#asher/?

[dominimoonbeam]

The Truth In Your Skin - 4

The Tattoo Shop AU! If you want to read it from the beginning it’s on ao3. The fourth chapter is below. The whole fic is heavy angst and hurt/comfort with some serious past domestic violence issues (Quinn. It’s Quinn. It’s always Quinn.)

Darlin/David. Sweetheart/Milo. Asher/?

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, learning to trust, scars, found family, past domestic violence, trauma, slow burn, tattoos, piercings

The Truth In Your Skin - 4

Darlin felt better than they had in a year. Longer even. It felt good to work, to be back in a shop surrounded by the hum of machines and music. The crew wasn’t bad, and no one touched their station.

No one asked them any questions they didn’t want to answer, either. They could have looked them up, could have found out on their own, but Darlin didn’t think they had. David knew what city they’d lived in before—where they’d worked. Would it be hard to find records of what had happened? Maybe. It wasn’t exactly newsworthy when someone like them got the shit kicked out of them, let alone by their partner. Ugly but not surprising. Right? That was what they’d been told. What did they expect?

They flicked their tongue against the inside of their lip, looking for the metal that wasn’t there.

Whether the others knew or not, they didn’t ask. Not even the guy that did the piercings, Milo. He’d taken one long look at Darlin’s lip scar before meeting their gaze again that first day and then pretended he didn’t know how that happened.

Darlin was grateful. The more time that passed, things settled into a new normal. It actually felt like they could move forward. They’d gone to that holiday party and it was nice.

Their station was across from David’s near the back of the main room. They caught him watching them work sometimes. Fair. It was his shop, after all. He’d have to make sure they weren’t doing a shit job.

Asher had the spot near the door. He was loud but never in a bad way. He only stopped talking when someone else did. His clients seemed to get a whole experience out of sitting in his chair, most loath to leave even when the work was done. And when his chair was empty, he’d come over and start talking up Darlin’s or David’s clients.

Through the archway, there were two more stations. Milo did the piercings and Sweetheart specialized in new school tattoos. They were still pretending not to be a couple.

The day was slow and well past lunch.

Asher flopped down in Darlin’s chair and stretched out until his tank top hiked up his stomach. “You busy?” he asked, hands under his mess of hair.

Darlin raised an eyebrow. They’d just cleaned their station. He knew it, because he had been in the same room all day. “Super busy,” they lied. They didn’t have anyone else lined up today. He knew that too because he handled the schedules in the mornings.

Asher had two thin rings in the side of his eyebrow, a bridge between his eyes, a stud under his bottom lip and another in his tongue. Somehow, he still pouted like a puppy. “I’m bored. Tattoo me?”

David snorted in the space across from them. He had a client laid out on their chest, shirt off and arms pillowed under their cheek. Their headphones were so loud they could almost hear the music over the beat of the shop speakers.

Darlin blinked at Asher. “Are you serious?”

Asher lit up. “Yeah!” He sat up and pulled his shirt off. He tossed it vaguely in the direction of his own chair, landing on the floor in the middle of the room instead. “Front or back?” He started searching himself for a spot.

Darlin pressed back a smile. “What do you want?”

Asher was still considering real estate. “Doesn’t matter. Anything that’s yours.”

Darlin might have doubted that and pressed for him to make a choice but looking at the assortment of random work on his body, they realized he meant it. He was a collector. They shrugged and started setting up.

“You don’t have to,” David reminded in a grumble.

Darlin nodded but put on the black gloves. “You sure you can sit still?” they asked Asher.

Asher laughed and stretched one arm up, hooking it under his head and offering them a patch of untattooed skin just under his ribs.

“Want to pick a color?” Darlin asked.

Asher settled in, his new position allowing him to watch David. “Nope. You pick.”

Darlin huffed but got to work, already forming an idea.

Asher didn’t squirm at all when the needle finally hit skin. He didn’t even miss a beat in conversation with David. Milo walked a client out and then came over to see what was going on. He turned his head to get a better look at the developing tattoo just as Darlin swiped away inky and blood. Milo smiled when he saw the round little bird in black lines that Darlin was currently adding a splash of neon yellow to. It would come out looking like watercolor stroked over a sketch.

The bell on the front door in the lobby chimed. “Got it,” Milo said, nodding and stepping back. He slid his hands into his pockets and walked to the reception.

“Almost done,” Darlin said.

Asher hadn’t looked yet. “You’re coming out with us after work, right?”

The shop was closed Sundays and Mondays and Asher liked to get everyone together on Saturday nights after locking up. Darlin had said no all the times before that holiday party and they’d bounced back and forth in their head since about what to do the next time. Go or don’t go? “Yeah. Sure.”

Asher beamed.

Darlin was just finishing up when the voices from the front room carried in, Milo leading a couple of people back with him. They were talking about a piercing. One of the two was taking the plunge and getting another one on impulse.

Darlin’s heart beat faster but they weren’t sure why at first—not until one of those voices pitched over the other to shout, “Holy shit! I remember you! From—”

Darlin had just put the needle down when the words struck them. The woman was talking to them. She remembered them. Her steps sounded impossibly loud as she came closer.

“Misfit!” she shouted the name she remembered.

Darlin winced. That wasn’t their name. It was just how he’d introduced them to people and it had stuck. “You’re not a Darlin. Anyone can see that.”

“Hell, I haven’t seen you in years!” She leaned against the back of the chair Asher was in.

Darlin’s brain felt like it was on overload, sounds and colors and light all coming in too fast and too hard.

“How have you been? What are you doing out here? Is Quinn here?” His name sounded like the thud of their forehead against the floor, a headache slicing through their temple. The woman looked around like he might be there in the shop, her smile huge and her teeth bright. Quinn’s teeth had been bright too, slick with red.

Darlin’s chest hurt and they fought the impulse to look around too, for one blinding second terrified that he might be there.

 -

 David had finished up with his client and started cleaning up his space. He had been sneaking peeks at Darlin’s work on Asher, not quite ready to process the pang of jealousy he felt. Maybe he just really wanted a tattoo from them too?

And then Milo returned with a couple of clients and everything changed. All of the ease that had built in Darlin vanished in a flash, their body went tight and their chin dropped to their chest. David was close enough and at an angle to see the way their eyes blanked out, like they’d fucking left their body.

“Back up,” Asher said, voice suddenly far from the light, humorous notes that usually filled the shop. He had sat up in his seat, physically putting himself between Darlin and the stranger.

The stranger jumped back, surprised. Offense warred with anger on her expression, gaze flicking between Asher and Darlin and then back to her friend standing with Milo.

Milo was quick to smooth things over, herding the two clients toward his station in the other room.

The woman went but spoke louder to make up for the distance.

“What the fuck is their problem? Do you think they broke up? It would explain what they’re doing here, but why be so dramatic about it?”

“Did you see their lip though? You don’t think Quinn did that do you?”

“No way. He’s so fucking hot. Why was he even with them? They probably just broke up.”

“Riley said Quinn was in jail…”

“Oh my god!”

Asher flicked his gaze between David and Darlin, asking without words what to do. Darlin was shaking, breaths tight like they were trying not to hyperventilate by taking in as little air as possible. They pushed themselves through the motions of putting away their equipment and taking out the gel and plastic wrap to finish Asher’s tattoo. Both men finally snapped, surging forward. Asher took the antibiotic gel and plastic wrap out of their hands and David gently caught their elbow, pulling them to their feet.

“I’ll clean up and close the shop when they’re done,” Asher said.

David steered Darlin toward the back door, grabbing their jackets off the wall on the way. They didn’t fight him at all and that was somehow just as worrying as the look on their face had been. He had never put hands on Darlin before, not in all the weeks they’d been working there. Darlin wasn’t touchy and he hadn’t missed how they always seemed to keep themselves out of arms reach if possible.

They almost tripped over their own boots when he guided them through the heavy door and out onto the sidewalk along the back of the building. He caught their side to keep them up and they jerked at that contact, like they were injured. It seemed to jar them back to life though, their breath deeper and their gaze flicking around the snow dusted parking lot. “Fuck,” they exhaled.

David handed them their jacket.

They looked at it, wincing before nodding and taking it. “I’ll come back for my shit on Tuesday…” They barely got the words out, voice raw.

“What?” David hadn’t known what to expect from them, but this was definitely not on his list.

Darlin pulled their jacket on, backpedaling a wobbly step away from him. Their head was still down, chin to their chest and hair in their face.

“You’re not fired,” David ground out, pulling his jacket on too but not taking his eyes off them in case their legs gave out. “You looked like you were about to have a panic attack.”

“Sorry,” Darlin muttered, swallowing hard.

David shook his head. He didn’t want an apology. They hadn’t done anything wrong. “You’re okay.”

They looked up at him, surprise so clear across their face. They straightened slowly, seeming to finally fully remember themselves again. “I’m sorry about that… I don’t know why I… It was unprofessional and—”

“Fuck that. And fuck them.”

Darlin blinked, shoulders easing down.

“You’re great at your art and you’re easy to work with. I’d have to be an idiot to fire you even if you’d told them where to shove their questions. You don’t owe them shit and you don’t owe us anything more than exactly what you give.”

Darlin stared, breath finally coming out in a long, easy exhale.

“You’re okay,” he said again. He wanted them to believe it, because fuck he wanted to make it true.

Darlin nodded slowly, like they were trying to.

They stood there together for a while on the cold sidewalk before David finally huffed a thin laugh. “You got me out of closing.”

Darlin smirked. “You’re welcome.”

David flicked his lip ring thoughtfully before asking. “Do you want to come up? We’ve got beer and we can order pizza when the rest of them are off.”

Darlin watched him, their gaze cutting toward the entrance to the apartments that were over the shops.

He’d invited them every weekend to whatever they were doing but Darlin had never taken this long to consider it. He hoped they didn’t think they were obligated. He’d meant it when he said they didn’t owe him anything but the good work they did.

Darlin nodded, hands in their pockets. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

David didn’t make a big deal of it, just nodded and led the way to the door. He’d text Asher when they were upstairs to let him know they were staying in tonight—so he could tell Milo and Sweetheart too.

 -

 It was the longest piercing of Milo’s life.

They were on their phones, looking up Darlin and this guy, Quinn. They exchanged an endless stream of information as they gathered it, pausing on occasion to turn big eyes to him and ask if he knew.

He hadn’t.

He had seen that scar on their lip and known something, but he hadn’t looked them up. None of them had. It wasn’t something they’d discussed or anything, it just hadn’t seemed right. If Darlin wanted to tell them what had happened, maybe they would someday.

But now he knew.

The details were spotty, a domestic violence charge. And then they’d talked to a friend of a friend who had more information…and photos. They groaned at the images and Milo tried not to see them. “They’re saying he actually pulled the ring out! Oh my god, look at those stitches! Why is their face swollen like that?”

Milo saw the photo. He didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. Their face was swollen like that because someone had beat the shit out of them. There were stitches in their hairline too, and their cheek where another scar now lived.

If he hadn’t already done the piercing by that point, he would have kicked them out. He shouldn’t have brought them back at all after the way Darlin had looked. Was it a betrayal?

“I just can’t believe it. There are always two sides to a story. It’s not like Misfit is a sweetheart. It was probably complicated. Quinn was just so much fun. There’s no way.” His hands shook. He felt Sweetheart watching the whole time from their station across from him. They hadn’t said a word—hadn’t moved—but he felt their eyes on him all the time. It was grounding and comforting, but at the same time added to the mounting unrest.

He was relieved when he walked them back to the lobby and Darlin was gone. Asher was cleaning up their station—uncharacteristically quiet. Had he heard everything? How could he not?

Milo took payment and tip in a haze. He didn’t care if they underpaid. He didn’t care if they paid at all. He wanted them out.

As soon as the door closed, he rounded the counter and threw the lock, slapping the light switch for the front of the shop.

“Babe?” Asher asked, voice low with worry. “You okay?”

Milo wanted to laugh. Of course, he was okay. He wasn’t the one who had someone put them in the hospital. He dragged his hands through his hair and used one of the ties on his wrist to knot it. He nodded, jaw tight.

Asher looked like he understood, nodding back. “David took them outside. We’ll close up.” Asher’s phone plinged in his pocket and he reached down and pulled it out. He was still shirtless, his side shiny where he’d slicked it with gel and stretched plastic wrap over it. His expression lightened with surprised. “They’re upstairs.”

“What?”

“We’re doing beers and pizza at our place. Darlin’s hanging out too.”

Milo’s stomach twisted, thinking of that photo and the flood of gossip mixed with news.

“Want me to say you can’t come? I can make up a reason—” Asher offered.

“No,” Milo said just as quickly, shaking his head. “Fuck no.” He’d been hoping they could get Darlin out of their shell and hanging out with them. Did knowing change that? Absolutely not. And if he bailed, they might think it was with intent. He was already worried he’d crossed some line by working on that person.

He walked through the quiet studio, back to the room with his station. Sweetheart was still standing there, tattooed arms folded tightly against their chest and eyes on him—always on him. That stare was softer now, as soft as Sweetheart could get anyway. “Milo…”

He set his jaw and shook his head. He was fine. He had no right not to be fine. Nothing had fucking happened to him. He went to his station to clean up but then their hand was on his arm. He stopped.

“You’re not him,” they said, a whisper just between them.

Milo cringed. Who did they mean? The newly mentioned Quinn? Or his dad? Because right now he really wanted to hit someone. His hands were curled so tightly that his knuckles ached.

Their fingers hooked around the back of his neck, pulling until his head met theirs. He felt their eyes on him, intense as ever. “Wanting to protect people is different than wanting to hurt people.”

He wasn’t sure right then. He really wanted to hurt someone. Someone he’d never even met. He closed his eyes but it only made that picture of Darlin all fucked up and dazed from that stranger’s phone clearer in his memory.

Sweetheart scratched the back of his neck gently, trying to distract him. “Stop it.”

He dragged a breath and let it out, nodding. Whatever that was, what he’d heard them talking about, that was in the past. There was nothing to do about it now but keep an eye out for Darlin in the future. He winced again. How much of that shit had they overheard? Would they close off even more now that the rest of them knew something about their past? No. They’d finally agreed to hang out with the group tonight.

That was good. That was really good.

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” he said, wrapping both arms around them and hugging them tightly. He pushed his face into their neck and breathed them in. “If anyone ever hit you…” he mumbled, hating even the words.

Sweetheart laughed darkly, giving his hair a little tug. “I’d bury ‘em before you even got the chance.”

He sighed. They said that because they didn’t know what it was like to have someone you loved turn on you like that. He was glad for it. It was fierce and beautiful and he hoped they’d never lose that. As long as he was there, they wouldn’t.

“Are you two cleaning or fucking?” Asher called from the front room. “Because I’m about done out here…”

Sweetheart unraveled from Milo and turned toward the doorway. They started making loud sex sounds.

Milo bit back a laugh and finished cleaning his station while Sweetheart gyrated, calling out Asher’s name in a mock orgasm.

Asher came to lean in the doorway, one pierced eyebrow raised at the scene. “Nice, Sweets…” he said, tone flat with sarcasm but a little smirk pulling at his lip. “At least now I know what you’d sound like if I ever fucked you.”

Sweetheart put their hands on their hips, staring back at him. “And?”

He shrugged.

Sweetheart faked offense, hand flying to their heart. “What? What else could you want, Ash? I’m fucking amazing!”

He shrugged again, smirk back, and walked away to start shutting off the lights.

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

hey quick test, reblog or like this if you DONT think neopronouns are stupid im trying to prove a point to my sister and her partner

for context my sister is a binary trans lesbian dating a genderfluid lesbian and today she came up to me saying that her and her partner as two trans people have both decided neopronouns are stupid

[snarkspawn]

walking into cazador's lair like

[tedlebred]

HAPPY IDES OF MARCH PPL🎉🎉🎉💥💥

(Redraw from last year🤭)

[larjb3]

[tempvstas]

"You were a wonderful experience."

Trey, DEUCE, Jack, Jade, Floyd, KALIM, Rook, Epel, LILIA, Silver

"You were....everything."

Riddle, CATER, Ace, LEONA, Ruggie, AZUL, Jamil, Vil, IDIA, MALLEUS, Sebek

[gradexmovies]

[angelonasher]

Does tumblr like seeing minecraft skins??

Well I made a Grian plush, if you even care.

[miamaimania]

In Bloom: Melodi Meadows, a vision of floral elegance captured through Asher Moss's lens

[theoraeken]

Cody Christian via Dylan Sprayberry's IG Story on 12.23.2023

[fanfrelon]

Cody Christian as Asher Adams in All American

[dominimoonbeam]

The Truth In Your Skin

Chapter 3 is a sweet holiday party! @taelonsamada gave me the idea since I was struggling with fluff ideas for Solstice Week.

I also added a slow burn tag to this fic because David/Darlin are inching along...

-

The Truth In Your Skin - 3

posted here and over on ao3.

Darlin stood in the bathroom at the bar and tried not to think about crawling out the window and making a run for it. No. No. They were not chicken. They had shown up, they would stay.

Oh god, but it had been so hard to show up. It had been so hard to get out of their car and walk into that fantastic dive of a bar decked out with an assortment of cheap holiday decorations.

Asher’s eyes had about bugged out of his head when he saw them, almost falling out of his chair when he got up. Sweetheart had pointed and laughed at him like he might as well have. There was no going back then. And there was no climbing out the window now.

They washed their hands and went back out. David and Milo had arrived, filling out the table with a seat left for them. At least it was in the corner. At least they didn’t have to wedge into a booth and deal with that trapped feeling.

They’d only been working at the shop for a couple of months but it was the season and they had always got together at the same bar on the same night afterwork ever since it opened. Tradition. How could they blow that off? What if they took it as a sign that Darlin didn’t want to work with them? That they were never going to say yes to any of the weekly invites Asher or Milo threw their way?

They hadn’t said yes to any of them. They had stopped saying no though. They shrugged and sometimes say maybe. They really meant that maybe the last couple times too. They wanted to go almost as much as they didn’t want to go. They didn’t used to shy away from people before. They weren’t this person.

Maybe that was what had convinced them to push themselves into going to this get together? Plus it was out in public and not at anyone’s house.

Darlin sat down at the round table between Asher and Sweetheart. Sweetheart pushed a beer in front of them but never broke off in their tirade about…cranberries?

“It’s the disrespect!” Sweetheart thumped their hand on the table, earning a few curious looks from strangers but no one in the conversation seemed the least bit surprised. Milo was practically mooning over them, while Asher rolled his eyes.

“No one likes cranberries, get over it!” Asher said.

Darlin touched the beer, turning it back and forth. They looked up, half listening, and realized David was sitting across from them. For a split second, they met his gaze. His eyes were so dark and so unreadable. He looked away first and Darlin was grateful.

“How dare you!” Sweetheart gasped.

Milo tried not to smile but failed miserably. The conversation descended into a plate-by-plate judgement of holiday dishes, branching out into different family traditions, and somehow returning to a heated argument about whether cranberries really deserved their place at the table.

“If it was so fucking good, why would we only eat it once a year, Sweets?” Asher demanded, his voice raised in mock fury.

David hid a smile behind the lip of his beer.

“Asher…Are you about to tell me that pumpkin pie is shit because it’s seasonal?”

Asher thumped his beer down and jerked his chair back. “You shut your mouth…”

Milo leaned back to catch Darlin’s eye around Sweetheart. “Asher’s a slut for pumpkin spice.”

“Asher’s a slut for everything,” Asher countered, offended.

Sweetheart smirked, leaning back in their chair. “Speaking of, how is that hot guy you’ve been working on?”

Asher blinked.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” David helped.

Sweetheart laughed, draining their beer before sliding to their feet. “You know which one, Ash…”

Asher continued to look innocent. Darlin wasn’t sure how he did that when he definitely wasn’t innocent. Just in the time they’d been working at the shop, they’d noticed how Asher flirted and how many people stopped by just to say hi to him or ask him out. It seemed that just about every time he left work on a date, it was with a different person. And yet, even Darlin was pretty sure they knew which one of his clients Sweetheart was referring to.

“I don’t sleep with my clients,” Asher said with a shrug.

Sweetheart grinned wolfishly. “Which is to say, you’re not done with that back piece of his yet…”

Asher looked away like he hadn’t heard that, but Darlin saw the hint of color creeping high on his cheekbones. Or maybe that was the glow of Christmas lights?

Sweetheart hummed and Milo rose from his chair, the two leaving the table to make their way across the room to the bar.

“Want to know how tonight is going to play out?”

Darlin tensed, the ghost of a voice echoing Asher’s in their head. “Want to know what’s going to happen tonight, Misfit?”

Darlin swallowed the beer in their mouth, eyes flicking over Asher’s face. Not Quinn. Not an ounce of malice in those bright eyes. They nodded once.

Asher’s smile grew and he tipped his beer to point toward the bar. “Milo is going to keep nursing that beer he’s holding, even though he’s nowhere near his limit and Sweetheart is going to drink more than they usually would, just a step past tipsy. And then Sweetheart will either start a bar fight or get sleepy and ask Milo to get them home.”

Darlin watched the two at the bar. Sweetheart was getting shots and Milo was at their side, the two in an endless conversation that Darlin wasn’t sure had stopped since they met the two.

“But first Sweetheart is going to push a couple rounds of shots. How do you hold tequila?”

Darlin shrugged and took another sip of their beer.

 -

 David watched Darlin work on the same beer for over an hour, even after tossing back the tequila shot Sweetheart had handed them. He was worried they’d feel pressured to drink because Sweetheart and Asher were going hard, but they seemed fine and no one pointed out their pace or tried to shove another drink their way.

The bar got louder as more people flowed in and their table crowded with empties. Darlin stood up at one point and David thought they’d leave, but instead they pulled their hoodie off. When they did, it pulled their t-shirt up their stomach for a few seconds. A flash of skin. The lush strokes of a tattoo over their left side, curling from ribs and lower, from their hip. He didn’t know if it was traveling up or down their body. He didn’t get much of a look, even in those seconds, because the sharp, hard lines of another tattoo poked out from the hem on the right side of their stomach, like pieces of broken black teeth reaching for the top of their jeans. It didn’t fit. Even at a glance, he could tell that work didn’t belong with all the delicate lines and watercolor splashes on their arm and neck. Those edges looked rough and rushed.

Darlin pulled their shirt back down into place and dropped their hoodie over the back of their chair, sitting back down. Asher whistled and nudged his chin at them. “This looks like your work. Did you do all of it?” He asked Darlin about their arm now that they were in a short sleeve and most of it was finally visible.

David knew Asher would have normally reached out and touched the arm. He was a contact person. But he didn’t, because he was also the sort of person who paid attention to people and nothing about Darlin had invited any of them to get handsy.

Darlin looked momentarily confused before realizing what he was on about and nodding. They held out their arm casually enough. “Yeah.”

Asher leaned in, honestly interested. He lifted a hand. “Can I?”

Darlin shrugged, picking up their beer with their free hand. Asher took their arm by the elbow, turning it this way and that to get a look at the intersecting designs that traveled from between the blades of their fingers, over the back of their hand, and then all the way up their arm to the side of their neck.

David’s hand flexed under the table, wishing he was the one touching that arm but not wanting to think about why. Definitely just because it was a chance to get a close up look at some good work…

They hadn’t used any of those tattoos in their portfolio. Did they really not think they were good enough or did they not want to take pictures of themself?

“You really did all this on yourself?” Sweetheart asked. David could tell they were resisting the urge to lean in on Darlin too, not wanting to crowd them.

“Yeah. Downtime gets boring.”

David couldn’t help but notice how naked their right arm looked. Not a single tattoo on their dominant arm. Because they couldn’t do it themselves? Had anyone else ever tattooed them anywhere? His mind strayed back to the hard edges of ink he’d glimpsed but he shook it off and finished his beer.

He got up to go get a new one, forcing himself not to stare and study the tattoos on Darlin’s skin, no matter how much he wanted to—no matter how much he’d wanted to since he first saw them walk into his shop.

“Me too!” Sweetheart shouted over the sounds of the bar at his back.

David tossed an arm up so they’d know he heard and not keep shouting. He wedged through the crowd thick at the bar and waited, still thinking about Darlin’s skin. He shouldn’t be. He knew that. Just like he shouldn’t be watching them work as much as he found himself doing. They relaxed when they were working, focus fixed and shoulders finally easing.

He tongued the ring in his lip, thinking about that knot of tissue on Darlin’s mouth and the scar on their cheek.

A body pressed to his back and an arm curled over his shoulder. He knew it was Asher just by the weight of him leaning against him. And maybe because who else would be that audaciously familiar with him? “Have you ordered?” he asked.

David shook his head, nudging his chin toward the bartender dealing with a group on the other side of the bar.

“Great! Order Sweets and cranberry juice?”

David raised an eyebrow and looked at his friend practically resting his chin on his shoulder. “Just juice?”

Asher nodded, grinning. “Yeah. They’d like it if it had liquor in it. Just juice.”

He nodded and when the bartender did come their way, he ordered two beers and a glass of cranberry juice.

“Are you mad?” Asher asked, voice quieter. David only even heard him because they were so close.

David jerked a little in surprise, looking at his best friend. “What?”

Asher smiled but there was a hint of doubt in the turn of his lips. “I wasn’t flirting with them.”

David stared. He had never once gotten mad at Asher for flirting with anyone. Not when they were teens, not when he had absolute shit taste, not in the shop, not fucking ever. Asher never crossed a line—he never flirted in a way that bothered the person he was talking to. “What the fuck are you—”

“Darlin,” Asher said.

David felt heat climb his neck and his whole body tensed. Asher knew. He knew something David wasn’t even willing to know yet. “I don’t care.”

Asher stared at him. No smile. His weight left David when he straightened. Finally he exhaled, lips quirking again. “Really?” He sounded like he might be taking it as a challenge, but also like he was a little disappointed.

David looked away. He grabbed the drinks the bartender had put down.

Asher knew.

Knew what, exactly?

He turned and handed Asher the class of cranberry juice, but didn’t let go when his friend took it. Their eyes met again. “I don’t know,” he said, amending his previous claim of “I don’t care” that neither of them were buying. Asher nodded at that, accepting it, but David added. “I am never going to be mad at you for being you.”

Asher’s eyes widened a little and the edges of his smile softened.

David let go of the glass and they walked back to the table.

Sweetheart was arguing with Milo over something neither of them really cared about, the conversation breaking when Sweetheart reached for the glass Ash had slid in front of them. They blinked at it, eyes already a little glassy from a couple shots. “What—” they broke off when they realized what it must be, gaze snapping up to Asher across the table from them.

“Your favorite.” Asher grinned big and went back to his beer.

Sweetheart flipped him off and then downed the whole glass in a few swallows.

Darlin laughed. It was the smallest laugh, smothered under the ruckus of the bar, but he was sure everyone at their table heard it like a bell ringing on the stillest night. Darlin had never laughed in front of any of them.

Milo was quick to kick up another mock argument before Darlin could realize they had all paused to notice it.

The night played out more or less the way Asher had predicted. Asher went home with someone who had been making eyes at him from the bar for the last half hour. He’d go back to their apartment. He usually did, if they even made it that far.

Eventually Milo scooped Sweetheart up over his shoulder and they all headed out. He promised to get them home safely, like anyone had ever doubted it.

And then it was just David and Darlin.

“Do you want a ride?” they asked, flicking a ring of keys against their palm.

They had their hoodie back on and their gaze meeting his for increasing stretches of seconds at a time. The air was making clouds between them when they breathed. It might snow.

It wasn’t so far that David couldn’t just walk it, but he suddenly didn’t want to. “Do you mind?”

Darlin huffed, almost a smile, almost a laugh. “Wouldn’t have offered if I minded…” they started toward their car. David stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed.

He was used to his truck, used to driving himself if he rode anywhere, so sitting low and in the passenger seat was odd. But sitting in their passenger seat felt extraordinary. It was their space. It smelled like them. It was honestly cleaner than he’d expected. A couple jackets and hoodies tossed in the backseat with a charger and a bottle of nail polish rolling around on the floor.

Darlin started the engine and he bit back a smirk at the rubber duck stuck to the dashboard.

Darlin noticed his attention on it and rolled their eyes, pulling out of the parking lot. “It was there when I bought the car,” they said.

“Sure,” David agreed not to ask, still smirking.

The drive was short. He wished it had been longer. He thanked them and got out.

They waited until he was inside his building to leave, and he almost laughed at that.

It started snowing.

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

yk what everyone else is doing it it is MY TURN. if this post gets 3k notes by new years ill try writing lyrics again goodluck <3333333333

[snarkspawn]

some floating heads of my boy Asher, his guardian and his favourite people to go adventuring with ♥

[tedlebred]

Soukoku / The Kiss

SILLIES!!!1!1!1!!!1!!!!!!

[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. a second part to this mess can be found here — and third part here.

— 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.”