It was just a joke, a bet that you'd wear a shock collar for your big sister if she bedded your mutual crush before you.
It stopped being funny when she turned the voltage up.
[Short]
Fake ID
Your big sister got a fake ID, but lost her nerve to use it.
You're Not Straight
Your stepsister cornered you on the ride home and she's showing you weird things on her phone.
Don't Take The Money
Your older sister is moving across the world. For a salary. There's no way in hell you'll let her, not with the way you feel about her.
One Heart
It's almost the anniversary that you used to share with your ex-wife, and you can't help but miss her, even after everything. Your sweet daughter asked to take you out to the club where you met her mother all those years ago.
Couch Party
Your big stupid sister fell asleep on the couch at the end of her house party. On top of you.
Canvas (NSFW Audio Script)
Your big sister noticed how you always look at her, and she's decided that it's finally time for her to get what she wants from her butch little sister.
Step-Problem Child
Your stepmom found you and your sister making out on the couch. Now your sister has gone off to her concert, and you're alone with your stepmom.
Sweetest Microfiction
This is a collection of small stories that don't merit full listings on the masterpost.
[Medium]
String Lights
A sister explores her feelings about her sister's polyamory, among... other feelings.
Analog
A decommissioned mech pilot does a psych-drift with the personality matrix of her deceased sister, and finds that her sister had secrets that she never shared.
Smoke
Your best friend and her boyfriend are coming over with some weed and beer while your mom is out of town. You don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you ask your shut-in pothead older sister for help.
The Fog
An unsafe road closure nearly causes you to crash your car. After you drive backwards up the off-ramp and get back on the highway, you and your sister find that the night has become much more... mysterious.
Bait (AO3 Exclusive)
You slowly come back out of the darkness as oxygen returns to your brain. How many times has it been?
She's someone you recognize... your... sister? But you can't remember her name.
She's making you tell her the List of your fetishes, and she'll do anything to make you cough up the last one, no matter how fucked up.
Third Row
Grey's sister Je-anne returns to the family's roving van after a year away, with new ideas of what a sisterly relationship might contain.
[Long]
Ride or Die (AO3 Exclusive)
A year after getting thrown out of the house by his parents for platonically comforting his younger old sister during her ongoing pattern of angry fugue states and self-harm, Marshall gets a desperate call from his younger sister Helen, and returns to his childhood home to try to help her through a critical time of panic.
[Novel]
Hey. Best!
Eight months ago, you confessed your love to your sister. You got shot down - hard.
Now, after months with no contact, she sends you a text.
Hunter/Killer
The prodigal Hunter-Killer mech piloting skills of a mother and her Hound daughter elicit the creation of a new 'bonded-pair' unit in an effort to see if allowing a space for "abnormal bonding practices" can create similar results. Two sisters are inducted into the program, and combat puts their intimate bond to the test, until they're forced to decide between the special privileges of their unit and their morals.
Misc/Non Consang:
Simple guide to exporting colored text to AO3
It's Not Cheating
That cute trans girl across the room has been neglected by her "boyfriend" all night, and you know you can show her what she's missing.
Cultural Exchange
A transport mech's pilot makes friends with one of the newer generations of neuro pilots.
Lamppost
There's a dark thing you walk by when you walk into your apartment building.
It wasn't there before.
Tags:
#sweetestsix writings for our writings
#sweetestsix announcements for the posts announcing each chapter/writing's posting
#sweetestsix asks for ask answers
#sweetestsix recommends for reblogs of other writings we like
With a pronounced swish, you finish the black 'e' of the oversized 'Transfem Pride' poster you'll be crowding the other bus passengers with when you drag your big sister to her first pride parade. You look over at her, ready to mock her with the fact that she gave in after years of calling it 'too commercialized to bother with', but before your tongue finds a taunt, you notice a big dot of pink ink on her lower lip. She's still trying to think of what to put on her poster, and after a few moments her bottom lip falls open, and she starts to tap the tip of her thick pink sharpie on it while she thinks.
The moisture on her lip glistens in the white light of the kitchen, and try as you might, you can't stop staring as your mind starts to wander. You can see her lips opening wider, and she keeps tapping as her tongue slips further and further out with each touch, curving little by little to cup the tip of the pen more perfectly, and you can feel your cheeks start to grow warm as a pressure builds between your legs.
Reality flickers in for a moment when she makes that kind of grunting sound she always does when she's trying and failing to be clever, and the end of the sharpie starts to trace back and forth across her bottom lip. The image finally comes together in vivid detail, and her wet lips are tenderly caressing the tip of your cock, slick and smooth, light kisses turning more emphatic, little touches of suction as she starts to make out with your sex more and more, hands coming up to keep you in place for her to worship you with her mouth.
You squirm in your chair a little and idly adjust your panties to constrict you a little less while you stare and imagine. She hums open mouthed as she stares down at the paper, tapping the pink felt against her open bottom lip harder, and it's you, hand on your shaft to tap your tip on her lips, hearing the little moist noises and feeling the wetness she's given you. Your face crinkles as you look down at her intense eyes, waiting to see her give you permission to put it in her mouth, hearing a little hum as she nods a half inch and opens wide. Your heart blisters with disbelieving adrenaline as you slide in, feeling…
"Hey!"
You flinch and blink your eyes quickly to return to the moment, and your sister is standing in front of you and loudly snapping her fingers in front of your eyes, once, twice, four more times even after you've obviously already refocused on her. "Are you even listening?"
You have at least a dozen IQ points that didn't just drown in your arousal. "What? Yes, obviously. You just need to do the highlights, I already got the outlines."
"Yeah, duh, stupid."
Hearing her be mean to you boils that familiar little feeling in your chest that you didn't understand until you hit puberty, and you squirm in your chair a little. Your previous adjustment to your underwear stayed too tight while your sister's big lips sneered at you, and you're… totally still staring right at her lips and not her eyes. But after a moment's abject failure to refocus, she reaches out and grabs your lower lip with two fingers, disdain evident on her face. "You got marker all over your lips!"
The black sharpie in your hand clatters out of your fingers onto the table, and you try to look down to see what kind of mess you made, but she keeps a tight and painful grip on your lip. You whimper a little, and she laughs at you, exactly the sound that you loathed growing up, right up until she came out and it started to make you feel weird in ways you didn't quite understand.
She finally releases your lip with an upward yank, but then she quickly catches your cheeks with the same hand like a juggler and squishes your mouth open.
"Wh-whatreyou" Your squished question muffles out of existence as you stare upwards, watching her eyes locked on your lips. Your face is getting hot and hazy and your pants are getting very tight, and it'll be a very awkward risk if you have to stand up from the table in front of her any time soon. It shouldn't turn you on to hear her say "You got it all over your tongue!" with as much disgust as she ladles into it, but you're a stupid teen and she's your stupid big sister.
As the horny brainrot starts to decay your focus more and more, you can feel your mouth watering, watering for her, and your hand strays to your crotch under the table as your mind starts to see her a few feet above you instead, you on your knees below, watching her slowly slide her panties down over her bulge with one hand, exposing the cock that you've been trying not to eye too much while she walks around the house in just a shirt and underwear.
You can feel her staring at you, but you can't see anything but her sex, cotton pulling away to let it free. Not quite hard, just enough to tell you that she wants your mouth, that she wants you to lean forward and wrap your lips around her, just the tip at first, taking your time to savor every centimeter, sucking gently, swirling your tongue around her more and more. You can feel her slowly growing harder in your mouth, getting closer to the perfect fit that you've shamefully craved since she invited you into the pool changing room after you came out a year later than her.
You pull back to lap at her, wet tongue caressing the sweet of her precum, savoring the taste and the way it lubricates your lips. She runs out of patience and holds your mouth open with one hand, the other guiding her sex right over your smooth tongue, the path slickened for her to smoothly hilt in your mouth.
She makes that groan, that one you heard through the cracked bathroom door when she was in the shower, the one that replayed in your head every time you watched TV with her and forced you to pull a blanket over yourself to hide how much of a creep you are for getting hard just from being in the room with her.
Your hands start to rub yourself through your panties, and her words are low, smoky ambrosia as she mutters "Fuck, you…"
They suddenly kick up in tone. "You're drooling all over!"
Your eyes snap back into focus and you're almost dizzy for a moment as you're rubber-banded back into reality. She releases your mouth, and when you close it you can immediately feel that she was right, that your chin is wet, and you flick a glance down at the table under you to see a little pool of saliva. There's too much for it to have just been a few moments, and you look back up at your sister to see her gripping her uncapped pink sharpie tight, cheeks flushed, eyes antsy and dying to dart away from your gaze, but she holds eye contact as she shakes her hand off. She stammers out "Fucking… fucking gross. You loser. Go like, clean up or something…"
Embarrassing as soaking the table might be, your hardness could probably cut a diamond right now, and you'd probably drop dead if she saw how stiff you got just from her holding your mouth open and staring at you. You glance away and stammer, equally clumsily "Uh, just, um just a minute…"
When you look back she can't meet your eyes, and she turns away to pluck a few tissues out of a nearby box to throw at you. "Whatever… weirdo." She flicks a glance back at you, redder than ever, then she abruptly starts to move toward the door. "I'll be back later, to uh, finish." Her voice turns flustered. "I'll come back and finish your poster later!"
She shuts the door just a little too hard behind her, and as you dab at the drool on the table, your mind starts to drift again, wondering if she'll need any help finishing...
Another surprise idea popped up while getting the manuscript ready, and after poking around at a draft for a while it felt interesting enough to finish out.
This is an alternate outcome of Chapter 10. Intended to only be read after completing the story.
She blushes when you get close, she warms up when you touch her. She warms up a lot more when she touches you. Not every time, not when she's sad about something, as long as that something isn't you. Maybe that's why you've found shelter in taking care of her, that's when it's the simplest.
All those little, simple touches, the being there for each other, all the contact between you that panels all the walls in your mind and makes you feel not alone.
Those aren't simple for her. They're not small details, they're… too big. Enormous. More to her than what they are to you. What you feel like they ever could be.
"It's not your fault."
You try to figure out how to admit it, to take the blame, but the realization of your fault is just so loud-
How could I have known-
How am I supposed-
What do I even-
The thoughts get shorter and shorter and they touch less and less of the walls, and you're left without a direction to follow.
She cracks your heart in half. "So what? I still can't be fixed. I'm broken."
You did it to her again. A year and a half ago you broke her, and now you spent so much time over the last five months helping mend, fix, patch up, heal, salve, restore, comfort, invigorate-
And you broke her all over again.
You try to save it, the words barely coming out. "You don't need to be fixed, Cadence, you're not broken."
You're going to cry. For the first time in a year and a half you're actually going to really cry, because you fucked up your big sister, your tender, heartfelt, earnest, vulnerable sister that has always looked to you for comfort and care. And you fucked her up again.
And now it's backwards. Muscle in your heart cinches an inch, constricting your blood flow. A long time ago, she kissed you and then you broke her. And now you broke her and she's going to try to kiss you.
You can see it in her eyes as she looks up at you, she's an open book.
🎵#1
In an instant Cadence's lips connect with yours, and you weren't taken by surprise this time. Pushing through a pound of hesitation, you kiss her back.
And feel nothing. A void blares in your mind, a cavernous space inside you in the place where all of Cadence's feelings seem to be spilling out.
You rehearsed this kiss together a year ago, and your mouth and hand remember their lines with excruciating detail, but that's not who you are now. Instead of confused anger and shock, all you can feel now is change, and it carves something out of you.
You might have given your sister another hollow kiss if she had tried for it, but she quickly pulls away. "I'm sorry!"
You don't want Cadence to be sorry. You just don't want her. Whatever this was supposed to do for her, or whatever it did do, it only happened to her, and you can see her starting to implode already, drops of blood around the edges of an emotional black hole.
Her voice wordlessly sparks with fear and she pulls away frantically, scrambling so fast that she collapses off the bed backwards. Your heart leaps in concern for her safety, but you can still feel the pressing, inert weight of nothing all over you, keeping you in place. She gets up on her own, and she's starting to sob by the time her eyes meet you again, rubbing her elbow and staring at you with a blood red face of anguish. You know how she responds to physical pain, and it's not this. Her tears pour over her faster than gravity should allow, clearly boiling away months of recuperation while she waits for you to give her the final execution notice.
The phrase 'it's okay' makes one pass through your mind without finding a hold on anything that could turn it into voice.
You don't hate her. You thought you did the first time, after a month spent getting only a few fitful hours of sleep per night. The melatonin helped once you started taking it, and then there was the cold. You thought that was the hate, or that maybe all the loud in your head when you thought about talking to your sister again was the hate.
But here, again, across a chasm, you just feel the ghost of needles, and you don't have anything real for her. Just one word, because you know you have to say something, even though it's nothing. "Cadence…"
At once she bursts open. "Reagan I'm sorry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I didn't want to I'm sorry please I didn't mean to I can't help it-" Her eyes shoot wide at admittance of failing her promise not to do it again, and she slaps her hand to her mouth, shrinking away from you further.
You take a breath as though to speak, but your chest hitches hard on that nothing again, and you just let out a noise of disappointed frustration. She immediately starts babbling again "I'm sorry I'll go I'll just go it's all my fault it's all my fault I always screw it up-" as she snatches her keys off the dresser and rushes to the front door. Through a pool of melted glass you climb off the bed to follow, but you only get past the T junction in the center of the apartment by the time she rushes out the door in socks, shoes in her hand as the door slams behind her.
A rising tide of exasperation starts to color into staticy frustration as you search for your own keys and throw on shoes to follow your sister, still having no idea what to say to her. As soon as you pull them out of your jacket pocket and reach the balcony, your hands hit the railing as you watch your sister back out of her parking space and leave the lot, too fast to be safe around the absent pedestrians.
Your emotions turn rigid and shadowy around the edges of your heart once she rounds the corner behind a building, and you don't realize how hard you're clutching your keys in your hand until the tines of the apartment key dig into your bones through your skin. You withstand the brisk air for a long time, just staring at the spot that the consonants of Cadence's license plate disappeared, then you turn and slowly slot the pointy brass into the lock, turn it in the already unlocked door, and stand for a long time there. Longer than you can even register.
At some point you're inside without realizing it, and you find your phone and sit down on the bed to open the text log with your sister, feeling a ghostly image of you telling her that she'd had a drink and that she can't be driving lingering in front of your eyes, but your fingers don't find the screen. She'd only had half a glass of champagne, and then she was right there again, both of you right where you were a year ago. But in this awful parody, the emptiness in your head isn't from a scrambled head that can't put together words, it's from a vacuum in your heart that you can't fill. All you can write is [Cadence,], and then you set the phone down for a long time.
She didn't mess things up, they weren't ever going to go right in the first place. She's still the same Cadence as she invisibly became when things changed for her all that time ago. Always fated to try again, even in the face of the life you've worked to build together all over the last months.
And you somehow thought that it could be different. That you could come back, that you could stay, that you could find each other again. That you could be sisters again. Like you were always supposed to be.
The cold in your heart on that rainy night made you want to turn around at every highway exit on the way here, but you had nowhere to go, and neither did the heat submerged under the ice. Below that sheen of anger was a deep vulnerability at seeing her again, and it tore at you to witness what you'd done to her, what she'd done to herself. You stayed cold with her for a while because being hot would hurt you both, and eventually the ice melted little by little, with wine and proximity and held hands. You relaxed, you got close and you let her get close because you wanted to trust her again. She said she wouldn't do it again, and you believed her.
And then she did it again.
And you let her. An extra moment of indecision and apprehension, and then you were too late to stop her and she reached out in exactly the wrong way all over again.
You know now that you'll never get her back. The sister you want. That you used to need. There's nothing left between you but this mess, the violent back-and-forth wave pool of her emotions crashing around your deep-seated need for things to stay still.
Coming back was a mistake. One you can't undo. You had nowhere else to go.
You don't now either.
You both talked about what she feels. You put it on the table, spread it out on the bed to address, but she couldn't take a step past its edge without everything bleeding through.
You pick up the phone again, and don't have any words again. None that will help, none that will fix this. Your head spins for a moment with all the memories of the last months as they start to wash down the drain, and your mind pulls out of your head for a second to watch you texting a cold [Come home.] to the sister you used to hold so dear.
You're back in your mind when you walk across the apartment and set the champagne to the same fate in the sink, you're back in your body when you sit down on the couch.
You're not much of anywhere when you lie down on your side, staring at an apartment you just referred to as 'home' without really meaning it.
You're in a dull simulacrum of half-sleep when the key sounds in the lock, your mind long since finished scripting the final moments. The end of an endless hallway, a key locking a door that never should have closed. The last moment of a life that froze in place a year ago, slammed on the brakes six months ago, torturously pushed on the gas with the parking brake still on four months ago, one that finally started to idle comfortably three weeks ago only to finally run into a telephone pole.
The sound of brass on brass is a burning friction in the silent space, replaced by silence for what seems like an eternity. Eventually the door slowly cracks open, and your sister's pale face peers around it, clearly looking for you and not seeing you lying on the couch, focusing instead on the sounds and reflected lights of the TV in her bedroom that you didn't even recognize as being on over the last hour.
She turns toward the kitchen as she tentatively creeps inside, and as soon as she closes the front door behind her you say "Hey." in a thick voice, tasting the last vestiges of champagne on your breath that make you sick with association.
Cadence jumps and squeals, stumbling into the table beside the door and knocking your keys to the floor as she drops her own. She clutches her heart for a few harried breaths, then she speaks, still short on air. "Ray! You're, still here."
You nod and sit up, then look across the room, watching flickering shadows for a moment. She quietly pulls off a jacket she must have already had in her car before she left, and then she sits down on the couch next to you, full of fear. A day ago, she'd have sat close, maybe taken your hand. Right now she just sits like a glass statue, poised as though to speak, unaware that she's about to shatter.
You can feel your eyes burn under a fresh wave of pressure to be warm to her, to turn and scoot closer, take her hand, force it into your throat and say it right into her eyes, to be good and show her that you're doing this because you care, so so much.
But that's the mistake you've been making. For months. Years. Maybe forever.
So when you turn, you move back an inch. She probably noticed the nature of your movement, or maybe she was just already going to say "I'm sorry…"
Her eyes dip to her lap, but before you can speak she lifts to stare into your eyes. "It was a mistake. A really, really bad mistake. I can do better, I promise." The crack at the end of her sentence is a structural fault that you can hear echo all the way to the endless bottom.
You stare at her, stonier than you wish were possible for you, wishing you could find the gentleness that you know she needs, but the sand is cold, and it slips over your open fingers. "This isn't working."
A breath hitches out of her and she deflates, and as you watch her search your eyes, you can see the moment it hits, when her heart breaks again. Quietly this time, and the fault lines spread through everything she was planning to say when she returned. You let her take her time, because even in the face of how you expect this conversation to go, you still futilely hope against hope and everything you know to be true that she might have something left to say to fix this.
But, in the end, she creaks out "O… o… okay…" with the hopeless malaise of a body cooling into the sedation of death.
There's no fixing this.
"I'm sorry, Cadence." You take a big breath and let out half of it. "Coming back was a mistake. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry." Even after rehearsal those last two words bring a hush to so much of what you believe to be you. The next words are harder. "I love you. But you know this isn't working too."
Dozens of different millimeters of change worm around your sister's face, eyebrows pulling slightly closer together, lips pursing and turning further into a frown, head dipping a few degrees, shoulders drooping.
It's still your turn to speak. "I can't watch this happen to you over and over again." Cadence looks down, and her hands clench in her lap.
You can hear the tiniest vibration of vulnerable emotion in your voice. "I wish I could make this work." You really do. "You're my sister. You always will be." Your last breath leaves you with nothing left. "But that's all you'll ever be to me."
Her lungs are just as empty as yours when she quietly agrees, eyes still pointed down. "Yeah…" It seems like she's stopped speaking, but you have no heading to follow for this terrible moment, so you just stare and wish your care weren't a curse for her.
She surprises you by speaking again. "I know. I should have always known." She takes a fortifying breath and digs a furrow into her leg with her index finger. "I guess maybe I always did." You can see from the slim view of her quivering lips that she'll continue.
You can hear the echo of years in her voice. "It's obvious, right? I'm just a sister. Just a weak and pathetic big sister that doesn't know better than to fall in love with her little sister because she's stronger and smarter and less of a failure."
You start to speak, to tell her that she's not a failure, but she glances up at you and shakes her head emphatically, so you fall silent and wait while she looks back at her hands and brings herself to it.
She finally lifts her head. "Thanks for trying."
The tears, glittering bright in her eyes even in the dark, might as well be blood for how much they send spikes through your heart, ripping everything you ever thought you were right out the back of your ribs.
You've seen this expression on your sister before. A dozen times, after bullying and her first breakup. She's pretending to be strong, holding up the paper-thin facade that she used to let down with you alone so she could heal. You, the one person she had left, now the last and most painful stitch on a canvas telling a tale of hurt, her quiet sobs now the final refrain of a song of goodbye, the story and melody of her life each laid to final rest by her dear sister. The most important person in her life, her greatest source of love and comfort and protection, rendered into nothing.
Every ounce of pain she shows you still manages to reach right through everything you rehearsed to pull threads of emotion harder than they should be able to after everything. You want to offer one tiny little touch to soothe her shattering heart, but you know that the hand you hold out to her is a gift of barbed wire that will tear skin on both sides.
Cursed as the gesture may be, it still crushes your heart into dust when she shakes her head and moves away a few inches.
You've lost your tongue, and mouth, and throat, and lungs, and nearly your spine all to the void, and you just stare as she turns to lean off the couch, hunching over her knees as she hugs herself. "Do you think it could have been different if we weren't sisters?"
You sift through dozens of words, each impossible to say. Her breath hitches in an uneven pattern, half-sobs twitching her body eight times before she looks at you with red-rimmed eyes of inwardly directed resent, only visible because she's never been able to hide how she feels from you properly. It hooks a fishing line on the closest words and pulls them out of your mouth, more formal than you might have managed if you had a thousand years to figure out how not to hurt her. "No. I don't think it could have. You're my sister. You've been my best friend, always. That's the only thing I ever wanted." She sighs, and a shudder shakes her as she exhales.
You have to keep going. "I do love you. You're mine. I've always wanted you beside me." She smiles, just a little bit, but it makes the tears burn brighter. There's a light in that tiny smile, maybe hope.
You've been giving her too much of that.
"And I think that's bad for you."
A sob breaks hard out of her mouth, and she yanks her legs up to curl into the edge of the couch you bought with old vacation savings so you could be close to her again. You suppress the urge to put a hand on her knee. "I'm sorry I made this so hard for you." It's getting easier to apologize now, as you near the end, but she still spites herself at you. "It's not your fault, you didn't make it hard…"
You shake your head, but you're not going to argue, not now.
You've been edging toward it for minutes now, but you can still feel the cold air plummet past you when you step off the edge and say "I think I should go."
Her eyes burn into you for a long time, and then she finally nods, lips quivering and barely holding back her anguish. The jerkiness of the gesture screams that it's crushing everything in her to finally agree, and it almost pulls the last of your humanity out to cast into the void in your heart.
You stand up into the surreal truth of the moment, and she asks in a timid voice "Are you going to take the couch with you?"
Such a mundane question to ask at the end of the world. You shake your head. "I threw away the old one."
There's almost a humor in her voice, a safety valve opening on a high-pressure tank already leaking gasoline. "It was shitty."
"Yeah."
"I don't want it. I don't need a couch."
A ghost puts resolution into your words. "I'm not taking it, Cadence."
She knows better than to argue with that voice.
She stares at you while you collect your things, not moving an inch. Her eyes focus through their glaze when you occasionally look at her, but there's no words left in the miles between you.
You finally pause beside the door with your bag and hold out your hand to her, because of course you do. You can't stop trying to touch her. You'll always hurt her, because that's what you do. She doesn't take it, so you put it on her shoulder instead. A moment's pause, and then she leans her head onto it.
You're the first to say it. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye. I love you."
You give her a gentle squeeze, and then you let her go.
🎵#2
You sip a cinnamon mocha on the patio of your second favorite coffee shop and watch the leaves fall around you. In your lap, a handful of old texts.
Timings for a lunch you offered once months after everything ended, one that she agreed to, but then canceled at the last minute.
A happy birthday. A thanks.
A message from you relaying an invitation to a cookout your cousin called you about. She said she might go. She never asked if you were going to.
A happy birthday.
A gentle breeze blows past you, too warm to be right for the season. You're overdressed, languishing in a long jacket and a pair of grey gloves, sweating slightly but not really feeling it.
A new text sits in the box at the bottom of the screen, one you've wanted to send a dozen times, but it's just a draft.
He climbs into the car and she reaches over to buckle him in, letting her hands take liberty with him. She slides her hands up his tummy and over his chest and down his thighs, lastly rubbing his waist.
"All in one peice."
She takes her little brother shopping, dressing him up and touching more than she probably should. He's just happy to be with her. They go into the private changing rooms together. She does up his buttons and pets his cheeks when he shows off for her at her demand. "So handsome baby." "Sweet boy" "God, your so sweet."
She's sitting on the bench as he changes. She doesn't turn away when he takes clothing off. He shys away from her anyways, he wishes she wouldn't talk so much to him. He always felt so weird and warm around her. He just loves being around his big sister.
He trys on the next set of items she picked for him. A set of PJs. Christmas themed. They're a bit big on him but warm and soft. He turns to his big sis and that funny feeling starts to feel hotter by the second.
"What?" He ask her. Her staring was making him feel confused.
"C'mere" It's low. Demanding. His big sister gives him a smile, but it didn't make him feel loved exactly. He didn't really understand or know what to do with that. He just wanted to be held by her, warm and comfortable.
He kinda stumbles forward towards her. Her little brother looks lost.
"Need help?" His big sister reaches forward and pulls him into her. His breath wobbles as he's suddenly between his big sisters legs. They are so close, face to face. He leans towards her to hide in her neck, breathly deeply.
A whine escapes.
His hands kinda scramble at her waist, trying to brace himself against all the feelings she was inciting inside of him. His big sister was making him feel eletric.
Something was rubbing against him. His big sister was so close. His body was trembling. He was helpless to the whines, gasps and weak pathetic moans that poured from him.
"Good fucking boy." She pulled her baby brother closer, letting him get his first fuck right against her pussy. He was so good for her, fell so easily right into whatever she wanted. He would do anything for her.
"Harder, baby." He pushed harder, something was going haywire inside of him. Heat bloomed and his hands finally catch on her hips, his thurst becoming faster and harder against his big sister.
"Yeah," she moans," make your big sister feel good too." Her little bro is so desperate for her, his whines pour uncontrollably straight into her ear, his face had long crumbled into her neck. She grabs his neck and pulls him up. His eyes glazed, pussy-struck, yet he still manages to look embarrassed and shy beneath her gaze.
She kisses her little brother. She takes her little brother mouth savagely for his first ever kiss. His cock is hard, hes probably going to cum very soon all against his big sisters pussy. Still she takes his mouth for herself, her tongue pushes in and his eyes flicker open and close. He moans like a little slut into his big sisters mouth. His mouth is on fire, it's wet and his head feels numb. She's everywhere. He whines into her mouth and his hips jerk faster.
"Good boy, good boy, let it go for your big sister."
She's gonna cum from watching her baby brother explode for the first time. He's gonna cream PJs that aren't even theirs in a dressing stall while they're both supposed to be at school. Fuck.
"Yes! Fucking come on bro, cum for your big sister. C'mon bro!"
She mutters it all into his mouth as she continues to violate him. When he starts whining into her mouth, still leaning into her, does she cum against her baby bro. He fucks again and again as pleasure thrums through his body, so open too her. He'd let her do anything at this point, he barely felt awake right now.
He manages to keep his mouth open for her, she kisses and licks and continues to check over him. Her hands brush his hair back. His eyes feel heavy.
1,399 Words – Incest (Aunt x Mom x Daughter), Ageplay, Somno, Intox-- Trans Girl Daughter/Niece POV
Your auntie's over-- your favorite one, your mom's sister. Her favorite too, from the way they talk and laugh their way through the night every time she visits, the sound of it lulling you to sleep. Mom drinks white wine, and Auntie drinks red, and for as long as you can remember the plum-dark bottle on the counter is as good an announcement as shouting that you’re about to be swept up in a storm of cheek pinches and whirlwind shopping, your aunt spoiling you (and your mom, you’ve noticed) with all those “frivolous” things you’d never buy for yourself.
Don’t you have bills to pay? Your mom asks, arms full of silk and cosmetics, and well I hardly have a husband your auntie replies, bright as the sun. Now follow me, hurry up!
It’s far, far past your bedtime, and usually by now you’re dreaming, the long fun day having tired you completely. But you’re a big girl, now, your auntie said so, brought you lace to try on instead of plain cotton in the dressing room today, and it made you blush. You love your mom but she still treats you like a child. So tonight, summoning all your clumsy courage, you snuck two tiny sips of the evening wine-- one white, one red. The white made your mouth pucker and the red made your teeth ache, and they both made you feel a little woozy, but that might just have been your heart pounding from doing something so daring. Maybe that’s why you’re still awake, tossing back and forth as the muffled sound of two sisters talking wafts up to your room. Or maybe it’s….
Well. It made you hard.
The wine. You’re no stranger to-- this, of course. You’re a big girl. But it happened so fast, and you felt it through your whole body, tingling. Usually you try to stay up as long as Mom will let you but this time you skittered straight to bed, praying neither of them would see you. It’s too much of a risk to take care of, things, the normal way, while Mom and Auntie are still awake. They’d hear you. So you tangle the sheets and sigh, and it keeps you awake, pulsing dully with the warmth from the wine. Dozing, but never fully falling asleep, which is why you hear it when your bedroom door clicks open.
“Shhhh,” Auntie giggles. Oh, she’s drunk. It’s cute, and you force yourself not to smile (you’re supposed to be sleeping!). Your mom murmurs something you don’t catch, something dismissive, and the hairs on your arms rise as she crosses the room and sits next to you on the bed. You try to control your breathing. Asleep, you’re asleep. The clunk of a wineglass on your bedside table… Auntie giggling again, and Mom’s softer, lower laughter, flaring something deep in your belly. Maybe if you lie still they won’t see?
The cool air hitting your legs makes you flinch before you can help it. For a moment you feel sick, and then you burn all over. You’re frozen, heavy on the mattress, too mortified to do anything as you feel them look at you. You throb.
“Told you she was growing up,” your aunt says. You suppress another flinch as a fingertip touches your thigh-- your mom’s, you think. It strokes up and down, a trickle of lightning in its wake. What is happening? All your limbs feel heavy. Is it the wine?
“I know,” your mom says softly. Oh, you think. She loves me. “I just hate the thought that I’m going to lose her. Remember when she was little?”
Liquid sloshing, and a glass clink-clink. Did they bring the bottles into your bedroom? Why?
“Always was a sweetheart, wasn’t she. The bed dips, and your hair is smoothed gently off your forehead. You can smell your aunt’s perfume, dabbed on her wrists and behind her ears each morning. On your thigh one finger has become two, still those long, slow passes, edging closer and closer into the crease of your hip. You can feel yourself leaking, the new panties from your shopping trip getting slick on the inside. It’s mortifying. Your only hope is to lie as still and quiet as possible so maybe you won’t have to talk about it in the morning.
“All right then,” your mom says, and then suddenly--
You can’t help it. When her hand-- her hand, your mother’s hand-- cups your cock, you grunt and push your hips up into it. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your overwhelming shame. God, it feels so good. Maybe that’s why you lose track of what happens next, shaking back into your body just in time to hear your aunt cooing at you and the heavy, hot weight of--
“You want to go first?”
“Just warming her up for you, though it doesn’t seem like she needs much.”
You’re panting, you realize, and you desperately try to suck in air, ease your breathing back to something that could, laughably, pass for sleep. Oh, god. Mom-- her soft, heavy breasts drag back and forth across your chest as she rubs-- as she rubs what must be her cunt up and down your aching cock, the slide so good it sends sparks down your whole spine. The lace, so soft in the store, scrapes now between you, too much-- you’re going to come. You press your palms into the mattress and try to hold it back, but oh god, Mom, Mom, Mom--
The pressure disappears and your eyes fly open before you can stop yourself, a desperate groan forcing itself past your teeth. Before you slam them back shut you see your Mom gazing down at you, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. Oh. Of course she knows. You’ve never been able to fool her.
“Mm. Now you can go.”
“Oh so kind of you, I’ve only flown seven and a half hours to get here!”
“Oh shut up, you know your life is great. Here.” You’re flinching again as your panties are yanked down, something cold and slippery closing around you. Lube, it must be. Head spinning, it’s not as much of a surprise as it could be when the bed creaks and tilts around you, the two of them switching places. Of course it would be Auntie too, if it’s Mom. They’ve always shared everything between them. Even, it seems, you.
As soon as the head of your cock presses into Auntie’s tight heat you come.
You don’t mean to. You felt closer earlier, with Mom rubbing up against you, but you guess you’ve just been on edge for too long. You’re shaking, back arching up and mouth falling open. The feeling goes on and on, and as you shift your legs you realize that Auntie hasn’t stopped, she’s dropped herself all the way down to the hilt. It’s too much, far too much. She’s squeezing, and it’s cutting off your breath. Tears gather underneath your eyelids and you toss your head, bucking to get her off you-- and steady hands land on your shoulders, holding you down. Your mother.
“Shhhh, honey, shhhh,” she says. A kiss to your cheek. “You can take it. I know you can. You’re a good girl, our good girl, shhhh.”
By clenching every muscle in your body, you manage to make yourself relax again. There’s no way either of them believe you’re still asleep right now, but you can’t bring yourself to go through the pantomime of waking up. Your aunt’s hole is still too much, but it feels so good you feel some of those tears leaking out down past your temples, running into your hair.
How… how many times have they done this?
How long have they done this?
“There we go,” Auntie says, and starts to ride.
Your sister used to be afraid of the dark.
You remember that as you step through the gap where the front door used to be — not because it really matters, but because what used to be is gone now, and because sometimes you need to be reminded that the thing waiting for you in these ruins isn’t your sister anymore.
You can still remember the great hall lit and full of life, sixty candles in the chandelier your mother loved so much and a fire roaring at the hearth. The great hall is open to the pitch-dark sky now; the chandelier is a tangle of blackened iron at your feet. You step over it as you chase the sound of her mocking laughter, echoing off the walls you grew up in.
Your sister used to hum when she was nervous.
An old tune your father taught you both, something his father had taught him, passed down through so many generations of hunters that nobody alive knew the words it had been set to. You’d tease her for it, and she never could get herself to stop once she caught herself doing it.
You’re humming it now. You stop.
The ornate dagger at your hip still feels strange to you, even after carrying it for a year. It’s old, older than the manor itself, and by rights, it should have passed to your sister, the eldest daughter of the house. But she left it behind, buried in the ashes for you to find as you picked up the pieces of everything she destroyed. You’ve never been sure whether that was an accident, a message, or a gift. You stopped letting yourself think about it after a few months on the hunt.
The hallway to the east wing is half-collapsed, but you can hear her footsteps just past the rubble. The ceiling could cave in at any moment, scorched beams creaking overhead, but there’s a path through if you’re careful. You’re always careful.
She knows this place as well as you do. She’s leading you somewhere, and you’re letting her.
You track her to the library, and suddenly you understand. It wasn’t a mistake on her part that led you to find her, or a coincidence that the hunt would end today, of all days — the anniversary of her betrayal. She’s brought you back to where it all started, to where you found her standing over your parents’ crumpled bodies, their blood running down her chin as she spoke the incantation that set the family manor ablaze.
A pair of blood-red eyes glint in the dark, then vanish, and in an instant your hand finds the blade at your hip.
“Hello, little sister.”
Her voice comes from behind you, impossibly close. You turn, drawing your dagger and slashing at where her throat should be in one fluid motion, but there’s no-one there.
She speaks again, this time from somewhere high above you, on the library’s half-collapsed second floor.
“I’m hurt. We’ve been apart for a year, and you greet me with the edge of a knife?”
You hear her weight shifting on the floor above you and raise your weapon towards where you know she is, focusing your magic through the intricate sigilwork along the blade as you speak an incantation of pure destructive intent. It’s your father’s technique, rough and incomplete — he never taught you, but you’ve tried to reconstruct it from what you remember of how he fought. In the right hands, it could have leveled what remained of the manor. Yours have never been the right hands, though. Your spell will be smaller, less refined, but no less deadly for it.
The dagger gets hot in your hand as the inscriptions it bears ignite, compressing the air above you down to a single point of impossible density. Then, for a fraction of a second, a star blooms in the library. A wall of heat and force explodes outward as it collapses in a brilliant flash, reducing the second floor to splinters and dust, a cloud of debris swallowing the room whole.
There’s a breathless moment as the dust settles where you think your hunt might finally be over. You don’t let your guard down, though, buying you just enough time to react as she comes flying out of the rubble, hitting you like a freight train.
The melee is frantic, a flurry of claws as strong and sharp as steel clashing against your blade, the blade she was meant to bear. It would be only fitting to kill her with it, wouldn’t it?
She’s fast, faster than you’ve ever seen her. But her wild swipes and slashes are unpracticed — for all her talent with magic, you’re better than her in close combat. You’ve always been better than her. You break through her defense and tear a gash down her forearm, the dagger’s enchantment burning flesh as it carves. She hisses, and you steel your nerves. You can do this.
But then, you see her. You really see her, for the first time since all of this started, and it’s… it’s her.
It’s your sister. She’s thinner than you remember, all pale skin and bone that would make her seem almost frail if she hadn’t just nearly killed you. But she still holds herself the same way when she’s hurt, and it’s still her face, even if it’s being worn by the monster that killed her.
You hesitate, and it costs you. Her grimoire is in her hands before you even register that she moved, that ancient leather cover recognizable even in the near pitch-black library. You’ve seen her cast from it a thousand times; you know better than to let her finish.
You lunge, and she doesn’t even look up from the page. Her lips are moving, the intricate sigils inscribed in the book forming in the air around her. It’s like reading a language you almost speak — you can see the spell’s structure and pick out fragments of its horrifying logic, but the bigger picture eludes you. You’d cast a ward if there were time, but there’s no time.
The spell finishes and she sidesteps your lunge with a laugh, the last thing you hear before the world goes silent.
Not quiet, not muffled, silent. The total absence of sound, like one of your senses had been simply plucked from your skull. Sound was your lifeline here, fighting the dark, and now it’s gone. You do your best to follow her movement, desperately trying to keep track of her. It doesn’t work.
She comes at you from a direction you weren’t expecting, and you narrowly deflect claws aimed straight for your throat, the force sending you stumbling backwards. You slash recklessly at where she was and meet nothing, only to be placed on the defensive again, losing ground as she takes you apart with one brutal strike after another.
You try to keep up, frantically retreating as each sparking clash of claws on steel wears you down. Your heel catches on something behind you and you glance down for an instant — it’s the windows, or what used to be the windows, the massive panes of glass now melted down into glistening slag on the floor. Her claws rake across your shoulder and you bite down on a scream you wouldn’t have heard yourself make anyway.
You’re running out of room. She pushes you until your back is against the wall, then shatters your guard and sends your blade clattering to the floor. You can feel warm blood coursing down your arm, dripping down onto the glass beneath your feet.
This is it.
She grins, then rushes towards you, and in an instant her hand closes around your throat.
It’s cold. That’s what you notice amid all the panic, how cold her hand is. You’ve held this hand so many times before but it’s cold and dead now and it does not let go no matter how hard you claw at her wrist, her fingers, anything you can reach. Your vision is going dark at the edges, your struggles are getting weaker and weaker.
And then the silence breaks, sound crashing in like a wave. Your ragged breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. It’s deafening, but her voice cuts through it all.
“I missed you, little sister.”
The library goes dark.
Cold is the first thing to greet you as you wake — cold stone beneath your back, cold air stinging in your lungs. Then comes the pain, the wound you took to the shoulder searing itself back into your slowly growing awareness. You try to move your good arm but firm restraints stop you, and a jolt of fear shoots through you as you as you realize you’ve been stripped down to your smallclothes. You wince and open your eyes, trying to take stock of your situation as calmly as you can; panic won’t help you right now.
There’s a vaulted stone ceiling high above you, one you swear you’ve seen before. You glance towards your injury, but are surprised to see bloody bandages wrapped tightly around it. Had you been saved somehow? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would you be restrained if you had been rescued?
Looking past your bandaged arm, though, you see more of the room around you. Torchlight dances on a stone statue that stands against the far wall, silently guarding rows of ornately carved tombs. Your heart drops, the panic you tried so hard to stave off beginning to set in as you realize exactly where you are.
You haven’t been saved, and nobody is coming to save you now. This is the crypt beneath the manor, and you’re tied to the ritual altar.
For a moment, you hear nothing but the sound of your own unsteady breathing.
Then, from behind you, footsteps as your sister moves into your view.
“Good morning,” she says, smiling down at you. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You bandaged my shoulder,” you blurt. It’s the first thing your mind lands on, a detail you can’t quite make sense of.
She sounds almost offended as she replies.
“Of course I did. I’m not going to let you bleed to death, sweet sister.”
“Then let me go,” you command, in the closest thing to a confident tone you can manage right now. You know you’re in no position to make demands, but you have to say something.
“I will,” she says, pleasantly. “Eventually.”
She pulls a chair from somewhere beyond your vision and sits beside the altar, staring at you like she’s waiting for something.
You meet her gaze defiantly. Keeping you alive would be her fatal mistake, if you could just find a way out of these damned restraints. As if anything had changed, you test them again. They don’t move.
She laughs at you, that same laugh you grew up adoring now a knife that twists in your gut.
“I would have been disappointed if you didn’t try, but you’re not going anywhere. I need you to stay still for this.”
Anger compels you to speak again, to ask the question that has been burning in your mind since she left you.
“Y-you killed them. Why did you—”
She cuts you off.
“It was for you, angel. You’ll understand that eventually.”
“Don’t.” You spit back at her, pouring venom into your tone. “Don’t tell me I’ll understand, or that it was for me. You murdered our parents and turned everything I knew into ash, and then you ran from me. You’re a coward.”
“I freed us.” Her tone is gentle, like one used to correct a misunderstanding. “I freed myself, and I freed you, too. I know you can’t see it that way yet, but that’s alright.”
“How does—” you start, but she interrupts again.
“They were going to get us killed,” she says, as if it’s a fact. “Maybe not this year, maybe not the next, but eventually — in some dark place, for a family name already half-forgotten and for a world that would have used us up and left us in an unmarked grave.”
A flicker of sadness crosses her face.
“We were never people to them, little sister. We were weapons. You know I’m right.”
A small, treacherous part of you doesn’t disagree. But you’ve seen the trail of bodies left in her wake, she’s a monster. There’s no justification for what she’s done.
“That doesn’t give you the right to kill them.”
“No,” she agrees. “It doesn’t.”
The admission stuns you into silence.
She rises, placing her grimoire on the stone beside you. “But I don’t care. I’m not going to try to justify my actions to you.”
“I kill who I want, because I like it.”
She reaches into her cloak and produces a small wooden box, setting it beside the spellbook.
“I take what I want, because I like it.”
She lifts the lid. Inside, a fine silver needle rests on a bed of dark silk, a small reservoir of violet ink sitting beside it.
“And what I want, more than anything, is you, sweet thing. I won’t let anything keep us apart any longer, least of all this idiotic crusade of yours.”
A thin filament of light forms at her fingertips as she focuses, coiling around the needle and lifting it into the air. She touches it to the surface of the ink and the intricate carvings along its length drink deep, violet crawling up through the grooves. The ink beads at the tip, trembles, then drips once into the reservoir.
“Your hunt ends tonight, little sister, though maybe not how you imagined.”
You’ve hunted vampires before, seen the dark magic etched into the skin of the poor souls bound to their will. You had made peace with your own death long ago, but she’s not going to let you die; she's going to make you hers. “N-no, wait!” you plead. You can hear the change in your voice, your anger giving way to fear. “Please, just stop and we can talk about this.”
“We are talking,” she says, gently, sitting down beside you as the needle hums. Panic drags you under completely as it draws closer to your arm, your heart pounding in your chest. You writhe against your restraints; not because you think you can escape, but out of instinct, like an animal caught in a trap. When they don't budge, something inside you breaks. You start to cry, ugly sobs wracking your body as tears fall down your cheeks.
Her free hand moves to stroke your face and you freeze up, still sobbing as the claws that tore your shoulder to shreds now wipe away your tears. “Shhh…” she soothes. “It’s okay, just hold still for me. This won’t hurt, I promise.”
Her words aren’t particularly comforting, but fear keeps you locked in place, a still canvas for her magic. As the needle first touches the inside of your wrist, you learn that her words weren’t particularly true, either. It stings as it pierces your skin again and again, tracing out delicate sigils. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, holding back whimpers. You won’t give her the pleasure of knowing she’s hurting you.
The pain is bad, but you’ve trained your whole life to ignore it; the feeling that comes as the ink seeps into your body is far worse. Everywhere the needle has left its trail of violet begins to grow warm, getting more sensitive. At first, it only amplifies the torment, your skin tender and raw as your sister continues to inscribe delicate magic. But slowly, creeping in at the edges of your suffering, comes a new feeling — one that fills you with disgust.
It starts to feel good.
The pain begins to fade as pleasure takes its place, the bite of the needle and your sister’s cold touch stirring a warmth inside you that dredges up feelings you’ve long-since buried. As shameful as it might be, there was a time when you would have done anything for your sister to make you feel this way. But those feelings were wrong, and that thing isn’t the sister you grew up loving. Whatever she’s doing to you is altering your perception, just like the spell she cast in the library. You need to fight this.
It takes all your energy, but you can still find the faint feeling of pain in what she’s doing to you. You focus in on the hurt, centering it in your mind as you try to exclude everything else she’s making you feel. You don’t think it’s working.
She stops for a moment to coat the needle in ink again and you breathe a sigh of relief, but as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t shake a feeling of emptiness as her touch leaves you. When her work resumes and the sensations return, a moan nearly escapes your throat, barely held back by clenched teeth. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up, the pain you had been using to anchor yourself is all but gone now.
Time blurs as your body screams out for you to simply give in, to accept the gift of pleasure she’s giving you but you can’t, you can’t give in.
You can’t give in. You can’t give in. You can’t—
“It’s finished, sweetheart,” she says, gently.
Your eyes, clamped shut, slowly drift open. Your sister is smiling at you, her fangs showing just past her lips as she dries the needle on a small cloth before setting it gently back in its box.
She’s… done? That doesn’t make any sense. Your injured shoulder no longer hurts, the sting faded into the same pleasant warmth that suffuses the skin around your new tattoo. You hate the way the sensation makes your tummy flutter, but you’re still you, despite whatever she did to you. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse.
“W-what did you do?” you stammer. “I thought I would be—”
“A mindless thrall? If all I wanted was a hollowed out pet, I could have taken any girl I desired. I want you.”
She reaches up to cup your cheek in her hand, a terrifying glint in her eyes.
“I would enjoy making you into an empty plaything, but that would waste something beautiful. No, your mind — and your love — will be given to me willingly before this night ends.”
No matter what she does to you, there’s no way you’ll surrender to her.
“And you think that making pain feel—” You nearly say good before you catch yourself. “... making pain feel weird, is gonna make me love you again? After everything you’ve done? You’re insane.”
“No, sweet sister.” She traces the intricate violet linework of your new tattoo with her claws, the sensation dragging a shiver out of your traitorous body. “But this is only the first gift I have for you. What I’m going to do next will hurt much worse, and I wanted you to enjoy it. I certainly will.”
Her hand dips beneath her cloak again as she draws forth an ornate band of black leather — a collar inlaid with silver sigils, delicate as lace.
“I had this made just for you. Don’t fight it too hard, okay?”
You give her a defiant glare, steeling yourself against whatever effect the collar will have. The moment the clasp closes around your neck, you feel it begin its dark work. It starts at the edges of your thoughts, a low fog and faint pressure in your head. A memory crystallizes, though not of your own accord.
You recognize where you are: a dark alleyway in Prague, standing over a girl’s body as her still-warm blood pours out onto the cobblestones. You’re sure you’ve never seen her before, but there’s a familiarity that nags at you. When you turn her over to examine her wounds, your stomach drops. She looks just like you — your red hair, your green eyes, your cheekbones. The resemblance is uncanny.
The memory keeps shifting; new cities, new bodies, but never a new face. Always yours, staring back at you, empty-eyed. A message, you had decided, early in the hunt. A taunt, maybe. I could do this to you. Stay away, or don’t. See what happens.
In the waking world, your sister moves in the periphery of your awareness. A candle catches flame on the altar, and your temper ignites with it as you realize what she’s doing. She’s gloating. She’s out there, doing whatever she wants to your body while she makes you look at this, a year’s worth of her cruelty laid out in front of you.
Then something speaks from the corners of your mind, and it speaks in her voice. The intrusion startles you, and adds more fuel to your anger.
You think she killed them because she hates you. You couldn’t be further from the truth.
What else could it be? you snarl back.
Maybe she missed you, it says. She looks for your face everywhere she goes, finding only echoes of you. It’s not her fault none of them filled that void. This is just what love looks like when it has nowhere else to go.
Love. She wants to call it love when she abandons you, when she kills the innocent for pleasure, for the crime of reminding her of you. Your hands curl into fists; the cruelty of it, the sheer audacity of it, it’s enough to make you want to scream. You feel the force of your magic coiling behind your rage before you can stop it, and you scream into the fog clouding your mind.
If she loved me so much, then WHY DID SHE RUN? A whole year and she never ONCE—
The fog slams down as your magic surges; a thick, suffocating weight bearing down on your thoughts. When it settles over you and all becomes numb, her voice speaks again, gently.
You hunted her. You picked up the blade and carried on the legacy she tried so hard to free you from. What else could she do?
You open your mouth to answer and find the words harder to reach than they should be. You pull harder, and feel the fog thicken in response.
That’s not— you start. She’s the one who—
But in the real world, you hear her begin to chant, a dozen candles flickering around you as the air starts to move. The sound of her voice, knowing she’s casting something, sends a spike of panic that cuts through the fog. You don’t have time. Whatever she’s doing out there, you don’t have time.
You reach for the well of anger that drove you as you chased her across Europe, the only thing that kept your feet moving through every cold city and dead end. You reach for it and it comes up thin, diminished, the dying embers of the fire inside you.
In a panic, you grasp at the one memory that has never failed you, your unassailable answer to your every doubt. The library in flames. Your parents crumpled on the floor. The way your sister grinned with their blood still coating her lips. You wait for the anger that always comes.
It doesn’t.
You can see every detail just as sharply as the day it happened, but the memory sits behind glass now, and the place where anger used to live is quiet.
And then the collar shows you something else.
Your father’s voice raised. Your sister stepping in front of you, blocking his way into the training room. She’s thirteen, she’s saying. She’s thirteen and you will not send her out there, not on her own, not tonight. She’s not ready. The way your father raised his hand to hit her, and the way she never flinched.
Another memory, years later. Slipping through the manor’s back door, bleeding after your first solo hunt goes wrong. You have to get to your room quietly; you can’t let father see the gash torn in the fine leather cuirass he commissioned for your birthday. You don’t make it, collapsing on the floor of the storeroom. You wake to your sister leaning over you, bandaging your wound and mending your armor with a spell.
She loves you. She has always loved you. She did what she had to in order to protect you, and she would do it again.
You’re not sure if that was her voice, or your own.
There’s a void in your heart. A great, gaping wound torn open by the absence of the rage that drove you for so long. Without that, what do you have left?
You have her, comes the answer.
The only person who ever loved you, who ever saw you as more than a blade.
You want to argue, to snap back, to scream that it’s not enough, but it’s right. She’s all you have.
Outside your memories, you see her standing at the foot of the altar, palms raised to the vaulted ceiling as she speaks the final words of the spell she’s been building since the collar pulled you under. The candles around you flicker, then snuff out as something dark gathers in her hands — a dense, writhing knot of black-violet curse that pulses in time with your heartbeat.
Fear drags you up from the depths of memory as she moves towards you, the curse crackling in her hand.
“H-hey, no, what are you—” you start, your voice small and terrified.
“Don’t worry,” she says, climbing onto the altar and straddling your legs. “I know you’re scared and confused, but I’m gonna fix you, okay?”
Your heart pounds in your chest as she brings the curse towards the bare skin of your tummy and it begins to reach out, like it’s alive. The last thing out of your mouth before it touches you is a barely coherent “no, please no nonono—”
And then, between two beats of your panicked heart, time stops as the curse takes root.
At first, it feels like warmth pooling just beneath your skin, a heat that gathers low in your belly. Then, the corruption spreads, veins of violet and midnight threading throughout your body. The threads ignite and you scream into the cold air, but it doesn’t hurt, not after your sister's first “gift”.
Your back arches, your whole body shaking as wave after wave of corruptive pleasure crashes over you and you hate it, you hate her, for making you enjoy it. You hold tightly to that hate, refusing to let go or give in as ecstasy burns you from the inside out. The curse devours thought and memory, grief and fear, everything that made you human, until only the hate remains. But the harder you cling to it, the harder the collar presses down on your thoughts.
You don’t have to keep fighting, little hunter, it tells you, and you don’t want to listen but— you’ve been hunting her for so long. You finally found her, and she loves you. Why push her away?
There was a time when you could have answered that without hesitation, but you don’t have an answer now. You’re terrified as you hold the last ember of your humanity in your hands, but you’re not strong enough to resist.
You let go, and the tide of ecstasy carries it away.
Your resistance shatters, a dark hunger growing to fill the hollow space inside you until it consumes you. You cry out, thrashing against the restraints as something pushes up towards the surface of your skin. You watch through tears as a pattern takes shape, growing in delicate curves — a twisted, heart-shaped mandala of petals and thorns that blossoms over your womb.
It feels like an eternity before you can breathe again, and as you look up at your sister, she’s smiling. Not the predatory grin you’ve come to fear, but one full of warmth and adoration, the smile you fell in love with so long ago. Your chest tightens, and you smile back.
“Oh, there she is…” she breathes, leaning over you to undo your restraints. The thought of fighting her doesn’t even cross your mind. She pulls you up into a tight embrace; her body is corpse-cold but her touch spreads heat inside you everywhere it goes. “I missed you, baby sister.”
You start to say it back but she cuts you off with a kiss; hungry and desperate, a year’s worth of love coming out all at once. Her fangs graze the inside of your lip and you shudder, your head spinning.
The heat in your core is rising and you can feel your body still changing — bones shifting, muscles twisting, a growing pressure at your shoulderblades and tailbone, but you can’t care. All that matters is her, her lips on yours, her claws on your skin.
She breaks away, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, her fangs at your neck. She nips gently, like she’s asking permission; you know what she wants, and you’ll give it gladly. You nod, and her teeth sink into your flesh.
You cry out, your vision going white as ecstasy, bright and shattering, hits you full-force. The venom in her bite burns through your arteries as she drinks deep, and the more blood she takes from you, the warmer her body gets until she feels almost alive again. You squirm in her grasp and her claws dig into your skin, but you can’t stay still. The grinding and popping of bones is too much to ignore, the pressure building until—
You scream into her shoulder as your spine cracks and your shoulderblades split with a wet, agonizing stretch. Bat-like wings, delicate and violet-veined, push through your skin, unfurling in spasms. Blood runs down your back, down to where your tailbone is growing, twisting and elongating into a black spade-tipped tail that flicks against your thigh.
Every part of this should hurt, but it doesn’t, not anymore. It feels right, like this was how you were meant to be — but more than anything, it feels good.
“Gods, look at you…” she purrs as she pulls away. “You’re perfect.”
She’s beautiful, crimson eyes and rosy cheeks, your blood dripping from her fangs. You don’t know what you’re doing as you lean in, but instincts guide your lips to hers again. She kisses back, and you taste salt and warm copper on her tongue.
Her hand slips between your wings, her sharp claws giving gentle scratches that send shivers down your spine and through your tail. Her other hand glides down your stomach, then lower, and you moan into the kiss as it finally finds the aching need between your thighs.
Your wings flutter and your tail coils tightly around her wrist as her touch drags needy whines from your throat. It’s overwhelming, you feel raw and sensitive after your transformation, but you can’t stop your hips from bucking against her hand, the hunger inside you taking control.
Your first orgasm hits you without warning, your hips twitching uncontrollably as it crashes over you. She pulls away from the kiss but her touch barely slows, even as you fall apart in her hands.
“Good girl, that’s it,” she praises, your body still shaking and oversensitive as her fingers pull you closer and closer to the same edge you just fell headlong over. She leans in close to your neck, her breath hot and heavy, but she doesn’t wait for permission this time — her fangs pierce your skin again and when the venom hits, you cum a second time.
She doesn’t give you a single moment to come down. You try to speak, to think, but the pleasure washes it all away as she brings you over the edge again, and again, and again. When she finally stops, you collapse, nestling up against her — small, and broken, and hers.
“Welcome home,” she whispers, stroking your wings gently as she begins to hum that old hunter’s tune.
“Missed you,” you mumble against her chest.
Her arms tighten around you.
“I know, baby sister. I wont ever leave you again.”
golden rule was lovely!! but please do keep in mind never ever put a shock device on your neck or spine irl. love ur work💖
I'm glad you liked it! In the AO3 submission we made sure to add a tag saying unsafe use of shock collars. While around the neck is a very sexy idea, it is very unsafe! Thigh is fine and still very fun😁
It was just a joke, a bet that you'd wear a shock collar for your big sister if she bedded your mutual crush before you.
It stopped being funny when she turned the voltage up.
(Written for a competition with the prompt "Corruption")
"Come on, what's the golden rule?"
"Do unto others as you would have them-"
Electricity lances through the skin between the two terminals of the shock collar around your neck. Your sister's wicked laugh is so shrill in your ears that it's nearly as debilitating as the shock. "No, no, puppy, wrong again!"
You know what sentence Fade wants, the light bulbs surrounding its placard in your head are sparking and flickering on and off. A stupid edgelordy joke she picked up back in middle school to mock your strict adherence to your moral code and never dropped.
But fuck that.
Unbidden, you repeat it again: "Do unto others as you would have them do-"
Fuck! Your teeth bit into your tongue at the shock this time. You stare up at your big sister with obvious loathing. You're trying, you've been trying to hold to your beliefs for ten minutes, but the sparks in your head keep obscuring your most core moral tenet, and the fresh blood in your mouth tastes as red as her hair.
It was a joke at first. A bet where you'd have to wear a shock collar for a day if your big sister could bed your 'mutual crush' at the house party first. You didn't even come up with an alternative prize if you won instead, because your sister was your real crush, and you magnificently 'blew your shot' by spilling your drink all over the white dress of the target right when Fade walked by.
A wandering partygoer looking for the restroom caught you touching yourself outside the door while you listened to them fuck, and your sister laughed your beet-red face out of the building when she returned to the kitchen and heard what you'd been doing.
You still got what you wanted even with the embarrassment. She put the collar on you and the first shock gave you enough masturbation material for a month, but the fact that it made you moan and go red in the face was enough evidence for your sadistic sister to realize that it wasn't a 'punishment' for you. She immediately kicked the power setting on the remote up past the threshold that felt good, and she hasn't shown you an ounce of mercy since.
A headache is starting to pound in you, and there's a pressure building to just make her stop, no matter what it takes.
You'd be turned on by the smoky way she intones "One more tiiime, puppy, the golden rule. I know you know it." if your brain didn't ache. Maybe you're still turned on by it anyway. The blood in your head hurts, the blood in your neck is terrified of electricity, and the blood between your legs is telling you to listen for a totally different reason. "Do unto others as-"
She twitches with the remote and you flinch, hard. You look up at her gleaming hazel eyes, and… fuck.
"Do unto others… first." Your gaze dangles down onto the floor as one of the strings of your moral net frays and snaps.
"Gooood puppy!" Fade swings one foot up from where she's been dangling them off the dining room table and jabs you in the nose. It sparks tears in you, and they're watered by the fact that she's right when she says "And now puppy is going to do unto Sephora and shoplift the Dior makeup she was 'too broke' to buy her big sister for her birthday!"
Fuck you Fade-
It's fine, it's Sephora, it's all overpriced garbage anyway.
Fuck you Fade-
Do unto others, do unto fucking capitalism, it's fine, fuck Sephora-
"Can I help you find something?"
Your head jerks away from the products you've been staring at with dread. "Oh! No, I'm just comparing shades."
"Let me know if you need anything!"
Fuck, that's bad, someone saw me.
One pitiable wage-slave's seen your face now, and the building has enough security cameras to make a bank vault blush. You have two choices:
Stuff $260 worth of disgustingly overpriced designer makeup in your bag and burn $20 to buy some trash to avoid suspicion…
Or stuff everything in your bag and leave without paying at all, so that you can fill your gas tank enough to not take the bus to work tomorrow.
Fuck.
You yank the $20 out of your wallet and pray to whatever gods are listening that someone is off sick tomorrow and you can make decent tips in their place.
You dump the paltry contents of your purse right on Fade's lap when you get home, and of the five bottles cascading over the couch, she picks up the decoy with disdain. "What's this, Lawless-"
You snatch it away. "Not that one." She greedily picks up another bottle, and a grin immediately lights her face. She croons "Gooood puppy!"
If it were 'Good girl' maybe I wouldn't hate you-
"Disgusting puppy gets its disgusting treat!"
She turns to stand off the couch and snags a finger in your collar to pull you in for a kiss. You startle and jerk backwards. "What was that?"
She smirks. "I know what you want. You weren't outside that door for Zane."
You go crimson. "I…"
If she already knows, then-
"Can I have another?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Damn."
"Hmmm…" She puts a finger to her lips and makes a comical thinking expression. "Well, maybe if you get me something else, then I can put up with your sick sister fetish." Dread flickers over your mind before she continues "I want the bottle of Dom Pérignon from the top shelf at your work."
Black and green label, so high you'd need a ladder to get it down. "No. No way." You could wait tables somewhere else if you got caught, but what actually matters is that "Davin's bartending, he would be on the hook if that went missing."
Fade cocks an eyebrow and a hip at you. You shake your head again. She points the remote at you, and you quickly protest "He's a good guy, he doesn't deserve it, he helped me pay to get my car towed last month!" You still haven't paid him back.
Your big sister takes a step forward and pokes the remote into your chest with a growled warning "Puuupppy…"
You smack the remote away from your chest. "No fucking way I'm not-AH!" Your knees hit the floor hard, and your hands blithely try to coax some air back into a throat that got shocked empty.
"Bad puppy! You made up for my birthday, now you're going to get me something I actually want!"
As you try to put your thoughts back together, you wonder why you ever had a crush on her. She's such a bitch. It's fucking over, you're done, this has gone too far-
You lift your head, and, well, fuck, there it is. Plaid schoolgirl skirt, white top, no bra, like she's trying to seduce her teacher. It wasn't ever about her personality, and you fail to keep your eyes out of her skirt - white panties, like a god damn pinup.
"Puppy." Your throat instantly seizes up in fear, but it relaxes at the offer of "You get this, and you can look."
You wait too long, and she points with the remote again, so you stammer out "Fine! Fine, fuck."
It's the end of your shift, and you got lucky that you picked a stylish enough shock collar that it could pass for a chunky choker. No complaints from customers, and you only had to deal with a friendly ribbing from Davin before he clocked out early. You reach around and try to pry the lock off again, but within moments the anti-tamper feature shocks your fingers.
Fuck! If I tell anybody I'll seem like a fucking moron and she'll deny it and hide the remote, and if I keep going I'll be a hypocrite that fucks over someone that doesn't deserve it.
Your brain starts to grope around for justifications, hard.
He already helped with the tow and he didn't even ask me to pay it back, he's probably got enough to cover it. He'll be fine.
You can feel murmurs of decay in your chest as you head back inside and check for witnesses. The closing waitress is rolling silverware and watching an ASMR video on her phone, and your manager will be locked in with frozen fish for another twenty minutes. Lucky.
As quietly as you can, you shuffle the ladder out from next to the beer fridge and climb.
Your 'prize' is filthy with dust, and you climb down carefully without leaving any marks three hundred dollars might be enough for your boss to check for fingerprints. You stuff the illicit item in a paper bag and the ladder back where it came from, but a set of bottles catch your eye in the fridge. Your neck buzzes with a phantom electric shock and your head swims with shadowy thoughts.
If something's going to go missing, it'll be less suspicious if it seems like things just got inventoried incorrectly…
An invisible force stops your hand before you touch the door.
He's already going to be in trouble, this will just make it worse.
But… he's probably going to try to throw somebody under the bus for this, and it might be me, so I might as well get something to help me forget all this. If Davin's going to blindly try to fuck me over anyway, then I might as well get to actually drink some of what I steal.
"Puppy!" Your sister rushes to you the second you're in the door to yank the bottle out of your bag while you fumble with the handful of soju bottles left and try not to drop any of them on the floor.
With zero gravitas, Fade rushes into the kitchen and you can hear the cork on the bottle immediately pop. You follow her and crack one of your own drinks while you watch her root around in the low freezer for ice cubes far in the back. Your eyes trace up her gorgeous legs, envious that she's kept her tone since quitting gymnastics, up to her ass, admiring the curve and thinking of what your hands and teeth could do to it, and-
There it is.
Unguarded- or, basically. Though you'd rather stick your fingers into the waistband of her tight shorts, you could reach right into her back pocket and take the remote for the shock collar.
You take two steps forward. "Hey Fade, grab me some ice too, I want to share." She wiggles her ass. "I'm not sharing." You continue stalking forward while she shuffles bags of frozen vegetables out of the way to try to find more cubes. "You're going to be wasted."
"As if, my tolerance is super high."
You manage to pinch the little device out of her pocket right as she stands up, and you dance backwards out of her reach with it held in the air. "Fucking finally, you bitch. I never should have given you this."
She throws her ice into a glass and rolls her eyes. "Give it back." Your indignation at her certainty about its return could etch you into Mount Rushmore. "No. Why would I?"
She rolls her eyes again and her whole head too, then she suddenly darts a hand out and tries to snatch the remote out of your hand. Not quick enough, and you laugh. She puts on yet another dose of dramatic exasperation and painfully flicks your clavicle. "I guess you don't want your treat then, stupid puppy."
That makes you freeze - smothering your self-loathing all the way home pushed the reward out of your mind too. "What treat?" Fade pouts and holds her hand out, but you don't move. "What treat? You never said what it was?"
She waves in the air dismissively and pulls out her phone to flash the screen at you: a picture of herself, nude above the waist and making an exaggerated ahegao expression that instantly makes various indiscrete places on your face and body flush with intense blood flow. "This is your treat, I was going to send it to you." You lick your lips, and she shuts the screen off on her phone and points. "Give it back first."
Fuck.
That picture was unbelievably hot, and you only got to look at it for a tantalizing second. "Show me that you're about to send it. Draft the message." She sees something in your eyes, so she swipes to unlock and queues the text up. You take yours out to confirm, and she plucks the remote away as soon as it dings. Your eyes greedily rove over the picture - black choker, dual braids, she even put eyeliner, eyeshadow, and mascara on for it.
Hot damn, you need to get somewhere private-
"Fuck!" Your phone leaps out of your hand when she buzzes your collar again, and it clatters to the floor. Before you can complain, Fade pushes you against the wall with an intensity in her eyes totally separate from the disdain she held you in moments ago. "I knew you'd take it, you fucking pervert. That's disgusting. I bet you were smelling my dirty panties for years before that party."
You stammer out "I, never went through your laundry-"
She steps back. Zap. "Liar!"
"I didn't!" Fuck, did you? Was that just something you imagined doing? Considered doing? It's getting hard to feel out the lines between what you think you did, and what you actually did.
While you try to figure out which of the fractal mirrors in your head is showing reality, she pours a full glass of her expensive alcohol and callously throws it back without seeming to taste it. After a few moments you decide, you definitely didn't perv on your sister's dirty laundry, you just thought about iiiiiiii-
Your eyes roll back in your head at the gentler electricity running through your neck, and you slump back against the wall and moan. This is the 'joke' you wanted when you let your sister collar you, and she was supposed to laugh genially like she is now, and not like the psycho she's been lately.
When you run out of breath you look down from the ceiling to see her with a hip cocked and a smirk on her face. And hell, is she biting her lip? "You like that?"
You nod.
"Are you a good puppy?"
"Yesssss" Hell, if she'd been this playful, maybe this could have actually been fun.
In the center of your hazy vision she steps back another foot and, to your excitement and shock, undoes the fastenings on her shorts and lets them fall to the floor. Before you can even stammer out a question, she makes her demand: "I want Haile's first place gymnastics trophy."
You go pale and your mouth snaps closed. There's no way you're stealing your best friend's trophy after she trained so hard that she was out sick for two weeks after the competition. "What? No way, what the fuck is wrong with-"
Shock! "Bad puppy!" This one was way too strong to be fun, and you have to fight through teeth that are starting to chatter with jumbled nerves. "She earned that, you don't know what she went through-"
"I earned it! I'm better than her, the judges just picked her cause she's anorexic!"
"That's, not true, she worked hard and she deserved it-" The collar sparks hard, but then it evens out into the 'fun' range again. As your vision goes hazy and golden, your sister slips her fingers into her panties. Your mouth drifts open, and you're a notch from drooling.
"Get it for me and you can touch."
Pleasure drunk, you start to stammer out "N,n-uh, no…"
Fade starts to slide her fingers in and out of herself while she tweaks the dial on the remote to hurt you more. Something that frayed in your mind at screwing over a coworker starts to completely tear, and you can hear every fiber of the paper coming apart as the pain increases. It's hard to resist justifying what you're going to agree to.
The competition is already over, she already won, who even looks at trophies, fuck-
"Okayyyy…"
Your best friend's unlocked back door opens as silently as ever, and when your fingertips find the polished marble columns of the trophy in her room, the anticipation of touching your sister is evaporated by an ache deep in your chest that carves through your heart. Tears start to wash down your face as you hear your own voice echo:
'Every step away from your values takes you further from the person you think you are.'
You can still feel the rain pouring through your hair the night your best friend showed up at your house sobbing. You held her close until you were both soaked, and when she finally told you that she'd cheated on her boyfriend, you pulled that line out. You meant it. You'd never said it before, but you've lived by it every day since then because it's true to you.
So has she. She confessed her mistake to her boyfriend, and… against all odds, they worked it out. Stronger than ever. He was the one who nursed her back to health after the gymnastics collapse. He's the one she meets every day after school. He's the one she's going to marry.
He's the one who stands beside her. Her best friend.
Not you any more.
Because you helped her make amends.
Your fingers clench around the trophy, and the glue holding the marble to the base feels ready to crack.
She's going to leave you someday. She's going to walk down that aisle and he's going to put a ring on her finger and he's going to take her away to Germany and you're never going to see her again.
Do unto others first.
You stuff the trophy in your backpack and zip it up, but then you notice a handful of crumpled five dollar bills sticking out of a purse on the dresser.
Fuck it. She never paid you back after your phone fizzled out in the rain that night.
Fuck you Fade fuck you Fade fuck you Fade fuck you-
"Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes, puppy!" As soon as you're in the door your sister pushes you onto the couch and plucks the trophy out of your hand. Little sociopathic laughs bubble out of her while you stew in resentment at being made to act so reprehensibly. Her eyes drop back to you, and she tosses the prize onto the couch. Your heart and stomach are lanced by spikes of painful excitement when she climbs onto you, straddling you with your face six inches from her chest. "Trashy puppy gets its filthy treat!"
Your breath is thin as you lift your hands and slide them under her shirt, but she leans back and smacks one hand away, her other lifting the remote into the air. "Bad puppy!"
The shock burns that wicked delight at punishing you into your brain, and both your hands drop to your sides. You complain "What?"
"Did your big sister say you could get under her top?" She tisks and wiggles a finger in your face. "Stupid, stupid puppy." Her smirk could curdle the calcium in your bones when she grabs one of your hands and lifts it to her breast over her shirt instead. You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to shock you about it, but she actually looks vaguely excited. Tentatively you squeeze, and she wiggles the little black remote, but she doesn't press the button. You wait too long, and she squeezes the back of your hand to make you grope her properly. Her eyes are locked on yours, and with the way that she bites her lip, you can't help but feel your blood rush at the idea that she's enjoying this too.
Paranoid of another zap, you slowly lift your other hand to her chest and start to knead both sides in symmetry, and her breaths start to turn steamy. It isn't until she starts to push her chest forward in time with your squeezes to get you to inflict more pressure that you start to think that maybe, just maybe, this is going somewhere. Her eyes drift shut for a small moan, and you drop one hand down to her exposed thigh and squeeze there. She cracks her eyes open to smirk at you again, but then she closes them again and starts to moan louder.
You can already feel the potential electric charge between the terminals against your throat when your fingertips brush under the fabric of her skirt, but instead of moving them further up, you tuck them around to gently cup her ass. She reaches up and pokes you in the nose with the remote, finger right on the button, but after a second of staring she laughs and lets her hand drop beside her.
Pressure is starting to build in you that you're sure would earn you mockery or even a shock if you let any noise out, but you can't help but start to pant to match her as your face goes blazing hot and your eyes start to go hazy from arousal. You already got zapped for trying to tuck under her shirt, but you're already under her skirt, so if you slipped your hand under her panties…
Your heart skips a beat and your hand ceases its travel as soon as she speaks. "Are you having fun, puppy?"
Fuck, is 'yes' the right answer? It's obvious, but does she want me to say that?
You may be a stupid puppy, but you're at least trying not to be. "Yes?" Much to your chagrin, she leans back and steps off the couch. She seems to be delighted by the disappointment in your eyes, and she gestures with a finger for you to follow her as she stalks backwards across the room. Completely entranced by the possibilities in her smoky stare, you stand and follow. She finally reaches a spot where she can point down the hallway. "I want grandma's watch."
No.
Your grandfather gave her that when he turned 18 because he couldn't afford a ring. It's the thing that kept her believing that he'd come back after his parents sent him away for dating a girl two years younger. She spent the whole funeral staring at the timepiece in her hand instead of listening to the eulogy. She's forgetting things more and more these days, but the one thing she never misplaces is that watch.
The workers at Sephora probably gave your picture to the police. Fuck 'em.
Davin's probably going to throw you under the bus for the missing alcohol. Fuck him.
Haile's going to leave you for a man she betrayed. Fuck her.
Not your sweet grandmother, not her most cherished possession-
Shock! Shock!
You waited too long and she gave you a double tap. Your eyes are clumsy getting back to open and focused.
"Puuuuppy…"
You try to grab at the loose gravel of your remaining fortitude and start to shake your head-
Shock!
It goes blank for a moment. A few moments. You can't count, you're an etch-a-sketch with no magnets.
When you're back, you're staring into her eyes, and she worms her way into your mind.
It's fine, right? It's for her, for your big sister? It's okay? Your grandmother is going to die anyway. Probably even soon, maybe. You might as well do this now before she goes and dies on you.
Through a throat still trying not to spasm, you force out "O-… okay. I'll do it."
"Aha!" Sparks burst in her eyes almost as loud as they did in your head a moment ago. It's almost more torture to see her delight in your suffering than the suffering is itself, but her validation feels so good.
But you need more. You need the reward. Now.
…do unto others first…
You dart forward and smash your lips against your sister's. Before your eyes close you can see hers flare, and an instant later you can feel the electric shock kick in-
"Ah!"
Fade yanks her bright red face away from yours, both your mouths stinging viciously from where the electric current jumped from you to her. Though it's a fresh place for the pain, you've been adjusting to the torture for a week, and it's totally raw for her. Burgeoning tears threaten to spill out of her wild eyes, and she starts to stammer and gesture her remote at you. "Bad puppy! Bad pupp-"
You dart forward and kiss her again, just in time to make her zap herself through you. The fuzzy pressure in your head is being catalyzed by the electricity, and the pathetic whimper from your big sister pulls a voracious smile onto your lips. You can see fear bloom in her eyes at your expression, and when she limply tries to lift the remote to point at you again you close the space between you and push her roughly against the wall, pinning the remote between your hand and hers above her head.
She didn't manage to press the button this time, and you lean in for another hard kiss, this one delicious from the softness of her trembling and swollen lips.
Another. She stays still for it.
Another. There's something in her breathing…
Another. She twitches.
Another. She kisses you back.
You snicker at her. "You liked it this whole time, didn't you?"
"No-ah!" You didn't leave her enough clearance between your faces, and she whimpers again at the shock when she presses the button again.
Your lips are starting to go numb, but you murmur into her hers "You liiiiked it." just close enough for the threat of the shock to keep her trigger finger chaste.
"I didn't like it…" Her voice wavers, and it's clear enough that she's lying for you to consider it consent. Another kiss you wish your lips were more sensitive for, and she kisses you back immediately. All the hair raises on your body, and a tingling sweeps through you. You could have had her this whole time, all you had to do was do unto her, first.
Your body is lined with ecstasy as you start to slip your hand under her shirt, and her gasp is so delicious after days of being her playtoy. Your fingers rove over her bra for a few moments, then you slip them under the band to inch toward her breast.
Some vestige of emotional energy flexes in her, and you pull back for a second to let her say "No, bad puppy…" Her finger twitches over to the shock trigger, but you hold yours between her fingertip and the button, then lean in and reply so closely that your lips are physically touching. "Are you sure you want to do that, big sister?"
You can hear the last vestiges of dominance crack in her voice. "No…" She flexes her hand open and the remote is yours. You laugh into her mouth, wicked in your own right, but quiet and self-satisfied.
Finally free to separate the threat of your lips from hers, you move past her face to her ear. "Who's a good puppy now?"
"Y-… you…"
"Your little sister is a good puppy? And she gets to do what she wants to her big sister now?" You slide your hand up and over her breast in the crowded space under her bra with the tiniest of squeezes as a promise.
"No…"
You lick her earlobe and press the button at the same time, and she practically shrieks in your ear at the shock. Though the pain from both sensations is stark, you're starting to enjoy being a conductor to torture your sister with. She tries vaguely to wriggle free when you start to squeeze her breast in earnest, but all you have to say is "A-a-aaahhh" in her ear to make her go still again.
Free to indulge yourself, you coax hesitant moans from her with her breast and nipple, play at her throat with your lips and tease her gently with teeth, and then your hand dips down to her waist. She shakes her head with another fake denial, but from the way that she's shuddering and panting at your touch, you know you've won. You snag a finger under the elastic of her skirt and yank it down to pool around her ankles, and the squeak she makes at the exposure puts a ticklish delight in your chest.
God, I should have done this so much sooner. She was just begging for someone to dominate her.
You pull her off the wall and gently push her onto the couch, and her lack of resistance and the wet spot on her panties show you that she's ready for the next step. You turn the safety of your collar on with the remote, then unlock it and dangle it off a finger as you stalk toward her. "Faaaaade~"
Her eyes fill with apprehension as you reach around her neck to fasten the collar on her, anointing her with a kiss on the lips as punctuation that she doesn't return. You lean back and wiggle the remote in the air. "What's the golden rule, puppy?"
Dread and paleness spread across her face. "Do unto others first."
You shake your and overtly flick off the safety, but you don't press the button right away. "No, no, bad puppy!" You straddle her and position her thumb between yours and the button to trigger the shock, then you lean forward and whisper into her lips "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you."
Some friends and I decided to have a fun little writing jam, and we started
THE FIRST GREAT SISCON-OFF
Linked above is the collection of 6 anonymous stories written by myself, @maolong, @kitsunedollie, @sweetestsixshooter, xX_sister_bliss_Xx, and one anonymous author! The theme is CORRUPTION. We're going for glory, so after you've read all six (one author opted out of the voting), you can vote on your absolute favorite below! Enjoy six new siscon stories from a variety of really lovely and crazy talented authors :)
Which is your favorite?
Golden Rule
Blood Ties
Faith is NOT a Siscon
Kitsune's Cunning Stunt
A Special Kind of Safety
Voting ended onJun 16
(One of these can only be read with an account, so make sure you're logged in if you want to see all of them. Also, we'll definitely be doing this again in the future, this was just a fun little friend server jam ^^)
The authors will be revealed in ONE WEEK after voting is done, so enjoy these anonymous fics until then!
The votes have been tallied! Between the Tumblr poll and the Discord poll, the results are as follows:
In fourth place with 5 votes is A Special Kind of Safety by @maolong!
In third place with 9 votes is Kitsune's Cunning Stunt by xX_sister_bliss_Xx!
TIED for second place with 18 votes each are Blood Ties by @kitsunedollie and Golden Rule by @sweetestsixshooter!!
And in first place with 38 votes is Faith is NOT a Siscon by meeee~
Expect all of these up on Tumblr shortly, and their AO3 links are all linked here! Really really wonderful work from everyone - the real winner is YOU all because you have 6 fantastic siscon stories to read!
We'll be doing this every once in a while (we were talking about maybe quarterly?) and next time even more really cool siscon authors have said they wanted to participate~ We hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading!! 💖
You feel the weight of each step you take. You’ve been lost for nearly a whole day. The crunch of leaves and sticks beneath your boot is the only sound filling this seemingly-endless labyrinthian forest. You’re tired, hungry, thirsty, and you know you need to find someone but you cannot remember who. You thought this part of the woods was louder, people always come out here to camp, teens drink and find their ways through the start of messy love lives. And at the very least you’d think you could hear birdsong and the rustle of leaves as wind passes you by, but nothing. Not a sound anywhere ‘cept the ones made by you.
You keep stumbling over terrain you could swear was not present the last time you visited. It’s slightly chilly and the air smells crisp, it must be near Fall then, but why didn’t you know that? And that other person, the one you lost, you keep swearing you can see their shadow dodge out of sight behind trees and hills, but you never are fast enough to catch up. You want to scream out. But you can’t. Your lips are seemingly sewn shut by some great invisible pressure you cannot seem to shake.
A small gentle thump echoes behind you, then another, then a cacophony. It’s raining, thank fuck. You won’t die of dehydration. You just need to dig a hole to collect the rainwater, you don’t know how to purify it but getting sick and dying in a week must be better than dying without water in days. You spot a shadow dip out of the way into a small cave, you try to scream for her name, but cannot find it. You do not know who she is.
The small brook you are resting by is comfort condensed. The soft noise of the water flowing comforts your weary mind. The moss forms a blanket beneath your torso. And the night grows still. You just barely got separated from the person you went to camp with so it must be a good idea to remain still. The scheduled song of the crickets seems to have been postponed for the evening, not that you mind, you always found their noise far too shrill.
That girl you were with, what was her name again? She’s someone important to you, you know that much. Where could she have gotten off to? You have this feeling enveloping your whole body saying “I need to protect her” but you cannot seem to place why.
The afternoon sun glares down upon you, you just got here how the hell did you already get lost? Where is that girl. Ugh, you cannot believe you got dragged out here again. You hate this forest.
Smoke fills your lungs. You choke. But find nothing comes out. You clutch at your chest and try to take in as much clean air as possible. That girl! She’s stuck in the fire, she looks so scared. You can’t let her get hurt. You can’t let Amy get hurt.
You reach out to her form and her arm turns to smokey ash before your very eyes. You want to scream to cry to hold her and tell her how much you love her but it’s like you have grown stagnant. The world continues on burning around you whilst you are locked in a motionless trance.
You cough as you wake, something smells like it’s burning outside. Amy stirs within your arms only to just return to snoring as loud as ever. Wait, Amy, thank god, she’s okay. It was just a nightmare.
You slowly sit up as to not wake sleeping beauty beneath you. She’s so beautiful. You’ve caught yourself staring more than a sister ever should but you just can’t help it. She is everything you wanted to be before you transitioned and still is now. She was crass, stood up for herself, kept her hair short in spite of Mom’s endless protestations. She dressed terribly, wore the same ripped shirt for years on end, always smelled like weed, generally was an ass, and she was yours, your beautiful baby sister.
How could you not admire her? She wasn’t always the best at school, but would have barely scraped by enough to graduate high-school after being held back a year. She is so strong and all of it is being taken away from her. She would have lived such a bright life. But now you don’t get to see her bloom. You just have to wait, together for everything that could have been to be abruptly cut short.
You find yourself quietly sobbing. She deserved so much better. Fuck everything you’re going to miss out on, what about her? You love her so much and it’s so fucking unfair that she doesn’t get to be happy. You rub your hand along the ridge of her cheekbones, your sweet trainwreck of a girl. You wish you could kiss her right now. Tell her how much you love her, how you spend every single day thinking about her, how you know it’s wrong but there’s never been another girl like her. You wish you could tell her that you would do anything to make sure she is happy, and that if you could, you’d stop all of this just for her.
But you can’t. You never were able to confess. And you can’t bring yourself to now. Her entire world is falling apart, how would it be fair for you to take a hammer and break it so much further?
She’d never love you like that back. That doesn’t happen. She’s your sister and it just doesn’t work that way. But why couldn’t she be both?
Amy coughs and slowly flutters her eyes open.
Mm. Shit my back hurts. Sam? Why are you here?
She comically flops back into bed only to just a second later grow rigid.
Right. God. Right. That’s why.
She turns back to wrap her arms around you and notices the wet streaks running down your face.
Woah shit, are you okay? I mean stupid question, how the fuck can any of us be okay. But... what happened? You haven’t shed a single tear since you showed me the news.
Is it mom?
You wipe the tears from your face, feeling thankful for the first time in months you haven’t worn eyeliner. The cold A/C forms little goosebumps on your skin and reminds you you’re alive.
No. No. It’s not her. I was just… really fucking sad. It’s nothing to worry about okay? I love you.
Love ya too sis, can we get breakfast then get fucking trashed? I don’t wanna spend my last bit of time on Earth sober.
Wow she changed the topic quickly. But honestly, that sounds like a damn good idea.
Yeah, let’s do that.
Wait- what’s that smell?
Amy sniffs the air like a dog, if everything weren’t going to shit you’d laugh at how absurd this girl is in everything she does. But you smelled it too whilst you were perving on taking care of Amy while she slept.
I think it’s smoke, forests always burn this time of year. Wouldn’t be surprised if someone set fire to all of their shit in light of the news.
You pull the curtains away from your window in an attempt to at least visually check where the fire could be coming from. It smells far enough off that the both of you shouldn’t be in any danger but you want to make sure.
Something immediately catches your attention and your heart sinks like a weight. The highrise your mom works at is up in flames. She wasn’t here. She still isn’t here. Oh god.
What’s that look for?
Amy nudges you aside.
Oh god. Mom. No no no. Not her please.
We have to go. Get your shit we have to go.
You stand speechless planted firmly beside your window. This can’t be happening.
Sam. We have to go.
She shakes your shoulder.
Sam.
Sam!
Amy is halfway through putting on one shoe awkwardly while shaking you with her free hand.
We can’t.
The fuck do you mean we can’t?! Come on, it might not be too late.
You choke. You can’t let this happen. Is she going to go in there like a super hero and save your mom? There’s no way. She works on the 7th floor. Mom’s gone.
No. No. Amy stop. Stay here. Please.
What the fuck Sam no?! Mom could be hurt. We have to help her!
She begins storming out of the room alone, you grip her arm tightly as tears begin racing their way down your face. Your chest feels like it’s going to explode. Your ears are ringing louder than ever. You can’t lose her please. You can’t lose her too.
Amy please. Amy she’s gone, she’s on the seventh fucking floor, I can’t lose you please please fucking stay. You’re too important to me. Don’t go.
I- fuck. Mom.
I know, I know. I can’t lose you too please.
…Okay.
The two of you collapse on the floor together. You wrap your arms around her as tight as you can. You run your hand through her hair and let out loud heaving sobs.
You stayed the night at your boss’ place. Deep down you really appreciate her. She also… pet your head, and called you hella petnames. You’re not sure what it means, but, the both of you have a long workday ahead, her especially. And, you need to get your uniform and laptop from yours first, which means yet again confronting Ivy.
You drift in and out of sleep the whole night. You don’t even end up using Kate’s tv, just kinda stare at the ceiling. You stir once or twice to the unfamiliar noise of her part of town, knock back out and repeat the process.
Around probably three in the morning you start to finally doze off. Your shift starts at noon and you hope Kate won’t mind you sleeping in. You had a long night after all.
Your sleep is dreamless.
You stir to the sound of footsteps. Your mind reaches for context but can’t quite seem to grasp it. Your first thought is Ivy. You find yourself disappointed as you open your eyes. You’re not in your apartment and you’re not with Ivy. Last night wasn’t a nightmare after all. Kate’s house is still draped in darkness, her kitchen appliances granting only the smallest bit of illumination. Kate is veeery slowly and deliberately opening the fridge. She probably didn’t mean to wake you.
You call out a half-yawned
Whatime issit?
She squeeks out a tiny startled noise, nearly jumping out of her skin. She then takes what you consider to be an overly dramatic sharp inhale.
Oh Autumn! You scared the crap out of me, sweetheart.
It’s four thirty, I’ve gotta finish getting ready for my shift. I’m sorry I woke you. You sleep okay at least? I know my couch isn’t the coziest place in the world.
You sigh, you really didn’t.
Nope.
Her shoulders droop.
I’m sorry honey, I knew that couch is, pardon my french, shitty.
It’s- it’s not the couch, like yeah, you need a new one, but, nah, just too much on my mind.
You still wanna talk about it later? It was about your sister right?
You’d have to admit to your incestuous kiss to paint a full picture. Not the least to mention that you’re so fucking garbage at lying. Guilt and shame always work hand-in-hand to shove the words out of your chest.
Yeah it is. And I- I dunno. I’ve got a lot to work through. I gotta talk with her today to get my uniform and my laptop, and my jacket. She kinda… hates me right now. It’s not gonna be easy.
She grants you a gentle smile. The way her nose crinkles and her smile lines start to show my prominently is just so… cute.
Well… you’ll get through it okay? You’re a strong girl. And I believe in you ‘kay?
She walks over and ruffles your hair.
H-hey, stop that!
She giggles and flashes you a mischievous little grin.
Sorry! Sorry. Always wanted to do that. Your hair is just so gosh dang soft. And your curls are downright enviable.
Really? It’s embarrassing, but you stopped taking care of your hair as much in recent years. It’s simply been too much effort. Dollar store shampoo and washing every 3-4 days is about all you’ve done for ages.
I- thank you.
She wanders to the connected kitchen and taps her foot as she impatiently waits for the coffee machine.
How do you still drink that stuff?
She keeps herself laser focused on the slowly churning machine.
C’mon I gotta go sooon. Hm? Oh yeah, it’s good I dunno. Do I need another reason? Why did you stop?
Because we get a free drink every shift, and I’m the only employee there other’n you more than half the time. Of course I’d start to hate it.
She looks genuinely awestruck. Out of all of the times she has caught you sobbing in the break room, nearly fighting customers, and heard about you breaking down about some new hookup that went sour this is what catches her off guard?
But, how else do you get your caffeine in? I need mine to function.
You shrug half-heartedly under your blanket cocoon.
Energy drinks exist. So does caffeinated tea.
She chuckles.
Fair enough.
She goes about her morning routine, packing herself a lunchbox, sipping her coffee, and jumping from little task to little task. You just quietly observe her from your spot on the couch. It’s kinda nice seeing this sorta thing. It’s a peek behind the curtain, the parts a person doesn’t always show on bare display. And it certainly makes her seem less infallible than what you pictured. She keeps getting distracted with her phone, and random little spots of cleaning, it’s nice to know she’s just another woman same as you. Makes the idea of being her friend way less terrifying.
She almost vaults herself out the door before remembering your presence in her home.
Feel free to take a nap if you’ve gotta okay sweetheart? Don’t want you coming to work with no energy. The house is all yours, well, mostly, my room’s off limits right now but help yourself to anything you need okay?
You give her a timid little nod, right as you’re about to lay back down on the couch and get some shut-eye, she rushes over and squeezes you in a massive hug, she rubs her thumb along your back and holds you tight. It feels like the second sip of hot cocoa, warm, comforting, but no longer painful.
I’ve seen you in some bad places, it seems like this one hit you harder than usual. I’m here if you need me okay?
Your whole body flushes, sex is nothing usually, it’s not a big deal, and admittedly for you it comes easily, but touch like this? This breaks you so gently.
Mhmm.
She ruffles your hair, and rushes out the door without another goodbye.
You double-check that you actually set an alarm for ten so that you can grab your shit from yours and hopefully get to work on time.
You find yourself drifting back to sleep gracefully quick.
You dream of Ivy grabbing your hips, of her biting your lip, of her finding her way to the hem of your pants and slipping underneath. You dream of her gently rubbing your clit while you moan out her name into her shoulder. And you dream of cuddling up next to her.
You make an exasperated groan of dismay as your alarm wakes you.
Fucking hell brain, that was cruel.
You sigh, audibly talking to yourself.
Well, now you just have to confront her alongside that new image in your mind, no biggie. You don’t even have her number to let her know you’re coming over and that you need your shit. Will she even be there? You can work a shift without your laptop but you need your uniform.
This sucks. This really sucks. Hopefully you can just get it, get out, maybe ask for some form of contact, and go to work.
The drive back to yours is fraught with creeping anxiety. You just can’t quite seem to swallow your fear around seeing Ivy. You still need to fix everything but there just isn’t enough time, you have no words to say other than just “sorry.”
You creep up to your usual parking spot in a desperate attempt to put this off. One of your main defining traits seems to continually be avoidance. Another reason to hate yourself to chuck in the ever growing pile, oh well.
You put on the bravest face you can, wander over to your door and knock.
The silence that follows upticks your anxiety by quite a bit, you need your uniform to work and you need to work this shift. Well, you don’t, you don’t have a replacement, however, you’d feel like a dick leaving Kate high and dry especially since you’re most likely going to be asking to crash at hers again.
After a few minutes of stabbing nervous thoughts Ivy opens the door.
Why are you here, Autumn?
She shows you little emotion, her chest is puffed out, and she keeps scanning every inch of your body. You need to do everything in your power not to take your usual path of mulched earth where you fuck every little thing up.
I… need my stuff for work. Uniform y’know?
She gazes daggers into you.
Ugh. I knew this would happen. Why didn’t you grab your stuff last night?
You breathe in slowly, and exhale.
I didn’t want to make all of it worse than I already had. And… for what it’s worth I’m sorry Ivy. I hate myself for this. I was so fucking stupid.
She steps aside from the door, giving you an unobstructed view of your newly cleaned apartment. She not so gently nudges you inside.
I don’t know if sorry is gonna cut it… I need more time to think. Please get your things and go. Pack for a few days at least, please.
That stupid little flame that eternally burns inside you is begging you to pick a fight. If being meek won’t work, maybe pushing back will.
Oh come on. Ivy. This is bullshit. I said sorry, I let you stay in my goddamn apartment and that still isn’t enough?
Don’t. Autumn. Don’t.
Or what? Genuinely how do I even earn your favor at this point? I was trying. I was trying to make sure our relationship wasn’t gone forever. I didn’t realize that you turned out like this.
Red hot frustration and anger pour down Ivy’s cheeks. You have not heard her raise her voice but she screams.
I don’t want to fucking lose you again!
She chokes up a sob.
Do you think I genuinely wanted this? You did this Autumn, you did. Not me. My entire world crumbled under me do you think I really wanted to watch it happen again?
Ivy helplessly throws a fist against your apartment wall.
Do you know what will happen if anyone finds out? It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know, you did. I barely have anything and if anyone learns about what happened between us I will lose everything. You will lose everything. Why didn’t you just think, Autumn?!
She grabs you by your shirt collar, making you flinch more than you meant to.
So please.
Please.
Give me some space so I can figure this out.
She turns around, walking towards your bathroom.
Get your shit and go. Now.
You feel your heart ripped in twain. Fuck you’re a monster.
I- okay.
You halfheartedly grab your clothes, some essentials, your favorite bat plush Marty, all whilst Ivy hides in your bathroom. You scramble to find a sticky note and a pen.
“I’m sorry Ivy. I screwed up again. I want to make things better between us, I want to keep the sister I didn’t even know I had around. I’m sorry.”
You scribble down Kate’s address just in case she wants to reach out, but you’re not sure there’s any coming back from this.
You know Ivy, she will sit on something that hurt her for days and just when you think you and her are better, everything she bottled pops and little can be done to mend the wound.
You used to take her to nature trails when you were both teens. You hated leaving your room but it was worth it to see that smile. It became routine. Every Friday you would drive out to somewhere pretty just her and you. That went on for two years. The second year however, you got a stupid idea. You thought it would be funny to ditch her and come back 10 minutes later to scare the shit out of her. She didn’t talk to you for a week after. The both of you never went on those hikes again.
You leave the note on your nightstand, hoping she’ll see. Your shift is going to be hell.
Another insincere smile, a hand on their waist, a joke that is returned with a reddening of their face, a kiss, a finished drink, an invite back to theirs, a gentle clumsy touch, all just to fill a gaping wound in your chest you’ve held since the day you were born.
It always follows the same cycle. You get lonely, you get desperate. You find a stranger, the sex is usually okay. But that void remains. Nothing again and again. A pit longing for something to be slotted into place. The pieces just don’t quite fit right. You feel nothing yet you wish for so much more.
You found the world to be so unlike the movies, starting with your best friend in the world admitting she had a crush on you early in high-school. You tried, she was gorgeous, brilliant, and so fun to be around. The pieces were there yet the picture remained fragmented.
This cycle repeated often. You would try desperately to make relationships work over and over and over. You would always find yourself back home. You would always find yourself sobbing in your big sister’s lap.
She would run her fingers through your hair, reassert that you didn’t have to be like the other boys, and that you’ll find your person.
Then you transitioned. You finally understood. You didn’t want someone else because you didn’t want you.
Your sister was there for you immediately, on top of your new name and pronouns, helped you get a new wardrobe with some of her own hard earned cash.
You started spending more and more time with her, little by little feeling something right. Coffee and lunch, movies and the bar. Exhausted evenings with a movie and pizza on the couch that would quickly turn to napping atop one another.
Your other relationships often failed, but there she was, your shining beacon in the dark.
You begin to realize, it’s her. It’s always been her. But, why did it have to be her. The one time you long for another’s touch in a way that simply isn’t physical and it’s her. Your older sister. Her gleaming smile, her cute freckles, her stupid sense of humor, and even all of the times she pesters you while you’re trying to rest.
You let it well inside your chest. There’s never going to be another for you, but she can’t be either. At least until one night where you both are drunkenly walking home from the bar.
Evening clouds over you like a soft blanket, once charted routes feel unfamiliar, with her the world feels sharp and bright. You stumble, you fall, and she catches you. The streetlights cast a halo over her soft skin.
Everything you have felt floods out of your chest.
Your sister's boyfriend breaks up with her, and she's been sad-texting you, so you go over to her house to check up on her. You find her surrounded by empty pints of ice cream, laying on the couch. A deep sigh, and you ask her when's the last time she ate something real. Dreary and embarassed, she whispers, "a few days", and you nod knowingly and get to work cooking and cleaning. You tell her while you do, she oughta take a shower, joking you could smell her from your house. She throws an empty ice cream at you, but smiles, and heads over to the bathroom.
A half hour later (she always did take long showers), she walks out in a towel to a pristine living room, and a hot meal. You're lighting a candle on the dining room table, and you look up with a grin at her gawking face. She says, "You didn't have to do this much! I'd have settled for hamburger helper on the couch..." and you shake your head, replying, "No, no. After what that bastard put you through, you deserve to be treated well!" She chuckles, and kisses you on the cheek. "I'll go get dressed, real quick..." she says, and you say "You're fine like this, though!", to which she gives you a confused look, and you realize what you said. "I-I just mean, it'll get cold, and I don't care what you're wearing. I mean, I've seen you in far weirder outfits, you know?" She pauses, an inscrutable play across her face as she thinks. But she breathes out her nose, half chuckle, half sigh, and says "Fuck it," and the two of you sit down to eat.
After dinner, you crack open a bottle of wine and chill on her couch, as she puts on a show she keeps recommending to you. You tell her you haven't gotten around to it, but in truth, you just wanted to watch it with her. She shivers a bit, probably because shes only wearing a towel, and you move closer, putting your arm around her shoulder. You feel her shake when you do, and ask, "Is something wrong?" She sighs, pauses the show, and turns to you. "I...know what you're trying to do, and we can't. It's not like when we were kids, experimenting, this would be...wrong." You look into her eyes, and you can see them dart about. She isn't just saying this to you, she's saying it to herself. You need to choose wisely what you say next, or it could ruin everything. You pause, think, and finally say it, "Would it be so bad? You know I can love you better than any of them. You keep trying, but it never works out! I...I could work out, you know?"
She stands up and starts pacing, her fingernails in her mouth. "I...know, and you know I love you too, but...what would people think? We'd have to keep it a secret!" You reply instantly, "From who? Our family? They're miles away, and they don't approve of either of us being queer, anyways." She stops biting her nails and shakes her head, "B-but...Legally, I--" you stand up and grab both her hands, interrupting, "Since when do we give a shit about laws?" Her eyes stare at your hands holding hers, and she blushes, before turning her eyes to your face. You pause, but loose one hand to pull her chin up to face you. "Look. Just one night, nobody needs to know but us, okay? And if we still have doubts after that, we end it." She stares into your eyes, drinking them in, and silently nods. It's then that you lean in and kiss.
The subtle tones of cabernet play across both your tongues, but you are sharing a drink now ten times as potent. You pull her back onto the couch, and her towel slips off. A breathing moment and you catch a glimpse of her body lit by the screen, and whisper, "you're so beautiful", before you get right back to making out. You said if there were doubts in the morning, but the last doubts erase as she unbuckles your pants. Finally, you can rest easy, knowing your sister finally has a lover she can depend on: you.
Late night drinking with your sister, and you shift from the catching up and inside jokes to serious talk as you both get tipsy. You get a bit closer and ask if she's seeing anyone lately, she says no, nobody ever loves her how she wants. You feel your heart break, and you hold her close, you say "they dont deserve someone as lovely as you, none of them", and feel her sob a bit about how lonely she is. You kiss her on her forehead and pat her head sympathetically, saying you know. She's so warm, you hold her maybe a moment too long, but when you finally separate, you pause and look into eachothers eyes. Her breathing is heavy, her eyes are sparkling, and before you can think she kisses you on the lips. You're stunned, wondering if that really just happened, when she says "Sorry, I've...had too much to drink," and your heart droops, but you hear yourself say "It's okay, I...I want it too," against all your better judgment. Both of you freeze. She wants to say "but we can't...", but she doesn't. Suddenly she's on you, making out with you, and both of you know the line has been crossed, the taboo has been broken. It can't be fixed again, and neither of you think it should be.
