Be nice to your new stepsister. She's uncomfortable too. Be polite. Make an effort, Edward!


Why now? 2 years and he'd be off to college and Carlisle could do whatever weird stuff he wanted. He couldn't just wait? Love doesn't wait, Edward. Gross. That's not what he said during that awkward sex talk a couple years ago… But no. Poof. Instant family. Just add water. Or vows, or whatever. Love. Blugh.

It was so weird having girls in the house. And throw pillows. And whatever other girl crap they snuck in with them. At least Bella seemed almost as uncomfortable. And Esme was leaving him alone. For now. He didn't have high hopes for that lasting much longer.

His room was a pit. Guess that made today laundry day.

Walking down the hall with the half full basket of clothes he heard Carlisle's stupid voice in his head again. Be polite. Make an effort, Edward! Not enough to run the washer anyway. Couldn't hurt, right?

So he stopped at Bella's door and knocked. No response. But with the music he heard, he wasn't surprised. Probably hadn't even heard. Already started, might as well follow through. Hmph. So he nudged the door open and called her name. But she was curled up in the window seat, staring out at the sky, and apparently, stone deaf. Fine. Whatever. She looked kind of- something, curled up like that. Cute? Sweet? Never mind! Just get it over with.

"Bella!" grabbing her shoulder at the same time. Which was a really bad plan apparently. Since she screamed, and twisted, and sort of jumped, and pushed, all at the same time. And then he was on the floor, along with the laundry, and she was like- hyperventilating? And standing. And… wet. Her t-shirt clung to her breasts and stomach, pulling and bunching as she breathed.

"Jesus Christ, Edward! You scared the shit out of me!" and she sounded mad, maybe, but he wasn't looking at her face. And then she was looking down too, and he was prepared to be reamed out. Because ogling your brand new stepsister, even if she was hosting a private wet t-shirt contest in her room for you, had to be ream worthy in at least 36 states, and most foreign countries. Maybe not, like, Alabama? Or-

"Oh my god, my shirt! Fuck! That's grape juice! This is my favorite shirt! Nonononono!"

And then she was pulling on the bottom edge, and peeling it up, and Edward was wondering if maybe he actually slammed his head into the corner or her night stand when he fell, and was currently frolicking in his own fucked up Freudian subconscious Not right. Wake up Edward.

He could see her bare stomach now, as she struggled with the shirt. He could see the muscles flexing, but it still looked soft, especially where it curved out the slightest bit along the top of her jeans. He wanted to press his face right there. She took a deep breath, and his eyes were attracted by her ribs expanding with the effort. He could see them, just barely, each one pushing out, sliding a little under the skin. It was incredible. And then. Holy god. Her breasts were free. Not free, precisely. Still contained in a small white bra. But free of her shirt, and pressed together, and heaving, and… He had to close his eyes. This was visually overwhelming. But it didn't go away. He saw her perfectly behind his own eyelids. Burned there. Forever?

He heard her leave. Water from the taps in her bathroom. Splashing. Drain. Then her coming back. Still didn't open his eyes.

"Edward! Oh my god, I can't believe I was so worried about my stupid shirt! Are you ok? I'm so sorry I pushed you!" He opened his eyes when he felt her trying to move the laundry basket off him. That- would be very bad. He opened his mouth to say- something. But his newly opened eyes focused on her, and he did nothing but gape. She was crouched over him, looking terribly concerned. In nothing but the bra and jeans. His eyes promptly snapped shut again, and somehow his mouth managed to make some sounds. Word sounds. At least.

"I, ugh, I… Sorry. Did you…. Have laundry? Or-"

"Oh! Is that why you? Of course- But- Are you ok? Did you hit your head?" And then her fingers were sliding through his hair, running across his scalp, along the edges of his face, and he shivered from the sheer deliciousness of it.



"Edward, I'm not sure you're ok…"

Oh. Hmm. No, that won't do. Right, more words.

"Umm, no, I ugh, I mean- I think I'm ok." And he risked opening one eye, and she was so incredibly close, huge shining brown eyes, pink edged cheeks, pursed lips. So close. How did he not feel her breath on his face before? But her forehead was creased, and he realized she was really worried about him. And that was nice too.

"I'm fine, I am. I- was just… a little… surprised? You um, you yelled, and…" And he gave up with a shrug that didn't quite manage to capture the last minutes, but at least alluded to it.

"Oh! Yeah. Sorry about that. I can be a little jumpy sometimes, and oblivious when I start daydreaming, which is an incredibly bad combination…" Annnnnd he was officially having a conversation with his topless stepsister. Mhhmm. Should he point it out? Indicate in some vague way that putting on a shirt might be appropriate? Not that he wanted her to. At all. In fact- never mind. But maybe it was better just to pretend he hadn't noticed at all? Oblivious was better than pervy, right? Right. This course of action was both noble and immensely improved the view.

"It was so sweet of you to come and ask." She was blushing and playing with her hands. "I don't even know how to run your washer. Could I tag along? I just need a minute to gather my things. Is that ok?"

"Oh. Ugh. Sure."

"Oh thank you, Edward!" And then he had a lap full of smiling, grateful girl, and she was hugging him and the laundry basket had been pushed to the side. Holy shit. Smiling, grateful, topless girl! Sister-girl! Sister-type girl. Gah.

He brought one hand up to give her an awkward pat on the back, and at the feel of skin on skin she stiffened and ducked back.

"Oh my god. I- I didn't-" She stuttered, turned a startling shade of red, and bolted for the bathroom. "I can't believe I- I'm so sorry. God, this is so embarrassing!"

There was some muted cursing from behind the closed door, and a muted thud that sounded suspiciously like her head hitting the door.

Then the door cracked open a bare inch. "Edward? Do you think you could pass me a shirt?"

A/N- I sat down to write something else entirely and this sprung randomly out of my brain. It's been sitting around on my hard drive for ages, and I haven't been inspired to do anything more with it, so what the heck. Enjoy. I make no promises about continuing or not continuing. My muse is painfully fickle.