#confin music festival

[r3starttt]

CHARM

PAIRING: Jackson! Ellie x reader

CW: request. fluff. outbreak|tlou universe. me trying a new writing style lol

SUMMARY: in between cuddles ellie realizes you're ticklish

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST

It had been a long day, more exhausting than anticipated. It wasn't supposed to end this way, but how could anyone resist those pleading puppy eyes and the promise of another movie night? Ellie’s enthusiasm for cozy cuddles and her fascinating, albeit quirky, observations about films—facts she seemed to notice with every viewing, as if she were discovering them anew—was irresistible.

The quiet confines of Ellie’s room offered sanctuary from the fatigue of the day. The garage she called home transformed into a personal haven, adorned with an eclectic mix of art, space-themed decor, and comic book tokens. Christmas lights, strung haphazardly around the room, twinkled like distant stars, adding a warm, festive glow to the space. Music played softly in the background—a familiar tune from Ellie’s favorite artist and your favorte song to find balance. It always seemed to soothe both.

You were curled up on the couch, a tangled mess of limbs beneath a cozy blanket. The soft, ethereal light creating an intimate and lazy atmosphere. These moments, with their comforting simplicity, were what kept both of you going through the week.

"So," Ellie’s fingers began to trace lazy patterns on your arm, each touch sending a soothing shiver through you. "How was your day?" Her voice, soft and comforting, drew you from your thoughts. You turned to meet her eyes, which were already focused on you with a lazy smile.

"It was okay," you murmured, your voice trailing off into a whisper. "This new horse... it’s exhausting." You could hear Ellie’s chuckle, the sound brightening her face and accentuating the pretty freckles that danced across her cheeks.

"Don’t laugh," you commanded playfully, though your own laughter betrayed you. Your gaze drifted from her eyes to the warmth of her hands around your stomach.

You instinctively reached for her fingers, intertwining them with yours. You played with the softness of her knuckles, the warmth of her touch a perfect contrast to the cool evening air.

"tired from patrol, hmm?" Ellie’s tattooed arm slipped from your grasp, her fingers caressing beneath the soft cotton of your clothes and over the skin of your stomach. the contact sending a gentle thrill through you.

You hummed in response, a weak “mhm” as you shifted, seeking more space between your legs. Your body ached for her scent, her warmth, the comforting presence that was uniquely Ellie.

“I gotchu’,” she said, her voice holding a playful edge that you both loved. The tickling sensation began as a light, fuzzy feeling, spreading a delightful numbness across your stomach. You instinctively curled up, her fingers dancing across your ribs, sending you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“Ellie, no!” you squealed, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from your lips. “Stop! I can’t breathe!” you managed to gasp between fits of giggles.

Ellie, caught in the infectious joy of the moment, finally relented. Her laughter mingled with yours as she leaned down, her face close to yours. “What?” she asked, her voice dripping with playful intent. You tried to respond, but your words were lost in the silly movements of your arms, desperately holding on to her. “What? What?” Her voice echoed in your ears, interspersed with the sweet sound of your shared laughter. “Stop!”

She complied, her hands coming to rest gently on your waist, giving you one last tickle as you caught your breath. The disapproving look you gave her was tempered with a smile that couldn’t quite hide your affection.

You both lay there, your bodies pressed close together, catching your breath. Her freckles, now flushed with a soft pink, revealed her own recovery from the tickling. “That’s—don’t do that. Like, ever,” you scolded gently, though there was no real malice in your words.

Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. “Forgive me?” she whispered against your lips, her voice carrying a playful undertone.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her closer. The two of you settled back into the couch, the warmth of your love and the lingering laughter making the space between you even more cozy.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips brushing against yours once more.

"I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

The tickling was soon forgotten, replaced by the enveloping warmth of her love and the softness of her kisses. You pulled her closer, savoring the moment and the profound comfort of being together.

[leclerc-hs]

Jealous sex with Charles 🤩

smut under the cut! xoxo

YOUR FRIEND’S APARTMENT buzzed with a lively energy as guests mingled under a soft, warm glow of string lights draped across the ceiling. The space, modest but cozy, was transformed into a hub of festivity. The mix of eclectic décor added character: vintage posters hung askew on the walls, and potted plants created pockets of greenery that contrasted the otherwise urban feel.

You were a few drinks in—the buzz of the alcohol you consumed staining your cheeks with a slight reddish hue. Your earlier fight with Charles’ still sat in the forefront of your mind, leading you to keep drinking. 

It was a rather toxic relationship. A game of cat and mouse. Both of you never wanting to confess your true feelings for one another. It was childish honestly, the way neither of you refused to just be together.

“Why does it even matter if he texted me?”

His eyes were cold as he looked at you, his biceps flexed as his arms cross over his chest. “It’s whatever. Go try and fuck the entire town for all I care!” 

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

-

Charles stood across the room, the throb of the bass vibrating through his chest, but it was not the music that had him fixated. His gaze was locked onto you, and the intensity of his stare betrayed a growing, seething fury. The makeshift dancefloor seemed to blur as his attention narrowed solely on the scene unfolding before him.

An ex-fling of yours—one who had always carried an air of easy charm—had just sidled up to you. His presence was impossible to ignore, a magnetic pull that drew your attention away from the crowd. With a casual confidence, he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The proximity was intimate, almost invasive, and Charles could see the way his breath seemed to linger a moment too long, his intent as clear as day even from a distance.

Charles’s jaw clenched as he watched, his hands tightening on the neck of the glass beer bottle in his hand. Though the words spoken were lost to the pounding music, the effect was immediate. You laughed—a spontaneous, genuine burst of amusement that seemed to resonate across the room. The sound of your laughter, bright and carefree, was like a dagger to Charles.

 It wasn’t until Charles saw you slip out of the room that he found his feet moving almost immediately, following you.

“Having fun?”

You lazily turned to the sound of his voice, your hair in complete disarray from all the dancing you’ve done tonight. It wasn’t until now that you let yourself really look at him.

He looked fucking hot. But so did you.

Your lips curled into a small smirk. “Yeah, think I’m going to head out soon. Got a big list of people to go and fuck. Tight schedule and all that.”

Charles felt his cock thicken against the thick material of his jeans. You always had a dirty mouth. Always so vulgar. It was one of the many things Charles loved about you.

You watched as Charles’ right eye slightly twitched at the mere mention of you going and fucking other people. The normal green of his eyes was no longer there, an almost black color there instead.

“Let me be clear, cherie.” He takes a step towards you, your eyes dropping down to his glistening chest that pokes through the many undone buttons of his linen shirt. “You’re only fucking me.”

-

“You’re so funny.” Charles mutters as he shoves your face into the plush mattress of his bed, your dress and underwear thrown somewhere along the confines of his room. “Thinking anybody else could take care of this needy pussy, hm?”

His cock slipped into you with ease, the stretching burn eliciting loud moans to escape your lips. 

“That’s it…” He let out a guttural moan, pushing his hips as far into you as he could. In dire need of closeness. “Let me hear how I make you feel.”

You gasped, if your cheeks were slightly red before they were burning red now. 

He gives you no warning before he’s scooping his arm under your stomach, lifting you from the mattress and flipping you onto your back. You fall to the mattress with a slight bounce and a small shriek. He wastes no time slipping his cock back into you, his thrusts harsh and calculated.

“I hate you.” You say in between harsh breaths as Charles leans over you, his weight all being held by his arms at the sides of your head.

“Yeah?” He laughs. “What else, hm?”

He can’t help but feel his cock grow harder inside of you at the bite of your tone.

“You’re insufferable…” You begin, moans escaping in between each word. “So mean to me…”

“And you never apologize.”

Small tears stream down the sides of your face as his hips pick up the pace in between each angry statement of yours. As if it was egging him on. 

“Yeah, well you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenches tightly around his cock at the phrase. “I’m so mad at you.”

“Yeah? Tell me how mad you are baby.” 

He’s practically panting in your ear as your nails scrape along the thick muscles of his back, the pleasure building in your stomach, almost ready to spill.

You latch your legs behind his back, pressing the heels of your feet into him, shoving him deeper into you. 

“Fuck you.”

And that’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s shoving his entire cock inside of you, completely bottoming out with each harsh stroke. You were completely dazed as he lets out an occasional laugh. Almost mocking you.

“Faster—ah shit…” You plead, your hands trailing any inch of his skin you can touch. 

His lips meet yours hotly. It’s a clash of tongue and teeth, and nowhere near perfect. Both of you are groaning into each other’s mouths hotly, tongues meeting tongues.

“M’ gonna come,” You moan into his mouth, his hips not slowing down. He pulls his lips off of yours for a few seconds, soft grunts echoing throughout the room.

“Such a good girl, hm?” He smirks. “C’mon give it to me.”

The tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock was almost mind numbing to Charles. You let out soft mewls as you reached your orgasm. Your walls fluttering around him repeatedly.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Are the last words you hear before he pulls out of you, spilling his hot cum all over your stomach in white stringy spurts.

[szariahwroteit]

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Orginal Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 1

Although Victoria lived and breathed ballet, her passion could not overshadow the toll the art form exacted on her body and soul. The rigorous discipline of dance had transported her halfway across the globe, where she faced myriad challenges as a young woman striving to discover her identity while navigating the complexities of life.

“Perfection!” exclaimed Margaux, the esteemed choreographer of the dance company, her eyes scrutinizing every movement as she observed the dancers performing their routine with acute precision.

As Tori glided across the polished wooden floor, her thighs burned with exertion and her arms felt weighty, a testament to the countless hours of practice. Each leap and pirouette required immense concentration, her breath coming in quick, shallow wafts as she focused intently on maintaining her form. The crescendo of the music reverberated through the studio, guiding her movements toward the grand finale of the dance.

“¡Excelente!” Margaux called out, her accent thick and voice bright with enthusiasm as she applauded, pivoting on the balls of her feet with infectious energy. As Tori and the other dancers approached their belongings, fatigue lingered in their limbs, but a shared glow of accomplishment shone in their eyes, a silent acknowledgement of the artistry they had poured into their performance.

“I'm so tired,” Tori huffed as she took a seat beside her bag, pulling her pointe shoes from her feet before stretching them, letting out a groan of relief as her toes finally escaped the confines of the tight-fitting shoes. “I didn’t think today’s rehearsal would be so intense.”

“Are you coming to the gala tonight?” one of the other dancers asked as she turned to look at Tori, who sat on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her.

Tori nodded her head, tiredness lacing her voice. “I think Margaux would banish me if I didn't. She’s been talking about it all week.”

With the end of the calendar year came the festive season, and to celebrate the dance company's success, they hosted a Christmas gala. An event that had been the talk of the studio for the last week or so.

As a newcomer to the company, this would be Tori’s first time attending, but from what she'd heard, it was a night of glamour, laughter, and celebration—a chance for the dancers to let loose and enjoy the fruits of their hard work before they headed back to their respective parts of the world for the holidays.

As a fresh face within the company, Tori was buzzing with excitement for her inaugural event. She had heard whispers about the night—a dazzling affair filled with glamour, laughter, and the vibrant energy of celebration. It was an opportunity for the dancers, who had invested so much passion and dedication, to let their hair down and revel in the rewards of their hard work before embarking on their journeys back to various corners of the globe for the holiday season.

Even though the company was based in the enchanting Spanish capital, its talented dancers hailed from across the world. For Tori, her roots were firmly planted in Atlanta, Georgia, a city known for its soul and hospitality.

This new chapter in her life promised not only the thrill of performance but also the chance to forge connections and make her mark.

From a young age, Tori had always dreamed of dancing around the world, each twirl and leap filled with the promise of adventure. When the opportunity finally arose to pursue those dreams in the vibrant city of Madrid nearly nine months ago, she embraced it with an open heart and mind.

After a long week of rehearsals and teaching her classes to the young dancers within the company, all Tori wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep the entire weekend away, but duty called.

With weary legs that ached from hours of practice, Victoria finally stepped out of the dance studio, her mind momentarily distracted from the task of arranging the contents of her bag that hung heavily from her shoulder. Just then, the sound of a playful swat rang out as Mia, one of the other dancers, landed a playful hit on her butt while darting past her.

"Have you picked out a dress for tonight?" Mia teased, a sly smirk curving her lips, her rich Spanish accent infusing a rhythm into her words as she matched Tori’s brisk pace.

“I’m still deciding,” Tori replied with a weary yet warm smile. She reached for the hair tie that had held her bun in a tight grip throughout the day, releasing it with a gentle tug. Her dark hair tumbled freely over her shoulders, cascading down her back in soft waves that caught the light as she moved.

“Whatever you decide, I know you will look absolutely stunning,” Mia declared with a beaming smile, planting a quick kiss on Tori’s cheek before darting away down a corridor lined with glass-panelled dance studios, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out into the hall.

As the chill of the evening air nipped at her skin, Victoria pulled up the zipper on her cozy puffer jacket, bracing herself for the brisk ten-minute walk back to her apartment.

Slipping her headphones in, she pressed play, allowing Sza’s smooth, soulful voice to wash over her, surrounding her as she began her journey home.

Tori loved that everything from her favourite shopping location to the studio was all within walking distance; the proximity meant that there was so much of the city she still had yet to explore.

As Tori stepped through the door of her sleek apartment, she let out a contented sigh, the familiar scent of home wrapping around her like a warm embrace. She quickly kicked off her Chanel sneakers, the soft thud echoing slightly in the quiet space. With a tug, she pulled off her coat, sliding it onto a nearby hook before making her way into the kitchen.

The cool, polished surfaces gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead lights as she opened the refrigerator door, the chill washing over her as reached for a bottle of water, the condensation forming small beads on the glass, and grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry.

With her small feast in hand, Tori moved to the living room, where the inviting couch beckoned her. The space was adorned with plush cushions and soft hues, perfect for unwinding. As she settled in, wrapping a soft, cozy blanket around herself, the weight of the day began to lift. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy, an irresistible tide of fatigue sweeping over her.

Determined to catch a few hours of rest before the excitement of the night unfolded, she grabbed her phone and hastily set an alarm. Snuggling deeper into the blanket, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift into slumber, the festivities that awaited her at the forefront of her mind.

A few hours later, Tori awoke to the soft chime of her alarm, the sound gently pulling her from the depths of slumber. She blinked against the soft glow of her apartment, momentarily disoriented but quickly reminded of the gala. A rush of adrenaline surged through her as she swung her legs over the side of the couch, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

After a quick shower, Tori stood in front of her closet, her heart fluttering as she pulled out her dress options for the evening. Both fabrics felt luxurious against her skin, but there was something about the black option that drew her to it.

Tori chose a stunning black dress that exuded elegance with its halter neckline and a daring deep V-cut that beautifully showcased her décolletage. The dress hugged her figure snugly, highlighting her graceful yet curvaceous silhouette, and cascaded down to the floor in a dramatic, flowing manner.

To complete her ensemble, Tori adorned herself with a selection of shimmering bracelets that caught the light with every movement and carried a chic small Saint Laurent handbag that added a touch of luxury. The overall effect was a remarkable blend of sophistication and allure.

Given the intricate design of her dress, Tori opted for a more understated approach with her hair, styling it simply to allow the dress to take centre stage. Her makeup was minimal and fresh, enhancing her natural features without overwhelming her look. She finished her outfit with a pair of Rene Caovilla heels, their intricate detailing elevating her appearance and adding a final touch of glamour.

Not only did Tori look good, but after napping for a few hours and taking her time to prepare for the evening ahead, she felt it too.

Tori slipped on her coat and grabbed her purse before booking a cab. She locked her apartment door and made her way down to the lobby.

Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor of the building as she stepped into the elevator. Tori felt a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling within her. The anticipation of the gala was palpable, and she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of celebrating with her fellow dancers.

As the elevator doors opened, she stepped out into the cool evening air, the city lights twinkling like stars against the darkening sky. Tori hailed a cab, her heart racing as she slid into the back seat. The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb, weaving through the bustling streets of Madrid.

The ride felt both quick and slow, each passing moment heightening her anticipation. Tori gazed out the window, watching the vibrant city pass by, the festive decorations illuminating the streets. She could already hear the distant sounds of music and laughter as they approached the venue.

When the cab finally came to a stop, Tori took a deep breath, her heart pounding with excitement. She stepped out and was immediately enveloped by the lively atmosphere. The venue was a grand building adorned with twinkling lights and elegant decorations, a perfect setting for the gala.

As she walked toward the entrance, Tori spotted familiar faces among the crowd. Dancers from the company mingled, their laughter ringing out like music. She felt a rush of warmth as she recognized Mia, who was chatting animatedly with a group of dancers.

“Tori!” Mia called out, her voice bright and welcoming. She rushed over, her own outfit sparkling under the lights. “You made it! You look absolutely stunning!”

“Thanks, Mia! You look incredible too!” Tori replied, her nerves easing as she embraced her friend.

“Come on, let’s get inside! The night is just beginning!” Mia exclaimed, grabbing Tori’s hand and leading her through the entrance.

Inside, the atmosphere was electric. The grand hall was filled with elegantly dressed guests, the air buzzing with excitement. A live band played soft music in the corner, and the scent of delicious food wafted through the air. Tori felt a thrill of joy as she took in the scene, her heart swelling with gratitude for being part of this vibrant community.

As they made their way through the crowd, Tori spotted Margaux, the choreographer, chatting with a few dancers. She felt a flutter of nerves at the thought of approaching her, but Mia encouraged her with a gentle nudge.

“Let’s go say hi!” Mia urged, and together they approached Margaux.

“Ladies!” Margaux greeted them with a warm smile. “You both look fabulous tonight! I’m so proud of the hard work you’ve put in this season.”

“Thank you, Margaux!” Tori replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. “It’s an honour to be part of this company.”

As the night unfolded, Tori found herself swept up in the festivities. She danced, laughed, and mingled with her fellow dancers, each moment filled with joy and camaraderie. The worries and fatigue from the week melted away, replaced by the exhilaration of celebration.

At one point, Tori stepped outside onto a balcony to catch her breath. The cool night air felt refreshing against her skin, and she leaned against the railing, taking in the stunning view of the city. The lights of Madrid twinkled like stars, and she felt a sense of peace wash over her.

“Enjoying the view?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. Tori turned to see a fellow dancer, Lucas, leaning against the railing beside her. He wore a charming smile, his eyes sparkling with playfulness.

“Madrid is a beautiful city,” Tori agreed, returning his smile as she glanced back at the dazzling skyline before them. “It’s hard to believe I’ve been here for almost nine months now. Sometimes it feels like a dream.”

Lucas chuckled softly, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the city lights. “I know what you mean. This place can be both exhilarating and overwhelming. But tonight, we’re here to celebrate, right?”

“Absolutely!” Tori exclaimed, feeling her heart lift at the thought. She took a moment to appreciate the energy around them—attendees laughing and mingling, the music spilling out from the venue, and the festive decorations that adorned every corner.

“Have you had a drink yet?” Lucas asked, tilting his head slightly, his expression suggestive.

“Not yet,” Tori confirmed. 

“Please go and change that, this is a night to celebrate all of our hard work,” ushering Tori inside, Lucas playfully pushed her in the direction of the bar before he was pulled into a conversation by another dancer leaving her alone in the pursuit of a drink.

As Tori made her way through the crowd, the rhythm of the music pulled her along, excitement bubbling in her stomach. She spotted the bar just across the expansive room, with a sleek surface shining under the warm golden lights. The buzz of laughter and chatter surrounded her, and she felt a tingle of anticipation for the night's festivities. 

Navigating through the throngs of elegantly dressed guests, Tori finally reached the bar. She leaned against the polished counter, ready to place her order. The bartender approached, giving her a friendly smile as he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

“What can I get you?” he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Could I have a glass of Prosecco, please?” Tori replied, feeling her nerves vanish with the anticipation of the bubbles teasing her palate.

Just as the bartender poured her drink, someone bumped into her, the abruptness sending a jolt through her. Before she could react, she felt the cold splash of liquid hit her cleavage. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Jude rushed as he quickly grabbed a pile of napkins from the bar forcing them into Tori’s hands. He hadn't seen her as she stepped behind him, but he felt terrible as he watched the remains of his drink meander down her chest and drip from the saturated silk of her dress. 

Tori's eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing as the cool liquid seeped into the fabric against her skin. The bar's dim light danced off the shimmering material, accentuating every curve of her silhouette. She looked down at the mess, then back up at the man, who was fumbling with the napkins like a frantic child. 

“It’s... it’s fine,” she managed, though her voice was softened with embarrassment. “I’ve got it.”

Jude ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking nervously to her chest, the way the silk clung to it before she turned on her heels and rushed in the direction of the restrooms. 

Cautiously following behind her, Jude watched as she stepped out to the party into the hall, her heels echoing against the floor as she sauntered into the ladies' room. 

Waiting outside for her to return, Jude pushed his hands into his pockets as leaned against the wall, using the moment alone to decompress from all of the conversations he’d been pulled into since arriving at the event. 

If Jude were to be completely honest, he would confess that he knew little to nothing about ballet. His identity was firmly rooted in the world of football, a sport that filled his heart with passion and purpose. 

Tonight, however, he found himself in unfamiliar territory, dragged along by his team's public relations staff. As a key player in Real Madrid’s starting eleven, he understood that public engagements were an essential aspect of his role, just as crucial as the rigorous conditioning he undertook to keep his body at peak performance.

He'd been asked to attend in support of a cause he knew very little about, but in the moment all he cared about was writing a wrong and ensuring he hadn't ruined someone's night and dress. 

When the woman returned her dress looked as good as new, albeit the napkins she still used to dab at the material. 

Tori emerged from the restroom, her cheeks still flushed but her expression more composed. She had managed to clean up the worst of the spill, and the silk of her dress now glimmered under the dim lights, though the remnants of Jude's drink still clung to the edges of her neckline. She caught sight of Jude leaning against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes betraying a hint of concern.

“See? All better,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood as she dabbed at the last few spots with the napkin. “I think I’ll survive.”

Jude let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a sheepish smile breaking across his face. “I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—”

“Spill your drink all over me?” Tori interjected with a pout. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse things happen at parties.”

“Still, I feel terrible,” he replied, running a hand through his tousled hair again. “I should’ve been more careful.”

Tori waved her hand dismissively, her confidence still dwindling but slowly returning as she stood in the presence of the handsome stranger. “Honestly, it’s fine. I managed to get most of it cleaned. Besides, I doubt anyone will notice.” She glanced around the bustling venue, her eyes bright and glistening.

Jude raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I’ll still know, at least let me have it cleaned professionally.”

“Thanks,” Tori said, her heart warming at his chivalry. “But honestly, it's fine…. I didn't catch your name.”

Tori studied the man's face, an unsettling sense of familiarity coming over her. His features were striking yet elusive; she could see the chiselled lines of his jaw and the way his dark tapered curls seemed uniform and perfectly in place. Despite her mind dancing through the roster of dancers she knew—none of whom matched him—something about him tugged at her memory. There was an intensity in his piercing gaze that hinted he belonged somewhere significant, but where that was remained just out of reach in her mind.

“Jude,” he said with a warm smile, extending his hand toward her. “And you are?”

“Tori,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I'm a dancer here, have we met before? You look familiar but I can't place it.”

“No, I think I’d remember meeting you Tori,” Jude replied. “But as for me being familiar, maybe that's why,” he smirked as he pointed behind Tori to a banner that hung across the ceiling and there he was, accompanied by three other men all dressed in the same white and gold jerseys. 

“You’re a soccer player?” Victoria asked curiously, her lack of knowledge surrounding who he was only adding to Jude's amusement. 

“You could say that, although where I’m from we prefer the term “football”.” he explained. 

Tori laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Right, of course! I should have guessed. I’m not really into sports, but I’ve heard soc—football is huge out here. You guys are kind of a big deal, aren’t you?”

Jude chuckled, a hint of modesty in his demeanor. “We try our best. It’s a team effort, really. But tonight, I’m just here to support a good cause and, apparently, to make a mess of things.”

“Hey, it could have happened to anyone,” Tori reassured him, her smile warm. “And at least you weren’t a dickhead about it.”

Jude laughed, the tension easing between them. “I appreciate that. I’ll take ‘not a dickhead’ as a win for the night.”

Tori grinned, feeling more at ease. “So, what brings you to a ballet gala? I assume it’s not your usual scene?”

“Honestly? I was dragged here by my team, if I’m not mistaken we worked with the company this year.” he admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “Optics I guess.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far,” Tori said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve already made quite the impression.”

“Let’s hope it’s a good one,” Jude replied, his gaze steady on her. “And what about you? How did you end up in Madrid dancing with this company?”

Tori took a moment to gather her thoughts, her heart swelling with pride as she spoke. “I’ve always dreamed of dancing professionally somewhere other than where I’m from, and when the opportunity came to join this company, I jumped at it. It’s been a whirlwind experience, but I love every minute of it. The culture, the people, the passion—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“That’s inspiring,” Jude said, genuinely impressed.  Despite their different career paths, it was evident their stories held similarities. “I can’t imagine the dedication it takes to pursue something like that.”

“It’s definitely not easy,” Tori admitted, her expression turning contemplative. “But then again I can’t imagine being an athlete is a walk in the park.”

“It isn’t, but I love football,” Jude admitted. 

“The things we do for love, right?” Tori laughed making Jude do the same. 

The shared laughter felt like a soft thread stitching them closer together, and Tori felt a delightful thrill buzzing through her. Just as she was gathering the courage to delve deeper into their conversation, Mia appeared at her side, radiant and full of energy.

“There you are!” Mia exclaimed, her annoyance cloaked in the brightness of her smile. “I was looking for you everywhere! We need to dance, Tori! Now!”

Before Tori could respond, Mia whisked her away, dragging her back into the heart of the event where the music pulsed like a living entity. Tori turned her head back toward Jude, and for a split second, their eyes locked, each feeling a spark of interest. But Mia's infectious energy swept her away entirely.

“Tori,” Jude murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he observed the scene unfolding before him. A girl with a radiant smile and a bubbly personality gently pulled Tori away, her laughter ringing out like a joyful melody. Jude’s gaze lingered on Tori, captivated by the way her eyes sparkled with delight and the warmth of her smile that illuminated the space around her. The energy she radiated was magnetic, filling the air with a sense of carefree joy that made him long to understand the source of her exuberance. He couldn’t help but feel drawn to her, his curiosity deepening as he watched.

“You know her?” Kylian smirked knowingly as he checked the time on his wristwatch, his eyes following in the same direction as his teammate. 

Whoever she was, she was beautiful and definitely his type. However, Kylian could tell from the interaction he observed across the room that Jude had already taken a liking to her. As competitive as he was, he wasn’t the kind of guy to step on anyone’s toes. 

“No, she’s a dancer here,” Jude replied, his voice still low, as if he were afraid to break the spell that Tori seemed to cast over him.

Kylian raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Are you going to get to know her? She's beautiful.”

Jude nodded, his eyes still fixed on Tori as she spun around, her laughter ringing out like music as she playfully danced with the same girl that had stolen her earlier. “Yeah, she is,” he said, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.

Kylian chuckled, nudging Jude teasingly. “You should go and talk to her.”

But instead of moving forward, Jude remained rooted in place, watching Tori through the crowds of people enjoying the night. He felt an inexplicable pull to her, a desire to know more about the passionate spirit behind her smiles and laughter. She danced freely, her movements fluid and alive, each twirl a reflection of her commitment to her craft. It excited him, to see someone so deeply engaged in what they loved. 

The evening continued to unfold around them—there were mingling groups, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of music guiding each heartbeat within the grand venue. Jude’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each pulling him in a different direction. But he found comfort in simply observing her from a distance, letting her joyous energy wash over him.

However, as the night drew on and the crowd began to thin, he noticed Tori’s demeanor shift slightly. She began scanning the surroundings, an almost hesitant look crossing her face. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed just a fraction as she glanced down at her phone, then around to the curb outside where cabs occasionally pulled up, but there didn't seem to be one in sight.

Jude's instinct kicked in. This beautiful dancer, so full of life just moments ago, now appeared a bit lost and alone. He began to weigh his options despite his earlier hesitation. He could easily approach her, but would that be appropriate now? There was still a certain barrier that held him back. But as he watched her, thoughts of lost opportunities and possible regret flashed through his mind—a thought he couldn’t dismiss.

It was easy to walk away, to let her drift into the night when she seemed perfectly content within her circle of friends. But this chance felt too potent to let go.

Not wasting another moment, Jude pushed off the bar, his heart racing with a heady mix of determination. He made his way through the retreating crowd until he reached the door and stepped outside. There, he spotted Tori standing under a streetlight, her figure highlighted against the backdrop of the bustling street. 

“Tori!” Jude called out, the cold night air surrounding his words with a warmth of intent.

She turned, her expression brightening as she saw him. “Jude! Hi!” Her smile was genuine and tugged at something deep within him. “What’s up?”

“I was just about to reach out and see if you needed a ride home,” he offered, nodding toward the street where a few cabs were beginning to crawl past picking up the other attendees of the nights events. “You’ve been patiently waiting for one, haven’t you?.”

Tori’s expression of surprise quickly morphed into a look of consideration. “That’s really sweet of you, but I don’t want to impose. It’s so nice of you to offer.”

“It's no imposition, I promise. Besides, I'd hate for you to wait out here alone for too long, especially if it gets any colder.” He offered her a reassuring smile, hoping it conveyed that she could trust him. They had shared a light connection earlier, and he wanted to explore the possibility of fostering it further. 

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as she considered his words. Finally, she relented, her shoulders relaxing. “Alright, if you’re sure. That would be amazing.”

They made their way to the curb, where Jude quickly called for his chauffeur, who pulled up in a sleek black car moments later. As they approached, Tori’s eyes widened a little, intrigued by the luxury of the vehicle. 

“You really are a big deal, aren’t you?” she teased playfully, her smile blooming once more. 

Jude chuckled, shaking his head. “Not really. A guy with a good job. Besides, I guess you could say I’m just making sure I return the favor after ruining your night.” 

“Fair point,” Tori replied with a laugh. 

He opened the door, and Tori slid into the seat, tucking her dress carefully as she did. Jude followed suit, closing the door behind him and settling in. The interior was plush and inviting, the soft ambient lights casting a warm glow as the driver began to pull away from the venue.

“Wow, this is really nice. Very different from any other transport I’ve taken tonight,” she admitted, looking around with amused curiosity.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jude said with a wink. “So, what’s it like being part of a ballet company? You must have stories.”

Tori leaned back, her enthusiasm ignited by the conversation. “Honestly, it’s incredible! The dedication, the relationships—there's always something new to learn. Each performance isa fruition of not only my work but also the efforts of everyone around me. The energy we share on stage is something magical.”

As she spoke, Jude watched her, captivated by the way her eyes lit up. With each word, he felt himself drawn in further, wanting to know not just about her life as a dancer but who she truly was beyond the stage. 

“What about you?” Tori countered, her gaze shifting to him. “Life as a professional athlete must be exciting. Do you enjoy it?”

“I do,” Jude replied, allowing himself to relax as he shrugged off the more serious demeanor he tended to adopt at public events. “It’s a mix of pressure and joy. I love thrill of competition, the adrenaline—it’s intoxicating. But it’s not all glamour; the hard work is relentless and sometimes lonely. I admire you for your dedication; it’s admirable to create something so beautiful with your body.”

Tori smiled, a hint of shyness coloring her cheeks. “Thank you, that means a lot. It’s getting to that beauty and artistry that can be exhausting. You really have to push yourself beyond the limits sometimes.”

Jude nodded, intrigued. “What made youchoose dancing?”

After a brief moment of contemplation, Tori replied, “I don't think I've ever loved anything more.” 

Jude and Tori spoke the entire journey to her apartment, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. They shared stories about their childhoods, their families, and the paths that led them to their respective careers. Tori spoke of her early days in Atlanta, where she first discovered her love for dance, and how she had always dreamed of performing on grand stages. Jude shared anecdotes from his youth, the thrill of kicking a ball around with friends, and the moment he realized he wanted to pursue football professionally.

As they approached Tori's apartment building, the conversation shifted to their aspirations. Tori expressed her desire to choreograph her own pieces one day, to create something that resonated with others on a deeper level. Jude, in turn, spoke of his hopes to leave a legacy in football, to be remembered not just for his skills on the pitch but for his contributions off it as well.

When they arrived, Jude stepped out first and opened the door for Tori, who smiled at the gesture. “Thank you for the ride, Jude. I really enjoyed our conversation.”

“Me too,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight. It was a pleasant surprise.”

Tori felt a flutter in her chest at his words. “Likewise,” she said, her tone softening. The warmth radiating from their shared moment felt electric, and she wanted to hold onto it a little longer. 

As they stood there in front of her apartment, the night air wrapped around them, a slight chill blending with the heat of their conversation. Tori toyed nervously with the straps of her handbag, the silent anticipation fostering a palpable tension between them. 

“What’s next for you?” Jude asked, leaning casually against the wall beside her, his eyes searching hers.

“I’ll probably just crash. It’s been a long day,” Tori sighed, already feeling the weight of her body knowing it would soon be seeking rest. "But I’m excited for rehearsal tomorrow. We’ve got a big performance coming up in the spring that we’ve already started rehearsals for.”

“Is that so?” Jude tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “What’s the performance about?”

“It's a classic piece, really. A mix of dramatic storytelling set to beautiful music. The choreography is breathtaking," she shared, her passion radiating ever so present. “You should come and see it sometime, if you’re interested. I can get you tickets.”

Jude's heart raced at the thought, the prospect of witnessing her dance igniting a flicker of excitement within him. “I’d love that,” he said earnestly. “Just let me know when.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the surrounding city seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the spotlight of their conversation. Tori felt a flutter in her stomach – a blend of nerves and intrigue that coursed through her. She took a small step closer, feeling emboldened by the connection they had fostered.

Jude’s expression softened, the magnetic pull between them crackling through the air. “Well, since I’m clearly no good at keeping my drinks to myself, maybe I should stay away.” His teasing brought a light laugh from Tori, easing the air between them.

“I’ll just have to be careful around you, then,” she said playfully.

Jude chuckled, the sound low and rich as he took a step closer and looked down into her expressive eyes.

In that moment, the tension shifted, and without thinking, Jude gently cupped Tori’s face, hesitating slightly as he read her expression. It was infused with a blend of surprise and something that looked like desire. The space between them felt charged, as though the universe had drawn them together for this very moment.

“Can I?” he mouthed softly, his voice barely a whisper, seeking her permission. 

Tori nodded, her heart racing, the remnants of their conversation swirling around them like a beautiful dance. 

Jude leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against hers in the softest of kisses, a tentative exploration that sent shivers down her spine. Her breath hitched in her throat as she leaned into him, deepening the kiss, feeling the warmth of his body meld against hers.

Jude felt a rush of warmth wash over him as Tori’s soft hand settled gently on the back of his neck. It was as if a current of electricity had surged through him, igniting every nerve ending. His hands instinctively found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as their lips met in a tender kiss.

As Tori pulled away, she felt her cheeks warm with a deep blush that betrayed her flustered emotions. Jude, undeterred, leaned in and pressed another soft kiss against her lips, his touch lingering just a moment longer. When he finally stood upright, he seemed to tower over her, his height making her feel both small and protected all at once. The intensity of his gaze mixed with the sweetness of the moment left her breathless.

“Thank you for getting me home,” Tori smiled sweetly up at Jude, her fingers brushing against his blazer-covered bicep. 

“Thank you for allowing me to,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “I wasn’t sure how tonight would go, but I’m really happy I met you.”

Tori’s heart fluttered at his words, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. “Me too. I didn’t expect to have such an incredible time, especially at my first gala. You made it special.”

Jude chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we could make dinner sometime special too.”

Tori laughed a melodic sound that made Jude’s heart race. “I don't doubt it, but aren't you a super in-demand soccer player?”

“It’s football,” Jude corrected in amusement. “Which is exactly why a dinner together is necessary, I need to work that word out of your vocabulary.” 

“My bad, football,” Victoria smiled playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But seriously, I’d like to have dinner with you. Just let me know when you’re free.”

“Perfect,” Jude said, his heart fluttering at her enthusiasm. “Are you free this weekend?”

“Is tomorrow good for you?” Tori asked feeling rather shy under Jude’s intense gaze and hating how enthusiastic she sounded. She could hardly believe how quickly the evening had unfolded, and the prospect of spending more time with him sent butterflies dancing in her stomach.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” Jude replied, a grin spreading across his face. “How about I pick you up at seven?”

“Seven it is,” Tori confirmed, her heart racing at the thought of their upcoming dinner. “I’ll be ready.”

As they stood there, the cold night air wrapped around them like a soft blanket, Tori felt a sense of comfort and excitement. She had never imagined that attending her dance companies end of year gala could lead to such a connection with someone like Jude. 

“Can I have a number to call you on, or do you want me to stand out here and shout your name?” Jude teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

Tori laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I guess a number would be more effective,” she replied, pulling out her phone. She quickly pulled up her contact information and handed it to him. “There you go. Just promise you won’t forget to text me.”

“I promise,” Jude said, his voice earnest as he took her phone and saved her number. He handed it back with a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “I’m determined to get that S word out of your system.”

Tori grinned at his confidence, her heart racing at the thought of spending time with him in a intimate setting. Jude was captivating, with a charm that was both effortless and magnetic. She found herself wanting to learn more about him—the man behind the athlete. 

“You make it sound like a challenge,” she said, playfully arching an eyebrow at him. 

“Trust me, I thrive on challenges,” he replied, leaning closer as if to let her in on a secret. “Especially when they involve beautiful women.”

The way he spoke sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a warmth deep within her. She felt her heart race at the connection they shared, a thrill that was both exhilarating and terrifying. “Well, I’m sure I can hold my own when it comes to challenges,” Tori shot back, her voice teasing despite the butterflies flitting about in her stomach.

Jude's lips twitched into a smile, and he took a step closer, their bodies almost touching now. “I have no doubt about that. I can tell you’re a woman who knows what she wants.” He paused, his eyes locking onto hers with a burning intensity.

[xoluvx]

impatient; b.eilish 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 🎧ྀི impatient; jeremih

there was an undeniable hunger in her eyes. they followed your every move. following you as you dipped low. as your legs opened and your back slid down the pole. as your fingers caressed the cool surface and your chest lifted while your head tilted to the side. the twinkling lights reflected in your clear heels so festive and jolly as you worked your way through the night.

whereas her friends were leaning over each other, talking and laughing, her stare never faltered. she was attentive and you made it known you had your eyes set on her too. when your legs spread into a splits, you leaned over. lips curling and smirking as you closed your legs, clinking your heels in the air before leaning over the platform, arching your back, arms reaching in her direction. eyes so seductive. wanting to eat her alive and be eaten alive.

'fuck' she muttered inaudibly, but you could see her lips moving. parting. almost gasping for air as you smiled mischievously. body slithering and sliding. ass in the air. you tracked the way her eyes lingered down your body. taking it all in. leaning back on her seat when you stood up, walking to the pole again. she watched your ass jiggle under the red fabric that barely covered anything and left very little to the imagination. she watched the way your breasts pressed against the pole. sequin top glimmering with the string lights that sparkled like your shimmering skin.

it didn't come as a surprise that she'd requested you for a private dance and you weren't a bit nervous when you closed the curtains behind you. you were a professional. your fingers curled around the velvet, turning slowly. she sat on the couch, leaning back and ready. arms resting on the back of the couch until she made eye contact with you. it was only then that she sat up running her hand along her chin nervously. tongue peaking through her lips before clearing her throat and pulling on her jacket.

"make yourself comfortable," you encouraged walking to her as the music vibrated in the confined space. she nodded taking off her jacket pushing it to the end of the couch. you smiled pushing your breasts together as you walked to her stopping near her knees. she rubbed her hands nervously on her thighs as yours landed on her shoulders. you pushed her back before straddling her body. your hips moving to the rhythm of the song. head tilting the side. before getting off her body. proceeding through your dance like you didn’t want to climb her like a jungle gym.

you weren't entirely sure how you ended up at her house. how she lost her friends or how your bodies stumbled through her door and how she guided you to her room so calmly allowing you to take control.

you pushed her body on the bed. she watched you hungrily just like she'd done that whole night, but she wasn't shy anymore. you were on her turf now. in her house. she was the boss here. she was in control, but she allowed you perform for her anyway. stripping off your shirt and your bottoms. losing your shoes in the pile of clothes until you were stripped down to your underwear.

"your turn," you smiled cheekily as she blushed and nodded running her tongue along her teeth. she held your hips turning your bodies so you were the one sitting on the bed. she went for her belt. ring clad hands working the buckle as you stared with anticipation. she tugged on her pants letting them fall around her ankles. stepping out of them as she pulled off her shirt. the lacy underwear she was wearing was fancier than what you currently had on and you were amazed by the way it clung to her toned body.

"have you ever thought about being a stripper?" you teased and she smiled cheekily, but her gaze quickly turned dark when she dashed towards you cupping your neck. you gasped lifting your chest towards her body. surrendering to her touch.

"i wouldn’t be as good as you," she whispered and when your lips met, you felt every inch of your body tingle. when her grip tightened around your neck you felt the heat rise between your thighs. it was almost painful. you ached for her touch. you gripped her shoulders as she pushed you back on the bed. you sprawled on her mattress raising your chest. hands touching the cool surface trying to grip on to something as she disappeared before returning with her strap.

your mouth formed a perfect 'o' watching her discard it on the bed so casually before straddling your body. cupping your face. kissing your lips. moving her hips. lifting your thigh until her fingers were rubbing your pussy over your underwear. you were dripping. seeping through the fabric as she snickered and tsked, shaking her head. lips trailing down your jaw as your moans spilled from your lips so heavenly.

fingertips dug into your ass as it bounced against her pelvis. strap so deep in your pussy you were seeing stars. you were struggling to keep your eyes open. struggling to hold yourself together as she slammed into you. she wrapped a hand around your neck pulling you back. tears streaming down your face. moans so shrill yet so blissful from the blinding pleasure.

whispers begged for you to cum on her cock as you bounced on her. hands supported your weight on her shoulders as you swayed your hips and cried out in desperation longing for release, but you were too enamored by the feeling of your throbbing pussy clenching around her cock. her plump lips cursed. teeth sunk into her bottom lip until you were convulsing on her body. nails digging into your skin. chanting her name so harmoniously. she swore she’d never heard a sweeter melody.

it was all a blur of pleasure. hands roaming. legs tangling. teeth tucking on lips. sinking into skin until you were unsure where you began and where she ended.

until you rose to the bright sun shining through the curtains. eyes sensitive. body sore. legs swinging off the edge of the bed searching for something to throw over your body as you searched for water. getting lost along the way. mesmerized by the beauties in her house.

the tips of your fingers traced the snowflake on the tree. it curled at the corners, you could tell it was handmade and the thought made you smile faintly. you wrapped her arms around your body. the long sleeve shirt she'd been wearing the night before hung from your body as your feet softly walked along the house looking at every photo, every award, every little part of her that you could piece together. you were too focused on the mantle with the small trinkets that you didn't hear the soft pitter patter of footsteps approaching behind you.

"good morning," her voice was raspy. you gasped turning around, startled by her presence knowing you shouldn't have snuck out of her room and wandered a house you'd never stepped foot in before. your first mistake was going home with a client.

"hi," she whispered as you followed her gaze. she was looking at her shirt clinging to your body. trailing up to your swollen lips and your smeared mascara. all the remains of your shared night clung to your body. she seared you with her touch. left her print on your body. in those few seconds of staring at each other you relived the moments in your mind in a flash. every moan, gasp, touch, kiss it all hung in the silence as you stared at each other.

"i'll have to go soon," she whispered walking closer as you nodded. there was a wave of sadness that washed over your body. that sunk your heart to the pit of your stomach. the realization that this was a fleeting moment sank in. you were so foolish to think you'd just spend the rest of the day tangled in her sheets. maybe if you hadn't gotten out of bed-

"stay. i'll be back," she whispered cupping your jaw as your face softened. hope filled your eyes as they watched her carefully. as she rubbed your cheek with her thumb and leaned closer. she kissed you so tenderly. it was strange how you'd grown so familiar with her lips. to the way they molded so perfectly with yours. moving in sync like a dance you'd rehearsed for months and not just a couple of hours.

your noses clashed. mouth opening wider. breath hitching as the kiss grew deeper. as you pulled on her shoulders pressing your body on hers. as her hands gripped your skin under the fabric of her shirt. as she hummed against your lips before unfurling your arms from around her shoulders.

"i'll be back," she whispered again. you frowned, but nodded reluctantly. she held the back of your head kissing your forehead so softly your heart was fluttering.

she would be back. she wasn't asking you to leave. she wasn't asking anything of you. except to stay and if she continued kissing you like that, touching you like that, you'd do anything she wanted.

masterlist

[sim0nril3y]

12 Days of Kinkmas | Day Four: Voyeurism

Note: It's day threeeee of our Kinkmas and I'm not super happy about this one, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, oral (m recieving), voyerurism, canon-typical swearing.

If there was one thing that Simon hated it was parties. They were excruciating. It didn’t matter what they were for because Simon hated all of them. This one that you had was up there as one of the worst ones yet. It was in an enormous house, decorated in tacky Christmas decorations that probably cost a fortune, there was festive music flowing through the walls and a spread of food that even was on theme.

It was the party of one of your friends, you had told him that they were well off but he hadn’t imagined anything like this. Simon had grimaced as you tugged him from one friend to another, greeting them happily, introducing him briefly, you knew that Simon didn’t want to make small talk. No, all he wanted to do was drink beer and get through the night. This whole thing was hell for him, but at least he had your angelic form to gaze on.

After hours of dithering, you had decided on a sparkly festive dress that was very on theme of the party. You looked fucking delicious. Honestly, it was a miracle you’d made it out the door with the way that Simon had been pawing at your body before leaving the house, he’d wanted to get in your knickers before even getting there, but you’d reminded him that you’d be late-late, not just fashionably late and that was something that Simon’s wouldn’t abide.

So, instead he was forced to simply stand back, observing and ogling your body and nod whenever a question was directed at him. With a hearty swig he finished the dregs of his beer and held the empty bottle usefully by his side. “There are more beers in the kitchen. I need another one too.” You announced, slotting your hand into his own and pulling him along. “How’re you holding up, babe?” You quizzed, entering he kitchen and thankful it was empty and quieter than the rest of the house.

Nabbing him a beer, you handed it to him and after taking a swig Simon asked. “How much longer do we need to be here?” Slipping an arm around your waist to tug you forward into his chest. “Wanna get home so I can get this fuckin’ outfit off you…” He commented, rubbing his hands against the sparkly material.

A smirk played on your lips for a moment, as if devising a plan. “Well… we’ve only been here a few hours, so we’ll need to stay a little longer, but…” Glancing around, the room was empty and the door was closed. “Maybe this will help…” You commented, shimmying down the straps of your dress and allowing your tits to spill free, exposing them so that Simon groaned lowly. “Trust me, that really doesn’t help the problem, babe.”

“Mmm… sorry…” You muttered, although there was very little remorse to your voice as your hand slipped between your bodies and cupped him through his jeans, through the material you could feel him rock hard against your hand. “Babe, you’re so hard~” You whisper up at him before over your shoulder again to check for any prying eyes.

A moment later, you took Simon’s hand and tugged it across to the pantry, opening the door and pushing him inside into the confined dark space. “What are you doing?” Simon asked, feeling the way you knelt to the ground, plucking at his jeans as you answered. “I’m giving you an early Christmas present~” Then opening his jeans and pulling them down enough to allow his cock to spring free. “Maybe this will be enough to get you through the party…”

You wasted no time, spitting lewdly into your hand and using it to jerk his cock languidly, gazing up through the dimly lit room at him. Like normal, Simon was stoic and quiet, but you could just about hear his breathing getting hard, little groans in the back of his throat and then finally his voice bit into the darkness. “Be a good girl for me…” His hand braced on the back of your head. “Put it in your mouth. Yeah?”

Following his command, you simply sunk him into your mouth, humming sweetly as you suckled on the head of his cock, hand stroking the rest of him. “Don’t be a tease.” He commented. “You and I both know you can take more of my fat cock than that.” He grumbled and you smirked as you sank more of his cock into your throat.

You were humming and bobbing your head on his cock, eyes fluttered closed as you concentrated on your job for giving Simon pleasure. “Good girl.” He whispered, fingers knotting into your hair. “Good girl.” He panted, beginning to guide your head by winding your tresses, forcing you up and down on his cock, finding his own rhythm and causing you to gag a few times as you adjusted. “My good fuckin’ girl letting my fuck her pretty throat…”

Simon groaned and grunted as he used you for his pleasure, gazing down at your pretty face as he fucked it. He hummed lowly, fucking himself a little faster and smiling to himself at the small gagging and grunting sounds that spilled from your mouth as his actions grew more frantic, Simon was just about to open his mouth to speak when he heard. “… do you know where they are?” His eyes widened looking towards the closed pantry door, people were on the other side, Simon was reminded in that moment that a joyful Christmas party was going on behind those walls.

“The beers? They are over here…” A voice responded to the first one and footsteps move around then. Simon hissed, looking down as you continued to bob your head even as he had stopped all movement, squeezing his eyes closed and leaning his head back. “More people here than I was expecting…” The voice uttered as a few beers popped open. “Yeah, it’s a good turn out.” Simon let out a soft grunt as he suddenly emptied down your throat, bracing his hand against the shelves. “Did you hear something?” “Hear what? All I hear is my favourite Christmas song, come on!” Simon’s fussy mind took note that the voices disappeared in a quick movement to return to the party happily.

Once the coast was clear you and Simon stepped back outside, leading you from the kitchen and grabbing another beer. He brushed down the wrinkles on his outfit and turned back to you then. His eyes widened at his state of you. Your dress was ruffled, your make-up smeared, mouth swollen, you were flushed and clammy looking. “Love, I think we may need to go home…” Simon stepped towards you helping straighten your closed. “What? Why?” You asked.

“Because if any of your friends see you they are gonna know you’re a filthy girl who just gave head to her boyfriend at a Christmas party.” He commented, pulling off his coat and putting it around your shoulders before carefully trying to clean your face of smudged make-up. “Plus, the sooner I get you home, the sooner I get to fuck you into our mattress.”

12 Days of Kinkmas | Regular Masterlist | Ask | 17-12-2023

[verstappensrealwife]

Hidden Desires - Charles Leclerc x Driver!Reader

[charles leclerc masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... driver!reader and rival!charles have sex. ʚɞ angst, smut, fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 2200 words ʚɞ warnings: smut, oral (m reciveing), p in v.

-୨♡୧-

Despite Charles' protests, he couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you, even if he tried to brush it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No—we're not dating… we aren't even friends," he'd insist, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance.

You, too, would echo his sentiments with a roll of your eyes and a snort of disbelief. "As if," you'd scoff, "He's insufferable on the track, never mind off."

But beneath the facade of denial, there lingered a tension that neither of you could ignore—a tension that manifested itself in the most unexpected of moments.

As Charles watched you playfully shake the champagne bottle, his heart quickened at the sight of you drenching Max with the bubbly liquid, your laughter ringing out like music in the air. And when you turned your attention to him, a mischievous glint in your eye, he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

The champagne dripped down your bright orange race suit, accentuating every curve and contour of your body, transforming you into an ethereal vision that left him breathless. And as he continued to celebrate alongside you, his gaze lingered on you, unable to tear himself away from the mesmerising sight before him.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the celebration, Charles found himself captivated by you in a way he had never been before—a realisation that left him reeling with both excitement and uncertainty. And as he struggled to come to terms with the growing attraction he felt towards you, one thing became abundantly clear: denying his feelings would be futile in the face of such undeniable desire.

In the solitude of his hotel room, Charles sought refuge from the lingering echoes of celebration, the claps on the back, and the intoxicating scent of champagne that clung to his skin. A hot shower became his sanctuary, a ritual to wash away the remnants of the victorious chaos.

As the water cascaded over him, cleansing him of the night's festivities, his mind inevitably drifted to you. He couldn't shake the vivid image of your own post-celebration routine, imagining you standing under the streaming water, your naked body enveloped in warmth, relaxing after the fervour of the race and the exuberance of the victory party.

The steam from the shower blurred the line between reality and fantasy, and Charles couldn't help but envision himself in that intimate space with you. The thought stirred a longing within him, a desire that transcended the confines of the racetrack and spilled into the realm of unspoken yearning.

In the dimly lit solitude of his hotel room, Charles found himself consumed by a primal urge, his hand wrapping around his throbbing length. With slow, deliberate strokes, he imagined you, kneeling before him, your mouth agape in anticipation as he plunged into your throat.

Each imagined sensation elicited a cascade of moans and whimpers from deep within him, his body writhing with pleasure. But just as he was lost in the fervour of his fantasies, a sharp knock shattered the erotic haze.

Startled, Charles hastily draped a towel around his waist, his frustration mounting at the interruption. He swung open the door to be met by you, standing there with an air of annoyance and authority.

"Listen, Charles," you began, your tone tinged with irritation, "I understand you're excited about P2, but could you and whoever else is in there with you please keep it down?"

Confusion flickered across Charles's features as he glanced back at the empty room, then turned to face you. Unbeknownst to him, your eyes wandered appreciatively down his form as he stood before you.

"I- Well... erm," he stumbled over his words, caught off guard by your unexpected presence. “I’m alone.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson as a quiet "oh" escaped your lips, embarrassment colouring your features. "Well... erm... you're quite loud. So, shut up," you retorted, attempting to regain your composure.

A scoff escaped Charles's lips, his irritation momentarily forgotten as desire flared within him. He met your gaze with a smouldering intensity, a challenge lingering in his eyes. "Make me," he dared, his voice laced with a hint of defiance.

Raising an eyebrow, you allowed your eyes to drift downward, noting the towel that threatened to slip away with each passing moment. As it finally fell to the floor, revealing his impressive length, your breath caught in your throat.

The sight before you was captivating, igniting a fire deep within you as desire surged through your veins. Unable to tear your gaze away, you felt a rush of heat spreading through your body, anticipation pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

As the towel fell to the floor, revealing Charles's impressive length, the tension between you two skyrocketed. Your mouth hung open slightly in surprise and arousal, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Charles, emboldened by your reaction, he pulled you closer, closing the distance between you. His gaze was intense, full of desire and a hint of challenge. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and gently trailed his fingers along your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"You like what you see, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice husky with arousal.

You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of heat spreading through your body. "Maybe," you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wicked grin spread across Charles's face as he took another step forward, crowding your space. His hand moved from your cheek to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your stomach, sending waves of need pulsing through you.

"Tell me," he breathed against your lips, his breath hot against your skin, "do you want me to shut up?"

You struggled to find your voice, your mind clouded with desire. "Yes," you finally gasped out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

With a low growl, Charles captured your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, setting your senses on fire. The air crackled with electricity as you both lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, forgetting everything else except the raw, primal need coursing through your veins.

As the intensity of the kiss deepened, Charles's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a hunger that matched your own. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the throes of desire. He pulled you into his room, slamming his door.

With a low growl, Charles broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fiery kisses along your jawline and down the curve of your neck. Each touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both.

Desperate for more, you arched into his touch, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him closer. The heat between you was palpable, a tangible force that crackled in the air like electricity.

Sensing your need, Charles's hands drifted lower, exploring every inch of your body with a reverence that left you breathless. And when his fingers found their way to the hem of your clothing, a silent invitation passed between you, a promise of ecstasy yet to come.

With trembling hands, you allowed him to undress you, the fabric falling away to reveal the raw, unbridled beauty beneath. His gaze drank you in hungrily, his eyes dark with desire as he took in every inch of your exposed skin.

You stood before him, a vision of perfection that surpassed even his wildest fantasies. Hunger burned in his eyes as he pushed you down beside the bed, his commanding presence towering above you. With his cock mere centimetres from your awaiting mouth, he issued a harsh command.

"Do what you're good for, Y/N," he snarled, his tone dripping with arrogance, "Because it's clearly not racing."

Undeterred by his biting words, you chose to ignore his taunts, focusing instead on the task at hand. With a flick of your tongue, you traced a path along the head of his cock, then down the length of his shaft, savouring the taste of him on your lips.

Without hesitation, you took him fully into your mouth, your lips forming a tight seal around his throbbing length. As your nose brushed against his naval, a gag reflex kicked in, causing you to draw back momentarily. But before you could protest, he grasped your head firmly, guiding you back onto him with a steady pressure.

Slowly, he began to thrust into your mouth, each movement deliberate and controlled. With each deep thrust, he delved deeper into the depths of your throat, igniting a fire within you that burned with a fierce intensity.

His moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that echoed off the walls as he revelled in the ecstasy of the moment. And as he quickened his pace, becoming more forceful with each thrust, you found yourself surrendering completely to the raw, primal desire that pulsed between you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure, "At least you've got some sort of … Sort of talent." He stumbled over his words. 

With a swift motion, Charles pulled you up to your feet, his strong grip guiding you effortlessly as he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the bed. Your heart raced with anticipation as you braced yourself, your body tingling with excitement at what was to come.

Positioned behind you, Charles wasted no time in taking what he desired, his hands roaming over your exposed skin with a fervour that left you breathless. You arched your back, offering yourself up to him completely, ready to be consumed by the fire that burned between you.

Without a word, he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock teasing your entrance with a maddening sense of anticipation. And then, with a powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely as he claimed you as his own.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began to move, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that drowned out everything else as you surrendered yourself to the raw, primal need that pulsed between you.

With each thrust, he pushed you higher and higher, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chased his own release. And when it finally came, it was with a force that rocked you to your core, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in an unstoppable tide.

Together, you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, consumed by the passion that burned between you until, finally, you collapsed together in a tangled heap of limbs and satisfied sighs, the echoes of your ecstasy lingering in the air like a sweet, intoxicating perfume.

"Well... Erm, I'll be going. See you whene–" Before you could finish your sentence and make your exit, Charles interrupted you, his voice firm as he halted your departure, though your clothes were mostly back on.

"No, you're gonna stay in here tonight... so no one knows what we just did," he insisted, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to maintain composure.

You couldn't help but giggle at his attempt to justify his request. "Charles Leclerc wants some after-sex kisses? From me?" you teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as he stumbled over his words, his attempts to explain himself only adding to his embarrassment. But you paid his flustered attempts no mind, instead sauntering back towards him and slipping beneath the sheets with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Charles's embarrassment only seemed to deepen as you crawled back into bed, your playful teasing adding fuel to the fire. He struggled to find the right words, his cheeks still tinged with a rosy hue as he watched you settle in beside him.

As you nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft sound of your breath mingling together in the quiet of the room. Despite the lingering awkwardness, there was an undeniable sense of intimacy that hung in the air, binding you together in a way that words could never quite capture.

After a moment, Charles tentatively reached out, his fingers grazing lightly along your cheek as he traced the curve of your jawline with a gentle touch. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, a silent apology lingering in the depths of his expression.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't mean to... I just... I don't want anyone to know about us. Well not right this second."

You studied him for a moment, taking in the vulnerability etched into his features, and felt a pang of sympathy tug at your heart. Despite his bravado on the racetrack, he was just as human as anyone else, with fears and insecurities of his own.

With a soft smile, you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his as you leaned in to press a tender kiss against his lips. "It's okay," you reassured him, your voice warm with understanding, "We can keep it our little secret."

And as you settled in beside him, the weight of the day's events fading into the background, you knew that this unexpected connection was something worth holding onto, even if it meant keeping it hidden from the rest of the world at the moment.

el fin.

I feel like i always make the endings too mushy, oh wells

[megraen]

Chapter Two - Mensis Aprilis

WORD COUNT: 6,005

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Rome was in celebration. On the 23rd day of Mensis Aprilis, the wine harvest, wine vintage, and gardens were celebrated in honour of Jupiter and Venus. It was a splendour that all of Rome took part in, as the wine served more than just the role of a beverage, but medicine and tonic. It was so crucial that Rome held two festivals a year to honour the celebration of wine. The wine was available in various varieties, enjoyed warm and cold, with Roman citizens of all ages and genders, including free folk and slaves, enjoying the substance.

During this celebration, the people of Rome praised the God Jupiter, thanked him for the previous harvest, and prayed that the next would be abundant. To honour Venus, wine from last year’s first harvest was drunk, and many flocked into the streets with music and laughter.

Lucia would have been one of many young girls to gather at the Temple of Venus Erycina Colline, offering myrtle, mint and bulrush in a bouquet of roses, asking for the Goddess to bless her with beauty, charm and humour, yet for her actions earlier that week, the twin Emperors had banished her to her chambers, only allowing her to leave for the use of the privy and bathhouse. Slaves would bring her meals and attend to her needs, but she was trapped in the four-walled room. They had never punished her so cruelly before, even to deny her the right to honour the Gods.

The young woman was currently sitting on the sill of the window, just wide enough to stop her from slipping through and falling to her death. The windows were the same in her mother’s chambers. Down below, she could see the public granted to Palatine Hill for the celebration yet still barred from entering the Palace. Some had noticed her and waved, with Lucia returning the warm gesture. She must have been like an animal on display in a menagerie to them, a curiosity for them to gawk and admire.

She looked away from them, her attention shifting to the lyre in her lap. Lucia had been plucking at the strings for hours, making non-nonsensical tunes. She had long passed boredom hours ago and was teetering with nothing to do. She had re-read what little scrolls of poetry she had in her room and was beginning to run out of ideas for ways to entertain herself. Had she not been confined to her chambers, she could have waltzed through the Palace gardens or had brief conversations with those visiting the Emperors. Even her mother was banned from seeing her as punishment.

“Jupiter and all the Gods damn you, Geta.” Lucia hissed, her hands tightening around the lyre. It was wise to assume that Caracalla would have had no input in her punishment, as the younger twin cared little for ruling. Caracalla would have had her thrown in a cell or dungeon as a punishment rather than confining her to her chambers. No, the plan had all been Geta’s doing.

Her head turned sharply when the doors to her chambers opened, and a young female slave entered. The girl’s head was downcast, her gaze on her feet as she padded into the room barefoot. A guard was standing by the open door, his eyes darting between the slave and Lucia, daring the princess to act. Lucia remained sitting on the window sill as the slave girl placed a silver tray on a low table, bringing Lucia her midday meal. The slave hesitated before picking up the tray left from Lucia’s breakfast, the food untouched, but she grabbed it anyway. The girl bowed towards Lucia before heading out, the guard slamming the door shut, leaving Lucia alone once more.

She had been refusing to eat for the last day of her punishment, a protest against her captors. The slaves would report each skipped meal to Emperor Geta, and the news would grate on his nerves. Both Emperors thrived on control, stemming from the fear they drew from those beneath them. It was a high to them—a thrill from the power over the Roman Empire. It’s what draws so many to desire the position for themselves. Lucia had long assumed that most who held the Emperor’s position had never been suited to rule, only wanting control rather than what was best for Rome. Too many had fallen to corruption, and her uncle had been one of them.

Lucia’s grandfather, Emperor Marcus Aurelius, was a well-loved and admired ruler. He was a Stoic philosopher who believed in practising the four virtues—wisdom, courage, temperance or moderation, and justice. Yet it was after his murder by his son, Commodus, that would bring an end to their families near a one-hundred-year dynasty. The Nerva–Antonine dynasty held six Emperors, with the first five considered ‘good’ Emperors. Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, Lucius Verus, Marcus Aurelius, and Commodus. All were dead, and the dynasty they created was torn from this world by the foolish mistakes of one who craved power.

Commodus was arrogant, ruling like a god among men, thinking he could break Roman laws to his benefit. He wished to create a new dynasty, born of pure-blooded children from his own sister’s womb. Incest was outlawed because it was immoral and against the Gods, punishable by exile. Lucia knew that Commodus had raped her mother, yet as a child, she hadn’t put two and two together. Lucia feared that when the time came, Commodus would have raped her too once she was old enough for marriage, as he had been so desperate for an heir.

Sighing, Lucia placed her lyre aside and stood, her legs weak from sitting for so long. She stood still, breathing as the blood flowed back into her legs. Approaching the table and ignoring the hunger in her gut, Lucia poured herself a cup of wine and took a large gulp, moaning as the sweet liquid floated around her tongue. She may have been skipping meals, but it would be a crime for her to deny herself wine. She returned to the window, glancing back over the city again. If the Emperors had been kind enough to give her more wine, she would drink into a stupor, letting herself forget about her troubles and the shame of missing out on the day’s festivities.

Lucia had no idea how much time had passed when someone slammed her chamber doors open so hard that the wood banged against the wall. She didn’t have to turn her head to know who. Only one person would dare to enter her chambers with such aggression.

“Lucia…” Geta hissed through gritted teeth. When the slave had come to him, informing him that the brat had forgone without another meal, he found his patience at its limit. Lucia and her mother were his guests, under his and his brother’s protection, with the privileges of being well cared for and provided with the comforts of the Imperial Palace. Yet there was also the concern of the rumours that could circulate. If the peasantry heard that Lucia wasn’t abstaining from meals and locked in her chambers, the lower class would turn against the Emperors more, calling them cruel.

It wasn’t easy to manage the classes of Rome and make each one happy with the laws and decisions made for their benefit. Yes, the Emperor held political, legal, financial, military, and religious power. Still, that control also lay with the Senate, responsible for creating laws, managing finances, directing magistrates, advising on policy, arbitrating disputes, seating criminal juries, and acting as prosecution and defence attorneys.

If the twin Emperors were seen in a poor light, then the Senate must have been, too. At least, that’s how Geta saw it.

“Lucia!” He barked her name again when she hadn’t turned to face him or acknowledge his presence. Lucia finally spun, swaying slightly and almost losing her footing. Geta narrowed his brows and instantly realised the woman was intoxicated. He looked to the table and picked up the now empty jug that had held the wine. His jaw tightened. Geta knew from his personal experiences and witnessing his brother what no food and much wine could do to one’s senses. Caracalla was one of the most uncontrollable drinks Geta had ever seen.

“You’re drunk,” Geta grumbled, harshly dropping the jar on the table.

“I’m free!” Lucia sang and spun around, spilling wine from her goblet.

“You need to eat,” He stressed, gesturing to the waiting food on the table. A silver tray held various meats, salted bread, eggs, vegetables, cheese, and salad. It was a typical midday meal, with enough food to feed a small group or last Lucia all day. Geta scowled at her intoxicated actions, watching her stumble to re-find her footing after spinning too fast.

“No,” Lucia replied curtly. Her tone was light, a giggle leaving her lips even as she tried to come off defiant. Geta’s jaw twitched. Stomping over to her, he latched onto the wrist of her free hand, pulling her to sit at the table. Lucia had yelled at him in protest, and when her butt met the seat, she let go of the goblet, the silver cup resting on the tabletop as she swiped at the tray, spilling its contents over the floor. Geta leapt back, narrowingly avoiding the food from staining his pristine white toga.

He seethed momentarily, refraining himself from lashing out and striking at her. Geta wasn’t accustomed to someone being too blatantly disrespectful. To his knowledge, no one ever had, not even his twin. He was Emperor, the firstborn twin; none could compare to his position and power.

“It’s clear you need more time to think…” Geta gritted out through clenched teeth; his words were dangerously quiet. He turned, heading to leave her alone, but halted when he heard something hit the wall behind him and the clung of metal across the floor. Glancing down, he spied the metal goblet rolling on the floor. She’d thrown a cup at him. He turned, staring at Lucia in amazement.

She was standing up from her seat, shifting shakily on her intoxicated feet, but Geta could see the fire in her eyes. The wine had made her bolder, acting out in a manner she wouldn’t dare to do sober. Geta had seen plenty of men do the outrageous when drunk, from thinking themselves immortal to acting boldly towards a charming woman. Lucia always behaved appropriately, even when pushed to her limits, not counting the times she fled from the Palace. To witness her now, acting, unlike any other Roman woman, having attempted to harm her Emperor, was astounding.

“I can have you executed for that.” Geta barked, pointing to the goblet on the ground.

A large smile spread across Lucia’s face, establishing she felt no guilt or shame over her drunken actions. Yet before either could act or speak further, darkness descended Lucia’s vision, and she collapsed to the hard marble floor, her intoxication leaving her unconscious.

Geta gritted his teeth again and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. Sighing, he rubbed at his jaw, knowing he couldn’t just leave the woman on the floor as much as he wanted to. Opening the chamber doors, he ushered in the two guards he had stationed outside and ordered them to assist Lucia onto her bed. He watched them work, his eyes glued to her limp form. From now on, he would see she received no more wine, only water.

Caracalla laughed hysterically as Geta paced back and forth in the banquet hall. The news of Lucia attacking his brother with a cup made him giggle. Their rich, noble friends and prostitutes sat around the room, not speaking or uttering a sound, merely watching the scene. Geta turned sharply, staring down at his younger twin, but in his state of intoxication, Caracalla didn’t notice the seething look. Geta kicked at his brother’s feet as the man laid back on his recliner. Caracalla jerked, spilling his wine as he tried to stabilise himself.

“Out!” Geta screamed, his eyes still focused on his brother, yet the order was meant for everyone else. The prostitutes and nobles quickly scattered from the room, leaving behind their goblets. They knew not to linger if either twin was in a bad mood, not wanting to become the target of an Emperor’s rage.

Caracalla frowned at the spilt wine. Standing on shaky legs, he reached for a pitcher and poured a fresh cup. “Calm yourself, brother.” He slurred, spinning to face his twin. Geta shook his head. He wanted to smack that cup from his brother’s hand. “It seems our young princess has more fire than expected.” Caracalla teased, his eyes twinkling in delight. The younger man was affectionate for defiant things and enjoyed breaking them and moulding them into obedient pets. It’s how he ensured that every new slave that was brought to the Palace would be submissive to him and his brother.

“Had it been your head she was throwing it at, you wouldn’t be fast to praise her.” Geta lectured. Caracalla paused but started laughing again as if it was some game to him. He relaxed on his recliner, sipping his wine, not caring for his brother’s complaints. Caracalla spoke again of simply killing Lucia, as it would mean an end to plenty of their troubles, especially the heartache that the woman was currently causing his brother. Geta groaned and rubbed at his jaw, annoyed that his twin couldn’t listen to a straightforward rule: no killing Lucia or Lucilla. Yes, murdering the two women would rid the emperors of significant disturbances to their rule, but doing so would only create more. There was no easy fix. Their father’s prisoners had been passed onto them. In the past, it had only been Lucilla who’d been a threat, but she was old now, and the twins were sure she was unlikely to conceive again at her age, which left only her daughter.

Geta sat on one of the plush sofas, relaxing on the soft surface. “He’s still tormenting us from Tartarus.” He grumbled. Caracalla looked at him quizzically, unsure of whom his brother was referring to. “Father.”

As the words left his mouth, Caracalla’s mood changed. He threw his goblet, spilling wine across the marble floor. Geta was used to seeing his brother like this when the rage took hold, and his mind became lost. Standing, Geta reached for his twin, wrapping his arms around Caracalla from behind and dragging him to the floor. Geta tried to soothe his twin, reminding him to calm down. His temperature tantrums were one thing, but Caracalla’s were something else. The younger man had maimed and disfigured slaves when his episodes struck, nearly inconsolable. What triggered him one day may not trigger him again next time.

“Calm, brother…come back to your senses,” Geta whispered, gritting his teeth as Caracalla fought against his hold. The man soon stilled, trembling and panting as he lay on the floor, Geta releasing his body. “He’s gone. Dead. Suffering for his sins against us in Tartarus.” Geta soothed, staring off ahead at nothing.

Their father had been a cruel man, abusive to his wife and sons. The twin’s mother had been Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus’s second wife, his first rumoured to be murdered after eleven years of marriage when she failed to give him any children. The continuation of family names, the creation of dynasties, and the building of legacies all depended on sons. That’s what Severus had wanted, for his family to rule for centuries as Rome’s Empire expanded across the known world. When his second wife died giving birth to twin baby boys, Severus thought himself rewarded, but his cruel nature continued. He would abuse the boys, thinking it would make them strong and turn them into the perfect co-Emperors when Mors, the God of Death, came for him.

The twins lingered on the floor, each fighting with their inner demons brought upon them by their father. Geta thought back to when his father had managed to secure the position of Emperor through manipulation and assassination and moved his family into the Palace of Domitian fifteen years ago. Geta and Caracalla were boys of eleven, freshly made princes when they witnessed the Praetorians dragging a Lucilla and an eight-year-old Lucia through the Palace. Severus’s first order as Emperor was to imprison Lucilla and her daughter, but in doing so, it forced the twins and Lucilla to become friends. They didn’t have other children to play with, nor were they allowed to leave the Palace grounds.

It was astonishing how much their lives could change in fifteen years, how they could go from boys to Emperors. Yet, Lucia remained a prisoner as she transitioned from girl to woman. The twins would be her captors until her death or theirs, and there was no telling what her fate would be once the Emperors did pass. Would she fall prisoner to their heir or someone else? Or maybe she would finally be free of Rome’s Empire and Senate? Until that fateful day, she would remain at the Palace of Domitian, living a life of luxury with strings attached.

“A child in chains of gold,” Geta muttered miserably, shaking his head, thinking about how Lucia was akin to a slave with the amount of freedom she lacked.

Caracalla groaned as he rolled onto his back, staring at his brother with glazed eyes, the alcohol still potent in his system. “Speaking in poetry, brother? A child in golden chains? Do you speak of our princess?” He drawled, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. Geta nodded, confirming his brother’s suspicions. Caracalla laughed again, rolling around in a manic episode as his laughter consumed him. Geta rolled his eyes, letting his brother enjoy the drastic mood change. At least Caracalla wasn’t throwing a destructive tantrum.

Geta turned when the banquet hall doors opened, and one of the Praetorians entered. The man looked to his Emperors in concern, spotting the two men on the floor. “My Emperors.” He bowed his head respectfully. “I was alerted that there might be trouble.”

Moving to stand, Geta waved him off with a lazy hand before straightening and dusting off his elaborate toga. “Everything is well, Jodocus. I appreciate your concern.” He praised the guard. Geta looked past the man, noting that he was alone, with only the other Praetorian guards lingering in the hallway. He knew they would have come running if called or if they had indeed suspected something wrong. The guards had long since grown familiar with Emperor Caracalla’s tantrums and often didn’t flinch when the man began to throw things and scream, not unless Emperor Geta ordered them to act.

“I live to serve, Your Majesty,” Jodocus responded swiftly, deeming Geta’s praises unnecessary.

Geta’s lips twitched in a small smile as he fought to remain impassive. “Are our guests lingering outside?” He enquired, stepping over his brother’s limp form and grabbing himself a goblet of ale. It was getting later in the day, and his spectacle might have caused his guests to flee the banquet hall, but Geta didn’t know if they waited in the parlour outside to return to the festivities. Jodocus nodded. “Good. Allow them back in. Any need for concern has passed.” Geta ordered, taking a sip of his wine. Jodocus’s eyes flicked to Caracalla, but he did as told. Saluting, the Praetorian stepped outside the hall, passing on the message to the noble guests.

The nobles and prostitutes awkwardly shambled back into the hall, avoiding eye contact with Geta and remaining silent as they returned to their seats. Some stared at Caracalla on the floor, the younger Emperor still giggling as he was off in his world.

“Brother! Bring me wine!” Caracalla whined from the floor, his hand outstretched. A couple of the guests chuckled at the man. Rolling his eyes, Geta grabbed another goblet and brought it over to Caracalla as he struggled to sit up, his head too heavy to sit up straight. Caracalla didn’t thank his brother as he drank greedily from the cup.

The guests began to ease up when they noticed how calm the Emperors had become, starting to drink and socialise again. They didn’t even glance as the slave who’d come in to clean up the wine spilt from Caracalla’s tantrum, simply being happy to drink into a stupor and entertain themselves with the whores that the Emperors paid for. After all, Mensis Aprilis was a day for all Imperial citizens to celebrate, with them being banned from working unless they happened to be servants to the Temples. Slaves were also barred from having the day off or any festival celebration, as they were not citizens and were entitled to the same privileges as Freemen and Freewomen.

Geta sat back and watched as the celebration returned to its revelry before he had been rudely advised of Lucia’s hunger strike. He knew he’d have to have another word with the woman once she had slept off the alcohol and sobered up, a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having. Still, between him and his brother, Geta was the only one responsible for taking on the authority. Caracalla would yell, swear, and threaten the princess, undoubtedly ending with him acting on those threats. Caracalla wasn’t a man of patience. Nor was Geta, but at least he knew when to remain calm.

Needing to clear his mind of such stresses, Geta clicked his fingers at a random prostitute who wasn’t entertaining a guest, gesturing for her to join him. She smiled at his attention, sauntering over and taking the spot beside him on the sofa. Her hands immediately wrapped around his shoulders, massaging at the flesh. Her perfume was a sickly sweet scent that clogged the air around her, and the fabric of her chiton dress was near see-through as it hung closely over her figure.

“How may I please you?” She purred into his ear, making a pleasurable shiver roll down Geta’s spine and into his loins. He smirked. It was just the type of distraction he needed. Geta took a long sip of his wine as the woman waited on his response, looking at him eagerly. She fluttered her eyelashes, trying to urge him to answer.

Geta laughed. “Eager, aren’t you?” He retorted teasingly. He wasn’t stupid. Geta knew she would only serve him because he paid for her time. The woman wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he had been some lower class with no coin to his name. A prostitute was a slave who served her master by selling her body, bringing her owner riches. If she was fortunate, another man could buy her if he liked her enough, but other than that, she was a whore and nothing more.

She smiled up at him. It was a false smile, only used to entice him further. Geta didn’t care, and he paid for the pleasure of her body. She could give him as many fake praises as she wished; he would still fuck her and toss her aside when done.

He looked away to check on his brother, noticing Caracalla had somehow crawled back to his recliner and was now lying awkwardly on the face, laughing loudly as two prostitutes gave him attention, giggling at whatever joke had fallen from his lips. Geta took another sip of his wine, his eyes closing as the woman beside him massaged his shoulders, relaxing him further.

Lucilla didn’t know what to make of the situation. She had often warned her daughter of infuriating the Emperors too much, knowing that her daughter had a defiant strike in her that reminded Lucilla of her brother. The thought put a foul taste in her mouth to be free of her brother, yet his spirit lingered on in Lucia. For that, Lucilla was grateful that her daughter had been born female. Rome had plenty of foul emperors, and seeing her child grow to become one was distressing.

She had gone to see her daughter many times over the last few days but was always turned away by the guards stationed outside the chamber doors, who only allowed slaves and the emperors access. Lucilla had even been halted from seeing her daughter when the young woman was taken to the bathing chambers.

In times like these, Lucilla longed for Acacius so that her husband could speak reason to the twins and beg mercy for Lucia. While Lucia was very much a woman in body, she was still a girl, naive to the world and the politics of Rome’s elite. Lucia didn’t think. She only acted, disregarding the consequences she would face later. Now, news of Lucia’s refusal to eat had been brought to her attention by a guard who’d served loyal to Lucilla’s father. Lucilla prayed to the Gods to show Lucia mercy where the Emperors had not, that Lucia could be forgiven for her crimes against the twins so that she could be freed of her confinement.

Lucilla had made many similar prayers over the years, wishing for the Gods to free her and her daughter from their imprisonment so that they might escape Palatine Hill and Rome altogether, fleeing into the countryside where they might settle down in a villa to live the rest of their days in peace. But it was just a dream. Lucilla knew the imprisonment would never end.

She did have other plans in mind. When Acacius returns, Lucilla arranges for Lucia to be married to a worthy Roman soldier of Acacius’s choosing. All the offers she had received in her husband’s absence had come from ageing senators and cruel rich men. Lucilla never even allowed one of them to make their offer, scoffing at and dismissing them. Men who saw Lucia as someone to serve their benefit made them beneath her. While it was commonly accepted that marriage was a practice to increase a family’s power and influence, as love was a luxury of the peasantry, Lucilla feared the abuse her daughter would suffer at the hands of her future husband if she failed to bear a son.

Instinctively, Lucilla’s hand dropped to her stomach, resting over the flat surface. She had been fortunate twenty-three years ago to birth a healthy set of twins, showing God’s favour upon her by blessing her with a son and daughter. Lucius and Lucia had been her pride and joy. When her first husband passed, Lucilla wanted only to focus on her children rather than remarrying, even if she was expected to within six months of becoming a widow. As the Emperor’s daughter, she had the luxury of avoiding such expectations. She had hoped to bear more children after marrying Acacius, but Emperor Severus’s cruelty knew no bounds.

Despite Severus’s ban on abortion, threatening exile to any who dared the act, it was years later, after many failed pregnancies, that Lucilla learned that the Emperor had been lacing her food with Silphium, a plant that, when ground up and digested, caused miscarriages. He feared so much that the princess would bear a son that would threaten his rule that he broke his laws and, in turn, after so long, left Lucilla barren and unable to conceive.

She would have loved to give Acacius a son, even a daughter, which would have been a worthy gift for such a loving and caring husband who broke customs and married her for love. Lucilla feared the same fate for Lucia: that Severus’s sons would also lace her food with Silphium, leaving the girl’s womb scarred and unable to carry children. Lucia deserved to be happy and free, not to be born into the imprisonment that had befallen her.

“You will let me in!” Lucilla demanded of the guards stationed outside her daughter’s room, her head held high, oozing the confidence of an Imperial princess. The guards didn’t flinch under her order, but she had seen their eyes twitch slightly. They didn’t know what to do. The emperors banned everyone but themselves and slaves from entering, yet Lucilla was a princess of Rome, and Lucia was her daughter.

With tight jaws, their heads turned, and their eyes met, a slight conversation transpiring between them. After a moment, the guards stepped aside, granting the woman entry. Lucilla’s shoulders dropped, and she released a sigh that she wasn’t aware she’d be holding. The guards wouldn’t report this to the Emperors or anyone else, not wanting to risk getting in trouble, yet the idea of denying a woman access to her child, no matter the age of that child, seemed heartless and cruel. Lucilla didn’t hesitate to rush inside. She found no evidence of the discord between Lucia and Geta, a piece of distressing news shared by the guard loyal to her late father, and assumed that a slave must have cleaned up the spilt food and wine.

Lucia was still passed out on the bed, her hair tousled from sleep, when Lucilla sat down on the bed next to her, admiring her daughter.

“I’m so sorry, my darling,” Lucilla murmured, brushing the loose dark strands from her daughter’s face. Lucia looked peaceful as she slept, untouched by the chaos that had taken place early in the day. Lucilla had never drunk herself to the point of intoxication as Lucia had, her father always demanding a level of decorum from her, but Lucia didn’t have a constant father figure in her life to guide her, only a mother who had failed to protect her. This is why Lucia clung to Acacius when he was in Rome and not during war campaigns. Lucia needed someone in her life other than her mother, who had just moped through her captivity. Lucilla knew her daughter deserved better; they both did, but she was old now, ageing out of her beauty into a mature woman who couldn’t offer anything to her husband besides a companion. Some men divorced their wives, who got to Lucilla’s age, wanting to marry someone younger who could give them more children.

“Five years. I pray this war with Numidia ends soon, so the tides will bring Acacius back to us.” Lucilla sighed. She smiled when Lucia shifted in her sleep, rolling her head to the side.

Accepting that her daughter was well and safe, Lucilla stood, placing a chaste kiss on Lucia’s temple before exiting the bedchambers. She thanked the guards, knowing they had risked much to allow her entrance to Lucia’s room. She had a hardened resolve and a new level of determination. If the gods wouldn’t end her daughter’s confinement on such a holy day, she would. Nearly stomping her way to the banquet hall, Lucilla ignored the cautious looks from slaves, guards and guests as she them. Her head was held high again, and an air of arrogance existed. She was Princess Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla, daughter of the late Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and she would not be denied.

When she entered the banquet hall, she only found the linger few guests that hadn’t departed for the night and the prostitutes attending to them; the guests stood, shoving the whores aside as they bowed in respect to Lucilla. Her upper lip curled in distaste at the hedonistic scene.

“Where are Emperors Geta and Caracalla?” She questioned. Her eyes narrowed accusingly at the guests, who hung their heads in shame. Emperor Marcus Aurelius would never have stood for such debauchery in his home if he was still alive.

“They have retired, Domina.” One man spoke, his eyes still downcast. As Lucilla turned to leave, he begged her to stop, warning her that the Emperors had left for their personal chambers accompanied by a woman each. Lucilla just blinked, unfazed by the information. She had seen worse.

Leaving the banquet hall, Lucilla went to Geta’s chambers, knowing that barging in on the Emperor with a prostitute was the least of her concerns. The guards outside his chambers had taken one look at her, not expecting the woman to do anything as they informed her that the Emperor was indisposed. Yet, Lucilla had moved swiftly between them, throwing open the heavy set of doors, her eyes landing on Geta as he had a naked woman bent over his bed. He stared at the princess in complete shock, his guards bolting in to grab at Lucilla before he could bark an order.

“Emperor Geta.” Lucilla hissed, jerking out of the guard’s hands. “You and I need to speak.”

Geta stared at the woman in utter disbelief at her lack of respect or decorum. He now knew where Lucia had inherited the ill trait. Reaching for a loose robe that was tossed across his bed, Geta quickly covered his naked body as his cock slipped from the prostitute’s warm heat. He was grimacing, fighting not to throw into a rage at Lucilla’s audacity.

“You barge into my chambers, interrupting my private moment, and demand my time?” Geta gritted out. He secured the front of his robe, hiding his erect manhood from view. Behind him, the prostitute crawled onto the bed, laying there waiting for Lucilla to be carried away by the guards. “What reason do you have to demand words with me?” Geta stepped forward, towering over Lucilla, which was a different task, as Lucilla was a tall woman who was level with his height.

“Your actions could have cost Lucia her life,” Lucilla spoke firmly, stepping forward to meet Geta head-on. His eyes narrowed. He knew of what the woman spoke of, yet how she came to understand what had occurred meant someone had purposefully blabbed. Geta would have to arrange for the guards and slaves to be questioned to determine who the leak was. “You will end her confinement,” Lucilla ordered.

Geta laughed. It was pretty humorous that she thought she had the power to order him around like a child. “I planned to extend—”

“No.” Lucilla cut him off. The smile fell from his lips. First, she’d barged into his room, then ordered him, and now she cut him off. His jaw tightened.

“Your daughter must be punished for her actions, princess,” Geta spoke, his lips twitching. “She has repeatedly offended her emperors, and now you too. You both must understand your place in this world and how fortunate you are not to be locked away in some prison.” He spoke as if his family’s treatment of her and Lucia was a gift, a luxury they’d taken for granted. “Take her away,” Geta ordered firmly; his eyes never flickered to his guards as he addressed them, but they understood, obeying the orders and reaching out for the woman once more. Lucilla didn’t fight against the guards as they gripped her arms, her eyes strong as she was pulled from his chambers, their grip bruising into her skin.

“Maybe you need to be confined for a while, too?” Geta said rhetorically, gripping his chambers’ doors with a cruel smile. “Both you and Lucia need to learn to be thankful for my hospitality.” He barked, slamming the doors closed with a heavy thud that echoed down the hallway, signifying Lucilla’s defeat.

Her lip didn’t tremble, nor did she fight back as the guard continued to take her away, leading her back to her chambers. She knew his threat was real, and her defiance had cost her the freedom to leave her chambers, but it had been an acceptable risk. Lucilla would have done the same again even if she had known the outcome. She knew that sooner or later, the peasantry would learn the truth of her and her daughter’s fate at the hand of Severus and his sons, the cruelty dealt upon them, and it would be then that Geta and Caracalla would cower and beg forgiveness for their sins before the lower class came for them, demanding their lives in payment.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hello, Hazel! Could I have a Divination Ritual for Diluc with jasmine, unakite and frankincense items? Thanks a lot ❣️💫

Jasmine (love, sensuality), Unakite (attraction), Frankincense (confidence) Diluc x gn reader | Divination Ritual warning: clumsy reader, reader smacks diluc in the face (on accident), pre-relationship pining,

Mondstadt. The City of Freedom, the city on the lake where troubles and worries rarely found hold, left in the absent gaze of their Archon. You loved it here.

The land. The people. The festivities that rolled around each season. A moment to welcome the spring, the Windblume festival in the summer, and a celebration to mark the fall of the land; though Mond rarely endured snowfall the people still enjoyed the festivities that came with the cooler seasons.

And it was this festival that drew the people from their homes and into the streets in jovial songs, lively dances, and tender moments with friends, family, and loved ones.

You watched your friends dancing, twirling, and spinning in the square. Their voices cascaded upward with the music, broken notes, and perfect harmonies. You laughed with them while they tried to coax you to join them.

"Come on!" they shouted, arms waving to bring you with them.

You shook your hands and stepped back into the crowd. You didn't mind dancing in your living room behind the safety of private walls that didn't care if you stumbled or ran into something, but, in public? You were okay with missing the opportunity.

It wasn't that you were a terrible dancer persay, just a clumsy one.

Your more spirited friend ran to you, her face bright in the swaying lanterns above. The shades of red, orange, and amber decorate the massive pillars draped in elegant cloth. If anyone deserved to be under them, it was certainly them.

"Please join us," she begged. Her hands cupped yours and tugged you gently toward the center of the square.

"I'll hurt someone. Remember last time?"

"It'll be fine! Come on - please? It's not as much fun without you." Her pouting lips twisted your resolve. She was so good at making you cave. If she had a vision, you were certain the world would be in danger.

"Fine, but just one song."

"Yay!" She snaked her fingers around your arm and pulled you to the rest of the group. They greeted you warmly, their arms rising and falling with the music as their feet danced in rhythms you couldn't follow.

It took you a moment to join in. Starting slow, and confined, you swayed back and forth and bounced with the beat until the infectious energy from your friends brought more from you. The rhythm picked up and so did you. You spun once, cheers from your friends encouraged you to do another, and soon you found yourself galavanting around the square with wild arms and a wide grin.

You didn't notice how close you were getting to the crowd, or hear your friends calling out in warning. And before long, you whirled yourself directly into the last man you wanted to smack in the face.

Hand collided with cheek, and you came to a violent stop and cried out in shocked apologies. "Archons! I'm so sor-" The color drained from you at the sight of Diluc Ragnvindr holding the side of his face. "I'm s-so sorry - I-"

"It's alright," he said but his hand muffled his words.

"Hold on, I'll be right ba-ah!" You pivoted to to run to one of the nearby stalls but you didn't see the pile of crates until it was too late. Your shin collided with the side, pitching you forward and straight toward the cobblestone. You flailed, hands scrambling to grab onto anything they could. An arm coiled around your waist, catching you inches before your face met the side of the crates and you steadied yourself by digging your fingers into your rescuer's coat.

Panting, you stared at the ground. People chattered around you, their voices rising and halting the music. Your friends rushed to your side while Diluc slowly helped you stand on your shaking legs. He kept his arm near your back, close enough for you to use it to steady yourself but far enough away that it didn't actually touch you.

'Are you alr-"

"Are you okay?" your friend asked, worry in her voice when she approached. She squeezed your arm and looked you over for injuries. There were none, Diluc made sure of that. "What happened?"

"It's fine. I'm alright just, being me," you said, a self-deprecating laugh fluttering up your throat. You turned your attention to Diluc. "Diluc I'm so so-"

"That looked so scary! Thank you for saving my friend, Master Diluc."

"It was no trouble," he replied with a curt nod. He seemed unfazed by what had happened, his expression even, even when he met your eyes. Heat bloomed in your cheeks - cheeks, cheek. You looked at his cheek. It was red, and a slight cut peeked through the discoloration.

"You're hurt," you said while your friends roared on beside you.

Diluc lifted his hand a partial way but stopped before touching the injury. "It's no worry. Think nothing of it."

You didn't like that.

"Maybe we should go take a break? We could eat something, play one of the games by the church?" your friend suggested, and the rest of them nodded.

"Yeah, I think we've danced plenty."

"Come on."

Your friend tugged on your arm but you navigated free of their touch and instead held them instead. "Go on without me."

"What? Why?"

"I'll come find you, okay?" You smiled, nodded quickly, and tried to convey a thousand conversations in the intensity of your eyes. She seemed to understand when you turned back to Diluc and grabbed his wrist. "I'm sorry, but will you follow me for a second?"

You didn't give him a chance to respond as you tugged him through the crowd to one of the more secluded areas away from the lively festivities.

---

"This will be a little cold," you explained and carefully poured water onto your small hand rag. Caping your container, you shifted to the bench so you could better see the cut on Diluc's face. It was small, thin, but bright red. You frowned. "I'm really sorry about this," you said as you pressed the rag to his cheek.

"You've already sufficiently apologized."

"Yeah, but it doesn't feel like enough." A trail of red soaked into the water and you shook your head. "I hope this doesn't leave a scar."

"It wouldn't matter if it did."

You huffed at his comment. "It absolutely would. I'm not about to be the talk of the down because I damaged the most handsome bachelor's face with my dancing." You dragged the rag over his cheek one last time before folding it so you could pat it dry. Without thinking you held his chin so his head didn't jostle.

"-some."

"Huh, what did you say?"

"You called me, 'handsome.'

You froze, rag against his cheek, fingers against his chin and when you met his eyes you forgot words for a moment. You scrunched your nose and focused on the cut. "It's common knowledge."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Have you looked at yourself?" -- what are you saying??? "Anyway, hold still."

"Am I not?"

"Fine, then stop talking for a second."

Diluc said nothing else while you finished your impromptu first-aid. If you were a vision user you might have been able to heal this in an instant, though with your luck your vision would be more likely to kill on accident than do any real good.

"There, I think that's about as good as it can get. Might go check with a healer at the church though."

"It's fine," he said and touched his cheek with his gloved fingers.

You slung your bag back over your head and adjusted it until it rested comfortably against you. Diluc stood first and for a moment you were sad. Perhaps you should have taken longer. It was nice. Being close to him like that.

"Will you return to the festivities?" he asked.

"Probably. I'm sure my friends are waiting for me."

"Ah, I see." His head dropped for a moment, eyes downcast but when you shifted on the bench they moved to you, as did his hand. "Here."

You paused, staring at his upturned palm. Nervous, you slowly lifted your own but hesitated at the last second. You could feel the leather, featherlight and rough against your skin.

Glancing at Diluc, you met his eyes and felt your breath catch in your chest. He wasn't looking at you, not really, he was looking at your hand. Fixated even. When you let it rest in his, your heart fluttered at the way his expression softened and the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

He helped you to your feet and you welcomed in the warmth his presence brought.

"Then I shall escort you," he said, his gaze lingering on your hand.

"Are you going to go back? To the festival I mean?" you asked and searched his face for answers to the countless questions floating up your throat.

You had known Diluc for so long. Had helped him during busy nights at the tavern, assisted him with supplies, and even helped him with the advertisement of his specialty drinks. Delusional thoughts had clouded your mind once before but this felt different.

You recognized that stare, that want in his eyes. You had it yourself each time you looked at him.

"Unfortunately I must return to the tavern."

"Work never stops for you, does it?"

"It does not."

You swallowed and breathed. "I can help. I mean, if you want?"

Diluc's gaze rose to your face and you hoped you looked alright. "Your offer is considerate but you should be with those you care about tonight."

"Okay."

He pulled his hand away and though he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. He stepped back and began to walk toward the festival. "Then let us -"

"Let me spend it with you." Your heart beat wildly while you waited for him to register your words, to hear you for what might have been the first time in your life. Hand trembling, you held it out for him and waited, waited with the same erratic heart that - hopefully - felt the same moments ago when you sat on the bench.

Diluc stared at you. The seconds crawled by agonizingly slow and your mind screamed to take it back. To call the whole thing a joke and run back to the safety of your friends but as soon as he stepped toward you and took your hand in his, all those thoughts fell to the cobblestone like dormant leaves in the fall.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

Master Anthology

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

When The Clock Strikes Midnight.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - hi, my last post of the year, i just want to wish everyone reading this a very happy new year and that everything turns out alright, tpwk and stay safe!!

this is a pretty angsty piece i would say, as it covers topics of alcoholism where reader struggles with her alcohol, so please if this sort of thing triggers you in anyway, please do not read and if you do, please proceed with caution.

word count - 3.9k

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

The last place you saw yourself tonight was here.

Your best friend Maura had practically dragged you out of the confines of your apartment when she heard that you didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, and insisted that you dress up and come along to the party her boyfriend Watson was throwing.

You tried to deny her nagging and told her that you were going to order a takeaway, most likely Chinese and facetime your mum like you did last year, and that would be that.

But no…she wasn’t having any of it.

So you chucked on a jumper, which was on the nicer side and paired it with a skirt and tights and your vans before applying a tiny bit of mascara and lipgloss and brushing your hair, before you were ushered out of the house into the Uber Maura had ordered whilst you were getting ready.

So now, here you were.

You find yourself in a corner of Watson's living room at the party, nursing a glass of coke as people swirl around you in a lively dance of laughter and chatter. The pulsating music fills the room, but you, lost in your own thoughts, wonder why you agreed to come in the first place.

Maura's insistence was hard to resist, but your reluctance lingers like a shadow.

Despite the energetic atmosphere, you're content to sip your non-alcoholic beverage and observe the whirlwind of festivities. Maura and Watson seem immersed in the revelry, blissfully unaware of your desire for a more tranquil evening.

The room's vibrant energy contrasts sharply with your subdued mood, as you contemplate the impending arrival of the new year with a sense of detachment.

Watson, with a hint of tipsiness in his step, ambles over to you in the corner of the living room. His usual laid-back demeanour shines through, but the warmth in his eyes intensifies as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaims, a wide grin on his face. Despite the slight wobble in his stance, you can't help but smile in response to his infectious enthusiasm.

Leaning in, Watson expresses genuine happiness that you decided to join the celebration.

"I'm so glad you're here, buddy. No one should spend New Year's Eve alone, right?" He punctuates his words with a friendly squeeze, and the camaraderie between you two, forged over the past six months since he began dating Maura, feels more like family than friendship.

In his slightly inebriated state, Watson plants a gentle kiss on the side of your head, a gesture that reflects the bond that has developed between you.

"You're like a little sister to me, you know that?" he chuckles, his words carrying a warmth that transcends the alcohol-induced haze. It's a testament to the solid foundation of your relationship, built on trust and camaraderie.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Watson decides it's time to shake off any lingering reservations you might have.

"Come on, let's hit the dance floor!" he declares, tugging you toward the centre of the room. The music's rhythm wraps around you both as Watson, with his signature charm, spins you into the lively dance.

Laughter and cheers surround you, and in this moment, you can't help but appreciate the unexpected joy that Watson has injected into your reluctant New Year's Eve.

As you sway to the music, Watson continues to share anecdotes and jokes, making the dance floor an extension of the bond you've formed. His boisterous laughter and the genuine joy in his expression erode any lingering doubts you had about attending. In the midst of the revelry, you realise that Watson's presence has transformed the night from an obligation into a shared celebration.

With each step and twirl, Watson's camaraderie becomes a comforting presence, and you find yourself immersed in the moment.

As you engage in conversation with Watson on the crowded dance floor, the doorbell unexpectedly rings, interrupting the lively atmosphere. Watson glances towards the entrance, a perplexed expression momentarily crossing his face.

"I'll be right back, just need to see who's at the door," he informs you, detaching from the dance momentarily.

Curiosity piqued, you nod and watch as Watson weaves through the festive crowd towards the entrance. The door swings open, and to your shock, your ex-boyfriend Harry steps into Watson's house.

They exchange greetings, and you can't help but wonder how they're connected. Watson glances your way, and you sense that he must have divulged your presence to Harry.

The room felt suffocating as you sat on Harry's sofa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. The air crackled with an impending storm, and you could sense that something was about to shatter the fragile peace that had held your relationship together.

Harry's eyes, once filled with warmth and adoration, now held a distant sadness. His fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt, betraying the turmoil within.

"We need t’talk," he finally uttered, the weight of those words settling in the room like a leaden silence.

You looked at him, anxiety clawing at your chest.

"What's going on, H?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

"I've been thinking a lot, and... I think we need t’take a break," he confessed, each word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing into you.

"A break? What do you mean?" Your voice wavered, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to articulate the pain that lingered in his heart. "I can't give y’what y’deserve. M’career, the constant traveling , I can't be the best boyfriend f’you. Y’deserve someone who can be there f’you, not someone who's always halfway across the world."

More like you can’t give him what he deserves, your a mess, A drunken mess who can’t be trusted around a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.

It was your fault that he had had enough of the relationship, he was sick of looking after a girlfriend who couldn’t even look after herself, you weren’t what he wanted anymore and who could blame him?

You didn’t even want yourself anymore.

Your eyes mirrored the pain in his, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I don't want someone else. I want you," you pleaded, your heart breaking with every passing second.

He reached out, fingers gently wiping away your tears, a tender ache etched across his features.

"M’know, and s’why this hurts so damn much. I love you, but I can't watch y’waiting f’me all the time, feeling lonely. Y’deserve more than that."

The room echoed with the silence of shattered dreams as you both sat there, wrapped in the agony of an impending separation.

"I thought we could make it work," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the heartache.

Harry's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes mirroring the anguish in your own. "I thought so too, but I can't keep asking you t’wait f’a future that's uncertain. It's not fair t’you."

The weight of the impending break weighed on you both, and the room became a crucible of emotions.

"I can't believe this is happening," you uttered, your voice catching on a sob.

Harry pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of your presence.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, the words a fragile admission of the pain etched across his heart.

As the room witnessed the unraveling of your shared dreams, the tears flowed freely, and the echoes of a love that once burned bright now flickered in the dimming light of heartbreak. The sofa, witness to your shared laughter and whispered confessions, now bore the weight of an anguished goodbye.

"I thought we were stronger than this," you choked out, your words a desperate plea for reassurance.

Harry's response was a strained whisper, heavy with regret. "Love isn't always enough, and that's the hardest part to accept."

Your heart skips a beat as Harry's eyes sweep the room, eventually locking onto you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Unsure of how to react, you instinctively turn I’m away, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

you navigate through the crowded kitchen, the echoes of the past still haunting the recesses of your mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now pulsates with the vibrant energy of the New Year's Eve celebration. As you lean against the counter, you attempt to catch your breath, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unexpected emotions.

The room is a sea of faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but in this moment, you feel a profound sense of isolation. The air is heavy with the unspoken tension that lingers after encountering Harry, and you find solace in the rhythmic pattern of your own breaths. Each inhale and exhale becomes a deliberate act, a quiet rebellion against the memories that threatened to resurface.

Your eyes inadvertently gravitate towards a bottle of vodka on the crowded kitchen counter, a silent temptation beckoning from its transparent confines. The memories of your past struggles with alcohol loom heavily, each incident etched into your consciousness like a haunting refrain. The room pulses with celebratory energy, yet the familiar lure of numbing the pain through a drink threatens to unravel your hard-fought sobriety.

The bottle stands as a silent witness to the battles you've waged, a tangible reminder of the coping mechanism you once clung to in moments of despair. The urge to drown the resurgence of emotions triggered by seeing Harry again intensifies, as if the vodka holds the promise of temporary relief from the tumult within. However, the echo of past hospital visits, the panicked calls from Maura during Harry's tours, and the aftermath of your own struggles remind you of the high cost that accompanies each sip.

The sterile hospital room bore witness to your feigned slumber as Harry and the doctor engaged in a conversation that would forever echo in your memory. Their voices, a discordant symphony of concern, cut through the antiseptic atmosphere.

"You need to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Styles. Her liver is under immense strain," the doctor explained, the weight of the diagnosis evident in their tone. "Excessive alcohol intake has brought her here before, and if it continues, we risk irreversible damage."

Harry's voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration, joined the conversation. "What can we do t’make her stop? This can't be good f’her, and I can't bear to see her like this again."

The doctor, ever composed, responded with a professional calm. "Encouraging her to seek professional help is crucial. She needs intervention and support to address the root causes behind her drinking patterns. This goes beyond just a medical issue."

Your heart sank as you lay there, eavesdropping on the conversation that underscored the depth of your struggle.

"She's in a dangerous cycle, and we need to break it before it leads to irreversible consequences," the doctor continued, the gravity of their words sinking in.

Harry, struggling to comprehend the severity of the situation, pressed for guidance. "What should I say t’her? How can I help her understand the impact of her actions?"

The doctor's response held a note of empathy. "Express your concern without judgment. Encourage her to seek counseling or join support groups. It's crucial that she feels supported and understood during this process."

As the dialogue unfolded, you grappled with a mix of emotions – shame, guilt, and the daunting realization that your actions were not only affecting you but those who cared about you.

The familiar pull of an old coping mechanism clashes with the resolve you've built over the past year. Without much thought, you lift the bottle, contemplating the relief it promises, only to freeze as a voice interrupts your inner struggle.

"Don't you dare take a sip from that bottle."

The words, stern and commanding, cut through the haze of your thoughts. You recognize the voice instantly, and a mixture of surprise and apprehension washes over you. Slowly, you turn around to face him, the bottle held in your hand like a delicate secret.

Harry stands there, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

"You've come too far t’let this be y’undoing," he states, his gaze unwavering. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as you contemplate his unexpected intervention.

Resisting the urge to avoid his gaze, you decide to walk past him, hoping to escape the confrontation. However, his hand closes around your wrist, preventing your departure.

"Let it go," he implores, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding. The bottle dangles between you, a tangible symbol of the inner turmoil that threatens to resurface.

In the charged silence, Harry's grip on your wrist feels both restraining and grounding.

"Y’don't need this, and y’know it," he adds, his voice softening. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors the complex history you share, the wounds of the past laid bare in this unexpected moment of confrontation.

Glancing at the clock, you note the relentless ticking, each second stretching out like an eternity. Twenty minutes until midnight, and the anticipation of a fresh start intensifies. The atmosphere feels stifling as you wrestle with conflicting emotions, your hand still in Harry's grip. The unspoken tension lingers, and you decide that the arrival of the new year will also signal your exit.

Jerking your hand away from Harry's hold, you feel a surge of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I can't do this anymore," you mutter, the anguished words hanging in the air between you. The clock's relentless countdown amplifies the urgency of the moment.

Turning to face him, you meet Harry's gaze with a steely resolve.

"I'm not a child. I can do what I want," you assert, the words carrying a weight that transcends the immediate situation. The bitterness in your voice mirrors the tumultuous emotions churning within.

Harry's expression shifts from concern to a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't about control, it's about caring," he argues, the lines of his forehead creasing with worry. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the unresolved tension of the past.

"I don't need your care," you snap, your tone cutting through the charged atmosphere. The proximity of midnight becomes both a countdown to liberation and a reminder of the constraints that linger. The resentment that simmers beneath your words reflects a deeper struggle against the shadows of a shared history.

You walk out of the kitchen, the bottle still in your hand, its cold surface a stark reminder of the internal struggle you've been wrestling with. Glancing down at it, you contemplate the temptation it holds. However, a determined sigh escapes your lips as you decide against taking that path. In search of solace, you spot Maura near the bathroom, engrossed in conversation with a friend.

As she notices you approaching, Maura ushers you over with a warm smile. The vodka bottle clinks softly, drawing her attention.

"You didn't, did you?" she asks, her eyes widening with concern. You hand her the bottle, and she gasps when she realizes its weight.

"I almost did," you admit, the honesty heavy in your words. "Seeing Harry after a year... it's just really hard, and I thought I needed something to take the edge off."

Maura's expression shifts from shock to a compassionate understanding. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you away from the commotion.

"You don't need to have a drink to feel something, darling," she reassures, her voice a soothing balm. "Facing those emotions is tough, but numbing them won't make them disappear. You're stronger than you think."

The weight of her words resonates, and you find a sense of grounding in Maura's wisdom.

"I just... I didn't expect it to hit me this hard," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare.

Maura nods, her empathy evident. "Love has a way of lingering, especially when there's history. It's okay to feel, even if it's painful. You've come so far, and I know you can navigate this without resorting to old habits."

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Maura's words serve as a reminder that facing the emotions head-on is a strength, not a weakness.

The night air in the back garden carries a crisp chill, providing a respite from the crowded and charged atmosphere indoors. With just five minutes until midnight, you find solace in the quietude of the outdoors. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of laughter create a backdrop for contemplation as you seek to contain the swirl of thoughts within.

The faint glow of string lights casts a gentle illumination, revealing a mosaic of emotions etched on your face. The weight of the past, the encounter with Harry, and the echoes of previous struggles converge in this moment of reflection. The cool breeze becomes a metaphorical breath, allowing you to exhale the complexities that have unfolded throughout the night.

Despite the passage of time, you find that lingering feelings persist, stubbornly anchored in the recesses of your emotions. The garden, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, becomes a backdrop for a bittersweet revelation – you still carry a flame for him.

However, self-awareness prevails, and you acknowledge the undeniable truth that echoes in the quiet of the night. The person you once were, entwined with Harry in a different chapter of your lives, no longer aligns with the person he seeks now. The journey of growth and self-discovery has shaped you both in divergent ways, leading to an understanding that the path forward must be traversed separately.

With a deep breath, you accept the inevitability of change and recognize that clinging to what once was will only hinder your individual paths.

A subtle clearing of the throat interrupts your contemplation in the garden, prompting you to turn. To your surprise, Harry stands there with two glasses of lemonade, his expression softening as he offers them to you.

"Been looking f’you," he says, a hint of concern in his voice.

You accept the lemonade with a nod, appreciating the gesture even as the complexity of emotions lingers in the air.

"Just needed some fresh air," you reply, your gaze momentarily dropping to the glass in your hands.

Harry takes a seat on the concrete step next to you, the night air carrying a blend of both familiarity and unspoken tension.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and you find yourself hesitating before reluctantly nodding. The silence that follows is palpable, laden with the echoes of a shared history.

"I never thought I'd see you again after everything," Harry admits, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. You sense a vulnerability in his tone, a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that led to your parting.

"Yeah, life takes unexpected turns," you respond, tracing the rim of your glass with your fingertips. The garden, once a haven for solitary reflection, transforms into an arena for the unspoken exchange between two people navigating the remnants of a connection.

Harry's gaze meets yours, and a soft smile plays on his lips. "I've missed this, y’know? Just talking like we used to."

The sentiment catches you off guard, and you muster a small smile in return. "Things change, Harry. We change."

Harry's admission hangs heavy in the air as he confesses,

"I've missed y’a lot. Every night before bed, you're all I think about." The vulnerability in his voice is evident, the weight of unspoken longing underscoring his words.

You take a moment, the weight of his confession settling in the quiet of the garden. With a sigh, you respond, "It was the right decision to take a break. I was a mess, and I wasn't what you wanted."

However, before you can elaborate, Harry interrupts, a furrow forming on his brow. "No, s’not why. I never once thought about breaking up with y’because of y’drinking problems. It was the constant leaving, the distance. I felt like I couldn't be the partner y’eeded."

His words catch you off guard, a mix of surprise and realization washing over you. The clarity in his confession adds a layer of complexity to the narrative you had constructed in your mind.

"I thought... I thought it was because of me," you admit, the vulnerability echoing in your own voice.

Harry reaches for your hand, a gesture that conveys both comfort and sincerity. "It wasn't about you. It was about me feeling like I couldn't be the best partner f’you. I should've communicated that better."

The garden, witness to the intimate exchange, becomes a space for newfound understanding. The dialogue unfolds, untangling the threads of misperception and unveiling the intricacies of the emotions that lingered beneath the surface. As the clock approaches midnight, the shared revelations become a poignant marker in the journey toward healing and clarity.

His thumb gently traces circles on the back of your hand as he continues, "I regret asking for that break. I didn't realize how much it would affect me, being without you. I've spent every night wondering if I made the right decision."

You meet his gaze, a mix of compassion and acceptance in your eyes. "H, it was the right decision for both of us. I was a mess back then, and I couldn't have given you what you needed. It wasn't just about the drinking; it was about me figuring myself out."

Hearing you call him by the familiar nickname of ‘H’ has his heart twitching beneath his rib cage, oh how he’s missed you calling him that.

He squeezes your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "But not once did I think about ending things because of y’struggles. It was the constant coming and going, the uncertainty. I felt like I was leaving y’alone too often, and it wasn't fair t’you."

As the conversation deepens, the layers of misunderstanding peel away, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

"I never wanted you t’feel like y’couldn't be yourself," Harry admits, a sincerity coloring his tone. "I should've communicated better, been more honest about how I was feeling."

It isn’t long before the people crowded inside the house start counting down from ten, only second away from being embraced by 2024.

“10…”

“9…”

Harry leans in close, his words a hushed confession, "I still love you."

“8…”

“7…”

Caught off guard, you turn to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiments you thought were buried in the past. you find your voice, whispering amidst the cacophony, "I love you too."

“6…”

“5…”

The counting continues, a rhythmic backdrop to the shared revelation hanging in the air. In a moment of vulnerability, Harry's gaze lingers on yours.

“4…”

“3…”

And that’s when he musters up enough courage to ask for the first time in a year. "Can I kiss you?"

“2…”

“1…”

As the countdown approaches its climax, the world outside the window erupts in cheers.

In the final seconds, the clock striking midnight, Harry softly presses his lips against yours, a tender exchange that marks the inception of a new year and a rekindled connection, forged amidst the symphony of shared confessions and the promise of a fresh start.

And this all happened when the clock struck midnight.

[bitchiswild]

Winter Ball

Kim Minjeong x F! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: ❄️🎻🪩

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

The Winter Ball, an event steeped in opulence and prestige, stands as the pinnacle of the year's social calendar. Within its glittering halls, destinies intertwine, where chance encounters spark romances and hearts both unite and fracture. This illustrious affair owes its existence to the esteemed Kim Seok, a titan among elites, who christened the gala in honor of his beloved daughter, Kim Minjeong, affectionately known as Winter.

Beyond its facade of elegance and grandeur, the Winter Ball is a nexus of strategic alliances and lucrative sponsorships, where business dealings are as commonplace as swirling waltzes and whispered confessions. Yet, amid the clinking glasses and shimmering gowns, there exists an unwritten expectation, one fervently held by Kim Seok himself. With each meticulously planned Winter Ball, he harbors a silent hope—a hope that his daughter, Winter, might find love amidst the enchanting splendor.

Winter, however, is a vision of independence and conviction. Echoing her father's unyielding spirit, she rebuffs the allure of romantic entanglements with a steadfast declaration: "I have no need for such entrapments. Love is a fallacy." Yet, despite her protestations, Kim Seok discerns a familiar skepticism in her words, a reflection of his own past reservations before fate introduced him to the love of his life—Winter's mother.

In the depths of his heart, Kim Seok yearns for Winter to experience the transformative power of love, much as he did. With an ardent wish that transcends the gilded confines of the Winter Ball, he quietly prays for the serendipitous arrival of the one who will awaken his daughter's belief in love, just as it was once awakened within him.

As the anticipation mounts and the chandeliers cast their ethereal glow upon the revelers, Kim Seok watches over the festivities, his paternal gaze holding a silent plea to the stars: that Winter, his cherished daughter, may find within this glittering celebration the key to unlock the guarded chambers of her heart.

~~~

Winters POV

I let out a resigned sigh, my eyes scanning the elegantly adorned room filled with twirling couples lost in their own romantic reverie. Amidst the enchanting melodies and graceful waltzes, I stood on the periphery, a silent observer of a spectacle that failed to captivate my convictions. Love, in my view, was a frivolous pursuit—an enigmatic dance of emotions I had no desire to partake in. Love at first sight? Ridiculous.

"Minjeong!" Jimin's voice interrupted my musings, drawing my attention to my ever-optimistic best friend. She flashed a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a certainty that often accompanied her unwavering faith in matters of the heart.

"You're always so dismissive about love, but mark my words, one day you'll see. It'll all make sense," she remarked, her tone laced with a playful certainty that mirrored her perpetual optimism.

I couldn't help but scoff. "You say that as if it's some inevitable epiphany waiting to happen."

Jimin chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of affectionate exasperation. "Trust me, Minjeong. Once you experience it, your perspective will shift entirely. Love won't seem like a waste of time anymore."

Her words lingered in the air as she sauntered away, disappearing into the crowd with her partner, leaving me to ponder her unwavering belief in the inexplicable magic of love.

Despite my protestations, I couldn't shake off the echo of her words. Was there a kernel of truth in her confident assertions? Could love truly transform one's outlook, turning what I deemed as frivolous into something profound and meaningful?

As the music swelled and the enchantment of the Winter Ball continued to weave its spell around the room, I found myself caught in a fleeting moment of contemplation. Perhaps, just perhaps, amidst the sea of skeptics, cynics, and believers alike, there existed a truth waiting to reveal itself—a truth about love that I had yet to uncover.

As I made my way towards the refreshments, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught my attention. A figure, graceful and poised, mirrored my steps toward the drink table. Her presence, almost magnetic, tugged at my senses, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to shrink, centering around this enigmatic stranger.

"Sorry, am I in your way?" Her gentle voice broke the spell, drawing me from my reverie. I shook my head, startled by the sudden rush of emotions that stirred within me. "N-No, you're not. It's okay," I managed to stutter out, my heart thundering in my chest.

She giggled, her laughter a melody that resonated through the air, and in that moment, it felt like I was enveloped in pure bliss. Was this the inexplicable sensation Jimin spoke of—the rush of emotions, the rapid heartbeat, all in the presence of a stranger? Could this be the much-dismissed notion of love at first sight?

Summoning an ounce of courage I hadn't known I possessed, I extended my hand towards her. "My name's Minjeong. What's yours?" The words stumbled out, coated in a mix of nerves and excitement.

The girl turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with an unspoken allure. "Y/n," she replied, taking my hand in hers. "Nice to meet you, Minjeong. But I've got to get going; my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you on the dance floor?" Her words lingered in the air, a question tinged with a hint of anticipation.

I could only nod dumbly, lost momentarily in the radiance of her smile. As she giggled and gracefully departed, I felt a rush of relief flood through me. It was as if the weight of the moment lifted as she left my vicinity. Gathering my composure, I hurriedly made my way through the crowd, seeking out Jimin amidst the throng of revelers.

"Jimin!" I called out, scanning the crowd for my ever-supportive best friend. Spotting her animatedly conversing with a group nearby, I navigated through the sea of dancers and socialites, eager to share the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

"Minjeong, there you are!" Jimin's eyes lit up as she noticed me approaching, her expression expectant. "Did you find yourself a drink?"

I chuckled, trying to compose myself after the unexpected encounter. "Yeah, but more importantly, Jimin, I just had the most...unexpected moment."

Jimin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell!"

I recounted the brief yet intense interaction with Y/n, the rush of emotions, and the lingering sensation of having stumbled upon something inexplicably enchanting.

Jimin's grin widened with each word, a silent acknowledgment dancing in her eyes. "Minjeong, could it be? Love at first sight?"

I hesitated, grappling with the idea I'd dismissed moments before. "I don't know, Jimin. It sounds so cliché, doesn't it? But there was something about her... It was different."

Jimin's laughter bubbled forth. "Welcome to the club, Minjeong! Looks like someone's heart might be softening after all."

I rolled my eyes playfully but couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in my chest, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of seeing Y/n again.

"Will you go dance with her?" Jimin nudged, her gaze filled with encouragement.

"I-I think so," I stammered, surprised by my own resolve. "I hope I see her there."

With Jimin's teasing encouragement and the memory of Y/n's smile lingering in my mind, I found myself swaying to the music, unable to shake off the lingering anticipation of a potential reunion.

As the night progressed and the melodies intertwined with laughter and whispers, I couldn't help but steal glances around the room, hoping for another glimpse of Y/n amidst the swirling crowd.

Time had passed, and there was no sight of Y/n. Faint disappointment settled in as I made my way back to the bar, hoping to find solace in another drink. Yet, to my surprise, there she was, standing next to a guy who seemed to be making her visibly uncomfortable.

My steps faltered as I approached the bar, the familiar sight of Y/n amidst an uncomfortable interaction stopping me in my tracks. A knot formed in my stomach, an instinctive urge to intervene surging within me.

Y/n stood there, her expression strained, a polite yet uneasy smile plastered on her face. Beside her loomed a guy, his demeanor exuding an unsettling sense of entitlement. His persistent attempts at conversation were met with Y/n's subtle but visible discomfort.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I questioned, my voice poised but carrying an underlying concern.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of relief flickering across her face. "Minjeong! I'm so glad you're here," she responded, her voice tinged with gratitude.

I turned my attention to the guy beside her, offering a friendly yet assertive smile. "Hi there! I'm Minjeong. Sorry to interrupt, but Y/n and I have some catching up to do, right?"

The guy glanced between us, seemingly taken aback but sensing the shift in the atmosphere, he excused himself with a half-hearted smile and sauntered away.

Y/n exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding, offering me a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. That was...unexpected."

I shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. "No problem. Looked like you needed a rescue."

As the tension dissipated, Y/n's gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. The brief yet charged moment solidified something unspoken, a connection forming in the wake of an unexpected rescue.

"Hey, let's grab that drink together," I suggested, hoping to offer some reprieve from the uncomfortable encounter.

Y/n's smile widened, a genuine spark returning to her eyes. "I'd like that."

As we moved towards the bar, the weight of the encounter fading into the background, a newfound sense of camaraderie and intrigue filled the space between us.

The ambient glow of the Winter Ball seemed to dim in the wake of the burgeoning connection between Y/n and me. We settled at a quieter corner of the bustling venue, cocooned in our own world, amid the gentle hum of conversations and the occasional tinkling of glasses.

"So, Minjeong," Y/n began, her voice a melodic invitation to unravel the layers of our mutual acquaintance. "What brings you to the Winter Ball?"

I shared anecdotes about attending with Karina, my father's insistence on finding love for me at these events, and my own skepticism about the enchantment of love.

"And what about you, Y/n?" I inquired, eager to reciprocate the sharing. "How did you end up here?"

She laughed softly, the sound like a symphony in the midst of the ball's elegance. "Honestly, I was dragged here by a friend. Not much of a fan of these extravagant affairs myself."

As we conversed, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each exchange peeling away the layers of initial awkwardness. We discovered shared interests, from music preferences to our views on the complexities of life. There was a comfortable rhythm to our interaction, a natural chemistry that seemed to bridge any gap between us.

Time ceased to exist as we exchanged stories, laughter, and thoughts. The once-imposing Winter Ball now felt like an intimate setting, our dialogue weaving an invisible thread between us, binding our newfound connection.

The night wore on, the music shifting from lively tunes to mellower melodies, yet our conversation continued, unhurried and unreserved. Amidst the glamour and opulence of the ball, a genuine connection had blossomed—a serendipitous encounter that defied the confines of the grand event.

As the evening drew to a close and the final strains of music echoed through the hall, I realized that amidst the sea of faces and fleeting encounters, I had found an unexpected and cherished connection in Y/n.

Our exchange continued, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and aspirations. As the night unfolded its secrets, we found ourselves drawn to the idea that chance encounters often held the most unforeseen treasures.

Eventually, the allure of the wintry night beckoned, and Y/n suggested we step outside to catch a breath of fresh air. The grand doors opened, leading us to the quiet serenity of the winter landscape outside.

A hushed blanket of snow had begun to descend, painting the night in a soft, ethereal glow. The air was crisp, and the gentle flakes danced around us, adding a touch of enchantment to the already magical evening.

Y/n and I stood side by side, gazing at the mesmerizing sight before us. The snowflakes twirled in the air, creating a tranquil scene that felt straight out of a storybook.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the soft glimmer of the falling snow. "It really is. There's something so serene about snowfall, isn't there?"

We stood there, amidst the quiet elegance of the wintry night, sharing a moment that transcended the grandeur of the Winter Ball. The snowflakes continued their graceful descent, enveloping us in a cocoon of tranquility and wonder.

In that peaceful solitude, our conversation took on a more introspective tone. We spoke of dreams, aspirations, and the inexplicable beauty found in the simplest of moments—a shared understanding that seemed to deepen the connection between us.

As the snow continued to cascade from the heavens, we exchanged quiet smiles, a silent acknowledgment of the rare beauty of this shared moment. For in the delicate dance of snowflakes and the whispers of our conversation, something special had bloomed between us.

As the delicate snowflakes continued their graceful descent, an unspoken warmth enveloped us in a cocoon of shared moments and unspoken sentiments. I turned to Y/n, a genuine sincerity coloring my words.

"I really enjoy your company, Y/n," I expressed, my voice carrying the weight of truth and vulnerability.

Her eyes sparkled with a reflective radiance, mirroring the sentiment. "I enjoy your company too, Minjeong," she replied, her smile a testament to the comfort found in our connection.

We stood there, side by side, witnessing the tranquil spectacle of the first snowfall. The silence between us was filled with unspoken words, an uncharted territory of emotions and possibilities.

"You know what they say about the first snow," I remarked, breaking the tranquil silence between us.

Y/n turned to me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "No, what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and attentive.

"It's where you make a wish, and they say it might just come true," I explained, a tinge of wistfulness in my tone.

"Make a wish, Minjeong," she encouraged gently, her eyes filled with a gentle encouragement that urged me to embrace the moment.

I let out a sigh, the weight of my wish settling in my chest. "I wish to take you out on a date," I confessed, the words slipping out, carrying the earnestness of my feelings.

In the tranquil serenity of the wintry night, with snowflakes twirling around us like silent witnesses, I dared to voice a longing that had quietly blossomed within me.

Y/n's gaze held mine, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Her soft smile echoed the silent understanding that had grown between us, a shared connection woven in the magical embrace of the first snow.

As the snowfall continued its gentle descent, a subtle chill began to permeate the air. I noticed Y/n subtly shivering, the cold seeping through the elegant attire she wore for the ball.

"You're getting cold, aren't you?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I observed her discomfort.

Y/n nodded, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. "A little, yes."

Without hesitation, I slipped off my own warm sweater, a comforting shield against the wintry chill, and offered it to her. "Here, take this. It's warmer," I insisted, my voice carrying both concern and a hint of bashfulness.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise at the gesture, her gaze meeting mine in a mix of gratitude and astonishment. "Minjeong, I couldn't—"

"Please," I urged gently, my smile attempting to ease any reservations she might have. "I want you to be warm."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Y/n accepted the sweater, wrapping it around herself with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. You're too kind."

The exchange brought an unexpected warmth to the wintry night—not just from the shared gesture but from the growing connection and the unspoken promise that hung between us.

With Y/n now shielded from the biting cold, our shared moment continued, the snowflakes descending around us in a silent ballet. The act of offering my sweater felt like a bridge between us, forging an unspoken closeness that transcended the physical warmth it provided.

As we stood there, enveloped in the beauty of the snowfall and the quiet understanding that bound us, the promise of a forthcoming date lingered in the air, an anticipation that added an extra layer of magic to the Winter Ball's enchanting allure.

The clock struck midnight, signaling the end of the enchanting evening. Reluctantly, I walked Y/n to her car, the weight of impending separation casting a shadow over our otherwise uplifting interaction.

"Here's my number. Text me about the date plan; I'm looking forward to it," Y/n said, her smile radiant with anticipation, as she handed me a slip of paper bearing her contact information.

My bashfulness emerged, rendering me momentarily speechless. "I'm excited too. I'll be sure to text you. Just get home safe, alright?" I replied softly, hoping to mask the fluttering nerves within me.

Y/n's smile widened, and in that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her gentle kiss on my cheek felt like a jolt of electricity, sending my heart into a frenzy. For an instant, I felt as though I might lose my footing, caught in the unexpected rush of emotions.

"Good night, Minjeong," she whispered, her words carrying a softness that reverberated through me.

I stood there, watching her car depart, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. Placing a hand over my heart, I attempted to steady the rapid beating within my chest, the lingering sensation of her kiss lingering like an echo.

Before I could collect my thoughts, Karina came bounding towards me, brimming with excitement. "Oh my gosh, I saw everything! Minjeong is head over heels, everyone!" she exclaimed with uncontainable enthusiasm.

I stood there, Karina's excited proclamation ringing in my ears, a mix of bewilderment and anticipation coursing through me. Her words echoed a truth I had vehemently denied for so long—love had never held a place in my beliefs.

But as I stood there, my hand unconsciously lingering on the spot where Y/n's kiss had landed, a revelation dawned upon me. I had once deemed love a frivolous notion, dismissing it as a mere illusion. Yet, in this whirlwind encounter, I found myself yearning for something I never thought I'd desire.

The Winter Ball had unveiled a world of possibilities I had stubbornly ignored, and in the lingering warmth of Y/n's presence, my heart had stirred with unfamiliar emotions. What had begun as skepticism had morphed into an eager anticipation for what lay ahead—a date that held the promise of something genuine and heartfelt.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I found myself eagerly awaiting the prospect of love—a concept I once rejected but now, with each flutter of my heart, embraced with open arms.

Years cascaded by in a beautiful tapestry woven with shared moments, laughter, and a love that surpassed every doubt. Y/n and I stood side by side, a testament to the transformative power of love, as we returned to the Winter Ball each year.

My father's beaming smile was a reflection of his joy as he witnessed the love that had bloomed between Y/n and me. The Winter Ball, once a place of skepticism and uncertainty for me, now held a cherished significance—a testament to our enduring bond and the promise of a love that had weathered the test of time.

With each passing holiday season, Y/n and I found ourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. The Winter Ball had become more than just an extravagant event; it was a celebration of our love story—a reminder of the serendipity that had brought us together and the countless memories we continued to create.

The twinkling lights, the elegant dances, and the festive atmosphere held a deeper meaning now—a symbol of our shared journey, a testament to the enduring love that had blossomed amidst the enchantment of that first Winter Ball.

As we danced under the glittering lights, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and the whispers of timeless promises, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the unexpected turns that had led me to find the love of my life.

Every holiday season was now a cherished opportunity—a chance to revel in the love that had transformed my beliefs, turning skepticism into an unwavering certainty that love, indeed, was the most powerful magic of all.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 17 — Public Sex & Hot Cocoa

↳ Summary: Your innocent date night with George takes a turn.

↳ Word Count: 1318

↳ Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, brief descriptions of protected sex

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

You weren’t difficult to impress, George learned that early on. Perhaps that’s also why he put a ring on your finger only two years after asking you to be his girlfriend. Regardless, in a life that was so chaotic and luxurious and fast, George found your ability to ground him, to slow him down, so refreshing. Especially as he sat behind the wheel of his road Mercedes only going 20 km/hr with you in the passenger seat. 

You had come home with him to England for a week over winter break, meeting his entire extended family and seeing all the places where he grew up, and, now, you were sharing the journey of driving through the neighbourhood to admire the Christmas lights. The sun had long since set even though it was only 7pm—the joys of winter—and the British neighbourhoods were glittering in their colourful modest displays of festivity. 

It was nice to have a moment for just the two of you away from the constant chaos of his large family, sneaking away for a stop for hot cocoa and a comfortable drive. George’s hand was in yours on your lap, his other lazily steering the car down the suburban streets of Norfolk as soft Christmas music played through the car radio. Then, for a moment, you found yourself admiring him more than the Christmas light displays. 

The hazy reds and greens and blues smeared across his face in a masterpiece of light, sparkling in his eyes like he was full of Christmas wonder. The curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the lines of his lips, every little thing about him always captivated you wholeheartedly. Sometimes it was hard to believe you were going to marry him soon; the modest diamond ring on your hand was proof of that. 

George broke the peaceful silence between you, “You think one day we’ll go just as absurd with the Christmas lights on our own house?”

Your adoring expression melted into a grin and you tore your eyes away from him to look out your window to some of the passing decorated homes, “Maybe.”

“I’m sure our kids would appreciate the spectacle.” 

You looked back over to him with a flip of your heart. It wasn’t the first time either of you had brought up kids in passing and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last, but whenever he did, it always filled your heart with an indescribable warmth. Warmer than any Christmas spirit could replicate. 

Lifting your take-out cup of hot chocolate to your lips, you replied calmly, “Will you be hanging all those strings of lights then?”

George glanced over at you briefly with a grin before looking back to the road, “We’ll see. It would take a hell of a while to put up this many. Maybe if they pout enough.”

“If they have puppy eyes like yours, we’re doomed.”

George tugged at your fingers in his to pull your hand up so he could kiss your knuckles. You could feel his smile against your skin. 

Maybe it was the Christmas spirit that overcame you or perhaps it was just the suffocating love in your hearts that needed some way out, but you ended up parked in the vacant gravel lot of some mom-and-pop mechanic shop, tasting the rich chocolate of your hot cocoa on each other’s tongues. 

It had been a few days since you had arrived in England and thus a few days since you had been able to have sex—feeling too weird to do it at his parents’ house with his family through the thin walls. So this moment of 1-1 time was nothing short of long desired and well needed, even if it wasn’t completely ideal or comfortable in the cramped confines of the front seat of his car. 

You ended up on his lap somehow, sandwiched between his chest and the steering wheel, making out like teenagers in the dark car park. George’s hands were all over you from your thighs on either side of him, over the curve of your ass, sneaking up under your sweatshirt to grab your breasts over your bra. He tugged at your body like he wanted you to physically be a part of him, wanting you impossibly and irrevocably closer. 

It wasn’t long before your pants were thrown absentmindedly into the backseat through a flurry of tongue-led kisses, the two of you blindly arranging yourselves to try and satisfy that craving for each other. When you accidentally hit the steering wheel in your attempts to readjust yourself on his lap, the car horn echoed through the empty car park in a brief tone. 

The two of you shared breathy giggles between more kisses as George unbuttoned his slacks and you helped to pull his cock out. You swallowed up his moans with your hungry kisses, stroking him in your soft palm a few times to help work him up, feeling him grow harder in your hand. At the same time, his fingers on your hips tightened in a silent need to draw you closer still. 

George had never kept condoms in his car before you—he had always thought it to be trashy and unnecessary—but in that moment he was so thankful that you had come into his life and changed his mindset on that. With you distracted by kissing down his neck and giving him a super ungraceful handjob, all it took was an easy reach over to the glovebox and he was pulling out a string of foil wrapped condoms from inside and tearing one off. 

The dark surroundings of the car park made it a little difficult to get yourself situated but once you were sinking down on him properly, the two of you were sharing withering exhales into each other’s mouths. Your lips met in another lewd kiss or two or three, and you slowly started to roll your hips against his. 

George’s soft moan was heavenly and only made you want to do more, shifting from grinds into little ungraceful bounces that had him huffing out a strained, “Yes—”

His hands were all over you, guiding you by a firm grip on your hips into your every motion as you kissed and moaned and breathed in unison. The windows were fogging up fast, rising the heat in his car until your clothes were feeling almost too suffocating. Part of you lingered in a moment of frustration; missing your shared bed and being able to have all the space you needed to take each other at will. 

But this would have to do and although your orgasm was weak, it was still satisfying and still wonderful because it was George giving it to you, finished off by his fingers angled awkwardly between you to messily rub at your clit. He finished not long after you, almost biting your shoulder to keep himself somewhat composed through it, slender fingers gripping and tugging on the back of your sweater. 

Once you caught your breaths and shared a few more kisses, you shifted back into the passenger seat with a satisfied sigh and a blissful smile. 

“Je-sus-” George huffed, pushing a hand through his hair as he rested back in his seat for a moment. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“Yeah…” you agreed dreamily.

George reached into the backseat to retrieve your pants and he tossed them into your lap before he reached into the back again to pull a tissue or two from the box stored on the floor. As you pulled your pants back on, George wrapped up the condom in the tissues to be disposed of properly and discreetly later. 

“Aw,” you suddenly frowned, earning his attention as you took off the lid of your half-empty travel cup to look into the chocolatey liquid within, “my cocoa is cold…”

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[zara-renata]

I need your opinion on Sylus's Ordinary Traces new card from the New Year event... because I cried SO MUCH reading it! He's such a complex character and I love him so much 🥹♥️

Okay so I loved this card so much, and it also broke my heart. You are so right, he is such a complex character. Here's a person who has seen the absolute worst of humanity, who has suffered at the hands of the worst of humanity and retains every single memory of ever 1600+ years of both his persecution before he was captured and his solitary confinement, his brief flare of happiness with MC that was snuffed out with his self-sacrifice so that she could continue, only to be cursed by her and forced to live again and again with all of his memories, without her---this absolutely traumatized, sweet young dragon, carrying all of that around inside him, goes to the new year's market year, after year, after year, just to experience being around humanity at its best, because all he's ever experienced aside from MC is humanity's worse. And he goes there, alone, every year.

Part of me wonders if he was looking for MC at the market every year, wondering if maybe this will be the year he finds her. But they didn't mention that in the card. Just that the previous year, he had decided that he was done going. What made him give up? Was it too painful seeing all the happy couples, as he stood there alone amidst the crowd, alone as he had been for most of his existence through the long years? it reminds me of the twins' anecdote where he's sitting alone in the theater, waiting for the music to begin, before they try to kill him. Sylus is so alone. Has always been so alone, neither dragon nor human, reviled, feared, hunted. It's heartbreaking. So I can only imagine what he was feeling---a sort of helpless, incredulous emotion as MC is asking for reassurance that he actually wants to be there with her. Of course he wants to be there with her. He's been waiting lifetimes, and in this lifetime, he has waited years to be able to go with her, to hold her hand amidst the sea of happy people and be able to belong, to be a part of it, instead of once again an outsider, an other. but of course he's Sylus, and he can't say all that out loud or he'll combust or some shit. He's gotta just keep playing it cool and reassure MC in the best way he knows how--using the language of hunter and prey, captor and trap-- without saying all the real, soft words without the pretense of him being the dangerous prey and she the hunter who caught him against his will. him trying to be all nonchalant about being able to experience this with MC, pretending he's never been here before, nope, not him, why would a big evil dragon go to the fucking new year's festival? he'll tolerate it because you want it... uh huh. riiight. And i think it's so adorable that he overpays the merchant. like, Sylus, you're so fucking cute, the more things change, the more you stay the same.

tl;dr i loved the card and it also broke my heart.

[murmel-malt]

Hedaera Targaryen - 93 AC

Viserys Targaryen x Hedaera Targaryen (OFC) prev / next wordcount: 1.4k summery: my answer to the question: what if Viserys and Daemon had a little sister? canon divergent dance of the dragons au featuring canon and original characters.

chapter summery: It is time for a wedding in Kingslanding and the kingdoms have gathered in celebration. The little bride however is far from happy and would rather be anywhere else.

A/N: note that english is not my first language so there will probably be some grammar mistakes.

93 AC - Kingslanding

Daera feels numb. 

Faintly, there’s music playing, muffled, like her ears are stuffed with cotton. Beyond her unfocused gaze she knows is the Red Keep’s great hall, decked out in the banners of House Targaryen, festive decorations and flower arrangements. It is a wedding after all and the King has spared no expense in making it an affair sufficiently grande for his grandson and son’s heir. Hedaera is sure she was but an afterthought in the planning. At least they had remembered to get some cushions for her or she might not have been able to properly sit at the table and eat. Not that she has much of an appetite. The mere thought of food had made her sick the last few days and whatever Alysanne had coaxed into her barely stayed down. Grandmother had worried that she was getting sick but the Maester had assured her that it was just nerves. Surely the little Princess was just excited about her wedding.

Her wedding that despite all her protests, screaming and yelling and tearing of dresses she hadn’t been able to avoid. Two wedding dresses had been destroyed by Daera before the King had interfered. The first she had taken scissors to and cut it to ribbons, the second she had torn with her bare hands. Jaehaerys had been furious with her and Daera had never been more afraid of her grandfather than that day when he yelled at her to cease her childish behavior and that none of her nonsense would change her fate, so it would serve her best to come to terms with it. Afterwards she had been confined to her chambers for three days with no visitors allowed to think of her actions.

She hadn’t wanted to give up but it was already a losing battle and she was all alone in it. Nobody was on her side; except Aemma and Gael of course but her cousin and aunt had no power either. Those that did, didn’t seem to care that she was miserable or chose to ignore it to ease their own conscience. Like grandmother and her father. They were still trying to convince themselves that Daera would eventually embrace her role as her brother’s wife. But there was no way their marriage would ever be remotely like their parents’ and both Alysanna and Baelon knew it, yet they didn’t lift a finger to help her. Not then and not now as she sits next to her brother-husband at the foot of the Iron Throne.

Viserys sits to her right. He is happily chatting away with someone; it is grating on her nerves. Of course he is happy. He gets exactly what he wanted: a sister-wife. Just like their father, and grandfather. Like a true Targaryen. That Daera is far less willing than either Alysanne and Alyssa had been is conveniently ignored or it would ruin the pretty picture he has undoubtedly painted in his head.

On her left sits Aemma, who looks about as gloomy as Daera. Daemon has yet to pay any attention to her despite them being betrothed. Usually Daera would go over and make her brother regret making their cousin miserable, but she is too caught up in imagining herself somewhere - literally anywhere - else. If only she had a dragon, anyone that would try to make her do things she didn’t want to do would be faced with a maw of dragonfire. Or she could just fly away; far, far away. Maybe to Lys to aunt Saera. But there is no dragon for her, not to claim and not to hatch. So she remains shackled to the ground, to a future as her brother’s wife and mother of his children.

She feels like crying again - and then feels angry for feeling like crying -  but apparently all her tears have already been used up. Her red and puffy eyes attest to the hours she spent crying before she was pried from her chambers for her wedding.

Her unfocused gaze falls from the blurry shapes moving beyond the table to her plate and she moves to take a small bite of the food there. It doesn’t taste of anything as she chews, swallows and returns the fork to its place next to the plate. Her hand falls back to join the other in her lap and her gaze returns to stare emptily ahead. Until a shape moves into her view and doesn’t leave. She makes the effort to look and the shape is revealed to be a bard or musician of some sort. He is speaking to her, asking about some song he wishes to play for ‘the little bride’. Daera only nods mutely and the man scurries away again, probably joining the other musicians.

She distantly hears a new tune begin to play. It is one of her favorites; one of those she used to beg for at every feast and dance to with her father. She will not be dancing with her father today, nor with Viserys. Her brother does not care for dancing and for once in her life she is glad that he is so incredibly boring, because she would rather throw herself from the highest tower of the Red Keep than take to the dancefloor today or with him in general. 

Eventually the song ends and Aemma returns to her seat next to her. Daera hadn’t even noticed that she had been gone. Hopefully Daemon had finally decided to act like her betrothed and asked her to Dance. At least one of them should have a good time.

Tentatively a hand brushes against hers and Hedaera nearly flinches at the sudden contact. Aemma waits for her to open hers before carefully weaving her fingers through Daera’s and gives her cousin a small, sad smile. It is a bit awkward the way they sit with her hands intertwined - both of them being a bit too small to properly fit into the chairs - but Hedaera welcomes the small comfort her cousin offers. She doesn’t dwell on wishing she could do more. Like Rhaenys might have done. 

Her other cousin’s attendance would have lightened Hedaera’s mood considerably. Ever since she had been passed over in favor of Baelon, neither she nor her husband were particularly keen on the King. To have someone there who understood and shared Daera’ feelings and was not afraid to show them would have made things a little bit less terrible. And Daera was sure that, had she asked, Rhaenys might have carried her off on Meleys too. But sadly her father’s death had not been the only tragedy to befall her cousin. The babe everybody had been so excited about last year had not survived, leaving Rhaenys bed bound and mourning. 

Daera cannot fault her for not wanting to face their grandfather or court after that.

She doesn’t know what hour it is when her eyelids become heavy. Her eyes still itch and feel swollen despite not having cried since the morning and she fights the urge to rub at them. She has been sitting in her chair the entire evening yet feels tired down to her bones. Hedaera just wants this day to finally end; to go to bed and hope to forget about her life and future for a little bit. 

Grandmother had told her that the wedding is nothing but a formality, that she is not expected to fulfill any wifely duties just yet. After all, she hasn’t even flowered. She can go about her life as she always had until then. Daera had only scoffed. Except that she was now shackled to that bore of an older brother of hers and eventually expected to lay with him and give him children. The thought made her shudder.

But eventually she cannot stop her eyes from drooping or hide the yawns any longer. Viserys doesn’t notice, but not everybody is as inattentive as her brother. Grandmother must have noticed because not long after her yawning has become more frequent, a maid appears by her side telling her that it is time to retire for the evening. Daera doesn’t argue; she is too eager to get away and forget about this terrible, terrible day.

Aemma rises with her, insisting to accompany and help her get ready for the night as a lady-in-waiting ought to. But Daera knows her cousin is as eager to get away as she is. The novelty of the evening has worn off and they are tired. All she wishes to do is curl up under her blanket and sleep; and forget.

a/n: just 1.4k words of Daera disassociateing. ur welcome.

[theroyalthornoliachronicles]

Anticipation Peaks as Thornolian Royal Family Prepares for le Bal Masqué

Excitement and anticipation pervade the air as all of Thornolia eagerly awaits le grand masqurade hosted by the esteemed Famille Royale Thornolienne. Tonight, in a spectacle of splendor and tradition, le Monseigneur is poised to announce his engagement and reveal his chosen bride, a momentous occasion that has captivated the hearts and minds of all.

La Famille Royale, having returned to the resplendent Palais de Thornolie in the early hours from their brief sojourn at the tranquil Manoir de Thornwood, is now engrossed in preparations. The once serene corridors and stately chambers of le Palais have transformed into a hive of activity, with servants and attendants bustling about, ensuring every detail is perfected for the evening’s festivities.

Nobility from near and far are expected to grace le Palais with their presence later this evening, donning their finest attire and most elaborate masks, contributing to an atmosphere of mystique and grandeur. Le Bal Masqué promises an enchanting night of dance, music, and revelry, but it is le Monseigneur’s announcement that truly holds the country in thrall.

Speculation runs rampant throughout Thornolia as whispers of potential brides circulate amongst the populace. Will le Monseigneur select Mademoiselle Aubert, the one many have been keen to see stand by his side? Or Mademoiselle Valery, the quiet contender that grabbed our Monseigneur's attentions from the very beginning? The country is abuzz with these questions, each citizen holding their breath, hoping for a choice that will bring prosperity and happiness to their beloved Thornolia.

The gravity of this decision is not lost on le Monseigneur, whose contemplative demeanor in recent days has been the subject of much discussion. The choice of a future Madame la Reine carries with it not only personal significance but also profound implications for the future of Thornolia.

In a move we are certain will become a much loved tradition for generations to come, le Monseigneur and his chosen fiancée will not confine the announcement to the hallowed halls of le Palais alone. Following the grand reveal within the opulent ballroom, the couple will step onto the royal balcony to present themselves to the gathered throngs, ensuring that every citizen, from the highest noble to the humblest commoner, shares in this historic moment.

As the day unfolds, the streets of Thornolia buzz with eager anticipation. The vibrant marketplace hums with speculation, and children play games of imagined royal courtships, while their elders reminisce about past royal announcements and what tonight's might bring. All await the dusk, when le Palais de Thornolie will illuminate the night sky, signaling the commencement of le Bal Masqué and the revelation of the country's future queen.

This evening promises to be one of unparalleled grandeur and significance. As the bells toll and the hour of le Bal Masqué approaches, all of Thornolia stands united in hope and curiosity, ready to embrace their future Madame la Reine.

Previous | Beginning | Next

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 22

Inches In Between Us

Disclaimer: 18+, mature content.

I am warning my sweet readers if you are sensitive to this kinda stuff, I just want to say to you, "Don't proceed any further, I'll see you in next chapter, have a good day."

Darling, can I be your favourite?

I'll be your girl, let you taste it.

- ( The song of the chapter is "Favourite" by Isabel LaRosa.)

It's liberating how, outside the confines of the mafia world, she exists as an ordinary face in a sea of billions. Few people know her, fewer recognize her, and in this anonymity, she finds freedom.

At Paragon Tech's Christmas party, she's just another employee, laughing, chatting, and blending seamlessly into the crowd.

Her off-white knee-length dress sways gently with her every movement. The dress is simple yet elegant, cinched at the waist to highlight her figure, with delicate lace sleeves that add a touch of flare. It's a perfect contrast to the bold red lips she's chosen, a daring statement she rarely makes.

The party is in full swing, with twinkling lights, festive music, and a lavishly decorated Christmas tree at the centre of the room. She's enjoying herself, mostly.

This night could have been perfect if only the boss were here.

Not that she'd ever admit it, of course. Her colleagues wouldn't understand. They'd frown at her so-called unhealthy fascination with their employer, though "fascination" wasn't quite the word she'd use. Irritation, perhaps. Or Frustration.

And if he'd been here tonight, she would have found a way to needle him, just a little.

But he wasn't.

So, she keeps her composure, masking her thoughts behind polite smiles and meaningless small talk, all while pretending she's not scanning the room, hoping he'll walk in any second.

She lets out a soft laugh, humouring the colleague standing in front of her. His attempts at flirtation are clumsy, but there's an innocence to it that she can't help but appreciate. His black eyes shimmer with nervous excitement, his words tumbling out in stilted sentences as he tries to keep her attention.

It's sweet, really. Charming in a way that reminds her of an uncomplicated past, a time when life didn't feel so heavy.

She listens, nodding in the right places, even allowing a genuine smile or two to escape. The simplicity of it all, the lack of pretence, and the raw honesty in his demeanour are refreshing.

But it's not enough.

Sweet black eyes aren't what she craves.

She wants eyes like molten caramel, staring at her with an intensity that makes her forget to breathe. She wants a gaze that pins her in place, leaving her exposed and vulnerable, yet setting her on fire from the inside out.

And she knows exactly who those eyes belong to.

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, a moment so brief the man in front of her doesn't notice. She pulls herself back, burying the ache beneath layers of practised indifference.

The colleague continues, oblivious, but her thoughts are already miles away, lost in a pair of fiery caramel-brown eyes that haunt her every waking moment.

"Are you flirting with random people now?" His voice is cold, cutting through the silence as he stands there, rigid and unforgiving, his gaze sharper than his words. "Or did you forget that you're actually engaged?"

No, he didn't just say that. What the hell!

She whirls around to face him.

Hurt and betrayed.

She's come upstairs to retrieve her things. His presence in the building is unknown to her.

"What does it matter to you? I'm not engaged to you."

Something shifts in his eyes as he strides toward her. Her instincts scream at her to retreat. She does, step by step, until her back collides with the glass wall behind her. The cold surface seeps through her dress, but it's nothing compared to the icy fire in his gaze.

Drawing air into her chest becomes utterly difficult as he stops mere inches from her. Her heart races.

Because of his closeness,

Because of his unexplained anger,

the fact that she is trapped and she isn't getting out unless he chooses to let her go.

Her palms are about to make contact with his chest to push him away, to create even the smallest distance between them, but his hand catches her wrist mid-air.

Anger surges through her, heating her cheeks as she tries to wrench her arm free, twisting and pulling with all her might. But his grip is unyielding, calm, and maddeningly firm.

"Let me go," she hisses, struggling against him.

He doesn't. Instead, he moves her wrists effortlessly above her head, pinning them against the glass. Her body arches instinctively, her chest brushing against his with every shallow inhale.

And because she can do nothing else, she growls in a low and feral voice, "I hate you. How dare you?"

And just like the strike of a match, she feels as if something else sparks to life.

"You blushed for him,'' his voice barely above a whisper, soft and devastating, underlined with the slightest clench of teeth."Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

Her breathing falters, picking up pace as her pulse races wildly.

His gaze slides over her, slow and torturous, from her eyes to her lips, to the rise and fall of her chest. Her nipples harden, dragging along his hard chest with every laboured breath she takes.

Goosebumps break through her as his nose skims through her cheek. "Oh, little bird, you shouldn't have done that."

The anger in her battles against the molten warmth pooling low in her belly. A tremble racks her body as he presses his face into the curve of her neck and inhales deeply, inhales her.

The sound that escapes his throat is a deep, guttural rumble of satisfaction. It vibrates through her, leaving her knees weak and thrums between her legs. Her head tips back instinctively to bare more of her neck to the devastation as Sandalwood, cloves, leather and a hint of something uniquely him, wrap around her.

She's delirious, drunk on his nearness, his heat, his nose gliding into the soft skin of her neck.

Addictive, it is. His nearness is.

Always addictive.

Her body is on fire, and it spreads, engulfing her mind and her heart, turning her inside into lava. And there will be no reprieve until he gives her, Something. Anything. Everything.

He holds both of her wrists in one hand while his other hand slides from her wrist to her throat, his thick fingers wrapping around her delicate neck. Taking one more step, he presses his front fully against hers until they are flushed with one another.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his hips cage hers, his desire impossible to ignore. The heat of him, the sheer size, leaves her gasping.

Her mind screams at her to fight, to pull away, to keep the distance she knows is safest. But her body betrays her, responding to him in ways she can't control. She's drowning in him, in the way he makes her feel both powerful and powerless, both in control and completely at a loss.

It's his game of Control, she realises. And she suddenly knows this is a game she wants to play with everything in her.

He releases her wrists but doesn't let go of her neck. His thumb slowly traces her jaw while his hand holds the back of her neck still, keeping her head tilted back and their eyes locked. His other hand slides down, gliding along her spine before settling in her lower back.

His caramel-brown eyes are the darkest. The pupils bleed into the rich brown, swallowing the light like a storm. But beneath the rage, there's a flicker of raw and primal hunger.

Bright and all-consuming.

He blinks as if to clear his head yet he keeps watching her with hooded eyes like she's his next meal.

Fuck. He is obsessed with her or something. Who the fuck reacts like that over a blush?!

Whatever it is, obsession or not, it's like an invisible rope pulling her closer even as she tries to resist.

"What's the deal with you? You like me or something?" Her voice weavers as the words slip past her lips.

"Like?" The corner of his mouth lifts

in a cruel smirk. "Don't know if I'd call it that."

"What would you call it then? Obsession? You're obsessed with me, huh?'' She can't help but goad him, but deep down she is scared, so damn scared.

"Does that scare you?" He asks as if reading her mind.

She gives him a dry look of denial, but her body betrays her. She gulps as heat pools in places it shouldn't.

His smirk deepens, the darkness in his eyes glinting dangerously. A rasp curls through his voice. "Good".

She's hyperaware of everything, the frantic thrum of her heart, the tick of the clock somewhere in the distance, the way his heart is beating too fast against her as if it's beating inside her rib cage.

"You've been in my head, little bird..'' His lips skim the corner of her mouth. "More than you should have been. More than I should have let you. More than your pathetic crush tonight could ever imagine."

Her fingers clutching her dress fabric in an attempt to prevent her from reaching for him when his voice slides over her like velvet and smoke.

"I've thought about you so much..''

The words graze her ear alongside his lips, his hot breaths are as intoxicating as his words. His stubble brushes against her soft skin, leaving behind a trail of ruin and fire.

"So fucking much that...every part of you becomes mine."

Her breathing stops entirely and all she hears mine, mine, mine.

The hell she is!!

She is no one's!!

"He's lucky he didn't touch you,'' he continues, his voice turning razor-sharp. "Because I don't take kindly to people touching what's mine."

Her throat tightens, causing her heart to struggle against her ribcage, trying to get free. "Who touches me is none of your business."

His voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"It's always been my business.''

Anger flares within her, overriding the

heat clouding her judgment. ''I am nobody's business. I don't even like you. Let go of me."

His smirk returns, cruel and devastating. "You don't have to like me to scream my name."

And then his voice drops to a sinful murmur. "You know my name, don't you, little bird?" When she doesn't reply, he taunts her, "Or, have you forgotten yours as well? I have merely touched you. "

Her fists curls at her sides. "Oh, I remember plenty, Mr.Raizada." she seethes, glaring up at him. "But it seems you've forgotten something. You despise me. Remember?''

His eyes ablaze, something primal and wicked lurking beneath the surface, as he leans in.

"That's the thing....I don't just despise you. I also want to rip this little dress of yours right here in the middle of this office.....strip you naked.."

White noise rings in her ear as his words sink in. "And then press you against the glass for the whole city to see."

Voice nothing but a dangerous, sinful whisper, corrupting her mind, creating images.

"While I kiss every square inch of your body..and then pound into you so hard that the people driving below can't look away.....wishing they were us."

The heat in his gaze scorches her, burning her resolve to ashes. Her lips part but no sound escapes as her body frozen in place.

"That'll probably be a bad idea, right?" His smirk grows, self-assured and maddeningly smug.

"Keep dreaming,'' she whispers, tethering at the end of sanity, refusing to give up.

"Oh, I do," His chuckle is dark, and wickedly intimate, tinted with a sardonic edge.

"I fuck you in my dreams every night." The hand on her back dips lower, brushing against her ass, and she stiffens.

"And that's why you're able to stand here...and fight with me...because if I fuck you for real, Little bird," His gaze locks onto hers with the weight of a promise, ''You won't be walking straight for days."

Damn, his mouth. It should be illegal.

Her heart flutters in her chest, a frenzied rhythm she can't control as his face hovers inches from hers. His breath is warm, brushing against her lips, and she feels the pull, the intoxicating inevitability of his lips meeting hers. Her own part slightly, as though inviting him to close the sliver of space between them.

Her eyes drift close. Every nerve in her body goes taut, coiled like a spring on the edge of snapping, trembling with a raw, unspoken need.

And then, the shrill of a ringtone breaks the moment like a glass.

His jaw tightens as he fishes his phone from his pocket.

Aman!!

What the hell!?!

With a growl, he answers. "This better be good. Otherwise, I'll kill you, motherfucker."

Even as he listens to Aman on the other end, his eyes never leave hers.

She can barely hear Aman's muffled voice over the blood rushing in her ears, but whatever Aman says seems to pull him back.

He sighs sharply, swiping a hand through his hair before lowering the phone. For a moment, he doesn't move, just stares at her. Then, without a word, he turns and strides toward the door, pausing just before leaving. "This conversation isn't over."

Her trembling hands rise to press against her flushed cheeks as her lips tingle from the almost kiss that never happened.

"What the hell just happened?" she whispers, the words slipping out like a secret she doesn't want the room to keep.

But the truth shimmering beneath the surface is simplier.

But infinitely more terrifying.

She squeezes her eyes tightly as if that could steady the storm inside, but it's no use because now, there's no going back.

What the fuck will she do now?

The room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass windows. The chaos of her mind contrasts sharply with the stillness around her.

The air feels heavier as she sits on the edge of the leather couch of his office.

With her body tense.

And her mind racing.

And her foot bare as her heels lay idle on the floor.

She waits.

For him.

She doesn't know why she stays, doesn't want to acknowledge the ache inside her chest and her body demanding that she does.

It's mindlessly foolish and reckless, but she waits anyway.

The desire to resist is drowned by the need to give in.

Her fingers trace the seam of her dress absently, trying to distract herself from the way her heart thunders every time she imagines the sound of his footsteps outside the door. She bites her lip, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks again at the memory of his body so close to hers, the words she can't seem to forget.

And she knows, somehow, some way, he'll know she's here. Just like he knew she blushed for another man. He always knows everything about her, her thoughts, her reactions, as if her soul is laid bare before him. It should terrify her. But today she's lost her perception of sanity and insanity.

The door creaks open, and she straightens instinctively. He stands in the doorway, framed by the dim, golden light spilling from the corridor. For a fleeting moment, she forgets how to breathe.

"Still here." His tone holds no surprise, just the quiet certainty that she didn't leave. That she couldn't.

She rises slowly, her knees trembling slightly. Turning to face him feels impossible. All her life, she has followed rules, lived by them like a creed. But he's the first rule she wants to break without thinking about any consequences.

"You said the conversation wasn't over," she says softly, the words catching slightly in her throat.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. The soft click echoes like the snap of a trap closing around its prey.

Tossing his folded coat onto a nearby chair, he moves with unhurried pace, the sleeves of his white shirt already rolled to his elbows. "How do you want to end that conversation?"

Words fail her, as they always do in his presence. But she hopes her eyes speak louder than the silence stretching between them.

She needs him.

The thought is raw, unrelenting, an ache that drowns out reasons, eclipses logic, silencing the warnings in her head..More than water, more than air, she needs him.

And she's done pretending she doesn't.

Even though she doesn't know if she is ready for someone like him. Even though she is scared shitless.

Everything is very new to her. But the yearning to be brave outweighs the fear. She wants to be bold with him, for him, and maybe even for herself.

He studies her as he loosens his tie, with a cruel slowness that unravels her composure. She lowers her gaze, unable to hold the weight of his stare any longer.

He stands behind her and lingers there almost as if offering her an unspoken chance to escape. But before the thought can take root, his hand finds her stomach. Warm, steady.

She sucks in a sharp breath as he draws her back, her spine meeting the solid warmth of his chest.

His touch is a claim and a betrayal of the walls she's tried to keep intact.

Guiding her backwards, he sinks into the chair, drawing her down with him until she's perched on his lap, her back pressed against his front.

Her body tenses briefly before melting into him. Her heart pounds so loudly she's sure he can hear it, but if he does, he says nothing.

"Don't offer your body to me unless you're ready, Little bird," he murmurs, "I don't do the gentleman shit. If we do this, I won't stop...even if you beg me to."

A warning laced with a promise.

"If we do this, if I fuck you, I'll make sure no one else will after me.... Never. Are you ready for that?"

The weight of his words settles over her, demanding an answer she's too terrified yet too eager to give.

"I don't know," she whispers honestly, her voice barely audible. But deep down, she does know. She always has. She'll eagerly let him ruin her for anybody else.

"Hmm...Let's see how far I can go today then. Will you let me taste you?"

Before she can answer his lips descend to her neck, sucking softly at first, then harder, leaving behind a trail of fire that shoots straight between her legs.

His fingers trace slow circles against her stomach while his other hand gathers her hair in his fist, tugging sharply, making her head tilt back.

Her gaze meets his and she sees the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes. It mirrors the ache building inside her, threatening to consume her whole.

"When I ask you a question, you give me an answer." His hold tightens in her hair, further exposing her throat to him, leaving her utterly at his mercy.

She swallows hard, her lips parting to reply, but no words come. Instead, she nods frantically and leans into him. Her hands clutch his thighs like he's the only solid thing in her crumbling world.

And maybe, just maybe, he is.

Her eyes fly open when his rough voice rumbles in her ear, "Are you wet for me, little bird?"

A groan is all the answer he receives but it's enough for him to know what it means.

"You are, aren't you?" he whispers in her ear before taking her earlobe between his teeth and slightly pulling on it. "...you like it when I talk dirty to you, huh?"

"N-No..." she denies softly but neither of them is fooled.

"No need to lie, Bitterheart. You are all innocent on the outside...but inside there's a dirty little girl just waiting to be unleashed." There's no way she'll agree with him. Not verbally, at least. No matter how right she unfortunately knows he is.

"Are you a dirty little girl, Khushi?" He chuckles when, once more, she vainly shakes her head.

"N-No, I'm not..."

"We'll see," he says, causing her to shiver, although she doesn't know if it's because of his words or the way he calls her by her name or the fact that his hands were now trailing down her thighs, barely stopping at the hem of the dress she's wearing. "For now I need an answer...are you wet for me?"

Anger surges through her, as pride battles with the ache in between her legs. A string of curses formed in her head, each one aimed at him but none daring to cross her lips. Instead, she jerks away as humiliation and shame dripping from every part of her.

"Shhh...now be a good girl and let me find out," he orders as he feels her trying to wiggle out of his grip.

She gasps as his hand gathers the hem of her dress, the fabric gliding up her thighs until it pools around her waist.

His fingers find the edge of her black lace panties as he hooks a finger under the delicate fabric, slipping them down her legs.

The heady scent of her arousal fills the room making her head spin. When one of his large hands captures her tiny one, she's too dazed to question it, too consumed to resist.

Her fingers laced with his brush against her soft mound. "Hmm, look how perfect you are..." he says upon discovering her bare sex. But before she can come up with a good retort for him, their fingers slides into her moist slit, and she finds herself unable to think coherently anymore.

Together, they stroke her very drenched, very slick folds. And then without warning, he plunges their intertwined fingers into her core, and they both hear the wet sound of her obvious arousal. Heat rushes to her cheeks. "Yeah, so fucking wet..."

His triumphant tone makes her want to turn around and smack him, but yet again he renders her speechless as he lifts her trembling hand and wraps his lips around her finger, the same one that has been inside her few seconds ago. His tongue swirls around her sensitive skin as he softly sucks on it.

"I should have known you'd taste this perfect as well," his voice a rough rasp, causing a new wave of wetness to gather in her core.

A feral growl rumbles deep in his chest as two of his thick, calloused fingers plunge inside her slick heat.

At the same time.

All the way to the knuckles.

She cries out, her back arching as pleasure explodes through her. She clings to his wrist as her nails digs into his skin. Her body tightens around his fingers like a vice. Her toes curl as a whole-body shudder grips her.

"Look at that?" Her world narrows to his fingers sliding in and out of her core, ruthlessly, mercilessly, while his dark eyes watch her every reaction, every tremor. "...you're so hot inside..," he continues, making her blush ten shades of red before his wickedly satisfied eyes. "My fingers aren't enough for you, are they?" He punctuates each word with a rough thrust of his fingers.

The heat in her core builds to an unbearable peak. She can't answer, not even from a word, not when his fingers press deeper, curling in a way that leaves her trembling, stroking a part of her no one has touched before.

"Too bad you aren't ready, it would have been so much better if it were my cock instead..filling you up, stretching you wide. ''

"Oh..." she moans out as he murmurs the words at her ear. At the same time, he starts to steadily pump his finger in and out of her depths.

The image his words paint ignites something primal in her. Her hips move in time with his hand, chasing the pleasure he so mercilessly teases her with.

She doesn't even care about the incoherent noises that spill out of her. But every time she bucks her hips, he tightens his hold on her hair, warning her without words that he is the one who is in control here.

He's a man who takes what he wants and there's something incredibly erotic and arousing about it.

He's going to take, take and take some more. Meanwhile all she can do is give.

And also, damn him and his filthy mouth for whispering all those dirty shits to her ear. Making her wetter, burning her fiercer.

"You like that word?...Cock..." he whispers lewdly when once more he notices her reaction to his dirty words. "Don't worry, soon, you'll see and feel more of my cock than you could have ever dreamed of..." Another promise and she can't help the shivers that coursed up her spine.

"Oh, God..."

She's never thought those dirty words would sound such devastatingly arousing coming from his mouth, utter in his raspy, deep voice.

"Well, that's not my name, but it'll do for now." He drawls in a sultry voice. His other hand let go of her hair to slide up beneath her dress and cups her breast, his fingers squeezing just enough to make her gasp. His fingers shove the top of her bra and pinch her nipple. "Next time, you'll let my cock spread you open, won't you, little bird?"

She nods helplessly, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His fingers thrust deep once again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her.

"Of course, you will,'' he chuckles low in her ear, dropping moist kisses down her neck, sucking enough to leave marks, "You are so greedy." His teeth grazing her skin. "I need to hear you say it. Tell me....tell me you need my cock inside you."

Shut that illegal mouth, Raizada.

A flush of heat spreads through her, her

entire body trembling with need. "Please," she manages to gasp, her

voice shaky and desperate as she tries to push her hips up seeking more.

"Tsk, tsk...please what?" His fingers lazily move inside her and she burns. It's not enough. She glares at him for this torture, but all he does is raise an eyebrow at her in a challenge.

"I want it'' she gritts out, the words tumbling out unbidden. "I want your cock.....oh..fuck.."

She can't finish as he rewards her with another deep thrust of his fingers. He chuckles at the sound that comes out of her mouth when his thumb finds her clit, and he starts to work it in sync with the movements of the rest of his fingers. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, desperate to hold onto the last shred of her sanity, but it's slipping fast.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice is like molten sin.

He pumps his fingers even faster into her drenched core when her already tight walls pulse around his fingers. She feels herself so close to the edge, she can practically taste it, cringing briefly as she hears the squishing sounds of his fingers moving in and out of her. Considering she is so wet, he has absolutely no trouble whatsoever driving them in and out of her.

But she can't focus on that anymore as a sharp pain rushes though her, only replaced by a mind-numbing pleasure. She realises he's drove in a third finger, stretching her to full capacity.

It becomes impossible to breathe but she forces herself to take it, gasping with each in and out until stars dance behind her eyelids and her world fractures into shards of light, each one brighter than the last.

His mouth sucks into her pulse point and she feels his teeth sink into her skin while she comes undone, groaning out gibberish words.

But even as she trembles in the aftermath, he doesn't stop, his fingers still kept sliding in and out of her.

"Next time, it'll be my cock making you come like this. I'll fuck every boy you ever thought about out of your head..... out of your system until all you remember is my name."

His promise sends another shudder through her. Her body feels foreign as if it doesn't belong to her anymore. It reacts to his every move, every whisper, every flick of his fingers like he's found a hidden language only he knows how to speak.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined an orgasm would be like that. So consuming, so powerful that she would be on the edge of blacking out.

Maybe because, it was her first.

His fingers slip from her, and the loss makes her whimper. She leans against him as she takes deep, calming breaths until, she hears him moan in satisfaction.

Turning her head slightly to her side to see what is causing him to make such a sound, she can't help gasping in an audible breath when she realizes this shameless man has his finger drenched with her juices in his mouth. His gaze locks onto hers as he licks them clean. "You aren't as experienced as you want me to believe. Was that a first?"

She's too boneless, her body's too limp against him to even respond. So she let him have his moment.

She barely has time to catch her breath before he stands, lifting her as though she weighs nothing. In one fluid motion, he sets her down on the edge of his massive desk.

The cold glass pressing against the heated skin of her ass draws a startled yelp from her lips. Before she can process the sensation, his hands are on her again, spreading her knees wide and positioning her exactly how he wants her.

Her palms are pressed flat against the desk behind her for balance. The action makes her breasts to thrust forward in his face. A deep flush spreads across her cheeks as she finds herself in this wanton position, baring herself to him.

So shamelessly.

So carnally.

So completely.

His fingers graze the inside of her thighs as he settles into the chair before her and drags her even closer to the edge of the desk.

And then he dips his head, licking her from her entrance to her clit. And the world around her dissolves. The growl of satisfaction vibrates through her and she's already fighting an orgasm. He runs a rough hand down her leg pulling her thigh over his shoulder.

She feels a new rush of wetness that he obviously immediately notices. "Look at the mess you've created," he instantly lapped at the new moisture. His hands grip her thighs, holding her open as his tongue flicks against her, teasing, tasting, torturing.

Consumed by overwhelming sensation, she runs a hand into his hair, grabbing a handful and moving her hips at the same time, trying to keep his head still and fixed to where she needs it the most. He removes her hands the first time, but her fingers find his hair again. He lets her hold his hair and control the movement for only a second before he bites at her inner thigh. A sharp gasp escapes her as she jerks back. A jolt of pain radiates from that spot and settles in her already aching core.

His narrowed caremal-browns find her pissed hazels. "Behave."

She shoots him a nasty glare, gatekeeping all the profanities that have his name written on them.

"Go ahead...say it."

So she does.

"You're an insufferable asshole"

The sharp smack in between her legs catches her off guard, but her teeth dig into her lips so hard she's surprised she hasn't drawn any blood, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a whimper, not even a sound.

Fuck!?!

"Anything else?"

She stiffly shakes her head while giving him a withering look.

''Good," he murmurs lazily, going back to sucking at her clit. It still throbs with pain, but the wet heat of his mouth is electrifying, turning her pain into fire.

Mortified at his words and what he is doing to her, she closes her eyes once more and grips the edge of the desk with all her might, promising herself that if she has to endure this, at least she won't reach for him this time or show him just how sinfully incredible it's making her feel.

Another flick of his tongue against her soaked entrance makes her forget all about it anyway, and she feels tears gather behind her eyelids as she forces herself to not cry out her pleasure.

God, he's really good at this and she just knows that it won't take him long to make her fall completely apart once more.

She's proven right just seconds later when she feels his fingers probe into her again and he's now free to go and nibble on her clit. The moment he does, stars burst behind her eyelids and this time, no amount of sheer willpower can stop her from moaning out loud.

"FFUUCK...."

Her eyes roll back in her head as her back arches off the table. Meanwhile he keeps pumping faster, sucking harder, until she can't control herself and is quite shamelessly riding his face with about just as much force as she has been riding his fingers earlier. Soft mewls spill from her lips alongside unintelligible pleas.

"Name," he commands, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice barely penetrates her mind haze. "Say my name."

He growls the words inside her as her body writhes helplessly under his hold, the pressure building so fiercely she feels like she might shatter.

"Say it,"

"Umm.. Mr. Raizada,'' she gasps. Her voice trembles as her hands gripping the desk as if her life depends on it.

A rough hand slides up her stomach squeezing her breast hard enough to draw a startled cry from her lips. In an instant, he's grabbing her throat, yanking her upright so her wide eyes meet his. His eyes are wild and feral, with her arousal glistening on his lips as he speaks through a clenched jaw, "Name."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she's denied her pleasure and she realizes that every part of her burned so much at that instant that it quite literally hurt. Her pride stops her from cursing him audibly though, or even just uttering a word of protest. So she complies.

"Arnav." she spits out even though her voice shakes as his name passes her lips.

His lips curl in satisfaction as he flicks her clit with his finger, her hips rocking involuntarily against him.

"Remember it. After all, It's the name you'll be screaming for the rest of your life."

The moment his hand leaves her neck, he dives back in, his mouth reclaiming her with a ferocity that leaves no room for resistance, no room for doubt.

The urge to touch him is overwhelming, but she knows he'll stop if she dares touch his precious hair again. So, she places one of her hands over his on her thigh, intertwined their fingers together, and, lost in pure, unfiltered and unadulterated lust, tugs at her own hair with the other.

Sparks ignite into an inferno, burning hotter with every stroke, every flick of his tongue. Then she soars higher and higher, until crashing into an eruption of pleasure and pain.

His teeth nip at her clit, causing her walls to contract almost painfully. He finds a secret spot inside that causes her eyes to fly open and then her body convulses in response. He must feel it too, because he hits it again and again. Her ears ring, pulling all sounds underwater as the heat inside her burst. Her body shatters like glass under the weight of a thousand suns.

"Aaaa...arnav," she screams out another orgasm even more powerful than the one she hasn't even really come down from.

His name falls from her lips like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

He doesn't stop though, his mouth relentless as he pulls every last tremor from her body, his hands keeping her in place when she tries to pull away. Only when she's completely undone does he finally pulls his fingers and his mouth out of her still unbearably pulsating sex and her inside mourns the loss instantly.

Her eyes fluttered open to find his on her. His breathing is uneven and his gaze is filled with something soft yet dark that she isn't sure she wants to understand, but it's enough to make her core spasm some more.

"You taste even better when you're screaming my name.''

She sits there, perched on the edge of his desk, her legs still parted to accommodate him as he stands between them. The air is thick with the aftermath of what just happened.

She can feel the ache between her thighs, a sweet pulsing reminder of how he ravished her. But now, his gaze makes her feel small, vulnerable.

Her fingers fidget with the edge of his tie, the silk cool against her fingertips. She dares not look up, her eyes fixed on the silver of skin peaking from the top opening of his dress shirt.

''Umm.. show me what to do," she murmurs. Her cheeks flush, the embarrassment rushing through her as quickly as the desire to give something back to him, to make him feel the way he made her feel.

Till date she owes him her life.

After tonight she owes him two orgasm as well.

She swears she can feel the smirk tugging at his lips even though she doesn't dare meet his eyes. Then, he surprises her. Instead of teasing or demanding, he presses his lips softly to the side of her head, his hand tugging the fabric of her dress back into place and smoothing her dishevelled hair over her shoulder.

"Go home, Little bird. I don't have time to fuck you tonight. I have people to kill," he says, his voice softer than she expects, a strange tenderness threading through his usual commanding tone.

She would never admit it, but a part of her secretly loves it when he calls her 'Little bird'. The way the words roll off his tongue, equal parts endearment and possession, sends a shiver down her spine every time. It makes her feel small and fierce all at once like she's his to protect and his to cage.

His eyes are alight with mirth when they meet hers, and she's somehow glad she didn't do it tonight. She surely won't want her first time to happen on an office desk. And she's equal part terrified of the fact that he knows her body better than herself.

Slowly, she slides off the desk. Her thighs ache, a sweet soreness that makes her wince slightly as she finds her footing. She almost stumbles, and his hands are there immediately, steadying her.

She reaches out, wrapping her hand in his tie, and does what she has always wanted to do. Tug on it to bring his face closer to her. She doesn't kiss him on the lips as she remembers the words he told her that night. Instead, she places her lips on his cheek, firm enough for her red lipstick to leave a mark.

A silent 'thank you' though for what exactly, she isn't sure.

His touch? His restraint? His care?

Picking up her heels from the floor, she reaches the door, her hand hesitates on the handle. A strange pull makes her turn back, and the sight of him nearly takes her breath away.

He stands there, his hands tucked into his pockets while his tie hangs loose around his neck. The crisp white of his dress shirt is rumpled, so is his hair, tousled from where her fingers have gripped it in desperation.

But it's his eyes that undo her completely. They're dark, yet soft and they're looking at her like she's the most beautiful, most precious thing he's ever seen in his life.

It terrifies her.

She quickly looks away, fumbling with the door before slipping out, her heart hammering in her chest. As she walks down the hallway, her legs still shaky, she tries to make sense of the chaos in her mind...the tenderness, the possession, the hunger, and now, that look.

But she pushes all those thoughts to the back of her mind as she walks away, leaving behind a bold red lipstick mark on his cheek and a black lacy panty abandoned on his office floor.

Author's note:

Happy Holidays everybody.

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@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @chaiandtakkar @bigfatreader @9artsdragon

[fear-less]

omg could u write a maroon x fred weasley fic ? I think that would go amazing, but ofc it's all up to you 💘

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 maroon

pairing: fred weasley x reader

warnings: angst, some fluff, implied gryffindor reader¿, SOME parts are cringe 😭🙏😢

a/n: my first request ahh!!! i tried to finish this as quickly as i could but this was lowkey hard to do😭 i was struggling so forgive me if it isn’t to ur expectations 🧍🏻‍♀️ maroon is one of my favs on midnights tho🧏🏻‍♀️

2.6k words ^_^

When the morning came we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf

'Cause we lost track of time again

The morning light streamed through the tall windows of the Gryffindor common room, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. Fred Weasley and Y/N found themselves amidst the hustle and bustle of students preparing for the day ahead, the scent of parchment and brewing potions mingling in the air.

“We ought to consider a time-turner, I reckon,” Fred remarked with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he waved his wand, banishing dust motes from the ancient tapestry that adorned the common room wall.

Y/N’s laughter filled the room, bright and infectious, as she joined Fred in their morning ritual of tidying up. With practiced ease, they worked in tandem, their wands dancing through the air in a graceful choreography of magic.

“The incense seems to have made itself rather at home, hasn’t it?” Y/N remarked, a playful glint in her eyes as she surveyed the cluttered shelves.

Fred chuckled, the warmth of camaraderie enveloping them like a comforting cloak.

The common room hummed with the energy of friendship and anticipation, the familiar sounds of laughter and conversation echoing off the stone walls. Fred, ever the jovial spirit, settled onto a plush armchair with a theatrical flourish, his feet finding a resting place in Y/N’s lap.

“Like a proper wizarding portrait, aren’t I?” Fred teased, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned back, a picture of relaxed camaraderie.

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, her laughter mingling with the chorus of voices that filled the room. The morning sunlight danced in her hair, casting a golden halo around her features as she playfully nudged Fred’s feet aside, the easy banter between them a testament to their deepening friendship.

“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” Fred quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced around the familiar surroundings of the Gryffindor common room.

“George’s cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that’s how,” Y/N replied with a chuckle, the memory of their recent escapades bringing a smile to her lips.

Their laughter echoed through the warm confines of Gryffindor Tower, a testament to the enduring bond that held them together.

As Fred and Y/N navigated the halls of Hogwarts, they found themselves drawn into a whirlwind of adventure and discovery. Together, they uncovered hidden passageways, brewed questionable potions, and faced down fearsome magical creatures with courage and determination.

Yet, amidst the excitement and chaos of school life, a deeper connection began to blossom between them—a bond forged in shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unspoken understanding.

————-————-————-————-—————-

And I chose you

The one I was dancin' with

In New York, no shoes

It was now Christmas day, 1995, and the Great Hall of Hogwarts was a vision of splendor for the Yule Ball. Its towering walls draped in cascading ivy and shimmering with enchanted snowflakes that danced in the air. Fred and Y/N found themselves swept away by the magical ambiance, the grandeur of the occasion casting a spell of awe and wonder upon them.

Hand in hand, they glided across the polished marble floor, the soft strains of celestial music filling the air like whispers from another realm. The glow of enchanted candles bathed the hall in a warm, ethereal light, casting shadows that danced across the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls.

In the midst of the swirling festivities, Fred and Y/N shared a moment of quiet reverence, their hearts beating in time with the rhythm of the music. With each graceful step, they wove their own story, a tapestry of friendship and companionship that transcended the bounds of time and space.

As they moved in perfect harmony, Fred’s gaze never wavered from Y/N, his eyes alight with a warmth that mirrored the flickering candlelight. In that fleeting moment, amidst the enchantment of the Yule Ball, they were suspended in a timeless embrace, their souls entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

The air was alive with the whispers of magic, the soft rustle of robes and the gentle murmur of conversation blending seamlessly with the lilting melody that filled the hall. Above them, the enchanted ceiling shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors, a breathtaking tableau that mirrored the depths of the night sky.

And as they looked up at the starlit heavens, Fred and Y/N knew that they had found something truly extraordinary in each other—a connection that defied logic and reason, a bond that would endure long after the echoes of the Yule Ball had faded into memory. The twinkling stars above seemed to whisper secrets known only to them, their luminescence casting a gentle glow upon Fred’s warm smile and Y/N’s shimmering eyes. It was a moment suspended in time, filled with the promise of endless possibilities and shared dreams.

The light-colored dress Y/N wore was now stained with a deep burgundy, a result of Fred’s playful antics as he accidentally splashed red wine onto her during a moment of laughter. As the wine seeped into the fabric, Y/N felt the blood rush into her cheeks, a scarlet blush that mirrored the color of the wine staining her dress. The soft rustle of robes and the melodic strains of the orchestra faded into the background as Fred’s concerned gaze met Y/N’s, their unspoken understanding bridging the gap between them. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, amidst the enchanting splendor of the Yule Ball, they shared a silent communion that spoke volumes of their growing affection and mutual admiration.

As the wine seeped into the fabric, Y/N felt the blood rush into her cheeks, a scarlet blush that mirrored the color of the wine staining her dress.

Later, as they danced under the enchanting glow of the Yule Ball, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the mark on her collarbone, a faint rust-colored smudge that had appeared during their playful exchange of banter earlier in the evening.

And as the night wore on, Y/N found herself lost in the depths of Fred’s eyes, her lips forming a smile as she realized that in him, she had found a home—a sanctuary where she could be herself, embraced for all that she was.

In the quiet moments between dances, amidst the swirling robes and the flickering candlelight, Y/N reflected on the journey they had shared together—the laughter, the tears, and the unspoken moments that bound them together like threads in a tapestry.

And as they moved together in perfect harmony, their hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of the music, Y/N knew that she had found not just a partner, but a kindred spirit—a soulmate whose presence filled her with a sense of belonging and completeness that she had never known before.

In the scarlet hues of the evening, amidst the magic of the Yule Ball, Y/N and Fred shared a connection that transcended words, a bond that would endure long after the echoes of the night had faded into memory.

————-————-————-————-—————-

When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy

How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

As the silence settled around them, enveloping the Astronomy Tower in a shroud of contemplation, Y/N and Fred sat in quiet reflection. The echoes of the Yule Ball still lingered in the air, a distant memory wrapped in the tendrils of the night.

In the midst of the hazy darkness, Fred's voice broke, his words trembling with emotion as he grappled with the weight of their shared history. "How did we lose sight of ourselves again?" His voice, tinged with regret, carried the weight of unspoken truths and missed opportunities.

A week had passed since the enchantment of the Yule Ball faded into memory, leaving behind a bittersweet residue of longing and unfulfilled promises. Y/N and Fred, nestled in the quiet solitude of the Astronomy Tower, found themselves confronting the harsh realities of their tangled emotions.

Fred's shoulders sagged as he succumbed to the weight of his own vulnerability, his head buried in his hands, tears staining the fabric of time-worn robes. It was a familiar scene, one that echoed the ebb and flow of their tumultuous relationship—a cycle of highs and lows, laughter and tears.

As Fred grappled with the depths of his emotions, Y/N watched in silent understanding, her heart aching with the weight of their shared pain. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, a glimpse into the fractured landscape of their hearts.

In the stillness of the night, amidst the whispering of the stars and the gentle caress of the wind, Y/N and Fred shared a bond that transcended words—a connection forged in the crucible of their shared experiences and unspoken truths.

And as the night wore on, their silhouettes cast against the backdrop of the starlit sky, Y/N and Fred found solace in the quiet companionship of the night—a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding them through the maze of their tangled emotions.

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You were standin' hollow-eyed in the hallway

In the dimly lit hallway of Hogwarts, shadows danced with the flickering torchlight, casting an eerie glow upon the stone walls. Y/N stood there, her gaze hollow and distant, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts. Fred watched her from across the corridor, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he approached, the echoes of their shared history reverberated in the silence between them. They were like carnations mistaken for roses, their beauty and fragility intertwined in a delicate dance of misunderstanding and longing. Fred couldn't help but feel the pang of regret, the knowledge that some things were never meant to be.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes betraying a vulnerability that mirrored his own. It was as if they stood at the threshold of an unspoken truth, the echoes of their shared pain reverberating in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of hope—a silent understanding that transcended words.

"I feel you no matter what," Fred whispered softly, his voice barely above a murmur. It was a declaration of unwavering devotion, a testament to the depth of his love for her. In that moment, amidst the shadows and the silence, Y/N felt the weight of his words wash over her like a gentle tide, soothing the ache in her heart.

The rubies that I gave up, Fred thought, his mind drifting to moments lost and chances forsaken. Yet, amidst the regrets and the what-ifs, there was a flicker of something precious—a connection that defied logic and reason, a bond forged in the crucible of their shared experiences.

As they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of torchlight, Y/N and Fred shared a moment of quiet introspection—a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of their intertwined destinies. In the silence of the hallway, amidst the whispering of the castle walls, they found solace in the knowledge that, despite the trials and tribulations that lay ahead, their love would endure, steadfast and unwavering.

And as the echoes of their shared moment faded into the darkness, Y/N and Fred knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—bound by the rubies of their shared past and the promise of a future yet unwritten.

With each word, their bond grew stronger, their hearts entwined in a dance of love and longing that would endure the trials of time.

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And I lost you

The one I was dancin' with

In New York, no shoes

In the cozy streets of Hogsmeade, amidst the chatter of witches and wizards, Y/N found herself lost in the crowd. She searched for Fred, the one she had been dancing with just moments before, their laughter echoing in the night air. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle of the village, he was nowhere to be found.

As she wandered through the winding streets, the lantern lights casting a warm glow over the cobblestones, Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of longing—a yearning for the connection they had shared, lost amidst the excitement of the Hogsmeade visit.

She looked up at the sky, the stars twinkling overhead, and felt a sense of emptiness wash over her. In the absence of Fred, the one she had danced with under the starlit heavens, the world seemed devoid of color and meaning.

"And I lost you," Y/N whispered to the night air, her voice barely above a murmur. In the midst of the festivities and the laughter, she had lost sight of the one person who had brought light into her life, the one who had made her feel alive amidst the magic of Hogsmeade.

With each step she took, the echoes of their shared moments haunted her—the laughter, the tears, the whispered promises that had once filled the night air. Yet, amidst the memories and the regrets, there was a glimmer of hope—a silent understanding that, no matter how far apart they may be, their connection would endure.

In the quiet solitude of the village streets, Y/N found herself yearning for Fred, the one she had danced with under the maroon sky. And as she looked up at the stars, their light twinkling overhead, she knew that, no matter where life took them, their love would always find its way back home to Hogsmeade.

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The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was (maroon)

As Y/N drifted into a restless slumber, memories of her time with Fred Weasley began to dance through her mind like ethereal wisps of smoke. She found herself transported back in time, reliving the moments they had shared together in vivid detail.

In her dream, she stood amidst the bustling corridors of Hogwarts, the echoes of laughter and the scent of magic filling the air. Fred appeared before her, his mischievous grin lighting up his freckled face as he extended his hand, inviting her to join him on a journey through time.

Together, they wandered through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone floors. Y/N watched as Fred conjured bursts of colorful sparks from his wand, his laughter ringing out like music in the night.

They passed by the Gryffindor common room, where they had shared countless hours lost in conversation and laughter. Y/N felt a pang of nostalgia wash over her as she remembered the warmth of Fred's smile, the comfort of his presence by her side.

In her dream, they danced beneath the twinkling stars of the Astronomy Tower, their movements fluid and graceful as they wove through the night sky. Y/N felt the warmth of Fred's hand in hers, the gentle press of his fingers against her skin sending shivers down her spine.

But amidst the joy and the laughter, there was also pain. Y/N watched as Fred's face contorted with anguish, his eyes clouded with sorrow as they relived moments of heartache and loss. She felt the weight of their shared struggles, the burden of their unspoken fears and insecurities pressing down upon her like a heavy cloak.

Yet, even in the darkness, there was light. Y/N saw glimpses of their shared dreams and aspirations, moments of hope and resilience that had sustained them through the darkest of times. She felt the strength of their bond, the unbreakable thread that connected them heart to heart, soul to soul.

As Y/N stirred from her slumber, the echo of Fred’s laughter lingered in the air like a melody, a reminder of the love they shared and the memories they had created together. In the quiet solitude of the morning, she carried his legacy with her, a beacon of light to guide her through the uncertainties that lay ahead.

It was maroon

It was maroon