maki-bootylicious

[maki-bootylicious]

STOLEN KISSES, BORROWED TIME

PART 1/2: THE PRICE OF A PROMISE

Pairing: EDMOND[fictional german character] x female readers(y/n)

Genre: Smut | love at first sight

W.C: ~1.2k

The air inside the Berlin mall was crisp with spring, but your nerves were burning.

It had been just a walk—your sister, your mom, and you drifting through designer stores on a sunny afternoon. But fate, dressed in leather boots and a silver chain, had walked right past you.

Edmond.

The first time you saw him, it was just a fleeting glance. A tall man with honey-brown eyes and an accent that danced between British charm and German bite. He had the kind of jawline that could slice silk and eyes sharp enough to make you forget your own name. His skin was kissed with warmth, and when he passed you, you felt the weight of his gaze linger just a second too long. He was walking with a woman who had the same strong bone structure—his mother, maybe.

You hadn’t expected to see him again.You brushed it off… until fate gave you a second chance.

Inside the Gucci showroom, while your mom and sister browsed, you wandered toward a rack of oversized sunglasses—and there he was. Standing across the aisle, looking at you like he was trying to remember something.

When he approached, something told you to hold your breath.

“You’re not from here,” he said, the corners of his mouth tugging into a grin.

“I’m from India,” you replied, trying not to fidget.

Something in his face changed. His interest flickered—for a second. You knew that look.

But then you added, “But I’m learning German.”

That brought it back.

"Wie lange schon?"["how long ago"?] "Ein Jahr."[ One year.] He smiled, and God, it reached his eyes.

He looked at you longer. This time, without hesitation. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Edmond.”

It was the beginning.

The rest was a blur. You talked. You laughed. And by the time you were left alone in the mall—your sister and mom distracted with lace and satin for her wedding gown. It wasn’t just that he was attractive—he was magnetic. Like someone who didn’t try to draw you in, but did anyway. he asked you to walk with him. Just around. Just a little longer.

Just long enough to fall.

A Week of Dusk and Devotion

It happened so fast.

Seven days passed like one long dream. Edmond was everything you never thought you'd find in a stranger. Gentle, yet sharp-tongued. Playful, yet observant. A bit too perfect, like life was giving you a gift before it got cruel again.

And it did.

Because you saw him. Darius.

The ex you never wanted to think about again. The one who touched without asking, spoke without listening, demanded without deserving.

He was in Berlin. And he saw you—with Edmond.

Panic surged. You grabbed Edmond’s arm, your voice hushed. “I hate him. Don’t ask right now. Just… we need to go.”

He didn’t need answers. He just nodded and walked with you like he would protect you from anything—even memories.

But the clock was ticking. Your family didn’t know. You were flying back to India in four days. And the weight of everything—culture, expectations, the family business—was looming over your head like a guillotine.

The Night You Couldn't Forget

Your sister’s wedding was held in an old European church that smelled like roses and history.

You wore blue. Edmond wore black.

You watched your sister laugh under the soft golden glow of chandeliers, and for a while, you pretended. Pretended you could have this. Happiness. A choice.

After the reception, you found Edmond waiting by the fountain outside.

“Let’s not say goodbye yet,” you whispered.

He just took your hand.

The city was quiet that night. Berlin hummed with the low roar of traffic as he drove you past old cinemas, hidden alleys, cafes that looked like art. You snuck into an old movie theater, shared a popcorn, didn’t pay attention to the film. He looked at you more than the screen.

Later, under streetlights, he parked on a hill that overlooked the river.

“I don’t want this to end,” you said, voice cracking.

His hand found yours. “Then don’t let it.”

And when he leaned in, your lips met in a way that made the world disappear.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise. One you weren’t sure you could keep.

The Goodbye You Never Meant

The flight was in the morning.

You stood inside the airport bathroom, tears burning your cheeks, whispering to your reflection. Edmond was outside, waiting—faithful like always.

When you found him, you cried into his chest. “I dont know how to tell you... but I can't do this. They’re forcing me. My parents—they want me to marry him. Darius. For the business.”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

“I can’t let them down,” you said. “You don’t understand how much they’ve sacrificed. But you… you make me feel like I belong somewhere.”

He kissed you again. Soft. Like a farewell.

One last kiss.

It tasted like a goodbye you didn’t want to say. He kissed you harder, holding your face as if you’d disappear. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“If there’s a way,” he said, “I’ll find it.”

You ran in tears before you could say anything more.

And it all blurred—your return, your parents’ joy, the cold press of a diamond on your finger that never belonged there.

Darius had become your future. Not by love. But by contract.

The Wedding That Broke You

The day came too fast.

The ceremony was grand, elegant, suffocating. You wore white. But inside, you were already grieving.

Darius smiled at you like he owned you.

But then, a voice broke through the murmurs.

“I WILL NOT ALLOW HER TO MARRY SOMEONE SHE DOESN’T LOVE!”

It was Edmond.

Chaos erupted. Your heart stopped.

He was in a suit. Face flushed with emotion. Voice echoing off the cathedral walls. For a moment—your heart skipped. You thought you were saved.

Until your father demanded the security guards to drag him out. Before you could scream his name, he was gone.

You married Darius in silence. Your tears were the only vows you meant...

to be continued.. [based on an actual dream.]

[maki-bootylicious]

Are you sure?

Pairing: BTS RM x female readers(y/n)

Genre: Smut | enemies to lovers

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

[University Campus – Early Morning]

Y/N slips into Professor Park’s lecture hall just as the door clicks shut. Late again, she drops into the back row, eyes down on her notebook—until she feels his gaze. Kim Namjoon stands at the podium, book in hand, but there’s no mistaking the way his eyes trail her.

“Nice of you to join us,” he drawls, voice low enough only she can hear.

She glances up, meets his smirk, then turns back to her notes as murmurs ripple through the class. Thus begins their silent war: he corrects her answers in that same quiet tone, she shoots back with sharp retorts, and every exchange sets sparks between them.

[Library, Late Night]

Rows of dimly lit shelves press in around them. Y/N is buried in Camus; he appears with an armful of books.

“Might want to reference Sartre on that existential point,” he says, flipping a page for her.

When her pen slips, his finger brushes hers—electric. She freezes. He tugs the pen back gently. In his eyes: respect. And something more.

“We make a good team,” he offers quietly.

She nods, heart racing, then gathers her things and retreats—his words echoing in her head long after she’s gone.

[Student Gala – One Week Before Finals]

Y/N shines in a midnight‑blue dress, laughter on her lips—until a tipsy senior corners her. His hand slides too low. Fear flares.

Before she can call for help, Namjoon’s hand clamps on the guy’s shoulder.

“Back off,” he snarls.

The room hushes. Y/N’s relief crashes into adrenaline. He turns to her, eyes softer than she’s ever seen.

“You okay?”

She nods, voice small: “Thank you.”

“Always,” he replies, and the unspoken promise between them hangs heavy in the air.

[Debate Club Room – Midnight Prep]

The old classroom smells of chalk and cold coffee. A single lamp casts warm circles on the table. They’re alone, faces inches apart, debating Satre’s freedom of choice—but their real conversation is in the glances, the half‑smiles.

He stands behind her chair, warm body pressing her back. His voice drops:

“That dress… made me lose my train of thought all night.”

She doesn’t turn. She can feel him—closer than any debate should allow. Her pulse thunders.

“I wasn’t trying to distract you,” she breathes.

He places a hand on her shoulder, tilts her chin up. His thumb grazes her lower lip.

“Maybe you should.”

[Namjoon’s Apartment – The Afterglow of Jealousy]

The hallway is quiet as he unlocks his door. Inside, the living room is minimal: a low sofa, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, the faint glow of city lights through half‑drawn curtains. He steps in and immediately closes the door behind them.

Without warning, he brushes her hair from her face, eyes dark with need.

“I’m tired of being civil,” he murmurs.

Before she can respond, he captures her lips in a hungry kiss—deep, wet, claiming. Her feet lift off the floor as he pulls her into his arms, heat radiating through his simple cotton shirt. She wraps her legs around his waist; he sets her down on the sofa, then crawls on top of her, knees on either side.

His mouth trails down her neck to the hollow of her collarbone. She arches into him, breath catching. His hands cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. He pauses, meets her gaze, and she gives a small nod: consent in a whisper.

He lifts the hem of her dress, sliding it up and over her hips. She kicks it away, revealing lace panties. He grins, then lowers himself to his knees. The sofa’s cushion creaks beneath them.

His tongue finds her inner thigh first—slow, teasing, drawing goose‑flesh in its wake. She shivers, hands threading through his hair. He rewards her with a soft chuckle before pressing a kiss above her panty line. Then, sliding the lace aside, he kisses her most sensitive spot,her pussy, tongue flicking just enough to make her breath stutter.

“Namjoon…” she moans, fingers gripping the back of his T‑shirt.

More firmly now, he parts her lips with two fingers, sliding them gently inside. She gasps, arching her spine. He holds her thigh open with one hand, working those fingers in a steady rhythm while his other hand cups her breast, thumb circling her nipple.

When she trembles on the edge, he withdraws and stands, discarding his shirt. She watches as his chest glistens with a sheen of sweat. He climbs onto the sofa, positioning himself at her entrance. Her hand moves to guide him; he pauses to look into her eyes.

“Y/N, are you sure?”

She nods, breathless. “fuck! I want this.”

He slides in slowly—every inch savored—until she takes him fully. She gasps his name as he stills, letting them both adjust. His hands rest on her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. Then, gently at first, he begins to move.

The rhythm builds. Sofa cushions squeak as he thrusts, slow and deep. She wraps her legs tighter around him, nails grazing his shoulders. He leans forward, hands braced on the sofa behind her, kissing her neck with each stroke.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groans.

She meets each thrust, matching his pace, until their breath quickens, bodies slick with perspiration. He reaches down, finds her clit, and rubs in time with his hips. Her back arches, and a low moan escapes her as she tumbles over the edge into release. He follows, groaning as he rides out his own climax in soft, fierce shudders.

For a long moment they stay intertwined—hearts hammering, skin sticky, world narrowed to each other’s warmth.

[Morning Light – New Beginnings]

Sunlight filters through the curtains. Y/N stirs against his chest, the afterglow of their night together a safe warmth in her veins. He strokes her hair, voice soft:

“Morning, beautiful.”

She smiles, shifting to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“I have class soon,” she murmurs.

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer.

“Then I’ll walk you there.”

Wrapped in his oversized hoodie, she steps into the hallway, heart light. Today they’re no longer adversaries, no longer hiding behind barbs. Today they’re simply Namjoon and Y/N—two souls who found something fierce in their battles, something tender in their surrender.

And as they leave his apartment hand‑in‑hand, the campus ahead feels less daunting, because whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.

end of one shot..

[maki-bootylicious]

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT WARNING

MEET THE MIND BEHIND THE MADNESS: Hey, babes. I’m Maki Bootylicious—writer, dreamer, and your go-to dealer of dangerously addictive smut. I’m all about slow burns that ignite into wildfires, forbidden fantasies, and love stories that hit you right in the chest (and a little lower, too 😏). I write for the girls who love spice with a side of emotional damage, plot twists that slap, and characters you’ll wanna fight and kiss. This blog is my unapologetic playground of pleasure, pain, and passion—so buckle up, keep your age over 18, and get ready to sin with your screen on. Smut is my love language. Heartbreak is my weapon. And baby, once you’re in, there’s no going back.

This blog contains explicit adult content including sexual themes, strong language, and mature situations. It is strictly intended for readers who are 18 years of age or older. If you are under the age of 18, you are not permitted to view or interact with this blog. Minors found engaging with this content will be blocked and reported immediately. By continuing to read, you confirm that you are 18+ and consenting to view adult material. Stay grown, stay respectful!~

THANK YOU FOR READING!

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

CHAPTER 12: Afterglow[ending]

It’s midnight when you crash into his apartment.

His place, not yours. Yours still smells like grief, like memories of your mom’s laughter and the ashes of your friendship. But here—this is where the past doesn’t breathe down your neck. This is where you can burn it.

He shuts the door behind you.

The second the deadbolt clicks, he grabs you by the waist like he’s been starving. No words. No delay. Just mouths crashing, teeth grazing, tongues fighting for control.

His hands slide up under your shirt—slow and deliberate, but with the heat of something deeper. His fingers trail over your ribs like he’s memorizing each one. Your shirt is gone in seconds, your bra snapped loose with a flick like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“You drive me insane,” he groans against your neck, biting just enough to make your knees tremble. “You started it,” you whisper, breathless.

And just like that, it's chaos.

He lifts you effortlessly, back slamming against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. You grind down against him, feeling every inch of him growing harder between you. His lips trail down your throat, over your collarbone, lower—his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks it deep into his mouth, moaning like you taste like revenge.

When he carries you to the bed, he doesn’t just lay you down. He spreads you open. Eyes locked to yours like he’s worshipping you—like this moment is sacred, even if it’s filthy.

"Say it," he whispers. "Say you want this."

You whimper it.

And then it’s everything. Hot. Wet. Unapologetic. His mouth on you like sin. His tongue drawing out every sound you swore you’d never make. Fingers curling deep inside, finding that spot that makes you arch off the bed.

He eats you like a man on a mission—like he has to make you come so hard you forget every heartbreak, every mistake. You grip his curls, thighs shaking, cursing his name as the first wave hits.

But he’s not done.

He slides up, kissing you with your taste still on his tongue. “Now let me ruin you,” he growls.

And he does.

He slides into you with a groan so deep, you feel it in your chest. You stretch around him, full in the most delicious way. You claw at his back, nails dragging down as he pounds into you like he owns the air in your lungs.

The bed creaks. The headboard slams. You lose count of how many times you break apart in his hands.

He flips you. Takes you from behind, hands gripping your hips like he’s never letting go. The sound of skin on skin, moans echoing through the room—it’s obscene. And perfect.

You both collapse after, tangled in sweat and sheets and something that feels dangerously close to love.

The next morning, you wake up with sore thighs, swollen lips, and his arm slung heavy over your waist. He’s still asleep, but his face—soft now—looks like home.

You spend the day wrapped in each other. Whispered jokes. Silent looks. Gentle kisses that still burn. He helps you pack your bag for university the next morning, teasing you about missing him already.

You kiss him hard before you leave. You think maybe this time, life might give you a break.

It’s been twenty-four hours since you left.

You’re in your dorm room, still aching in the best way, when your phone buzzes. You grab it without looking, smiling lazily—probably him.

But it’s not.

It’s her.

[BEST FRIEND]

Her voice is shaking. Broken. She’s crying so hard you can barely understand her.

“He—he found me again. I’m pregnant. It’s his. I don’t know what to do—please—I’m scared…”

Your heart drops.

The room spins.

The phone slips from your hand.

And you realize—

It’s never over.

THE END.

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 11: The one he wanted..

You thought the worst was over. You thought the rain was finally letting up, that you and him were finally breathing again. But storms don’t end when the thunder fades. Sometimes, they wait. Watch. Then strike where it hurts most.

You're lying in bed with him, your body still humming from the way he kissed you like he’d die if he didn’t. His arm is wrapped around your waist, protective. Possessive. Safe. And for the first time in weeks, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’ll make it through this.

Then your phone buzzes.

Again.

Same unknown number.

Your heart drops.

He sits up beside you, voice low. “Don’t answer.”

But you do.

And that’s when everything changes.

“I always wondered what it was about you,” the voice says, calm and smooth like honey laced with poison. “Why he always chose you. Why you made him smile like that. I used to think it was a fluke. That maybe you were just a warm body. But now? Now I see.”

You freeze.

He continues.

“It wasn’t him I wanted. It was you. And now I understand why he took you from me. Like he took everything else. My childhood. My chances. My life. I had to see what made you worth ruining everything for.”

Click.

Silence.

Your hands tremble. He grabs the phone, throws it across the room. “He’s sick,” he says, eyes wide with disbelief. “He’s lying. He’s just trying to scare you.”

But your gut twists.

Because something about the way he said your name… Something about how personal it felt…

He didn’t just want revenge. He wanted you.

Later that night, you sneak into the bathroom, lock the door, and crumble to the floor.

You press your hand to your mouth to muffle the sobs.

Everything you thought you knew—gone. Everything you loved—in danger. You—being hunted by a man who looks like the one you love.

You remember the last time you cried like this. At the funeral. When you saw your best friend, silent and still beside your mother’s coffin. When she turned to you with tears in her eyes, hugged you without a word, and you both shattered into each other’s arms like glass.

She whispered into your ear, voice broken:

“I should hate you. But I can’t. Because you’re all I have left.”

That night, you slept on her floor like old times. You held hands in the dark like you used to in high school, when the world was meaner than both of you. You’d lost everything—but you had each other again.

That was the only moment that felt real in weeks.

Now you're back in that bathroom, hiding from the world.

But this time, you’re not alone.

He knocks. “Open the door,” he says gently.

You hesitate.

Then you do.

He kneels in front of you, cups your cheeks in his rough hands.

“Don’t let him break you,” he says, forehead pressed to yours.

You whisper, “What if he already has?”

He pulls you into his arms, holds you so tight it hurts.

You kiss him. It’s slow this time. Deep. Like an apology and a promise wrapped into one. You fall into the kiss like it’s the last thing keeping you sane. His hands tangle in your hair. Yours slide under his shirt. You need him close. You need to feel something that isn’t fear.

Clothes fall again. Bodies collide. But this time, it’s not just heat—it’s desperation. To forget. To feel. To exist.

Afterward, you’re wrapped in sheets and him, your breathing steadying.

Then your phone buzzes.

Again.

You hesitate.

You don’t answer this time.

Instead, a text flashes across the screen.

“I’m done playing nice. Come outside.”

Your blood turns to ice.

He reads it too. Jumps up. Grabs his jacket.

You stop him.

“No. We go together. He wants me, not you. We end this. Now.”

Outside, it’s eerily quiet.

No wind. No cars. Just fog creeping along the pavement.

Then—out of the shadows—he steps forward.

The twin.

Same face. Same eyes. But a completely different soul.

He smirks.

“I always wondered what it would feel like… to have what he has. To touch what he touches. To be loved the way he’s loved. All my life, I watched him take everything I ever wanted. Our parents' affection. Every damn trophy. Every girl.”

He steps closer to you.

“But you? You were the last straw.”

Your boyfriend stands between you two.

“Back the hell off.”

But the twin doesn’t flinch.

“I never wanted you,” he sneers at his brother. “I wanted her. And now she knows it.”

He looks at you now. Eyes dark. Empty.

“I watched you. From the moment you smiled at him at that bus stop. I thought, why not me? Why is it never me?”

Your breath catches.

It hits you.

All of this—was never about his brother. It was about you. Being wanted. Possessed. Taken.

You step back.

He steps forward.

Until your boyfriend throws the first punch.

It’s chaos.

You scream. You cry. You try to pull them apart. But they’re both bloodied, screaming, fists flying.

Police sirens wail in the distance.

You don’t even know who called them.

Maybe you did. Maybe your best friend did.

But as the lights flash red and blue, the twin tries to run.

He’s tackled. Cuffed.

But before they take him, he looks at you one last time.

And smiles.

“I didn’t get to keep you. But I made sure he’ll never feel safe again.”

And just like that—he’s gone.

You collapse into your boyfriend’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

Your best friend appears again. She’s crying too.

She hugs you both.

And for the first time in what feels like eternity—

You all feel like home again.

But as the three of you stand there under the sirens and the rain—

You can’t help but wonder:

What kind of fire did you just survive? And what’s still left burning?

To be continued...

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 10: Painful chaos

You could hear your heart pounding louder than your footsteps.

The old house swallowed sound, like it had been waiting for this moment. Rain hit the rotted shingles above, thunder growled low, like the sky itself knew something was wrong. You held her hand tight—her blood still warm on your fingers—while he checked her breathing again.

"We need to get her out of here," you said, voice trembling.

He nodded. But before he could lift her, the door slammed shut.

You both froze.

The chill in the room shifted. Heavy. Menacing.

He turned first, body tense, eyes flickering across the shadows. You stood slowly, shielding your best friend even as fear clawed at your chest.

And then—

He stepped out.

The twin.

He looked just like him, but... not. His smile was too wide. His eyes too empty. Like someone had hollowed him out long ago and left a ghost in his place.

"Took you long enough," he said, voice cool and amused.

"Let her go," your boyfriend snapped.

"Oh, you care now? How cute."

You stepped forward, rage boiling beneath your fear. "Why are you doing this? What did she ever do to you?"

He tilted his head. "She took something from me. Just like you did."

Your boyfriend stepped in front of you. "You need help, man. This isn’t the way."

The twin’s gaze darkened. "Don’t act like you know me. You never did."

Suddenly, he lunged.

Your boyfriend caught him mid-swing, the two crashing into the peeling wallpaper and old furniture. You screamed and dropped to your knees beside your best friend.

Her eyes fluttered open. Barely.

"You're okay," you whispered. "You’re okay. Stay with me."

In the background, fists flew. Grunts. Crashes. The sound of a body slamming into old wood.

Then—

A shattering. A scream.

You turned in time to see your boyfriend on the ground, blood at the corner of his mouth, the twin standing above him with something sharp.

"No!" you screamed.

You grabbed the nearest thing—an old metal rod—and swung. It collided with the twin's arm. He stumbled back, dropping the blade with a snarl.

Your boyfriend scrambled to his feet, and together, the two of you got your best friend up, her weight heavy but alive between you.

The twin laughed behind you, broken and breathless. "This isn’t over."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

You got her to the hospital. Doctors swarmed her. Lights blazed. Beeps echoed. You waited in the hall, blood still on your clothes, heart still in pieces.

He sat beside you, face in his hands. "I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known he wasn’t okay."

You touched his arm. "You’re not responsible for his sins."

He looked at you then—really looked. Eyes full of regret, but also something softer.

Hope.

Your phone buzzed.

An officer on the line. "We found traces of him… but he got away. Again."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"We searched the perimeter. Blood trail ends in the woods behind the house. He vanished. Like he always does."

You hung up in silence, hand trembling.

Later that night, your best friend woke up.

The moment she saw you, she cried.

You cried too.

All three of you sat there, tangled in hospital sheets and emotions, a mess of trauma, relief, and unspoken promises.

She reached for both of your hands.

"We’re going to be okay, right?"

You nodded. "One day."

But none of you truly knew.

Because he was still out there.

And this time, you understood something you hadn’t before.

This wasn’t about you.

It was about him.

His twin.

The one who was always loved more. The one who had what he couldn’t have.

For the first time in his life, he’d been engaged. To a girl who saw him—not his brother. And you… you were the one who broke them apart.

He wasn’t after revenge on you.

He was after him.

Your boyfriend held you close that night, kissing your temple as you stared out the window into the dark.

"I won’t let him touch you. Not again."

But the air felt tight. The quiet too loud.

Somewhere out there… he was watching.

Waiting.

Plotting.

To be continued...

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 9: The devil himself

The funeral was over, but the ache in your chest remained like a fresh wound. Everyone had left the cemetery, the flowers were beginning to wilt in the afternoon sun, but you stood still—lost in a silence louder than any scream.

He stood beside you, his hand brushing yours but never forcing contact. You hadn't spoken much after the moment your best friend dropped the truth like a bomb—"It wasn't him. It's his twin." The words still echoed in your ears. Your mind was a battlefield of shock, guilt, and confusion.

Your eyes drifted across the lawn and found her—your best friend—standing near the garden gate of the cemetery. Her posture hesitant, shoulders heavy, eyes unsure. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

But then you did.

You walked to her like gravity demanded it. Step by step, through the thick fog of pain and shame.

She looked at you, eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched tight like she was trying not to break all over again.

You stopped just in front of her. "I'm sorry," your voice cracked. "God, I’m so sorry."

She didn’t speak. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her lips quivered.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even know—"

That’s when she pulled you in.

Her arms wrapped around you like they used to in high school when things got bad, when the world got loud and cruel. Like sisters. Like home. Your fingers clenched into the fabric of her coat, and for the first time in what felt like years, you let yourself fall apart in her arms.

(You finally feel it—home. The place you lost, the family you broke, suddenly returned in her embrace. She's still here. She's still yours.)

She sniffled. "I missed you. So damn much."

You laughed softly between tears. "Even after all of that...?"

She pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "You're all I had. You’re still all I’ve got. That doesn’t change overnight. And now... I get it. I know what it feels like to lose everything. I couldn’t leave you to feel that alone too."

You sobbed harder, forehead pressed to hers. "I thought I ruined us forever."

"Nah," she whispered. "You’re stuck with me. Always."

Behind you, he watched. Silent. Soft-eyed. Smiling, like he was witnessing something sacred.

After she left—after that hug, that forgiveness, that breath of salvation—it was just the two of you again.

He stepped closer, the wind tugging gently at the hem of your dress. You met his gaze, and it was like looking into something warm and endless.

"You okay?" he asked.

You nodded slowly. "Getting there."

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear. "You were so strong today."

You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. "I don’t feel strong."

"You are," he whispered. "Stronger than you know."

His lips were inches away, and his breath was warm against your skin. You opened your eyes slowly, heart racing.

"May I?" he asked, voice low, reverent.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The kiss said everything.

He kissed you like he needed to memorize you. Soft at first, then deeper, richer. His hands wrapped around your waist, yours tangled in his hair. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d vanish again. Like this time, he wanted to leave no part of you untouched by his devotion.

You pulled back, gasping, dizzy. "So... we’re really doing this now?"

He grinned. "We’re doing this. Officially."

You laughed, leaning into him again. It felt right. Like peace, finally.

The walk back to your place was quiet but full. His arm draped around your shoulders, your head resting against him. For once, things felt simple.

But then your phone buzzed.

A strange number.

You hesitated. Then answered.

"I have her," the voice said. Male. Cold. Familiar.

Your chest turned to stone. "Who is this?"

"His brother. You know who. She's with me. Come to the old house off Elwood. Alone, or she won’t be breathing much longer."

You froze.

Your boyfriend stopped walking the moment he saw your face drain of color. "What is it?"

"Your brother. He has her."

His eyes went wild. "What?!"

You both ran.

The house was something straight out of a nightmare. Abandoned. Covered in vines and rot. The front door was cracked open, creaking with every gust of wind. You exchanged a glance with him—both of you terrified but ready.

And then you saw her.

Lying on the floor. Bleeding. Ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles. Her mouth slightly open, her eyes closed.

You screamed her name and ran to her side, dropping to your knees. He followed, checking her pulse, holding her face.

"She’s alive," he whispered, shaking. "Barely."

You cried harder than you ever had before. Guilt and terror twisting in your stomach like knives.

And somewhere in the shadows... you could feel it.

He was still here.

Watching.

Waiting.

To be continued...

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 8: Same Face, Different Heart

The hospital room was too white.

Too bright. Too cold.

You stood at the threshold, breath caught between your ribs, eyes burning with exhaustion. The scent of antiseptic stung your nostrils, and your legs felt like they’d give out at any second. He stood quietly behind you, close but not touching, his presence steady like always. Your eyes were only on one thing.

Your mother.

Still. Pale. Gone.

The world felt too loud and too quiet all at once.

You took one step inside.

Then another.

But something in the corner of the room shifted.

You turned—and your heart stopped.

Her.

She was sitting in the chair beside the bed, dressed in black, hands clasped in her lap, tear streaks dried on her cheeks. Her posture was quiet, controlled, composed in a way that only pain can teach.

You hadn’t seen her since that night.

Since she screamed that you took everything from her.

Since she walked out of your life.

And now, here she was.

At your mother’s bedside.

The woman who raised you both.

The woman who called her “my other daughter.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You…”

She looked at you.

But didn’t speak.

Not a flinch. Not a glare. Not a word.

Just those eyes—soft, tired, broken.

You stepped toward her, slowly, unsure if this was real.

She rose from the chair and backed away to give you space, her expression unreadable. You knelt beside your mother, burying your face in her cold, delicate hand, and finally let your body break again.

The sobs ripped out of you like screams.

You cried like a child. Like someone who’d just lost their last anchor.

And then you felt it.

A hand.

On your back.

Light. Comforting.

Hers.

She knelt beside you, still silent, and held your shaking body like she understood. Like she’d been there. Like she knew exactly what it meant to become an orphan in a moment.

The past still hung between you like a scar, but in that instant?

She was your sister again.

The only one you had.

And it destroyed you.

The days blurred after that.

She stayed. Somehow, she stayed. Never once spoke a word to you. Never acknowledged the night that shattered everything. But she was there.

She helped dress your mother. Sat beside you at the wake. Held the umbrella over your head during the burial.

Not once did she speak.

But her silence held more than words ever could.

As for him?

He was there too.

Every day.

He didn’t flinch when he saw her. Didn’t tense. Didn’t even look surprised.

He was gentle with you. Attentive. Present.

You kept waiting for the moment he’d explain.

The moment it would all make sense.

But he never brought her up.

And she never looked at him.

It wasn’t until the day after the funeral that the ache in your chest demanded answers.

You met him under the tree outside the hospital, the same one you used to sit under with your mom when she still had the strength to walk.

He leaned against the bark, arms folded, watching the wind stir the grass.

You stood in front of him, arms shaking, breath uneven.

"How could you do this to her?" you whispered.

He looked at you, calm. “Do what?”

“To my best friend,” you snapped, voice rising. “She loved you. She trusted you. She said yes to marrying you. And you—”

“I didn’t—”

“You slept with me while you were engaged to her!” The words tasted like poison. “You let me think I was your first. But you weren’t mine. And I ruined everything because of you."

He blinked.

No guilt.

No emotion.

Just… blank.

Like he didn’t understand.

You kept going, tears filling your eyes. “She was all I had. I destroyed her. I destroyed us. And you—you just stood there and let it happen. How could you be so—"

“It wasn’t him.”

You froze.

That voice.

Your head whipped around.

And there she was.

Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes dark and hollow.

“What?”

She stepped closer.

“It wasn’t him.”

You turned back to him. “What is she talking about?”

He finally looked at her.

Then back to you.

And the smallest, most devastating smile curled his lips.

“I never dated her.”

You stumbled back a step. “But… what—?”

She exhaled. “That’s his twin.”

The world went still.

You looked at her. Then at him.

Then back again.

“No…” you whispered. “No, that doesn’t—”

“They’re twins,” she said, voice flat. “Identical. I met his brother two years ago. He never mentioned a twin. I never saw a twin.”

Your head spun. “You’re saying… I slept with someone else?”

She nodded.

Your mouth dropped open.

“I never knew,” she whispered, eyes glimmering. “Until I saw him standing next to you at the hospital. I thought it was him. But then I looked at his eyes. The way he looked at you. And I just… knew.”

You turned to him, breath trembling.

"You’re not… him?"

He shook his head slowly.

"No. I’m not."

And just like that, your heart twisted itself inside out.

To be continued…

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 7: Let It Rain

The days blurred.

Since the fight. Since she left. Since your mother started slipping further away behind white sheets and whispered diagnoses.

You hadn’t seen your best friend since that night.

No texts. No calls. Not even a cursed voicemail.

You heard through the grapevine that the engagement was off. That she ended things with him in one of those slow, quiet breakups that bleed beneath the skin.

And then?

She disappeared.

Just like that.

You didn’t know where she was. Didn’t know if she was okay. Didn’t know if she still hated you.

But you didn’t have the space to go looking.

Because your mom wasn’t getting better.

And you were drowning in uni deadlines, hospital visits, and the silence between every breath.

It started raining just as you left campus.

A slow, steady drizzle at first. Then harder. Louder. Like the sky couldn’t hold itself together either.

You didn’t have an umbrella. Didn’t even bother to run.

You walked until your legs ached, until your thoughts were too loud to ignore.

Then you saw it.

The bus stand.

That bus stand.

Where it all began.

Where his eyes first lit up at the sight of you.

Where you flirted like teenagers again, like time hadn’t passed, like life hadn’t been cruel.

And now?

Now you stood beneath it, soaked, shaking, with your heart rotting inside you.

You stared out into the rain, arms folded, jaw clenched.

And then you broke.

You cried.

You cried so hard your chest burned.

You weren’t even sure what you were crying for anymore.

For her. For your mom. For the night you gave yourself to someone you were never supposed to touch.

Your sobs echoed under the tin roof, loud and cracked and raw.

“Cry it out…”

You froze.

That voice.

His voice.

You turned.

He was standing in the rain, soaked from head to toe. Clothes clinging to his skin, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes soft, unreadable.

You hadn’t seen him since that day in the classroom. Since you shoved him away and told him to forget you.

But here he was.

And God… you hated how your body still ached at the sight of him.

You said nothing.

Just turned your face away and let the tears keep falling.

He didn’t move closer.

Didn’t speak again.

He just stood there.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Your phone rang.

Buzzed against your thigh like it knew what it was about to deliver.

And before you even looked at the screen, your soul sank.

You already knew.

You picked up slowly.

“Is this the daughter of—”

The words didn’t finish.

They didn’t have to.

You dropped the phone mid-sentence.

And screamed.

A deep, ragged, shattering scream that split the night.

You fell to your knees and tried to breathe but there was no air left.

He was there in seconds.

Arms around you, pulling you in.

You hit his chest. Tried to push him away. Screamed at him to let you go.

But he didn’t.

He just held you tighter.

Until your fight crumbled into sobs.

Until your fists turned to grips on his shirt. Until your forehead pressed against him, and your body curled into his like you were trying to disappear.

You cried into him like he was the only thing left.

And maybe in that moment... he was.

The hospital was quieter than you remembered.

When you stepped into her room, her body was already still.

But your eyes didn’t go to her right away.

They locked onto the figure beside her.

Her.

Your best friend.

Curled into the chair beside your mother’s bed. Silent. Shaking.

Tears streaked down her cheeks.

She looked up.

And saw you.

Her eyes didn’t rage this time.

Just pain.

She didn’t say a word.

And neither did you.

Because what could you say?

The two of you… broken. Alone. Together in grief. But nowhere near forgiveness.

To be continued…

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 6: I Lost Her. I Lost Me.

You were still glowing.

Still flushed from the night before. His skin had barely left yours. His scent still lingered in your sheets. You were floating.

So you told her. Your best friend. Your sister in everything but blood.

You spilled the story in breathless little giggles, cheeks hot, eyes shining. The bus stop. The flirting. The way he looked at you like you were a secret he couldn’t wait to taste again. The way he made you feel like the only girl in the world.

She laughed at first. Covered her mouth, wide-eyed, curious.

“Wait—who was it?” You grinned, not thinking. You said his name.

And the silence that followed nearly split you in half.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then whispered, barely audible—“What did you just say?”

You said it again.

She didn’t laugh that time.

Her face changed. It twisted.

And then she snapped.

"You were the only family I had… and you took it away from me too. Like you always did.”

You froze. “Wait—what?”

“My opportunities. My ideas. My life. Everything I ever wanted—you always found a way to take it from me.”

Her voice was shaking, rising with every word, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“And now? My boyfriend. The one man who made me feel like I mattered.”

Your lips parted. “I didn’t know—”

“Today I came here to tell you he proposed to me a few days ago.” Her voice cracked. “I was going to ask you to be my maid of honor.”

You stared at her, heartbeat pounding like a war drum. “I didn’t know he was—”

“But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she hissed. “You already got what you wanted.”

You didn’t even know how to breathe.

And when she stormed out of your apartment with tears in her eyes and betrayal written on her face…

You knew.

You’d lost her.

She was an orphan. You knew that. You were her family. Her home. Her only person.

And now? Now you were the one who made her feel like she had no one.

You pressed your back against the wall and slid to the floor, sobbing into your palms, knees curled to your chest. The pleasure you gave into for thirty minutes just cost you a lifetime.

The guilt was louder than your heartbeat.

A few days later, he found you.

Pulled you into an empty classroom like he had every right to touch you again. Like your world hadn’t just crumbled.

“What are you doing?” you snapped.

He stared at you—eyes soft, concerned, maybe even aching.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” he said. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Because there’s nothing left to say.”

He moved closer. Too close. His hands on your waist like muscle memory. His face inches from yours.

“I miss you.”

Then his lips brushed yours. Just barely.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t lean in. Didn’t lean away.

You just stared at him. Empty.

“It was nothing more than a one-night stand,” you said coldly. “Leave me alone.”

Then you turned around and slammed the door behind you.

You didn’t look back.

But your heart did.

Your mom collapsed that night.

One hospital visit turned into three. Tests, scans, whispers from doctors that made your stomach twist. Your phone stopped ringing. Your inbox filled with unanswered assignments. You forgot the sound of your own laughter.

You stopped being a person.

You became a daughter, a caregiver, a shell.

And every night you cried in silence, pretending you hadn’t shattered your entire life over someone who wasn’t even yours to begin with.

To be continued…

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 5: First Time for Everything (Except You, Apparently)

He’s stripped down. You’re already bare. The air between you buzzes like static, charged and waiting to combust.

He leans over you, all heat and muscle and teasing, and murmurs, “This how you imagined your first time?”

You pause.

Your heart spikes—not from nerves, but from that sudden, bitter snap in your chest.

Your first.

Not his.

You swallow hard. “Wait… what about you?”

He stills. “What about me?”

You blink, heat rising in your cheeks—and not the good kind. “Am I… your first?”

He hesitates. Looks away. “No.”

It shouldn’t sting. You know that. It’s dumb. It’s petty. It’s way too late.

But it does.

You scoff softly, pushing him back just enough to sit up. “Wow. So I’m your little high school nostalgia trip? Just another one on the list?”

“Hey,” he says quickly, reaching for you. “It’s not like that—”

“Shut up.”

And then you climb onto his lap.

Eyes blazing. Jaw tight. His expression shifts—caught between confusion and pure desire as you straddle him, bare skin on bare skin, no more teasing.

“You’re gonna remember me,” you whisper, grinding against him with intent. “I’m your first something. Even if it’s the first time you beg.”

His breath stutters. “Damn.”

You roll your hips again, harder, and he groans deep, throwing his head back.

“Thought you were gonna be sweet,” he pants.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “I was. Before I found out someone else already got what I never gave anyone.”

And then you kiss him—like it’s war.

Your hands are in his hair, your tongue deep in his mouth, your body moving against his with punishing rhythm. No tenderness. No mercy. Just pure heat and something sharp simmering underneath.

His hands grip your hips like he’s trying to slow you down—like it’s already too much.

“You gonna cry?” you tease breathlessly. “Or are you just not used to someone who can actually take the lead?”

He growls—literally growls—and flips you beneath him. “You talk too much.”

You smirk. “And you come too fast?”

He doesn’t answer. Just slides inside you in one smooth, perfect thrust—and you both gasp.

The heat is blinding. The stretch? Sinful.

His forehead drops to yours, breath ragged. “Fuck… you feel like—”

“Shut up,” you whisper. “You’re not winning this.”

You move in sync. Desperate. Wild. His name spills from your lips over and over. You ride that edge together—sweat, skin, nails in backs, teeth on necks.

And when it crashes over you both—

You scream.

He chokes on a moan.

You collapse together, breathless and wrecked.

A beat of silence.

Then you both gasp at the same time:

“WOAH— I didn’t know you were that good.”

You look at him, still panting, chest rising.

He laughs, dazed. “Revenge sex, huh?”

You smirk, dragging a nail down his chest. “Told you I’m unforgettable.”

To be continued…

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 4: Last Stop: Your Place

“You sure you can handle it this time?”

You smirk, heart thudding like a war drum. “Try me.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls you into him—mouth crashing onto yours like he’s claiming territory. Tongue, teeth, pressure—no hesitation. His kiss is a goddamn storm, and you let it wreck you.

You moan into it. A soft sound. Barely there. But he hears it.

His hands slide under your coat, gripping your waist, dragging you closer. There’s no space left. Just heat and lips and the ache that’s been building for years.

“You taste the same,” he murmurs against your lips. “Like something I shouldn’t want twice… but do anyway.”

The screech of brakes pulls your bodies apart. The bus hisses to a stop, headlights catching you in its glow.

“Bus is here,” you whisper.

He grabs your hand. “Let’s go.”

The ride is a tease in slow motion.

You're in the back, thighs pressed together—from need, not modesty. His palm rests just above your knee. His thumb? It strokes slowly. Lazily. Like he knows what he’s doing.

“You always get quiet when you want something,” he says, low in your ear.

“And you always talk too much when you know you're about to get it.”

That earns you a grin—and a gentle squeeze on your thigh that sends a bolt straight between your legs.

“You wet already?” he whispers, right as the bus jerks forward.

You don’t answer. He chuckles darkly, clearly taking that as a yes.

Your apartment. Door closed. Breath caught.

He’s on you again—this time hungrier. Mouth hot on yours, hands under your shirt. One lifts your bra, the other drops to your ass. He palms it, hard, making you gasp into the kiss.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he growls. “And I’m not stopping ‘til you’re shaking.”

You’re already halfway there.

Clothes hit the floor in a blur—your shirt, his hoodie, your jeans undone. He lifts you, legs wrapped around his waist, and walks you straight to the bedroom like he’s been here before.

Drops you onto the bed.

Stands at the edge, watching you, half-undressed and flushed.

Then that smirk returns. The one that ruins you.

“Last stop,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, “your place.”

He leans down, tongue dragging over your neck, voice hot at your ear.

“Now be a good girl and take off the rest.”

To be continued…

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 3: Memory of His Tongue

“You remember that kiss?”

His voice is low, barely louder than the hum of the bus as it pulls away behind you. You’re still standing at the stop, but the world feels like it narrowed down to the space between your body and his.

You swallow. “Which one?”

You shouldn’t have said that. You know it the second his lips curve into that wicked, slow smirk.

“Oh… so it wasn’t just once for you, either.”

He steps in again—closer than he should be, again. You don’t stop him. You never do.

“I was drunk,” you lie, soft.

“You weren’t,” he says, just as soft. “Neither was I.”

The air thickens. Like it knows where this is going before you admit it to yourself.

“You kissed me like you meant it.”

His words land heavy. Your breath stutters. And suddenly, you’re back in that hallway—dark, quiet, lockers behind your back, his mouth pressed against yours like he couldn’t help it.

“You said it didn’t count,” you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “I lied.”

Your whole body reacts. A pulse low in your belly. Heat creeping under your coat. His presence is too much, but not enough.

“I thought about it,” he murmurs. “How you tasted. How your hands felt on me. How you pulled away like you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely.

His eyes flick to your mouth again, like he’s seconds from stealing another taste. Your lips part—out of breath or out of permission, you’re not sure.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he says.

And when you don’t answer, he just smiles. That same sinful, self-assured smile he wore when he kissed you the first time.

Then his voice drops lower. Darker.

“Wanna do it right this time?”

To be continued...

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 2: His Warm Gaze

“You always stared at me like that.”

You glance up, caught. “You wish.”

He steps closer, shoulder brushing yours. That quiet confidence still clings to him, thicker now, matured. He smells like warmth and skin and trouble wrapped in a hoodie.

“No need to wish. I remember.”

“You used to be cocky.”

He grins like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already three steps ahead.

“Still am. But now I’ve got better reasons.”

Your lips twitch. “Like what?”

His eyes drop to your mouth. Linger. A beat too long.

“You.”

It hits low. Quick. Your breath stalls. Your thighs shift just slightly—like your body heard him louder than your ears did.

“Thought you forgot about me after high school.”

“I didn’t.”

No hesitation. Just fact. And suddenly, the air between you gets tighter, warmer. Your coat isn’t helping. Neither is the way he’s standing in front of you now—blocking the wind, the city, the whole damn world.

“You cold?” he asks.

“No.”

He leans in anyway, close enough to taste.

“Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t planning on letting you leave just yet.”

Your heart stumbles. You hear the bus rolling up down the street, but he doesn’t move. Neither do you.

“I should go,” you murmur.

His eyes flick over you again—slow, heavy.

“Then why haven’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He watches your silence like it’s proof. Like he’s winning. Like he already knows how this ends.

His gaze drops low—pauses at your chest, then lower. Then back to your mouth like he still remembers that kiss you shared with him in high school.

And when he looks at you again, something’s shifted.

Deeper. Darker.

Then he smirks.

“Tell me,” he says, voice a little rough now, “you still taste like trouble?”

To be continued...

[maki-bootylicious]

Lips Like Trouble

Chapter 1: Catching Up

Rain taps soft against the metal roof of the bus shelter, a rhythm slow enough to match your pulse. The city buzzes behind you, distant, unimportant. The night smells like wet pavement and the kind of trouble that wears a smile. You should’ve stayed home. But then—

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your breath catches. That voice. Low. Smooth. Familiar like a song you forgot you loved.

You turn.

And there he is.

Taller than you remember. Broader in the shoulders. That same mouth—just a little more dangerous now. His smirk comes easy, but those eyes? They study you like he’s reading the parts no one else notices. Your skin heats under your coat.

“Wow,” you breathe. “It’s been—”

“Too long,” he finishes, stepping just close enough to share your air. “Didn’t think you’d still be around.”

You want to act cool. Like your knees didn’t just threaten betrayal. Like you don’t feel your heartbeat in places it has no business being.

“I’m full of surprises,” you say, raising a brow.

His gaze dips to your lips. Lingers. His tongue swipes across his own like he’s imagining things he shouldn’t in public. Or maybe he’s always imagined them.

“You still talk slick, huh?”

He laughs low, eyes never leaving yours. “I still like getting reactions. And you’ve always been good at giving them.”

You shift, thighs brushing. That warmth again. And the way he’s looking at you now? Like he knows what your body remembers even if your mouth won’t admit it.

“So what are you doing here?” you ask. “Still chasing girls at bus stops?”

That grin deepens. That knowing glint in his eye? Dangerous.

“Only the ones I used to dream about.”

Your lips part, and it’s not from the cold. The tension drips slow, sweet. He moves under the shelter with you, closer now, his scent wrapping around you—spice, wood, a whisper of something dark. You want to lean in. Just a little. Just to see.

“You always take the bus this late?” he asks.

“Only when fate wants to play.”

His eyes drop to your legs, slow and bold.

“Then I guess tonight’s your lucky night.”

And just like that, you forget where you were going.

To be continued...