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Can you write big brother strade and adult sister reader scenario?

a/n: omg omg YES i can anon!!! ty for the request! i wanted the reader to be the 'perpetrator' in this one, so i hope you like it! <3

THICKER THAN WATER

{ older brother! strade x younger sister! reader }

word count: 980

warnings/tags: INCEST, NON-CON (?), weirdo lil sis reader, somnophilia, implied past sexual/physical abuse, molestation, masturbation, obsession, body worship, heavy romanticization.

In the stillness of the night, your feet chart a path to a room as familiar as the blood that pulses through your veins. As you slip inside, the air hangs heavy with shame and desire. Yet, in the concealing darkness, you seek refuge in the bed of the one who has always been both your sanctuary and your undoing.

Creeping closer, the familiar scent of your brother envelops you—a musky blend of tobacco and petroleum, more intoxicating than the finest perfume. Gently, you climb into bed and slip beneath the covers, the mattress dipping subtly under your weight. He remains undisturbed, the effects of alcohol shielding him from nightmares and memories alike.

Your heart calms as you draw near, drinking in the sight of him, so still and vulnerable under the moon’s soft gaze. It stirs something deep within you, a familiar ache you’ve carried since your first encounter. His jaw, shadowed by stubble, retains the softness of the boy you once knew.

Strade, with his piercing gaze and disarming charm, is a figure of authority in your world. Your devotion to him has never wavered, acting as a steady anchor amidst the chaos of your relationship. You cling to his every word and eagerly obey his every command, driven by an insatiable desire to fulfill each whim and craving. Despite the countless scars that mark your body, you remain willfully blind, captivated by the charisma that masks the sadism lurking beneath his smile.

You lay your head on his chest, feeling the solid reality of him. His skin warms your cheek, the fine hairs tickle softly, and his heartbeat sends a steady, reassuring rhythm that echoes through your body.

You shift closer, drawn by an irresistible force that pulls you into the orbit of his sleeping form. With tentative fingers, you trace the contours of his torso, exploring the landscape of muscle and skin that you know as well as your own. As your fingers glide over his body, you recall the first brush of his fingertips against your skin; a moment that ignited an obsession within you— a craving no other man could ever satisfy.

Your lips find purchase on his jawline, pressing feather-light kisses against the rough stubble. It's a ritual as familiar as breathing, a silent offering of devotion to the only deity you've ever known. As you brush over the jagged scar marring his skin, he murmurs and stirs slightly. You freeze, your heart caught in your throat, torn between the thrill and fear of being discovered. But he soon settles back into a deep slumber, the moment passing as quickly as it came. You exhale softly, relief quietly mingling with your unchecked desires.

Your hand wanders further, tracing invisible lines across his abdomen until it rests just above the waistband of his boxers. With a breath held in anticipation, your fingers slip under, your palm feeling the heat radiating from him. Your fingers wrap around his shaft, his skin soft and oddly vulnerable in his sleep. As he twitches involuntarily, the intimacy of the moment washes over you like a forbidden wave, swelling with a mixture of guilt and longing. His response is minimal, a low, unconscious groan that might as well have been a sigh carried by the wind. It's enough to spur you forward, your body responding with its own, mirrored arousal.

Simultaneously, your other hand ventures down your body, seeking pleasure in the quiet communion of touch. Your fingers slide between your legs, pushing your panties aside as you press them against your aching clit. The sensation is dizzying, the friction of your fingers sending sparks of desire through your veins.

The symmetry of your actions, one hand on him, the other on yourself, weaves a silent thread of connection that feels both transgressive and transcendent. As you stroke him, you feel his length harden in your grasp. His hips buck gently as his breaths come faster, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. You press your face against his neck, muffling a moan that escapes your lips.

The moonlight filtering through the window bathes the scene in a soft glow, casting long shadows that dance across the walls as if they too are complicit in your silent act.

You move with careful, deliberate motions, governed by the fear of waking him and the overwhelming need to continue. His occasional murmurs punctuate the silence, ambiguous sounds that could be interpreted as protest or pleasure— in the thick veil of night, it's hard to tell, and perhaps you don't want to.

As your exploration deepens, you find yourself caught in the delicate balance between self-gratification and the gratification of him. You bite your lower lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, as the urgent need cum, to let go and surrender to the pleasure, courses through you. Your fingers move faster, instinctively seeking the release that hovers just out of reach.

You pump his cock faster as it twitches violently in your hand, leaking pre-cum onto your skin. It feels hot and impossibly hard, like a living thing writhing in your grasp. With a low, guttural groan, he releases, his muscles clenching. You can feel it in your fingers as he spurts, the warmth and weight of his ejaculate coating your palm. You gasp in response with your face buried in the crook of his neck, your breaths sharp and ragged.

Arching into your fingers, you abandon all pretense of restraint, letting out a long, shuddering moan that breaks the silence of the room.

Suddenly, your world freezes. Just as your climax builds, a vice-like grip encircles your wrist, pulling you from the depths of your indulgence, and shattering the fragile tranquillity of the night. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding as you meet your brother's gaze— no longer clouded by sleep, but piercing and awake.