one you screwed up. You knew, you were lucky to get a retry. This time, you would make the choice you would regret the least, just like he’d want you to. 

And he did.

Rather than cutting him off from you, you sewed yourselves together, leaning into his reach and leaning on him. Through bangs, Levi glanced up to you. Had you really just done that? Or was he again misreading things? You met his stare with a weak yet assured smile, cupping his shoulder. Understood, his hand curved to match your waist. Delectable.

“With me,” Levi ordered. As he began to rise, you did, too. Your left side put in overtime as your right side dragged without much use. His hand on your hip did most of the lifting - not only effortless for humanity’s strongest, but a hand he was happy to lend. Each time your balance threatened, you found that his grip cinched tighter. Buckling knees and selfish imagination longed to topple - the former for relief, the latter just to see. 

You needed to get there. You needed to get there! You could have sworn that light was glowing from the outline of the door - a bath with Levi Ackerman - but it seemed the world had some stake in preventing your arrival. Pain shot through your side, you could not help but wince. Your high-pitched mewl fell upon his ear, making your shudders shared.

“C’mon,” Levi beckoned, the strength to your struggle, “you’re almost there.”

The edges of your vision turned blurry. The floor and the ceiling seemed to switch, or something? A painful ringing in your ears, his voice was the ice to soothe it, the sturdiness to silence it, “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

You blinked for long spells, it seemed to help the threatening headache. Cold ceramic on the backs of your thighs lured you out of that strategy. When your eyes blurred open, the harsh white of the infirmary’s bath had been softened by a handful of candlelit lanterns, a four-wall twilight. The sound of water flowing from faucet to tub, an indoor waterfall. Maybe it was the medicine speaking, but you could not have pictured a more romantic scene. 

Levi shouldered off his tan coat, loosened his cravat, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows - you bit the inside of your lip, punishing the indulgence of your mind. Not romantic, you reminded yourself. Platonic, Levi settled.

The bath was filling. Water hot to the point of steaming: the mirror fogged, Levi’s cheeks tinged to red. You told yourself it was because of the room’s humidity. As he perched himself between your knees, Levi knew better. 

Clothes off. “Alright if I -?”

One hand would be hard. “Will you help me?”

The two of you interrupted one another with shared sentiment. A slight twitch of his lip - a smile - and a nervous giggle from you communicated mutual consent. He started with the hem of your tee. Fingers curled beneath the bottom, and god, how he was going oh so slowly. So delicate, there were times you had to rely on your sight to tell if he was really moving. Eventually, the brisk air wafted upon your skin, providing goosebumps as evidence. Within your collar, Levi spread his fingers wide, allowing the elastic to slide over your head and face without too much friction. When it came to your wounded arm, he was especially focused. Surgical precision, the fabric did not even graze your skin. 

However, now was the time. From the side of his hip, he unsheathed his pocketknife. A sharp shing! The blade razor thin, yet you were not the least bit scared. Even as he reached toward your fresh wound and slid the dagger between your bandage and forearm, somehow you knew he would not slip. After this long in the Regiment, he had learned some things about the psychology of first aid. Before you could think to panic, he had already sliced the wrap in two. Your gauze fell to the floor. Now, all that was left of your upper garments was your bra. Levi deliberately met your eye contact - this okay? You smiled and leaned forward, shortening the distance - I trust you. 

There was something about the way he unhooked you, and there was something about the way you interpreted it. Not suspiciously swift - he must not’ve been with many girls before. Neither clumsy nor awkward - had he anticipated this moment for a while? The tension of your brassiere as well as the tension in the room diluted when he finally stripped you free. Your bare chest before him, you anticipated his stare, but it never came. Levi did not look, but at the same time, it did not seem that he was trying not to. The aversion of his gaze once again humbled your ego, maybe he just wasn’t into you like that. The truth was, sex just wasn’t on his mind. Life had thrown him enough cold stones, had sculpted him into a realist. Let down had tethered his reins, preventing him from lunging too far towards satisfaction. 

Faced with your fragile state, your blood and bruises had his whole attention - more than the lips that longed to be kissed and the curves that yearned to be held again. Was it because he was a soldier that he could not care less about this opportunity? No, it was because his desires for you were far less shallow. 

Levi wanted to see you smile, actually smile. He wanted to show you the world beyond the walls, but only once the titans had been eliminated. Eyes on you on every expedition, he resented the perpetual fear that snared you. So terrified of the near threats - even the potential of threats - that you could not see the beauty in distance. The horizon. Mirages. Mountains in haze and trees to the forests. They were out there, and he had brought you there, but as long as the world was a dangerous place, you would fail to enjoy them. An expression without worry, that was his desire, more than anything -

“Levi?”

Snapped from his daydream, your puppy-dog gaze brought him back down to earth. A bob in his throat, a silent swallow, “Right, sorry.”

Gently, he took your bra and flowered it on the bathroom countertop. Your starch white pants, now stained with blood and dirt. Fingertips sandwiched your button and its opposite flap, looping the metal circle out from within, his knuckles grazed your tummy on the way. Drag of your zipper, you twitched beneath his touch. Once again, he checked on you. To confirm your consent, you used your left leg to shift your lower half off the edge of the tub, granting him the space to remove your bottoms. Levi glanced up to you and gave a half-nod. Then, he gradually curled his grip beside your hips, beneath the fabric of both your canvas pants and cotton underwear. Unexpected, scratchy lace on its edges drew a shiver he nearly subdued. Likewise, his neatly trimmed nails slightly scraped your sides. With the two of you flinching at once, both of you were ignorant to the startle of the other. 

Fabric bunched on his way down, he slid the loops off your ankles and over your feet. After dealing with the left side, he realized the problem of the right. Your cast so thick, there was no way it would fit through the sleeve of your pants. His thought process seemed to glimmer on the reflection of his blade. Its glare took hold of your peripheral vision.

“It’s okay. It’s fine.”

Levi held the blade in his trademark backwards way, “I’ll get you -” not we’ll get you - “a new pair.”

With one hand, he held the bundle of canvas. With the other, he gave a quick nick at its top, just an inch past the thickness of where your belt would go. A jut of his wrist snapped the switch back under its protective case, Levi shoved the knife back into his leg strap. Two free hands grabbed each side of the cut and tore apart. A satisfying tear! Not as satisfying as the way his forearms flexed. Somehow, the movement of his muscles contracted with the still in his face and the lack of audible exertion. Purposed and effortless. 

Your pants had been destroyed, yet still, he folded them neatly over his forearms - a perfectly symmetrical square. Levi draped your panties over your bra. While he fixated on the potential for wrinkles, your teeth began to chatter, nose began to tickle. Though you were glad to be out of those filthy clothes, the loss of warmth was beginning to affect you. Bundling into yourself, you ducked your head down and sneezed again - immediately garnering his attention. 

Levi chastised himself for moving too slow, but did not loom. In this context and others, he preferred to rely on action. After a quick cuff of his sleeves at the elbows, Levi gestured his arms out to you, you lifted your reach toward him. By an arm at your back and one beneath your knee, he helped maneuver you into the bath, all without getting your cast or cuts into the water. Although, Levi bit the inside of his cheek, those scratches would have to be cleaned eventually. But for now, he could not bring himself to sever your bliss, let alone replace it with pain. 

Hot, but not too hot. Scented, but not overwhelming. You tipped your head back and sighed. Singsonged breaths, your toes curled around the porcelain rim. The sight and sound of your satisfaction made his heart stop, his middle blaze, “Ah, that feels good…” 

Levi balled his fists in his clothes, good god help me. He could practically see Hange laughing and teasing: Look what you got yourself into, Levi! Lips pressed together, a grounding throat clear. Maybe, selfishly, he should get your arm under the water after all. 

He did not have to say anything, for you could feel his gaze searing onto your arm. You were impressed with his composure. In your eyes, just thinking about your wound was enough to make your stomach flip. Levi, on the other hand, seemed relatively unbothered. Looking back on this moment would bring you immense sympathy: what had he seen already that made this okay? Indeed, he had witnessed enough injury to accurately survey: the scratch was actually not as bad as the amount of dried blood suggested. Until he cleaned it, you would continue to shriek at your own sight. 

You knew what had to be done, so don’t make me beg. 

Your voice was quiet, sagged by reluctance. Your lip started to quiver, your throat seemed to close. No one enjoyed this sort of thing - shots, the dentist - but some things just had to be done. As long as he was here, it wouldn’t be so bad. It was how you tried to convince yourself, but despite his presence, your eyes began to burn, sobs began to simmer. Stuttering turned to blubbering, “C’Can you… C’an you…” Tears brimmed, you tried to speak past them, “H’Help m’me…?” You could not even manage the thought of voluntarily sinking your arm into the water, let alone the speech.

Thankfully, he read between the lines. Levi knew what he had to do. Fingers intertwined, you squeezed his hand hard. “You’re okay,” Levi assured, “I’ve got you.”

He lead the way, you went along with it. On your descent, despite his solid contact, you could not stop trembling. Levi used his other hand to graze the bottom of your chin, beckoning your gaze to meet his. “Don’t look at it, just look at me.”

Brows flat, eyes plain, Levi’s calm was contagious. You didn’t believe in yourself, but he did: “I know you can do it.” Who were you to object to your captain? 

You can do this. You can do this. You -

Steaming, soapy water finally consumed your arm. The spot of contact managed to demand each of your nerves and diminish any ounce of composure. One leg pushed against the end of the tub, the other squirmed and snapped. You threw your head back over the rim with a scream that hurt your own ears. Levi did not shush you, only fierced his grip. His grounding technique brought you back a bit, just enough to substitute your high-pitched mewls for between-teeth hisses.

Pathetic, it was a word he used towards plenty of people, but when it came to you, it meant something different. Helpless - not weakness - in a way that pled for his assistance. When others acted like this, it irked him. And it wasn’t that he enjoyed seeing you like this, but the hold you had on him was confusing: how did this bother him so intensely yet make his heart do somersaults? 

Levi chose to distract himself from his emotions and instead fixated on the twitches of your body. Some here, some there, but now starting to die down. Deep breaths, your chest rattled on exhale. As soon as you regained coherence and speech, you apologized, embarrassed, “Sorry.”

Levi knit his brows, you had nothing to be sorry for. If anything, he did. Sorry that he wasn’t there when you needed him to be. With each tear you shed and each strain of overstimulated muscles, he was painfully reminded that this could have - should have - never happened. Maintaining his hold of your hand, Levi took a washcloth from his back pocket, dipped it in the lather, and began to scrub your skin clean. Sorry that - “I wasn’t there,” at that moment, he swabbed a little harder, “what happened?”

It was as if he was trying to wipe away your layers and get to the bottom of today. Gentle at times, deliberate at others, he worked to massage an answer out of you. Reaching all the spots on your back, over the shoulders, the sides of your neck, the divot at your middle. Fingers woven, he leveraged his grip to lift your hand from the water and clean your arm. Levi pressed the cotton against your skin from the insides of your thighs to the tips of your toes. His arm aligned with your spine, reclining you backwards so that your hair could soak. Not too deep, as he tipped you back, Levi whispered, “Trust me.”

Throughout the bath, you remained quiet, though Levi could tell that you were not dosing him the silent treatment. Rather, you were still searching for understanding yourself. You sunk your gaze to the water below, hands kneaded beneath the surface, “It was my fault.”

There was no change in his movements, but his gaze snapped to you through sullen bangs, inviting you to ramble on. Ramble. “I was looking at another wing. A six… no… seven-meter abnormal.”

His brows arced, eyes to yours, That was my encounter. 

Caught red-handed, your own admission, I know.

“And… in the distance, I could see - could see someone was fighting it.”

Me.

Yes, you. 

“I got nervous. Startled, panicked… cinched the reins too hard.” It had happened in a second and was still so raw. Memory foggy, you tried to fill in your own blanks. “She must’ve thrown me or something. Stepped on my leg, I think?” With your blood washed away, you could finally bear to glance at your cut. “I remember being dragged, this must’ve been from the ground.” 

Levi’s lips parted, struck by your story and a thousand ensuing thoughts. It was his fault after all. It wasn’t that he was too far away from you, it was that he was too close. In your sights, but wait. Why were you looking? 

It was the last time that your eye contact began with uncertainty, but the first time that the two of you overcame your doubts. Through your story, you had all but confessed. Through his actions, Levi had, too. 

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You, too.”

When you were ready, you held out your hands. This time, far fewer check-ins were needed in the progression of your contact. Levi scooped your fingers in his palms, caressed and supported, he helped you out of the bathtub - your hands in his as he stood. Faced with his front, you noticed how his shirt had been soaked in the process, made more and more see-through as he bathed you. While he still refused to indulge himself in your appearance, you could not help but admire the symmetry of his abdomen and the new tightness of his top. Suddenly, your pain was flushed out and replaced with some other honey-like hormone. Was this the best medicine?

Levi kept one hand on you, there for balance, as he reached to the rack and unfurled your towel. Wrapped tight, he tucked the corner beneath your upper arm, allowing you to keep warm while he used a spare rag to dry the rest of your limbs - gentle and thorough. 

You rolled your neck and shoulders, “I don’t have clothes here…”

Levi flicked his head to the side, “...and that bed’s filthy.”

“Hey,” you glued your pointer and middle finger together and pushed the middle of his chest, sighing, “I couldn’t help that.”

But he could now. 

The next couple hours were another blur. In one arm, your dirty laundry. With the other, Levi supported your weight as you sneaked yet stumbled through new moonlit halls. You could not retrace the path to his room, but there were a few parts along the way that you could write novels about, could paint portraits of. The way his index finger crossed with the line of his lips, shushing your nervous laughs as you passed recruits’ barracks. The hush and haste in his voice. Bringing you to his bed and pulling the covers to your nose, why did he insist on taking the sofa? The answer to that question, you could not understand. The oceans in his eyes, you could not quite draw. The words that dwindled on the tip of his tongue, you could not quite pen. 

But there were many more nights to get there. 

// masterlist //

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi #levi ackerman #oneshot #fluff #2023 #requests #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #If you ever want a long fic from me #the secret must be caretaking #cause I will never shut up about it 🥰

[somber-sapphic]

hi it was me who sent in the request it was a emily x reader and the prompt was i am not sick i think , it was the reader who is sick thank you 🫶

A Call For Rest

〖Summary: After an exhausting week Emily convinces you to go home and rest.〗

〖Word Count: 900〗

〖Pairing: Emily x sick R〗

〖Notes: I'm so glad that reached you! And so so sorry about my accidental deletion, I truly don't know what happened there. I sincerely hope this makes up for it <3〗

“Hey love,” Emily murmured, appearing in the doorway as if she’d teleported there. You hadn’t heard her walk up, though you couldn't hear much through your clogged ears. You set your pen down and wiped your nose on your sleeve, too tired to care about how gross it was. The world was sort of hazy, your mind cloudy. 

Writing up case reports was probably not the best idea considering your current mental state but you remembered enough to feel confident that you could go over notes with JJ to get the full story. 

The media liaison would likely be okay if you just dropped the papers on her desk, she had already checked in on you twice and tried to force you to take some medicine. When you refused she’d settled for leaving a cup of tea on your desk. You drank a little bit but forgot and let it get cold, cold tea wasn’t appetizing. 

“Hi Em.” You croaked, the words grating across your throat. Swallowing was already painful enough but talking seemed impossible. Emily walked into your office and leaned against the side of your desk, looking down at the papers that you were scribbling on. She frowned at the illegible writing, trying to make out even the simplest words. You typically had great penmanship, rivaling even Hotch’s, but this was bad.

“Is it safe to assume you aren’t feeling very well?” She put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently, concerned that she could feel the heat through your shit. It was a light shirt, but still, she shouldn’t be able to feel your fever through a layer of fabric. 

“I’m fine, just tired. Long week.” You were trying to use as few words as possible while still speaking somewhat normally but with the way your voice sounded, it didn’t matter. Nothing could save you from the reality that you weren’t going to win this fight. The last thing you wanted to do was leave work unfinished to pile up, but Emily didn't look like she was letting you get away that easily.

“Hmm, long weeks don’t usually make me sound like I gargled knives for fun. And you feel pretty warm. And your nose is running.” If she kept listing off things you were doomed. You wiped your nose on your sleeve again and sniffled, not removing your eyes from the papers. It was getting harder and harder to focus, everything was so blurry, and your head felt so groggy. 

“I‘m not sick.” You protested, swiping a hand across your eyes in a useless attempt to clear your vision. You refused to accept that you were just lightheaded and no amount of blinking or rubbing your eyes could fix that. Emily sighed and laid her palm on your forehead, making a face at what she felt. 

“I think your fever would beg to differ. You aren’t getting much done here anyway. I can’t read any of that.” She gestured to your sloppily written paperwork, not bothering to sugarcoat it. She’d had enough experience trying to reason with you that she knew you responded better to directness than to dancing around a subject.

You frowned down at your desk and coughed into your fist, your lungs protesting the extra effort they were being forced to use. Emily put a steadying hand on your back, providing support as you choked on whatever your body decided it needed to hack up. 

 When you were finally finished you looked up at her to find dark brown eyes staring back, filled with concern. 

 “Please, you need to rest. You’re so pale, you look like a ghost. I don’t want you to pass out here.” She caressed your cheek, leaving her palm there as an extra show of her love for you. She wasn’t always the best at offering comfort, she had trouble figuring out how to, but this she could handle. There was an easy fix to being sick and she was more than willing to take care of you through it. 

 “What about-” 

 “I’ll take care of it. Let Emily take you home, I’ve seen corpses that look more alive than you.” JJ’s voice startled you, making you jump a little in your seat. God everyone was just popping up out of nowhere, maybe you were worse off than you thought. Emily smiled at the media liaison and wrapped an arm around your shoulders in a loose hug. 

 “Come on love. Let’s go home. I’ll help you walk.” 

 “I don’t need help walking.” You protested as she lifted you from your chair, proving that you not only needed help walking but you couldn't stand on your own. After taking a few wobbly steps under the concerned gaze of JJ, Emily picked you up deciding that it would be the easiest way to get you to the car in a timely manner. 

 You whined but settled into her arms, relieved by the warmth of her touch. She was warm and soft and strong enough to carry you easily. You pressed your face into the crook of her neck and closed your eyes to protect against the harsh light of the bullpen. 

 “Feel better hun,” JJ said softly, squeezing your arm on your way out. You tried to nod but your head was too heavy. You were practically asleep by the time Emily reached the parking lot, but you didn’t mind. Though you would never admit it you were eternally glad that Emily had shown up when she did, any longer and you were confident you would’ve fallen asleep at your desk. 

#sickfic #fanfiction #sick fanfiction #fever #sick reader #sick fanfic #caretaking #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds sickfic #criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau #sick you #sick fic

[silky-nereid]

— i don’t know why i bite

tw : manipulative behavior, minor injuries, dead things as an gifts, major injuries, barn and farm inaccuracies, implied death.

yandere!caretaker x monster!reader/you

Yandere! Caretaker who lives on a farm and harvested a couple of corn cobs for side dishes and notices a trail of blood in their barn.

Yandere! Caretaker who finds you injured curled up in the hayloft, surrounded by hay and manages to catch you despite your claws scratching them and biting them.

Yandere! Caretaker who immediately puts you in a metal tub to wash you and tries to put a muzzle on you to stop you from biting them.

“Watch it!” They grumbled. “I’m trying to help you.”

Rolling up their flannel patterned sleeves, holding a simple hose and different types of shampoo bottles to see which one would work better.

They filled up the metal tub but you had other plans and scurried out of the tub. Trembling and immediately curled up in a ball, your clawed hands still desperately tried to tear off the muzzle.

Yandere! Caretaker who still searches up methods to gain your trust and carefully dressed your wounds.

Yandere! Caretaker who buys equipment to take off the matted fur/matted feathers if you weren’t able to preen them due to your state.

Yandere! Caretaker who tries to figure out what type of food that you’ll eat and makes sure that you get daily meals.

Your face had been buried in the fresh bowl of meals rather than leisurely being sprawled in the hayloft surrounded in a bed of hay. You finished eating and dug your nails in the wooden poles climbing up into the hayloft, blood filled your mouth and hearing the familiar boots hitting the gray concrete.

They watched you climb down and saw the blood dribbling down your skin which immediately caused them to pace towards you with a first aid kit. A dead rat was spat out from your mouth onto the concrete floor.

“You got me worried.” They wiped the blood from your mouth. “Don’t scare me like that. Is this a gift for me?”

The corners of their lips formed into a smile when you purred/chirped in response as you climbed up the wooden poles to the hayloft and buried yourself in the hay.

Yandere! Caretaker who ‘upgraded’ your living space from the barn to their farmhouse and has to bandage up their own injuries but they weren’t as deep now; progress.

Yandere! Caretaker who increasingly grows protective of you after you curled up next to them and they noticed a collar around your neck that they somehow hadn’t seen before.

Yandere! Caretaker who begrudgingly contacts the number on the back of the collar after doubt sets in as they look at you, somehow sleeping on the tiny couch and immediately hangs up after a single hello from the other line.

Yandere! Caretaker who throws away the collar and goes back to the couch where you’re still sprawled on and slowly wakes you up to treat the infection from the collar.

Your claws scratched the doorframe of upstairs, hanging upside down and occasionally gnawing on the top of the frame.

“Get down from there. You’ll get hurt,” they said. “Your breakfast is almost done.”

They knew that noise of you climbing down the doorframe and still struggling down the stairs. Hearing the knock on the spring door and leaving the pan on the counter to see a well dressed duo on the other side of the door, they walked to the spring door and took one foot out.

“Can I help you two?” They asked.

“You have what’s ours,”one said. “It escaped and we tracked it down here. Hand it over and we will be on our way.”

“You must be in the wrong place.” They crossed their arms. “You both should go back on your way and leave.”

A familiar purr/chirp echoed throughout the silent farmhouse that made their heart drop.

Yandere! Caretaker who isn’t afraid of getting their hands dirty if it means to protect you and finds your trembling form poorly hidden and tries desperately to calm you down because they hate to see you in pain.

Yandere! Caretaker who slowly spoils you to make it up for the bloodshed but you seem to refuse every time which slowly chips away at them; were you starting to be ungrateful?

Your gaze stuck on the outside, bright blue sky rather than the stuffy farmhouse that seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each day that passed. Perhaps they would like a gift for a farewell? You left a small mouse on the counter, it didn’t move as it just lied on its side.

The fresh breeze against the clean body and you started to move further and further away from the farmhouse. It bloomed with a unrecognizable sting as it wasn’t the familiar pain that always embedded itself into you but it was freeing; better than—

A loud ringing echoed throughout your head, guttural cries escaped your lips. Your face buried in the fresh grass, it hurt to breathe, a familiar scent came in. Through your blurred vision, you saw the intricate designs on the boots that belong to them, your claws desperately grabbed the lower pant leg but failed and grabbed the dirt instead.

“You’re hurt,” they said. “Let’s get you inside now. I’ll patch you up and you will be good as new.”

They meticulously moved you back inside and back onto the familiar comfort of the small couch yet the trembling continues throughout your body, desperately clinging to their warmth. Your face buried in their abdomen, a familiar soft purring/chirping escaped your mouth.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” They cleaned the dirt from underneath your nails, wrapped and cleaned the wound on your back. “Stay here with me and I’ll care for you.”

#yandere oc x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #tw yandere #tw yancore #yandere oc x reader #yandere idea #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #yandere #they don’t have a name yet #yandere caretaker x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x monster #a literal monster #yande.re #tw implied death #tw injury #tw murder #yandere fic #yandere fanfiction

[necros-writing-stuff]

Eden has to love you. You're in his home, let into his private space when only one other knows it exists beside from you and him. All of these years alone, all of these years thinking he was fine with only his own voice to remind himself of his own humanity. But now you are here - your voice keeps him grounded. Your touch staves off the thoughts that had been desperately clawing at his skull. Eden has to love you, because he can't find peace without it.

Bailey can't love you. You're his ward; you're his pawn to bleed dry until you break. He knows breaking you will be the toughest job of them all. His interactions in life are shallow, monotony occasionally broken by tensions so thick you can see it hovering in the air. It bores him so. Yet in your eyes there is hatred - vitriol that could poison him from glance alone. Bailey can't love you, but you're the only genuine thing left in his life.

#spill my guts #eden the hunter #bailey the caretaker #gn reader #degrees of lewdity

[ashersanity]

- @princesstokyomoon, @bobsquatley :)

Sometimes your caretaker can’t help themselves around you.

YANDERE! BAILEY

asher, we’ve been over this.

content warning! very non-con, mentions of violence, murder, somnophilia, voyeurism spanking, gunplay, choking, bailey is a warning on its own, expect the worst.

pc and bailey are gender neutral as always unless explicitly stated otherwise

“Your body was always mine. Just like your first time.”

yandere type : sadistic, possessive, controlling, overprotective

Yan!Bailey who needs you by their side at all times. Doesn’t matter why, the shitty caretaker is somehow coming up with some sort of sick excuse to have you in their office. Starts off with simple things, gruff voice demanding you to come in here already, needing you to dust the floor, it’s dirty, they claim. No speck of dust in sight, but who are you to deny Bailey? You know what happens when you do. Escalates to having you now on their lap, comfortably seated on their thighs. It’s an order of theirs, they say. Right. Of course it is. if they have a cock, then they’re slipping their length into your hole, cock warming them for the entire day.

Yan!Bailey who gets that weird sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach at the sight of you chatting away, lips curling up into that damn smile of yours, softly laughing along to Robin’s jokes. Y’know like some weird school boy/girl who immediately gets jealous, seeing their crush talking to someone else. Familiar steps drawing closer until they’re looming right over you and the poor orphan, dark look on their face, assigning you both different chores to have you two separated for the day. Brushes it off after like it was nothing, doesn’t know why they got so heated up about it either.

Yan!Bailey who can’t possibly help themselves around you, wooden floor creaking under the weight of their heavy footsteps, slipping into your room at night without that pesky orphan being by your side for once. Well, not like it’s going to stop them from doing what they have to do. Disheveled, unkempt, dark hair that’s usually slicked back, breath reeking of booze as they draw closer to your sleeping form, tall frame towering over yours. Look at you. Blissfully ignorant, unaware of what they’re doing right now, how their tongue slicked with sweat and vodka trails over your pristine, perfect lips, untouched by any of the filthy bastards in this town. You don’t even get to know that your first kiss didn’t go to sweet, old Robin.. Bailey’s own lips pressing against yours instead, tongue slipping past between your teeth.

Yan!Bailey who has several cameras installed in your room, lens catching each and every movements that you make, including the much more.. private ones. Needing to know what you’re up to, what you’re doing, who you bring into your room, entangled bodies softly landing against the cushioned mattress. Forbids you from sneaking anyone into the orphanage after that, claiming it’s for whatever bullshit reason they gave you. Stores in the tape right onto their computer, dim light of the screen reflected in their eyes, fixated on the way you blush and pant, hands slowly circling around your sex. Always comes in handy after a long, stressful day, needing to let off some steam, a low groan reverberating in the office.

Yan!Bailey whose punishments only grow increasingly worse and worse by the day, catching you slacking off during your chores or entering their office a few too many times results in you bent over their lap, begging for mercy. Palm raised, unrelenting in their blows, smacking your bum till it turns red, as red at the blush on your face, squeaking voice and hiccuped sobs echoing through the desolate room. The caretaker who doesn’t stop just as that, needing you to fully regret your actions and repent for them. Finger slipping inside your hole, alternating between thrusting their digit in all the while spanking you. Thrust in, thrust out, spank. Thrust in, thrust out, spank. Makes you messily cum all over yourself like the whore that you are, dangling legs trembling over their lap. Ignore the wet patch that formed on their trouser/skirt once you leave, giving Bailey a last fleeting look over your shoulder.

Yan!Bailey who doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet through the eyes of any motherfucker who even dares to lay their dirty hands on you. Who do they think they are? Messing with their own property? The one in charge of this whole town? In their own presence? Don’t question what happened to that one thug that got a little too bold with you, shamelessly groping at your behind as you walked on, blindfolded and gagged, uselessly drooling away. Thought that would slip past the caretaker’s eyes? Idiot, nothing does. Never with Bailey. And they’re also making it your own problem too, grasping at the back of your head, forcing you down onto your knees once more. Time to apologize in the way you know best, whore.

Yan!Bailey who’s a bit too much into this whole gunplay thing. Cold steel of their gun pressed against your temple, finger hovering over the trigger, barrel loaded in. Servicing them on your knees like the slut that you are, knowing they can blow your brains out at any moment. Fat, wet tears rolling down your cheeks, struggling to swallow them all. Hissing lowly under their breath, taking in the image of your tear-stained face, flushed cheeks and parted lips. So goddamn pretty. Raping you with their shotgun right up your ass, taking in delight in the sounds of your choked up sobs as they slide the length in and out of your poor, abused hole. Presses an uncharacteristically soft and gentle kiss to your forehead to soothe your nerves. How cute.

Yan!Bailey who doesn’t feel a shred of guilt or remorse at having you locked up in the orphanage, forever theirs to stay. Didn’t want to pay up your debt? Fine by them. Now you’re paying the caretaker in a different way, gloved hands firmly gripped around your throat and applying pressure, tugging at the wrists tied behind your back, chest pressed up against the hard surface of their desk. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Makes sure Robin is there to see by pure “chance”, by accident, walking in on you in this vulnerable state, legs limps from the other’s treatment, utterly helpless. That’s good. Show that orphan who you really belong to now, huh?

Yan!Bailey who’ll track you down no matter where you go, wherever you run off to, to the ends of the earth, dammit. Thought you could get away from them? From Bailey themselves? The one that practically raised you? Fucking arrogant brat, they’re here to put you back into your place once they find you. Taking advantage of the power, ressources and numerous connections that they have in this town, it’s only a matter of time before they find you. Once they do, it’s over. Utterly. Fucking. Over. You’re here to stay with them, chained up to their side, collar tightly locked around your bruised up neck, lettering of their own name visible over your skin. Bailey fucking owns you. And they’ll make sure you have that simple notion ingrained into your stupid little brain. Make ya learn because that’s what you’re good at. Right, brat?

[END OF POST]

Masterlist

#the fact that this isn’t all that different from their canon selves says a lot.. #fucking tsundere #I know you care for pc in your own way #a very weird way at that #dol #degrees of lewdity #bailey the caretaker #so this is the first thing I post about them huh.. #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #character x reader #asher writes #badly at that

[mellowwillowy]

𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤷ Synopsis: An honor student was sent to detention, and to everyone's surprise, it was nothing out of the ordinary until the headmaster decided that he had enough and gave your beloved caretaker a call.

⤷ warnings — possessive behaviors, mention of past abuse and trauma, gn reader

"Seriously, your caretaker will be hearing this soon." The headmaster grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose, another trip to detention which you thought would just be another chance to laze inside the headmaster's room, sleeping on the couch while killing time.

"Didn't he tell you not to bother him over menial problems like this?"

"Considering how many times you have lazed in my room, I wouldn't say it's menial anymore. Besides, just what made you think that it was a great idea to pick a fight with Whitney?!"

You groaned at the headmaster's bickering, waiting for your beloved caretaker to just come and patch your wounded ass. Picking a fight with the head bully was never a great idea but you were somehow itching for a fight by the school's corridor out of nowhere!

"He should be here by now."

"And you will not be hearing the end from us."

The doors to the headmaster's room swung open, revealing your caretaker who was wearing an annoyed expression. "I supposed it's supposed to be something important, Leighton?" The man questioned your headmaster as he leaned toward the doorframe.

"Did you not learn the etiquette of referring to someone who is older than you too?"

"Oh I'm so sorry but we did not recall ever seeing you being a proper headmaster."

You and he both attended the same school, and the only thing that was surprising enough was that the uniform you two once wore hadn't changed much. Some may say that your uniform seemed a bit different but that was all, no further questions were asked about you. Especially your age.

"Your pretty little brat was causing trouble again, am I in the wrong to summon their beloved caretaker?" the headmaster spat as he drummed his fingers on the table, "Not the first, second nor tenth. But I couldn't just close my eyes anymore on this matter."

You tugged on your caretaker's suit, "Bailey, do you have bubblegum?" Surely you were defiant enough to not listen to the headmaster's bickering but he wouldn't do anything about it. He couldn't.

Bailey sighed as he handed you a pack of bubblegum, at the very least it kept you away from cigarettes. "And?"

"If I have to say, I am kind enough to give them preferential treatment, wouldn't you say so too? No photographs, no spanking, and no-"

"I think you are a bit too high over your head right now," Bailey growled at his remarks, "I too, am being nice to you. What do you think this school will do to a perverted headmaster like you if I leaked out all the blackmail materials you had against the students?"

You thought to yourself as you blew out a balloon, would the mayor do anything about this? Probably not unless a revolution started or the Mayor was edged by Bailey until he had no choice but to dismiss your headmaster.

"You are wasting my time, you know that right? And you," Bailey looked back at you, making you pop the balloon and chew the gum back.

"What?"

Bailey chewed back all the nasty words he was about to tell you as he scratched his head, "Get into the car. I'll have a chat with him first." You shrugged and left the room without looking back, shutting the dual doors tight.

--

"I'm not going to say much anymore," Bailey stood up from his seat and walked toward the door, "they could not feel how it's like to be a student and all you had to was turn a blind eye to everything they did, is that so hard?"

The headmaster's face contorted into a scowl, "Bastards, you two really have your caretaker's tendencies running thick in your blood, blackmailing just to obtain what you want."

"Whatever you are saying, if I see them troubled again, I won't be this lenient anymore." Bailey slammed the doors with a loud thud and thought to himself, just who was the brat that punched you so hard that it cut your left lip?

--

Bailey groaned at your sight and started to drive like a madman toward the orphanage, "Good, just make sure you can at the very least win."

"Did you win?"

"Hmm... I think so, considering how I'm the only one who could walk to detention." You shrugged as Bailey examined your bruises in the car, your uniform torn and stained with blood, your hair disheveled, and a cut on your left lip.

You cackled at his words and started to play the radio, bobbing your head to the tunes, "Reminiscing how hellish it was whenever you see me wounded?"

Bailey didn't respond but hell he knew what you meant. The two of you were not catered to as children and ironically enough, the boy you once remembered as someone kind and loving is now a ruthless extortionist called Caretaker, perhaps he was worse than your previous caretaker but he was nice enough to not do anything toward the children that were not considered as an adult yet.

Perhaps that was the only justification you could give him.

You pouted at his words, those who failed to pay will be sold but you knew he wouldn't do that. Besides, the others would be squirming happily should he ever sell you.

"Ah right, time to pay up brat."

"No preferential treatment for me?"

"You are still my orphans and I am nothing but a fair man."

"I think I'm short in money sir."

"What a coincidence, I need someone to clean my bedroom and make my bed," Bailey looked at you side-eyed, "and I need someone to keep me company for the night, I suppose you could cover up your debt with this much yeah?"

#DOL #Degrees of Lewdity #Bailey the Caretaker #Leighton the Headmaster #Whitney the Bully #Yandere x reader #x gn reader #this is a shitpost

[digenerate-trash]

Inner city freaks!!!!!

this is the last one I'll be doing for a while. peace.

Disclaimer Bailey has been heavily influenced by @ashersanity here's the Link they got to my mans first.

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Bailey 

Bailey is uncharacteristically needy when you guys are alone. It's strange how much he wants to touch and hold you. he's also very quiet when this happens and if you speak up, he will pinch you pull on your hair, or bite you to get you to shut up. 

he's really into making sure you're trapped with him at all times. He’ll pull you out of school if you've been avoiding him too much. 

he's installed a lock on the outside of your door. He uses it to keep you in at night and sometimes on days when he thinks you'll be up to no good. 

Cockwarming, constantly. If he calls you into his office it's to cockwarm him while he works. 

No other orphans get to come near you. Ever. he's broken Robin's wrist over this. 

Constantly objectifies you calling you “valuable” “precious” and “pet” 

Your debt is just to keep you in check and struggling at this point. he's stopped renting you out and instead keeps you captive on the weeks you can't pay.

Bailey swears he's not as bad as the rest of this stupid town but when the mood strikes him he's breaking into your room in the middle of the night to wake you up and fuck you. He usually gags you but a part of him wants the other orphans to hear you screaming and crying. He’ll leave bruises and worse if you struggle.

Even people who have offered to buy you out for outrageously high prices are turned down by Bailey always telling them that someone is paying double what they can afford. 

Bailey of course gets to the point where he can't even let you leave. He can't handle it anymore. People keep asking about you. People keep wanting to take you away. He eventually just snaps. Starts telling people you died. Rips down missing posters in hopes this whole town forgets you ever existed. Anyone who comes sniffing around is taken care of. And you stay with Bailey. In his cornered-off apartment in the orphanage. Just a couple of doors down from your old room. 

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Leighton 

Creep. Dudes a super creep and it only gets worse when his obsession rolls in. 

Huge corruption kink and if you start off innocent he just adores ruining you. 

he's not really subtle about how he feels either. You get detention twice as much. Your pictures fill up his computer files very fast. He even brings you to the brothel for dates and makes you sit on his lap while he gropes you. 

He gets his way through blackmail mostly. Man is not strong.

Forced fem looking as. No matter your gender he just loves you in girl clothes. He even likes to tear leggings/tights at the crotch for easy access. 

Is always feeling you up. can't keep his hands off of you. 

Will keep your panties/confiscated clothes separate from other students because they're just oh so precious to him. 

This man licks panties. All the time gets off on it. 

He will force you to have sex with another student and film it. Especially if neither of you are into it. he's a real freak about reluctant sex. 

Hell makes you blow him under his desk. But hell yank on your hair the whole time.

If you get the chance to blackmail him first he's not taking it. Instead, he's going to try and worm his way out of it. If he can't do that he's going to seethe. Dude is not comfortable with you having the upper hand

Piss kink. (can't explain it.) 

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Avery 

Also a forced fem fucker. Doesn’t matter your gender he's getting off on the idea that he has control over everything you do including how you address yourself when you're with him. 

Will use money to manipulate you. 

Constantly talks about marrying you??? Especially if you've been the ideal little socialite 

You boost his image at parties and he's a big fan of that. At first, he denies having feelings for you. he's just paying you after all it's all for show. Bet it gets harder and harder to let you climb out of his car and head back to the orphanage. 

He even offers to buy you outright from Bailey but Bailey knows you're more valuable if you keep getting Avery's money every week. 

Big on controlling you and who you talk to. Isolates you and takes up all your time on the weekends and even during your rides home. He purposefully keeps you for longer than necessary 

At High Rage Avery is a monster. Dude is constantly cornering you. Even when you break up with him he still shows up for your “dates” outside of the orphanage and tries to grab you. 

he's constantly trying to force you into his life even when you're being defiant. He will break your wrists/fingers to get his way. 

He knows he can't fight Bailey outright but his offers to buy you get more aggressive. 

When that doesn't work he withholds money from you even if you go on dates with him. He makes it harder for you to get regular work by trashing your reputation. He’ll make sure you have no one to rely on. And within a couple of weeks when you're desperate and broke. 

Avery will be there outside the orphanage. Ready to take you on a date. Just like always. 

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Quinn

Quinn has so many things wrong with him. 

You barely notice Quinn. he's not a big presence in your life until he wants you. 

Then suddenly you're the mayor's new intern. The pay is good and you don't have to whore yourself out so it's really a good gig. 

Baley hates your job but hell never tell you why. 

Quinn is pretty touchy. Likes to hold onto you tightly and show you off like a little pet. 

he's also big on making sure you work in his office with him. Even if you don't have any work to do. he's keeping you in the office with him. 

he's always very careful that the door is closed and music is playing while you both work. 

He stares a lot. Way too much to be healthy. You start to question whether he is actually getting any work done. 

He also makes sure that you have anything you want while you work with him. Coffee, breakfast. Anything you like he insists. 

it's only when you've been working for a couple of weeks that he finally asks you something that's a bit off. Personal questions. That makes you uneasy. 

He brings up that he knows Bailey charges you rent every week. And he says he can start to cover it if you just do him a couple extra favors on top of your regular work.

This quickly spirals into late-night ‘meetings’ where he ends up fucking you over his desk while the building is empty. 

he's careful not to leave marks. you're as clean and neat as you were when you walked in and he's so very careful as he pets your head before letting you leave. 

Over the next week, you get a promotion and a raise. You start working more late nights. 

#leighton the headteacher #bailey the caretaker #quinn the mayor #avery the businessperson #tw violence #tw abuse #tw rape #yan dol #yandere #tw yandere #yandere tropes #x reader #gn reader

[dindjarindiaries]

Dincember - December 12: Warmth

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: Warmth

main masterlist • dincember masterlist

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙

You arrived home in the middle of the night, and certainly much later than you had originally hoped. The ship had stalled in the freezing cold of Nevarro's nearby neighbor, but your meeting couldn't be postponed. Now, thanks to the chill of Nevarro's dark night and the way the neighboring planet's atmosphere still stuck to you and your clothes, there was a cold that bit right down into your bones.

Your arms were wrapped over yourself as you stepped inside the cabin, pleased to at least see that both Din and Grogu had gone to bed. It was a bad habit of yours and Din's alike to stay up whenever the other was gone - and Grogu had started to catch on himself. Your footsteps tread even lighter as you reached the door to your bedroom.

Somehow, you stayed quiet enough not to wake Din as you prepped for bed, which proved to be difficult giving the constant chattering of your teeth. Once you had changed into something more comfortable, you made your way into the bed beside Din, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth of his side as you both fought the cold and sought to keep Din asleep.

Of course, your efforts were to no avail. Din stirred as soon as you were beside him, propping himself on his elbow to look at you. "Hey, you're home." His voice was a rasp of exhaustion, but it didn't hide his relief and joy. He managed to find your shoulder even in the darkness of the room, his hand giving it a squeeze. "How was your meeting?"

You smiled and nodded. "It was g-good." You bit your cheek as you stuttered, unable to keep your teeth from chattering.

Din frowned, his brow wrinkling with concern as his hand raised from your shoulder to your cheek. "You're freezing." He pulled the blankets up higher around you and tucked them along your sides. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." You chuckled and went on. "Don't worry." Another shiver tore through you, making you tremble momentarily under the blankets.

Din tilted his head. "You sound like me." His hand found your cheek again and he gave it a gentle tap. "I'll be right back."

With that, Din stood from the bed and left the bedroom, the door sliding closed behind him. His absence was felt immediately, the void he had left only worsening your lack of warmth. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the warmth the blankets provided, but they were nothing compared to Din himself.

Din wasn't gone for long, and when he returned, he had a mug in hand. You sat up as Din returned by your side and offered the mug to you. "Be careful," he warned. "The tea's still hot."

You smirked as you took it from him. "And so are you."

Din huffed and shook his head, looking away for a moment before his head swung back towards you. "No joking until you're warm." His expression became more serious before he went on. "Is it okay if I sit behind you?"

You smiled and nodded, allowing Din to position the two of you so that your back rested against his chest. With his warmth surrounding you on all sides and the tea warming both your hands and your throat, there was no doubt the cold would vanish in no time.

Din rested his chin upon your shoulder for a moment. "Better?" Even his voice was a gift of warmth, both the vibration of it from his chest and the breath that hit the side of your neck.

You turned your face to look at him and nodded. "Perfect." You kissed him, earning yet another satisfying jolt of warmth that seemed to erupt from within Din's very being itself.

#caretaker din caretaker din caretaker din caretaker din caretaker din #dincember 2023 #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries