Hi Kris<3
AHHHH THIS ARI STANDING BY THE WINDOW REMINDS ME OF Pretty Distraction :3 Here's a little something I'm working on:
Warning: Adoptive brother!Ari x Sister!Reader (incest but not blood related), both are of age, Aftercare (sort of).
He showered and made himself a cup of coffee in the morning.
Black. No sugar. No milk. No nutmeg or pumpkin spice or whipped cream or hazelnut or the hundreds if not thousands of spices and all size and forms of lactose that you like to add to the mix.
No.
Just black.
He did all that and half surprised that you were still asleep on his bed.
He tried to make as little noise as possible. He practically sneaked out of his bed and closed the bathroom door before turning on the shower. And probably spent way too much time staring at the white tiles in front of him with the warm water pouring down from the showerhead from above than actually rinsing his body from traces of sex last night.
Sweat. Tears. Mixed bodily fluids. A hair pulled off or two.
Scratch marks. Bite marks. Bruise. The one bruise where you struggled too hard and kicked him on his shin.
He used twice the bodywash. Now he smells like peppermint and pine and cologne and whatever-the-heck successful businessman smells like. Dresses like decent suits and bleached white shirts and tailored hems and ... man. Much less the animal he was last night.
You mumble something in your sleep. Kick the sheet. Roll to the other side where he had slept in. The sheet over your body entangles with your legs, revealing the smooth skin, the arms, the breasts, and your back. And everything that turned him on and is still turning him on in the early morning after the wild fuck last night.
Scratch marks. Bite marks. Bruises.
He sighs. Places down his cup of bitter coffee on the nightstand. He frees the sheet from your legs and drapes it over your body. Your naked body. Move your calf from the original position where it could almost touch the floor - to the bed. Straightening the pillow. Tucking you in.
Not something he is familiar with. He was a teenager when he was adopted by your father. When you and your real brothers were more often raised by your mother.
And almost irresisitably, he caresses his knuckles over your cheek. Brushes over your neck. Where he might have bitten too many times last night.
He wishes everything could stay like this. With you in his room. Sound asleep. When he could do almost anything to you and you wouldn't say no, even if you wake up. When he doesn't have to go to work later this morning. When he could keep you. When he knows the secret of this relationship is strictly confidential apart from the two of you in this very room. In his room.
When your brother Andy doesn't know.
