all the reasons i always wear eye makeup at the very least

POPULAR TEXT POSTS + ASK MEME  (  PART 3  )

❛ i need a reasonable paying job, something like $2,000 an hour. nothing too wild. ❜
❛ idc (i do care) ❜
❛ ‘are you taken?’ yes bitch, taken for granted ❜
❛ half of me is a hopeless romantic and the other half is, well, an asshole ❜
❛ you’re yelling? at ME? the one person who has never done anything wrong ever?????? ❜
❛ you will find your home, you will find your place. you will find your people. give it a little bit of time but it will happen. ❜
❛ in order lead a happy life i’m gonna have to disappoint my parents a bit. ❜
❛ any body else here not good at anything??? ❜
❛ you can’t force people to appreciate you. ❜
❛ *puts on baseball cap* i am the dad now… ❜
❛ i fake smart.. like i’m honestly a dumbass idk shit but i know how to seem like i do.. i’m smart-passing.. ❜
❛ every straight woman who ever called her platonic friend her ‘girlfriend’ owes me $50 ❜
❛ i am a professional at misreading tones and overreacting to problems that most likely don’t exist ❜
❛ honestly if i survive the next 3 years of my life, i will be impressed with myself ❜
❛ you can’t cure sadnesses with a shower but honestly there is no purer place to suffer ❜
❛ patiently waiting for a kind soul to come along and make everything a little softer, brighter. ❜
❛ honestly i don’t even play an active role in my life, shit just happens and i’m like oh this is what we’re doing now? ok ❜
❛ no offense but if i die and no one uses a ouija board to keep me updated on memes i will literally haunt you all ❜
❛ imma start charging people for hurting my feelings $3 an hour ❜
❛ i have finally reached the age of most young adult protagonists yet my life is still uneventful??? where is my cool story??? my cool talents??? @ universe i’m pissed ❜
❛ hello, police? i accidentally stepped on my cats foot and need to be arrested ❜
❛ *tries to watch 45 minute episode in 20 minutes ❜
❛ please don’t just come in my life, take my heart and leave. please don’t do that. ❜
❛ concept: me, 10 years from now, living in a pretty house with my love, sipping a hot cappuccino on a rainy autumn afternoon. our dog curls up next to me in the window bench while our cat snoozes on the bed. i’m financially stable and i’m never tired anymore. the bees are safe. ❜
❛ i can’t believe what walkie talkies are called ❜
❛ the gorilla could have died and been done with in like a week but none of you know how to be normal ❜
❛ me: *is bitter but is also right* ❜
❛ just saw a girl in high heels long boarding to class. godspeed, my queen. ❜
❛ i’ve never belonged anywhere, i’m always just in between ❜
❛ too young for unnecessary stress, i gotta live ❜
❛ i may not be beautiful but at least i know a lot of useless information ❜
❛ i’m like always sleepy. i feel like i should be used to this by now and stop complaining about being sleepy but i can’t. always, i’m sleepy. ❜
❛ lmao no offense… but what’s the point of being mean to people for no reason ❜
❛ drunk me is the me i really want to be. confident, hilarious, and most importantly, drunk ❜
❛ “alcohol isn’t supposed to taste good” buddy watch me drink the fruitiest/sweetest shit i can find and enjoy it because i don’t hate myself enough to even begin to consider drinking like.. beer ❜
❛ tfw you’re already fully aware of the unnecessary self destructive bullshit you’re doing but you can’t bring yourself to do anything to stop it ❜
❛ hey sorry for not replying i didn’t want to ❜
❛ honestly how am i gonna make it in the world???? i get a little teary eyed any time someone compliments my personality ❜
❛ true bonding is when you and your friends are all angry about the same thing ❜
❛ *touches your hand and looks seriously into your eyes* i am a piece of shit ❜
❛ lets play ‘how rude can i be until you realize i don’t like you’ ❜
❛ i love drunk me but i don’t trust her ❜
❛ hate when i am wearing makeup and still look shitty like what else am i supposed to do? get enough sleep? eat right and exercise??? as if ❜
❛ i’m not on a high horse. i’m not even on a horse. i’m face down in a ditch on the road of life ❜
❛ i hate when people ask me what i would do in their situation because 9 times out of 10 i would literally never be in that situation in the first place ❜
❛ i barely remember the last 6 months honestly like am i even alive ❜
❛ you had me at ‘hello’ and lost me at ‘i think your friend is cute’ ❜
❛ i’m pretty sure by now ‘tired’ is just a part of my personality description ❜
❛ wow i really liked that song now i think i’ll listen to it another seventy times in a row ❜
❛ ‘shit it’s 2 a.m.’ i say every day at 2 a.m. as if i’m surprised ❜
❛ i’ve been stressed out since like the third day of second grade ❜
❛ telling other girls they look pretty is like cracking a glow stick full of positivity and female friendship ❜
❛ i want to be sun kissed and also people kissed ❜
❛ about me: glowing, eating peaches, drinking wine in lingerie, not texting your desperate ass back  ❜
❛ i highly recommend never having feelings ❜
❛ due to unfortunate circumstances, i am awake ❜
❛ i’m gonna solve mysteries so fucking good ❜
❛ what did people even wear in 2008 ❜
❛ i’ll just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  my way through life ❜
❛ you know what sucks? everything bye ❜
❛ me? overreacting? probably ❜
❛ people asking me what kind of music i like is such a stressful experience ❜
❛ honestly if i survive the next 3 years of my life i will be impressed with myself ❜
❛ if you listen carefully you can hear me whisper ‘shut the fuck up’ at least once every five minutes ❜
❛ any time you like a boy just know you played yourself. always keep that stored in your mind for later ❜
❛ hopeless romantic with trust issues and a sex drive out the roof ❜
❛ what i lack in personality i make up for in…….. nothing ❜
❛ me? cancelled ❜
❛ an app that tells you how raven something is ❜
❛ be with someone who will take care of you. not materialistically but takes care of your soul, your well being, your heart, and everything that’s you ❜
❛ i love the infinite multiverse theory because that means there’s a universe where i’ve pulled every single fire alarm i’ve ever seen ❜
❛ name a more iconic duo than the lengths i’ll go to both get attention and to avoid it… i’ll wait ❜
❛ i just want to be treated very gently and smell like vanilla and wear only matte dusty rose lipstick ❜
❛ 2017 is going to be a very healing year because it’s going to force us to accept that 2007 was ten years ago not three and i think that’s the root of our collective issues ❜
❛ i just wanna do cute things with you like crush the patriarchy, fight for gender equality, and help to destroy racism ❜
❛ i may not be that funny or athletic or good looking or smart or talented… i forgot where i was going with this ❜
❛ how is 2016 already almost over?? like this bitch came in, fucked us up, then left like she gave us a gift ❜
❛ supercalifragilisticextentialcrisis ❜
❛ stop breaking your own motherfucking heart ❜
❛ co-napping is a beautiful thing. knock out with me so i know it’s real ❜
❛ *on the verge of tears* ok not that i care, but ❜
❛ it’s not you…. it’s your zodiac sign ❜
❛ i want to be loved so bad it’s pathetic and embarrassing ❜
❛ my heart is filled with hate and swag ❜
❛ ‘i don’t care’ i say, caringly, as i care deeply ❜
❛ i highly recommend never having feelings ❜
❛ we all ugly to somebody, don’t trip ❜
❛ do i have a crush or am i just idolizing this person for being vaguely nice to me? ❜
❛ my parents were arguing today and my mom said that justin timberlake wouldn’t treat her like this ❜
❛ kissing is hella rad but no one is kissing me so that makes me hella sad ❜
❛ everyone’s having their mid-life crisis at like 19 ❜
❛ there are just people out there that are the embodiment of the sun like the things they say do light up the world and make you feel warm they are human sunshine ❜
❛ dermatologists HATE me… everyone hates me. i’m so alone ❜
❛ you know when you realize and you just… realize ❜
❛ a girl can respect herself and still take booty pics wtf y’all talkin about ❜
❛ i’m not badass i’m sadass i cry about everything ❜
❛ inspired by animal crossing, i’ve started doing this thing where i mail my best friends a framed picture of myself and then never speak to them again ❜
❛ i didn’t know double texting was such a big deal?? i have a lot to say ❜
❛ can someone please just be proud of me like fuck i’m trying ❜
❛ cosmo sex tip #367: when you’re in the mood, tell you partner ‘my spidey senses are tingling’ ❜

(  you can find the other popular text posts memes on my old blog: 1, 2 )

You’re In Love With Him But He Likes Your Best Friend

Masterlist linked in bio 


Harry’s been drinking all night.

It all started off with Savannah, whom he went to Lexi’s Bar with a couple of friends. It was a tradition they all had that carried throughout the past couple of months. Because Friday night meant cheaper alcohol, and Y/n’ s closing shift.

They were all having a good time, Y/n serving them drinks and they all drank their week away. It was just a night of celebrating the end of the week, where stress could be left behind for at least a couple of hours.

Everything was great until Harry got too handsy. It wasn’t his fault, he thinks, they had been talking for months and he had no particular reason to refrain himself from wrapping his arms around Savannah, considering she’s let him do it many times before.

But tonight, she wasn’t going near him, which was a drastic change from her previous attitude with him earlier that night.

So now, he’s stranded at Lexi’s Bar past closing hours, tipsy out of his mind. Savannah left without a word, abandoning him at the bar with no other ride home. 

Jesus, Harry!” Y/n gasps, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest when she makes her way back to the bar. “What the hell are you still doing here?!”

Their friends had left a while ago, only Harry remaining slumped against the bar with an empty glass of Malibu. She wasn’t aware of his stay, in fact, it was her closing shift and the bar had closed twenty minutes ago. Only the slight sound of the radio and the clanging of dishes Y/n was washing could be heard throughout the scene.

He looks like a mix of frustrated and upset, a clear shadow of sadness in his eyes as he looks up at her. He frowns a bit, looking back down at the empty glass that’s fiddling in his hands as he lets out an almost inaudible sigh.

“Do you mind driving me home?” he asks guiltily, “Savannah was my ride but she’s not really speaking to me right now.”

Y/n furrows her eyebrows at the softness of his words, an evident tone of helplessness when he spoke. She nods her head slightly, reaching over to grab his finished drink.

“Gonna wash this real quick,” she mutters, “you can grab your coat, I’ll be right out.”

Harry nods while shooting her a small smile through his frown. He’s always been extremely appreciative of her efforts with him. He knows damn well no other person would be able to treat him the way she does. She put him first, always, and it had always been something Harry never fully understood. She went out of the way for him whenever he needed it most, without the smallest hesitation. And if he needed someone to talk to, even if it was about the horrendous traffic on his way to work, she was always there to listen to him.

He can’t lie, he feels guilty that it’s her closing shift and she’d have to be driving out of her way in order to take him home. But in all honesty, he had nobody else. Savannah left without a word after Harry tried desperately to get her attention, his other friends following shortly after in one car, leaving Harry stranded alone at the bar with Y/n still working. So, really, this was his only option.

When Y/n returns to the front of the bar, she remains silent as she grabs her coat off of the hanger. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, watching as his fingers rub harsh circles against his temples, a gesture he’s always done when he was stressed. He shook his head slightly, shutting his eyes tightly as he fixes the jacket hanging swiftly from his shoulders.

She bites her lip, curious eyes wandering around his slumped frame. Seeing Harry distressed makes her feel upset. Witnessing him at a time of stress was extremely rare, and something about it makes Y/n’s stomach drop. He was always so positive, always making sure the people around him were smiling. He has the type of personality others strive, because he’s so selfless and effortless at everything he does, it’s the part of him Y/n always loved and admired.

“What happened? You okay?”

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, his nose flaring as he closes his eyes momentarily.

“Savannah’s just so confusing sometimes. I like her a lot, but she’s hard to keep up with. It’s like she’s into me one minute and the next like I’m completely wasting her time, you know? I don’t know what she wants from me anymore.”

Y/n nods, understanding completely what he’s talking about. Savannah often does this to him—to most guys, actually.Because of how different they both are relationship-wise, it’s almost impossible for Harry to adjust to Savannah’s ‘hard to get’ character. Harry prefers to not waste any time when it comes to dating. If he likes someone who reciprocates feelings, he immediately takes action. That’s how he always was with his past girlfriends, taking no time to start a relationship with them.

Savannah, however, loves the game. Being chased amuses her, almost makes her feel as if she’s worth something. Because of her undoubtable beauty and irresistibly charming personality, she always makes the man work for her liking. Her character always made guys frustrated but exposed them to an entirely different relationship. Her hot to cold attitude made men feel intimidated, yet motivated them to catch her. Because, undoubtedly, she’s the ultimate catch no guy could ever ignore.

It had always been that way, too. When Y/n and Savannah both hit puberty, Savannah was the irresistible one. Her figure curved at all the right edges, her tan complexion naturally glowing, and she started to expose herself to new people.

She wasn’t shy of anything. Any opportunity to take on a challenge called Savannah’s name. She was constantly seeking adventure and finding new people to get along with. Which, of course, wasn’t hard at all. Everyone liked Savannah, it was almost impossible not to.

Y/n, however, was the exact opposite. She was beautiful, but not ‘Savannah beautiful.’ She was paler, not a spot of makeup on her face. Her body was a bit more frail than hers, her curves not as extenuated. She was more introverted, as well, only speaking when she felt was necessary. The only way she was able to make friends was through Savannah’s courageous behavior.

And although Savannah and Y/n had an unbreakable bond since middle school, being Savannah’s best friend screwed up Y/n’s love life tremendously. It hurt Y/n a lot throughout her high school years. Being best friends with the most beautiful girl wasn’t easy for her, if anything, it made her feel less about herself. It’s the exact reason why she hasn’t dated in years. Because guys Y/n liked always ended up falling for Savannah.

Which is exactly what’s happening with Harry.


Y/n first met Harry when she began working at Lexi’s. It was her first Friday night shift during the summer. It was her first week after training, so she wasn’t quite used to the busy weekends and late hours, but she didn’t mind it.

She was rearranging glasses at the bar when Harry first walked in. Her breath hitched in her throat when she first saw him enter. She could have sworn her heart had jumped out from her chest in that very moment. He was beautiful, a different kind of beautiful, too. He was so effortless at it—the way he moved and the way he presented himself; he had confidence in himself without flaunting it.

He was wearing tight black jeans with a pink floral see-through button up, flowing loosely from his shoulders. His chest was in great view, as well, the cross hanging from his necklace dangling perfectly between his pecs. His hair was freshly cut, his face freshly shaved and had an aroma of a cologne Y/n wasn’t familiar with. It was unique, though, like him, and all-in-all made him more attractive than she already perceived him to be.

Her eyes went wide when he claimed the barstool in front of her, her actions coming to a halt as her eyes hawked over his every move. She genuinely forgot how to breathe, his physical features overwhelming her in ways she’s never experienced before. The world around her seemed to fade as she admired every part of him she could see.

He was just so breathtaking.

It wasn’t until one of the other bartenders dropped a glass onto the floor that Y/n was pulled out of her trance. She quickly shook her head, slowly coming back in touch with reality. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice her presence yet.

She shook her head again before working to dry the remaining shot glasses. She just had to make it a couple of hours without completely embarrassing herself in front of him, that’s all she had to do.

Her eyes drifted slightly to him again when he lifted his right leg up against the unoccupied barstool next to him, leaning over before his fingers started working to retie his shoelace.

“The usual.” he spoke, eyes still cast downward.

Y/n looked around behind the counter, checking to see if he was talking to someone else. Considering she had just started working there a week ago and hasn’t served him yet, she was completely clueless as to what he was ordering.

“Uh..”

He looked up from his shoes, eyes diverting right into hers as a sense of realization reached his features.

“Oh, I see,” he giggled, “Sorry, love. I wasn’t aware there was a new bartender in town.”

His voice was both raspy and smooth in the most elegant way she’s ever heard. His accent was so incredibly thick she could visually see it by the way his lips moved. And his giggle, with the slight smirk he developed made her heart flutter in her chest.

Y/n nodded, smiling slightly at him.

“Yeah, just started a week ago. Nobody’s ever ordered ‘the usual’ before.” she joked, nervous laughter falling from her lips as she tucked loose pieces of hair behind her ear.

He grinned at her, his cheeks turning a bit peachy. He had to admit, she was gorgeous, and clearly had a great sense of humor. He could tell she was shy, though, by the way she wasn’t confident in her words and the way her cheeks flushed whenever he spoke to her.

“Cute” he muttered ever so slightly, Y/n almost thought she imagined it, “‘The usual,’ at least for me, is a Malibu Bay Breeze. Bit heavier on the cranberry juice, a bit lighter on the pineapple.”

Y/n nodded, muttering a quiet “coming right up” before gathering the ingredients. Harry watched her as she poured it all together, mixing the essential ingredients, admiring her gestures and movements whenever he said something that made her smile.

They talked for hours that night, getting to know each other. Y/n was mesmerized, completely and utterly captivated at how somebody like him could possibly exist. He was everything she’s ever dreamed of—there wasn’t any part of him she didn’t find alluring. This was the only time she’s ever spoken to him, yet she found herself feeling something she’s never felt before.

And the feelings only got stronger with time. Every Friday for four months, Y/n found Harry coming into Lexi’s earlier than he usually did, and every time he’d come she prepared him a Malibu Bay Breeze—heavy on the cranberry, light on the pineapple.

He stayed with her until closing, until the last light went off and the music went down. And after she was off her shift, he took her to the 24-hour movie theater that hardly anybody went to in those early hours of the morning. Instead of watching, however, they spent the entire movie goofing around with popcorn and sharing fond memories of their childhood.

To say Y/n had fallen hard for Harry was an understatement. She was completely and unconditionally in love with him.

The feeling he had given her never subsided—he never failed to give her a feeling of euphoria whenever he spent his Friday nights with her. And the more he opened up to her, and the more she opened up to him, the more it felt right. He felt right, no part of her doubted that for a second. He captured her heart and she knew there was no way in hell she was ever getting it back.

Savannah even began to notice her shift in mood ever since her Friday night shifts began. It was as if she turned into an entirely different person. She seemed more confident in herself, and Savannah started noticing the softest of smiles illuminating on her face every so often.

Y/n was the happiest she had ever been before, she swore she was on cloud nine. Y/n started to believe nothing could have torn her down. Nothing.

But then, it happened.

Savannah showed up to Lexi’s during Y/n’s regular Friday night shift. It was a little past midnight, arriving back from her aunt’s wedding—which Y/n would have attended if she didn’t need the money (and if it wasn’t during her shift Harry was a frequent customer in).

She ran in with a long eggplant purple dress, which had a long slit along the leg. Her hair curled in perfect waves that fell loosely down her shoulders, her makeup illuminating and extenuating her flawless features.

“Y/n!” She squealed, scurrying her way to the bar while nearly tripping over her six-inch heels.

Y/n saw Harry’s eyes widen at the sight of her. Of course she visited her when Harry’s here, and of course, she visited when she looked as beautiful as ever. Y/n knew the second Savannah walked in that it was over, every possibility of her and Harry building up to a relationship has been knocked down to the ground.

Y/n closed her eyes momentarily, because she started to feel every part of her heartbreak, and it was the most painful feeling she’s ever felt. Harry’s only seen Savannah for a couple of seconds and he was already looking at her in a way he never has with Y/n.

She gritted her teeth harshly, because how did she think this wouldn’t happen? This was always how it ended, and even if Harry ever liked Y/n enough to start a relationship with her, she wouldn’t be able to hide him from Savannah forever.

“Guess what!” she yelled once she found her way to the bar, leaning against it so she was as close as possible to Y/n.

“What?” Y/n smiled weakly, unable to rid the aching in her chest.

“The photographer at the wedding asked me to be a model for his pictures! And not only that, but he just started working for Top Shop, said he could talk to some people for me to make this work! Can you believe it?! Savannah Turk, next top model! Gosh, I’m so excited!”

Y/n smiled widely. It was always Savannah’s dream to become a model, and she could definitely pull it off. In all honesty, she was shocked she wasn’t one already.

“That’s great, Savannah!” Y/n gasped, “I can’t believe this! I’m so happy for you!”

They both reached over to hug each other, Savannah jumping up and down as small squeals fall from her lips. Once they let go, Y/n is quick to fix up Savannah’s favorite drink as she claims the barstool next to Harry.

Harry’s heart began to race as she scooted closer to him. She was completely breathtaking. He had never seen someone like her before, every part of her intrigued him. She drew him in, and there was no way in hell there was any chance of going back.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

Savannah let out a slight “push” as she waved her hand in the air.

“I know, Y/n doesn’t shut up about you.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, but quickly refrained against her shocked expression as she let out a nervous laugh. God, they couldn’t know about her feelings, because she hadn’t told anybody about how she felt about Harry and certainly wanted to avoid talking about it while he’s practically gawking over Savannah.

Harry looked up at Y/n with a playful smirk resting perfectly on his face.

“Well, who else is going to get me through my Friday night shifts?” Y/n laughed.

Harry lifted his drink up to her, eyebrows lifting as he smirked at her, “And who else is going to get me through my loneliness, eh?”

Ouch.

Savannah’s eyebrows lifted, a wide grin on her face as she looked over to Harry. And by God, he surely was a sight to see.

“Oh, so ‘Friday night shift boy’ is lonely? Don’t know why Y/n hasn’t taken advantage of that yet,” Savannah smirked, “I know I would have.”


Y/n nods again, mustering up a sympathetic smile to him. She doesn’t want any part of Savannah’s games to make him feel bad about himself. None of what he’s feeling is his fault, and every atom in her body aches for him to know that.

“I’m sorry, Harry” she whispers, “I know how much that can hurt, you don’t deserve it.”

He gives her a soft smile, but it falls just as quickly as it spreads. His gaze falls to the floor, eyebrows furrowing as he shakes his head softly.

“I just can’t keep doing this with her.”

His soft and Bambi eyes look up at her in sorrow, a frown stretched on his lips at the strain his heart has endured.

“I don’t know what more I can do, Y/n.”

And as selfish as it sounds, the first thought that comes to her mind after the hopeless words leave Harry’s mouth is you can love me back.

Because, God, if he loved her, she wouldn’t keep him waiting. She wouldn’t keep him under the impression that he’s not good enough. No, Harry’s fulfilled every part of her wildest dreams, and she would never let a day go by without making him feel the way he deserves—loved.

Despite her selfish thoughts that she desperately wishes she could say to him, she pushes them all aside. Harry needs her, he needs her to be the friend that will be there for him in the latest hours of the night. He needs her shoulder to lean on, and she can’t deny the chance to help him through this and make him feel better.

She doesn’t respond to him, only slinging her bag around her shoulder and pointing her head toward the exit doors.

“We can talk about this later, yeah? Lets just get you home first.”


The ride to his house was silent, mainly consisting of the soft tune on the radio and Y/n’s hushed voice singing along. With the alcohol still buzzing inside Harry’s head, he didn’t mind the silence they shared. It was comfortable because Harry wasn’t in the mood to discuss his anticlimactic relationship with Savannah. He just needed someone to listen to him, to be there for him, and Y/n was his favorite company.

When they arrive at his house, Y/n is basically carrying Harry to his door.

“Yeah, alright, you—that’s right, you’re good” she huffs, the weight of his body making it a struggle for her to walk.

He isn’t drunk enough for her to completely guide him, but he is stumbling a bit and does find himself tripping over his own two feet a couple of times.  

Y/n giggles, shaking her head as she walks him through his front door. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have made you that many drinks. Thank God you weren’t planning on driving, that would have been a mess.”

Harry doesn’t have much time to respond before she sits him down on his couch. She runs her thumb along his forehead softly, wiping away some of the sweat before smiling at him softly.

"Gonna make you some tea, now.”

Harry shakes his head, his hand reaching to grab her wrist.

“Love, you don’t have to,” Harry shakes his head, “you’ve been making everybody’s drinks all night.”

She shrugs, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“I don’t mind. You’re upset, I want to make sure you feel better, alright? I know that Savannah does this to you and I don’t—“ she pauses, closing her eyes softly, “and I don’t want you to keep thinking that this is your fault.”

His heart swells at her words, his large hands reaching out to grip her small ones.

“Would you mind just—just lying down with me for a bit? I don’t want the tea, just need your company right now.”

Y/n frowns slightly, and she isn’t sad because she doesn’t want to be with him. What makes her sad is the intimacy of holding him would give her no chance to escape her feelings. Whenever she feels the heartbreak sneaking back up on her, she always finds a way to distract herself from the pain. Whether it was rearranging her bedroom, organizing the books on her bookshelf, or focusing on her work, there was always a way to escape the pain.

But it’s when she feels him—whether it’s the touch of his hand, or a rub of the shoulder—when she feels his skin ignite her and when she feels the warmth of is body against her, there was no running away from the harsh reality she’s been living in. There is no escape from the thought that she’s in love with someone she can never have because all she feels when she feels him is broken.

And it’s in these moments she finds herself being most selfish. Because he needs her now, holding him, reassuring him that everything will be okay. He’s going through the same feeling she is, and all she can think about is her stupid self and her broken heart, even when he needs her most.

She lays down on his couch first, which Harry finds particularly inviting. He lays with his head face down against her neck, legs tangled in between hers with his arms wrapped around her back. He loves cuddling with her. She’s just so soft, and she feels cozy, especially after he drinks heaps of alcohol. He hasn’t cuddled with her for a while, either, and holding her against him now already makes his shitty night somewhat tolerable.

“Thank you for being with me, Y/n” he mumbles against her collar bone, the fabric of her t-shirt moving against his lips. “And I’m sorry I made you drive me back.”

She giggles softly, her fingers brushing through his messy bed of curls. She feels him relax into her the more she rakes his hair, and he doesn’t hesitate to keep her motions going.

“It’s okay, didn’t have any other plans. Besides, I kind of miss being alone with you sometimes.”

He hums in response, pressing his cheek further into her neck. His eyes shut, his body relaxing to the sound of her heartbeat, which he feels thumping perfectly against his chest.

“S’good to me” he mumbles, “don’t know what I’d do without you, you know.”

Y/n feels her heart skip at the words he spoke against her, her whole body getting an overwhelming sense of despondency.

“Harry, I—“

“I think I’m gonna keep fighting for her” Harry interjects.

His voice is slurring now, his half-asleep daze making his words all jumbled. But he knows what he’s saying, and Y/n knows, too, and her heart plummets. Her throat suddenly begins to choke on cries she wasn’t aware had come so quickly. It’s just another reminder, just another confirmation that Savannah always gets what she wants, even if Y/n wants it more.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna give up on her yet. If I like her, I gotta fight for it, right? She’d be well worth it, too.”

Y/n tries desperately to blink away her tears, and she’s forever grateful that the light is off in his living room when she fails to do so.

“I—I think you should do what you want, Harry” her voice shakes as she speaks, “I’ll be here for you either way.”

Harry holds her tighter, humming in response again, because he’s already falling asleep and finds no energy in him to answer her.

She wishes with everything in her that she can scream, scream at him for being so fucking stupid and oblivious to her love. And the worst part is that she can’t even blame him. She had an entire four months where she could have confessed her feelings, where she could have told him how in love with him she was.

But would it have changed anything? Would they have just ended up in this shitty situation anyway?

And it isn’t until Harry’s passed out on top of her, his breath spreading along her chest and his fingers rubbing her back in his slumber that Y/n realizes she could spend forever laying here with him, all wrapped up against his body. She could fall asleep like this every night, after a long day of work and empty wine glasses on the coffee table. She could see everything, everything she’s ever envisioned, with him.

And it’s in this moment she realizes that she can’t keep doing this anymore, either.

Her cheeks dampen with her tears, hands shaking in his hair. Never would she think she’d have to let him go, but seeing his face rest so peacefully on her chest, she knows she has to.

“I love you, Harry.” She cries, her fingers gripping onto the roots of his hair.

God, Harry, I love you so much.” she sobs.

If Harry wasn’t such a deep sleeper, she would have never dreamt of saying all of this. But he’s remaining asleep, lips parted as he snores, the alcohol in his veins making him almost immobile against her.

“You deserve to be happy, Harry” she whispers, “I shouldn’t hold you back.”

Her body is shaking, soft cries leaving her lips and endless tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t want to let go, she doesn’t want to stop loving him in the way she does now. Because even though it hurts, she doesn’t want to imagine a day without him.

But she has to. For him.

Her thumbs rub along his cheekbones, her eyes admiring his features one last time.

“And it’s because I love you—“ she pauses, swallowing thickly as her shaking lips press tentatively against his forehead, “that I have to let you go.”

Hot Blooded (M)

Originally posted by eatjin

Summary: As the Crown Princess, you are never seen wearing the same dress twice. Many attribute this to your wealth or your status. If only they knew the reason for your constantly changing wardrobe, was the fact that your husband can never keep from literally ripping your clothes off.

Member: Jin

Word Count: 3.4k

Genre: Smut, Fluff

A/N: A continuation of sorts to Blue Blooded, as I was highly amused by Seokjin’s frustration with dresses as well as the revelation that the man has the strength to literally pick up Taehyung and toss him around (courtesy of an ISAC fancam).

Blue Blooded

As the Crown Princess, you are never seen wearing the same dress twice. Many attribute this to your wealth or your status, the styling of your attire always a topic on the lips of the ladies that attend parties at the palace, and sometimes even some men. If only they knew the reason for your constantly changing wardrobe, was the fact that your husband can never keep from literally ripping your clothes off.

“Jin!” You chastise him when you hear the ripping of fabric as a part of your bodice tears, letting your dress loosen enough so that he can slip the garment completely off your body.

“Sorry,” he mutters against the skin of your neck, starting to walk you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. You sigh, not really sure how sorry he actually is, considering this is the third time this week this has happened.

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i quit sephora and now i feel much more comfortable being able to talk about my issues with makeup culture as it has evolved, so here’s a bit of a venting session from me! wall of text ahead!

to start: i think makeup is great, it’s incredibly fun, and i will alway stand by it as an invaluable method of immediate and non-permanent self-modification. it can help a lot of people with self expression and (mostly gender) presentation, and the fact that there are so many people who feel truer to their internal selves with the help of makeup is wonderful. 

BUT, that said, makeup culture itself is awful. i was in cosmetic sales for about 3 years, i’ve been an avid makeup enthusiast for a good decade, and it disheartens me the way people come to view themselves because of makeup culture. before i worked at sephora i was much more optimistic about makeup, and y’all would see me go blue in the face defending it– working in cosmetics shed a LOT of light on the things i would prefer to ignore. 

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2

Something New, Something Old

A belated Kuroken Day collaboration​ ~
Story by @nimbus-cloud
Art by @mookie000

Fic continues under the read more

Kuroo Tomoko was a confident woman; not completely lacking in humility as the word ‘pride’ might suggest, no, she was confident.  She had faith in her abilities (and her son’s, whatever she might say), and she held her observational skills in high regard.  It was how she had known her son’s sexuality long before he finally outed himself and how she knew now that Kenma was nervous standing in front of her. 

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Frat Boy Pt. 9

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6,  part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8

IT’S BEEN TOO LONG FRATTY FRIENDS! Literally - Six. Months. Or longer. Here’s the RECAP if you need to catch up on your infuriating frat boy shenanigans in a fun and easy fashion! It’s been a while, and we’re learning about Harry now… be fragile with him. As always, please tell me your thoughts after reading! It takes a moment but when I feel people are involved in this project it motivates me to continue with it. Anyways, I’ve already kept you waiting long enough…Thank you for sticking with us. ENJOY! xx

18 Morning View Drive

Coast Hills, CA

Then, exactly an hour and thirty minutes later:

7 pm.

Those were the only things Harry had texted you. Just the address.

“I don’t even know if I want to go anymore,” you whined, looking at your phone once more before tossing it on the bed. “He clearly hates me and doesn’t want me to go.”

“I thought you told me he said you could though!”

“Only because it sounded like he had to! His sister was practically forcing the words out of him.”

Renny cringed. “Sister…Yeah I’m sorry, I’m still not over it.” You groaned at the reminder and she sighed in response. “Okay listen, just be yourself! Try not to hate him.” You felt your eyebrows rise higher than hairline.

“And this is coming from a girl who loathes him more than her entire being?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just think he’s an entitled asshole, but you clearly don’t otherwise you wouldn’t be going to the dinner. Now, nude pump or suede bootie?” She held up the two shoes she was gracious enough to let you borrow and you bit the inside of your cheek. You did think he was an entitled asshole, but… you were curious. So undeniably curious and how many girls could say they went over to a family dinner at the Styles’ house? Not that that was your primary reason for going but…

“Uh, Y/N?” she prompted.

“Bootie,” you said quickly, snapping yourself out of further self-analysis.  You weren’t sure if you liked the boy, but you were definitely… interested. Renny went to the closet and came back with two dresses.

You shook your head.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re a little…fancy.” You bit your tongue, not allowing ridiculous to form. You shook your head.

“Yeah it’s a family dinner. Jeans will be fine,” you reasoned. You plucked your favorite denim from the drawers and Renny gasped as if you’d smacked her across the face. “And a t-shirt,” you added with a smirk. She gasped louder and clutched her chest.

“No no no no no. No!” She raised her finger to you, stalking to the closet again, the cocktail dresses abandoned to the floor. “If you’re wearing these booties you’re at least wearing a blouse. God, who are you?” She plucked a peachy top and a blazer from the inside of the closet, but you snatched the blazer from her hands and put it back on the hanger, opting for the cream sweater instead.

“I want to be comfortable, not looking like I’m going to a business meeting ya dingas.” She snorted at the term and you pulled her in for a hug, clinging to her for a moment. She always seemed so soft and you weren’t sure if it was the Victoria’s Secret body lotion she used or if she was just blessed with naturally smooth skin.

“Renny?” you mumbled against her chest, arms still securely wrapped around her.

“Yeah?”

Your mind raced with hundreds of questions. What were you doing? Was this absolutely stupid? How do you know if you like someone?

“Your boobs are comfy,” you finally sighed. You knew she couldn’t possibly give you explanations for any single one of those things. She wasn’t exactly a love guru, but she was entirely the best at texting and the art of flirting.

“Thanks. Niall thinks so too.” You squeezed her tighter before it registered what she’d said. “Gross,” you mumbled, letting go with a laugh.  You only let her put the bare minimum makeup on you and she was just finishing up with a coat of mascara when there was a knock on the door. She stopped.

“I thought you said he wasn’t going to pick you up.”

You shook your head. “He isn’t. I’m driving.” Renny paused, listening, as if she’d be able to hear what was going on just beyond the door. The mascara wand was set on the bathroom countertop and she crept to the door. You weren’t under any illusions that he would swing by your place beforehand so you weren’t going to bother wasting precious energy on “what-if”s, though your heart still picked up its pace in expectation. The door creaked open at the last swish of the mascara wand.

“Niall?”

Expectations you didn’t want in the first place fell when you heard her voice raise in pitch. Of course it wasn’t Harry.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by.” His satisfaction at having surprising her was evident in his smug tone and you tip-toed out, not having had a proper one-on-one with Niall since the night of the party.

“You alone?” he whispered to her.

You saw Renny shake her head before you took a step out. A bit of guilt hit you thinking about the spontaneous kiss, but it was so long ago. I mean, you were going to Harry’s house tonight and Niall just came for some one-on-one time with Renny. At this point the kiss just seemed…a bit irrelevant. Renny faced you as if to gesture “see! Not alone” and his blue eyes focused on you as if nothing had changed. But then they did.

“Oh, hey Y/N, what’re you doing here?” he shrugged and shifted his weight. Renny was oblivious to the awkward shift.

“Um, I live here?” you crossed your arms, brows furrowing a bit.

He thought it over but for a second before he shook his head, lips quirking up in their innocent schoolboyish charm. “Right. Must be tired or somethin’.”

“Or somethin’” Renny teased. Niall poked her sides and she twisted out of reach, only leaning back again to smack him playfully across the chest.

“Alright love birds, I’m headed out. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye then,” Niall said, arm already sneaking around Renny’s waist. She mouthed an “OMG” to you at his display of affection while you tried not to vom. But when the door closed shut you couldn’t help but think about how natural it seemed for his arm to wrap around her waist.

—–

“OH GEE, THANKS for putting on your BLINKER - not. ASSHOLE!” you shouted, almost wishing your window was down and that the pompous senior citizen wearing ray bans at night could hear you. Since you were a decent and intelligent human being you put on your blinker and switched lanes, trying to follow Siri. Grandpa was driving a Porsche and he cut you off only to go 5 miles per hour. Your 1990 Chevy Cavaleir was driving faster than that and he thinks he can cut you off just because he has a better- you exhaled hard through your nostrils.  No. He wasn’t worth it.  You’d left in plenty of time, 30 minutes early actually, even though it’d only take about 20 to get there.

The only problem was your phone was verifiably ancient and your navigation was the slowest thing known to man. Once you’d gotten off the freeway, you’d made three wrong turns because your navigation was being ditzy and not telling you how close 600 feet was. And now the entitled drivers of Coast Hills decided you’d be okay with them cutting! you! off! Your hands squeezed the steering wheel a little too tight.

The ocean hugged your side on the highway for another five minutes, but each glimpse you tried to steal to it was futile. It was dark, an expansive pitch-black body stretching as far as your eyes- well, couldn’t see. It left you with a chilling feeling as you turned up the winding hills to the mansions waiting at the top. They were nestled all along the drive up, though hidden by hedges and various gates, and at the very tops all you could see were their lights already glistening, making the hills twinkle with light. Perhaps tonight they could see the water better from their perch above, but a part of you doubted it. No matter which way you tried to look at it, darkness somehow refused to be penetrated.

But you bet it looked gorgeous when the sun came up.

In 200 feet, make a right on Coast Hills Drive.

“Shit,” you cursed, quickly getting in the right lane and ignoring the honk of a horn. You didn’t have time to put on your blinker and as soon as you slammed on the accelerator to turn, you were slamming on the brakes. The iron gates were intimidatingly high and the guard that hopped out of his security room didn’t look amused. A mounted sign read “Coast Homes” behind a trickling waterfall that fell against a stone wall and massive palm trees stood beside it. And then there was you.

A knock on your window practically had you jumping out of your skin.

“Are you lost?” the guard asked. It looked as if his mouth was already open to give you directions, hands raising to point you someplace else, but you shook your head.

“No, not lost.” And his mouth closed at your words, hands quickly dropping to his sides and confirming your suspicions.

“Are you here to see someone then?” he prompted.

“Harry. Uh, Harry Styles.” A slight buzz ran through you saying those words. You were here to see him. You were actually invited to the Harry’s house. Oh god, what if you saw his bedroom?

His eyes narrowed a bit at the name.

“I mean, I’m here to see his family?” you suddenly clarified. As if it were necessary. As if he wouldn’t believe that you were here to see him alone. It didn’t make it much more believable though.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

He looked to the back of your car to check the license plate and you felt a twinge of annoyance. “Pull up then.” He used two fingers to beckon you forward before quickly jogging to the security room. You stopped closer to the gate and he scrolled through the computer with a furrowed brow, clucking when he found your name. “You’re here.” But it sounded like “wish you weren’t.” The heavy mechanics of the printer and a dull screech sounded as something printed, and he plucked a sheet of paper from the machine, holding it out to you.

“This is your pass. It’ll last until tomorrow in case you spend the night so don’t worry about tickets or anything like that as long as this is properly displayed on your dash.” He tapped your windshield as if you weren’t aware where your dash was located and you smiled.

“Thank you, it’ll only be for a few hours- tops.”

He nodded and then, as if you were old friends and he was admitting you into a secret club of his, said quietly, “Their visitors don’t usually last too long.” He straightened up instantly, his moment of gossiping weakness vanished with his once-again professional posture. He gave you a nod. “Have a good night!” The gate opened and you called out a quick thank you before entering the most brilliant display of wealth you’d ever seen.

Lawns were perfectly manicured as you passed, some opting for Mediterranean fashions and others expansive Spanish villas with imported tropical plants. Most cars you assumed were inside of the mansions in their garages, but the ones that weren’t inside weren’t any less impressive. “Ferrari, Porsche, oh! Tesla,” you muttered. It was like all the fancy cars you’d ever seen in passing on the highway had the same destination. Here. You stopped counting how many you saw on your hand when you got to 14. And the houses… they were the largest you’d ever seen. They were more like hotels than mere houses.

You’d seen glimpses from below, and recalled the many times you’d stare up at them dreamily on late night cruises to get back home from work, the lights beautifully transforming the hilltops and making you feel like it was an early Christmas. From below you seemed to forget how massive they would be in person.  How they hinted at lives being lived just out of reach. Staring at them up close now, you somehow felt they were even more so.

Make a right on Morning View Drive, then, in 500 feet, your destination is on your right.

You swallowed hard despite yourself as you turned right, suddenly thinking that Renny’s idea of a dress wasn’t that ridiculous of an outfit. But it was too late now, especially when you drove down a street just as manicured as the rest, but somehow seemed wider. The streets alone…They were about twice- no, three times the size of your own in width. And the houses were separated far from each other, far enough that one property easily took up the space of four large houses. You tried to zero in on the numbers along the houses – only to realize they were hidden. By gates. More gates? What were they hiding in there, the Crown jewels?

Your destination is on your right.

Your body jolted forward as your twitchy legs hit the brakes too hard and your car started drifting forward again as your foot relaxed.

Another jolt to stop before you ran into the mailbox.

You couldn’t see a number, but you didn’t think you had too. Forget the other houses - this was the largest home you’d ever seen, fitting for how well known the Styles family was. It was a Spanish Mediterranean style mansion with golden lanterns adorning windows and balconies…and this was just what you could see from what was rising above the iron gate surrounding the property. It sat prominently in the middle of the street, both intimidating and more striking than any of its neighbors, and the largest too – your gaze ran all the way down the gate; it took up the rest of the street until the end of the hill where it’d drop off into a deep valley and eventually run straight into the ocean. You’d seen that view from the highway a thousand times, but it was different to be on the other side of it now. You knew the Styles were rich, but you didn’t think they owned an entire coastal hilltop.  

You awkwardly repositioned the car and drove up to the callbox, but paused, looking to your purse hesitantly. Should you just call Harry on his cell? You rolled your eyes and leant out to press the little call button and the buzz that instantly droned in the air made your hand recoil in a snap and left your mouth suddenly very dry. This was real. This was happening.

Awesome.

You swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself you shouldn’t peel out of his driveway and drive straight back home to Renny and your ducky pajama shorts.

The droning stopped, and a long high-pitched beeeeeep sounded, which triggered the gates. There was muffling on the other end of the line as the iron gates started peeling back, and you could’ve sworn you heard a voice say, “Is that her?” Your hands were mildly shaking as they reached to put the car back in drive, from fear? Excitement? Admittedly, a bit of both.

You drove up the cobblestone drive through a yard lush with tropical plants that had to have been imported, but your gaze was quickly stolen by the resort-like property you’d be entering at any moment. Columns stood tall and the encased chandelier emitted a warm glow where the intricate glass doorway stood. The click of your booties walking along the cobblestone seemed loud as you walked to the front and tentatively raised a hand to the door. You knocked softly for fear the intricate glass would break, though it did seem expensive and thick enough…

You looked back to the only car in the driveway – yours. Their cars were probably hidden and well-kept from the elements in one of the three garages you’d parked in front of. The dent you’d received from last year’s fender-bender was still obvious even in this dim lighting. The crickets seemed peaceful tonight.

“Welcome!”

You turned sharply at the high-pitched voice to see Gemma. She held a full champagne flute in her hand, and leant a bit on the dark wood rim of the door, looking every bit as beautiful as you’d remembered – more so, now that you saw the cocktail dress she was wearing.

“Hi!” you mirrored her enthusiasm.  She ushered you in, not noticing it was a mere mask for how totally unprepared you felt. “Was I, uh, was this like a formal occasion?” you whispered, eyes darting down the long hall. The blank stare she gave you made your anxiety about being the most awkward human bean rise to new levels.

“What, formal?” Gemma looked baffled for a moment. “Oh! No, not at all. All my other clothes are dirty and I’ve been refusing for Sven or Eli to do them.” She took in your lost eyes. “The house maids- or, housemen? Not sure which,” she clarified. Her eyes quickly darted over your cardigan and jeans. “You look wonderful by the way. Dinner’s only just begun, I promise.” You smiled warmly at her, suddenly becoming aware of the chatter and silverware scraping the plates. A grand piano sat in the entrance, and there was a surprising amount of marble for the Spanish exterior of the house. Chandeliers lined the tall ceilings all the way down and some orchestra music you weren’t sophisticated enough to name filled the air.

She started walking down the hall, and you trailed behind her, your heart rate accelerating from the anticipation of seeing Harry in his home. It sounds weird, but you’d never been able to picture him at a proper house, with a family, with a childhood really… just the fraternity.

“Y/N is here!” She called out just as she turned the corner. Seven pairs of eyes locked on you and you instantly tugged on your sleeves. Especially when you only recognized two. Harry sat beside the head of the table, his eyes locked on the plate of food, and a surprise. Sorority Viv was beside him. You wanted to scowl, but you tugged the sleeves of your sweater down instead.

“Hi,” you put up a hand and braced a smile.

“Well we didn’t think you were coming,” a woman said. Her blonde bob looked strangely familiar and Harry’s eyes snapped to her when she spoke. Even from here you saw them harden.

“Oh..uh,” you looked down at your watch. 6:55. “I’m sorry, I thought dinner started at 7.”

“You’re fine dear,” the man at the head of the table assured. Mr. Styles you assumed. He had kind features and softened wrinkles by his eyes when he smiled like now. He was like a George Clooney and, even though he had gray hair, he was tan and somehow it was fashionable. But something was off.

“It was meant to be 6,” she noted, and her pearl necklace jostled as she leant over and placed her empty glass of champagne on the table and beckoned you to the seat in front of Harry. “Well come in! Please,” her voice sounded sincere but the thin smile radiated about as much warmth as a frozen potato. Gemma squeezed your shoulder as she passed and sat at the next empty one a few chairs down. You pulled yours out next to a fair-skinned boy with light dull brown hair and he offered his hand. It was like porcelain, so it was a little unnerving when you grasped it and found he was actually warm.   

“Charlie,” he said, and you realized he was the boy you saw kissing Gemma.

“Y/N,” you smiled. You looked across to Viv and did the same, and she returned it, if a little unwilling. She looked to Harry again, who’d busied himself more with food.

“Hey,” you said, but it was into the void, his eyes elsewhere probably looking at the thousand dollars worth of décor – your embarrassment was swallowing you up until Viv nudged him. He looked up, eyes distant, and they locked on your own for only a second.

“Hi.”

It was mortifying.

“So-” Charlie cleared his throat- “You guys are mates then I reckon?”

“We’re not sure what they are,” Gemma piped in.

“What do you mean?” Viv asked, looking to Harry.

“Yes, what do you mean?” Mrs. Styles suddenly halted the conversation at the other head of the table with the couple beside her. Harry’s face morphed into a scowl.                               

“Gemma,” he warned.

“Mary, please,” Mr. Styles sighed.

“Harry,” Gemma and Mary spoke at the same time.

“So!” Charlie let out a nervous laugh. “The chicken’s really good isn’t it?” He forked another bite into his mouth and you were envious you couldn’t do the same. Just like that, a gloved hand reached down and gingerly set down a china plate with the juiciest piece of chicken and capers you think you’d ever get the privilege of eating.

“Thank you,” you looked back to the kitchen help before he could disappear, black and white uniform and all. “You have a lovely home Mr. Styles. And Mrs. Styles.”

“Oh honey my mother-in-law is Mrs. Styles. I’m Mary, and he is Lionel.” Her voice was bubbly like the champagne she twirled around, but so was her friendly tone – full of air.

“Oh, okay.” You busied yourself with picking up the silverware before stealing a glance to Harry. His demeanor was different than usual, eyes glued to his food, cheek sucked in as he lightly gnawed on it. He was still, but .. sad? No.

…despondent?

“Did practice tire you out?”

His eyelashes fluttered at the sound of your voice and he looked up, lips pursing just the slightest. It was a miracle he hadn’t ignored you.

“No…”- a brief lift of his shoulders, a shake of the head, then- “No,” he repeated, forking a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Yeah, you have been awfully quiet-OW,” Charlie began coughing and Gemma threw him a glare.

“Harry’s never quiet.”

“And how would you know that?” Harry suddenly snapped to life and the room dropped by ten degrees. She raised the napkin neatly to her mouth before slowly tucking it below her.

She took a deep composed breath.

“Oh please Harry,” her oddly placed laugh made you tug your sweater tighter to your body. “I’ve lived with you long enough don’t you think?”

“Long enough? Yeah I completely agree.” A sarcastic half grin spread across his face and something tugged within you that made you want to kiss it away. You heard yourself thinking and it made you sick. Kiss? KISS??!

You stuffed another bite in your mouth.

“So Y/N what’s the story here?”

You look up, cheeks full. Mr. Styles – Lionel, laughed a bit at the sight and his laugh didn’t make you want to cringe into your sweater like his wife’s. “Sorry darling, I’ll let you finish.”

You swallowed a little too fast.

“What are you studying here? How do you know Harry?”

“I’m majoring in Biology, but we’re in English class together.”

“Biology! I’ll drink to that,” Lionel lit up and raised his flute.

“Lionel’s the best doctor in Southern California.” Mary crossed her heart, and Lionel shook his head lightly.

“She exaggerates.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at his comment, but he continued, “If you ever need an internship or if you want to come visit one day…feel free.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out an extremely thick, extremely white business card as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “So… just class?” He gestured between you and Harry once more.

“Well, he’s also quite a good soccer player so I’m pretty sure the whole school knows him.”

“I wouldn’t say the whole school,” Harry started, but his eyes were fixed on Lionel and the way he broke into an easy smile.

“So we’ve heard. We’ve seen him play once or twice, haven’t we?” He looked to Mary who nodded. She soundlessly raised the napkin to her mouth again but she didn’t speak. “Yeah, he’s quite good.”

“Really good,” Viv crooned.

“Could you pass the water please?” Gemma asked.

“What?” Mary arched a thin brow.

“The water,” Gemma repeated.

“Water,” Lioinel mimicked the accent and broke into a smile. “You can’t ever leave Gemma, it’s decided. I’d miss your voice too much.”

Something snapped in you. He lifted the heavy vase of water effortlessly and passed it on to her, oblivious of the gears turning in your head. The accent.

Mr. Styles didn’t have one.

And neither did Mary?

“You don’t have accents?” It was out before you could stop it and the table fell silent. It was one of those awful moments when everyone’s brows were squished and slow side glances were given. And a nauseating feeling spread through you when you realized you might have said a very wrong thing. Viv nervously looked to Harry.

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

Harry cleared his throat. “I mean, technically we all have accents.”

“He’s right,” Gemma said, pointing her fork.

“But you’re…are you British?”

“I am!” Charlie said.

“Yes you idiot,” Gemma nudged him, and Lionel laughed a bit before shaking his head.

“No darling, we’re from here. Born and bred beach bums.” He threw up the shaka sign in true dad-fashion but Mary tipped her champagne flute back.

Harry snorted.

“Never say that again.”

“Why am I embarrassing you?”

Harry didn’t bat an eye.

“Oh come on…Charlie smiled.” Lionel innocently looked over for support, but Charlie’s gaze was locked deep on his chicken by then.  

“You’re lying,” Harry shrugged. “You never go to the beach. Can’t be a host that lies to its guest can we?” Harry turned to you and you froze. “You don’t like liars do you? Cause I don’t.”

“What has gotten into you?” Lionel’s voice was breathless, incredulous.

The table fell silent and the two looked at each other from opposite ends of the table. Lionel set his glass down and a tint of disbelief reflected in his eyes.

“I’ve never seen you there it’s just funny to hear you say it,” Harry continued calmly.

“What’re you talking about I took you sailing all the time.”

“I’ve seen pictures!” Viv said, “Oh you were so cute in your little outfits, don’t you remember?” But her voice sounded overenthusiastic, keen to change the subject.

“Sure and how old was I again Vivvy?”

His retort was instant, the question harmless enough, but it was the way he said it that made Viv’s face instantly fall. For a moment, you even felt bad for her she seemed so genuinely hurt. Mary rubbed her mouth with the napkin so hard you weren’t sure if the red on her lips was blood or makeup. Do you speak? Make a mad dash for the door? Sorry, I didn’t sign up to be on an episode of the Housewives - gotta blast! Then you could throw the thumbs up sign to Harry on your way.

No. You couldn’t. You didn’t even dare to breathe right now.

Gemma watched wordlessly, just as much at a loss as you. More so, it seemed, for her mouth open and closed multiple times, but each time it was a hopeless attempt. Lionel rose his brows, took a deep breath, and leaned back. He looked tired.

Harry’s eyes had barely flitted over to yours before retreating again and in that brief moment you looked at him, it’s as if he realized what he’d said. His cheeks flushed, but his jaw was locked.

Okayy, someone woke up on the wrong side of his small fraternity bed this morning. But you’re welcome to come back and live with us. Have your nice king sized bed again…” It sounded like a nice offer but if you listened hard enough you could’ve sworn you detected something sharp.

“Oh funny joke Lionel,” Mary laughed humorlessly, slowly turning to you. “Harry’s always been independent.”

I wanted Gemma to reach out, to whisper a concerned Harry as a warning, because right now his eyes were dark, brewing a storm of blood rain from invisible scars he’d cut open himself. How deep did they run?

“Yes, funny, funny, that’s what we are,” Lionel said, but there was no smile on his face, he was rubbing the corners of his mouth with the napkin and setting it down on his clean plate. “Sorry about this.”

As if Harry wasn’t in the room. As if you didn’t feel as though you were in the most awkward position you could’ve been placed in, plopped in the middle of a tug of war you didn’t really remember signing up for. Were you supposed to be on a side?  

“Dinners aren’t usually like this, I don’t know why he’s-”

“I don’t know why we’re having this dinner. Are you done?” Harry asked Viv. Her plate was still full of vegetables and at least half the chicken.

“Actually-”

“Great! Are you done?” He turned to you in all his over-animation, and in his dark green eyes you felt a sudden sympathy. It wasn’t right what he was doing, but he could only be acting out for a reason. Or multiple.

Or perhaps he was a just a selfish petulant boy.

Whatever the reason there was a wild plead in his gaze and you didn’t want to disappoint.

But you were also very much aware of Lionel waiting for your answer.

“If everyone’s done, then I’m done too.” And in fact, your appetite had disappeared.

Gemma seemed close to tears, but she blinked them away and tossed her napkin. “Yes, I’m actually quite tired.”

Charlie halted his fork mid bite and with one look from Gemma he reluctantly put it down.

“Stuffed full actually,” he mumbled.

“Great, well, I’ll grab dessert.”

Mary rose with her napkin but the scrape of Harry’s chair against the wood floors made her do a sharp turn.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer as he headed to the marble staircase, footsteps loud as he jogged up them.

“Let him go,” Lionel sighed, and with it, he shrunk smaller in his chair.

“Harry!” she screeched. But he didn’t answer and with a turn at the top of the stairwell he was gone.

Everyone dispersed after that. Lionel received a conveniently-timed phone call to which he had to dismiss himself into one of the many rooms. Mary headed immediately into the kitchen but she never came back -

And then there were four.

“I’m-” Gemma bit her cheek, folded her hands. “Nevermind.”

“I think I should get back.”

Gemma looked at you understandingly, a sad sort of reluctant smile gracing her face. “Perhaps that’d be best. It was really nice meeting you though, and as much as Harry doesn’t seem to get on with loads of people, he mentioned you multiple times. I thought-” Her eyes got misty again and they glazed over the multiple paintings hanging over the dining table. “Nevermind what I thought,” she looked down to her feet but for a moment before that, her warm eyes had smiled at yours. You didn’t know her, not at all, yet somehow you could tell the warmth behind them was genuine. And you liked her instantly.

“Alright, I’ll just – I’ll head out then. Thank you so much for the dinner, it really was delicious.”

“Thanks for coming,” Charlie offered, swinging his arm around Gemma.

“Guess I’ll see you at school.” Viv appeared beside them and the unexpected head of jealousy showed its face again. Well, not its whole face. Just the tip of its nose as it peered behind the pillars of your heart, because would you really want to spend more time in there?

You were shocked when that tiny part of you said yes.

You were only halfway to your car when you heard Viv shout out.

“Wait!” You obeyed, feet halting as her fast jogging in heels made record time. She let out a breath. “Back there, what you said about the accents, it’s not like it’s a big secret, but um.” Her eyebrows slightly knitted together. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, I guess just so you don’t make it a big deal.”

“Yeah. Wait- why, did I make it a big deal? I really didn’t mean to.”

She shook her head, then stopped. Her head leaned slightly to the side and her eyes pinched as she pondered your questioned. “Maybe a little.”

She put her arm around you and steered you to your car.

“Harry’s adopted, it’s not bad that I’m telling you this because they don’t try and keep it hidden or anything it’s just – they don’t advertise it. And most people don’t ask. They just assume long-term boarding school or something. They don’t look into it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Adopted. Of freaking course.

“It was when he was young, seven or something. Uh-” She stopped, perhaps she’d said a bit too much. “But anyway it’s not that big of a deal.” But it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She looked to you.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “Totally fine. I mean I’m sure his other friends know anyways.”

She smiled then, and stuck you at arms length. “See you later.”

After revving the engine, and drawing up to the gate, you sat there for what must have been a solid twenty seconds, throwing the engine in reverse and then approaching it again. It didn’t move. Shouldn’t this thing be automatic from the inside? You threw it in park and trudged to the front door again, but no one was moving inside the house. You tried knocking. Everyone was gone. Fantastic.

A miracle, one of the garage doors started to open and you walked closer.

“Oh good, I was about to be stuck!” you called out as the doors clicked back, expecting Gemma to return your smile from the other side. But it was dark and no one was there. You did see the shadow of three other cars though. Three very nice racecar material cars.

“Hello?” You called out. You swallowed harshly when you saw two brown booties.

“What’s going on?”

You felt like you should be the one asking him that, but you just shrugged your shoulders. “The gate won’t open.”

Harry stood expressionless before retreating to the back of the garage.

“Wait- where are you-”

The sound of the gate opening shut you up. “Oh, thanks,” you mumbled. You didn’t really know what else to say, and Harry wasn’t exactly making conversation, so you were silent as the clank of your door closed you in again. Back to reality. This night had been a disaster.

The spluttering of your engine lasted longer than usual and you stilled.

Come on grandpa!!!!

You twisted the key again but it was refusing to give you the satisfying thrum when it finally gave. You were so close!! It couldn’t give out now!!!! It could literally break down, say, in a total hypothetical situation that did NOT happen, when I’m trying to avoid human contact after being pantsed in front of hottie toddie physics professor but it CAN’T give out now.

You tried again but it failed.

And you tried again.

And again.

And again.

Harry’s figure approached the car window with a beer in hand and he took a deep swig of it before knocking on the window. You barely heard it above the spluttering but you gave grandpa a moment of silence.

You rested your head on the steering wheel before bouncing up again and rolling down the window.

“What Harry,” you sighed.  

“She’s dead.”

“I know.”

You got out and waited, crossing your arms while Harry ran into the garage to check if he had any jumper cables or whatever else he’d need to fix this. At least it wasn’t smoking.

“We don’t have any.” He sauntered over, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the car. “Can stay here if you want.”

“I can call an Uber.” You hit your phone’s lock switch but it was a black screen. DAMN you Renny for hogging the charger before you’d left. DAMN YOU. “Can’t. Can’t call an Uber. Could you call one for me?”

“Are you trying to use me for my money?”

“I- no.” Your mouth parted but it closed again. Was he for real? Was he….kidding? “I can pay you back you know.”

“Lionel won’t hear of it. He doesn’t trust Uber.”

“Doesn’t trust Uber. What is he? A binge-watcher of late night crime shows?”

“No.” An almost smile shone through and you crossed your arms.

“Well I can’t just block the gate.”

“No one’s going anywhere for tonight.” He headed for the garage again. “Come on,” he called back.

“Renny will be worried about me!”

“You can call from our landline.”

People still had those?

“Sh they can hear you these walls aren’t 12 inches thick!!” you whisper-yelled into the receiver. You gave Harry an awkward smile and twirled the cord around the vintage phone. “Mary picked it up at a Parisian market or something. It’s mainly for decoration but they got it hooked up just in case,” he’d said, only walking to the end of the hall to give you some “privacy.”

It was literally from the 1920s. You felt like a vaudevillian actress about to break into song about how she wants to live a normal life but mommy and daddy keep her locked in a tower.

“I DON’T CARE IF THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD HEARS ME YOU ARE BETRAYING YOURSELF IF YOU SPEND THE NIGHT THERE.”

“Renny- ! Oh my- ! Could you just- could you just LISTEN?”

“Let me call you an Uber.”

“Lionel already knows and they’re-” you looked over at Harry who seemed to be distracted by a painting he’s probably seen a thousand times before and you lowered your voice- “Apparently one of the maids is already making my bed.”

“ARE YOU ROYALTY NOW?! Are they going to give you complimentary chocolates in the morning?! Are you going to be giving him complimentary HEAD-?!!!”

“RENNY!”

Harry’s head whipped towards yours, but his lips were still set in his pout. You grimaced, putting your back to him and facing the end of the hallway.

“Now you have me thinking about the wizard’s wand. I literally hate you,” you grumbled.

“You know I’m joking. Well, half-joking. You can stay there if you want it’s just-” she sighed- “What is this, are you guys like dating now? Because the last I heard you were literally running away from him and wanting to punch his face in.”

“He does give off that effect. And no! We’re not-” your voice lowered more- “We’re not dating. My car’s just broken down.

“You keep lying to yourself.”

“I’m not lying to anybody.”

“Keep telling yourself that kid. Because the last time I was with you was when you were literally RUNNING away from him. But you’re going to spend the night at his house. Voluntarily. I mean geeze you’re giving the poor guy a headache you can at least suck his dick.”

She’d hung up before the words even processed.

—-

“This is the living wing, I dunno why they call it that it just makes it sounds depressing.”

“What do they mean by living?” you asked. Each word sounded heavy on your tongue, each sentence carefully constructed. It was weird to be talking with him when he clearly wasn’t in the best frame of mind. When you didn’t know if he’d snap and turn sour all of a sudden.

Though you didn’t think that’d happen. He seemed more sullen to you now more than anything, apologetic maybe, if a word like that could describe him. Think: a toddler after being scolded for something he’s done wrong. Eh? That image seemed to work.

“It’s where my dad keeps his…creatures. Birds, fish, I don’t know I never fucking go in. It’s also where their bedrooms are.” He poked his head around the hallway before muttering, “I guess.”  

“Oh okay.”

Your feet stopped following him when you met a tall window. Their backyard was….spectacular. It was dark and the twinkle lights only exposed so much, but there was a very nice long pool, tile patio with sunbathing chairs, and more green beyond it. The all black on the horizon you assumed to be the ocean.

You didn’t realize Harry was behind you until he muttered, “What’re you thinking about?”

“You know I could ask you the same question. Like at least half the time I’m around you.”

His brows squeezed together a bit but a bit of a smirk was starting to form. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Oh you do. You definitely do,” you started to laugh and back into the window to scrutinize him from afar. Because right now he had a very odd look in his eye. “You’re quiet most of the time,” you said softer. After dinner, you weren’t quite sure what was going on in Harry’s family life. But the longer the adopted word kept being tossed around in your brain and analyzed every which way, you wondered how many different dynamics existed that added or subtracted to their relationship. Take Gemma. How did she fit in? She had the accent too.

So, if you could make him smile by backing up and eyeing him like he was some sort of specimen than so be it. As much as you would’ve killed to see him unhappy a couple days ago, you’d realized you’d been a bit rash to run into conclusions. And yes, you had managed to make yourself look like an utter mentally unstable ass and a half. So you could cut him some slack. The night hadn’t been a nightmare for just one of you.

“Stop it,” he warned. But you started to circle him and you squinted one eye, putting two hands up to frame Harry’s face and the window with the warmly-lit grounds like a director choosing the shot. “Okay seriously. Stop.”

“Nope,” you popped the p, “It’s funny. I couldn’t picture you in a place like this before, but now I can.” You slowly put your hands down and you thought you heard him mumble weird.

“Oi. Did you just call me weird?” your mouth opened in playful surprise. His nose scrunched up at your over exaggerations. He was confused, you could tell. And he was probably being just as cautious as you were, you realized. You didn’t blame him. But he was so close to smiling. Soooo clooosseee-

“S’just weird,” he settled with. And his would-be smile dropped. A little bit of guilt struck you.

“What is?” you began slowly.

“It’s weird that you’re here.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Ouch.

“Why?”  

“Because I can’t picture you here.”

His voice seemed shy. He nodded towards the other end of the hall. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.” And he didn’t give you much time to catch up, nor time to feel offended, as his long legs were once again a disadvantage to you.

You weren’t sure how many bedrooms you’d been passing, and to be completely honest, Harry’s explanations of what each room was went a bit beyond you.

“Theatre’s to your right, sun room’s to the left. That’s the library over in there, elevator’s around the bend. Annnnd… here it is.”

He forgot to mention the multiple living rooms you’d been passing which had killer ocean views, or the full-on mini bars. Yes. Bars. As in numerous. You didn’t see much alcohol in them though and you wondered if it had anything to do with Harry.

“I’ll be at the other end then.”

“Of the house?”

“The hall, just there.” He pointed, and looked back at you with a funny look about him. “No sneaking into my bedroom.”

You coughed. “I’m sorry, was that a joke? A poor one but…Are you making jokes now?”

His smile faltered, but it was finally there. No matter how small or pained it looked. His eyes looked to his boots for a second before settling on your elbow, then your shoulder. Then your chin. Or was it-

“Right. Well. I’ll give you something to wear, just- stay there. Or don’t. I don’t care.” Harry turned quickly and disappeared into the last room at the hall. Your eyes grazed the hallway walls. He may not look necessarily enthused that you were there, but in this whole situation you’d felt like an outsider. And you suspected that was exactly what he needed.

Not that you held any pretenses to know what that confusing boy needed.

Not at all.

Or rather, none at all.

None were there to gather dust, to give you a glimpse into what he looked like as a toddler through to the awkward teen years. No family portraits hung. Each wall’s empty space was filled with a landscape painting of the sea, or the cliffs facing the water. Except for the power portrait of the Styles in the center of the home that looked out over their grounds - it was stark of any traces of family existence. The messy bits anyway. And instantly you compared it to your old stained carpets and walls with so many nails in it if you removed all the pictures and unscrewed the nails, you’d be left with hardly a house at all. This felt like someone had come in, staged it for a potential buyer, and that was it. Like if you opened the dresser’s drawer you wouldn’t find anything in it except for another nail or the assembly instruction manual.

You hummed to yourself, peering into your bedroom. A nice queen-sized bed and bamboo flooring. White canopy drapes covering what you assumed to be a window.  The only thing that seemed off was the ceiling. It had stars painted on it. You walked to the center of the room and looked up- there was a name there, inscribed in the center of the biggest star. You sat on the edge of the bed, twiddling your thumbs before wandering over to the ensuite bathroom. It was no less impressive.

A big part of you was wishing to be with Renny right now. Gosh you would’ve paid anything to see her face if she could only see the outside of this house. You never fared well when there was quiet, a lot of it anyway. And in a house this big, it was quiet. A little too quiet. And cold. Was the AC set to 50 or something?

Warm water ran down your face and you briskly turned the faucet off. At least Renny would be able to say “I told you so” tomorrow. Well, not about the blowjob thing. You opened the medicine cabinet to find some toothpaste, or face soap. The last thing you needed was another zit to pop through.

But there wasn’t anything of the sort. No no no.

Pills filled the cabinets. Some with labels, some without. You closed the cabinet. Definitely not toothpaste. Definitely not your business. But who were they-

“Oh my gosh!” your heart flew to your chest.

Mary was sitting on the edge of your bed, silent, hands folded in her lap. Had she seen you? The sudden adrenaline found an escape in an awkward laugh. “You scared me.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” She tucked a strand behind her ear and it wasn’t until your hip hit the door frame on the way out of the bathroom that you realized she hadn’t been looking at you this entire time. She would’ve judged you for that blunder. No, her eyes were fixed on the walls, then the ceiling.

Did she need help with something? Were you in the wrong room?

“Is this my room?”

“It’s my youngest’s room.” She looked up again, and her left hand seemed to be a little shaky as she soothed already straight hair behind her ear. You watched her closer and saw her body sway a bit to steady herself when her head lowered. You instinctually looked to the door, to an exit. Harry should be down there. Nerves suddenly held your body like they always do in a situation that’s unfamiliar, in the face of unpredictability.

“She liked astronomy!” She said suddenly, as if she’d just had an epiphany. She walked over to the canopy drapes and peered between them, revealing a balcony as she looked out. “I thought she’d like it. She likes the stars.”

“I bet they’re, uh-” your eyes shot out again- “Beautiful from here.”

She was quiet and she slowly turned to you, pointing to the ceiling. “There. Did you- didyouseeit? There.” She stumbled closer, still in heels, and you crossed your arms tightly, nodding even though you had no idea. You followed her hand briefly. It was the scribble on the wall.

“I picked it,” she said, finger sliding to fall at her heart. “I picked it.”  

“Jesus! Mary.” Harry stormed in, a horrified look on his face as he clutched clothes in his hands. They fell to the floor.

“And Joseph,” you muttered.

Harry’s eyes held no humor in them in the brief moment he glanced to you. It was hardly enough time to properly glare. But glare he did. And there was enough fiery gusto in them to realize that now was not the time.

“Jane,” she corrected. “Jane.”

Harry was struck still, and you watched as his eyes frantically observed. But when she was about to sit down again he spoke,

“What’re you doing in here? Y/N is going to try and sleep.”

Mary looked at him, her drunken emotional journey to the past turning sour. Her lips pressed in a hard line and she stood up, swaying a bit when she did so, but the level of composure she emanated was impressive.  She went over to him, passing you silently, and for an irrational second you thought she was going to jump you. Instead, she grabbed Harry’s arm when she was almost out the door. “There were two rooms Harry.” She tried to whisper it, but the alcohol had warped her perception and you heard everything.

She let her hand fall and Harry’s fist clenched as it did.

You were struck dumb, again. This wasn’t your domain, you weren’t close enough to comfort him if that was what he needed and you weren’t brave enough to interject if he needed a good slap in the face. You barely knew him. And the realization of that sunk deeper than you’d ever realized. You can get frustrated because of him, infuriated at him even, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Not when he seemed more miserable here than anywhere else.

“Stay here,” he finally said. And then he was gone, leaving you with a pile of clothes that couldn’t explain the half of it.

You stripped quietly once the door was closed, pulling the oversized plaid button up down that fell to completely cover your hands. It still left you cold, barely covering your bum, but your heart warmed a little at how he didn’t just give you a black t-shirt. You almost stepped over the sweatpants that were there before greedily snatching them up with a smile In your fanciful mind you imagined he knew you’d be cold in here.

Harry never came back. You couldn’t text Renny, or anyone, and you couldn’t be bothered with figuring out how to turn on the tv or to find a channel. So you lay there, looking at the ceiling. You didn’t belong in this room. Mary, even if she hadn’t necessarily said get out, still verifiably creeped you out enough so that you didn’t want to be in this room. You never knew Harry had another sibling. Not that you’d even known about Gemma until yesterday. How many other people knew him, truly? Why were you here now? What would you do if you opened your eyes and Mary was just sitting at the end of your bed again - watching you sleep?  It made your head dizzy and you closed your eyes. If she was there at least you wouldn’t be able to see her. But the scribble in the sky was still burned in your mind’s eye and it had your imagination roaring. You rolled over on your side, pulling up the thin sheet to cover your ear. The wind smacked a palm tree leaf against the balcony window and you jolted in place. You felt haunted, and it wasn’t like the sheet would protect you from anything except for soothing the little toddler in you who still believed that good always won, evil always lost.

This was an expensive home.

With probably more security than the local bank.

You were safe.

But you didn’t feel secure.

Your anxious thoughts continued like pins pricking your stomach until fatigue made it stop. You didn’t know the time when you fell asleep.

And you didn’t know the time when you awoke. The smacking of the palm trees was as bad as ever , and your nightmare had been worse tonight. The same sick one. A house in the countryside, peeling wallpaper that threatened to wrap itself over your hands if you leant against it a little too long, trapping you there when you needed to run from faceless creatures.

You were being watched.

You jolted-to in a cold sweat.

Was it 2 am? 3? You hoped it was closer to 6, to the sunrise. These days you cherished the times when you’d wake up at 4. You tried closing your eyes again, but the sweat soon chilled you enough to where the sheet wasn’t enough. You silently stood, walking over to the cabinets on the far side of the wall. The painted shutter doors squeaked when you opened them. It must’ve not been opened for a while because the paint caused the two doors to stick together and it only gave on the third tug.

What you saw stilled your heart. Because you didn’t find linens or a big fluffy blanket, and if you’d discovered this just a few hours later in the morning you’d probably glance right over it, perhaps it would’ve sparked a moment of confusion maybe. But now, in a big strange house in the middle of the night you surely felt a chill. And then you were booking it out to the hall.

His door was there. Just like any other door. But you paced around it a few times. He was probably sleeping. Should you just go to the downstairs? Just…I don’t know… grab a glass of water? Try putting on the tv? Like a normal person would? You raised your hand, but it fell just as fast. Gosh who were you?!

You couldn’t yell at Harry for being bipolar when you were basically the perfect spokesmodel. You knew why you were standing outside his door. You knew who’d make you feel secure. This was embarrassing.

But the door opened before you had to knock.

“You can come in,” he murmured.

“Oh,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Oh you don’t have to-”

But when he opened the door wider you didn’t waste a second in entering.  

part 10

Last Forever

Request: Do you think you could do something where the reader is dating Tom and they barely see each other bc of Tom’s work and bc of that they get into a ridiculous fight about it over the phone and it ends really badly. Tom feels bad about all the nasty words that were said so he goes home and surprises her there’s just a bunch of fluff at the end?!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k (i got carried away, sorry)

Warnings: Language, Angst, eventual fluffy floof

A/N: this is a combo of 2 tom requests I got! hope you all enjoy, I’ve missed writing for this brit! x || main masterlist


Originally posted by tomshollandss


Keep reading

❝ I want her with me. ❞

Plot: You and Yoongi are both idols and you’re dating. During a Music Award Show he confesses you’re his girlfriend. 

Pairing: YoongixReader

Words count: 2,8k+

Genre: Fluff 

For anon, I hope you like it cutie! - M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

“PDnim wants to talk to me, can you stay here with Hobi waiting for me?”  

Yoongi’s request, you just nodded with lightness, giving him a little peck onto his cheek.  

You were accustomed to his continual disappearances, so the fact that he left you alone at that time with Hoseok didn’t bother you that much. In fact, you appreciate spending time with the rest of the Bangtan, because they were as much important as of your own family.  

He smiled at you and your heart made a little flip, not yet accustomed to that sweetness that brightened his eyes every time he looked at you. Nine months and you still felt like a little girl struggling with the first crush.  

“Y/N, come and dance with me!” Hoseok screamed and dragged you to the center of the big Rehearsal room, shaking his head repeatedly; “I don’t accept a no, Y/N. I know you know how to dance!”  

“Hobi I can’t compete with you, you’re a dance freak!”  

“In fact, you have to dance with me, don’t compete!”  

You could not argue with that statement because he was theoretically right, so giggling you started to follow the rhythm of music and move along with him, without being able to keep the laughter. With Jung Hoseok it was practically impossible not to laugh.  

“You say we can change Jin Hyung with you? You dance much better than him! ”  

“Brat I heard you! You should be thankful I don’t spit into your food when I cook! ”  

Seokjin’s voice took you by surprise and you immediately hopped towards him, worried that Hoseok’s “harsh” sentence had been able to offend him in some way. You did puppy’s eyes and he smiled at you, making you sigh with relief. You were still not accustomed to the way they sometimes joked with each other, you cared like a mom nobody was offended or they fight due to trivial things..  

Dating Yoongi had, automatically, involved acquiring six brothers to care for.  

“Yoongi?? He must come and try the outfit for the show tomorrow night. ” Seokjin murmured, made a mess with your hair gently, laying his gaze on Hoseok that just shrugged his shoulders.  

“PDnim wanted to talk to him.. and about the show, I have to go… I also have to try my dress. Can you tell Yoongi that I had to run away?” You asked, hopping to the table to retrieve your purse. Seokjin and Hoseok watched you, amused and cheered by your presence.  

They still wondered how it was possible that you and Yoongi were a couple because you two were completely opposed. But maybe that was your secret, even because they didn’t know the most private side of you.  

Hoseok hugged you from behind, greeting and pretending desperation that you had to go away, so you gave him a pinch on his arm and he pretended to fall to the ground in pain.  

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’ll tell him.. And don’ mind Hoseok ” Seokjin reassured you with a caring and sweet tone while you threw him a flying kiss, which he pretended to take by making a small leap.  

Coming out of the rehearsal room you ran towards one of the side exits of the building, starting to wear the mask and one of Yoongi’s hat. You didn’t want anyone to recognize you because your relationship was still secret, for both your managers’ and companies will.  

It wasn’t a problem for you the secrecy, even in those months you enjoyed the opportunity to know Yoongi away from the public, only you two. And it turned out to be such a pure and fragile soul that falling in love with him had been easy.  

Distracted by your thoughts you came out of the building, after repeatedly checking that there were no fans or even worse paparazzi, walking towards your car.  

Yes, you had to go get ready for the next day show, but the urge to do it was very low since you should have spent hours making your makeup, scolded by your stylistic and hairstylist Unnie.  

Sometimes you just didn’t like your idol life at all.  

~ ~

Keep reading

The Fluffer*

AU Bucky Barnes x Reader Request Fic

Prequel to Perfect Just the Way You Are. Though I recommend reading it first, you don’t technically have to as both are standalone one shots. Based on this Ask, hope it’s what you wanted nonnie! I give you The Fluffer.

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky x Reader  |  Word Count: 4554
Warnings: It’s about a porn star, if I have to warn you it will be smutty, you shouldn’t be on my blog. Also, Bucky’s foul swearing mouth, as well as Steve being a shit. Enjoy!


The flush on your face had to be lobster red by this point. Not just a rosy blush which would bring life to your cheeks, but a red so dark you could feel it burn from the roots of your hair all the way down your chest.

You couldn’t believe you were here, doing this, acting this… part, being part of this lifestyle you’d only come to know because of your boyfriend. Never in your life had you been more fascinated, morbidly so, turned on, and jealous all at the same time.

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I realized yesterday that the batfam definitely has to use makeup frequently to cover bruises from all their vigilante-ing, so it got me thinking and 

  • Bruce is the King of Invisible Makeup. He’s been doing this the longest and he’s gotten really, really good at covering bruises and cuts in a way that looks like he isn’t wearing any makeup. Probably has the color lineup of his favorite concealer brand memorized, can usually match someone’s skin color on the first try.
  • If any of the Justice League members ever noticed and made a comment on it he would just turn to them and say “Not all of us can heal bruises instantly.” in That Voice™ and they’d immediately shut up.
  • Dick grew up in the circus, so obviously he’s been using stage makeup since he was very young. He is by far the most skilled at makeup application – his blending techniques are legendary. Probably wears a light bb cream sometimes just for the heck of it, because it makes his skin look nice and who needs gender roles? 
  • Barbara doesn’t wear makeup every day, and when she does she keeps it pretty natural. Is the queen of drugstore makeup because why would she spend $40 on an eyeshadow palette when there’s an almost identical one at Walgreens for $11.99??? 
  • Jason doesn’t bother to cover his bruises with concealer or foundation like the others because he doesn’t really have much of a civilian identity anyway. Besides, bruises and split lips are kind of part of his aesthetic. Has definitely experimented with eyeliner at some point and probably still wears subtle smoked-out kohl sometimes because he likes how it makes his eyes look even more green.
  • Tim is so pale that he sometimes has trouble finding concealer and foundation that matches his face?? He uses a different brand because the brand Bruce likes has a lot of yellow tones and it doesn’t look right on Tim’s ivory skin. This brand doesn’t stay put as well as Bruce’s, so he has to reapply several times over the course of the day. Because of this, Tim has at least one concealer palette on him at all times.
  • Stephanie is the most into makeup out of all of them. She watches makeup tutorials for fun and to learn new techniques, and unlike Barbara she’ll sometimes shell out for an expensive product if it’s really good. Is the queen of contouring, and has been known to wear red lipstick on patrol. She and Dick exchange application tips and product recommendations.
  • Damian was resistant to wearing makeup when he first joined Team Batman, because he’s always been taught that injuries sustained in battle are an honor and should be worn with pride, but he realizes that to preserve his civilian identity he has to look like he doesn’t get beaten up regularly. He was absolutely appalled when he found out about animal testing in the cosmetics industry, and he made everyone switch over to certified cruelty-free products.
  • Cass doesn’t go out much so she doesn’t really bother with makeup. She doesn’t like how it feels on her face. If she ever has to wear makeup for whatever reason she’ll probably ask Stephanie or Barbara to do it for her.
  • NO ONE in the fam has the same skin color, so there’s always approximately six thousand concealer palettes laying around the Batcave. It’s a mess.
  • If Stephanie runs out of highlighter, she’ll use Tim’s foundation because it’s light enough to be a highlight on her lmao
  • Tim, Damian, and Cass are all really bad about forgetting to wash their makeup off before they go to bed and it stresses Dick and Stephanie out so much bc like??? It’s so bad for their skin??? They’re going to get premature wrinkles do they not love themselves
  • Jason tries to wash his makeup off before bed but usually can’t get all of his eyeliner off so imagine… Jason, still half-asleep, drinking coffee in his pjs… leftover black eyeliner smudged all around his eyes… he’s like a disgruntled racoon 

idk I just really love makeup and really, really love the batfam

Can I help you, Officer? (Jimin x Reader)


Admin:
Mimi

Prompt/Ask: Can you do a jimin request??? Where jimin is your sexy hot husband and a cop and when he pulls you over for speeding he punishes you.😉😉😉😉😉😉

Fandom: BTS

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: car sex, language, partially dangerous driving

Word Count: 2498

Authors Note: I suck at smut lmao, I always feel like I’m really bad at writing it. Oh well, in time hopefully I’ll be better. Here’s some spicy Officer Jimin for you all ;)))) If there are any errors let me know, and I hope you enjoy!

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Different

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Requested by: @partylikeits1899

“I know you’re probably swamped with requests and stressed rn but could you please write a Steve imagine where the reader is a shy and quiet girl who’s dating Steve and one day Nancy gives you a makeover (kinda like Sandy from grease) and Steve is just star struck thanks bby 🙂😇

A/N: I loved writing this. Like you have no idea how much I loved writing this. + Hope you like this bby!!

Warnings: Nope :)))

Word count: 1725


Steve Harrington was dating Y/N L/N.

I repeat, Steve Harrington was dating Y/N L/N.

What was the big deal though? I’ll tell you. You see, Y/N L/N wasn’t an easy catch. All the boys in senior year had tried, yet they still couldn’t get a grasp on the notorious Y/N herself.  

Now, you weren’t a brat, or spoiled, or flirty- No. In fact, you were the complete opposite: Quiet, shy, soft spoken- but unbelievably beautiful.

Beautiful, you say?

Yes. You heard me right. But not in the way you would think.

Y/N L/N was a different type of beautiful.

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I’m Not a Kid: Part 2

I’m Not a Kid

Word count: 5.6k

Genre: smut, dirty talk

Another part was requested by anon (anon let me know if you like it.) I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it but then I couldn’t stop thinking about office sex with Jungkook. Anyway, I listened to TIO by Zayn while writhing this ;) 

part one


It had been a week since you’d seen Jungkook. You’d forgotten that his father had a business trip and wanted Jungkook to come with him so he see the ropes of the family business.

They were in Australia and wouldn’t be back until Monday. You’d gone all week and weekend thinking about Jungkook. It was Sunday night and here you were again, nervous and thinking about seeing him tomorrow. You were sitting in the living room with your roommate trying to focus on a movie while eating dinner but you couldn’t.

As soon as you got home Friday night you woke her up and told her what you had done. You were still on a high from Jungkook fucking you but you knew you were going to regret it in the morning, and boy did you, at first. You couldn’t believe that you had let the your boss’s 20 year old son fuck the shit out of you in a restroom at a nightclub, but as days went by with no sign of Jungkook, no flirting, no touches, no lingering looks, no singing of your name your thoughts became consumed of him.

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Something Tells Me

?


NOT MY GIF (but I sure do wish it was because look at that jawline oooo baby) 

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

Summary: Soulmates are supposed to be a beautiful gift, created so that no one every goes through life without love. Born with an invisible matching marking, a tattoo to signify their bond, that only reveals itself after the two souls touch for the first time. After escaping Hydra, Bucky hopes more than anything that his soulmate died a long time ago, but little does he know you’re right around the corner.

Characters: Bucky x reader, Steve Rogers

Warnings: Soulmate!au, cozy!bucky (this is the single best warning ever), sorta angst but sorta fluff, swearing

Words: 2178

A/N: So this is my first fic that I’m posting, but they’ll be tons more to come if you guys like this one. I’m super new to tumblr but figured this would be a good platform for me so strap in kids.


Bucky didn’t want a soulmate. He’d never met his own, he refused to let himself even picture what they looked like, he didn’t even know their name, but he knew - knew - he didn’t want them. It was sad really, and he knew it, rejecting a soulmate without having even laid eyes on them. And it was for this reason that he forced himself to believe his soulmate was dead.

It only made sense to believe it, after all most soulmates were born within a few years of one another, so how in the world could Bucky ever expect that his own soulmate would even be alive right now if he’d just turned a century old himself? For a long time he didn’t expect this at all, but there was this nagging feeling he had, a tingling right under his skin that made the hair on the back of his neck stick up pin straight whenever he thought about his soulmate - whoever they were. Perhaps this was the universe telling him to smarten up, reminding him that it’s the universe and it knows literally everything that has happened, is happening, and is going to happen, so it most definitely could accommodate for him. But he shrugged it off, refusing to believe that he was that special.

He walked by the Avengers tower, coming back from his stroll around town. It had started to rain about halfway through, and Bucky being, well, Bucky, had forgotten an umbrella. He didn’t mind though, not really at least. He’d always liked rain, it made him feel calm, and as an added bonus, it made the streets quiet. He liked quiet, too.

He walked back in through the revolving doors of the tower and made his way into the elevator, hopping out once it reached the penthouse and making his way to his room. He kicked open the door and let out a relieved sigh.

Home. 

He’d become a major homebody as a result of the last 70 years of his life, taking comfort in staying in instead of going out and being rowdy like he might have when he was younger. But like his youth, his adventurous side faded with time, and now he found more enjoyment in reading and drinking a cup of tea than going on dates and partying.

Dating was most certainly the last thing on his mind. He’d been around the block so many times in desperate search for his soulmate back in the day, that the mere idea of trying to find them again exhausted him.

He shrugged his leather jacket off and tossed it over the desk chair to dry. Stripping out of his other clothing, he threw on some sweats and a maroon cable knit sweater that Steve had bought him last Christmas. Steve had done a lot more for him that just provide cozy lounge wear, Steve had given Bucky his life back, a chance to start over. At first, Bucky thought he didn’t want it, he thought he didn’t deserve it, but one look at the pleading eyes of his best friend and Bucky knew he at least owed Steve a try. 

He pulled the soft blankets of his bed down and got under the covers, snagging the well loved copy of Steven King on Writing from the shelf above his bed, and opening it to the dogeared page which he’d bookmarked this morning. It was his absolute favourite book, and anyone who saw the beat up copy in his hands would be able to tell after just one glance. 

After a chapter or two, he felt his eyes grow heavy, every blink slower than the last. He soon fell asleep listening to the rain tapping against his window.

His was awoken by the sound of a quiet knock on his door. Bucky had become a rather light sleeper, so he nearly shot out of bed when he heard it, his book clattering to the floor at the movement.

“Buck? It’s (Y/N), you usually come down to make a cup of tea around this time, but I’d already made a whole pot so I figured I’d save you the trouble and bring it up to you.”

(Y/N) 

He smiled at your thoughtfulness, like he always did. You’d joined the team a few months ago, and for whatever reason you’d taken a liking to Bucky right away. He didn’t understand why, he was sort of reserved after all, and it took him a long time to feel like he deserved the kind gestures you’d extend to him. A smile here, a casual conversation there, and a cup of tea every once in a while felt like more kindness than he should have. After you’d gotten more comfortable, you started talking to him more about yourself. You began opening up to him, and that’s when your relationship changed. 

You told him about your powers, how you got them, who you’d hurt with them. And in time, he began to open up to you as well.

The entire arrangement of “friends” that the two of you had going was very new, but Bucky loved it because Bucky loved spending time with you.

He walked over to the door with a sleepy grin on his face as he pictured you in his mind, holding a mug out for him. And when he opened the door, he discovered that even his own imagination couldn’t do you justice. You leaned against the doorway with a smile on your face, your hair brush to the side, natural face shining through without a drop of makeup. You wore a light blue sweater and a pair of leggings. You looked so comfortable and cute that Bucky almost forgot why you were there until you held out the tea for him.

“Just with milk,” You said with a shrug, “I know how you like it.” 

He reached out with his metal hand and took the cup from you.

“Thank you.” He said and watched you walk down the hallway back to your own room. He was so focused on you that he barely noticed Steve leaning in the doorway of his room right across from Bucky’s. He must’ve seen the entire exchange.

With a smirk at Bucky’s hopeless face, Steve asked, “You ever touched her hand before?”

This snapped Bucky right back into reality in an instant.

“W-what? Yeah ‘course I have. She just handed me a mug.” He stared down at the hot tea in his hands, watching the wisps of steam rise up and tickle his face.

“That was with your left, Buck,” Steve said, rolling up the sleeves of his cardigan to reveal a black tattoo on his forearm, one he’d gotten years and years ago, “Have you two ever touched before?”

Bucky’s heart began to race at the realization that neither one of you had ever actually touched the other. Bucky wasn’t one for physical contact, a takeaway from his time as the Winter Soldier, and it wasn’t like you two were close enough to really touch anyways.

“My soulmate is dead, Steve.” Bucky said.

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me, pal.” Steve shrugged, “Touch her arm next time you see her, and you’ll get your answer.” 

Steve retreated into his room without another word, and left Bucky standing in his own doorway with a cup of tea in his hand and his mouth hung wide open.

It made so much sense. Why else would Bucky feel so connected to you? Why else would you feel like you could confide in him? Why else could the two of you spend hours talking to one another without ever getting bored?

Bucky set his mug down on the counter and raced to your room, the fear of having a soulmate completely washed out of his system. You were here, you were made for him, and that compelled him to be in your life and to love you and care for you like he knew he could. Because even if he didn’t believe that he deserved a soulmate, if there was one thing Bucky was certain of, it’s that you above anyone else deserved one. And if it was indeed him, he was going to make sure that he gave his everything to you.

He knocked on your door frantically, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he heard your footsteps approach your door. It swung open and his heart stopped when he looked at you. 

“Oh! Hey, Buck. What’s wrong? The tea not good or something?” You asked, taking a swig of your own tea in your hand.

Bucky couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think. He stood there looking like an absolute idiot as you stared at him, concerned.

“You alright?” You asked as he remained silent.

He opened his mouth to try and say something, to try and explain himself, but what the hell was he going to say? “Steve has lead me to believe that we’re in fact soul mates and I’m just crazy enough to believe him!” He knew that wouldn’t work.

So instead, he reached forward without thinking and wrapped his flesh had around your exposed arm. 

A searing pain formed under his palm, but he’d felt so much worse before that he barely flinched. You on the other hand, dropped your mug and let out a yelp at the sensation as the mug smashed on the floor.

Bucky pulled his hand away as the blinding light that had enveloped you began to fade. He looked down at his palm and gasped. A small medallion shaped tattoo had inked into his skin covering most of the sensitive part of his palm. The then looked at your arm, which you yourself were now examining, to see the very same tattoo - his tattoo - on the exact place where he had touched you.

You gasped, tears prickling your eyes from the pain you’d experienced as well as the sheer overwhelming love you felt in your heart.

“It’s you.” You said, stepping closer to him, over the shards of mug with wide eyes.

Bucky felt like his mouth was full of cotton, he just stared at you, he stared into the eyes of his soulmate as the world around them began to fade away into nothing. He felt you pin your forehead to his and he sucked in a breath. You were close, so close to him that he felt drunk from exposure.

You reached out for his hand, turning over his palm to look at the marking that has situated itself on his skin, and before Bucky could do anything, you tilted your head up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He could’ve sworn he’d never felt his heart hammer in his chest as hard as it had then. 

He’d heard so many stories about what it was like finding your soulmate but none of them even came close to what he felt now. He was kissing you - kissing the person the universe had saved especially for him throughout decades. Bucky Barnes had never felt more alive in his whole existence. 

You were connected at the mouth, but you were even more connected at heart, your hands pressed firmly to his chest as you deepened the kiss, so caught up in Bucky that you didn’t even notice Steve until he cleared his throat from behind him. 

Your face blushed a shade of red when you looked at him over Bucky’s shoulder, a smirk wide on his lips.

“Heard something smash,” He nodded at the broken tea cup, “But now that I know everything’s okay, an ‘I told you so’ is definitely needed.” He said, staring at the back of Bucky’s head before turning on his heel and heading back in the direction of his room.

You heaved out a sigh, pressing your forehead into Bucky’s chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, resting his chin on your head.

“It’s you.” You repeated, this time much quieter; more of a confirmation than a discovery.

“It’s me.” He whispered into your hair.

“I used to dream about this moment right here.” Your voice was even gentler than before, so gentle that it made Bucky’s heart flutter at the sound.

“I did too.” He confessed, “I’ve waited for you for so long.” 

You looked up at him, with a few tears falling down your cheeks. Tears of joy, this was by far the happiest you’d ever been. Never would you have imagined that you would find your soulmate in a 100 year old ex assassin, but you sure as hell were glad it was him.

“Hopefully I was worth the wait.” You laughed.

“Something tells me you were, doll.” His flesh hand moved to touch your cheek gently and you felt the medallion tattoo tingle against your face.

You already knew that Bucky Barnes was everything you needed, you could feel it on the surface of your forearm where the fresh tattoo still stung. You weren’t bothered by the dull ache of it anymore, you actually found it comforting, as if the sensation made you feel whole.

He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of him that you knew you’d grow to know better than anything else. He was yours, and you were his, and nothing brought you more comfort than knowing that you had the rest of your lives to make up for every second of each others lives that you’d missed.

It marked the beginning of your life with Bucky, who most definitely wanted you in his life. It marked the start of your journey with your soulmate, and you couldn’t wait to see what else was in store.

The Woman - Request

Requested by anon:  Hello, could you do one you and Sherlock are like dating and you go to his flat and Irene Adler is there flirting with him but he picks you over her 😍😍xx thanks love

Summary: (Y/N) enters 221B and instantly notices the smell of another woman’s perfume. She then realizes it’s Irene Adler who is willing to convince Sherlock that she is a better woman for him.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 1,230

Warnings: Irene’s naked so…

A/N: I can’t say that I despise Irene but I despise Irene. Writing this “battle” was so… Relaxing.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by annieanhworld

At first it was the smell of a perfume that didn’t belong to her. “Probably a client.” She had guessed until she heard the superfluous laughter of The Woman. Irene Adler, the first woman to break Sherlock’s heart. That dominatrix, clever escape artist, a bad woman.

(Y/N) walked gracefully upstairs, trying not to let her weight on the stairs for too much on the steps for it would creak and expose her. She heard her laugh over and over, speaking incomprehensible words softly, seductively at him.

“Sher… Let’s have dinner.” Her smooth voice offered. (Y/N) reached the floor and managed to have a look through the small creak the half-closed door had left.

And although it wasn’t a great view, (Y/N) could see them both. Irene was kneeling in front of Sherlock, who was occupying his usual seat. Her suave hand traced a lingering path on his thighs as her deep eyes stayed connected with his blue ones.

“No.” He replied. A sly smirk was formed on his lips. (Y/N) recognized it as a defying look; the one he gave his enemies and whoever dared to test his abilities. A cocky look that showed nothing more but dominance.

Irene let her head lay softly over one of his legs. “Please, Sher. I missed you.” She flirted, making sure to squirm slightly, trying to get dirty pictures inside his mind without him really noticing.

“I’m not available.” Sherlock replied calmly. Irene lifted her head and examined him before letting out a sassy chuckle.

“We both know that’s a lie.” She whispered seductively, “Let’s have dinner.” She insisted, both of her hands shamelessly caressing his thighs, but stopping right before she got to that one spot she desired the most.

“No.” Sherlock repeated. (Y/N) saw how fingers, tapping the sides of the arm holders of his beloved seat. He was starting to get impatient, but even so his face remained still.

“I’ll stop insisting if you give me one good reason.” She offered. (Y/N) noticed that she was only wearing a robe – Sherlock’s robe – and that she was slowly letting it slide off, teasing him.

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The Fortress

Our house is known as the Fortress.

It’s not a name used by people outside the house. Rather, it is a name we use ourselves to refer to our residence—affectionately, of course. When I say we, I mean my mother, my sister, and I. My father has no idea that this reference even exists.

It was my sister who first used the name, but it stuck in our minds and since then it has actually become quite popular with the three of us. The reason for its popularity will become evident as I say more about my family, but keep in mind that it is more of a fortress for the women in the house than for me.

First of all, there is a king in this fortress. He is the supreme ruler. His rules and commands are to be obeyed without even a frown on our foreheads. My sister and I do get away with occasional protest but most of the time we dare not say anything. My mother is no better off than the two of us, even though she is the queen. In a way, she is even worst than us because she doesn’t even get a break while retiring for the evening.

My father is very loving and very generous, mind you. He showers us with affection and loads us with all the material things our hearts may desire. There is no way we can complain about our lifestyle or about lacking anything we need. As a matter of fact we are rather spoiled as a family and he makes sure that we are well-provided for. In return all he asks of us is that we follow a few strict guidelines of his.

He is very fond of his first born, who thank the Almighty, was a boy, as he had hoped and prayed for. That would be me. I am the apple of my father’s eye and the fact that I do so well in my studies and play his favourite sport on a semi-professional level, makes him even more proud than my just being a boy. I started my college only recently and my father finds that to be an additional reason for his pride. He never made it to college because of the way things were in his family those many years ago. The fact that he made sure his boy went to college, in a vicarious sort of way, makes him feel very accomplished.

He is very protective of my sister, who is the delicate little flower in his life. She is well-kept, to say the least, but more appropriately she is well-preserved. She is thoroughly looked after and her needs are seen to immediately. My mother treats her like a little doll, mostly because my father wants her to be treated that way, and my sister is a little doll when it comes to her looks and behaviour.

There is only one problem, and this problem is the main reason for our house being labelled a fortress. The women represent a man’s honour and that honour is guarded with one’s life. My father guards his honours (two of them) very jealously. It is understandable that he would be so shielding of my mother—typical male behaviour when it comes to his mate—but he is even worst when it comes to my sister.

Our culture dictates that a woman cannot go in front of strangers without her head and body being fully covered. That usually means that our women normally wear anabaya over their normal clothing and a scarf over their hair. An abaya is basically a garment, most often worn by the Middle Eastern women, that hangs from head to toes like a gown and hides whatever is underneath or inside of it from prying eyes. These eyes don’t have to be real, so the paranoia requires the household to be a fortified sanctuary where no intruding eyes can see a woman in her actual form.

This actual form can be an interesting thing, if you see it from the other side. Behind that rather conservative and concealing garment lies a world of wonders. Since the outer garment hides what is underneath, many women—my mother and sister included—tend to dress rather provocatively underneath, just to be subversive, in a quiet and passive sort of way.

The women are not supposed to consort with strangers; usually that means strange men. As the explanation goes, the idea is not that we don’t trust our women, but we don’t trust those men. Their eyes fall upon our women and they immediately start thinking sexual thoughts about them. It is those thoughts that we fear the most and find them insulting, so we try to stop them from ever coming into existence by making our women less desirable, by hiding them behind a lot of clothing, and by keeping them from wearing makeup that would tantalize the perverted imagination.

The rules are not as strict for married and elderly women, so my mother is at least free to talk to strange men when shopping or when there is an occasion where she is forced to come across a stranger who happens to be a male. She is also free to talk to certain uncles, cousins, or other relatives of the family.

The rules are extremely strict for a young girl, who is of the marrying age. My sister, being such a girl, cannot show herself in the presence of a man, stranger or related, and she is not allowed to be alone with our male cousins or even some young uncles, no matter what the occasion is. She cannot talk to them or look at them in a way where some remote possibility of a sexual thought exists.

Where am I from, you ask?

Believe it or not, I am from Africa. Where exactly in Africa, that’ll be my secret, but I am not black African or even a white African. I am an Indian African. Our roots are somewhere in India; our religion is one of the religions in Indo/Pak territory; and we follow the customs that our ancestors brought with them almost a century ago. Only problem is that our customs are much more rigid than what our cousins back there practice nowadays. While they have moved on with times, we have stuck to lessons that are almost a century old. It is now a matter of pride to be old fashioned like our great-grandparents, than to be one of the “modern” families where the words like honour and respect have no meanings.

Some of you would have rightly noted that abaya and scarf are not part of any Indian/Pakistani dress. We have borrowed a few traditions from other cultures in order to become more orthodox and we have clung to them as if they were always part of our own traditions. The burqa that Indian/Pakistani women use is worn only by the wives of religious leaders and the rest of us make fun of them, as an act of self-justification and personal consolation. We can say that at least we are not that bad.

Of course, there is a double standard that we practice religiously on a daily basis. I am allowed to venture out and experience the life outside. I am allowed to attend a college and skip on religious studies. I am allowed to play sports and go to places by myself. My sister can’t even think about any of it. She has to study religion and matters of religious importance and she must learn to be a good cook. She can’t go out without an escort and she cannot go out during the evening hours unless she is with the family. Thus her use of the word fortress for our house.

Our house is a fortress in its physical makeup as well. There is a high wall with an electric fence on top of it running all around the house. There is a heavy-duty electric gate with a video-com to see the visitors before opening it or to talk to them and turn them away when we don’t want them to come in. There are four maids that work in and around the house and they all have strict instructions to not let anyone come near the residence without prior approval.

Of course, things are not as bad as they sound. My sister has female friends who come to visit her and she does go places, usually accompanied by my mother. She does spend time going to stores, going to a beautician, going to learn cooking from a female teacher, learning to bake from a neighbour, and all that. Almost all of the time she is accompanied by my mother, or by a female who is then answerable to my mother.

My mother is not as strict with her, though, as my father. Being a woman herself, she understands the frustration my sister feels while growing under strict rules and she does let her have quite a bit of freedom. But she will never, ever, ever, allow my sister to associate with a boy where something can develop between the two of them. My sister is being raised to be a good wife to a man that my father will choose for her, and one of the requirements of a good wife is to be chaste, innocent, and virtuous.

Those qualities basically mean the same thing, with slight variation in connotations. What those qualities really mean is that she should be a virgin when she gets married and she should never have had any kind of feelings for any man other than her husband. That way, her first love will be her husband, to whom she’ll then devote her life and be a good wife, who is a good cook and a good housekeeper.

Of course, a wife should also be a good lover. While she is given full training for being a good cook and a good housekeeper, there is absolutely no training for being a good lover, or even a good mother. She is even forbidden from discussing sex or learning anything about it. I guess the assumption is that the husband will teach her everything she needs to know. That way he’ll mould her to his liking and they’ll have a happy marriage.

But there is more to keeping her pure. Her purity personifies the father’s honour. The purer she is, the more honoured her father becomes. A really proud father has a daughter who never spoke of sex, never heard of sex, and never, ever thought of sex.

I don’t blame you if you find this background a little difficult to believe but those who have grown in a culture similar to mine, will recognize this to be true, and while we may be a bit extreme, they can easily recognize my family in their circles.

One thing that parents like my father and mother do not understand is that such restrictive environment makes a person more curious about the things that are forbidden. As a blatant example of contradictory practices, while we try to shield her from things that would be considered immoral, we have a large screen TV with Digital Satellite Television dish, DVD, and VCR attached to it. The images one sees on TV, or even in the magazines, then take on an added dimension and become disproportionately exciting; whereas a little bit of freedom would dilute their effect to almost negligible proportions. The contacts with males during weddings or other family gatherings become much greater events than they otherwise would, or even should for that matter. Men become more significant than they deserve to be.

Of course, being curious is one thing but having the means to satisfy one’s curiosity is another. In my sister’s case, I was probably the only male of her age—and mindset—that she associated with. The rest were older men who were either our father’s age or our grandfather’s age. Even I was only around her when she was younger. I went to an all male boarding school, so I was away during my high school years. From there I moved to a university, where I lived in a hostel with another male roommate. My presence around her only came during summer vacations when I came back home, or during holidays when I came for a visit.

I was free from the fortress during my boarding school days, but that freedom was only physical. My mind was still under my father’s control. My true freedom only came when I started college. Being in the presence of mixed company, I bloomed and flourished. Of course, this story is not about that time in my life, so I’ll skip it. Suffice it to say, I became a lot wiser in my one year in college than I ever did during my life before that.

The affect our household had on my sister was to render her immature, both in body and behaviour. She grew in years but her body stayed very slender, making her look a few years younger. Her mind also stayed younger. Even though she was over eighteen when this story takes place, she looked and acted like she was only fifteen years old. She was the doll of our house; she looked like a doll and she behaved like one.

This story begins with my first summer vacation in college. I came home a different man with a different outlook on things. I was more mature and saw the world differently than I did at the start of my college. You can say that I had grown—but I found the household stuck in a time warp. Of course, the minute I stepped inside the fortress, I fell under its spell and the restriction and binds once again became a reality for me, even though I could analyse them from a different perspective or frame of reference.

My sister had resigned to her fate and I found her to be more subdued than I remembered her from our past. Well, subdued may not be the right word for it. She was rather passive and she had lost her heady zest of adolescence. She became lively with my arrival but only like a robot that had acquired new batteries. I didn’t feel sorry for her because that was the way she was supposed to be and it seemed like she had accepted her lot in life. Technically, therefore, there was nothing to feel sorry about.

I did pick on her, though, for old times sake, when I asked my mother, “Mom, do you even feed this girl. She is all skin and bones.”

My mother just laughed and my sister protested, “I am not that skinny, and I do eat a lot. You don’t want me to be chunky, do you?”

“No, but you should have some meat on your bones. Otherwise you won’t fetch the right price when you are sold in marriage.”

My mom told me off. “Leave her alone,” she said. “She is a lovely girl.”

I laughed, “That she is, mom. But only because she is tall and she can get away with being slender. Otherwise, she’ll have problems getting someone to even like her.”

My sister then pinched me on my arm and we all laughed. My sister was getting to the age where marriage was becoming a serious possibility for her and I used the African custom of labola, or bride money, as the basis of my teasing.

My sister is only a year younger than me. She and I were more than siblings when we were growing up in the sense that we only had each other to play with. There were always fights, there were always the kinds of teasing two juvenile playmates throw at each other, and there was always the bond two young people who are close in age feel for each other.

Of course, this bond changed to a brother-sister relationship when we hit puberty and became very formal when we became adults. My teasing became one sided as she took on the passive look and it decreased to negligible amounts by the time I went to college.

As I settled into my room on the first evening back home, my sister came by with a few things I might have needed, like soap, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, and toilet paper. My room is usually reserved for me and no one uses it in my absence so things only get replenished at the beginning of my visit.

I normally shower before going to sleep and that evening, as I was busy taking my shower, I heard the door open and someone came in. This was not unusual because my mother used to bring me a towel or my clean clothes when I was younger; but I was no longer a young boy and I didn’t like such intrusion into my private time. Luckily the texture of the shower door was such that it distorted the image completely. The steam rising from my hot shower clouded things a lot further, so she couldn’t have seen anything through the door.

I hadn’t expected anyone to come in while my shower was running; otherwise, I would have locked the door. I thought of saying something but decided not to; it was no use; she was already there, doing something to the long handle attached to the shower door. I just waited for her to leave before resuming my activity.

As the vague outline moved to leave the bathroom, I heard my sister say, “I am leaving a fresh towel for you.”

I was surprised to discover that it was my sister and not my mother who had brought me the towel. I found my sister’s presence in the bathroom to be very upsetting. I had to say something to her about barging in on me like that, so I opened the door and stuck my head out, making sure that the rest of my body was hidden from her view. When she heard the door open, she turned back to see what I wanted. I said to her, “Shamila, you shouldn’t come into the bathroom while I am showering. I may not be decent.”

She replied, almost nonchalantly, “It was mom who made me do it. Besides, I heard the shower running so I knew it was okay for me to come in. I can’t see anything while you are inside the shower.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t wait for me to say anything else and left as casually as she had spoken of her not being able to see anything. When I came out of the shower, I was puzzled to find two towels. Apparently I already had one, so there was no need for her to bring a new one.

It was close to ten and I was already in bed getting ready to sleep when she came to my room with a bottle of water, a glass, a plate, and some fruit. I asked her, “What happened to the maids?”

“Oh, maids are not allowed in this part of the house any longer.”

“Why is that?” I was surprised to hear that. My mother usually runs the maids ragged.

“A few incidents happened. We don’t trust them like we used to.” With those words she put the stuff on the side table and then sat on the bed towards the feet area and started to peel and cut the fruit for me.

“Then you must be the new maid,” I laughed. “I like this maid better anyways. She works for free.”

She threw one of the peels at me, “You can laugh all you want, but I am not free. Actually, I am very expensive.”

“I guess you are right. Look at the jewellery and expensive clothing you are wearing. Only a favoured maid would get such treatment.”

“Just remember,” she waived the knife at me, “Eat your food with care. You may find something in it that will disturb your system drastically.”

I laughed with her as I took the fruit and started eating it. She joined in and then after a brief pause, she asked, “Do you really think I am too skinny?”

She wasn’t looking at me when she asked the question, for some reason. I guess she knew what my answer was going to be and was hoping for it to be different.

I looked at her carefully. She seemed very serious while waiting for the answer. I knew my answer had to be political. I mean, she was skinny, but not so much that it would be considered unattractive. Her long, black hair pretty much made up for anything that being skinny—sorry, slender—took away from her looks. They were long enough to come all the way down to the back of her thighs and were full and shiny. Whenever she stood tall with her hair flowing behind her, she looked beautiful.

“You are not skinny. You are slender. Your height makes you very graceful and attractive.”

She beamed with my answer as she looked at me, smiled awkwardly, and said, “Really, you think so?”

“Yes, I know so.” I liked the fact that my statement had made her so happy. It showed in her body language as she left my room.

The following morning, I was in the middle of getting dressed when she came back again. I had my pants and my undershirt on but I still had my shirt to put on.

“Don’t you knock before you come in?” I protested.

“You should lock the door when you don’t want anyone to come in. That’s what I do.” She snapped at me. “I came to find out if you needed anything ironed.”

I felt bad for my irritation. She was, after all, looking after my needs.

“Sorry, Shamila. I am not used to this kind of attention.”

She left the room quietly.

Thus, our routine was set. She would bring me a fresh towel every time I showered and iron my clothes whenever I needed. She would bring me fruit and water at night and then sit with me and peel and cut it while we both ate together and chatted for a while.

The subject of her being skinny came up a couple of days later. She wanted to hear more from me about the way she looked. I knew she was fishing for compliments, so I obliged, “You know, Shamila, you have a model’s body. Some people would call it skinny but a lot of them would find it very attractive. Many women would kill to look like you.”

Okay, so I was laying it a little thick, but she seemed to be eating it all up. I figured I was probably the only one who ever told her about her physical features being attractive.

“Besides you have the hair to die for. Once people see you with your hair down, it’s no contest.”

She seemed very excited with my comments. She giggled with each remark and I could see her face getting more colour into it with each sentence. I was enjoying her excitement. I decided to go even further at the spur of the moment, “Come to think of it, a belly like yours is probably best suited for a pierced bellybutton.”

She became agitated with that last comment. She jumped off of the bed, lifted her shirt up, and said, “You mean, like this.”

She was giggling as she bared her stomach to show me a stud in her bellybutton.

The kind of clothing my sister usually wears around the house makes it impossible to see anything other than her hands and face. I do see her hair because she usually doesn’t cover them around the house; but I have never seen her cleavage or belly or legs. When I feasted my eyes on her milky white stomach that day, I had a reaction that can only be described as arousal.

She usually wears a long shirt that is formfitting on top and hangs all the way down to her knees. Underneath she wears a loose fitting shalwar that is tied around her waist with a cord. The cord runs through the material and wraps around her hips to be tied like a shoelace in the front. Usually the extra length of the cord is tucked inside the shalwar and hangs down between or in front of her thighs. She then drapes a dupatta (a long scarf) around her neck with the ends hanging behind her and the middle part covering her breasts so they are not visible to the men in the house, like my father and I.

The view that I found myself looking at when she showed me her pierced bellybutton was a very rare occurrence. There she was, holding the front part of her shirt up to her chest, the shalwar around her waist hanging considerably below the bellybutton, the curve of her stomach disappearing down into her shalwar, and the yellow nala(cord) appearing and disappearing behind the folds. Her shalwar fit snugly around her hips and thighs, despite being a loose garment. I could make out a trace of her pubic hair visible around the top of her shalwar. That surprised me because we are required to shave them regularly. It also excited me.

She must have seen that gleam in my eyes as I ogled that little bit of skin shining at me like the moon. She was nervous and giggled embarrassedly. I got hold of myself quickly and whispered, “My God, Shamila! Does mom know about this?”

She laughed, “Yes, she does. It took almost a year of begging before she consented. I am not supposed to show it to anybody, but I’ve been dying to show it to someone ever since I got it pierced.”

“Well, it looks very sexy, and I was right, you do have the best stomach for it.”

She dropped her shirt down and sat back on the bed. Her giggles continued to erupt now and then. She finally got up to leave and said, “I am shaking. I better go and calm myself down.”

This is what happens when a person is unduly repressed from expressing herself.

That was a significant development between the two of us. She was so excited that she had to leave and calm herself down. I didn’t know why she was so excited, but she was excited nevertheless. I guess I was excited myself by that small peek at her body, and I shouldn’t have been. Even though it was my sister’s belly; the fact that it was a rare thing for me to see had elicited my response.

As subtle as that interaction had been, it did have one lasting effect on us. We became a lot freer with each other.

A dupatta is used to cover one’s chest to keep it hidden from males in the house, but it is a very clumsy item of clothing, especially the way my sister normally wears it. It tends to slip and slide and usually gets in the way of any serious work. One result of our being freer around each other was the disappearance of her dupatta when she came with fruit and water in the evenings. That in turn made her long and beautiful hair even more prominent every time I saw her, and yes, it also brought her breasts in the open.

She was a bit “slender” in her chest area as well. She didn’t have big breasts, or even medium sized ones. She had small breasts, which went well with her body. The fact that they were small meant that she didn’t have to wear a bra most of the time. The top that goes with a shalwar, known as a kameese, usually hides them adequately, so I couldn’t really see her nipples pushing through the material, but I knew there was no bra underneath it from the way her chest shaped the kameese.

The other result of our being freer was that I didn’t rush to put my shirt on as quickly as I used to when she came into my room. Being a male, it wasn’t required that I cover myself completely in the presence of a woman, although modesty dictates that I should. She had come into the bathroom while I showered and had seen me a few times with only my undershirt, so it became a routine for me to have only my undershirt on in the evenings during our chats.

As a natural consequence of that, I wasn’t too concerned when one morning she came in and found me standing in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, with my upper body exposed. I was still in my pants but I had no shirt or undershirt on. The water was running as I was trying to get the hot water to start flowing. She came in thinking that I must be in the shower. I noticed a slight hesitation when she found me standing in front of the mirror, but she casually walked in as was her routine, placed the towel on the bar, and went out.

She was rather nonchalant at seeing me half naked, but she did hesitate at the door. Of course that is a natural reaction to seeing someone where they are not expected to be. There was, however, that one look she gave me as she walked by on her way out. What made it significant was the fact that it was an averted look. It was a quick look in the mirror to see my reflection but when she realized that I was looking at her as she was leaving, she quickly looked away. I was looking at her because I was waiting for her to leave before continuing with my brushing. I didn’t want her to see me foaming and spitting so I had to know when she was gone and I could safely resume my activity.

It was okay for her to look in the mirror because everyone does that when passing in front of a mirror. But when she saw me looking at her while she was looking at me, she seemed unprepared for it. It was as if she was doing something she shouldn’t have been doing and the fear of getting caught made her look away quickly.

Of course I may have been mistaken. Maybe she didn’t look away too quickly; she just looked away as she was supposed to do anyways. There was no way for me to really be sure—unless—I were to re-enact the event. I don’t know why but I wanted to be sure.

She looked at me again the next time, but she did not avert her eyes. As she was about to leave the bathroom, I called her back. She stood in the door looking at me to find out what I wanted. I couldn’t think of anything to say, other than, “You don’t have to bring me a towel every morning. I can get it from you the night before.”

She didn’t look me in the eyes; instead she was looking at my chest. She replied, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

I paused as I tried to think of something else to add, but I couldn’t come up with anything. She continued looking at my chest while waiting for me to dismiss her. My pause was long enough to give her the time to drop her gaze down from my chest to my belly and further down. Then it happened. She looked away very quickly.

I was one hundred percent sure that she looked away because she was afraid of getting caught looking at me. I didn’t know why she was afraid of getting caught looking at me. There was nothing wrong if she looked at me but there must be something wrong with why she looked at me.

I found that to be very exciting.

I started to talk to her every morning after that. It wasn’t too difficult, once I thought carefully about things, to come up with a topic or two each day. She became more comfortable in my presence and our interactions opened us to each other in ways that we had never done before. For one, we had never actually talked to each other as much as we started to do then. She also started to spend more time around me.

One Sunday as we were eating our breakfast, she tried to hand me something. I was busy with the comics, so I lifted my hand to grab it without looking at where it was. My hand was off the mark, so she held it with her other hand, directed it towards the item she was handing me and placed the item on my palm before releasing my hand.

I don’t know how to tell you about the heat that I felt emanating from her hand. Her hand was very soft and very warm. We had never had that kind of contact before. As a matter of fact, it was the first physical contact between my sister and I since we became adults and there was definitely some electricity running between the two hands. I do think that she held on to my hand longer than it was necessary, probably to verify the affect.

I had to look up because the effect was very strong and when I looked into her face, I realized that she was also feeling the same effect. Our eyes met and there was an undeniable understanding of the nature of that contact. We looked away quickly and busied ourselves with other things, but the contact did register very strongly in our minds.

I was amazed at the sexual charge in our contact, even though a sexual encounter with my sister would be impossible. Just the thought of such an encounter was impossible. There was no way for us to even dream of such a thing without worrying about the terrible repercussions. On the other hand, there was no denying that the contact was stimulating, to say the least.

The effect of our touch was not so much an effect of my sister touching me or I touching my sister; it was an expression of just being touched by a person of the opposite sex. In this case, we were brother and sister, but the touch itself was between a male skin and a female skin. Because there was no one else for my sister with whom to experience the kind of feelings we were experiencing, those feeling kind of spilled over with the first outlet that came along. I guess the feelings were so bottled up that they were waiting to be expressed through any channel that became available.

It was the awareness of the nature of the contact that was more important than who the contact was between.

I was sitting in the back garden that afternoon, taking my tea while skimming through the magazines I had brought with me. My mother and my sister joined me. My sister is not a tea drinker so while my mother and I drank tea and ate cake, she took one of the magazines and moved some distant away from us to read it. My mom couldn’t see her because her back was to my sister but I had a clear view of her as I chatted with my mom.

Once in a while my eyes would turn towards her and come right back because she seemed so immersed in her reading. It was during one of those fleeting looks when my heart skipped a beat as I saw her looking back at me. It wasn’t as much her looking at me as it was the way she looked away when our eyes met.

She acted like she had been caught. Her breathing had become a little uneven as her chest heaved a couple of times before she took a deep breath to even it out. I tried to figure out the reason for her reaction and failed to concentrate because my mother was talking a lot. I did keep an eye on her to see if she would repeat the look.

She didn’t and finally she got up, brought the magazine back to me, and went inside without looking at me.

Her not looking at me seemed even more significant than the look she had given me earlier. There was definitely something in her mind that was unsettling her.

I asked her that evening, “Shamila, you seem a little jittery lately. Is something the matter?”

“No, there is nothing the matter,” was her reply. I felt a little disappointed because I was hoping for her to say something different. I couldn’t pursue the issue any further so I let it drop, but I decided to keep an eye out for that look again.

It came the next evening as we were eating our supper. My father and mother were busy with their food as were the two of us. It was during one of those quiet moments when the silence felt rather thick that I looked towards my sister. I found her staring at me. Our eyes met and I gave her a faint smile. She quickly looked down to her plate, where her food seemed hardly touched.

Her looking away reminded me that I had seen that look before. I couldn’t recall exactly when and where, but in the back of my mind, I remembered another person looking at me the same way as my sister was looking at me from across the table or room. Even her response to my smile seemed familiar.

I did something that evening that I would have never done in the past. I asked her to show me her bellybutton again. She was a little shy at first and showed a lot of reluctance but when I urged her on by saying, “Well, I have seen it once before. It won’t be a big deal if you show it to me again,” she relented.

She stood away from the bed with her shirt pulled up and her bellybutton in full view. It was as arousing as the first time, if not more. I took a good and deep look. She couldn’t hold her shirt up for too long and dropped it. When she came back to the bed, her face and neck were red.

“You look very good.” My lips were quivering under the stress of my emotions as I said that.

She looked at me and our eyes held together for a brief moment before she lowered them and whispered, “Thanks.”

I tried very hard to stop myself but I couldn’t help saying, “You should never wear those clothes that show your midriff. You’ll drive people crazy.”

“Yeah, like I’ll ever have the opportunity to dress like that in front of anyone,” she retorted.

It was clear that I was flirting with her. Whether she realized it or not, I couldn’t say, but I was flirting with mild sexual undertones in my remarks and gestures. It actually felt good and she seemed affected by it; but it wasn’t clear if she felt the way I did or whether she felt embarrassed by the fact that it was her brother and not someone she could actually flirt back with.

Our eyes started to meet on more occasions after that. I would see her looking at me or she would see me looking at her; we would exchange a quick, shy smile and look away. It was clear that we had accepted the nature of our contacts and had given approval to each other that it was okay to be that way with each other. There was no clear definition of “that way” and there was no way forward either; but it was enjoyable just the way it was.

Our acceptance was comfortable enough that one evening I asked her without worrying about a possible negative response if I could see her with her hair down, and she obliged without any hesitation. She went to her room and came back with her long hair flowing behind her in a film star style. Her pose reminded me of Ashwaria Roy—that Indian vixen from the movie Devdas, who has become sweetheart of the Western world. I noticed that her shirt was also a bit tight as she twirled to give me a full view. She must have seen my eyes blazing, because she seemed to be pleased with the affect her hair were having on me. She looked really beautiful and I told her so.

There was definitely something happening between the two of us. We just couldn’t bring it out in the open because of our relationship, but there was some expression of it in our demeanour in each other’s presence as opposed to in front of others. Her hair started to stay loose in the evenings when she spent time with me as my compliments continued with more and more frankness.

One evening, as we sat across from each other, I noticed that she seemed lost in her thoughts, with an occasional half-smile thrown in. I let her continue for a short while before asking, “What are those smiles about?”

“I am thinking something—something rather naughty.”

“Well, then let’s hear it.”

“I don’t know if I should say it.” She smiled more openly at her own thoughts.

“Well, with a smile like that, you have to say it.”

She paused for effect, then said, “I noticed you don’t shave your armpits.”

“I do,” I protested. “Occasionally. Usually I am either lazy or forget to do it.”

“It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t mind. Actually I think it is kind of exciting to see a man with hair under his arms.”

“Well, that’s not what our elders would agree with.”

She laughed again, but it wasn’t at my statement. I just looked at her inquisitively. She was sitting cross-legged in front of me. She did something that I found to be a little too much. She placed her hands a little distance away behind her, extended her chest slightly outward, shook her head to let her hair fall off of the bed, and looked at me rather mischievously.

She said, rather seductively, “I don’t shave my armpits either.”

“Really!” I exclaimed as I took in the view. “Does mom know about it?”

“No, that’s something mom doesn’t know.”

“God, Shamila. You are becoming a rebel in more ways than one.”

She looked at me; actually she looked right into my eyes and held her gaze. I wanted to look away, but didn’t, thinking that she was about to say something I probably wanted to hear. She asked, “Wanna see?”

She wanted to know if I wanted to see her armpit hair. I am not one of those people who like the European look, but there she was, almost proud of her unconventionality. Of course, I had to say yes. I couldn’t lose the opportunity to see more of my sister.

She giggled and jumped, very excited, and ran out of my room. I was more intrigued by the idea of how she would show me her armpits than actually seeing them. I mean, as far as I knew, she didn’t possess any sleeveless clothing, so she would have to somehow lift her shirt up or something. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to show me anything. I was curious to see if she would go that far.

She came back wearing her nightgown. Her face was red as she gave me an embarrassed look. I waited like a spectator to see what was about to unfold. I didn’t expect her to be naked under that gown, but for a brief moment, I pictured her dropping the gown to bare her shoulders and holding it on her chest as she lifted her one arm and then the other.

She did drop the gown, all the way down to her feet. I found out that she did have sleeveless clothing. Underneath she was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that fit snugly around her bosom and jeans that hugged her long legs, slim ass, and small hips rather deliciously. She held her arms up and crossed above her head as she posed for me; slightly bent at the knees, hips pushing one way while arms leaning the other. For the first time in my adult life, I actually saw my sister’s arms and shoulders.

The view was exciting, merely because it was a view I had never actually expected to see. But the fact that she made the jeans look good was a big bonus. I could see the snug fit around her crotch, along with the slope of her thighs and the length of her legs. My sister was looking real good as a woman. I couldn’t remember anyone else in my past that had looked that good.

“So, what do you think?” She asked while trying to keep her eyes looking down. She couldn’t look at me because she looked very embarrassed.

I looked at the hair in her armpits and almost laughed. There were hardly any to see. There were enough to show that she wasn’t shaving, but the colour was so light and her arms were so white that they almost didn’t even register in my mind.

“Very sexy!” I whistled at her. “Very, very sexy!”

She bent down to lift the gown to cover herself up when I stopped her. “Wait! Why don’t you complete the picture and lift your shirt up to show that bellybutton, again.”

She did. She looked very good as her hair spread behind her as a nice backdrop to her pose. I was getting an erection just by looking at her. She didn’t wait for me to say anything. She picked up her gown and left the room quickly.

I guess it must have taken her a while to compose herself because she came back only after an hour or so. I was in bed already. She came and sat on the edge, close to my feet.

“You really think I looked sexy,” she asked. Her face was still pink. She was anxious to hear my words, as if she hadn’t heard them before.

“Yes,” I answered; then almost without thinking, I added, “You are packaged very nicely. You will always look sexy.”

“Really, you think so?” I guess not having any compliments paid to oneself; one does tend to crave them.

“Yes, I do think so. Now, go away and let me sleep.”

It hit me then that my sister was looking for validation—male validation—to boost her self-esteem. Since I was the only male around to give her any feedback of that sort, well, she went for it, despite the consequences.

Thus I learned another shortcoming of our culture and how it negatively affects a girl’s self-esteem. Lacking any validation, she can never quite be sure if she should feel good about herself or not. I actually felt sorry for my sister.

She beamed with pleasure as she whimpered, “Thanks,” and went out almost skipping.

She thanked me properly the next morning. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Shafiq, but you have made me feel good about myself and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Well, it’s my pleasure.” I was gracious.

I expected some calm to return to our encounters. She had received the kind of validation she needed, and we had reached the line that couldn’t be crossed. It was true that we weren’t the same pair as we were at the beginning of my vacation, but we were still brother and sister and we could only flirt so much before reining ourselves in.

She proved me wrong that evening. She was sitting cross-legged in front of me and her eyes were focused on her feet, when she said softly, “I don’t shave down there either.”

That statement took me by surprise. “You know, Shamila, we may be sharing more than we should be sharing.”

“I just wanted you to know.” She was looking at her fingernails. She wasn’t looking at me like she had done during previous revelations. It gave me a perfect opportunity to observe her profile.

I noticed her thin lips with just a hint of perspiration on the tip of her upper lip, probably because she was nervous. She had lips that naturally looked wet and very inviting, very kissable. Her thin nose complimented her features very well. Her chest was moving up and down due to rather rough breathing. She seemed visibly tense as if she had betrayed some hidden emotions and wasn’t sure if she should have done it because it left her vulnerable.

I couldn’t help feeling aroused. I was in the presence of a girl that was feeling excited in my presence and was sharing some intimate details about her that she normally wouldn’t share with just anyone. I wanted her to vocalize her feeling a little more to see if she would betray something else. I asked, “Why do you want me to know that?”

“I don’t know. I feel we have created a special bond and I wanted this secret to be added to that bond.”

I looked at her sitting there so silently, contemplating her own words. She was waiting for my response to her comment and I didn’t know what response was appropriate under the circumstances. Yes, we had created a special bond, but what did that bond mean? What did it imply in terms of our personal contact? Were we now more friends with each other than siblings?

I understood her need for a friend quite well; after all, she didn’t have any male friends and if she could share even silly things with me, which she normally wouldn’t with her brother, well, I was all for it. Only that I didn’t know what my new role constituted. Was I to still treat her like a sister, or could I do or expect more than a brother could?

One thing that I wanted to do then and there was to see how many times my arms would wrap around her thin waist if I were to hold her in my arms. It was just a thought that came to my mind as I watched her squirming in her place.

My heart jumped into my throat and my stomach felt a little queasy when the thought came to my mind that I had the perfect opportunity to push the envelope a little further.

Very quietly and very nonchalantly, I asked, “Can I see it?”

The shock registered just the way I wanted it to. She snapped her head up as she asked, “What?”

“Every time we shared a secret, you showed it to me. First your bellybutton stud and then your armpit hair. I figured this should also follow the same pattern.” I looked right into her eyes as I said that.

“I…I couldn’t do that,” she seemed confused. “That won’t be appropriate.”

“Technically the others weren’t appropriate either. But you were quite anxious to show them to me. Let’s just say that this time I’m anxious to see this.”

“But why? You know we can’t cross that line.”

“Yes, I know. But we have nudged that line a little. Let’s nudge it a little further.”

“But…but…I can’t let you see that part of my body. It was okay to show you my belly or underarms, but…you can’t look at my…” She left the sentence incomplete. She was really confused. I guess she didn’t expect me to go that far. Although she should have known that we were inching towards just such a thing.

“I am sorry, Shamila. You misunderstand me.” I decided to take the easy way out. “I don’t want to see you down there. I only want to see the hair. You just have to lower your shalwar a little without exposing any forbidden body parts.” I laughed nervously.

My heart was thumping at the thought of her lowering her shalwar. It didn’t matter how much I would end up seeing; the fact that I was asking my sister to show me her pubic hair was very erotic for me as my penis was getting harder and harder with each passing moment.

“No, I can’t,” she said decidedly. “I will die of embarrassment.”

“But you weren’t embarrassed to tell me about it.”

“That’s different. Telling you was easy; showing it to you is impossible. Besides, why do you want to see my hair?” She almost seemed to be pleading.

I leaned forward and said in a whisper, “I have never seen a woman’s hair before. This seemed like the right opportunity.”

“But I am not just any woman. I am your sister.”

“I know, but that doesn’t matter, does it? You are still a woman.”

There, I had done it. I had created the distinction that we needed to make our flirting acceptable. She was still a woman and I was still a man. It was okay for us to feel the way a man and woman feel towards each other even though this man and that woman were related by blood. We were still a man and a woman, with man-woman feelings. Considering that I was the only man around that woman and she was the only woman around this man, the sibling relationship became secondary. The male-female bond became primary.

She was lost in thought. I knew she was weighing my words.

I presented further argument, “It won’t take too long. You just have to flash a little bit and we’ll be done. I’ll see something I have always wanted to see and you’ll deepen our newfound bond. It is just hair, like your armpit hair.”

“I don’t know…”

“Sure, you do. You must be dying to reveal the secret to someone. Here I am, your confidant. This will open up a whole new dimension to our relationship. It will be just between the two of us. No one will know and no one will care, as long as we don’t care. Besides, once you do it, we’ll move on and forget about it. There will be nothing left to feel embarrassed about.”

My own words were echoing in my ears. My blood was rushing so fast I could hear it, along with my own heartbeat. I could even hear the throb in my pants.

“No, I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. Just lean back like you did the other day when you told me about your armpit hair. Lift your shirt up like you are showing me your pierced bellybutton and push your shalwar down an inch or so until I see just the top of your hair.”

She closed her eyes and said, “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

I sighed in reply. “Okay, Sis. Don’t worry. You don’t have to.”

She opened her eyes and looked at me. I smiled at her to show that it was okay with me.

She sat there contemplating my words while I waited for her to say something. After a while, she leaned back like she had done the other night, dangled her hair off of the bed, and slowly reached with her right hand and started to lift her shirt up.

“Thump, thump, thump,” went my heart, as I waited eagerly for the view.

She revealed the top of her shalwar.

“Boom, boom, boom,” went the blood running through my brain. I felt like I was going to faint as my heart raced to 90, 100, 110, 120 beats per minute. My breathing was completely out of sync with my heartbeats.

Her belly came into view next.

“Throb, throb, throb,” went my eyes as my penis was putting pressure on every muscle in my body.

She lifted her shirt above her bellybutton. Then she showed the beginning of her ribcage.

I heard the sounds of a hurricane in my ears.

She realized then that her shirt at the back was pressed under her ass, thus keeping her front from going any higher. She lifted her body up and came forward a little onto her knees as she pulled it out and freed it with her other hand. She lifted both the front and the back of her shirt all the way up to just below her breasts and held it there with her left hand. The fingers of her right hand disappeared inside her shalwaras they searched for the ends of her cord.

I opened my mouth to control my breathing as my hands trembled with anticipation.

She pulled out the ends of her cord from inside the top of her shalwar. In an effort to muffle my gasp, I ended up drawing my breath in loudly. She smiled as she realized my condition.

I was starting to sweat as she tugged on one end and pulled the cord to undo the knot. Once the knot was gone, she tucked her thumb on the inside of her shalwar and moved it around to loosen the garment.

She lowered her eyes and slowly slid the top of her shalwar down until I began to see her hair. She kept going and more of her hair came into view. She kept lowering it until it brought most of her pubic hair in the open. She stopped short of the lower edge where part of her pussy was starting to show.

It was incredible. I was looking at my sister’s pubic hair—her pussy hair—her bush. She was willingly showing me an intimate part of her body and I found that to be everything: erotic, arousing, exciting, you name it.

She must have seen me drooling as a wide smile of satisfaction was imprinted on her lips.

I swallowed hard and stuttered, “They look amazing!”

After waiting for a few second while I took a good look at her hair, she reached for the top of her shalwar to pull it back up.

I almost yelled, as the words stuck in my throat, “Not yet! I am not done yet.”

She didn’t stop as she said, “I think you are done. If I keep myself exposed any longer, I think you are going to have a stroke.”

I guess she could see for herself how flustered I was. She pulled her shalwar up and quickly tied the cord into a knot again. I was mesmerized as her hands worked around the front of her pussy and her fingers tucked the nala back into position. She was flushed all over with either embarrassment or excitement, I couldn’t tell.

“Sorry, Shamila,” I apologized, “I can’t help feeling excited.” I wanted to use the word aroused, but I thought better of it. “I have never seen anything so amazing. And the effect of seeing your hair on me is incredible.”

She seemed flustered herself and had trouble staying in front of me, so she quickly dashed out, while pulling her shirt back down over her hips and ass as she exited the room.

The following morning she said to me, “You know, brother, we went a little too far last night.”

“I know, Sis. I know. But you were very brave and I want to thank you for it.”

“I feel very bad. I feel like I betrayed something sacred. I don’t know what you think of me now, but I feel a little less in my own eyes.”

“There is no need to feel that way. You didn’t do anything wrong and you definitely didn’t betray anything. In fact, I actually owe you one for sharing so much of yourself with me. I feel honoured.”

“Well, I am still troubled though and I think it is best for us to step back a little.”

“Maybe you are right. Maybe that is wise for us. That means you’ll have to stay out of my room if we are to step back.”

“Why? We don’t need to go that far.”

“Yes, we do. You’ve seen my reaction last night. I can’t sit and talk to you like that never happened. It will take some time to get back to normal.”

“But you said that we’ll move on and forget about it once I showed my hair to you. Now you are saying something different.”

“I am sorry, Shamila. I didn’t know at that time how strong a reaction I was going to have to seeing your hair. It was much worst than I anticipated so it is now difficult to forget and move on. I need time to adjust back to things.”

It was my mother who noticed that something was wrong between the two of us. One afternoon, during my usual tea session, she asked me, “So, what’s with you and your sister? You seem to be upset with each other.”

I didn’t think anyone would notice the change, but apparently someone did. I replied, “I don’t know what you mean, mom. There is nothing the matter. We are not upset with each other. We are okay.”

“But, she has become quiet again, like she was before you came. I had started to worry about her silence and I thought your coming was a blessing because it cheered her up. Now it seems she is reverting back to that other self. You don’t even spend time together in the evenings.”

“I guess the novelty of my return has worn off. She was attentive to my comfort at the beginning, but that may have been a hardship for her, so she is not doing it anymore.”

“I know your sister, son. She can never consider that a hardship. I think she feels quite strongly towards you and she would be happy to do things for you.”

“Then I don’t know what could be the matter. I don’t have any problem.”

“She is a bit immature and she is quite curious about life as anyone in her position would be. I hope she didn’t say or do anything inappropriate that made you tell her off. It seems she has backed away from you because of something you have said to her.”

My mom was very perceptive; although I doubted if she was perceptive enough to guess the real reason.

“I don’t recall anything like that, but if you want, I can talk to her and find out the problem.”

“You do that, son. I want you to pull her out of this mode, whatever you have to do. Next stage is depression and that’ll ruin her life if she succumbs to that.”

That night, I went to my sister’s room to have a chat with her. That was the first time I had seen her room in a long while and I found it to be quite pleasant. She had her doll collection nicely displayed in a cupboard. Disney characters were decorating her bed covers and pillowcases. Pink curtains with dolphin lamps and a dresser full of makeup stuff, even though I had never really seen her wearing any.

She was surprised at my visit. I sat on the edge of her bed as she sat cross-legged towards the head.

I said to her, “Mom is concerned that there is a problem between the two of us and she wants us to resolve it so she can see her daughter smiling again.”

I was trying to make light of the situation but she was very sombre. She didn’t even look at me when she spoke, “But there is no problem between us. Is there?”

She looked at me with that question. It seemed obvious that she was fishing for something.

I looked back at her with seriousness and said, “I guess there is; but what, I don’t know. May be you can help me figure it out.”

“Well, what do you think the problem is?”

I thought about my answer for a while before responding in all earnest. “I think the problem is you.”

She was taken aback. She protested, “Me! How do you figure that?”

“You are confused.”

“Confused about what?”

“Shamila, it seems to me you want something from me that even you are not sure what it is. I think I have played my part as appropriately as possible, but you don’t seem to think so. The result is that you have a conflict in your mind that first needs to be resolved before anything can happen.”

“But where I sit, the conflict seems to be in your mind, not mine. I was quite clear what I was after. I was strengthening a bond that seemed to have developed between us and that is unique in that brothers and sisters don’t have that kind of bond. Then you go and react to it like I am not your sister, but someone else.”

“My reaction was normal and I am not ashamed of it. You are a beautiful girl and we shared an intimate moment, which was exciting for me. I was excited because of what I saw and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn’t want to get excited, but I did. I didn’t even expect to get excited, but I did. How do I explain to you how strong an effect it had on me to see something so wonderful on you?”

She listened to me very attentively but silently. I could see the turmoil in her chest as a result of confused emotions. I knew she was about to burst and she had to say what was on her mind before that happened.

“You know, Shafiq, you are right. I am confused.” Her confession startled me. I didn’t think she would see things the way I was seeing them, although I expected her reasons to be different than mine.

She continued, “I was bonding with you more on a male-female level than on a brother-sister level. Not that anyone can blame me for it, considering the fate that I am doomed to. I had never expected your reaction to be as strong and as favourable as it turned out. I expected you to reprimand me or to tell me to stop going that far. Instead, you reciprocated my sentiments exactly as I had hoped for, and I wasn’t quite prepared for it.”

“So, what is the confusion then?”

“The confusion is that I don’t know which way I want to go. I know we have a line that we can’t cross, but I was enjoying this newfound bond of ours at a level that I have never experienced before and I thought I was getting carried away beyond reason.”

“Listen, Sis. I know exactly what you are going through. It is not easy to live a strict life like the one you are living and I don’t mind giving you an outlet to express and even experience some things that you wish to experience. As long as we know the limits, and as long as you know that certain reactions are bound to come, brother or no brother.”

She was quietly thinking about what I had said. I waited a while for her to say something, but she didn’t.

“Listen, Shamila. If we are synchronized about the situation, then what say we start over.”

She only nodded her head. I got up and left.

My mom asked me the following day about my conversation with Shamila and what the problem was. I simply told her, “It is the fortress, mom.”

She was saddened by that revelation. “Yes, I know, son. This place can kill one’s spirit, especially one so young and not able to understand the reasons behind these restrictions.”

“Then what should we do to change her mood.”

She sat there thinking about the situation and after a long while, she said, “I guess we have to let her out of her cage for a while, so she can take a break from her confinement.”

I was confused. “What do you mean by that, mom?”

“Listen, son.” My mom leaned forward in a conspiratorial sort of way and whispered, “Your dad will be out on Thursday. Why don’t you take her shopping or something? Maybe the two of you can even catch a movie. This will take her mind off of things and she’ll feel better.”

That was not something unusual because after my father and mother, I am the most appropriate chaperone for my sister. But it seemed ironic for her to trust me with my sister after what my sister and I had been up to. Of course, she knew, and I knew, as well as my sister did, there was no way for anything to happen between us because of the sacred relationship she and I have. My mother knew from many past occasions when they had left me in charge of my sister that I was the best caretaker of my sister and I had performed my duties satisfactorily.

I couldn’t wait to break the news to Shamila. I told her that evening that mom wanted me to take her out on a date.

She looked baffled at my comment. I explained the situation to her and told her why mom wanted me to take her out. Of course, she was happy and said that she would look forward to our outing.

She wanted to go to a mall that was slightly out of the way. When we got out of the car in the parking lot, she surprised me by shedding her abaya and scarf off. Underneath she was wearing those jeans and T-shirt from the other day and boots to compliment her jeans. She had her hair in a ponytail and hanging all the way down to her buttocks.

“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief.

“I am so sick and tired of this.” She exclaimed as she threw her outer garments into the car.

She looked good, as I had seen her that day, but she looked alluring when she walked and her hair caressed her ass from side to side with each step. She was very graceful in her walk and she seemed very sure of herself, despite that probably being her first time out without the outer coverings.

Of course she drew looks from both men and women that must have flattered her. Even I felt flattered being with her because some guys gave me the look of envy. Only if they knew that she was my sister.

We shopped for most of the morning. She bought clothes and other stuff. I then took her for lunch and we caught a 2:00 pm show in the cinema. We were home by 5:00. My mom was very happy to see the happiness on Shamila’s face.

That evening I asked her, “So, how was your date?”

She laughed. “It was fun. I enjoyed myself.”

“I am glad you did. It was nice to see you out of your element.” I did the play on words.

“So, when are we going out again?”

“I would like to say that it’s up to you, but I think it would be more appropriate to say that it is up to mom.” I laughed.

“Well, I still need more shopping to do, so how about tomorrow?” She laughed as well.

“Why don’t you go and talk to mom? I am game if she is.”

She gave me the shock of my life when she took off her abaya and scarf the next morning in the parking lot of another mall. She was dressed to kill; wearing a sleeveless half-T-shirt, showing her midriff in full glory and her cleavage rather prominent, and a hipster which clung to her curves around her butt and thigh areas and came just below her knees with a provocative slit on the side of her legs.

“I am glad you like it,” she said when she saw me staring at her with an open mouth.

“No, I don’t like it. It is too much for me.”

“Well, you are the one who took me shopping for it,” she didn’t much care about my protest. She smiled rather mischievously, “Besides, I am on a date and this is how I wanted to dress.”

It was a nice day—very stimulating. I was horny most of the day and she probably knew it. I was ogling her throughout the trip and I even commented about her being too sexy for a mere mortal like me. She brushed my comments aside.

We came home tired and exhausted. She was on high spirits though. She came for our evening visit and this time instead of sitting on the bed cross-legged, she spread herself facedown across the width of it with her legs bent above her body. She was feeling good and she was looking good as each swaying of her legs caused her body and her hips to move slightly.

“Tell me, Sis. You have bared most of you to me today. Why don’t you go all the way and let me see all of you?”

She laughed, “You don’t stop trying your luck, do you?”

“Well, it is like playing the lottery. I know the odds are tremendously against my winning, but the thrill of playing is worth something in itself. If I happen to get lucky and win, well, that would be once in a lifetime experience.”

“So, I am a lottery ticket to you.”

“No, you are the lottery prize.”

“Well, you are not a qualified candidate.”

“Yeah,” I said, resignedly, “I know. What a pity?”

She turned over to her back and extended her legs straight. “I can do something for you, though. Sort of saying thanks for a wonderful date of freedom.”

“What would that be?”

She reached for the button on the front of her hipster that was holding it together and undid it. Then she unzipped halfway down and opened the two flaps to reveal hear dark, silky bush. She crooned, “Enjoy, while it lasts.”

I gasped loudly as I wasn’t prepared for her move.

I leaned forward and down to get a closer look and exclaimed, “It looks beautiful, Sis. Just like the rest of you.”

“You have been paying me compliments all day, brother. I hope you don’t have any wrong intentions behind them.”

“Oh, no, no, no. My intentions are very honourable.” We both laughed at my plea of innocence.

She saw my hand moving across to her hair but didn’t say or do anything. She only looked at it as my fingers reached down and held the top of a bunch of her pubic hair. “They feel lovely.”

She just smiled but didn’t try to stop me. I ran my fingers through them and caressed the base of those hair as I traced lines across her skin.

She slapped my hand gently and zipped up. “Okay, that’s enough. Give a guy an inch and he wants a yard.”

“Can’t help it, Sis. We had some good time today and I don’t think you were with your brother on our trip.”

“Actually, I wasn’t. I was out with a man. I wanted to know what it feels like to be out on a real date, that’s why I went all out.”

She sat up and positioned herself in that usual cross-legged pose. She asked, “Have you been with a woman, I mean, that way?”

I looked in her face trying to figure out what she was getting at. I didn’t know what answer she wanted to hear, so I gave the logical answer for people like us, from a culture like ours. “No, I haven’t been with a woman, Sis.” I lowered my head in remorse.

“Then we are in the same boat,” she sympathized. “I sometime wonder what it would be like to be with someone that way.”

I didn’t say anything. I waited for her to continue. She didn’t. Instead she got up and went to her room. I fell asleep thinking about things.

I was feeling rather down the next day for some reason and she picked up on it.

“What is it, Shafiq? What’s the matter? You seem somewhere else.”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about things.”

“What kind of things?”

“About what we discussed last night. Things like what it would be like to be with someone that way.”

“Oh, I see.” She paused for a while then added, “I hear it is supposed to be good, but I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either. But I sure would like to find out, wouldn’t you.”

She ignored my comment. My whole body was feverish and she could tell that I was aching. She asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at her—I mean really looked at her. She was wearing eastern clothing again and to me she looked more beautiful than she did in the western outfit. She waited for my answer.

I reached out and held her left hand in my right hand. That was the first physical contact we had made since our accidental touch that Sunday morning, and it was as electrifying as the first time.

I looked into her eyes and said, “Sis, I want to see you.”

“I am in front of you. You can see me right now.”

“No, Sis. I want to see you, see you.”

“Oh…” She exclaimed as my intentions dawned on her.

“I have to, Sis. I must.”

“I don’t…”

“No, Sis. You don’t understand. It is a matter of life and death.”

She gazed into my eyes for a while and then whispered, “Really, that bad!”

“You have no idea. You have been driving me crazy since day one and I have reached a bursting point. I know we can’t do anything but I want to see you; just want to have a picture for my fantasies.”

She pulled her hand away from me and walked out of my room. I sat there, numb.

She came back a few minutes later. She was in her gown. She stood enough distance away from me where I could see all of her profile and slowly opened the front of her gown and dropped it down to her ankles. She stood in front of me stark naked.

Her slender body swaying in front of me like the smoke from a genie’s bottle; her long, black hair flowing behind her caressing her naked butt; and her pubic hair so sexily framing her sweet, sexy pussy. Her thighs were very inviting and her small, round, and firm breasts with hard nipples pointing at me were magical.

I gestured for her to turn around and give me the complete view from all sides. Her hair were covering her ass partly as part of it peeked through the black strands. I found that to be very sexy and highly erotic. When she turned back to face me, I motioned for her to come closer. She did.

I placed my hands on her hips and held her close to me. My face was at eye level with her pussy. It was the most glorious pussy I could have ever imagined.

“Sis, is it possible for you to let me enter you.”

She gasped and bit her lower lip, which only enhanced her appeal in my eyes. She replied, “You know, I have always wanted to feel a man inside of me but never did I imagine it to be my brother.”

“Was that a yes or no, then?”

“It has to be a no, you know that. We are not supposed to come into that kind of contact.”

“Who’s gonna know?” I pleaded. I was getting desperate.

“We’ll know; you and I. We can’t be with each other that way.”

I had to find another approach. I let her go and she put her gown back on. As she turned to leave, I asked her, “Do you want to see me, then?”

She stopped in her tracks. She didn’t turn back, only stood there looking up towards the ceiling. After thinking about my comment a few moments, she replied, “Maybe some other time.”

I have never felt so frustrated in my life as I did that day.

The following evening, as I came out of the shower, I found her sitting on my bed. She looked at me as I walked over to her, and grabbed my hand once I was near her. She said, “I thought about it all night and all day. I think I do want to see you.”

I kept holding on to her hand and said, “Go ahead.”

She hesitated at first and then slowly got enough courage to reach out and grab the flap on the front. I released her hand so she could use both of them to open my towel. She had trouble looking at my penis directly but after a few averted looks, she managed to concentrate and take the view in. My cock was hanging flaccidly over my testicles and was shrunk in size due to my bath. It wasn’t a very impressive sight.

She looked at it and I could see her hand twitching as if she was suppressing the urge to touch it. I told her, “You can go ahead and touch it if you want.”

The thought of her hands in contact with my dick caused some movement in my penis. It started to enlarge. She smiled and said, “It’s alive!”

“Yes, it is coming alive.” My God, she had the most beautiful smile I have ever seen on such luscious lips.

She hesitantly reached out and poked it with her index finger. I laughed at her reaction. She withdrew her hand as if she had touched something hot.

“It’s okay. He won’t bite.”

She became a little bold and grabbed the tip with her thumb and index finger. I was rapidly hardening with her touches, as unexciting as they were.

I reached down and held her hand in mine. Then I opened her palm, angled it crosswise, placed my shaft right in the middle, and wrapped her hand around it. The feel of her soft hand on my cock expedited the growing erection. I could see it pushing her hand loose. She held on and looked amazed at the increase in size in just matter of seconds. As she held it and squeezed it, it became really rigid.

“It’s so…” she looked for the right word to complete her sentence.

I thought she was going to say that it was so hard or that it was so big. She completed her sentence, “…so warm.”

Well, that too. Different colours came and went on her features. She asked, “Does this mean, you are ready to have sex?”

I looked at my sister holding my hard cock in her hand and just smiled at her rather innocent question.

She lifted it up and looked at the underside. Her other hand went for my scrotum and cupped it. “Let me show you something,” I said to her and first removed her hand off of my rod and then placed it back over it, palm down. She made a first and I moved her hand forward and backward in a small stroking movement. She saw the skin of my circumcised head come over the ridge and cover it and then move back as her hand moved back.

“What would this do?” She asked.

“Just wait a short while. You’ll see.”

The pre-come started after a few strokes and a drop formed at the tip right below the hole. She seemed quite amazed, “Is that the sperm?”

“No, the sperm will require a lot more strokes before it comes out. That is just the pre-come. I am now primed to be inside a woman.”

“But you do know that you can’t be inside me.”

“Yes, I do know as you constantly keep reminding me. That’s why I said, ’…inside a woman,’ instead of, ’…inside you.’ ”

Then she surprised me by saying, “I can let you enter me, but you cannot have sex with me.”

I was confused. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No, it’s not, if you think about it.”

“Can you clarify a little?”

“I want to feel a man inside of me and you want to feel yourself inside a woman. I can let you go inside of me so we both feel what it is like, but it is not sex. We are not having sex.”

“But, isn’t sex where a man puts his penis inside a woman.”

“No, sex is the whole act. Here I am simply talking about a penis inside a pussy.”

“I can put my penis inside of you, but we are not having sex.”

“That’s right. Sex would involve kissing, hugging, caressing, and fucking. We are not fucking. You are simply inserting your penis inside of me and then pulling it out. If that’s okay with you then I can agree to it.”

She was very complicated for me, but I didn’t care. However she justified it, the magical part was that my penis would be inside her pussy. The rest I could care less.

I dropped my towel and reached for her shirt to remove it. I moved her back and she spread herself on the bed. I then took her pants off and jumped where her feet were, spread her legs a little and positioned myself in between them.

She stared at my erect cock. I aimed for her pussy as I lifted her legs up and moved my cock closer to her pussy lips.

I was sitting on my haunches. As her legs moved up to her chest, her butt came up and her pussy became open for my entry. I lowered myself down enough until the tip of my cock touched the bottom of her pussy lips. She shuddered at the feel as I slowly pushed it between her lips and ran the tip across the length of her cunt. My penis parted her lips in a ploughing motion as the sides rubbed on the sides of her lips, the bottom caressed her hole and the area above it and the little hole at the end of my cock pushed into her clit. She gasped at the feel of my liquid coming in contact with her clit.

I traced the length of her pussy with my penis a couple more times and then pulled it back, away from her genitals. I let the back of her thighs rest against the top of my thighs as I held her pussy lips between the fingers of each hand and spread them apart to take a better look at her hole. The funnel like entrance to her insides had this pinkish glow on it. I held my penis between the fingers of my right hand as I held her lips open with my left and positioned the head of my cock right in that opening. I pushed a little with my hips to anchor it properly. Then I grabbed her knees with my arms and tried to insert myself inside her.

My penis went in a little but didn’t go in too far. There was resistance to its entry. I moved a little forward and up so that my cock was rigidly stuck in her cunt. I grabbed her shoulders with my hands and pushed down to get inside of her. I couldn’t get her opening to widen to let my penis in. I turned slightly to make a semicircular motion hoping to drill my way in, but nothing doing.

“What’s the matter?” She asked as she tried to look between her legs. My cock was still outside her pussy and she wanted to know why I wasn’t in.

“Your body is not cooperating,” I answered.

“Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Just sit back and relax.”

“I don’t want to sit back. I want to see it going in.” She was leaning on her elbows by then, thus changing the angle. In this pose, the backs of her knees were resting on top of my thighs, but her backside was dangling little lower than I wanted it to.

I placed my hands around her hips and below her ass. I grabbed her buttocks firmly as I shifted my weight toward the back to correct the angle of entry. She looked at my penis as I pulled her up with my hands and pushed down with my hips, trying to concentrate my force onto the tip of my cock.

I pushed inward as her pussy resisted. The front of my cock wouldn’t go any further as the back of it was pushing forward with force. I could see my dick enlarging outward in the middle.

I sensed it happening, as did she. She yelled, “It’s going in.”

I yelled a lot louder, “Ohh!”

I screamed in a sound which almost resembled a scream of pain, as my head pushed her opening outward and made it through. I was in as her pussy closed around my penis after the ridge had gone through the opening.

“Ohh!” She screamed almost a similar scream of pain as I felt my penis breaking her hymen.

“Are you okay?” She asked with concern as she looked into my face.

“Yes, I am okay,” I said, while trying to catch my breath. I had exerted myself so much that my heart was beating out of control. “How about you?”

“It looks like you are in pain or something.”

“No, I am okay. It’s just that you are very tight!”

“Is that a good thing?”

“That’s a very good thing. Men love tight pussies.”

She looked at my cock so embedded inside her cunt and then at my face. She seemed ecstatic. I asked her, “So, how does it feel?”

She looked at me while thinking carefully about her feelings. “It feels kind of weird.”

I didn’t expect that kind of a reply. “Weird? How so?”

“I don’t know. I have never had a cock inside of me, so it feels weird. I feel weird. I don’t know what kind of signals my body is supposed to produce, so whatever it is producing, it feels weird.”

“But is it good weird, or bad?”

“I don’t know. It is just weird.”

“Was there some kind of pain as you lost your virginity?”

“Just a little burning sensation, but nothing I can’t handle.”

I pushed my cock in until the skin bunched around the top also went inside. I pulled it back and then pushed it in. I repeated this in and out motion a few times and then asked her, “How about now?”

“Well, it feels kind of nice.” She thought a little more and then said, “Actually, it feels nice. I am having this rush of sweet sensations, but the weirdness is still there. I guess I have a foreign object inside of me and the weirdness will stay until I become familiar with it.”

To make her familiar with my cock, I slowly pulled it out with the intentions to put it back in. As the ridge of my head tried to come out, that tightness came back into play. I had trouble sliding it out gently. I had to pull it out with force.

Once I pulled it out, she sat up and pulled herself away from me.

I panicked, “What are you doing?”

“We are done. I now know what a penis feels like inside of me, thanks to you. And you now know what it feels like to be inside a woman, thanks to me.”

I have to admit that at that moment I truly understood the meanings of the word “flabbergasted.” I almost yelled, “But I am not done, yet.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, please, Sis. I didn’t quite feel the whole thing. I was too busy worrying about you to concentrate on my own feelings. Please, let me do it just one more time. Then I promise we’ll be done. Please, I am begging you.” I was pathetic.

She looked at me for a short while then said, “Okay, just one more time.”

“Okay, okay. This time I will really concentrate on everything.”

She lay back on the bed. I positioned myself as before and with a heave and a ho, I inserted my head through her opening. She was watching it go in. I pushed a little further and then pulled it back, making sure my head won’t come out. I kept going back and forth like that a few times until she interrupted me, “What are you doing?”

“This feels too good, Sis. You have the most wonderful pussy in the entire universe.”

“How would you know that mister? You have never been with any other woman.”

“Well, I can’t imagine for it to be any better than this. I am in heaven.”

“Well, you better hurry up. If you continue like this any longer, I’ll start to think that you are trying to have sex with me.”

I pushed my cock in all the way. There was a pained look on her face as I pressed my pubes into hers. “I have news for you, Sis. I am having sex with you.”

“You are?” She fell back on to the bed.

“Yes, I am. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy yourself?”

“How can I, when my own brother is busy fucking me?”

I just laughed and started to pump slowly, trying to last each thrust as long as possible. She did relax shortly. I started to go in deep and pull all the way to the head then deep again. I guess she couldn’t hold against the onslaught of sexual emotions as a strong, thick, hard dick caressed the inside of her vagina tenderly and repeatedly. She became more animated.

My thrusts became more intense as my own body started to feel the slow build up of an orgasm. I went in and out of my sister’s slender body at a moderate pace, trying to hold the urge to pump as hard and as fast as I could. At times I heard her make some sounds that resembled moans and I tried to echo them in an effort to encourage her to display her emotions to their fullest.

My tempo increased as the sensations around my cock became even sweeter. She held my shoulders for support as I started to thrust with vigour. She learned to copy my moans whenever she felt a spasm as I started to moan even loudly.

“I am coming, Sis. I am coming.” I said as my moans became one never-ending sound. “I am going to shoot my sperm inside of you, Sis.” I pumped even harder.

She didn’t know what to expect when I finally came. I pumped hard into her and held myself against her, as one long “Ohhhh!” escaped my throat with each tremor. Then my body shuddered and writhed uncontrollably as I felt my sperm push its way through my tubes and landed inside her pussy. I was looking right into her face as the first load hit her vaginal walls.

She reacted to it in a very unique way. There was surprise on her face as she felt my sperm on her insides and there was a look of disbelief as her body experienced spasms of its own. She arched her back as she tried to stop me from shooting more inside of her. I held myself deep within her. She jerked a couple of times before her own body started to writhe uncontrollably.

Our orgasms were mind-blowing, especially hers because she didn’t know what to expect. I expected her to faint in response to such extreme feelings and such intense pleasure. I remembered my first orgasm was actually devastating for me. It was more pain than pleasure.

She was disoriented in response to her orgasm and I held her tight as I held myself inside of her. My cock slowly softened and her pussy tightened around it as it became smaller and smaller. She was tight enough that I didn’t slip out even after I was completely flaccid. She held my soft penis as I started to kiss her.

At first she was a little awkward but then she started to respond with enthusiasm and my slow kisses started to bring her out of her shock. I placed my hands on her breasts and started to invigorate her that way as well. My gentle caressing and my even gentler kisses brought her back to life. For the first time, in my opinion, she realized what had happened and how it could be a good thing for the both of us.

She started to run her hands on my back as she started to participate willingly in the act. I felt a little movement in my cock that was still inside her pussy, even though barely. It started to harden and I regained my erection after a while, still inside of her. That was another surprise feeling for her as her animated state started to emerge again.

I continued kissing her as I started the rhythmic pumping again. We had another slow fuck which must have lasted a good couple of hours. She experienced another orgasm or two and I came inside of her as I had done before. This time, however, I pulled myself out once my penis softened inside of her and spent the rest of the evening kissing her breasts and belly and sucking on her nipples. She was astonished when the sperm that I had deposited inside of her, started to ooze back out. She said that the feelings of that liquid coming out of her pussy was even weirder than feeling my cock in her the first time.

My mother asked me the next day what was the noise coming out of my room. I knew she didn’t hear that much otherwise she would have figured out easily what the noise was about. I said, “Oh, we were just horsing around, mom.”

“Well, not too much horsing around, you hear. I don’t want anything to get out of control.” I guess she was aware of the possibility of something happening, although she was a little too late.

That evening, my father announced that they wanted to take advantage of my being in the house and go visit some of the relatives that they had been meaning to visit for almost a year. The reason they hadn’t visited them before was my sister. They couldn’t leave her alone in the house but now that I was there, I could keep an eye on things and they could leave with peace of mind.

That was also not something unusual because they had taken similar trips almost every summer vacation when I came back home. They needed someone to restrict my sister in their absence and there was no one better than her older brother to do just that. Of course, things were slightly different than before—just slightly.

They wanted to attend two weddings, visit some relatives to present their condolences on the passing of some loved ones, and may be squeeze in a vacation along the way. My mom was happy to be going away from the fortress. Needless to say, my sister was also happy at their departure.

I asked my sister that evening, “So, how are you feeling, today?”

“A little sore,” she replied. “I think there was some bleeding when you entered me.”

I liked the sound of that phrase: ’…you entered me.’ I knew that her blood had dried on my penis and it took a bit of scrubbing to get rid of it. “That means you are no longer a virgin.”

“God, I had wanted to lose my virginity since I was sixteen, but I didn’t know to who.”

“Well, I am honoured to be the one. Now, about your sore pussy, you want me to kiss it better?”

She slapped me hard. “I think you had enough.”

After my parent’s car left the house the next morning, she came running to me. “Freedom, Shafiq, freedom! Finally we can breathe easy.”

“But, not total freedom. I still have my duty to do.” I laughed at her enthusiasm.

“But, at least we can walk around the house without worrying about mom objecting to something or other. Maybe even do a few things they never allowed us to do, or at least allowed me to do.”

“We should do nothing of the sort,” I laughed. “You just behave yourself.”

“Oh, I know what I should do first,” she ran away as soon as she finished her sentence. Then she came back after about ten minutes or so. I had heard the gate open and close, so I assumed she had sent the maid to get something.

“How about we go out and celebrate our freedom tonight? We can go to the movies. We can eat out. We can even go for a drive.”

I just watched as she rushed to her room to get ready. I had no choice but to oblige.

We spent the morning shopping, spent the lunchtime eating in a Chinese restaurant, watched a movie in the afternoon, and ate dinner at an Italian restaurant. We were on a real date as she hung on to me at every opportunity.

On her way to her room, she poked her head in my door and asked, “Can I bring you some tea?”

“Okay.”

She brought the tea and prepared a cup for me. As I sat there drinking it, she decided to lie next to me. I quickly finished the cup and lay next to her. She turned to face me as she curled her legs with her knees pushing into my belly. My sister looked real beautiful in white slacks and short blouse. I started to caress her shoulders at first and then started to rub my hand over her back, her ass, and her thighs. After a while of gentle caresses, I turned her over and started to caress her breasts and her belly. Finally, I rested my hand between her legs and asked, “So, is it still sore?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Can I kiss it better?” I offered again.

“I guess,” she replied without any enthusiasm in her voice.

I jumped to the occasion. I took her clothes off as she just lay there lazily. Then I spread her legs and knelt in between them. I proceeded to remove my own clothing before lowering my head onto her pussy. To get into better position, I lifted her legs and placed them around my head and over my shoulders. Her heels were resting comfortably on my back as I brought my face closer to her pussy.

I held her hair between my lips and tugged on them gently. “You know, Shamila, you probably have the best looking pussy I can imagine,” I complimented her private parts once more. She just smiled.

I put my lips onto her pussy lips and just caressed them all over softly and slowly. She moaned, “That feels nice.”

I then proceeded to place small nibbles on her skin and made my way to her clit. I took it slightly between my lips and then brushed it with the tip of my tongue. She squirmed in response.

I extended my tongue out and gently ran it between her lips, kind of nudging them open. Then on the reverse turn, I pushed it through them and licked the surface. She moaned with pleasure. “God, Shafiq, where did you learn to do that?”

I brought my tongue back to her clit and pressed it hard. “Ohh!” She moaned. “Now that feels weird.”

I traced the inside of her lips with my tongue again and inserted it in her hole. She moaned again. I continued with my oral stimulation, kissing, caressing, sucking, and licking all over and around her pussy and she kept moaning with pleasure. I was feeling very good at the response I was getting from her.

I made my way to the bottom of her cunt and licked on the ridge between her hole and her anus. I then pushed her legs up against her chest and told her to hold them there. I pushed my hands under her buttocks and lifted her up until her anus came directly in front of my tongue. I then gently rubbed the brown puckered hole with it. Her moans were very loud as she squirmed uncontrollably with each contact my tongue made with her anus. She yelled, “What are you doing to me?”

I continued giving her head until her moans became one steady grunting sound coming out of her throat and she started to buck and thrust into my face. I kept my tongue pressed on her clit using my lower teeth as I moved my face in semi-circles to urge her orgasm on. When she came, she came with so much force that I almost hurt the back of my tongue.

Once her orgasm subsided, I moved up and started kissing her belly, around her bellybutton and her breasts. I spent quite a long time on her nipples, underside of her breasts, and finally her neck. She grabbed my face and pulled it to hers. She started kissing me while her hands reached between us and guided my cock to her hole. She positioned herself at the angle that we needed for me to push in. Once again, I applied pressure to her hole, while she pushed back onto my cock. She started to open and then with another “Ohh!” my head was in. She was tight. I kept pushing myself deeper until I was all the way in. I lifted my face up and looked at her. She seemed very happy as she said, “You know, you deserved that one.”

We kissed as I held myself inside of her. There was no hurry to finish or to get to a conclusion. I was enjoying myself and my sister as much as possible and I wanted each moment to last. We kissed gently as I pulled myself out from time to time and asked her to guide me back in. Each time it required me to push in and her to thrust out and we both screamed simultaneously, “Ohh!”

It was wonderful. She was very receptive. During one of those moments when we needed to take a breather, she asked me, “What are you doing to me, brother? Are you fucking me, having sex with me, or …”

I cut her short, “I am making love to you, Shamila, and don’t you forget it.”

When we were done that time, we went to the kitchen and spent time making and eating snacks. She wanted us to go to her room after that. She made me sit with my back leaning against her pillows as she sat in my lap and we stated to kiss again. Sometime during the night I became hard again and she then took me in with her legs wrapped around my waist. We kissed and made love until the wee hours.

We woke up in each other’s arms the next morning. Our lovemaking started again after breakfast and continued until lunchtime. We went out for lunch and a movie and came back ready for another night of passion.

Thus another routine was set. Every day we would start by making love and go for lunch, followed by a movie, a long drive, time in the park, shopping, or anything else. Then we would come home after dinner and begin another session of lovemaking.

We spent twenty glorious days with each other, doing things to and with each other that we wanted. It took a while for her to give me oral stimulation, but once she managed, she became very good very quickly. She said she enjoyed the taste. We took each other in as many positions and as many ways as we could, and spent the last few days in, doing nothing but making love. I was able to persuade her to let me enter her anus by the end of our time together. Needless to say, we enjoyed each other thoroughly and we had hundreds of orgasms as we built fond memories of our time together.

My sister’s slender body had made her the best fuck I could ever imagine to have. I am sure my athletic abilities came in handy for her. We couldn’t get enough of each other, but we made sure that we gave enough of ourselves to the other.

Our parents came back and put an end to our activities. We couldn’t really be with each other the way we had been in their absence and we didn’t want to risk getting caught by even doing what I did the first time we had sex. My mom would have caught us after she had become aware of our horsing around before she left for her trip.

It was difficult to be away from each other, but we managed to get through the separation. We just had to find a way to go out and do it in a hotel or something. In the meantime we had to just pretend like nothing had happened for our parents’ sake.

It was the third evening after my parents’ return, when my mom came to my room one night unexpectedly. She closed the door behind her and then locked it from inside. I was surprised at her actions and sat up to see what she wanted. She came to the bed and sat on it with one leg bent in front of her and the other dangling on the side of it. She looked at me hard and whispered, “What have you done to Shamila?”

My heart jumped at the thought that she knew, but how could she know? I showed puzzlement on my face as I asked, “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything to her.”

“Well, something has happened to her. She is not the same girl as the one I left with you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, mom.”

“Shamila was a reserved, immature girl only about three weeks ago. Now she is open, outspoken, and seems like knows things that she is not supposed to know.”

“Mom, you are talking in riddles. You need to make some sense.”

She was thinking hard, as she looked at me hard. She asked me, “Did you let her go anywhere by herself?”

“No, I was with her all the time.”

“Did someone come to the house and spend time with her?”

I was having these dreadful feelings of doom when she asked me that. “No, no one came to visit her?”

“Then it was just you and her, together, all the time.”

“Yes.”

“Whose idea was it to send the maids home in our absence so the two of you could be alone?”

My heart stopped beating with that question. I whimpered, “It was Shamila’s idea.”

She got up off of the bed and stood looking at me intently. She placed her hands on her hips and addressed me in a voice that was very stern, “Did you use any protection?”

I almost fainted with that question. I stuttered, “Protection for what, mom?”

She reached for the pillow and hit me hard on the shoulder with it. “When you had sex with her?”

I raised my arm to protect myself as I protested, “What? What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about you having sex with Shamila. I am talking about you screwing your sister. I am talking about the two of you fucking each other in our absence.” She hit me with the pillow repeatedly as she said all that.

“We didn’t have…”

She hit me in the face. “Don’t lie to me, Shafiq? My girl is a woman and I can tell that she has had sex. There was no one else to do it to her, so you must have done it. How could you? She is your sister.”

“I didn’t…”

She hit me again, “I said, don’t lie to me. You continue lying to me.”

I waited for her to finish hitting me. She got tired and stopped. I was looking down into my lap as she stared at me. I could not stand her burning gaze on my face. I just sat there quietly.

“Did you use protection?”

I built up my courage until I could utter, “No.”

“What if she gets pregnant?”

I was shocked with that revelation. The thought hadn’t even crossed our minds that she could get pregnant, although, why it hadn’t, seemed beyond me at that time.

“What if your father finds out? What if other people find out? This could stigmatise us for the rest of our lives.”

I couldn’t say anything. I sat there frozen with fear. She was right; what if my father found out?

She was sobbing as she collapsed on the bed next to me. I didn’t know what to say or do, I could only hang my head in shame as she composed herself.

She asked, “Tell me, how many times did you come inside of her?”

Somehow, my mother asking me how many times I had come inside of my sister, seemed exotic and exciting. I was supposed to be remorseful but the statement seemed rather erotic.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Many times I guess.”

“Don’t guess. Count. Count the number of times you had copulated and the number of times your sperm entered her vagina.”

I started to think. We had made love non-stop for over twenty days and on average I had at least three to four orgasms inside of her. That meant that I came inside of my sister from sixty to eighty times.

“Oh my God,” my mother exclaimed. “Then I am sure she is pregnant. Sixty to eighty times? How did you manage to come inside of her so many times?”

“Well, we made love probably three to four times a day for every day of your absence.”

“Three to four times a day? Didn’t you guys eat or drink or shower or go to bathroom?”

“We did all that. We even went to the movies and ate out. Plus we had sex three to four times a day.” I don’t know why, but I felt like repeating the count.

“I can imagine you wanting to do it that often, but how come she wanted it so much? She is new to the whole experience, and probably a little traumatized.”

“Well, she wasn’t into it as much until she had her first orgasm. Then she couldn’t get enough of it.” Okay, so I was bragging. My mother had stopped hitting me and I found her line of questioning a little intriguing, to say the least, so I went the route I thought she wanted me to go.

She gasped, “She had her orgasm the very first time she had sex.”

“Yes.” I felt a little triumphant. Apparently I had accomplished something unexpected.

“Do you know when she had her period the last time?”

“No, I don’t. But she didn’t have any while you were gone, or at least she didn’t tell me about it.”

“Well, you better hope that her next one is coming soon, or you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

She hit me one more time with the pillow and then stormed out.

I didn’t see my sister until the next afternoon so I knew that my mother had also approached her. When I did see her, the first thing I asked her was about her period.

She replied, “Why is everyone so concerned about my period?”

“I was just curious.” Apparently she didn’t get the treatment that my mother had given me. That was surprising.

I was on pins and needles for a whole week, contemplating where I could run and hide when the news was to come out. About a month and a few days after my sister and I had consummated, my mother stuck her head through my door one evening and said very sombrely, “You are off the hook.”

I should have been overjoyed, but I wasn’t. She had told my sister that she knew about our intercourses and she forbade her from coming anywhere near me. My sister and I could no longer have what was so wonderful.

Things around the house were kind of chilly after that. My sister and I hardly spoke because my mother was keeping an eye on both of us. My mom and I hardly said anything to each other because there was a lot of tension between us because of what I had done and her reaction to it. She was right and I was guilty. I couldn’t really face her and she didn’t have anything to say to me, especially because I didn’t make any effort to show remorse or ask her forgiveness.

My vacation was also coming to an end, so I decided to let my family know that I was planning to leave earlier than I was supposed to. My mom knew I was running away from the house and I could tell from her face that she wasn’t happy about the whole situation.

Two days after my announcement and five days before my departure, my sister came to my room with water and fruit like she used to before mom found out about the two of us. I was surprised to see her and I asked her, “Does mom know you are here?”

“She is the one who told me to bring you this stuff.”

“What does that mean then? Has she forgiven us?”

“I think it is more than that.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box. She said, “Mom gave me this and told me to tell you that you should make sure you have it on when we are together.”

I looked with surprise at a package of condoms in her hand. My sister had a naughty smile on her lips and I no longer had to resist my urge to bulldoze her.

Such an interesting request, I hope the reactions aren’t too much repetitive, since I think they would be basically the same. And thank you for appreciating me so much, I just hope you don’t get disappointed, since I can go ooc from time to time, hehe. Anyway, hope you like it!


RFA + V and Saeran with a MC who doesn’t wear makeup

Zen

  • At first, he’s worried if it is because of some kind of allergy or something
  • And it’s not only concern about you, but about him as well. If you makeup allergy is as bad as his with cats, then… he won’t be able to wear makeup either.
  • He’s getting ready to make a scene telling you how he will never wear makeup again if that means he gets to always have his face close to yours
  • You chuckle and tell him you just don’t wear makeup by choice, you just don’t feel like it.
  • A whole new world has opened to this man.
  • It’s just…  so natural to him seeing every woman he knows with makeup he never thought it can be an option.
  • He thinks it’s amazing how you don’t bend to the pressure, not even when media shit talks you.
  • Yeah, he’ll wear all the makeup for both of you, let the press to know this.

Yoosung

  • He doesn’t understand much about makeup, so…
  • He never even noticed you don’t wear it,
  • It took him to go through some old pics of you as a teenager for him to notice
  • So he asks you, and you tell him how uncomfortable you were at all those events you felt like having to wear makeup
  • You look beautiful to him, no matter what. But you looking beautiful and comfortable definitely pleases him more.
  • Plus, boy is all for that natural look
  • He also likes how confident you are about this. If he were a girl, he wouldn’t probably handle this like you do.
  • Blushing mess when you tell him he would be the hottest girl around, with or without makeup.

Jaehee

  • It’s not like she’s super into makeup either
  • Just mascara and some chapstick, a little bit of foundation to hide some imperfections, and she’s ready to go.
  • Okay, there was a part of her that expected you to introduce her to this world after focusing solely on work for so long.
  • Because, to her, a big part of her femininity could be recovered through that. But since you’re not interested in such things… oh well…
  • She thinks it’s pretty cool how you don’t care, she wants to be like this one day
  • Not just because it feels like a statement, but also because it’s so damn practical
  • Yeah, you’re both about to leave and hang out somewhere, you always stay ready a little before.
  • And she always has her breath taken away by how beautiful you look. (flustered mess when you say “likewise”)


Jumin

  • Like Zen, he would be worried if it is due to some health issue
  • So fear not, he will find the best hypoallergenic products, that won’t harm your skin and accentuate your beauty.
  • Extremely curious when you politely refuse and explain you don’t feel like having your beauty accentuated, at least not through makeup
  • Well, this is very intriguing, but of course it’s not in a bad way. It’s just… very odd and different from all he had seen on the women that surrounded him.
  • As much as he thinks about this, it only makes him think you’re being logical and practical in your daily life.
  • And he’s very understanding, he just offered buying makeup before because he thought you would like. If you don’t, he’s okay with this.
  • Not so chill if someone tries to drag you to the mud because of this, they should get ready because they will be served soon.
  • And you’re super embarrassed, because this isn’t a reason to sue anyone. Well, it really isn’t, but do you really think he wouldn’t fight for your principles as much as you do?

Saeyoung

  • Ahhh, he wanted so bad to exchange tips and products
  • But hey, if there’s someone who knows how tiresome putting on makeup can be sometimes, it’s him.
  • Yeah, he remembered how he could feel the foundation melting after he moved for too long on an undercover mission. Ugh… it felt like his own face was melting.
  • So he doesn’t care much, tbh.
  • If you’re happy, you’re beautiful to him.
  • Another one who’ll wear all the makeup for both of you.
  • Though he couldn’t hide his excitement when you said that, though you don’t feel like wearing it yourself, you wouldn’t mind painting him.
  • Boy is so happy. He’ll gladly be your canvas.

Saeran

  • Shoot! What will he do to all the eyeliner from the Mint Eye days now? He wanted to give it to you…
  • Seriously, though, he wouldn’t care at all.
  • Okay, he sees TV commercials and imagines how would you look
  • But at this point, he’s so used to your face as it is seeing you all painted would probably scare him
  •  All he wants is to learn how to be comfortable in his own skin, you seem to know a lot about that.
  • So you are sort of an inspiration to him.
  • Also, he doesn’t know much about this, but he thinks it’s pretty baddass you are telling these standards to fuck off
  • Guess he’ll have to give the eyeliner to Saeyoung, after all.

V

  • Guess he isn’t blind for this one
  • Well, being a photographer that goes in a lot of adventures, man knows beauty doesn’t have to be obvious
  • So of course he’s not one to think makeup would make you look prettier
  • As long as you’re happy so is he
  •  And he can be so cheesy telling you he doesn’t care about lipstick as long as you’re smiling or about mascara as long as your eyes are gleaming from joy
  •  If you’re comfortable, he will take pictures of you to celebrate your beauty at its most natural state
  • And now there’s a dilemma: does he want to do an exhibition and show the whole world how beautiful you are?
  •  Or should he keep all this beauty to himself?
I want you(Namjoon AMBW Smut)

Ahhhh finally one request down! I’m sorry for such a long wait but after much time here you are @hennessybee I really hope you enjoy this fic, if not I will do it over! 

A light knocking on the wooden door caused you to stir yourself awake as you looked around. Namjoon was laughing at you looking at how your body was draped in one of the styling chairs in the makeup room.

“Noona, you’re going to get a crook in your neck if you keep that up.” He lightly scolded moving to sit in another chair beside you.

“It’s okay.. Really.” You let out a soft huff, lifting your body slightly with a wince, it had been a rough few days since you were always on the move with BTS and sleep was little to none because you were always with them. ALWAYS. “And I told you, don’t say that.” You could feel your cheeks heating up.

Namjoon moved his hand to the back of your neck giving a comforting squeeze that seemed to release all the tension in that spot. “You’re really cute don’t know you know that?” He asked with a light chuckle. “You are our noona, our cordi noona and I’m sorry but even if we were to go through the whole process again you would still be a noona.” Namjoon said dramatically helping you realize your doom. It wasn’t that you disliked the word, it was the fact that coming from him, it made your whole being lit up and you didn’t know how to handle it.

“Right as always Kim Namjoon.” You cooed wagging your finger at him. He rolled his eyes leaning forward to bite your finger gently causing you to still for a moment. A loud yell from the hall caused you both to jump as Taehyung came running into the room to wrap his arms around your neck breaking the moment you and Namjoon were having.

“Come on noona it’s time to go! You’re packed and everything, right?” He questioned sending a devious smirk to Namjoon who just sat back in the chair in disbelief.

“I do have everything I need; can you take my bags for me Taehyunggie? Noona can’t carry everything.” You whined knowing he would give in. Like lighting he took your bags and headed for the door, causing and amused laugh to leave your lips as you stood up.

“You know better..” You started as you grabbed for your face mask seeing the look Namjoon was giving you. He stood up from his chair, towering over you causing you to look up at him. He wasn’t wearing anything too flashy, just black skinny jeans and a button down white shirt that was tucked in, his hair was parted right down the middle to show his forehead like you liked it. He smirked softly seeing how your eyes flickered all over him, opening the mask up he put it on you the correct way seeing the BTS display read brightly against the black mask with white letters as he felt some surge of pride through his system.

“Do I?” He questioned you back, cupping your cheeks he stroked your skin with his thumb and you melted for a split second before you were pulling his hands away before Taehyung came back. Grabbing at the makeup bag that you needed, you allowed Namjoon to walk with you and give you skinship until you got outside of the building where he went to stand with the others. You let his hand go sighing softly behind the mask glad that you could pout without anybody seeing it. You moved to get into one of the vans with the other members of the team. Driving behind the boys towards the airport, you put in ‘Not Today’ trying to give yourself some since of hype but it ended with you passing out with your head against the window, the soft beat earphones cushioning your face.

“This girl.” Namjoon sighed softly but he couldn’t hide the kind smile that was on his lips as he watched you. He crawled into the van as everyone else got out, moving to shake you lightly he didn’t stop until you were opening your tired eyes looking at him.

“Sleeping beauty, let’s go.” He called out for you grabbing at your hand. You didn’t know if it was simply because you were tired or what but you gave him your hand, walking behind him with your fingers laced together as he pulled you through the massive crowds of fans. Namjoon made sure your body was against his becoming almost protective as he kept pushing your head down so that no fan could take good pictures of you. It was too much, the flashing lights, the screams and cheers. It was the reason you opted on staying back for most of the shows but this one was different and they needed all their staff, they needed you because you were very good at your job and becoming well known. The boys’ images had to be top notch for other things to be a success. After a moment of having the flashing light in your face and harsh criticism threw at you by some fans, Jhope and Suga both came to the aid of you and Namjoon pressing against your left side to block any views from you.

“Thank you both.” You said gently looking up at Yoongi who gave a kind smile and like Namjoon pushed your head down gently with the pads of his warm fingers against your forehead.

“Keep your head down, thank me later by making me look good.” Yoongi teased as Jhope gave a chuckle nodding in agreement. Jimin was next to make his move coming to stand in front of you, he smiled and gave the camera aegyo and sex appeal to distract every one of the girl that was in the middle and stealing the attention. Jungkook came to join him walking beside him and Jin was the last to join in walking behind all of you as you went to stand in the airport line. As it moved up and you went to board the plane Namjoon made sure that he was the one sitting beside you when it was called for you all to choose your seats.

You once again fell asleep after putting on your music, moving to lay your head against his shoulders, at least on the plane you two could be able to share some since of closeness. While you were knocked out into dream line, Namjoon was losing his mind. He couldn’t stop looking down at you, he was so in love with you he didn’t know what to do, it was too much for him and he felt not telling you anything was going to break him apart. It was everything about you, your eyes, your full lips. The way you looked so peaceful once you slept. He could feel the harsh thumps of his heart and he wondered how could you be so calm with him. What he didn’t know what that you were dying as well but at least you knew how to hide it from him a little bit better than what he was doing.

Once the plane arrived in the States, Namjoon had fallen asleep with his head resting on top of yours, unknown to you both Hoseok found this endearing posting the pictures to the official twitter, and the Cafe. They had woken you both up to get you off the plane so that you could go to the hotel. The next set of days were a blur between BTS doing interviews and sound checks you were there to give them touch ups but then you, had to go and do other clients that you had promised you would meet while down here. You had also met up with some friends all of you going to the beach to hang out while the boys got ready for their first Wings show. Namjoon had been moping missing you by his side and he was always refreshing his feed when he could just to see what you were up to.

“You’re going to be classified as a stalker if you kept this up.” Yoongi warned patting the male’s shoulder.

“I think it’s too late for that.” Namjoon himself admitted but he tried to let it slide off him. He knew however how serious it was, when he saw a picture of you with some guy who had a modeling gig. It wasn’t the fact that you were with him helping him, it was the fact that he was a ‘friend’ Namjoon knew nothing about and he felt jealous. Even while he was getting ready to go on stage he saw you in the back, and he purposefully avoided you, going to the other Cordi’s to let them help him instead not wanting to be around you until he got his emotions underway. When it was time for him to sing Reflections, you came to stand by the side of the stage looking at him with adoration.

“You two are killing me. Please just get together already.” Yoongi came by your side once he was finished with first love looking at his friend who was pouring his heart out on stage.

“Shut up. He’s doing really good today.” You said softly clasping your hands together in front of yourself wiggling slightly.

“He feels those lyrics strongly today.. Especially since he is hurting.” Yoongi almost whispered the last part, causing you to frown and look at him.

“What happened today while I was gone?” You asked him standing up straight. Yoongi pursed his lips looking between you both before he let out a sigh shaking his head hesitating and going between telling you and keeping his loyalty to his friend.

“Listen, I think you two need to talk this out. But what I will say is, you’re not the only one who has a career at stake here. So, maybe you should be the one to decide as the eldest what’s best for the both of you. And if you decide that you can’t do this. Then be honest with him because he deserves at least that much.” He gave a kind smile walking off to get changed for fire and as Namjoon came off the stage to the side you were at you quickly looked at him reaching for a hug that he gave back tightly.

“We love you!” You chanted back at him causing him to laugh and become flustered. “You did really good. Do you want me to touch up your makeup for fire?” You ask him and he nodded eagerly pulling you backstage with him, buzzing from how well he did he could feel his skin tingling and it made it better that you were here brushing foundation against his forehead lightly, he eyed you looking down and standing close to you causing everyone else in the room to shift and look knowing that there was something there if only you both would act on it.

“Two minutes!” The stage handlers called out trying to get everyone in place, you let him go moving back to your place on side of the stage to watch him.

“The boys are so talented.” Some of the noona’s were talking behind you and you were going to turn around to join in the conversation until you heard the rest.

“I know, it’s just a shame that with money comes sluts trying to take them down.” One spoke out.

“Yeah and then they either want money or their own fame so they use them and it’s such a shame. We all want to be close with them but at least we do it the right way. We don’t go to the limelight.” Another spoke.

“Yup! At least we don’t go around talking to other members from other companies and having our own agenda we are faithful to them.” The part that upset you the most were that they spoke in Korean as if you didn’t know anything that was being said or the fact that you knew these two particular girls were talking about you.

“Don’t worry about them, they are just a bit.. Jealous and dumb.” A girl who was a bit shorter than you came to stand at your side looking out at the stage and dancing a little beside you. She had brown hair that rested at her shoulders and she was a few years older than you. “If anything, you would get their struggles better than us. You have your own reputation and you know the do’s and don’ts.” She started out encouraging you. She was always friendly and nice to you making you feel that you did have at least one friend.

“Thank you for being kind to me.” You said gently bowing your head as fire went off and Fun boys came on.

“No problem, just make sure you don’t push him too head over heels.” She teased you causing you to blush and you were glad that it was dark for the most part.

The concert was a success and from all the screaming fans you knew that the boys were going to be very proud of how well they did. Once the show was over, you had to leave out with them, surprised that so many fans were waiting for them to leave you saw a lot of girls holding up the signs referencing Namjoon to daddy, you tore your eyes away from those signs thinking of something else because the ache between your legs was unbearable and you knew that it was going to take at least two rounds with your hand so that you would at least quench some of the fire that was inside of you. While you were in the van, the boys decided on take out and you were glad, you needed to get to the hotel to change your panties quickly. Tomorrow they wanted to go out for American food and you knew of perfect places to take them to setting your plan in action.

“Did we do good?” Namjoon asked leaning close to whisper against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your skin causing you to jump as you nodded.

“I was really proud of you love, I am so honored to be a part of your team.” You admitted with a soft smile.

“Trust me, we are glad to have you.” He sighed happily pressing a kiss against your jaw.

“Break it up back there!” Hoseok teased you both and it stayed that way until you got back to the hotel.

Once you arrived, you said your goodnights to the boys as the elevator came to your floor. You decided to get a room a floor under them to keep yourself from becoming and embarrassment and going up to the room Namjoon was in to ask him to talk. You walked to your room and you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn around just lifted your hand up to wave bye to them. You moved into the room, quickly scarfing the food down eating in the most un-lady like manner so that you could get in the shower.

You stayed in there for a good thirty minutes getting yourself off with the shower head and your fingers. Once you were done, you moved to dry off your body after you were done, not wanting to sleep in nothing you crawled under the covers with a bath robe on, laying on your back you rested looking up at the ceiling, thinking about Namjoon you tried to get your thoughts from him considering how loud you had been crying his name.

Namjoon was sitting up in the bed, drying his wet hair with a towel and a very hard problem between his legs, it only took him a few split seconds to think more on it before he was getting up with a key card leaving his room and coming down towards yours. He took the elevator hoping that no one noticed him, walking towards your room, he knocked on your door and you not knowing who it was decided to change your robe to a silk robe instead. You put on the baby blue silk robe that was partially see through, opening the door up you were surprised to see Namjoon standing there on the other side with a white T-shirt and baggy shorts around his waist. He looked down at you, almost speechless as his eyes roamed your body.

“What are you doing here? This is risky.” You groaned softly pressing your hands on his chest as he moved in.

“Exactly but you keeping me out here makes people more suspicious and besides, what if I get taken a picture of?” He asked softly as he pushed inside more to shut the door with a crooked smile.

“What do you want, Namjoon?” You asked softly with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Well. I need you.” Namjoon said simply cupping your cheek to make you look up at him. “You won’t say it so I will. But I am falling for you y/n. I know that it’s a bit too early to say that I love you but I know I’m getting close to it, and I know that if I didn’t even at least try to get to know you and keep you in my life then I would regret it. If you’re scared then let me protect you. I won’t hurt you, we both have reputations and I know what it’s like to need to keep it.” He urged nuzzling his nose with yours. “Just please let me be with you, even if it’s just for a moment that you don’t want later. It would fucking hurt but I could at least be with you and I need you so much.” He whispered as he pressed against you.

“Namjoon.. We can talk about this later. Take me.” You groaned in defeat and he didn’t have to be told twice, he picked you up with his hands under your thighs carrying you towards the bed, he laid you down on the bed, pressing his lips against yours he gave you a breathtaking gentle kiss, his hands moving to roam your body gripping at your hips as the robe fell to bunch around your waist. Namjoon pressed his body flush against yours sliding his tongue into your mouth causing you to release a soft moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening your heart was racing and you were sure he could tell. He sucked on your tongue, letting his tongue explore every ounce of your wet warm cavern. He pulled back after a few moments grabbing at his phone he pressed the outlet into his phone turning on music.

“What-“ You questioned panting as he put on Party Next Door. He leaned down over you pushing you back against the bed, sucking on your neck as he whispered in a deep voice using his English causing his voice to be accented and the right kind of cute and seductive.

“I don’t want everyone hearing how I make you scream.” He sucked on your neck, moving down towards your collarbones and breast to mark you up and make sure that the hickies were not visible. He undid the strings on your robe, pulling back to look down at your curvy body that was wrapped in brown skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t let anyone else have you.” He shuddered moving to press his lips against your breast his tongue skittered across your areola on your left breast before he wrapped it around your nipple to suck on it, his hand going over to play with your other nipple grazing and flicking the hardened nub. Namjoon moaned against your skin, sucking harshly onto your breast, his mouth trailed wet kisses towards your other breast as his hand drifted down to ghost across your sensitive clit. You arched your back a sharp gasp leaving your lips as your hips bucked up. Namjoon pulled back from your breast after a while with a wet pop lifting a keen eyebrow.

“I never knew you were so sensitive here.” He teased circling the pads of his thumbs against your clit.

“E-every girl is daddy. It’s not that.. I touched myself twice before you came.” You finally admitted causing him to immediately plunge two fingers inside of your wet pussy. You groaned in slight pain but it didn’t sting too bad, it felt good to have his fingers inside of you thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leaned down to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking on the pink bud he pulled it into his mouth causing your hips to buck up and ride his face as he thrust his fingers in and out of you. Your hands gripped at his hair, pulling on the soft locks you pressed him closer to your body.

“Come on daddy give me more.” You called out softly feeling your wet pussy start to drip against his face as he pulled and pushed his fingers around inside of your, his fingers moving to circle and twist inside of you slipping past the knuckle each time he released your clit to flick his tongue against it quickly watching you and how you seemed to crumple under him, your whole body started to shake, your legs bending as he feasted on you once again, replacing his tongue with his fingers he slapped at your thighs rubbing on your clit quickly, your body was a complete mess, you knew you were close to cumming, and it seemed he did too because he pulled back licking on his fingers and his tongue.

“You’ve cum too many times without me, can’t cum again until I’m buried inside of you.” He smiled standing up and you followed helping him shed his shirt and shorts, he didn’t have on any boxers causing you both to become flustered, he tensed up you gripped his member to stroke him slowly licking up and down his cock slowly. Namjoon moved to push you in the middle of the bed. He pressed his knees down into the bed and you helped him align himself with your entrance. Slowly you pushed your hips up to take him inside of you and he let you move until you were sinking down taking him in inch by inch. His hands crawled up your skin, gripping at your hips he let you take over for a bit, sitting back on his hind legs to let you take over, he rolled his hips forward slightly and your hands moved to press down into the sheets so that you could push your hips back down against his. He kept you like that for a bit before he picked you up and laid on his back, your hands pressed down on his chest as you started to lightly bounce your hips up and down his shaft. You mewled in pleasure rolling your head back gasping lightly as you circled your hips. You could feel Namjoon start to thrust erratically bucking his hips up and you were proud to see how his head rolled back. His head was tipped back his eyes screwed shut as part of his neck veins popped out. He was full of pleasure that you caused and you knew even in this moment you wanted to be the only one with him. He moved his thumb to brush against your clit rubbing it in circles as he tried to get you off, his name rolling from your lips as your warm walls squeezed around his shaft. He slammed you down harder with one hand, your hands moving up to scratched down his chest slowly digging your nails into his skin to make crescent marks.

“Shit, I’m going to cum.” You announced leaning over to grind down against him, your hands moving to grab at the sheets beside his head.

“Will you cum for me baby girl?” He asked in a harsh whisper leaning up to bit your jaw, he continued to slam you down against him your pussy starting to gush with water. Your hips jerked down as you nodded your head giving into him you let a cry out of his name, your pussy clenching tightly around him, the walls clamping down and locking onto his shaft, he wrapped his arms around your waist continuing to slam you down as his hips snapped up to bury himself deep inside of you. His load shot out inside of you while he cried out your name, he let his hips slow down at a steady pace as he rode out your orgasms. Kissing over your face and your body he gave a soft hum nuzzling his nose with yours.

“Fuck, yeah I don’t want to be without you.” You admitted burying your face in his neck. “If you’re ready to try so am I.” You admitted biting on his jaw and kissing his lips.

“Good then, because I want you and though I was a little mad earlier I know I don’t want to be without you.” He admitted nipping on your jaw as the music shifted to a BTS song causing you both to give quiet giggles as he held you and talked.

Couldn’t Do It Then. Won’t Do It Now

Zhang Yixing (Lay) x Reader

Summary: He can’t kill you because he spared you. You can’t kill him because he saved you.

Genre: Mafia AU, angst??

Word Count: 2,334

Originally posted by jngn-km

You opened your compact mirror, pretending to check your makeup, while actually slightly moving it to the side to check out the man across the room. It’s definitely him. You have no idea what you were expecting. Of course he will know where you are, he follows your every move after all.  You shut your mirror in annoyance. No point in staying here any longer. You’re not planning on getting caught tonight but since you dressed up and came all this way, you will be damned if you don’t get at least one drink.

Keep reading

Imagine surprising Chris for his birthday.

A/N: I didn’t think I’d get a one shot done for his birthday, but I did. 😊 Happy birthday, Chris. And also, thank you so much for 5.5K! I love you all to bits. What a wonderful present to get on Chris’ birthday. X

13th of June 2017; Chris’ 36th birthday. You had big plans for your husband’s birthday, except they weren’t going to take place until later in the evening. Unlike Chris who had just finished filming the first part of ‘Avengers: Infinity War’, you were still needed at your job. You had quite a bit to do today and seeing as you had plans to meet Chris at 6:30PM, you were on a bit of a time crunch. You got up earlier than usual, texting your driver to pick you up with breakfast from yours and Chris’ favorite brunch spot. You weren’t going to be there when Chris woke up, the least you could do was get him some delicious maple walnut bagels.

By the time Chris woke up, you’d already left for work and Dodger had taken your bed space. He chuckled and scratched his best friend’s head, then narrowed his eyes when he spotted a folded piece of paper tucked in Dodger’s collar. He smiled when he saw that it was in your handwriting, it said: “Good morning, Birthday Boy. I couldn’t afford the day off, but I’m leaving work early. See you at 6:30, I’m sending Jason to pick you up so be ready. Your suit’s in the closet, pressed and ready to wear. I love you.” He kissed the note then pressed it to his nose, as always- you’d spritzed it with some of your perfume. You did it every time you left him a note, and he did the same when he left you one; it just made things more personal.

“Okay, Dodger,” Chris sat up, resting the note on his bedside table. “Let’s go see what Y/N left me for breakfast.” He said, knowing very well you’d left him breakfast. It was something you did when you had to leave for work early on special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day.

You always thought that between the two of you he was the one that would miss out on all the big occasions, but it turned out to be you instead; the owner of a start-up that helped promote big fashion and beauty brands as well as dress celebrities and socialites. You wanted to complain, but it was hard to considering how much you loved your job. It wasn’t just because you got to work around clothes and makeup all day, it also helped you meet and marry your celebrity crush. You couldn’t believe how quickly the last four years had gone by, it felt like just yesterday you were launching your company.

Chris found the maple walnut bagels you’d left him and popped them in the toaster while he boiled some water to make some green tea. He filled Dodger’s food and water bowl while he waited for both his breakfast items to heat up. He was expecting more than breakfast, if he was being honest. You were a romantic who left him love notes and gifts even when it wasn’t his birthday, so why on earth wouldn’t you when you actually had a reason to do so? He flinched when the toaster popped out his bagels. He grabbed a plate to hold his bagels then grabbed the cream cheese from the fridge, sighing. 6:30PM was a long while away, what was he going to do with his day until then? He could drop by your work place to hang out, but he felt like he’d just seem needy if he did. He huffed and took a bite of his warm bagel, looking over at Dodger who was happily enjoying his kibble.

“Looks like we’re going to go for a long run, bud.”


• • • • • • • •


Chris fixed his tie in the mirror by the front door while he waited for your driver to pick him up. The day had been a long one waiting for 6:30PM, but it was finally here. He couldn’t wait to see you and see what you’d planned for him. You’d planned everything with great secrecy because this was something you knew you couldn’t let Chris’ curiosity ruin for himself. It was big and you wanted it to catch him with complete surprise as it did you when you found out. You couldn’t stop smiling when you saw the two lines appear on the stick, and you knew Chris wouldn’t be able to either when you told him he was finally getting the child he’d always wanted.

A knock on the door told Chris that Jason had arrived, he grabbed his house keys and opened the front door. “Hey, man.” Chris greeted Jason and earned a nod and smile from the man who’d been looking after his wife since she started her career. Jason opened the car door for Chris and Chris got into the car, smiling when he saw a bottle of his favorite beer sitting in a ice bucket. He chuckled and cracked it open as Jason got back into the car, pulling out of the driveway.

You got a text from Jason when they arrived at your company’s main headquarters. You were waiting on the roof with your news as well as a candlelit dinner catered by the Italian restaurant you and Chris went to on your first date. You were slightly nervous to tell Chris you were pregnant. You didn’t know why because you knew he’d be happy to hear it, but you were nervous. You weren’t trying for a child per se, but you weren’t not trying either. You both agreed that if it happened, it happened. You went off the pill and stopped using the latex barrier, allowing the universe to decide if the two of you should be parents.

“Don’t I feel special?” You heard Chris’ voice and you turned around, smiling when you saw him walking over. “You do know how to spoil me.” He looped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed his lips against yours. You could taste the residual alcohol in his mouth as he kissed you. “Happy birthday to me,” he chuckled softly when he broke the kiss.

“Happy birthday indeed,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. Both of his hands landed on your waist as he smiled brightly at you. “Do you want your present first, or dinner first? I thought I’d give you the choice seeing as you’re the birthday boy.”

“Depends on what the present is, I mean- If it’s you and your Versace on the floor, I’d rather save it until we get home.” He winked and you laughed. “But if it’s something that doesn’t involve sexual favors then I’ll have the present first.” You rolled your eyes with a smile as you pulled away from his touch, taking his hand to pull him with you. You grabbed the envelope off the dinner table and held it out for him to take. “Aw, man. An envelope?”

“Excuse me?” You laughed. “Did you seriously just say that?”

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I was just hoping for something- y'know, in a box. You nailed last year’s gift, I really liked that bottle of scotch you got me with the personalized glassware?” You tried not to smile too widely as you played out his reaction after he saw what was in the envelope in your head; you had no doubt he was going to regret everything he said. “But you know what, I’m sorry. It’s always the thought that counts and you are always superbly thoughtful. Envelope or box, I’m sure this is going to be an amazing gift.”

“If you’re disappointed, I can always make up for it when we get home ‘cause there’s a Victoria Secret gift bag waiting at the back of the wardrobe.” You teased him and he chuckled, shooting you a quick wink as he opened the envelope. “Disappointed?” You bit back your smile when you saw his jaw drop at the sight of the sonogram he’d just pulled out.

“Is this-” He looked up at you with tear filled eyes and you nodded, smiling. “So we’re-” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. He couldn’t breathe, he was holding a picture of his future child in his hand. He was going to be a father, the two of you were going to have a child. “YES!” He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground.

“Chris!” You yelped then laughed as he spun you in a circle. “Are you happy?” You asked as he continued to hold you against him; you ran one hand over his gelled hair and the other down his back. He nodded, burying his face in this crook of your neck. “Is this a better gift than the scotch last year?” He nodded again and you smiled. “Can you kiss me now?” You asked and he quickly met your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you smiled.

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