disclaimer: CITRUS characters © SABUROUTA

a/n: First and foremost, this fic is in no way connected to my other very accurate, hilarious fic, ephemeral love. Next, Sabu just told me to tell you guys that she's really sorry for chapter 36. She telepathically explained to me that the following events will happen very soon. She likes to add that this chapter is sweetly horrifying, so turn away while you can.

And by sweet, I mean it's so full of fluff that it's gross.

And by horrifying, I mean

(Most likely) Chapter 39
– ethereal love –

When you hold her like this, you feel a sense of security. A strange, inexplicable feeling of comfort.

Ironic, yeah, because she's the one in your arms, but you feel so safe holding her like this. Maybe it's because she's not resisting? Or the fact that it's been so long since you've touched her? Maybe it's the fact that she's uncharacteristically stealing shy glances at you through the mirror. You're not entirely sure. You just know that your heart beats infinitely faster when you realize that she probably wants this as well. Because she's reaching for your hand and it's.

You don't know.

The moment your skins come in contact, your breath hitches and.

It's all so surreal.

"Mei," you call her name in a whisper and your embrace around her tightens, subtly, delicately. You see yourself in the mirror, emerald eyes piercing with an implicit desire—a sort of urge, wanting so badly to be spilled but no, no, Yuzu.

She's not making it any easier, unfortunately. You see her bright eyes are hidden beneath those long, beautiful lashes and she's deliberately avoiding eye contact with you. It's like she's baiting you. Luring, enticing, seducing.

But you're older now. Less naïve, more mature. You've moved on—

(no you haven't)

—and what you're doing right now is wrong.

(no it isn't)

So you hold back. Your arms remain wrapped around her stomach and you hide behind her, resting your forehead right between her shoulder blades, because being like this, just being close to her, you feel safe. You want this feeling.

You want it.

(you want her)

You're not asking for much.

(you really aren't)

"Yuzu," her fingers grip delicately on your forearm, "… how long are you planning to stay like this?"

Huh. Why is this all so irritatingly familiar?

(she said yes)

Oh, right. She's asked you the same question, back then in the library.

Your arms around her tighten because some paranoid part of you thinks that she's going to just slip away. That she's going to run from you. That she's going to leave you. Again. Because unlike that time, you can no longer believe in empty promises.

(she lied)

Unlike that time in the library, when you were still immature, naïve, and utterly stupid, you can't bring yourself to give her anymore unrealistic, fairy tale-esque answers. And so, you tell her, as truthfully as you possibly can—

"… Forever."

(you're so stupid, Yuzu)

What do you know? You gave her the same answer, anyway.

The room is deafeningly quiet. You hear the faint sounds of people talking outside, the two of you breathing, but that's about it. She doesn't react, and you're not surprised.

Classic Mei.

"Forever," you say again, this time more firmly.

Still, she doesn't give you any response.

Your arms around her waist move up to circle loosely around her neck. Like earlier, you peek out from behind her shoulder and stare into the mirror, into her eyes. And then you try, once more, "Can I stay by your side forever?"

Mei reaches up.

Finally, a hint of a response.

She touches your forearm and you catch a glimpse of the ring on her finger. The sight of it makes you press closer. You hold her hand and she intertwines her fingers with yours, turning her head slightly so that your eyes can meet directly. And when they do, there is an unspoken plead for something. Her vibrant irises that almost appear violet under the light dart down to your lips for the briefest moment, then they move back up, planting themselves onto your eyes again.

"…"

You can barely hear her. It just sounds like she's breathing. She definitely said something though, and. But. Like—

"I want to kiss you." You hear yourself say. You didn't want to say it out loud. But you did.

And you do.

(oh, but you really shouldn't)

Your lips touch. Softly, slowly. And you tell yourself to hold back. Don't be so aggressive. Don't scare her. Don't push it. Don't.

(don't, Yuzu)

You have to stop. You tell yourself you can't. You're not supposed to.

(ah, but you know you will)

Yes, you want her, but everything's changed and you can't. So while you still have an ounce of resolve left in you, pull away—

"Yuzu," but her grip on your hand tightens. She stops you.

Why? You want to ask. Why are you letting me do this?

(so do it)

Idiot. You know very well why. As your lips crash into hers again, you are reminded that the two of you came in here to do just this. It can't be helped. It's been so long. Her warmth, her scent, her presence. You miss her. You—

"I keep coming up with reasons," you pull back between kisses to say, "… of why I can do this. Thinking that, just, maybe, I can feel better about myself—"

Mei moves in to capture your lips—again and again—interrupting you every time you pull back to talk, and it's really hard to break away from her because you don't want to but you need to get this out. You need to tell her.

"I—" you force yourself to turn away. "Mei, I-I…"

Stop stuttering. Just say it. Say it.

"… but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I shouldn't." You take a deep breath and slowly, slowly, you turn back to look at her, "… and neither should you."

She stops. Mei just freezes. As if time has stopped for her. As if she's caught in some warp that's sucked the life out of her, and, just.

It's a look of devastation. Completely torn. She stares at you. Her gaze speaks volumes and she's asking you—do you not want this?

(you do)

And that makes you go on (but walk away), against better judgement, "But I love you. I still do."

"…"

It… came out more easily than you expected.

And the response is, well, it's otherworldly. You don't really know how to describe it, but the way her eyes widen when you said that, it reminds you of that night when you gave her the ring. It fills you with a surge of confidence and flattery and, just… she's crying. You made her cry. Tears are streaming down her flushed cheeks and just like that night, you lean in to kiss them away. But she doesn't stop you this time.

"Yuzu…"

"Shh," you whisper into her ear. Your breath tickles her skin and just like clockwork, a moan escapes her and she bites her lips to suppress the sound. She does that and you feel it; she's so close and warm and delicate and the way her body shudders just gives you life. You drag your lips down, following the tendons of her neck and you kiss her, lightly, all the while restraining yourself from asking anymore dumb questions.

(why is she letting you do this?)

Shut up, Yuzu.

Just kiss her.

"Yuzu," she tries again. Her voice shakes, and despite being naturally taller, stronger, and better than you, right now, she is vulnerable. She is locked in your arms. You can do anything you want. She's letting you do anything you want.

So stop hesitating. Stop wasting time. You were the one who pulled her aside. The moment you saw her, greeting the guests at the reception, draped in this lovely gown (tear it apart), her hair done so perfectly (pull it down), nothing in the world mattered. You get tunnel vision and all you see is Mei, standing there. Being herself. Being perfect.

"Mei…" you call her name, your voice muffling against her bare shoulder. You keep an arm wrapped around her abdomen, holding her in place because you are unable to brush away the thought of her leaving you. Again. You run your other hand along her back until you reach the zipper of her dress where you then just tug.

"Wait, Yuzu—"

"Let me, please," you say softly. You pepper light kisses along the pale skin of her shoulder. The fact that her hair is tied up so elegantly in an updo exposes her neck, which you take advantage of as you trail your kisses upwards. You stop at her ear again, "For once."

As promised, she mewls. God, it's such an adorable sound. You think she's acting this way because she's never heard you speak so desperately before. Or that the way you're begging so pathetically is making her feel guilty. For everything she's done. It's her fault. Everything. It's her fault. The thought of it overwhelms you like a wildfire and all of a sudden, you feel your heart clenching again.

"For once, just…" you swallow to mask your trembling voice, "… please give me what I want."

You yank her loosened dress along with her strapless bra down, exposing the entirety of her naked body. Honestly, if this thing weren't so freaking expensive, you definitely would have listened to your conscience and had torn it to bits by now. You've always fantasied about Mei in ripped clothing. There's just something about destroying her perfect image that makes your centre throb.

"Please don't resist."

She listens. She actually listens.

The fabric pools at her feet effortlessly and you lean your body against hers. Your hands rest at her sides and you thrust your hips closer, crushing her frame into the mirror. Her cheek is against it and she's panting unevenly and you see the glass fogging up every time she breathes. It's—oh god, it's so hot. But you're clearly hurting her and. Like. You have no intention in doing so. You really don't. But then you notice the reddened marks along her shoulders and neck that you've given her, being the careless idiot that you are, and it just sparks something inside of you. You can only define this feeling as something feral, because your heart pounds and you find yourself latching onto the junction between her shoulder and neck with your mouth, your teeth sinking into her pale flesh.

"Yuzu…!"

You can't help it. You're out of control—

"I love you, Mei," you confess.

And then you remember. You remember saying the same words to her back then, in the cabin. You remember because you regret it—the fact that you didn't say it sooner, faster. In turn, you couldn't hear her say it back to you.

"I really love you," a hand wanders up to the underside of her breasts. "I…"

Oh, no. Why does it scare you so much when you're pouring your heart out? Is it because you're afraid that she won't respond in the way you want? Or that you'd be interrupted again? Or… that she doesn't actually feel the same way towards you anymore? No—

"I love you too."

… what?

She takes your hand, cupping it with her trembling one and she moves it up, up to her bare breast and she turns her head slightly so that you'd see the sparkle in her deep eyes. The contact is just for a moment, but a moment is enough. More than enough. Because you're looking at her profile, and the sight of her flushed cheeks makes you feel so hot. Oh god, it's… you don't know anymore. And you don't think you can hold back.

You're losing your mind.

So much that you don't notice when your lips come together again.

It's magnetic—you're drawn to her. And it's messy, sloppy, and you don't think twice to push your tongue in. She arches her back, her breasts pressing against the mirror and she moans into your mouth and you're not sure if it's because of her skin coming into contact with the coldness of the glass or because your other hand is moving downwards, closer, closer—

"Yuzu…!"

—Mei just tears her mouth away from yours and she is left gasping, knees buckling as she struggles to breathe. Struggles to stand. Her hands cling onto the mirror and you watch them slide back down, helplessly, and you're somehow intrigued by her desperation. Really, though, you have other things to worry about (such as having someone walk in on the two of you, or you stepping on her dress, or even leaving too many marks on her skin), but what scares you most is the fear of Mei changing her mind.

What if she asks for you to stop? What if she doesn't actually want this? What if this is all just some form of guilt taking over her better judgement, and she's just saying that she wants this because she wants to compensate for what she has done?

Your head spins.

You're scared that it'll all be true. You don't want her to go. You don't want to lose her. You want to tell her—please don't go. Please stay with me. Please—

"Don't let me go," Mei says.

You can't move.

"… I need you."

Yes.

(why is she saying this to you?)

And so do you.

It's done.

You don't care anymore.

Mei loves you—she still does—and she wants this and nothing else matters. You lean into her ear, telling her I love you, I love you, over and over again, and you're certain the vibrations of your voice are sending shivers down Mei's spine. She's trembling as your thumb stops at the apex of her folds, swirling, prompting her to squirm. You rub two fingers against her opening, coating your digits just so before you push them into her.

Mei stiffens. She lets out a whine and you see it in the mirror—her eyes are screwed shut and she's biting onto her lower lip to suppress the sounds. Fuck, she's so cute. The way her updo is falling apart, the fact that strands of her hair are stuck to her face and the way her expressions are twisting in pleasure and that her moans are filling the room so scandalously. Everything's so beautiful.

It is then you feel her inner muscles clench at your fingers, you just move deeper. Your other arm wraps tightly around her abdomen once again because you want to hold her, want her close.

In response, she rolls her hips, and you follow her rhythm, as unevenly and unpracticed as you are.

But she's moaning your name, calling it like a mantra and you think you're doing this right.

What baffles you is the fact that you never could've imagined the two of you doing something this. Here. Under such circumstances.

You're so shameless. The two of you.

You glance down at the white gown pooled at her feet, at the ring on her finger, at her expressions—god, her fucking expressions. You want to drink in every moment of it and keep it in your memories forever. The fact that you're fucking her here. It's downright inappropriate and she's beautiful and… and you're—

(you don't want anyone else to have her)

"Please… please… Yuzu…!"

(you don't want anyone else to see her like this)

"I got you."

(what? No, you don't)

You kiss her on the cheek, "It's okay."

(why are you lying?)

And then you fill her, again and again. Your slender fingers are knuckle-deep, and then they retract to the tip, then they come in again. Thrust, thrust, thrust. It feels good. You know it feels good, because Mei is writhing into your touch, desperately trying to take control but, come on, who is she kidding?

The way you're sucking on her earlobe, massaging her breast, rubbing against her and thrusting into her—it's making her, forcing her to move along your unsteady rhythm and you have her in your grasp. You can break her, right now. Or you can drag this on, make this illusion last a while longer because you know for a fact that when this is over—when Mei shatters—the two of you will have to go back outside.

And then pretend.

(you don't want pretend)

Pretend that everything's okay. Pretend that you didn't just fuck your stepsister. Pretend that you're enjoying this… party, this—

"Oh god, Yuzu…!" Mei cries, throwing her head back.

You hold her tight as her body arches into the mirror. She's crushing your hand against the glass but you're okay with it. Your fingers move faster, the pitch of her voice continues to raise in octaves and she just thrashes her hips. Her body shudders erratically and your thumb just presses at her centre and she calls your name so loudly, so beautifully—

"Shh, shh…" you hush, feeling the convulsion of her walls around your fingers. You make no effort to cover her mouth. Because Mei is better like this. Exposed, unshackled, alive, and in your arms.

Gently, you stroke at her centre, easing her climax and you can literally feel the tremors running through her body.

"Y-Yuzu, stop…" Mei hiccups, turning slightly so that you can see her half-lidded eyes. "I-I'm… I can't, I'm so s-sore…"

Your heart swells. Fuck, she's so cute. You obey and pull away from her entrance, resorting to wrapping your arms around her midsection and, really, you're content like this.

Finally, her legs give out and she falls, but you manage to soften her landing. The two of you sit on the elegant, satiny material of her dress and, if it were a few minutes earlier, you'd care (quite a bit, as it's expensive and everything), but right now, you can't bring yourself to feel anything. So you just hold her. Your arms are wrapped in a vice-lock around her abdomen and you keep your head buried at her neck. You want that feeling back—that feeling of security. Of comfort.

It's a brief, fleeting moment. And you're still unsure whether you regret choosing to not stay ignorant or choosing to have a full taste of this.

Because it's all over now. It's time to go back outside.

It's done.

Back to pretending.

(but you don't want that)

The thought of it is numbing. As in, it makes you forget how to feel.

You bite back a sob.

(but you don't want to forget how to feel)

What can you do?

(how this feels)

"Mei…"

She reacts instantly. She reaches for your arms around her stomach and holds them there. As if she's afraid that you'd let her go.

You could have chuckled. Silly Mei, why would you ever let her go?

When she reaches for your hands, silently asking you to hold her as she slips her fingers into the cracks of your knuckles, you smile. The corner of your lips arch in the slightest and you feel at ease. Her scent, the sound of her breathing, the smoothness of her skin—everything calms you. You think it's the same for her, because she's leaning back, against your chest and you know that she probably feels just as safe with your presence.

How different would things be, if only the two of you met under different circumstances? If only she's gone to a normal school. If only she weren't born into an elite family. If only she weren't conditioned under such bullshit policies, made by bullshit expectations. Then everything would be different.

Maybe—some idiotic part of you still believes—just maybe, the two of you can become something.

If only.

(but no—)

If only you can't feel the annoying piece of accessory wrapped around her finger.

You raise your head, resting your chin on her shoulder and you bring her hand up. A silver, platinum band, encircled around her ring finger and you fiddle with it. The diamond resting atop of it is beautiful, and you think to yourself that any girl would die for a wedding ring like this.

(so you should feel happy for her)

You exhale deeply before moving in to hide in her neck once more. One last time. You kiss her, again and again, along her shoulder, along the marks that you've left earlier, until you reach her ear. You pause there to glance at the mirror.

Mei is looking at you. Through her hazy eyes, beet-red cheeks, parted lips, you see her still trying to catch her breath. But you know she has something to say. And as much as you like it when she tells you how she feels, you don't think you can handle it. Not anymore. You don't think you want to hear what she's going to say to you.

Because you might just die.

"Mei,"

So, you speak first—

"I love you,"

She closes her eyes. You know she's trying to hide her tears.

"And I'll miss you."

.
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idk about you but this is way more lit than getting lit at weddings yknow what im saying