even though i am the least 'bad girl' ever in existence

AU where the Justice League forms like usual, except Batman maintained his “totally a myth” status and has in fact been active for years before the JL forms. He’s very cautious about trusting them, but still joins, and the others sort of accepts that as long as they trust that Batman has a really hard time with trust, it will all work out in its own weird way

Then, one day, in the middle of a JL mission, the League gets in a tight spot. Out of nowhere, this blue and black blur swoops in and saves everyone’s ass. Maybe breaking some shackles that were proving very difficult, maybe disarm a bomb that the League was just a hair’s breadth too slow to reach without help, but whatever happens, the shadowy figure pauses just long enough to say, “Hey, Batman, you know you there are these things called cellphones now and you can just call sometimes, it doesn’t have to be this dramatic?” and bounds away after shouting ‘let’s do brunch! Bring your new friends!’

Batman is mortified.

No one lets it go.

The entire rest of the mission, the whole League is asking so many questions. Who was that? Do you know him? How do you know him? What’s going on? I didn’t know there was a vigilante in this area?? They don’t let up until he talks.

“That was Nightwing.” Batman is mumbling. The JL forces him to bring them to the Brunch. Brunch happens to be in a run-down apartment on the edge of a bad neighborhood, at five in the morning, in costume. Nightwing introduces himself as Batman’s lovechild with justice.

“I did not realize Batman had a child,” Martian Manhunter says, calmly enough that no one’s sure if he’s accidentally plucking a really loud thought out of the air or if he’s trying to make a joke.

Nightwing stares for a moment falling over laughing. He doesn’t get up. Batman starts trying to apply anti-Joker venom but Nightwing just kicks him and laughs until he cries. He keeps trying to wipe his eyes and his mask keeps getting in the way, so he asks everyone to leave so he can please get a hold of himself

He is still laughing when they leave. Everyone is confused. Batman is furious.  Nightwing manages to breathe long enough to say, “We’re just so glad you’re socializing now, Batman.”

Superman turns to look at Batman very slowly. “…’we’?”

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Good Girls Go Bad

Set in the 40’s. Y/N was your stereotypical girl next door, growing up in the apartment right across the hall from James Buchanan Barnes. She had always been the shy, reserved girl; she was the complete opposite of the enigmatic ladies man. Despite their proximity, she was sure that he didn’t even know she existed. What happens when they run into one another during a night out on the town? Is just one night all it really takes? 

Word Count: 3,408

Warnings: swearing, smut


Originally posted by evanstansource


You sighed, adjusting your dress as you gazed into the mirror. Even though it was still rather conservative, you couldn’t help but notice that it was more revealing than you were used to. The neckline plunged rather low, the collar fastened with a bow that drew attention to your cleavage. The waist was cinched, showing off your figure. Paired with the red heels that your friends had chosen for you, you were looking like a regular bombshell. Your friends had insisted that you go out with them tonight. You had turned them down too many times. They said that now, of all days, you had to accompany them. The newest army recruits would be shipping out tomorrow, and it was sure to be a lively night.

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Lucky Number 24 - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 5008

Warnings: Smut

Notes: Lacrosse Week Special for my favorite bby, Stiles. I can’t believe I just wrote this. I never intended for it to actually turn into that but I got to the point I wanted to, and kinda couldn’t stop from there.

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The Final Problem is bad and boring and here is why

I had to rewatch TFP yesterday (IN GERMAN!) with a bunch of friends. I hadn’t watched it after it aired in January, and it had developed into some kind of uber-evil episode for me. Because it ruined the whole show for me. Because it didn’t make any sense. I remembered it as tense and brutal. But, you know what - it isn’t. It’s just really, really boring and very badly done.

Because:

Do yourself a favour and watch the Why Sherlock is Garbage video. Watch the whole of it, especially the first hour. Because there he explains why Mofftiss are really bad writers for television. One point in their favour I see over and over again is that Mofftiss couldn’t suddenly have forgotten how to write good telly, therefore Sherlock, especially S4, and especially TFP, must have a deeper meaning, are fake, a social experiment, whatever. Just: NO! This argument crashes - because they are really bad writers. They are very good at coming over as clever for a while - but in the end it’s revealed that there is nothing behind all the suspense they are building, that all their arcs lead nowhere, that nothing means anything or has any consequences. The guy explains this by analysing DW and Jekyll - and you find all of this in Sherlock as well. Like, they constantly up the ante - but with no plan or goal in mind, just for the sake of it. Or that the most important moments of the stories happen off screen. Or that they don’t follow the basic rule of show, don’t tell. Or that they never explore their characters’ motivations. We never learn why people do anything on this show. I will talk about this later. Those are basic writing skills! And they just throw them overboard. Which is not a very good idea.

Me, spewing an angry rant, below the cut. 

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Change- Part 1

The potentially mammoth, post- torture mental state speculation for Griffith is finally (partly )here

Also since most of these panels were never animated in any form, they might be kinda insightful  to a lot of  people who either haven’t got around reading the manga or skimmed through it.

For me, as someone who was introduced to Berserk by the movie trilogy ( yeah yeah i know) there was this gap between Griffith putting his hand on Guts’ in the dungeon and Griffith asking (screaming at) him to stay away in the river-Right before the start of the Eclipse- which i was never quite able to bridge until I finally (after finishing the ‘97 anime) read the manga.

I went in with the belief that they were trying to go with a “so he was tortured and traumatised and is now emotionally unstable, erratic, and kind of unhinged” kinda explanation there but really- 

It actually seems to have almost nothing to have to do with that.

The interesting thing here is that Griffith came out of the torture with a mostly sane mind.

It’s what came after that slowly, systematically and fundamentally broke every feature of his identity and emotional core.

This is one of my favorite pages of the manga. And honestly I don’t think one needs any explanation for what is going on, the art itself does a pretty amazing job of explaining and expressing everything.

But this is the start of my reason for naming this article “Change”

Because This is the stripping away of the First layer defense mechanism Griffith had built- The displaced Anger.

Ruminating about every unpleasant thing that had happened, was happening to Griffith during the year spent under the tower, Griffith’s reaction to having to acknowledge his pain was to displace his misery onto Guts and hold him responsible. It was a cognitive exercise, maybe one designed to keep him holding onto his sanity using the emotions he could still feel- pain and anger. Because as he himself says “ and now all those great many things I felt affection for, i feel…I am no more capable, it seems like a feeling which existed in a dream. I don’t feel it anymore.”

But of course actually meeting Guts strips that away. His tears blow Griffith’s cognitive exercise to smithereens.

He changes from “I hate you for doing this to me.” to

“How can I hate you?”

But there’s hidden hope there. There’s an implicit- how can I hate you when you cared enough to come back, when you look like you genuinely care.

There’s more of that continuing sentiment here. Guts is in Berserk mode over Griffith and Griffith can see that. Even though he does seem a little bit surprised and thoughtful about it.

He does care. He did.”

“He cares. He cares. He care— Oh.”

I’m not saying anything, the expression in that single eye conveys everything. The vulnerability and confusion.

Griffith realises that in the time he was shut away things have happened that he is no more a part of, no more privy too. That there may be more to Guts motivations here too.

It’s the first glaring difference between who he used to be and who he is now.

(And no he isn’t happy about it, of course. But I don’t think this is the beginning of his ‘grudge’ against Casca or Guts. Because of later panels I will talk about)

I think this is the point he starts trying to shut off the emotional vulnerability window he’d kept open for a little while here.

Because now more than ever he wants desperately to feel like himself again. And the him he wants to be again was not vulnerable, was not left out, and most of all was….


…Useful.

Ok ill be honest, I cried a little at this smile. Griffith gets his opportunity to save the day again. Guts is looking at him again with awe and admiration. The way it was before. This is good. It’s not all different. He’s free now. He’s back!

Those other things don’t matter now. 

He’s home.

The interesting thing here is that you never again see that expression of open confusion and hurt on his face again. Even in the successive instances of  him witnessing Guts and Casca’s new intimacy, he looks on either dispassionately or with a hint of pensiveness. There’s no big reactions anymore.

He’s decided to not let it matter. 

It’s like slowly slipping back into himself. A peasant girl giving her regards, an almost familiar feeling. He’s starting to feel like himself again. Its different of course. But not in all bad ways. There’s still hope. There’s love and he’s finally starting to learn how wonderful that is.

There’s that little content smile on his face. He’s happy.

He can’t walk or speak or move. But he’s truly happy to be here. To be able to trust . To at least finally be free to admit to himself that his dream had changed. And that he was with the very person the dream had changed to in whatever capacity.

Also he turns slightly towards Casca before smiling off into the distance. There’s no ill will there at all. He seems pretty content with her presence too actually.

It’s distant.

The pressure is off. It’s liberating.

And the peaceful moment doesn’t last. Once again people have started dying for him. Its’ the same cycle all over again. He looks as disgusted as everyone else when he sees wyalds macabre procession. But this time he can’t get up and fight it off.

Once again he notices Casca’s concern, but there’s no reaction there. Just pensiveness. I think the empty speech bubble means he wants to ask though.

He was wrong.

This doesn’t feel like home.

 Lying on his side away from the battle instead of the vanguard. Useless. Damaged. Those are his men fighting. The familiar sound of battle, of horses. He wants to be out their in it’s midst. Bring them victory again.

 This is familiar but out of reach.

It may be home but he doesn’t belong anymore.



@bthump  @yesgabsstuff @craigslost @chaoticgaygriffith @ou-no-tame @buhserk  I think some of you guys had expressed interest in this, i just don’t remember exactly who. I hope you don’t mind.

Id also love to hear your interpretation of these panels. I kinda had to cut this much shorter than intended because I thought it was getting too long. 

OPEN LETTER....................

To Epic Records and Syco Entertainment,

Let me start by saying, you are two Labels in the Music Industry who sign young talent who want nothing more than a chance to make their dreams come true. On the face of it, that should garner you appreciation from the young talent and the fans who rally behind said young talent. That should be a wonderful trait that you possess, to want to make young people’s dreams come true. Unfortunatly, I can’t give you the accolades you think you so rightly deserve. Instead of taking young talent and working diligently to make them successful in the field of their talent and life dream, you suck the life blood out of them, and squeeze every cent you can make out of them. You turn them into “literal slaves”.

If that abhorrent behavior wasn’t bad enough, you turn the younger impressionable fans into slaves, by manipulating them into doing your dirty work for you. The Music Industry sells more lies than it does actual music. You create false narratives and PR stunts, to change images and boost numbers. It’s not something new. You have been doing it, as an Industry, for decades. It has simply become a lot easier with the help of the internet and Social Media.

I single the two of you out, not because you are the only soul sucking Labels that exist, but because you are the Labels who have contractual control over five of my favorite young female artists. They are not the first young artists you have taken advantage of, and they won’t be the last, unfortunately.

The truth is, you don’t have to destroy young people’s innocence. You don’t have to bleed their souls, or destroy their spirits. You don’t have to kill their passion. You don’t have to do any of these things, to help them become successful artists. YOU CHOOSE TO. What’s worse, you all work together to do it.

I am just a fan blog, who writes theories and tries to educate the fans about the dark side of the Music Industry. You know, the side you make everyone and their dog sign a NDA to keep their mouths shut about.

If the fans and GP knew just how much the big three work together to remain the big three, it would boggle their minds. People don’t even question how a world wide Industry, that used to be made up of thousands of independently owned record labels, first became the big six, then became the big three, If they knew just how much Sony Music Entertainment, Universal Music Group, and Warner Music Group, worked together to remain a Big Three, they would have a better understanding of the dark side of the Industry.

There are some goodhearted people out there, who are in positions of power, who actually put the well-being of their signed artists first. Those are hard to find though. Most of you are all about the money. I understand, that’s how business works. If you’re not making money, they’re not making money. I know you take a chance on investing on young talent, but you always make sure you find a way to at least break even on that investment. It’s usually hidden in the fine print of the contracts.

I get that it’s business. What I don’t get, is the way you go about destroying people from the inside out, to make that business a success. You perfected the art of doing just that, on the young and impressionable people with a love for music and the talent to chase their dreams. In the case of my favorites, you took five young talented ladies who decided to take a leap of faith and chase their passion and dream, and you managed to, in the span of less than five years, make them question their passion for music, and wonder why they ever took a chance on themselves.

You change their image, and make them conform into who you want them to became, because in your minds, they aren’t good enough as their true selves to make you top dollar. You sexualize young women, and have the audacity to disguise it as “women’s empowerment”  You parade the young women around in skimpy outfits and have them bumping and grinding on guys in music videos, even though they are uncomfortable doing so, because sex sells.

You create “feuds” between young girls, and female artists in general, because who doesn’t like a good cat fight. You do all this crap to create false narratives, and false images, not because you want whats best for the young talented female artist, but because you are an Industry run by greedy Bastards.

I wish I could just be a fan who could put my head down and simply enjoy the music, but I can’t because you lying manipulative misogynistic greedy fucks won’t change your ways. I’m going to keep trying to do what I’ve been doing. I’m sure you laugh at my efforts, so be it. I’m just one person trying to fight against a multi billion dollar machine.

I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, and you can laugh all the way to the bank. I just wanted to tell you YOU SUCK! If Epic folds, good, you deserved it. If Simon never does another damn talent show, good. You’ve sucked the life out of enough young souls. I really hope all five of the girls achieve their desired goals, and I hope they achieve that goal under any Label other than Epic/Syco. They deserve so much better.

fic: No Strings

title: no strings.

genre: smut/humour

word count: 3000

description: Phil really misses sex and it turns out that Dan really misses sex, too. So…they just decide to have sex together. No strings. FWB minus the usual dramatic storyline that follows. Hilarity and #bants ensues.

“Just sex?” Phil repeats, “No strings?”

“Yes,” Dan nods, “that’s generally what no strings means,”

“Literally just sex?”

“Fucking hell. Look, Phil, I can spell it out for you or you can put your dick in my ass - it’s totally your choice. Have sex and be satisfied or wank alone to a Muse song again. What’s it gonna be?”

a/n: this is obviously smut but it’s actually funny too i promise, and it’s not like super graphic smut where you’ll cringe or whatever it’s…well, you’ll see. just read it and trust me.

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JB Imagine - Leaked Nudes (Dating) - (Part 1)

A/N: Hey beauts ! I dearly apologise for being so inactive on Tumblr since I’m rather more on Wattpad (narryneon), but I felt really bad so here is one of my works. Their is definitely going to be a Part 2. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did. Be sure to like and send me feedback. Much love .xx

Warning : Language

(PART 2)

Part 1

My reaction to this whole situation that I’m seeing before my eyes is un-fucking-believable. Justin has been travelling around for the past month promoting “What Do You Mean” along with performing. After promoting, he had the thought of going to Bora Bora for some time now for a small vacation. I for one thought it would be perfect if we went together, time for us to be with each other, cuddles at night and what did he have to say about that you may question ? No. I was taken back by his answer which seemed a bit suspicious to me. I mean which boyfriend wouldn’t want to take their girlfriend with over seas - well unless you actually love her.

Originally posted by playtiwe

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Spring Breeze (Afterdeath) ~Vampire!Geno~

AYYY SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS-

Alright, first of all, I’m sorry I took freakin’ forever X’D And I know what all ya’ll are thinking: “TRASHY- WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG??”

Tbh have no excuse pfft 

But seriously, thank you guys so much for putting up with my bullshit and waiting for me :’) I hope this long-ass fanfic is enough to make it up to ya’ll, and if it isn’t, I’m sorry for being a failure-

Ever since school ended, I’ve been staying up till 3 AM writing because I wanted to get this done, but it took longer than I thought it would because originally, it wasn’t even supposed to be as long as it is right now. This is by far, my longest fanfic and it probably sucks.

Anywho, enough of my rambling. I’ll most likely die after posting this here and on Wattpad, but you guys deserve to read whatever I have created :^)

Also, please excuse if you spot any mistakes. It’s hard to spot every one of them, especially with one this long. Plus, I’m so tried X’D

Have fun-


Word Count: 17,299


Click HERE to go to my Fanfic Archive. There, you can easily find any of my past works :) 

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18 years ago I remember my my mom being told over the phone that my brother would be spending 15 years in prison for gang related crimes and violence. He was barely a teenager. I was only 5 so I don’t remember much. But I remember my mom falling to the floor not being able to catch her breath. I remember seeing how much it broke her. I remember how much it eventually broke all of us. 18 years later and I’ve never seen her cry in the way she did, that night.

8 years ago I remember starting a new school, for the fourth time. Freshman year all the way until junior year I spent my lunches in the bathroom alone as I called my mom to keep me company, because I had no one else. I remember being an outcast, shy and nervous. I remember coming home crying after school every day praying for at least one friend. Hating myself for how “weird” I was. I call these years the lost years. I hated myself enough to ignore whatever I was. Even though, I was just me. I hated me.

4 years ago I remember it seemed like my entire life was crashing all at once. I came to realization with my sexuality, I fell in love with a girl who taught me so much about loving someone and how to be loved. Everything was perfect. Until we lost each other, leading to my first true heartbreak I ever had. Her religion kept us apart, and even out of each other’s life. The breakup was very sudden and heart aching. Just two weeks later my nephew had a seizure on his 15th birthday. No one knew the cause of it, it took doctors months to figure it out. He lost his ability to use his entire left side of his body, with severe bleeding in the brain. At 15, his life changed forever. A week later, my dad lands in the hospital for kidney failure. He couldn’t seem to shake the disease of alcoholism he’s been fighting since before I was even born. The doctor predicted a very short time frame to live. I remember how badly I cried over all three of these incidents, for almost a year straight. I remember praying to god to bring me someone to help cope, after losing my love, who was also my best friend. I remember being at work finding a quiet space to pray to god, as I cried, every day. I prayed so much for his help and strength. I thought I’d never get over it.

1 year ago I remember being in the most abusive relationship of my life. She would hit me in my sleep, forced sex on me as I refused, even in my sleep and refused to notice it as rape. She would threaten to kill me, call me fat. Cut me off from my friends and family. She would choke me until I cried, because that’s all she wanted to see. She wrecked my new vehicle I worked so hard for and put me thousands and thousands of dollars in debt. she played being the victim so well, that I had no one to be there for me. This was the very first time I ever not only thought, but also attempted suicide, and commonly self harmed myself.

I thought I’d never get over any of it.

It’s now 2017. It will be two years in June since my brothers been home, he’s married to his first love, with a one year old. He’s happy and he’s healthy and in love, my mom is married to a man who treats her in a way I’ve always hoped to see. My senior year of high school? It was beautiful. I not only met some amazing people, but I’ve grown to be more confident and love myself whether someone does or not. My nephew is now able to walk again and is currently gaining back his motor skills to speak again. My dad, he’s still alive and seems to be healthier than ever. Remember when I said I prayed for someone to be there for me? I soon after met my best friend Kathryn. Who has played a major role in my life and someone who I look up to everyday. She’s forever. And I finally built the courage to leave my abusive ex. It was terrifying, it was difficult but I did it. I learned to love myself again, it was a long and painful process but I did it. And I will continue to.

If I could tell my past self what I know now, it would be that things don’t last forever. And even the pain, sometimes it does stay but it’s something you learn to live with and soon enough appreciate, for reasons. Trauma happens, and sometimes more than once. But there’s so much comfort in knowing that a better day does exist. That no matter how bad things can be, there are better days. Hang in there, and take the moment to realize how far you’ve come. And appreciate the bad days for making the good ones so much more beautiful.

As bad as all of these are, as much as they all hurt and left marks upon me visible and not, it’s made me who I am today. I have a strong sense of self. I am proud of who I am and I love myself and understand who I am more than anyone else will and I don’t mind that. I enjoy my solitude and no longer cry or am scared when it occurs. And I’m aware of any unhealthy, toxic and abusive relations before they get close enough to me. What has happened made me strong, and has only made my heart ten million times bigger. And I want to spend the rest of my life helping and healing anyone I possibly can. Because I know I’m capable of doing so, and it is where I find the most happiness and comfort.. in another persons smile and forgiveness.

Keep on keeping on, all of you.

Tyler Seguin - Angst

Originally posted by wagnerhockey

Request: “  hiii (: could you write an tyler seguin one where you two obviously like each other but since tyler can be a jerk he avoids it and acts as if he doesn’t want a relationship but then gets jealous when another guy hits on you or something?? “

Hi yes I just had to do this one ASAP, I absolutely adore this request okay? okay.

Warning: (very)  Foul Language

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I Have to Do This | Draco Malfoy x Reader

Masterlist

Requested (anon): Draco x reader. The reader is a muggle Born. When is auntie finds out she tortures the reader right in front of Draco and it’s killing Draco

A/N: Kind of took some artistic license with this request oops

Word Count: 5,015 (aka long af)

Warning(s): torture, mild violence, mentions of death

Disclaimer(s): Not my gif credit to owner


You walk nervously up the steps leading to Malfoy Manor, twiddling your shaking hands. Your stomach begins to feel like a bottomless pit and home to loads of butterflies. You stare at the large front doors and debate whether or not you should even go in. Draco, your long-term boyfriend, had invited you to his mother’s birthday ball so you could finally meet his parents.

However, you aren’t particularly keen on meeting his parents. They must be lovely people based on the fact they raised Draco to be such a gentleman (to you at least), but their kindness is likely to be thrown out the window when dealing with you. After all, you are a muggle-born who somehow weaseled her way into becoming a Slytherin, something that had never happened until you arrived at Hogwarts. Besides, you already are aware of the fact that Draco’s parents didn’t like you, unless their opinion has miraculously changed. You remember in first year when Draco befriended you, for some odd reason, and he tried to hide a letter he received from his parents regarding you being sorted into Slytherin. However, you were too quick and grabbed it before he could get rid of it.

Draco,

What a pity, a mudblood being sorted into Slytherin. I’ve never heard of such dreadful events. I’m sure dear Salazar is rolling around in his grave for this one. I am disappointed you didn’t write about this as soon as the ceremony was over, it is nearly halfway through your first term. Do not go near whoever this mudblood is, I will write to the school immediately. This must be a mistake, that blasted hat doesn’t know anything. I will have this girl resorted, I cannot believe this has happened. If they are not resorted, though I will make sure they are, do not worry because as I’ve always told you these mudbloods will get what they deserve. Soon enough, soon enough.

Lucius

You swallow hard at the memory of the stone cold words from the most unfatherly letter you’ve ever read. You were never resorted, though for a long while you wish you had been. Bullied for days on end, crying yourself to sleep, it was not much fun to be attending Hogwarts. Though much of the bullying stopped once Draco befriended you, you still don’t know why he did it. All you know is one day after running out of class crying Draco followed you and comforted you. After that day you became inseparable, and once you had Draco by your side no one bothered to mess with you.

However, you had the spine-tingling thought that all of that would change tonight. You don’t have to be told to know that you will be the only one in the manor tonight who is not a pureblood. You also don’t need to be told that everyone here tonight despises muggle-borns, with the exception of Draco.

You continue to stare at the large doors. Once thoughts start to pour in of what the people inside will do to you after realizing you’re indeed of muggle descent you feel yourself starting to back away. There is no way you can step foot in there if you want to go through the night unscathed. You'll just have to send an owl to Draco tomorrow saying you fell ill at the last minute or something like that.

Just then the large doors open and outsteps non other than Draco Malfoy.

“Y/N!” He smiles, which immediately falls as he takes a closer look at you. “Love, you look paler than me,“ he raises an eyebrow. "What’s the matter?”

“I-I don’t think I can go in,” the corners of your mouth droop and you give him a pleading look.

“Babe,” he starts, pulling you into a tight hug. “I know your a little nervous-”

“Terrified,” you interject, voice muffled by his chest.

“But you truly have nothing to worry about,” he goes on. He backs only his head away so he can look at you. “Nobody’s going to hurt you or say anything bad,” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll make sure of it and I’ll be here the whole night, right by your side.”

“For sure?”

“For sure,” he smiles down at you, before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. His lips linger on yours after and his pale eyes continue to stare down you. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he grins, his lips still nearly touching yours. The feeling of his hot breath sends shivers up your spine.

He takes a step back holding both your hands in his and looks you up and down. A smirk tugs on his lips as he takes time to relish in your absolute beauty; both love and lust prominent in his eyes. You’re wearing a simple, floor-length emerald gown made of silk, topped with a Queen Anne neckline. It’s simple, elegant, classy, and enough to make Draco go mad.

You blush as a few moments go by of him looking you up and down, knowing he definitely likes what he sees. His eyes meet yours again and he smiles at you before taking your hand and twirling you around, a giggle escapes from your lips.

“Belle of the ball,” he smiles while pulling you back into his chest.

“You know you don’t look to shabby yourself,” you smile while straightening his bowtie.

All of your fears and nerves begin to slip away; being with Draco just makes everything go away. Nothing in the world around you even seems to exist when you’re with him. And when he smiles, a true smile derived from pure happiness, one that can only be seen when you’re around, it’s like nothing else matters in the world. All you could ever want is for him to keep that smile.

He wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a tight squeeze, “You ready.”

You nod and he leads you inside the manor. You feel your mouth slightly part as you take foot in the enormous house; it’s absolutely stunning. Draco leads you down a long corridor before coming to a halt in front of another set of two grand doors.

He mentions something of the event taking place in the drawing room, “We- uh -we have lots of,” he gulps midsentence, “Meetings and gatherings in here,” he mumbles. “Only seemed fitting.”

“Do you parents know I’m-”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “I told them a few months ago. They weren’t happy at first but after many, many discussions they’ve learned to tolerate our relationship. My mom seems more for it than my father however." 

Stepping inside you see it is a grand room with a beautiful mantelpiece and sparkling chandelier. The room is crowded with witches and wizards in only the most elegant fashion gold can buy. They all seem to speak in an auspicious manner while drinking what must be the wizard equivalent of champagne.

The two of you barely step foot into the crowd before you see, you assume, Draco’s parents weaving through the crowd to get to you. You take in a sharp breath at the realization the moment you’ve been dreading since first year is seconds from taking place; coming face-to-face with Draco’s family. Draco gives you another tight squeeze, looks to you, and smiles. Your nerves slightly diminish but are still quite prevalent.

"Draco!” The women, presumably his mother, calls out with her arms outstretched towards Draco. He drops his arm from your waist in order to hug her, “So nice of you to finally join us.”

“Of course, happy birthday mom,” he says, kissing her on the cheek before moving back to your side. “Father,” Draco slightly and quickly bows his head in his father’s direction.

“Draco,” he nods, speaking with the same cold, unfatherly voice you always imagined when reading his letters.

“You must be Y/N,” Draco’s mother turns to you, she has a warm, welcoming smile on her face. “I’m Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mother, as you’ve probably concluded,” she smiles. “And this is my husband, of course Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy,” she says gesturing beside her.

“Pleasure to meet the two of you,” you smile.

“The pleasure is ours,” Lucius speaks up, shocking you. Approaching tonight you were most certain that he would not speak a word to you, yet alone a kind word. You even manage to catch the corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly. “Draco speaks of you constantly.”

You look over and smile at the now blushing boy before you. “Is that so?” A smirk plays on your lips and Draco sheepishly nods.

You look back to his parents and see the resemblance in uncanny. From the pale eyes and silver-blond hair to their actual bone structure. You can also see both of Draco’s major facial expressions on either of his parents. His warm smile he always shows towards you matches his mother’s; while his cold, brooding look that he shows towards most people can be seen on his father. However, his signature Malfoy smirk is much like the ones of both his mother and father.

“Draco, do you mind if I whisk Y/N away for a little talk, women to women,” his mother speaks up.

You look over to him and see he’s already looking at you. “Of course,” he says to his mother while keeping eye contact with you. The look in your eyes shows panic which he knows is from the fact that he promised to stay by your side. He moves to kiss your cheek so he can whisper something only audible to you, “Don’t be nervous, I’ll be close by.”

You nod before moving to go off with his mother. She moves through the crowd with you close on her heel, she says quick hellos to the guests she passes. She grabs two glasses of the wizard equivalent of champagne and hands one to you.

“Don’t tell your parents I let you drink,” she smirks.

“This is really a lovely party,” you say before taking a sip of the drink, which only slightly burns in your throat. “And your home is absolutely spectacular,” you say. Holding you breath, you hope all the things you know to say to Muggle hostesses align with what should be said to witch hostesses.

“Why thank you,” she smiles and you let out a subtle breath of relief. “I would also like to thank you for how happy you make my son,” she adds and you feel your cheeks go pink, unsure of what to say. “I can’t believe it took Lucius and I so long to realize what was going on. I mean the skip in his step along with the permanent smile on his face and the constant sending of letters,” she chuckles at her past ignorance. “We should’ve known he’d found himself the right girl.”

You don’t know what to say but from the looks of it there seems to be a bigger point to Narcissa’s speech. You know she didn’t just bring you over here to speak of her son’s new found happiness, you can see the gears turning and that she has a whole other topic to be discussed. You figure it is better not to interrupt her train of thought with the mentioning your new found happiness from Draco.

“The right girl indeed,” she says after taking another sip of her drink. “I assume he’s treating you like the right girl as well.”

“Of course,” you reply. You suddenly see why she’s pulled you aside, to check up on her son’s behavior. “Draco treats me better than anyone else in my life,” you say, speaking nothing but the truth. Draco treats you as if you were royalty, he willingly drops everything in order to complete a task to make you happy. He speaks nothing but positivity of you both to you and to others. He constantly checks with you to make sure you’re living the best life you can have, knowing you deserve it. You can only try to treat him as well as he treats you.

“That’s good, that’s good,” she nods. “I know he has a tendency to lean towards more bullying behaviors, and I’ve told him I don’t mind that as long as he is a gentleman to ladies such as yourself. Is he doing so?”

“Yes, I find that, to me at least, he is the best gentleman girls can only dream of,” you explain. “And I’ve never seen him use his bullying tendencies towards a girl," you leave out the fact that he bullies that Granger girl, but she’s friends with Potter so it may be more backlash.

"That’s what I like to hear,” she nods. 

Just then, a women appears behind her. She has a mass of black, curly hair and many similar facial features. You assume the two must be sisters.

“This must be the girl Draco’s been speaking of nonstop,” the women speaks.

Narcissa tenses up as she notices the arrival of her sister, “This is my sister-”

“Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange.” She finishes the thought. "And you are?“ She inquires with a raised eyebrow.

You swallow hard, something about her makes you uneasy. "Y/N Y/L/N.”

A silence fills the space of you three and a menacing smile appears on Bellatrix’s face.

“Y/L/N, hmph? I don’t seem to recall that family,” she speaks, an evil smirk taking over his lips. You automatically feel your stomach reforming into a pit, you know you’ve sold yourself out. Just as you expected their are people in this room who will not tolerate a non-pureblood relationship and she is one of them. "Your family must not have gone to Hogwarts… Or any wizarding school… They’re muggles aren’t they?“ The look on her face is enough to chill you to the core and send shivers up your spine. You don’t respond, the wide-eyed look of terror is enough to tell her the answer.

"Why don’t I take you back to Draco,” Narcissa quickly says to you and before even giving you time to respond she is dragging you by the arm through the maze of people. “Stay away from Bellatrix,” she says to you in a low voice. “Lucius and I both care deeply for our son’s happiness and we see it clearly that you are the source of it. My sister on the other hand will not see that, stay clear of her.”

When you make it back to Draco he meets you with a warm smile and quick kiss. You’re still a little shaken up from your encounter with Bellatrix but do your best to suppress the straight terror she inflicted upon you. Draco will notice and ask what’s wrong if you keep your scared demeanor and the last thing you want is to explain to him the encounter with his aunt. You don’t want to burden him with the thought of her possibly wanting to harm you in any way as Narcissa alluded too.

Hours slowly tick away, you never leave Draco’s side. A few people have tried to pull him away to discuss business matters with him but he refuses to leave your side and the others refuse to speak of such matters in front of you for some odd reason. What business matters could many aging wizards need to discuss with a sixteen year-old boy in complete private?

It’s not until guest start trickling out the doors that someone manages to tear Draco away from you. He looks back to you as he’s being dragged away by an old wizard who begins talking at a rapid speed. He gives you a worried look and you simply shrug, showing you are no longer as paranoid. You’ve made it almost the whole night and only one person had something bad to say to you. What could go wrong in the next minute or so.

Everything. Everything could go wrong in the next minute or so.

When Draco disappears from sight a cold hand firmly grips your upper arm. Before you can even look at the mysterious person you feel the world around you beginning to twist and turn, you feel your body contracting; suddenly you’re in a whole new location. You’ve apparated for the first time, you quickly become nauseous from the quick, unexpected movement. You grip a hand over mouth and clutch another to your stomach, praying you aren’t about to vomit.

“Can the poor, unfit mudblood not handle apparition,” you hear the same venomous tone from before speak up. It’s Bellatrix. “I always knew your kind made awful witches and wizards.”

You look around at you surroundings, concluding you’re still the manor just a different room. Though, how far you maybe in relation to where everyone else is frightens you. The evil smirk plastered on Bellatrix’s face as she circles you like a shark makes you even more nauseous than you already are. What is she going to do? Is there anyone close enough to come save you if needed?

You swallow hard, both in fear and to suppress anything that might be making its return, “What do you want from me?”

She stops in front of you and stares for a second. Seeming dumbstruck at the fact that you couldn’t possibly understand what she has in store for you. “Is it not obvious?” She smirks before taking out her wand and pointing it straight at you. “Crucio!” She bellows and a flash of red strikes you in the chest, knocking you to your knees.

A surge of pain emits throughout you’re entire body, pain like you’ve never felt before. You feel as though your internal organs are on fire, white-hot knives are penetrating every inch of your body, someone is ripping you limb from limb, you wish for it to stop. Bellatrix spends the next few seconds just staring at you with that menacing look of hers. The seconds feel like eternity to you.

You’re screaming in pain, wailing on your knees, begging her to lift the curse off from you. You wish anything to cause it to stop, you even wish for death to swarm over and take all the pain away. Bellatrix slowly steps closer to you, laughing maniacally.

“You want the pain to stop?” She questions as tears begin streaming down your face. You nod, gasping in pain, knowing she won’t lift it. “That’s too bad, I don’t like to end things that give me pleasure,” she lifts your chin with her cold index finger. “And I love seeing your kind suffer.” You let out another scream and she slams a hand over your mouth before slowly raising a finger to her lips. “Shhhh we wouldn’t want anyone to come in and steal my fun,” she smirks. “Not that anyone would save you,” she pretend pouts, by now your gasping for air to fill what feels like, but isn’t, a collapsed lung. “No one in their right mind would save you,” she speaks. “Though, as it seems my dear nephew isn’t in his right mind; for if he was he wouldn’t even look at you, yet alone bring you into this house.” She drops her hand from your mouth, hoping to hear you plead for mercy.

“Please, stop!” You cry out, body shaking. “I can’t take it!”

“You want me to lift the curse?” She inquiries and you nod vigorously, only causing you more pain. “Will you do anything for me to lift the curse?”

“Yes,” you croak out.

“Fine… All you must do for me to lift the curse,” she grabs your shaking face and holds it to look you straight in the eye. “Is to keep your mudblood disgrace of a witch away from my nephew.”

“I don’t think so,” someone says from the doorway, not just anyone, but Draco. He has his wand raised and aimed at Bellatrix. Even with all the pain inflicted upon you manage to sigh in relief at the sight of him. "Let her go,“ he sneers.

Bellatrix snaps her head at him, grinning as though this is going just as she planned. "As you wish,” and with a wave of her wand all the pain vanishes and you let out a gasp.

Draco lowers his wand and sprints to you, quickly kneeling beside you. You fall into his arms just as he go to wrap them around you. You’re still shaking, loud sobs escape your lips. For a moment you’re so glad it’s over… But why is it? Bellatrix doesn’t seem like the kind of witch to back down when a sixteen year-old is pointing a wand at her. What else does she have in store? It must be much worse; the thought sickens you.

“I wouldn’t get too comfy,” she chuckles, proving your thoughts true. This time she points her wand at Draco, “Imperio!”

“No!” You shout but it’s no use, you can already see Draco’s eyes glossing over and any sign in his eyes of himself and his thoughts are gone. "Why are you doing this?“ You shout.

"Because,” she moves over to you. “If my doing isn’t enough to send you away maybe his will be,” her evil smirk never fades.

“It won’t be his doing it will be yours,” you spit.

She presses her wand against your neck, “Watch your tone, mudblood.” You look back over to Draco, sitting there lifeless. “The image of his actions embedded in your mind will be enough for you to leave. And don’t even think of running off.” She continues to press her wand against your neck and you watch her pull out a knife from her pocket.

“What are you going to do?” You gulp nervously.

“It’s not what I’m going to do,” she grins, then places the knife in Draco’s hand. “It’s what he’s going to do.”

A moment of silence which you know is filled with Bellatrix sending orders into Draco’s mind. Looking blankly at you with his still lifeless eyes he grabs your arm.

“Draco don’t,” you grab his wrist of the hand which holds the knife, now pointing towards your arm. He looks at you, still no life in his eyes. “Draco fight it, don’t do what she’s saying,” you desperately plead. “Draco you’re strong enough,” at those words you see a flash of life in his eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. Then, he begins to press the knife into your arm.

You scream out in pain, though physically it doesn’t seem so bad due to fact you were just under the Cruciatus Curse. Emotionally and mentally, however, is a pain like never before. Even though you know it’s not his doing seeing the boy you love go to cause you any pain hurts worse than any curse to be thrown your way. When you scream out you see Draco flinch, pause, shake his head and continue to drag the knife across your skin. You feel a sense of hope, this shows he is still in there he just needs to be brought up to the surface. You look at your arm and see an M and a U carved into it, dripping with blood. You know what Bellatrix is making him write.

“Draco stop,” you cry. “You can fight the curse, I know it,” you scream out to him, more life filling his eyes with each word. Bellatrix notices this and presses her wand harder into your neck.

“Speak one more word and it will be your last,” she threatens, her cold voice is enough to make you fall to silent sobs.

Draco drops the knife to the floor, hands shaking and a bit of life in his eyes. You look down at the now completed wound and wince. The word mudblood will now be forever scarred on your arm.

“I’m so sorry,” you hear the faintest whisper come from Draco. You look up to him, tears filling your eyes at the sound of his broken voice. His face is pinched, as though trying not to cry, as he stares at the mark he’s left on your arm. Blood is starting to drip onto the white, marble floor.

“Draco,” he looks at you and you see more of the life restored in his eyes drain away, only a small bit is left.

Bellatrix angrily stands up and marches to the other side of the room, straight across from you. Draco follows her and a pit forms in your stomach, you know something bad is about to happen. You can tell Bellatrix sends him another order, for he raises his wand and points it at you. His arm is shaking and he pinches his eyes nearly closed to hold back tears, even so you can she the small amount of himself in his eyes.

“Say the words Draco,” Bellatrix spits. “End her already.”

“Draco don’t do this,” you wail at the realization of what she’s trying to make him do. “You can fight it,” you scream.

“I can’t,” he quietly says, you can barely hear him from where you are. “Don’t you understand?" His voice breaks. "I have to do this.”

Your heart breaks at that. “No, you don’t!” You cry out.

“Yes, I do,” he shakes his head. “I love you but I’m not strong enough.”

“You are strong enough, I know you are, I believe in you,” you shout, voice ringing through the room.

There’s a silence. It’s followed by Draco unpinching his eyes and slowly lowering his wand. “You believe in me,” he whispers, all life restored in his eyes. The two of you let out relieved sighs and he runs over to you. Falling before you he quickly engulfs you in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries on your shoulder. You both sit there, in each others arms, shaking and sobbing violently, the blood from your arm soaking into his clothes.

“This is ridicules,” Bellatrix snaps while gripping Draco’s shoulder and flinging him to the side. She raises her wand at you, “Avada- ”

“Expelliarmus!” You hear someone yell from the doorway. Bellatrix’s wand is flung from her hands before she can complete the curse. You turn to see, to your surprise, Lucius standing in the doorway being the one to come to your rescue. “There will be no murder on my wife’s birthday,” he speaks in his stone cold voice. He looks to you, bleeding on the floor, and gives an apologetic look. “Draco why don’t you take Y/N to your room to get washed up, while I have a word with your aunt,” his ever emotionless voice managing to show signs of anger.

Draco scrambles over to you, he helps you to your feet and wraps an arm around your waist before helping you walk out of the room. You two stay silent on the long walk to his room. Once inside he takes you into the bathroom, picks you up and has you sit on the counter. He silently pulls out a towel, dampens it, and begins dabbing your still bleeding wound.

“I’m so sorry,” he croaks out, looking up at you.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. When looking at him you can only see tonight’s events, him dragging a knife across your skin, him preparing to kill you, and him insisting he has to do so. It makes you sick to your stomach and you just want to run away and never look at him again. You swallow hard, this is what she wanted.

He wraps your arm up in bandages and goes back into his room to find some clothes of his to lend to you for the night. He hands you a pair of silk, green pajama pants and button shirt and tells you he’ll send an owl to your parents as to why you won’t be returning tonight. You nod in thanks, still unable to speak to him. When he leaves the room you change and sit quietly on the edge of his bed, looking thoughtfully at your hands.

You don’t look up at him when he renters the room, or when he goes to sit beside you after changing. However, you do flinch when he grasps your hand in his. He lets out a pained sigh.

“Y/N I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to do any of that, I was under her control,” he explains. “You understand that, don’t you? You understand that I would never want to hurt you, right? I love you too much to ever hurt you, don’t you know that?”

You look up at his, slightly frowning, pain evident in your eyes. “You were going to kill me,” you quietly say. “I’ll never be able to forgive nor forget that,” you look back at your hands, avoiding looking at him. He looks almost as pained as you. “I guess Bellatrix got what she wanted,” you sigh. “I can’t even look at you without seeing you getting ready to-” you trail off, not wanting to end your obvious thought.

“What happens now then?” his voice breaks.

You look up at him tears filling in your eyes, his doing the same. “Tomorrow morning I go home,” you start, “and we’re over.”

“No,” he shakes his head, grabbing one of your hands in both of his. “You can’t leave me, not now, not now,” tears fall from his eyes. “You said you believe in me,” he chokes out. “You’re the only person that does, and I need you more than ever right now.”

“Draco, I may not know what’s been going on recently but I’ve noticed your different,” you explain. “And none of that made me put our relationship in question but this does.”

“Please,” he whispers.

“I can’t be with you after tonight,” you shake your head. “Every time I look at you I’ll see you preparing to kill me.”

“You can’t leave me,” he cries.

“Don’t you understand,” you spit his own words back at him. “I have to do this.”

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.

“Umm... how about that number?” G.D

Hey guys! So I was very excited about writing this request by @danglydolan and well, here it is! I kinda changed the plot a little bit but I just hope I still did it justice haha. Let me know what you think!

Summary: “Grayson meets you for the first time at the pool or beach. He’s all blushy and shy but still tries to ask for your number” 

Warnings: None

Words: 2,000 words


It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and usually I would still be curled up in my bed, dreaming my third or fourth dream right about now. So why was I up this early you might ask? Well… because it is simply impossible to sleep while living in a war zone between both your parents. As soon as the screaming picked up right where it left off the night before, I ran out of there as fast as I could and went to the one place where I always ended up in times like these; the beach. 

The beach has always been my sanctuary, my getaway whenever things got bad; and I guess I’ve already established that things at home were pretty bad. I was tired of hearing about how unhappy they were with one another, how they wished they had never gotten married, how they even wished they didn’t have something tying them to one another; and that something was me. Till this day, I don’t think they know I heard that argument, or maybe they do and they just didn’t care…

But, the beautiful sound of the waves crashing, the smell of salt from the water, the sun shining brightly on my face, these were the little things that relaxed me when I needed it most. 

I must have walked and walked for hours, clearly deep in thought, because I hadn’t realized how many more people were at the beach now. I sighed and kept walking, trying to find a more secluded area away from all these people, when all of a sudden; I was knocked to the ground by what felt like a solid wall. 

You’ve got to be kidding me…

“I’m so sorry!”

As I tried pushing myself up, I felt someone grab a hold of my arms to help me get back on my feet. I looked up and saw a guy about my age looking down at me. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“I’m fine” I answered before I wiped the sand off my shorts and kept walking. 

I heard him yell he’d be right back to someone before jogging up to where I was. “Look I really am sorry” 

“Yeah, you said that already” I said as I kept walking. 

“I’m Grayson by the way” He said as he stepped right in front of me with a smile on his face. He began walking backwards once he saw I had no intention of stopping to talk. “Let me buy you something… t-to make it up to you, you know?” he asked as a light shade of pink filled his cheeks.

“I think I’ll pass, thanks for the offer though” I said as I tried to step around him but had no luck since he blocked my path yet again. 

“Come on, please? I feel really bad” 

“Really? For a second I thought you were trying to hit on me and looking for a way to ask me out” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

I felt bad for being so rude to the guy when he was just trying to be nice, but I wanted peace and quiet and he wasn’t letting me get it; plus, the look on his face once I said that was priceless. He looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth, not knowing what to say. 

“W-what? No I was just- er… I felt bad for knocking you down and I-I just wanted to make it up to you” he said, his cheeks growing redder as he talked.

“Look, I just want to go somewhere private and peaceful okay? Plus, don’t you have people over there waiting for you? You should just go back” 

“They can wait,” he said smiling, “And okay, you want to go somewhere private and peaceful? I know the perfect place, at least let me take you” 

I narrowed my eyes at him as he looked at me with a hopeful expression on his face. “You’re not going to give up are you?” 

He shook his head, “No, and I don’t know how you said no this many times. I usually don’t have to beg girls for anything” he said with a confused look on his face.

“Wow, so pushy and conceited” I teased. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like-” he stuttered and I couldn’t help but laugh at his shyness. He ended up laughing too and I swear, it was the most beautiful and contagious laugh I had ever heard. Snap out of it Y/N!

“Okay let’s get going” he said once his laughter died down. I nodded and saw him jog over to a small group of guys to tell them he was leaving before we began heading to his “secret” location. 

The whole way there, we got to know each other a little more but I chose not to tell him why I had been upset earlier, even though he had asked. We even played a small game of I spy, which I said no to at first because I thought it would be too childish, but it was actually really fun and it took my mind off of everything at home. 

Once we got there, I noticed we were on top of a beautiful waterfall. The view from up here was absolutely breathtaking, the trees, the water, everything was absolutely beautiful. And the best part was that it was only the two of us here, nobody else around to bother us. 

All of a sudden, I see Grayson remove his shirt and it took my whole attention away from the breathtaking view we had right in front of us. I had to admit, this guy looked like he was sculpted by the gods. He looked about my age, had the most beautiful hazel-brown eyes I had ever seen, short and yet wavy brown hair that you just wanna run your hands through, the sharpest jawline to ever exist, the cutest freckle on his chin, the most delicious looking plump pink lips, everything about him was perfect.

It wasn’t until I heard him say “hey you okay?” as he waved his hand in front of my face, that I realized I had zoned out this entire time and full on stared at him. I let out a groan and hoped he hadn’t noticed I was checking him out.

“U-uh yeah… yeah! Just admiring the view” I said as I stepped around him to keep looking at the water from up here. 

“Okay, well I had asked you if you were coming down with me but you never answered” he said with an excited look on his face, it was adorable. 

“Yeah! what way do we go?” I said as I walked to the edges, looking for a path down. 

He chuckled and walked over to the edge with me, “that way,” he said as he pointed down to the water. “We’re diving right in” 

“NO” I said as I shook my head profusely, “No way Jose. NOPE! I’m am not jumping in there!” 

I saw him start giggling at my outburst and it almost made me crack a smile, but I needed him to take me serious. I was NOT jumping down there. 

“Come on, you can hold my hand if you want” he offered, the light shade of pink growing on his cheeks once again. 

For a second, I actually considered it, but then my smile grew as I spotted something a little further down. “Go ahead and jump, I’ll meet you down there” I said as I started climbing down a rocky path. 

“Where are y-”

“Just go Grayson!” I interrupted, and a few seconds later, I saw him fly past me and fall into the water. I waited a few seconds until I saw him resurface, and boy was that an even better view. I bit my lip as I watched him push his dripping hair back, water running down his chiseled chest. 

“Are you coming or what?” he yelled, snapping me out of my thoughts. I nodded and went over to a rope that was tied to a tree nearby. “Are you jumping in with your clothes on?”

“Yes! I’m not about to strip and be half naked in front of you Grayson!” I yelled back, leaning back a little before jumping into the air and letting go of the rope, falling into the water. 

Once I resurfaced, I saw him with his head held back and his eyes closed, his boisterous laugh being the only sound that surrounded us besides that of the waterfall. “How was it??” he asked excitedly once his laughter died down. 

“It was amazing!” I felt adrenaline still running throughout my body and I honestly had not felt this good in such a long time. I suddenly found myself wrapping my arms around Grayson’s neck as I pulled him close, “Thank you Grayson” 

I could tell I took him by surprise since he tensed up a little at first, but then I felt him loosen up a little and wrap both arms around my waist. “It’s no problem, I’m just glad you’re not all grouchy anymore” 

“I was not grouchy!” I retorted but then gave in once he gave me the “are you kidding me” look. “Okay fine, maybe I was. But it’s because… I was already having a bad day and it was barely the morning. All my parents do lately is fight and I was fed up with it already”

He nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile, “No I get it. But hey, don’t think about it anymore. I like you better when you’re smiling” 

Now it was my turn to have the pink shade growing on my cheeks, “Okay Mr. Cheesy Pants, thank you.”

He rolled his eyes and threw some water at me, “Why do you have to ruin it?” 

“Ruin what?” I asked with a laugh as I threw some water back at him. 

“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, I never got your name…” 

“Uh-huh, and what makes you think you’re getting it?” I teased, a smirk plastered on my face. 

“Oh come on, just tell me. What’s your name?” he whined. 

“Fine! It’s Y/N” I confessed and rolled my eyes at the satisfied look on his face. 

“Y/N” he repeated, and I swear it sounded so much better when it came out from his mouth. “I’m actually feeling pretty lucky right now since I got you to give me your name so easily” 

“Oh yeah? Well what else do you want?” I asked, my stomach feeling a little sick because of how nervous I was suddenly getting. 

“Well… umm… how about that number?” he asked and groaned as soon as the words left his mouth. “That sounded so much better in my head…”

I couldn’t help but giggle at how embarrassed he looked. It made my heart melt and all I wanted was to give it to him, but I was going to wait a little longer just to torture him. 

“W-what I meant was, I really wanna take you out. O-only if you wa-”

“Yes” I interrupted, taking him out of his misery. 

“Yes? Yes to what?” he asked looking confused. 

“Yes to both” I said as I swam closer to him. “Yes you can have my number and yes I’ll go out with you” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck once again. 

I felt him wrap his arms around my waist and pull me against his body once again as a smile filled his face. I rested my head on his chest and smiled to myself as he began telling me about other places like this that he wanted to take me to. I couldn’t help but think about how this day had begun as probably one of the worst but ended up being one of the best days of my life; all thanks to Grayson.  


hope you enjoyed!

The Riverdaily Rundown - 08/22/2017

Alright, mofos. This is about to be the worst rundown in the history of rundowns, partially because I feel really sick and partially because I feel so sick I don’t give a shit. So, without further ado, let’s dive in.


One of the Riverdale writers uploaded a photo to their instagram stories, and the fandom is freaking out. I know what you’re thinking, when is the fandom not freaking out? I’d like to think that we’re pretty calm on every 2nd Tuesday of the month, but maybe that’s just me. 

No, but really, the fandom is freaking out for a legitimate (though miniscule) reason for once in its goddamn history of existence. The photo shows an array of items: a cellphone, a partially drunk water bottle, a really cool name tag, a pen that may have spent its time dwelling in a mouth, and a script. Guess which item the fandom is freaking out about:

A) cellphone

B) a partially drunk water bottle

C) a really cool name tag

D) a pen that may have spent its time dwelling in a mouth

or

E) a script

If your answer was anything other than “E” then you truly need to work on your comprehension and deduction skills. Bless.

Only a small part of the script is shown, and a lot of it is unintelligible without further context; however, several fans have already latched onto keys words and have sent the fandom into a frenzy. (x) @tfios-forever16

This hiatus has really done a number on us all, hasn’t it? 


Lili Reinhart is being Lili Reinhart again. Which pretty much means that Lili Reinhart is sleighing the game one reindeer at a time. (wow. that joke was funnier in my head. i’d erase it, but like i said in the beginning, i don’t give a shit)

Here’s a cute picture of Lili in Betty’s bedroom looking like an absolute cutie pie and being a total dweeb. (x) @riverdalelovee

@lilireinhart don’t worry, homie. That’s a compliment. 

Why are there so many men in her room? Probably because the patriarchy feels the need to inhabit every area that a woman tries to claim as her own! Or maybe just ‘cause they’re setting up some shit to film. Idk. Both seem pretty likely to me. 

(Pssst! That was a joke!)

Here’s a cute video clip of Lili doing things. I make that exact face when my mother says we ran out of ranch dressing. Right before I start sobbing uncontrollably, actually. (x) @sprousehartinvestigation

Wow. Look. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s LILI REINHART BEING A MEME QUEEN! 

Exhibit A) distorted photo of KJ captioned, “You’re grumpy today.” (x) @lilireinhart

Exhibit B) I don’t have any more exhibits. Isn’t one enough for you? I don’t get paid for this shit. The government doesn’t send me any checks to compile this content. Cut a girl some slack. Gosh.

Anyway, based off of this picture alone, I think that they should cast KJ as Jimmy Neutron if they ever make a live-action reboot. @nickelodeon do itttttttt. You know you want to!


Sprousehart fans, if you believe in God almighty, you might want to send a little thank you up to him, ‘cause he has been BLESSING Y’ALL! Straight up, y’all haven’t gotten this much content in wayyyyy too long. I felt your pain, kids. I prayed for us. I prayed for our sins. I prayed for a sign, signs, anything.

Here are your signs. 

Lili. With. Dog. (x) @sprouseharts

Cole. With. Same. Dog? (x) @rarecolesprouse

“Lili & Cole” + “Dog that is same Dog” = “Sprousehart + shared Dog?”

Update! That picture of Cole with a dog is an old picture! I was so sick, I didn’t even notice that his hair was a different color. I’d blame myself, but I’m bad at taking responsibility for things, so I’m going to blame the universe instead. At least we still got Puppo pictures!!!

Yeah, we went over this the other day when we got a few snippets of the top of the doggo’s head. Now, we have gotten full photos of Cole and Lili with more than a snippet of the dog. 

Look, I’m not all that excited ‘bout this. Okay? But that’s mostly ‘cause I’m allergic to dogs so I have a personal vendetta against them. You guys on the other hand? Y’all best be excited fo’ this shizniz. This is exciting af fo’ y’all and if ya don’t appreciate it? 

Murder. Whose murder? Who’s being murdered? Who’s murdering? Idk. I can’t say that much without possibly incriminating myself in the future. I plead the fifth. (Can I do that? Get me my ghost lawyer.)


When you hear the phrase, “Your hair looks like a glorious raven dove down and blessed your head by choosing it as its resting place for eternity,” are you offended or complimented? 

I believe it’s a compliment, and that is exactly what Cole Sprouse’s hair looks like in this photo he took with a fan. (x) @no1angxl

My question for you, Cole, is do you have to wash it or does it wash itself? Also, does it sleep perched atop your head as you try to sleep, or does it take flight into the deep midnight of the world, only to return as the dusty orange of the sun makes its way across the horizon? 

These are very important and serious questions. Please answer them so that I may finally write that thesis paper that nobody wants to hear and nobody asked for. Thank you.


Rumors, rumors everywhere. 

Rumors, rumors in the air. 

What is true and what is fake? 

Who knows? I baked a cake!

That’s my poem. Ur welcome for the A+ content. I will be adding that to my thesis as well. Send me MLA formatted essays analyzing it to receive no credit and zero acknowledgment!

Anyway, rumors are spreading around the fandom fast. One fan claims to have seen Lili and Cole holding hands and walking into the same hotel room. (x) @amab1060

Don’t ask me what I think. I’m a hopeless romantic, and I want everyone to be dating. I spent three years trying to convince my family that Pearl and Sandy Cheeks were going to get married. I am most definitely not a trustworthy source.

The only real trustworthy sources in this situation are Cole and Lili, so ask them. Or, y’know, don’t because its none of our business, and we really shouldn’t be sticking our noses into it any farther than we already have.

If they’re dating they’ll tell us when they want to (if they want to). If they’re not dating? Congratulations, guys. You are all officially candidates to date single Cole Sprouse and Lili Reinhart. 

How you like them apples, eh?


JUST FUCKING GIVE ME SOME MORE VARCHIE MOTHER FUCKING CONTENT PLEASE!

Here’s a Varchie gif. The parallel is amazing. Reblog it and like it faster than a soccer mom driving to a weekly yoga class she’s late to. Damn kids always forgetting their juice boxes. (x) @veronicadvalle


@/Camera_Duels is back and it’s sadder than ever.

Just kidding, it’s super entertaining. Just kidding, it’s sad af. Just kidding, it’s both. Life is a spectrum. Live on the spectrum.

We all love Cole (probably). We would all love to meet Cole (possibly). And I’m pretty sure we would all jump at any chance to get proof that we saw Cole (most likely). However, we probably shouldn’t be jumping for anything other than the 1984 Van Halen classic “Jump” in the car. Why? Death. You can’t jump for anything if you’re dead. (x) @gershwinn

Which doesn’t actually seem that bad if it gets me out of doing an intense (5) amount of jumping jacks.

Also, dudes, have you no soul? Just kidding, don’t feel bad about taking a picture, but like you probably shouldn’t. He’s a dude. A famous dude, sure. But a dude with dude emotions and dude rights to privacy. Let the dude dude in the comfort of his dude privacy, dude.

Here’s a post that lays it down pretty well. (x) @jandjsalmon


Content, BABY!

Fan Art! (x) @gogenevieveart

Aesthetics! (x) (x) @theshaggingwagon @protectjugheadjonesiii


Sorry for such a shitty rundown. It matches my equally shitty day, tbh. Hopefully this enough content to tide you over for the next 24 hours. 

If it isn’t, stop being a greedy lil’ bitch.

Peace out, bitches.

The portal

(A/N): I am so mcfucking mad at my tumblr right now 

Request: Weird request, but it came out of a dream. While Banner and Stark are experimenting, they inadvertently open up a portal from our universe (as in ours where they are fictional and everything) causing the reader to fall through and get stuck there. Not a ship (unless you want to) but they probably feel kind of guilty and have to figure out what to do with you since you technically don’t exist there, meaning none of your info exists or belong to someone else like phone number, bank accounts, etc.

Warnings: some swearing

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor, @livandlilah 


Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

   Bruce had warned Tony, he knew something bad was going to happen and he didn’t listen and now suddenly there was a bawling kid on their floor, one that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 

   Tony had been experimenting with portals to other dimensions and such, Bruce had told him time and time again that it was dangerous but he never listened. He kept on experimenting until he had results, the portal was weak, just barely there but Tony had done it, he had successfully made a portal.

    The trials continued on for months until Tony had a strong enough signal that he could actually walk through the portal and back. The testing continued normally- until today. Today the portal broke down, it released a blinding white light and a horrible sizzling smell and then suddenly (Y/N)- the bawling kid- was on the floor, looking around confusedly. Of course both parties freaked out immediately (aka tony screamed like a little girl while (Y/N) began to cry which they were still doing), (Y/N) had no idea where they were, Bruce and Tony had no idea who or what (Y/N) was or where they came from. And ever since falling through the hole (Y/N) had been crying, sitting on the lab floor and bawling. 

   Tony had tried to comfort them once or twice but it never worked, they’d always cry harder, maybe even lash out. Now it was Bruce’s turn to try.

    “Hey,” Bruce crouches down beside them, trying to be as close a s possible without invading their personal space. His voice was soft, caring, as though he were talking to a injured bird. “I’m Bruce Banner, can you tell me your name?" 

   ”(Y/N),“ (Y/N) sobs softly, their face buried in their hands as tears easiy slide down their cheeks. "M-my name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” Bruce smiles gently, nearly sighing in relief as he does. He was finally getting them to open up, even if it was as something as simple as a name.

    “It’s nice to meet you (Y/N), even under the strange circumstances,” Bruce gives them a gentle smile as they wipe at their nose, sniffling softly. “I’m guessing you’re pretty scared and confused right now, huh?” (Y/N) nods, looking at Bruce like an injured puppy. “Don’t worry,” Bruce reaches out, placing a hand on (Y/N)’s knee, giving it a gentle yet reassuring squeeze. “I promise we’re gonna figure this out,” Bruce smiles at them, his eyes crinkling at the corner.

    “Really?” (Y/N) asks, their voice quivering slightly as they do. 

   "Really.“


    It had been two weeks since (Y/N) fell through the portal. At first it had been strange having another person in the tower but everyone quickly adapted and grew to love (Y/N), now it was like no one could even remember a time when (Y/N) wasn’t at the tower.  

   At this point Bruce and Tony were almost reluctant to try and figure out a way to get them home but alas they knew it was the right thing to do. Hours day and night they worked tirelessly in the labs, trying to figure out what they had done wrong, where the portal had broken bu it seemed everytime they searched they just fell further and further away from the answer. Both boys were slowly giving up hope but they couldn’t give up, (Y/N) deserved to be at home with their family and friends, in a familiar world, a world where they actually existed as a person. Or at least that’s what the boys thought (Y/N) would want that’s why when one early morning when (Y/N) came meandering into the lab to tell Bruce and Tony they wanted to stay the boys were more than dumbfounded. 

   "Wait- so you want to stay?” Tony asks, nearly guffawing at the thought.       “(Y/N), technically you don’t even exist here-" 

   "I know,” (Y/N) sighs, hanging their head in shame. “I don’t want to leave though. This place has felt more like home in the last two weeks than any other place back on my home planet,” Bruce can’t help but smile softly, looking to tony with a rather hopeful expression. Everyone loved having (Y/N) at the tower, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to let them stay. “If it’s not too much trouble or anything-” (Y/N) adds quietly, staring at the floor rather intently. 

   "No, it’s not too much trouble,“ Bruce chimes in, looking at (Y/N) seriously. "And citizenship is no problem, Nat’s created thousands of fake identities, It wouldn’t be hard to make one for you,”

    “What about bank accounts? Doctors visits? Personal security?" 

   "I’m Sure fury wouldn’t mind helping,” Bruce smiles, looking at Tony hopefully. “Plus, he’s always looking for new recruits,” Tony nods, pursing his lips in thought. Finally he smiles widely, nodding rather excitedly.

    “We can work this out- we can create accounts-" 

   "Fake records-” Bruce adds in, nodding as well. “I know some of the worlds most elite hackers, making you citizen should be a piece if cake,” (Y/N) smiles widely as they rush forward, hugging both boys tightly. 

   "Thank you so much!“ (Y/N) presses a kiss to their cheeks, smiling so damn wide they were surprised they didn’t shatter their mouth. "You guys are the best!” Both boys wrapped an arm around (Y/N) smiling widely themselves. Well- maybe the portal had been such a fucked up idea after all… 

 ~Extended Ending~ 

   "(Y/N)-“ Tony called out in a singsongish tone, smiling So widely it hurt his mouth. "I have something for you,” (Y/N), who was reading on their couch about WWII and red skull, hydra and such things, perked up, looking at Tony with a curious expression.

    “What?” Tony skips over to the couch, a document clasped behind his back. He was so excited he was nearly trembling with delight as he handed the piece of paper to (Y/N), expectantly waiting for their reaction. 

   "Congratulations (Y/N),“ Tony smiles as they gasp, covering their mouth with a hand. "You’re officially a citizen of this world,”

Fic: Whiskey on a Pink Dress

Part 1 of my new Modern AU series, Heartlines.

As always let me know what you think.


————————————————————————————————

“I am too old for this”

This thought had run through his head about a hundred times since they’d arrived at the club and it didn’t get any less true the more he thought it. He hated nightclubs. He hadn’t been a huge fan of them in his teens and twenties but at least he’d seen the point of them then. Drinks with your mates, a bit of bad dancing, flirting with some girls. But he was in his late thirties now and here he was again. His mates had insisted that he needed to have a ‘proper night out’.

“You’ll no meet any lassies down the local, Jamie lad” had been his cousin Rupert’s rationale.

“Ya’ll have been divorced now for nearly three years, and no a sniff of a woman around you since then. It’s no natural” had been his friend Angus’ contribution. Eventually, the sheer grind of trying to deflect them from their plans, as they conscripted an ever increasing circle of Jamie’s friends and family into the mission, had worn him down. A phone call from his sister Jenny, had been the final assault.

“Come on now, brother. You can’t be living your life all alone. You’re only 38, there’s still time for a relationship, a family. I know you want these things. You’ve always wanted them. Sure, you’ll never admit it, but we both know it’s the only reason you married Geneva in the first place. You’d been together for years and you felt like it was what you should be doing. She was just the wrong woman to be doing it with.”

“You could have said this to me at the time” came his sullen reply. There was nothing like a mild rebuke from his big sister to bring out the bolshy teenager in him.

“Aye” was the measured response, “I could have. But you’d no have thanked me and you’d even less have listened to me. You’re a grown man and your mistakes are your own to make. My job is to be here for ya when you’ve made them.”

Slightly shamed by this exchange and by his sister’s clear concern for the near monk like existence he had lived since his divorce, after only two years of marriage, he had text Rupert and told him to make some plans for the following Saturday.

And now here he was. In hell. Assuming of course hell played terrible electronic dance music, served watery, slightly warm lager and was inhabited by rowdy twentysomethings in varying states of inebriation. Several women had thrown some very hot looks in his direction and two had approached him when he went to the bar and later as he weaved his way through the masses towards the washroom. But they just weren’t of interest to him. The were lovely girls, no doubt, fresh faced and youthful, beautiful for sure. But they did nothing for him. He didn’t know what he was looking for in a woman, or if indeed he was looking for anything at all, but he simply knew that they were not it.

He was on yet another foray to the bar. He’d volunteered to go simply to get away from the constant pressure of his friends urging him to talk to this woman and that. To buy that one a drink, the being nudged in the ribs every five minutes as Rupert, Angus and even the usually more reticent Murtagh and Willy tried to persuade him to make his move.He checked his watch wondering if it was late enough for him to make his excuses and leave. 11.30. He rolled his eyes and contemplating an escape attempt. He wondered if the windows of the bathroom were adequate to accommodate his massive frame. As he looked up from his watch his made contact with something. Someone.

“Oh sorry” he said automatically before looking to see who he had made contact with. As slender brunette stood in front of him, dabbing what appeared to be whiskey from the front of her pink dress with a napkin.

“Oh lass, I am sorry” he repeated with more meaning this time. The woman looked up from her ministrations and smiled at him with humour in her eyes.

“No harm done, the whiskey they serve in this place is only fit for spilling anyhow”

He got a proper look at her then. She was beautiful. She had clouds of curly dark hair that were cascading arounding her face and shoulders and her eyes… He couldn’t quite make out their colour under the neon lights of the club but there was something about them that spoke to him. A warmth, a humour and something else too. Something that made his stomach flip over slightly as he looked at her.

“Are you ok?” she asked him and he realised he had been staring. Possibly open mouthed. He visibly pulled himself together and she laughed.

“My name is Claire” she smiled at him and held out her hand.

“Jamie” he took her hand. It was warm and soft and he very much regretted having to release it.

“So what brings you here” He cringed inwardly as he spoke. Was that the best he could come up with?  It was only one rung up from “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She hadn’t seemed to notice the cheesy line though.

“Oh, it’s Mary’s birthday. One of my friends from work. She’s only 24, hence the choice of venue” She indicated the club with a wave of her arm.

“And you? Are you a regular here at ‘Altered Images, Glasgow’s premier night spot!’?” She made heavy air quotes with her fingers as she made the last statement, mocking the club’s tagline and the irony contained within it.

“Ah, err, no” He stuttered a bit. How was he going to explain why he was here? “Umm, lads night out you know. Change of scene from the local”

Claire raised her brows at him skeptically, whilst clearly trying to rein in a laugh.

“Can I buy you another drink? Since I’m the reason yer wearing that one?”

She laughed. “Honestly, I think you might have done me a favour. From the smell of it I might have gone blind had I actually drunk it.”

There was a pause.

“Well anyway, I best get back to my friends. I plan on making good my escape at the earliest opportunity and the only way I’m going to be allowed to do that is if I throw some serious shapes on that dance floor before hand” She vogued a little to illustrate her point and they both laughed. A curl tumbled forward and flopped over her eye. Unthinkingly, Jamie reached forward and tucked it gently behind her ear. Her eyes widened and he pulled back as if he’s been slapped.

“Oh God, Claire. I’m so sorry. I shouldna be touching you like that. You dinna know me. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry…”

She cut off his apologies my reaching forward and very gently running a finger down the side of his cheek. He felt like all air had been sucked out of the room at the feeling of her hand on his skin. He tried to make out her expression, but the flashing lights made it impossible to

“There,” she said with a slight shrug. “I guess now we’re even.” A beat. “ And I probably won’t have karate chop you in the throat for being forward.”

The looked at each other for a moment before she reached down and began rummaging in her bag. Retrieving something, she grabbed his arm and pushing up the sleeve of his shirt turned her wrist towards him. Before he fully realised what was happening she had written a telephone number, hers he supposed, on the inside of his wrist. There was something so intimate about that it sent a small shiver down his spine.

“Why don’t you call me sometime? It was lovely to meet you Jamie”

And with that she was gone, pushing her way through the throngs of Saturday night revellers in the direction of the dance floor. He stood staring after her for a moment.

Turning he headed back towards where he’d left the lads. As he approached he discovered the booth was now not only filled with his friends but also a gang of about 6 women.  Veering away at the last moment, he turned towards the entrance, opening the uber app on his phone as he went. Just before he reached the door he turned back, scanning the dance floor for a glimpse of her before he left. And there she was. Arms waving, hair wild, laughing and singing along to the song. She was so lovely. Like a force of nature He glanced down at his wrist where she had written her number. Maybe this night out hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

Tutor | one

Originally posted by taedamn

College is very stressful, but it’s not so bad when you have two attractive guys fighting over you.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, college!au

A/N: it’s funny cause this fic was actually inspired by a dream i had months ago. i’m not the best fluff writer, but i hope you guys like it! btw this features a blackpink member but her character is an absolute jerk, and that’s just for the purpose of the story. i love all the blackpink members in real life and i don’t think any one of them is a jerk

Keep reading

Shaking Hands With The Devil (1)

Supernatural AU

Genre: Incubi(incubus) Yoongi

Warnings: it might mention sex, but nothing further than that… for now

Check (my bae’s) @ahgasthetic moodboard

“My sin was not specifically this or that
But consisted of having shaken hands with the devil
The devil held me in his clutches
The enemy was behind me” Demien - Hermann Hesse

Part 2, Part 3, Drabble 

MASTERLIST


Of course existed a reason for some boy like Min Yoongi be so interested on you. Sister Marry told you that existed a reason for you to be what you are. Min Yoongi wanted you because you were a member of the he Huntress, and he… he was a fucking demon.

“Why are you running away now, sweetheart?” You heard his voice, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“How come I be the one who’s running away when you’re the one hiding in the shadows?” You hissed, trying to fade the fears.

“Already missing me, princess?” His voice was near this time and you got yourself ready. “So here I am” he whispered against your ear. And in a quick movement you went for his face, but he was quicker, and now you were pressed against the wall, he on your back.

“Why are you like this now? You’ve always been such a good girl, what changed, Y/N?”

“Fuck you!”

“Cursing now are we? Tsc… Tsc… You need a lesson, baby…”

Keep reading

Boyfriend! au - E’Dawn

Here’s a new series I’ve been trying to write in what little free time I have ! It’s a different style, but I think it fits my scatterbrain better than a normal story. So far, I am just going to write for Pentagon, and if people request it enough afterwards, I might possibly write for other groups ! Lemme know what you guys think. Enjoy reading :)

Originally posted by edawnn

(gamer! e’dawn)

  • You would be lying if you said you were attracted to hyo jung at first sight (sry edawn)
  • Like ofc ur not blind but the instant you saw him in the gaming cafe he was screaming in defeat…. So ofc ur like what a fuckin nerd lmao
  • Even tho ur no different you’re there to be a giant fuckin nerd too but that’s a okay
  • Luckily for you, the cafe is full the first time you go and you get to sit next to this crazy ass nerd & change ur life forever
  • The real reason why others don’t sit next to e’dawn is because he is the “king” of this cafe and intimidating af to other fellow gamers
  • Even tho you just saw him scream in defeat, that’s literally his first loss in the past month - he’s that good
  • …..at least until you start playing….

Keep reading