Archive of Our Own

   Genya tells herself she isn’t stressed, which–y’know–is a lie. A massive, ugly, pulsating-with-veins kind of lie.

    Genya sits cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the cafeteria with her friends, the five of them forming a tight circle like some kind of high-school cult summoning financial ruin. The table they’re supposed to be eating at is abandoned behind them, forgotten because the yen pile in the middle of their bodies gleams like forbidden treasure.

    It’s fine. This is fine. A game of cards isn’t supposed to be life-ruining. Except this one absolutely is, because the entire heap of yen glittering between Tanjiro’s knee and Zenitsu’s jittering ankle is Genya’s allowance for the month. All of it. Every last precious, paper-thin note she planned to use to buy Sanemi’s Christmas present.

    She hadn’t meant to go this far. Truly. But she kept winning. The gods of probability lifted her up gently, whispered encouragements into her ear, then hurled her face-first off a cliff the second she went all in.

    Her fingers tighten around her pathetic excuse of a hand. Her cards glare up at her like a death sentence. Nineteen. The worst kind of number—close enough to hope, far enough to devastate.

    If she asks for one more card and goes over 21… she dies. She actually dies, right here on the linoleum floor that smells faintly of spilled miso soup.

    Genya forces her gaze upward, scanning the expressions of her so-called friends. Tanjiro’s face is painfully sincere, open and honest and hopeful in the most unhelpful way. He is incapable of deception; the boy probably couldn’t lie even if someone held a flame to his forehead. Zenitsu is sweating so aggressively it’s a miracle the cards don’t slip out of his hands. His expression teeters between smug and terrified—like even he doesn’t know what he has. Inosuke looks undoubtedly confused; by his third loss, he began throwing in pieces of his own lunch to compensate for all the yen he lost. 

    Then there’s Kanao.

    Kanao sits straight-backed, serene as a monk, face calm and unreadable. Her gentle smile gives nothing away. She could have 2 or 20 or 200, Genya has no idea. It drives her insane.

    Genya’s thumb taps her knee. She swallows. Breathes. Prays.

    And finally—finally—she nods stiffly. “Hit me.”

    A card is placed gently in her hand by Tanjiro. 

    Genya flips it over.

    A queen.

    She stares at it, betrayed on a spiritual level.

    “Oh,” she whispers, the blood draining from her face. “I’m dead.”

    Zenitsu gasps as if he’s been shot. Inosuke snorts. Tanjiro’s comforting hand hovers before retreating, unsure if she wants to be touched in this moment of deep, personal tragedy.

    One by one, the others draw or stand.

    Zenitsu goes over and immediately begins wailing into his sleeve about how fate hates him specifically. Tanjiro ends with a respectful eighteen and bows his head, murmuring, “Good game, everyone.” Inosuke slams his cards down like he’s challenging the table to a duel, only to be held back by Tanjiro when he tries to lunge at the yen pile.

    Kanao—naturally, inevitably—wins.

    She smiles softly. “Thank you,” she says, sweeping every last yen into her hands with practiced efficiency.

    Genya watches the money disappear into Kanao’s shoulder bag. She watches her Christmas plans collapse, one unzipped pocket at a time.

    Her soul leaves her body. She sways. Light-headed. Faint. She should’ve known the universe would smite her the second she thought she could spoil her older sister for once in her life.

    When Kanao notices Genya staring, she tilts her head and smiles. 

    “Genya? Is something wrong?”

    Is something wrong?

    Genya wants to scream. She wants to crawl across the floor, grab the bag, and shake it like a piñata until all her money rains back down like divine justice.

    Instead, she tightens her jaw until it clicks. “No,” she croaks.

    Kanao nods, satisfied, completely oblivious to the suffering she has wrought.

    The group begins packing up the cards, Tanjiro humming merrily, Zenitsu muttering about bankruptcy, Inosuke trying to steal a plastic fork for no reason.

    Genya remains perfectly still.

    Her allowance—her entire allowance—is gone. Vaporized. Reduced to nothing but a lesson about hubris she absolutely refuses to learn, when Christmas is but two weeks away. 

    …She’s fucked. 

    “Let’s jump Kanao and shake her down.” 

    “Ume!” 

    Genya lies sprawled across Ume’s bedroom floor, shoulders slumped, soul depleted. Ume’s room smells like lip gloss, acetone, and whatever perfume she’d stolen from a mall kiosk last spring. Sparkly cosmetics are scattered everywhere: nail polish bottles lined up like tiny soldiers, makeup brushes abandoned like casualties of war, and Ume’s cat-ear headband dangling off a lava lamp.

    From her spot in front of her best friend, Genya scowls; her fingers pausing mid-stroke from where she’s been redoing Ume’s red nail polish. 

    “Jumping Kanao?! Are you insane?!” 

    “Yes,” Ume replies cheerfully. “But mainly, I'm a loyal hoe!”

    Genya sets her brush down with exaggerated care. She’s already shed her school vest, tossed somewhere behind her, and undone the top two buttons of her uniform shirt because Ume insists on keeping her room hotter than the sun. Her black mohawk is pinned up messily to keep the strands out of her face; sweat is gathering at the nape of her neck.

    Ume, of course, is comfortably lounging in her typical state of undress: tiny shorts, tank top hanging off one shoulder, long white hair with green tips cascading everywhere like a glamorous waterfall of problems. She wiggles her fingers impatiently.

    Genya inhales sharply, refocusing on Ume’s nails. “We’re not jumping Kanao.”

    Ume scoffs. “Pussy.”

    “No,” Genya growls. “Survivor. You think her sisters wouldn’t see through that immediately? Kanae and Shinobu would destroy us. Like—obliterate, disintegrate, wipe-us-from-history destroy us.”

    Ume pauses, considering it. “Yeah… Shinobu scares me.”

    “Good,” Genya mutters. “Because I’m terrified.”

    Ume places her foot against Genya’s thigh to keep her steady while she starts applying another coat of purple polish to Genya’s own nails. “Well, then what can you do? You don’t have any money, and Christmas is in two weeks.”

    Genya groans, leaning back until her head bumps against Ume’s dresser. Her life feels like a long, irritating prank the universe is playing on her personally.

    “Maybe…” she starts slowly, “I could join the arts and crafts club after school. They could teach me to knit. I could make Sanemi a scarf—”

    Ume’s brush stops mid-air. She blinks. Then she snorts so hard her shoulders shake.

    “Genya, babe, do you honestly think Sanemi would wear a scarf?”

    Genya winces. The mental image hits immediately: Sanemi stomping out into the snow in sweatpants and a tank top like she’s immune to frostbite, hair tied up, yelling at Genya to put on a jacket while refusing to wear one herself because “covering up shows weakness.” She once saw Sanemi kick an icicle off the roof because it “looked cocky.” it was hot, Genya’s not gonna lie, but it was also kinda concerning…

    “…yeah,” Genya sighs. “Okay. A scarf is stupid.”

    “Extremely.”

    “I’m desperate, ok?” 

    “I know, babe, i know.” 

    Silence settles, filled only by the soft scratch of polish brushes and Ume humming along to some chaotic pop song on her phone.

    After a moment, Ume perks up. “Ooh! You could give her some of your old nail polish.”

    Genya snaps her head up and glares. Absolutely glares. “Ume. You know what happened last time I tried to put polish on her!”

    Ume grins. “Oh my god yeah, she acted like you were waterboarding her! Gah that was hilarious!”

    “She said it smelled like chemical warfare!” Genya cries. “I picked out the perfect shade too, that light green? It looked so pretty against her hair, but nooo, apparently nail polish ‘ruins her masc lesbian reputation.’” which , in all honesty, doesn't make much sense to Genya since she’s seen plenty of mascs wear nail polish, but Genya wasn’t going to force her precious older sister to wear nail polish if she didn't want to. 

    Ume cackles, leaning back on her hands. “She’s so dramatic.”

    “It’s why I love her,” Genya mutters, cheeks flushing with fond frustration. “But…she would literally rather be caught dead than wear nail polish again.”

    “Shame. You look cute with it though.”

    Genya hides her flustered smile by staring very intensely at Ume’s red nails. 

    There’s a long beat where both girls simply keep painting, the warm, hazy room filling with fumes and teenage stress.

    Genya’s brain whirs like it’s being powered by a dying battery. “Okay… okay, think. There has to be something else.”

    A thought sparks.

    A terrible, morally questionable, slightly brilliant thought.

    She lowers her voice. “Ume… do you still shoplift with Gyutaro?”

    The silence is immediate.

    Ume’s blue eyes cut to her, sharp and offended. “Genya Shinazugawa.”

    “What—?”

    “Unbelievable,” Ume huffs. “You think I’d endanger my precious older brother like that? He’s on house arrest! He can’t even come to the mall. The ankle monitor will like…explode or some shit!”

    Genya deflates so hard she practically sinks into the carpet. “So that’s a no?”

    “A hard fucking no.” 

    Genya groans, dropping her body sideways until she’s lying sideways on the floor, staring at Ume’s wall tapestry of glow-in-the-dark constellations. “I have nothing. Zero plans. No money. No ideas. No gifts. I’m going to have to hand Sanemi a rock and call it meaningful.”

    Ume shrugs. “Could be symbolic. You’re both stubborn like rocks.”

    “That doesn’t help!!!” 

    Ume bursts into loud, obnoxious laughter at Genya’s meltdown, flopping dramatically onto her back like she’s been slain by Genya’s suffering. “Oh my god, babe, this is so tragic. All your little plans to ask out Sanemi this year—ruined because you flew too close to the sun.”

    Genya narrows her eyes. “Did you just quote Icarus at me?”

    “Yes,” Ume says proudly. “Because it fits. You are Icarus. Except instead of wings melting, you just—lost a shit ton of money because you don’t know when to stop gambling!”

    Genya grabs a nearby pillow and throws it at her. “If you quote Greek mythology again, I’m eating your nail polish.”

    Ume snatches the pillow mid-air, already grinning wickedly. “Keep talking, bitch. I’ll paint your whole face purple.”

    “Try me.”

    “Oh I will—”

    The door slams open so hard the wall shakes.

    Both girls jump.

    Gyutaro bursts inside like a raccoon who’s just committed a misdemeanor, wearing that familiar sleazy smile that says I know something you don’t and also I might have stolen something on the way here.

    “Hey Shinazugawa,” he drawls, waving lazily before beelining straight for Ume. Genya barely has time to blink before Gyutaro plops down behind his sister, wraps his bony arms around her waist, and pulls her flush against him. He presses slow, lingering kisses along the back of her neck.

    “Gyuu—!” Ume squeals, wriggling but not actually trying to escape. “Not the PDA! Genya’s here!”

    He chuckles against her skin. “My little sister is so cruel. So bratty. Won’t even let me kiss her properly~”

    Genya watches the display with a grimace so sharp it’s practically weaponized.

    God, she is so jealous of them she could scream.

    She wants that. She wants that so bad. She wants Sanemi caging her in from behind, strong arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her into her lap—Sanemi’s chest warm against her back as she presses slow, protective kisses to the nape of Genya’s neck. Whispering how much she loves her, adores her, needs her—

    Gyutaro suddenly plants a wet, sloppy kiss on Ume’s mouth.

    Genya snaps. “OH MY GOD, STOP! I swear to god, if you two keep going, I’m going to throw up all over Ume’s carpet!”

    Ume gasps. “NOT my new carpet!”

    “Then stop making out in front of me!” Genya shrieks.

    Gyutaro sighs like a disappointed dad and eases off, but still clings to Ume like a koala. “Fine, fine. No more kissing. But I’m still cuddling.” Ume pats his cheek approvingly. Gyutaro looks at Genya, brows raised. “So what’s got your panties in a twist?”

     Before Genya can lie, Ume dives in gleefully. “Genya planned to use her Christmas allowance this year to get her hot older sister a really good gift and confess, but she lost all her money in a stupid bet.”

    Genya kicks her shin. “Ume!”

    Gyutaro snorts—loud and cruel. “Damn, Genya. That’s pathetic.”

    Ume cackles and points at her. “See? Even he thinks so.”

    Genya crosses her arms and scowls so deeply it could crack the floor. “Okay, mister House Arrest, since you’re already in Ume’s room and ruining the vibes, you may as well make yourself useful. Help me think of a gift idea for Sanemi!”

    Gyutaro taps his chin dramatically, eyes wandering toward the ceiling as if consulting the universe. He hums. Long. Loud. Annoyingly.

    “...Ume, do you still have that Christmas dress from last year?”

    Ume turns so fast she nearly elbows him in the face. “Yeah? Why—”

    Realization hits her like divine revelation. Her eyes blow wide. Her jaw drops. She gasps so hard she nearly inhales a glitter jar. “OH. EM. GEE. YOU’RE A GENIUS NII-CHAN!!!”

    Before Genya can protest, Ume grabs Gyutaro’s cheeks and plants a messy kiss on his lips, smearing half her red lipstick onto him.

    “Ume—?! MY NAILS—!” Genya yelps as Ume leaps to her feet.

    Ume does not care. She does not give a single solitary shit. She’s already sprinting toward her dresser, and kicking Genya with her feet. “You—move—!” Ume commands, shoving Genya away from the dresser with her foot.

    Genya rolls to the side willingly, more confused than offended.

    Gyutaro watches, amused. “Here she goes…”

    Ume digs furiously, muttering, “Where is it, where is it, where is it—AH HA!”

    She whirls around, triumphant, holding a tiny red Christmas dress. It has white fur tufts along the collar and hem, basically Santa’s slutty fantasy. Along with it, she brandishes a pair of skimpy white thigh-highs with ribbons, and matching white arm sleeves. She presents the ensemble like she’s unveiling a holy relic.

    “GENYA,” Ume announces with manic delight, “YOU WILL BE SANEMI’S CHRISTMAS GIFT!”

    Genya stares. 

    stares. 

     And stares. 

    “...huh?” 

    Ume, buzzing with the kind of unholy energy only she possesses, prances forward and shakes the outfit in Genya’s face. “Okay, clearly you’re confused, so let me explain this in a way even your tiny, gambling-damaged brain can understand.”

    Genya glares half-heartedly.

    Ume clears her throat dramatically, flipping her hair. “Last Christmas, I had no money to spend on Gyutaro—”

    “Shocking,” Genya mutters.

    “—so,” Ume continues loudly, undeterred, “I got creative. I dressed up in this exact outfit and became his present.”

    She wiggles the dress for emphasis.

    Gyutaro immediately perks up, smirk widening. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten. We fucked like a couple of horny rabbits aaaaaalll dayyyy looooong~”

    Ume beams like she’s just won an award. “See? He loved it. Men are simple.”

    Genya scrunches up her face. “...Nemi isn’t a man.” 

    “It’ll still work,” both siblings exclaim with knowing eyes. 

    Ume pushes the clothing into Genya’s hands, ignoring her sputtering. “And just imagine it on you. With your height? It’ll be even skimpier. Even hotter. And your legs—oh my god, Genya, they go on for days. Not to mention—” Ume gestures shamelessly at Genya’s chest “—those grew like crazy this past year. You’ll look insane!”

    Genya chokes on air.

    Ume steamrolls forward. “Plus, you’re basically killing two birds with one stone. You confess, and you give Sanemi a present she will never, ever forget.”

    Genya’s face flames a shade of red no nail polish could replicate. She tries—really tries—to imagine it. Herself, in that tiny dress, thigh-highs hugging her legs, soft white fur brushing her chest while Sanemi—

    Oh god.

    Oh god oh god oh godddd!

    Her brain short-circuits.

    “But—” Genya’s voice comes out small, fragile, terrified, “what if it doesn’t work? What if I do all that, and she just… doesn’t feel the same?”

    Ume shrugs, breezy as ever. “Then it wasn’t meant to be and you move on.”

    Genya’s stomach twists unpleasantly. She pouts, tightening her hold on the dress like it might float away if she loosens her grip. She stares at it, at the stupid fur trim, at the bright red fabric, at the dumb little ribbons that practically scream innocence and seduction.

    “…I’m gonna sleep on it,” she mutters.

    Ume snorts. “Fair. No pressure.” Then she wiggles her eyebrows. “But if you wanna get manhandled by Sanemi, the Christmas dress is definitely the right choice.”

    “UME!!”

    Gyutaro howls laughing, leaning back on his hands. “She’s right though.”

    “BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP.”

    Eventually, the chaos fizzles enough for the girls to crawl back into their spots on the floor. Ume crosses her legs and grabs Genya’s hand again, blowing gently on the half-dry polish to smooth it. Genya resumes painting Ume’s nails, carefully avoiding smearing the fresh coat of purple. Gyutaro stays, sprawling like a lazy cat between them, occasionally poking Genya’s shoulder or making kissy noises at Ume just to watch Genya threaten violence.

    It’s loud and chaotic and embarrassing.

    But it’s warm, too.

    And as Genya glances at the Christmas dress folded neatly beside her, she can’t help running her thumb over the soft white trim.

    Ume insists on walking Genya home, looping their arms together as they cut through the cold night air

    By the time they reach the apartment building, Genya’s exposed fingers are stiff and pink, the winter chill slicing right through her half-unbuttoned school top, something she’s beginning to fret over since she accidentally left her school vest behind in Ume’s bedroom. Ume gives her a teasing smack on the back before sauntering off down the sidewalk, calling, “Text me when you’re inside, babe!”

    Genya rolls her eyes but waves, then heads up the stairs.

    The moment she unlocks the door, she sings out automatically, “I’m home, nee-chan!”

    Warmth greets her instantly—heat from the old wall unit, the faint scent of Sanemi’s tea, and the soft rustle of papers being shifted.

    “Welcome home,” Sanemi calls back, her voice carrying from the main room.

    Genya toes off her shoes and steps inside, rubbing her hands together as sensation painfully returns to her fingers. She rounds the corner and finds her older sister exactly where she expected: sitting cross-legged on the floor at the low table, surrounded by pamphlets and worksheets, red pen in hand. Even on the verge of Christmas break, Sanemi refuses to half-ass anything—least of all grading. It’s admirable. It’s terrifying. It’s very, very Sanemi.

    Genya sets her backpack gently beside the table, but she can’t bring herself to look away from her sister.

    Sanemi is…stunnning. 

    Her spiky white hair stops just at the nape of her neck, messy in the way that looks intentional. Her piercing purple eyes track each math problem with laser-sharp precision, darting from step to step with an intensity that could set paper on fire. Her lips—full, soft, annoyingly perfect—are pressed in a focused line as she hums under her breath, completely absorbed in her work.

    And her body—

    Genya swallows hard. 

    Sanemi’s strong, muscled arms flex each time she moves the pen, veins shifting beneath pale skin. Sitting criss-cross makes her thighs look even thicker, the definition in her calves visible even through her loose sweatpants. Her posture is terrible. Her tank top is just low enough to give Genya a peek of her soft cleavage. Her presence is overwhelming, mouthwatering even.

    And Genya can stare all she wants without getting caugh—

    Just as the thought crosses Genya’s mind, Sanemi looks up from her work, eyes locking on her little sister. There’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, and she gestures with one long-fingered hand. “Ya gonna stand there and stare, or are ya gonna hug ya big sis?”

    Genya’s chest flutters. Without hesitation, she slides gracefully onto the floor beside her big sister, her knees brushing against the tatami mat. She wraps her arms around Sanemi’s waist, pressing close, fingers ghosting along the muscle that shifts beneath her touch. Her cheek presses lightly against her sister’s side, savoring the warmth, the solidity. Sanemi’s arm snakes around her slim waist, tugging her closer, almost into her lap. The sensation is dizzying—her heart threatens to stutter out of her chest—and for a second, Genya forgets how to breathe.

    To distract herself from the strong, possessive arm looped around her, Genya chirps nervously, “Ume did my nails today~ wanna see them?”

    Before Sanemi can even respond, Genya releases the hug and fans her hands out, displaying her freshly painted purple nails like a magician revealing her best trick.

    Sanemi’s piercing purple eyes finally leave the math problems long enough to focus on Genya’s fingers. She hums low in her throat, a sound that makes Genya shiver and wish for a second that the floor would open up to swallow her whole. “Mm…Ume picked a pretty purple this time,” Sanemi murmurs, tilting her head to inspect the color.

    Genya nods, relaxing fully against her sister’s side, letting the warmth of her presence seep into her bones. “I had to repaint Ume’s nails over and over again,” she admits, voice soft, “’cause she kept moving around.”

    Sanemi chuckles, a low sound that rumbles in her chest and tickles Genya’s ear. Her hand reaches out, fingertips brushing over Genya’s, gathering the smaller hands into her own. She inspects the nails closely, tilting them to catch the light. The sensation of her warm hand against her fingers is intimate, almost overwhelming.

    And then—before Genya can react—Sanemi does something that makes her entire body freeze: she presses her lips to Genya’s nails. Soft, deliberate, and reverent, like she’s sealing some unspoken promise. Genya’s jaw drops, but she dares not draw attention to herself. Her hands are still in her sister’s grip, her heart hammering like a drum, threatening to betray every thought and secret she’s ever had.

    “Uh…” Genya clears her throat, heart still thudding, and switches topics quickly. “Why…why are you still grading papers after hours, nee-chan?”

    Sanemi’s expression sours immediately, her scowl deepening, eyes flashing toward the spread of worksheets. “Tengen broke the Scantron machine,” she snaps, voice low but tight with annoyance. “I have to regrade all the papers by hand because of that flashy idiot.”

    Genya exhales softly, sympathy prickling her chest. She leans closer, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to Sanemi’s cheek. “I’m sorry that happened…but I know you’ll breeze through them in no time.”

    For a brief moment, in the shadow of the warm lamplight, Genya swears she sees a faint pink tinge cross Sanemi’s cheek. Just for a heartbeat, the scowl softens, replaced by something like…appreciation. 

    Sanemi hums low, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Dinner’s in the microwave for you,” she says quietly, voice gentler now, less sharp.

    Genya smiles, heart fluttering with a mix of hope and nerves. She rises to her feet, and Sanemi’s hand lingers on her waist for a fraction longer before slipping away. She watches as her sister returns to her papers, absorbed again in math, but the lingering warmth of her touch stays behind like a whisper on her skin.

    Walking to the kitchen, Genya can’t help but think about the contents of her backpack. The tiny red Christmas dress, the matching thigh-highs, the delicate arm sleeves—Ume’s mischievous plan. The memory of Sanemi pressing her lips to Genya’s freshly painted nails loops in her mind, and the faint blush she swore had danced across her sister’s cheeks replays again, fragile and impossible.

    Her stomach twists in anticipation, a mixture of anxiety and excitement. What if it works? What if this actually works?

    The microwave hums as she slides the door open, revealing the small, steaming container of dinner. Genya sets it down, but her mind isn’t on the food. Her gaze drifts over to the backpack that’s lounging against the low table Sanemi is grading at, imagining herself in that skimpy outfit, standing before her older sister. She can almost feel Sanemi’s eyes on her, the heat, the intensity, the closeness…

    If this works, she thinks, heart hammering against her ribs, I can finally call her mine. Really call her mine.

    The mere thought alone already has Genya blushing from ear to ear.

    If Sanemi becomes hers, she’ll finally be able to kiss her perfect lips. 

    She’ll finally be able to sleep in the same futon as her without pretending to have nightmares… 

    She’ll finally be able to take showers and baths with her, their skin pressing against each other tightly until neither can tell where one begins and the other ends…

    She’ll finally be able to experience every dirty fantasy she’s had ever since she entered puberty…

    Okay. 

    That’s it. 

    Genya’s doing this. 

    Genya…will wear the slutty outfit and become Sanemi’s present!

    Christmas Eve at the Shinazugawa household is always a loud, glitter-splattered affair, and this year is no different.

    The living room looks like a holiday-themed battlefield—ripped wrapping paper everywhere, glittery ribbons stuck to socks and hair, and bows clinging stubbornly to the furniture. Their little siblings dart around like happy, sugar-powered sprites, shrieking with joy every time another present is torn open.

    Genya sits cross-legged on the floor beside Sanemi, content simply watching. Their mother bustles around the small kitchen just a few feet away, humming a Christmas tune as she fixes two steaming cups of eggnog, her newly adopted Western tradition to mark the holiday. Every now and then, she casts a fond glance toward her two eldest daughters and the chaos unfolding around them.

    Sanemi looks relaxed for once—shoulders loose, expression soft—watching the younger kids dive into their gifts like it’s a competitive sport. Warmth pools in Genya’s chest at the sight. This, she thinks, is the version of Sanemi she adores most: calm, protective, just a little proud.

    Their mother returns, handing each of them a cup. “It’s a bit strong, so sip slow,” she warns with a chuckle as she settles down on the couch with them. The kids are too distracted by their new treasures to need supervision, which means—for once—the three of them can just sit together.

    Their mother takes a sip of eggnog before turning to Genya with a gentle, knowing smile. “So, sweetheart… are you still happy living with Sanemi?”

    Genya freezes for a heartbeat—surprised the question comes so casually. But she nods immediately, almost too quickly. “Of course, Ma’. Living with Aneki is the best!”

    Sanemi nudges her lightly, clearly pleased but trying not to show it.

    She was seventeen when Sanemi first suggested they get an apartment together. Sanemi had just landed her teaching job at Kimetsu Academy and could finally afford a place on her own. Genya still remembers the way her sister said it—firm, almost scolding—as she proclaimed, “You’ve spent your entire childhood looking after the kids. It’s time you start thinking about yourself.”

    The offer stunned her. Living with Sanemi alone? Just the two of them? She practically jumped at it, heart pounding with excitement she tried desperately to hide. She loves her mother, loves her siblings, but what she feels for Sanemi… that is different. Dangerous. Wrong. Consuming. And yet nothing has ever made her happier.

    “Genyaaa!” a tiny voice cries.

    Genya snaps out of her thoughts as little Koto—barely six—clambers clumsily into her lap, nearly knocking her eggnog from her hands. He shoves a stuffed creature toward her face, eyes sparkling. The plush is shaped like something between a rabbit and a wolf. “Look! Look what ma’ brought me!”

    Genya laughs and hugs him close. “Wow, Koto, he’s adorable. Did you name him yet?”

    Koto shakes his head and burrows deeper into her lap, fully content with being the center of her attention.

    Genya turns her attention back towards her mother, smile unwavering as she declares, “I really am happy, Ma’. Happier than ever.”

    Her mother’s gaze sharpens—not judgmental, but perceptive, almost too perceptive. Genya’s chest tightens. For a moment, she wonders if her mother knows—if she has somehow seen the way Genya’s eyes linger too long, too warmly, on her older sister. But instead of asking anything, her mother simply smiles softly and reaches over to brush Genya’s hair behind her ear.

    “I’m glad. Truly. It makes me happy knowing my two biggest girls have such a strong bond.”

    Before Genya can respond, Sanemi slings an arm around her shoulders from behind, pulling her close until their sides press firmly together.

    “Damn right,” Sanemi declares proudly, her plush lips turning up into a proud smile. “Nothing’s ever gonna break our bond.”

    Their mother laughs at Sanemi’s dramatic tone, shaking her head. “Not a single thing. You two have always been inseparable.”

    Genya’s breath catches—Sanemi’s arm is strong, warm, protective. Too perfect. Too much. She wishes she could blame the eggnog for the dizzy flutter in her chest… but she knows better. She leans subtly into Sanemi’s side, savoring the contact even as guilt and longing twist together inside her.

    Surrounded by presents, ribbons, family laughter, and holiday warmth, Genya feels her heart fill to the brim with something both dangerous and beautiful. Because loving Sanemi—really loving her—feels like Christmas all on its own.

    Soon enough, the kids are tucked into bed one by one, yawning dramatically as they’re shepherded off to their bedrooms. Their mother smooths blankets, presses kisses to foreheads, and gives one final warning about Santa ditching their house if he hears anyone awake. The moment the last door closes, she exhales a tired but content sigh, then turns to her two eldest daughters standing near the entryway.

    “Drive safe, you two,” she says warmly.

    Genya steps forward first, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother’s waist. She holds on longer than usual, savoring the comfort and familiarity of the embrace. “Goodnight, Ma’. Thank you for everything.”

    When Genya finally lets go and turns to head outside, she pauses at the doorway. Over her shoulder, she catches a sight that makes her chest ache—Sanemi hugging their mother too, but in the way only Sanemi does. Strong arms curling around her, chin resting gently on their mother’s shoulder, holding her close like she’s something precious and fragile and deeply loved. Their mother cups the back of Sanemi’s head and whispers something Genya can’t hear, and Sanemi smiles—soft, unguarded, beautiful.

    Genya bites back her own smile and pushes open the passenger door of Sanemi’s car, climbing in quickly to escape the bite of the winter wind.

    It doesn’t take long for Sanemi to follow. She slides into the driver’s seat, shakes the cold from her fingers, and glances at Genya with a nervous little smile Genya isn’t used to seeing. Her cheeks are flushed, and not from the weather.

    “I… I’m really happy, y’know,” Sanemi murmurs, staring at the steering wheel for courage. “That you still enjoy living with me.”

    Genya’s breath catches. She looks at Sanemi—really looks—at the way the porch lights outside outline her sister’s sharp cheekbones, her strong jaw, the softness in her eyes she shows only to Genya. She is overcome, swept away by a sudden, overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss those plump lips. To finally taste what she’s wanted for years.

    Instead, she leans in slowly, gently, and presses a kiss to Sanemi’s cheek.

    Sanemi jolts—just slightly—but doesn’t pull away.

    When Genya withdraws, her face burns red. “If it were up to me,” she whispers shyly, “I’d live with you forever, Aneki.”

    Sanemi’s hands tighten on the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. For a moment, Genya thinks she’s gone too far. But Sanemi only takes a shaky breath, forces a smile, and backs out of the driveway.

    The drive is quiet.

    Too quiet. 

    The hum of the heater, the faint Christmas music from a passing car, the soft crunch of snow beneath the tires—every sound feels sharper, heavier. Genya’s heart races in her chest, echoing the frantic swirl of thoughts she can’t shut off.

    Waiting for her back at the apartment is the outfit Ume picked out. The skimpy red dress with fluffy white trim, the white thigh highs, the matching white arm sleeves; All folded neatly on her bed, ready for her to slip into so she can present herself—literally—as a Christmas gift for her older sister.

    Just thinking about it makes Genya’s palms sweat. Tonight, she plans to finally cross that invisible line. To step fully into the taboo she’s only dared dream about. To tell Sanemi the truth, to bare every messy, forbidden piece of herself.

    But the moment she imagines saying the words—I love you, more than a sister should—panic claws up her throat.

    What if Sanemi doesn’t accept it? What if she hates her? What if she kicks her out? What if everything breaks?

    The possibilities sprawl endlessly, suffocating her. Her body feels too hot, as if she’s boiling from the inside out. Her thighs clench, her fingers twist in her lap, and she forces steady breaths through her nose.

    Still staring at the road, Sanemi asks quietly, “Genya… what’s bothering you?”

    Genya flinches. She swallows hard. Her voice comes out small, trembling. “I—I have a special present waiting for you at the apartment. A really special one. And I’m… nervous about giving it to you, Nee-san.”

    From the corner of her vision, Genya sees Sanemi’s expression soften instantly.

    “You didn’t have to get me anything this year,” Sanemi says gently.

    But Genya shakes her head fast. “You deserve something nice. Something special. You take such good care of me…”

    Sanemi’s ears turn pink—just the tips—but the blush vanishes almost as soon as it appears. She clears her throat and grips the wheel a little tighter, as if steadying herself. In a voice low enough to send shivers racing down Genya’s spine, Sanemi murmurs, “I’m sure I’ll enjoy anything you give me. So don’t be nervous, okay?”

    Genya nods quickly but keeps her mouth shut, afraid that if she speaks again, she’ll confess everything right there in the car.

    She stares out the window at the glittering snow and city lights, heart pounding in terrified anticipation.

    Because tonight…everything might change.

    
    They eventually make it to the apartment, the familiar building glowing softly under the winter streetlights. Sanemi pulls into her usual spot with practiced ease, the engine quieting to a low hum before shutting off completely. For a moment they sit there in the car, breath fogging faintly in the cold air seeping through the vents, neither speaking.

    “Let’s go inside,” Sanemi says gently.

    Genya nods, though her legs feel like cotton as she climbs out of the car. The cold air slaps her cheeks, grounding her only slightly. She trails Sanemi up the stairs, watching the strong line of her sister’s back, the swing of her silver hair, the confidence in every step. Genya tries to breathe, tries to force her thoughts to stop spiraling long enough to walk without tripping.

    But by the time they reach the apartment door, her pulse is a living thing, punching inside her ribs. Sanemi unlocks the door and pushes it open. Warm air greets them, the faint scent of pine from the tiny fake Christmas tree they set up last week drifting through the entryway. Genya steps inside on shaky feet and begins taking off her shoes. 

    Sanemi bends to take off her shoes as well—slowly, calmly, like nothing about tonight is unusual. Genya stands frozen in the genkan, watching her, face blazing.

    Now. She has to tell her now.

    With every ounce of courage she has, Genya blurts, “W-wait in the main room so i can get your present…”

    Sanemi pauses mid-motion.

    She looks at Genya. Really looks. Her eyes flicker with a dozen quiet questions—confusion, curiosity, maybe even anticipation—but she doesn’t push. She never pushes when Genya looks this tightly wound.

    “…Alright,” Sanemi says softly.

    Genya’s lungs deflate with relief and panic all at once.

    Sanemi straightens, sets her shoes neatly by the wall, and walks into the main room. She sits at the low table, posture relaxed but eyes fixed toward the hallway, as if she’s waiting for a signal.

    Genya swallows. Hard.

    Oh god. This is actually happening…

    She scurries down the hall and into her bedroom, then shuts the door behind her before her courage can evaporate. The click of the latch seems to echo like a gunshot. Inside her room sits the outfit. Folded perfectly, mockingly, on the bed.

    Genya stares at it. For a long, long moment, she simply stands there, chest heaving. Her hands won’t stay still. Her knees tremble.

    She has to do this. She has to.

    With a deep, shaky inhale, she begins undressing. She moves fast, clumsy, shoving her clothes into the dirty laundry bin to keep the room from becoming a battlefield of fabric and panic. She slips into the strapless bra first and then turns toward the bed.

    The red dress sits there innocently, fluffy white trim soft against the blanket, shimmering faintly under the overhead light. Genya eyes it warily.

    “Okay,” she mutters to herself. “Just… put it on.”

    She steps into the dress, grips the material, and starts pulling it upward—

    —only for it to immediately catch against her thick thighs.

    Genya freezes.

    “…Okay. That’s fine. That’s… fine.”

    She steps out of it and tries again, this time pulling it over her head. Determination steels her posture as she yanks the fabric down—

    —only for it to get stuck around the top of her chest like she’s trying to squeeze a boulder through a keyhole.

    Heat floods her face. Irritation spikes fast, sharp, embarrassing.

    Ume said this would be skimpier on her, sure. Cute, short, eye-catching. But how is she supposed to look “skimpy” when she can’t even get the stupid thing on?!

    Gritting her teeth, Genya inhales sharply and gives one final, forceful tug downward. The fabric compresses her chest like a vice, hugging every inch of her skin with suffocating tightness. She winces as the hem finally—finally—slides past her hips and settles, painfully, beneath her rear.

    She stands there, breathing hard. The dress feels like it’s trying to squeeze her organs out through her ribs.

    Whatever!

    It’s on—that’s all that matters!

    Genya stiffly pulls a leg onto the bed to put on the thigh highs. They cling tightly as she drags them up her legs, the elastic biting into her skin. The second one isn’t any kinder. She huffs but pushes on—the arm sleeves, at least, glide on without a fight. Small mercies. 

    Done. 

    She steps toward the standing mirror, bracing herself.

    Her eyes widen. 

    Her chest looks like it’s seconds away from bursting free of the neckline. The thigh highs dig deep into her thighs, leaving angry red indentations. The dress is so tight it might as well be painted on. The only part that isn’t a disaster are the sleeves.

    “Wow,” Genya mutters in horror. “I’m never borrowing any clothes from Ume ever again...”

    Instead of seductive, she looks… constricted. Like a decorative sausage wrapped in festive holiday packaging.

    But maybe this is what people liked? Clothes a size too small? Skin pressing against fabric? Maybe that was the trend now? The look of being squeezed within an inch of your life?

    She tries to relax, take a calming breath—

    —and the world stops.

    RIIIIPPP!!!

    Genya’s eyes widen. She stares down just in time to watch the fabric across her chest split open, a jagged tear traveling downward like a death sentence. The material over her thighs tears next, exposing the inner stitching. She slaps her hands over her chest in pure panic—

    RIPPPPPP!!!!

    A new tear rips along her spine.

    The dress is collapsing around her like it’s made of paper.

    She’s messed everything up.

    A broken, desperate “No—no, no, no—!” bursts from Genya’s lips before she can stop it. She drops to her knees, the scraps of red fabric clinging to her like wilted petals. Tears instantly cloud her vision. Her throat burns. Her heart feels like it’s splitting straight down the center.

    This was supposed to work! She was supposed to look cute—sexy—confident. She was supposed to step into that living room looking like a present worth opening, someone bold enough to confess the feelings she’s carried for years. Instead, all she sees in the mirror is a pathetic girl on the floor, clinging to shredded fabric as if pulling it together might fix everything—fix her heart, her fear, her future.

    Genya’s sobs fill the tiny room, raw and shaking.

    And it must have been loud—too loud—because within seconds she hears it. 

    “Genya?!” Sanemi’s voice cuts through the hallway like a blade. Urgent. Terrified. “Genya—what happened?!”

    Footsteps slam against the floorboards, fast and heavy, each one bringing her closer.

    Genya’s stomach drops. 

    “No—no, no—!” she gasps, scrambling up from the floor. Her legs wobble but she pushes herself toward the door on instinct, arms flying to cover the torn dress as if that will somehow make her less exposed.

    She reaches the door just as she hears Sanemi grab the handle.

    Genya twists the lock—

    Click!

    Her heart nearly stops.

    Sanemi rattles the knob immediately. “Genya?! Open the door!”

    Genya presses her back against the wood, as if she can fuse herself to it and keep her sister out through sheer force of will.

    “I-I’m fine!” she chokes out, breath hitching. “Everything’s okay! Just—just stay out there!”

    Her voice cracks horribly. She hears it. She knows Sanemi hears it too.

    “‘Okay’ my ass!” Sanemi snaps, panic sharpening every word. “You screamed! Let me in so I can help you!”

    “No!” Genya squeezes her eyes shut, tears slipping free. “You can’t—I don’t want you to see—just please, Nemi, stay out!”

    Her voice breaks into a sob on the last word.

    It’s over. Sanemi has never been fooled by her. Not even when they were kids. There’s a beat of silence—sharp, cold, terrifying, before her big sister’s voice returns with a vengeance. 

    “Genya,” Sanemi says, her voice low and trembling. “You’re crying. I know that sound. Are you hurt? Did you fall? Did something break? Is someone in there?”

    Genya can hear the frantic edge in her voice, the way her breathing staggers. Sanemi is going through every worst-case scenario at lightning speed. Her sister always does.

    “N-No,” Genya insists, even as her voice wobbles with every syllable. “Just—I just need a second—please don’t come in—”

    Because how is she supposed to let Sanemi see her like this?

    Half-naked, wrapped in shredded fabric, eyes puffy and red, looking like a child who lost a fight with a sewing machine?

    She can’t.

    She can’t let Sanemi see the humiliation all over her skin, the desperation, the pathetic attempt at looking appealing. She can’t let Sanemi see the reason she wanted to wear the dress at all.

    She can’t let her see the truth.

    Not now. 

    “Genya.” Sanemi’s voice drops into something deep—dangerously calm. “Unlock the door.”

    “I–I can’t!”

    “Genya.” The calm cracks. “I’m serious. Open this door.”

    “NO!”

    Her sob slips out again, louder this time. Sharp. Painful. On the other side of the door, Sanemi lets out a furious, helpless sound. Something hits the wood—probably her fist. The vibration trembles through Genya’s spine.

    “Genya,” Sanemi growls, voice shaking with barely contained panic, “if you don’t unlock this door right now, I swear to god—I will tear the damn thing off its hinges!!!”

    Genya’s breath catches.

    She knows Sanemi will do it.

    Sanemi has ripped entire door frames out before. Once when Genya accidentally locked herself in the bathroom at age twelve and started crying; once when a toddler sibling had gotten trapped in a closet; once when a stranger tried to hide in their house years ago.

    If Sanemi thinks Genya is hurt?

    Nothing will stop her. 

    Genya’s legs give out before she can even form a word.

    She collapses to the floor, folding in on herself, knees crushed tight to her chest. The shredded fabric digs into her skin, sticking wetly where her tears soak through it. She can’t breathe. Can’t think. Every sob rips through her like something trying to claw its way out of her lungs. The sound of Sanemi’s voice is nothing but static in her ears—just noise, drowned out by the violent thundering of her own heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

    This is it. This is the end.

    Sanemi is about to see her—see all of her—and she’ll be disgusted. Horrified. Repulsed by the pathetic “present” Genya tried to be. Damnit all. DAMN IT ALL. FUCK IT ALL!!!

    She doesn’t even realize the door behind her has been ripped off its hinges—not until her weight suddenly tips backward with nothing left to support her.

    Genya hits the floor with a startled, broken gasp.

    Her teary vision blurs, but she can still make out Sanemi’s silhouette towering over her, framed by splintered wood and dust. Sanemi’s face is flushed red, jaw clenched tight, sweat sticking her bangs to her forehead. Veins stand out at the sides of her neck, and her arms look tense and furious—furious at her, obviously.

    The sight is too much. Too raw. Too humiliating.

    Genya lets out a strangled cry and squeezes her eyes shut, hands clutching helplessly at the ruined dress as she tries to cover herself. “D-Don’t look at me—please don’t look—I messed up—everything’s ruined—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I didn’t want you to see—please don’t hate me—”

    Her words melt into sobs as she curls in on herself, desperate to disappear. She turns onto her side, facing away from Sanemi, dragging her knees up to her stomach as if she can fold herself into a space small enough to escape this moment. The movement makes the fabric pull, riding up, exposing even more of her—but she hardly notices. She just wants to hide. To cry until she can’t feel anymore. To shove her face into a pillow and never wake up again—

    Warm arms suddenly sweep her up, breaking through the panic like a shock of heat.

    Genya’s eyes fly open, her breath hitching as Sanemi gathers her off the floor as if she weighs nothing at all. One arm slides behind Genya’s back, the other under her legs, lifting her with a steadiness Genya doesn’t have on her best days. Her first instinct is to scramble—to cover herself, to make herself smaller—but the moment she presses into Sanemi’s chest, instinct shifts into trembling desperation. She buries her face in Sanemi’s shirt, sobbing harder as the scent of detergent and ohagi fills her head.

    Sanemi holds her tighter, saying nothing at first, just moving with purpose—carrying her back into her room as though she’s something precious that needs rescuing.

    Sanemi sits down on the edge of Genya’s bed and pulls her onto her lap, guiding her until Genya is straddling her thighs—completely exposed. Genya’s arms wrap around her own body, shaking uncontrollably, as Sanemi’s hands slide from her back and legs to settle firmly around her waist. The fabric stretched under Sanemi’s fingertips is thin, torn, barely there—but her touch is steady. Sure. Protective.

    She pulls Genya close—closer still—tucking Genya’s head into the warm crook of her neck.

    Her voice drops into a soft, steady whisper as she presses her cheek to Genya’s temple.

    “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay, baby girl. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

    Genya chokes on another sob.

    Because even now—even after seeing her like this—Sanemi is still holding her. Still protecting her. Still loving her in the way only Sanemi ever has.

    And that makes Genya cry even harder into Sanemi’s shirt.

    Genya doesn’t know how long they stay like that—her face buried in the crook of Sanemi’s neck, hot tears soaking the fabric of her shirt, while Sanemi’s steady hands hold her tight and her soft voice murmurs constant reassurances against her cheek. Each whispered word blurs into the next, melding together until it’s nothing but warmth, safety, and the steady rhythm of her sister’s heartbeat beneath her ear.

    Gradually, the sobs taper off. Genya’s tears run dry, leaving her chest heaving, trembling with exhaustion. Sanemi’s voice grows softer, quieter, until it disappears altogether, replaced by the gentle rocking motion of her strong arms. Side to side. Back and forth. Like she used to when Genya was ten, cowering from their father’s harsh words, hiding in Sanemi’s embrace from a world that had never seemed safe.

    The memory—sharp and clear—sobered Genya enough to make her finally draw back. She lifts her head, aware, for the first time in the haze of panic, of exactly how they’re positioned. Her chest heaves, mind spinning. She’s straddling Sanemi’s thighs, still in the small, shredded Christmas dress with ripped white thigh highs and arm sleeves. The torn fabric clings to her, leaving little to the imagination. Her waist is pressed against Sanemi’s hands, which hold her firmly, possessively, without any hint of letting go.

    Her face warms immediately, hot and bright, as if the embarrassment will set her skin on fire. She tries not to think about how exposed she must look right now. She swallows, heart hammering, and lifts her eyes to meet Sanemi’s—fully expecting judgment, disgust, or shock.

    But all she sees is love. Pure, unwavering love.

    “There she is—there’s my baby girl,” Sanemi coos, one scarred hand moving up from Genya’s waist to brush at a stray tear along her cheek. The gentle motion makes Genya’s muscles melt, body softening into Sanemi’s touch. She leans forward slightly, pressing into her sister’s palm, desperate for the warmth and comfort she’s been clinging to.

    Sanemi’s gaze holds her, a beautiful swirl of violet, steady and fierce at once. Her tone drops into something more serious, a careful edge threading through the softness. “Now…are you hurt anywhere?”

    Genya shakes her head, no, biting her lip as she tries to calm the wild beat of her heart.

    “Okay…now, did you fall and break something?” Sanemi asks again, her voice sharp with concern.

    Genya shakes her head no once more. Just the dress, she wants to say, but the words die in her throat.

    “Alright, good. And…is there anyone else in here? No one broke in, did they?”

    Another shake of her head confirms it. The tension in Sanemi’s body visibly melts away, leaving only the relieved older sister, the one who can finally exhale after the storm.

    “Very good, baby. That’s—that’s good,” Sanemi murmurs, her hands tightening gently around Genya’s waist before relaxing.

    Genya watches silently as Sanemi’s gaze drifts over her form, lingering in a way that makes her pulse spike. A tinge of red blossoms along Sanemi’s cheeks, subtle but undeniable, like a blush—but no, that can’t be right.

    Finally, Sanemi straightens slightly, meeting her eyes with a teasing edge in her tone. “Now…care to explain what all of that was about, you whiny brat?”

    Genya’s stomach twists. Her chest tightens. And yet, somehow, the love radiating from her sister makes even that question feel safe.

    Genya ducks her head, cheeks heating all over again, grateful for the small reprieve from Sanemi’s gaze—but the mortification isn’t done with her yet. The words tumble out, rushed and stumbling over themselves.

    “I… I was, um… freaking out because the Christmas dress Ume lent me ripped when I, um… f-finished putting it on…” she admits, voice trembling, eyes glued to the floor. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way… I’m sorry, Nee-chan…”

    Sanemi exhales a long, low sigh, the sound rolling between amusement and exasperation. “All of this… over some Christmas dress? Fuckin’ unbelievable,” she mutters, shaking her head, but the corners of her mouth twitch with humor, betraying just how little she actually means it.

    Genya lifts her gaze slightly, catching that faint smile, but the embarrassment clings stubbornly.

    Sanemi’s tone softens, though, curiosity and something sharper lurking beneath. “But seriously… why the Christmas dress? Why—all of this?”

    Sanemi’s hand reaches out, gently tilting Genya’s chin up so their eyes meet. Genya inhales sharply, panic and anticipation swirling together, and darts her gaze back toward the floor.

    “I… I, uh…” Genya’s voice drops to a whisper, almost lost. “I blew my allowance in some dumb bet with my friends… so I couldn’t get you a present for Christmas…Ume suggested…I become your present instead.” Her voice shakes as she murmurs the next part, nearly inaudible. “And…it was the perfect chance to…tell you…how I really feel…”    

    Sanemi doesn’t respond immediately, letting her words hang in the air. She shifts her eyes to the poster-covered wall across the room for a moment, as if letting the anticipation build. When she looks back, her gaze is dark and consuming, focused entirely on Genya, the kind of look that feels like it could swallow her whole. A rush of warmth swarms Genya’s stomach, equal parts fear and something thrilling.

    “And what are these ‘true feelings,’ hm?” Sanemi asks, her voice low, deliberate, teasing even, as her hand moves to cradle Genya’s face. The other hand tightens slightly around Genya’s waist, keeping her in place.

    Genya’s breath catches sharply, heat flooding her chest. Her pulse races, heart hammering against her ribs. The violet of Sanemi’s eyes seems endless, pupils dilated, lips curving into a soft, almost seductive smile. She can’t look away. Her entire body is trembling, caught in the force of her sister’s gaze and touch.

    Red-faced and stammering, Genya finally blurts the words she’s carried for so long: “I…I love you…so, so much. More than a sister should. I…I want to be your…lover…and spend the rest of our days together…”

    Sanemi doesn’t answer at once. She simply lets the words sink in, the faint blush returning to her cheeks, the corners of her mouth twitching with a quiet, consuming delight. Genya feels the air between them thicken, charged and electric, every heartbeat loud in her ears.

    Then, Sanemi leans in, just barely, so that their lips brush lightly together. The contact is soft, almost a question, but it sends a shiver racing through Genya, leaving her utterly weightless in Sanemi’s lap.

    “Oh, Gen…” Sanemi murmurs, voice low and trembling with warmth. “I couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present, even if I tried.”

    The words hit Genya like a burst of sunlight, scattering every shadow of doubt in her mind. Sanemi presses closer, bridging the tiny space between them fully, capturing her lips with her own. Genya’s mind spirals, a whirlwind of awe, love, and absolute surrender as the world narrows down to the simple, perfect pressure of Sanemi’s kiss.

    Time slows. Nothing exists outside this moment—the warmth, the steady strength of Sanemi, the realization that all her fears and mistakes couldn’t stop this, couldn’t ruin what they have. Genya melts completely into the embrace, finally feeling safe, cherished, and loved in a way that has always been hers and hers alone.

    Genya melts into the kiss immediately, a soft, breathless sound escaping her as her arms move instinctively to wrap around Sanemi’s shoulders. The moment she hooks her hands behind Sanemi’s neck, Sanemi pulls her in even closer, pressing their bodies flush together. And when Sanemi’s tongue slips past Genya’s lips, slow and sure, Genya keens—her whole body shivering at the feeling—letting her in without a hint of complaint.

    Her mind blanks. Everything becomes heat and want and relief. Sanemi’s tongue moves against hers, deliberate and unhurried, exploring her mouth like she’s memorizing every detail she’s only dreamed of until now. Genya trembles in her lap, fingers threading desperately into her older sister’s white hair as Sanemi’s hands roam up and down her sides. Her fingers catch on the torn edges of the ripped dress, skimming over bare skin as if learning its shape by touch alone.

    Even when Genya feels herself going lightheaded, lungs burning for air, she doesn’t pull away. She presses harder into Sanemi, deepening the kiss, savoring the possessive press of Sanemi’s lips against her own—as if she’s starved for this, for her. As if nothing in the world could make her stop.

    But Sanemi is the one who finally breaks the kiss, breath coming harsh and uneven against Genya’s lips. She doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, she trails downward, kissing the corner of Genya’s mouth, then her jaw, then lower. Genya gasps as warm lips brush against her neck, and everything inside her turns molten.

    “God, baby…” Sanemi murmurs, voice rough and shaking with restraint. Her lips ghost over Genya’s pulse, her breath hot against the sensitive skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you… wanted this.”

    Another kiss lands, slow and claiming. Genya’s breath stutters.

    Sanemi continues pressing soft, lingering kisses along her neck, each one sending sparks racing down Genya’s spine. Genya’s hands scramble for purchase, fingers curling into Sanemi’s hair as she tries to hold onto something—anything—to keep from melting straight off her lap.

    “And when I saw you on the floor…” Sanemi murmurs, nipping gently at Genya’s skin, “…in this torn-up, slutty little outfit?” A low, breathy laugh vibrates against Genya’s throat. “I almost couldn’t control myself.”

    A startled moan slips from Genya before she can stop it. Her mind spins, dizzy with desire and disbelief.

    “You—you still liked… this?” she manages, voice broken and trembling. “Even after I… ripped the dress…?”

    Her big sister pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes burning with heat and affection all at once. Her lips curl into a wicked, adoring smile.

    “Baby,” she says, voice low enough to tremble through Genya’s bones, “there’s nothing hotter than being so thick you tear through a skimpy Christmas dress.”

    Genya’s breath catches, face flaming.

    “And besides…” Sanemi leans back just a little more, letting her eyes trail slow and hungry down Genya’s heaving form, drinking her in with an intensity that makes Genya shiver. “…no matter what you wear—or tear—” her tongue briefly wets her lips, “you’ll still be unbelievably beautiful.”

    Genya’s heart almost gives out.

    Just as a protest is about to slip past Genya’s lips, Sanemi’s hands—which have been worshiping her sides like a prayer—move up to cup her chest, each hand cupping a breast before squeezing. The feeling of her sensitive mounds being felt up pulls a whimper from Genya’s red-bitten lips. She pulls her hands back from around Sanemi’s neck to grasp at each wrist, to pull them away, or closer, she doesn’t know; all she knows is that if she doesn’t hold on then she’ll be washed away by pleasure. 

    “And don’t get me started on these,” Sanemi begins, her face ducking back in to continue trailing kisses down her neck and shoulders. “Seeing these on the verge of bursting through the fabric is like a dirty wet dream of mine, Gen~” she punctuates this by squeezing her breasts again, leaving Genya keening and whining at the sparks of pleasure that shoot up her spine. 

    “Mmng! Nemi they–they’re just boobs,” Genya whines, her violet eyes unconsciously shifting down to stare at Sanemi’s own chest. “But–but yours are shaped so pretty…I wish mine were that size,” and despite the envious tone, Genya can’t help but thirst over them at the same time. Genya has had dreams about kissing those perfectly shaped mounds, taking a pretty pink nipple between her lips and drawing breathless sighs from her big sister. 

    Sanemi scoffs to Genya’s surprise. “My tits? Oh please—they’re nothing compared to these monster cannons!” 

    Genya’s mind blanks for a moment. 

    “...Did you just call my boobs monster cannons?” 

    Sanemi’s face flushes at her confused tone. “Ah, forget it!” Her hands move from Genya’s breasts back down to her hips. Then, with a tight grip, Sanemi pulls Genya impossibly close so that their clothed breasts press together. Genya gasps at the pillowy feel of Sanemi against herself, her hands trembling from where they cling helplessly to Sanemi’s wrists. “Just–” Sanemi ducks her head into the crook of Genya’s neck, her tongue laving at the sensitive skin there until Genya is arching up into her touch. “Just let Nee-chan take care of you.” 

    Genya shivers in her possessive grasp, her body softening into her big sister’s arms. 

    “Yes nee-chan,” Genya sighs. “Please take good care of me.” 

    “Oh I plan too~”

    Then just as those words slip off her tongue, Genya feels Sanemi’s hands clasping at the neckline of her dress before—

    RIIIIIP!!!!

    Sanemi makes quick work of what’s left of the dress, ripping through the fabric with effortless strength. In mere seconds, the dress is torn and thrown to the floor, leaving Genya in nothing but her undergarments, thigh highs, and arm sleeves. 

    “KYA!!! NEMI—WHA—?” Genya cuts herself off, her arms instinctively moving to hide herself, but Sanemi catches each wrist in her hands, keeping her little sister exposed to her eyes with a devilish grin. 

    “I’m just unwrapping my present,” Sanemi explains despite the way her lustful eyes trail up and down Genya’s half naked body. “Gotta say though, the wrapping really got in the way of the real prize.” Genya watches, chest heaving for air, as Sanemi puts both of her wrists in one hand before holding them above her little sister’s head. Genya gasps, her face blazing, as her older sister uses her free hand to feel Genya all she wants. 

    Being rendered helpless by her older sister sends a forbidden heat straight between Genya’s legs. 

    “I—I thought you were gonna take good care of me, nee-chan?” Genya reminds her breathlessly, her hips shifting slightly to press against the crease in Sanemi’s pants. The bunched up denim makes for a good mound to ride against, especially with how thin her panties are.

    Sanemi seems to have caught onto this as well if the wicked smile on her face is anything to go by. “Oh baby, I know you can handle it,” she purrs as she rolls her hips up to Genya’s, rubbing right against the wet patch beginning to form in her panties. A needy sound vibrates in the back of her throat; together, in a slow rhythm, the two sisters begin to grind against each other. “Besides, something tells me you might like it rough.”

    “What—What makes you think that?” Genya whines, struggling to hold her big sister’s gaze as they continue to roll against each other. 

    “Hm…well, it might have something to do with all those late night noises I hear coming from your room at night,” Sanemi explains as her free hand roams up the back of Genya’s spine. 

    Genya, however, hardly feels it, not when she’s much too shocked to hear that Sanemi heard her late at night when it was just herself, her porno, and her fingers.

    “Ahh–Ah?! You–Ah–knew?!” Genya screeches, making Sanemi’s face break out into a mean grin. 

    “Our walls are paper thin you idiot. It’d be impossibly for me not to hear you riding your pillow while screaming for your nee-chan to fuck your brains out~” 

    “Oh—Oh my god…” Genya mumbles, her face burning from the truth that sits right in front of her. All this time, Sanemi knew about Genya’s infatuation with her and decided to keep it a secret. Gah, that’s so—so humiliating! “If you-ngh–always knew then—” her breath hitches once she feels Sanemi’s nails play with the clasp keeping Genya’s bra in place. Oh godd… “—T-Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

    A serious expression takes over her big sister’s face, shifting the mood just slightly enough to make Genya stop grinding shamelessly in Sanemi’s lap. Her lips—which had been turned up into a pretty smirk—have dropped into a frown that twists Genya’s heart in her chest. It’s no secret to anyone that Genya adores every expression her Aneki makes, but there’s a certain weight to this look that tells Genya that something severe is about to slip off her tongue. 

    “Nemi?” Genya calls out, unable to hide the concern in her voice. “Is everything—?”

    “I wanted to be a good big sister for you, Gen,” Sanemi says at last, her words whispered in a low rough tone that makes Genya’s stomach churn with unease. “I shouldn’t think about you like this—i shouldn’t need you like this, but I do. And–and finding out that you felt the same way? I almost couldn’t keep myself in check. If–If I had exploited your love or–or made you feel like you had to love me—”

    Genya can barely stand to listen to another word. 

    Despite being held up by Sanemi’s hand, Genya still has enough power to lean down enough to nip at Sanemi’s bottom lip, cutting her clean off. 

    “Stop talking, you’re gonna make me sick, nee-chan,” Genya whines with a pout. Sanemi’s purple eyes widen in shock; the fingers playing with the clasp of her bra come to a halt, moving to instead splay her entire hand in the space between the younger’s shoulder blades. 

    “Eh? Genya, i’m being—”

    “I know you’re being serious,” Genya interrupts once more with a sharp look that she knows shouts don’t cut me off please. “And that's why I need you to stop talking.” The younger girl inhales slowly, digesting the confession before slowly making one of her own, determination laced in her voice like strong silk, pretty and untearable no matter how strong Sanemi’s guilt may be. “You are a good sister. You’ll always be my good sister. You—you never did anything wrong or did anything to make me feel this way. It all…just happened, the same way I'm guessing it did for you.”  

    Genya watches the way her big sister’s eyes soften at her words, the hardened direness forming before melting into oblivion upon hearing her words. 

    “Genya…” Sanemi mumbles, her name falls from her lips low and breathless, as if caught in a show of wonder. 

    Genya can feel her heart beat quicken at the vulnerable look, but she ignores it in favor of smiling down at Sanemi with a special fondness of her own.

    “You’re my entire world, Nemi. My savior, my love, my protection, my life. Everything you do makes me thankful that I can call you my big sister. And my special, amazing, big sister can do no wrong!” Genya finishes, leaning down one last time to press a quick peck to Sanemi’s lips. It’s quick, barely a brush of their lips, but it's still full of sweetness and love, just the kind that Sanemi needs to feel right now. Leaning back into Sanmei’s hold, Genya looks back down at Sanemi and lets out a needy sound as she picks up where she left off: grinding her clothed pussy against Sanemi’s bunched up pants. “So—so can we keep going? Cause I don’t think I can last much longer like this…” 

    Genya watches as Sanemi blinks once. 

    Then twice. 

    Then thrice as if she can’t believe her eyes and ears. 

    Finally, after a long moment of merely staring at her little sister as she grinds helplessly in her lap trying to recover a semblance of the pleasure she felt before, she smiles and laughs under her breath, both parts amused and in disbelief. 

    “You really are incredible Genya,” Sanemi heaves out, all but rewarding Genya with a roll of her hips that hits the hood of Genya’s clit through the thin fabric. Genya gasps, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as pleasure courses through her body. Sanemi’s hips begin to pick up the pace, hitting that spot every. Single. Time. “Incredible and insatiable.” 

    At long last, Sanemi’s hands—that had been splayed between her shoulder blades—reaches up and undoes the strapless bra with a quick flick of her fingers. Genya feels more than sees the way the undergarment falls off her chest, revealing her large breasts to her sister with a slight jostle, as her bra lands on Sanemi’s lap.

    “Like y-your any better…” Genya gasps out, her body attempting to lean back when she catches the way Sanemi’s hand begins to drift up from her shivering stomach to the underside of her heavy breasts, teasing the skin but not giving Genya what she truly desires. 

    The look Sanemi gives her sends another wave of heat down to her throbbing cunt as she continues to grind helplessly in her big sister’s lap. Dark and possessive, full of ill intent, the kind predators wear before diving in for the kill in nature documentaries. 

    “You’re right baby,” Sanemi breathes out whilst ducking down to begin trailing kisses along her collar bones. “I’m worse.” 

    With those last words, Sanemi’s hand moves up to cup her left breast; a calloused thumb easily finding its way immediately to Genya’s hardened nipples to rub and tease the bud maliciously. 

    A warmth blooms beneath Genya’s skin, making her squirm and whine, as it spreads all throughout her body. With every grind of Sanemi’s hips, every squeeze of her hand, every swipe and circle of her thumb, Genya finds herself coming undone right before Sanemi’s very eyes. 

    Sanemi’s hand is merciless; it squeezes and gropes the heavy flesh with wild abandon. Her thumb rubs her pink nipples in tight circles, working its way to the bud before digging her short nails into the tip, sharp and electrifying, sending endless shudders up the younger’s spine. And Sanemi’s lips are ravenous; they kiss, bite, and soothe the skin clinging to her collarbones without any sense of mercy before traveling to her right untouched boob. 

    “Nemi—Nemi!” Genya chokes out as Sanemi’s mouth travels down her breast, straight to her hardened nipple, before taking the pink skin between her lips and begins to suck and lick. Her whines quickly morph into soft unbidden moans, her hips stuttering in their movement as she’s overcome by endless jolts of pleasure that send her rolling faster and faster towards her peak.

    Her belly begins to tighten and knot itself nice and strong with every expertly timed move from her nee-chan. In minutes, no—seconds—Genya has become a mere bundle of nerves to be plucked and played with, going along with every one of Sanemi’s whims without another thought. Doubt never creeps in. She never leans away or thinks that all of this is too much. Instead, it becomes too little, not enough, until finally tears cling to Genya’s wet lashes as she cries for more, more, and more. 

    “Nemi I need—!” Genya’s words get cut off when Sanemi’s teeth dig into her right nipple, the slight spark of pain mixing so well with the pleasure rocking against her clit that she can’t help but black out. It takes a second to regain her thoughts, but even when she regathers her words, it becomes just as hard to voice them aloud, especially with how vicious her big sister is becoming. “Nemi, please, I need to—to finish! Let me—i need to—” 

    “My baby is being so whiny,” Sanemi groans against her sensitive skin, purple eyes flickering up to look up at Genya through white lashes. “It's so cute~ maybe if you whine a little louder I'll give you what you need.” 

    “Nooo! Anekiiii!” Genya whimpers as she tries to chase after her own pleasure out of desperation; her hips rock at a speed that makes her thighs tense up and shake from exertion. That only seems to spur Sanemi on. The woman stops the movement of her hips by taking her hand off her wrists and her breast to grab onto her hips, keeping her still against her will. 

    The pleasure that has been building slowly withers away. 

    A frustrated keen leaves Genya’s lips at the feelings in her lower belly. 

    Arms now free, she begins tugging and pulling at sanemi’s shirt, even going as far as pawing at Sanemi’s own breasts until she’s pulling a groan from her big sister’s red lips. “Mean! Mean Nee-chan! You're so mean!” Genya cries, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, her hands squeezing and groping Sanemi’s breasts so shamelessly, so wildly, that it pulls a breathy sigh from the older woman. 

    Sanemi—red-faced and seemingly fighting to keep herself from making so many noises—slips her fingers beneath the fabric of Genya’s panties. With a single pull, the thin fabric is being torn and thrown to the side, exposing Genya's wet cunt to her big sister’s eyes as Genya trembles in frustration. 

    “NOOO! NEMI!!! I–I LIKED THAT PAIR!!!” She shouts, equal parts mortified and furious that Sanemi is now carelessly ripping up her clothes. 

    Sanemi, however, looks as if she’s struck gold as her purple eyes take in the sight of her fluttering pussy.

    “Oh relax you big baby,” Sanemi chides as her hand dips down to tap at her wet cunt, making Genya’s hips jolt in surprise. “I’ll buy you more for your birthday.” She dismissed the casualty so easily, as if brushing away lint, that Genya can’t help but grow ever more irritated.

    “It’s still not fair, Nee-chan!” Genya argues back, even going as far as leaning her hips away from Sanemi’s hand when it tries to tap against her bare pussy again. “I—I know I let you rip up the rest of the Christmas dress, but that doesn't mean I want the rest of my clothes messed up!” 

    Sanemi pauses, her eyes flitting to Genya’s pouting face to the panties that now lay torn on the floor, then back up to her little sister. Her shoulders slump, as if in defeat; before Genya can continue to chastise Sanemi, Sanemi takes Genya by surprise, by taking hold of her own top and tearing it to shreds. 

    Genya’s breath hitches as she watches Sanemi’s shirt be reduced to scraps of fabric, leaving her older sister in just her black bra–and yet, even that is ripped up within seconds. Genya gawks for a long time as she observes the way the soft fabric rips apart, the stitches popping and flying as threads decorate the covers of her bed. She wants to be mad, to argue that ripping up her own clothes doesn't make Genya feel any better, but then her purple eyes are drawn to the two perfectly shaped breasts painted with the crisscross of an old scar and everything Genya planned to say is promptly tucked away in favor of being a shameless pervert. 

    “There, this makes things a little more fair, don’t ya think?” Sanemi mocks with a roll of her eyes, her hands grabbing onto Genya’s wrists to guide each hand to her bare chest. “Now we’re even,” she finishes, eyes darkening, whilst she covers Genya’s hands with her own and begins to squeeze. 

    “N–Nemi you—” Genya can’t even begin to form a proper sentence, not after allowing her fingers to press into the pillowy feel of her big sister’s boobs. They’re just as beautiful as Genya imagined they’d be—not oversized and busty like Genya’s, but perfect in the way they fit in the palms of her hands. She lets Sanemi guide her movements, enraptured by the soft flesh, the breathless moans that leave her Aneki’s red lips, and she wonders, briefly to herself, how someone like herself got so lucky. 

    “Hmm yeah, just like that Gen,” Sanemi sighs, her lips pulling up into a menacing smirk that sends a spark of warmth to blossom in the pit of Genya’s belly. “Don’t be shy, baby, touch me all you want. I’m yours.” 

    I’m yours. 

    Those two words echo in Genya’s ears like a harmonic symphony played by angels. 

    Inhaling sharply, Genya takes over by groping Sanemi’s breasts, her nails digging into the flush flesh until small moon-shaped crescents bloom in their wake. This pulls a hitched breath from Sanemi, encouraging the younger sister to do more, to take care of what’s hers. 

    “You’re so soft, Nemi,” Genya finally manages to force out of her parched throat. She keeps groping her, even as Sanemi’s hands fall away to return back to her little sister’s wet core. Ignoring the anticipating feel of Sanemi’s fingers against her pussy, Genya presses forward, shifting her hips until they lock perfectly against Sanemi’s so their breasts press back together like two puzzle pieces. 

    “So beautiful,” she whispers, her thumb moving to roll her big sister’s nipples, turning the slight peaks into standing buds. “So perfect.” Sanemi gasps, her fingers moving to slide between Genya’s folds, gathering the wet slick before toying at her entrance. “So–So incredible.” Genya tries to swallow the moan that crawls up her throat by biting her bottom lip, but even that isn’t enough to keep the noises at bay. “And all—all mine.” To distract herself, she gropes and squeezes, earning moans and gasps from Sanemi. “Just as I am all yours.”

    One second Genya is in Sanemi’s lap and the next she’s being shoved down onto her own bed. 

    Breasts pressed tightly together with only Genya’s hands separating them, Sanemi cages Genya in with her muscular body. 

    One hand playing with the wetness between her folds and the other grasping at her own pants, Genya watches the desperation on Sanemi’s face turn downright ravenous. Genya breath snags on a quiet gasp in surprise. Completely captivated, Genya lays back–a whining drooling mess—but still determined to roll Sanemi’s nipples until they blossom into red peaks as Sanemi’s hands work at exploring Genya’s pussy and getting herself out of her damn pants. 

    “That’s right baby, you’re all mine,” she heaves out like a wild animal, the fingers inside Genya’s sopping cunt traveling upward to press against her clit. Genya’s breath jerks in her throat, overcome by the sensation of those small bundles of nerves being played with like a new toy. Her hips stutter and squirm beneath Sanemi’s grasp, to get away from the oversensitivity of her fingers, but Sanemi’s body keeps her in place. 

    “Nemi—Aneki—I–I ahh—feels—!” Genya’s words get stuck in her throat the moment Sanemi’s fingers begin rubbing a tight circle against her clit, leaving her mouth gaping open and pleading for more. 

    “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sanemi heaves breathlessly, the sound of a fabric being tossed aside all but background noise to Genya as she’s completely swept up in the feeling of her cunt being worshiped by too big fingers. “You’re making me feel good too, gen. Your hands—ahh—love how they feel against my body,” she purrs, just as her fingers pinch at Genya’s sensitive nerves, tearing a scream from Genya’s lips. 

    “Nee-chan!!!” She shouts, her head throwing itself back, as all the pleasure that begins to stack up on top of each other begins to build quickly in her gut, just like it did before. She pulls her hands out from between their bodies and wraps them back around Sanemi’s neck, pulling her face in close until Sanemi’s face to face with Genya’s chest. “I need more! Aneki!!!” Genya cries out, tears blurring the view of her sister ducking in to suck marks into the intimate swell of Genya’s large breasts. 

    “I’ll give you more baby, but first your big sister wants to have a little bit of fun.” 

    With her thumb pressed tightly against Genya’s clit, Genya can feel two fingers shove into her entrance. There’s no resistance, not with how wet she is, and yet Genya still finds herself screaming when those two fingers curl upwards on every up thrust. Stars fly across Genya’s vision, she can distantly feel drool escape the corners of her lips, but she doesn't care. Her hips roll downwards in time with Sanemi’s hand, chasing after that steady climb towards her peak—

    Sanemi’s hand abruptly pulls away, leaving Genya feeling empty and trembling for more. 

    “OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!” Genya screams, her voice loud and shrill as Sanemi pulls her body away to sit back on her hunches. 

    With a loud sigh, Genya tilts her head to glare up at her sister, only to be blessed by the sight of Sanemi completely naked. 

    Wild white hair clinging to her forehead and neck with sweat, Sanemi stares down at Genya, breasts on full display, the muscles beneath her soft scarred skin rippling with want, strong thighs bracketing her in like bars of steel, and down—between her legs—is a wet glistening cunt with a light dust of curly white hair that Genya wants to feel with her tongue. Genya can feel her mind blank out, taken off guard by the pure masculine beauty of her big sister. She wants to grope at every bulging muscle, trace every scar with her fingers, duck down to taste the sweet sinful nectar of Sanemi’s pretty pussy—

    Ah, she’s so down bad…it would be embarrassing if she weren’t so desperate to get her hands on her big sister. 

    “Like what you see?” and that smirk, that knowing smile of Sanemi’s that’s laced with pride and mischief? Oh, it could kill Genya!

    “Yes, I–I love what I see…” Genya stutters, completely oblivious to the way Sanemi’s hand has pulled Genya’s leg up to lay outside Sanemi’s arm. 

    Right as her hands twitch upwards to grab onto her sister, Sanemi leans down and grabs both of her hands into her own, lacing their fingers together, and trapping Genya once more beneath her. Towering over Genya, Sanemi’s smirk widens; Genya’s eyes go wide as Sanemi shifts her weight until she’s hooking her own strong leg over Genya’s, pulling Genya’s other leg up high so she can slot her leaking pussy perfectly against Genya’s. 

   A sharp shiver lashes up Genya’s spine when their lips press together, mixing their arousal together so intimately that Genya can’t tell which is from her and which is from her big sister. Sanemi begins to work her hips against Genya’s, grinding slow and erotic, making the younger feel every intimate brush of the slick-kissed flesh until she’s moaning into the open air. Every roll of Sanemi’s hips leave Genya panting and flushed chest heaving for air. 

    “Oh–oh Nemi,” Genya sighs, her hips slowly moving to match her big sister’s rhythm. Her fingers itch to pull Sanemi down for a kiss, to ravage her lips and bite until blood seeps from the wounds, but her big sister’s hands are like an ever present weight against her own, pinning her so the older woman can set the pace. “I wanna—mmng—need to feel you,” she gasps out, spurring Sanemi to grind her pussy harder against Genya’s. 

    “You are touching me,” Sanemi reminds, her voice just as breathless as Genya’s. “Dont you feel it baby girl? My pussy against yours? Doesn't it feel amazing?” 

    “It’s—it’s all I can feel,” Genya chokes out, her large breasts bouncing with every hard roll of Sanemi’s hips. “But—ah-ah!—I need to kiss you…” she pleads, voice cracking in her throat as a steady warmth returns to her lower belly. 

    A little amused chuckle leaves Sanemi’s mouth. “In a way–mm–baby, we are kissing~” she punctuates this with another hard roll of her hips, this time knocking their sensitive clits together.

    Genya gasps at the roll of sparks that electrify her bottom core and Sanemi’s breath hitches. 

    “fuckfuckfuckfuck! right there Nemi! Please please!” Genya sobs, her desire for a kiss long forgotten as Sanemi’s hips land hard against hers, the folds of their pussies pressed tightly together to catch along each other's clits. 

    “Yes–ah—mmm i got it baby, just lay back and feel it gen,” Sanemi growls low as she works her hips, harsh and relentless on top of Genya’s. Their clits clash together, brushing and kissing one another in an intimate show of love again and again, encouraging the intimate warmth in Genya’s lower belly to grow with every roll of her big sister. 

    The younger throws her head back, stars flying across her eyes with moans slipping off her tongue, forced to just lay there and take whatever’s given to her. The squelch of their cunts pressing together fills the air along with the sound of the mattress creaking beneath Genya, surrounding the young lady in a symphony of erotic voices. Sanemi’s pants fill her ears, praises slipping from her pretty pink lips that soothe like a balm against Genya’s heated skin. 

    The pressure in Genya’s gut gets tighter and tighter by the second, every touch against her sensitive set of nerves sending her farther down a road of no return. 

    A startled cry slips from Genya’s lips “I’m close Nee-chan! I–ahh–I'm about to cum!” Her chest heaves, breasts bouncing in tandem with Sanemi’s thrusts. 

    “Me too, ngh shit!” Sanemi growls out with her teeth bared, hips growing erratic as she tries to chase after the electrifying pulse of pleasure that runs beneath the younger sister’s skin. “We’re gonna cum together Genya. Ready?” 

    Genya nods, tongue useless in her mouth. 

    That’s the only warning Genya gets before Sanemi lets go of one of Genya’s hands to shift her little sister’s thigh high clad leg up higher until it lands on her shoulder, spreading Genya out more and giving Sanemi more room to grind. 

    The smooth heavy glide of Sanemi’s cunt against Genya’s bare heat sends the younger girl screaming in pleasure. Her rosy red clit is on full display, making it easier for Sanemi to know where to aim her hips. Genya sobs, shaking beneath Sanemi’s weight, as she’s reduced to a crying mess beneath her big sister, useless and strung tight with pleasure that's on the verge of bursting like a dam. And there, like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, Genya knows she’s reached her end. 

    With one final scream, her long legs shake and convulse as a wave of bliss rushes through her like a tidal wave, wetting her thighs and Sanemi’s pussy with her orgasm. Her mind blanks, her eyes flooded with a hazy white screen, so out of it that she doesn't notice when Sanemi finishes as well—so out of it to hear the desperate Genya! that rolls off her tongue with ease as her own climax blends with Genya’s. 

    It isn’t until Sanemi collapses forward, squishing Genya with her weight, does Genya finally begin to blink back into the real world. 

    Heaving and gasping for air, her trembling hand searches up to tangle in Sanemi’s hair as her big sister uses her hickie covered breasts as a pillow, both sisters gradually falling down from their shared high of incredible pleasure. 

    “That…That was amazing, Nemi,” Genya finally manages to get out before she can forget, her nails scratching at Sanemi’s scalp, earning a quiet hum from her big sister that’s muffled by Genya’s chest. After a moment of simply letting her face squish against Genya’s boobs, Sanemi looks back up and meets Genya’s gaze with her own. 

    “Fuck yeah it was,” she remarks, voice heavily laced with pride. “I never half ass anything, especially when it comes to pleasing my precious baby sister!” Sanemi exclaims with a giddy smile that Genya can’t help but copy. 

    “Mmmhm,” Genya agrees, her fingers trailing from Sanemi’s hair to cup her big sister’s face. Sanemi falls into the palms of her hands; her trust—which is so hard to be earned—is so easily given to Genya. That thought alone makes Genya’s heart swell with unimaginable joy. “So…like, just so we’re clear…we’re lovers now, right?” 

    Sanemi’s face twists from that of a lovesick idiot to a disgruntled mother who looked like they were just told their kid shit on the floor. 

    “No, Genya, we’re not lovers. I only fucked my clit against yours because I felt like it—” Genya cuts Sanemi off by slapping a hand onto her mouth.

    Heat rushes to Genya’s face, embarrassment flooding her senses as she spits out, “OH MY GOSH SORRY FOR ASKING! I JUST—I JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE WE’RE ON THE SAME PAGE OKAY? OKAY?!” 

    Sanemi’s expression softens, her hands reaching up to cradle Genya's jaw as if handling something precious. 

    “Yes, you big idiot. We’re lovers,” she confirms. “I’m yours and you're mine. It’s as easy as that.” 

     A trembling smile pulls at Genya’s lips at her words. “Yeah…I guess it really is.” 

     Seemingly satisfied, Sanemi drops her hands and begins to squeeze and grope at genya’s breasts, pulling a tired sigh from genya’s red lips. 

    “So…” Sanemi sings with mischief. “When do you think you’ll be ready for round 2?” 

    Gneya grumbles, torn between amused and exasperated. 

    She had a feeling her big sister would be insatiable in bed but she hadn’t exactly been prepared for it…

    “Give me five minutes to breathe and then,” Genya looks down, locking eyes with Sanemi and saying, “then I want you to ride my face until I run out of air.” 

    Sanemi’s face lights up like a christmas tree. 

    “Deal.” 

    Waiting for Genya to calm down, Sanemi lays her head back down on Genya’s tits. 

    “Hey Genya?” 

    “Hmm?”

    “Thanks…for the Christmas present.” 

    Genya’s smile grows. 

   “Of course, Nemi. My big sister deserves nothing but the best, afterall.”