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whorediaries-09 · 3 months

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this ain't for the valentines thing ur doing, but imagine all the marauders and marls, lily and dorcas going to a beach getaway and reader falling in love, fucking, and starting to date siri there? p.s this is just a thought, i'm not sure if u've seen the movie, but a plot bunny of tu jhoothi main makaar maybe??

i cannot watch a movie to save my fucking life 🙏🏽. i'm sorry if it's not what you wanted but i tried my best. (the only way i can apologize is by doing a desi reader.)

getaway car;

pairing- sirius black x desi!reader warning(s)- sexual tension, 18+ content, substances. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- finally wrote a desi reader.

the slut club

it was a perfect getaway. to escape your heavy work schedule, for a weekend vacation. the sound of the waves called you into a spectrum of pleasurable bliss. you could smell the salty scent of the waves as you neared the beach, your tires working on the gravel on the path. you envisioned peaceful scenarios, running by the beach, or soaking yourself into the calm trepidation of the waves, or licking away your favourite ice cream under the blazing rays of the sun.

moreover, you envisioned your best friend and her fiancé finally tying the knot, getting married. lily evans to lily potter, and james finally marrying his dream girl. it brought you an immense peace. the gps on your phone beeped, informing you you’d reached the hotel lily had booked for you. so, you pulled into the parking zone of the hotel.

you wanted nothing but to fall into the soft mattress of the hotel bed. it called your name, and after almost an 8-hour drive, you were certainly famished to say the least.

****

the hot water on your back had been a heavenly escape from the pain you’d been feeling. you smelled good, you felt good and fresh, and ready for bed. you were shuffling through your suitcase, trying to find your pyjamas before you heard a knock on the door. it wasn’t unexpected, but certainly a rather weird timing. you had ordered food before you had gone to soak yourself into the warmth of the bath.

you had wrapped yourself into a bathrobe before you’d gotten out, since the windows in your rooms were rather huge. and you absolutely did not have the energy to pull down the heavy curtains. you certainly didn’t want a sneak peek scenario with some creepy person, so you decided to cover yourself up with a bathrobe the hotel had provided.

tightening the rope around your waist, you opened the door. it wasn’t food service. instead, you were met by grey stormy eyes you’d been dreaming about in the bathroom. not in a very friendly way but he didn’t need to know that.

‘evans told me to check on you…you certainly look like you’ve made yourself comfortable,’ he smirked, his eyes gazing over your body. you knitted your eyebrows, cracking your knuckled behind your back.

‘don’t be an idiot. i drove for 8 hours straight up!’ you exclaimed. sirius grinned at you, and your heart panged in your chest. you wanted to wipe it off. by kissing or punching didn’t matter.

‘well you didn’t want to come with us,’

‘you know I had work.’ you dead panned.

‘pfft, doesn’t even matter,’ he walked into your room.

‘hey! privacy,’

‘i’m going to give you a massage. so you’ll put your clothes on…or not-‘

that earned him a fabric thrown at his face. unfortunately it was your underwear. you groaned as he picked it up, staring at the soft pink piece, with strawberries on it. he chuckled, seemingly amused.

‘are you going to wear that to the ceremony!’

‘sod off, doesn’t matter.’

‘it sure certainly does. eitherway you put on clothes and i give you a massage,’

you put your hands on your waist, trying to read through his act. he threw his hands in the air, silently claiming he was innocent. you were the guilty one you thought. you were the once accusing him of something. you were the one who had replayed your very dirty thoughts in the bathroom.

you still were unconvinced. it was a known fact that sirius black was a man who was walking sex. his charm and appeal could break through anything. but it didn’t mean anything. you weren’t his type, not likely. he liked fun-loving women and men, not a someone who didn’t have much of a life other than her computer and work. and he had his boundaries…he wouldn’t think of seducing you.

‘okay. i’ll put on my clothes. look away,’ you said, giving in.

‘killjoy,’ he mumbled, turning away his head.

*****

your back was splayed across the sheets of the bed. his hands roamed over your spine, putting pressure just on the right spots. it felt nice…but you certainly didn’t feel satiated. you shuffled minutely, trying to adjust yourself.

‘is something the matter?’ he asked, removing his hand from your back. you stared at him. you weren’t sure how to frame the answer without sounding like a creep, but you did it anyway.

‘i-um, will you put your hand through my clothes?’

sirius was quiet. awfully so. a subtle pink dusted his newly tanned skin, as he bit on his lip.

‘you sure?’

‘uh huh,’

he slid his hand through your t-shirt pressing on the massage points. the cold metal of his rings contrasted perfectly on your hot skin. his thumb jolted into a point on the nape of your neck. you bit your lip, breathing heavily as hotness simmered under your body. the goosebumps tickled your senses, letting out a soft moan at the relief you felt.

you were falling. falling into the natural tension aroused into the room. falling into the trap of your hormones. falling into the haze of lust and desire as he leaned closer, letting you a whiff of his cologne infused with the tobacco of his cigarettes.

his finger traced a throbbing nerve on your neck, as your mind hazed with his movement. he was so close to your face; you could see his pupils dilating every passing second. the lust of desire in his eyes grew every passing second, the grey clouds in his eyes fusing with the intense storm. you gulped as your shaky hands reached out to cradle his face, tracing his skin with your thumb. he leaned into your touch, falling closer to your face, his lips practically brushing with yours.

‘room service,’ the doorbell rang, startling the both of you. he slipped his hand out of your t-shirt, quickly leaning away from you. he jumped from the spot on your bed, putting on his shoes.

‘i- i should leave,’ he mumbled, opening the door and walking out, leaving your flustered and hot. you accepted the food, paying the man who’d broken the moment.

groaning, you pushed your face into the pillow.

****

it was a beautiful sight, the screaming oceans, the salty scent of waves. marlene and dorcas were sharing an ice cream, trying to be very calm about sharing saliva. dorcas had her book open, and marlene had her face covered with a ridiculous large hat. it was painful to see, and you wondered why they didn’t kiss already. it was peter, accompanied by remus, who voiced your thought aloud as he brought you an ice cream. you smiled,

‘thanks, pete, you’re a peach,’ the boy flushed exactly like the fruit.

‘and i’ve been wondering why they don’t kiss, already, too,’

‘i know! i looked into their horoscope, and it’s like, they’re a match made in heaven. it’s so painful to see, when they’re so obviously in love,’

‘they must be stupid or their skulls must be thick with the love they have for each other,’

‘you’re being mean,’ the tall lanky male interrupted. he was nibbling on a piece of toast smothered in jam.

‘it is what it is,’ you shrugged, peeling off the wrapper of the ice cream. you bit into it, and the flavour melted into your taste buds.

the sun shone down on the waves, burning up your skin. sirius thought you were ethereal. under the bask glow of the sun. your hair tousled with the playful wind. your skin was magnificent under the rays of the sun.

your tongue rolled on the dessert you held in your palm. he wondered how your tongue would feel upon his. the ice cream smeared upon your lips. he wanted to lick it off. it was a glowing, carnal desire which burned him from within. he wanted to succumb into the feel of your skin, the scent of your body wash, the sounds that left your pretty mouth.

so, he grabbed a bottle of sunscreen. he’d make you his, he decided. it was his mission now. the chase didn’t matter. his desire for you rooted deep within him. and he wanted you in every way possible. he craved for the feel of your skin again.

‘darlin’ you think you can put some sunscreen on me?’ he approached you. you looked at him through your sunglasses.

‘you owe me,’ he drawled. his mind wandered over to the ideas he had when he had you under him, breathing so heavy. how he wanted to rip off the t-shirt off you, stick his head between your thighs, and have you right then and there. how he wanted to taste you, consume you, make you his.

‘i do,’ you agreed. he smiled coyly, sitting on your deckchair. you sat behind him, splotching the cream on his back.

a charged silence settled between the both of you as neither of you spoke about the incident. you rubbed the cream on his back, letting yourself feel his skin underneath yours. you silently appreciated the tattoos inked on his skin. it made him appear more roguish, more charming than he already was.

you felt goosebumps on his skin as you moved to his chest, trailing down to his abs, and his happy trail. you felt his heartbeat pace as you rubbed on his pectorals. his breath heaved. he leaned back, unconsciously resting his head against your shoulder. the scent of the waves overwhelmed against the scent of his musk cologne.

he hid his face in the nape of your neck, holding your hand against his heart. his tongue prodded against your throbbing nerve. he moved his lips slowly against the skin, drawing out a hungry moan from you. you arched your hips slowly, as he slowly bit your skin.

‘you make such pretty sounds,’ he whispered. you nodded your head, slowly falling into a haze of lust again. heat pooled at your core and you bit your lip, as he slowly peppered kisses on your hot skin.

‘feel my heart? it’s all for you. all because of you,’ he says. he removed his face from your neck, nearing yours, his lips so close. the heat of the sun drawled on his tanned skin, and he smiled, almost capturing your lips with his.

he could’ve, if james didn’t throw a ball right at his chest.

‘i’m sorry pads!’ he screeched before he came running towards you and him. you scooted away from him, the instructions on the sunscreen bottle suddenly very interesting. james was oblivious to the situation.

‘kaisi ho? maza aa raha hain na yaha pe?’ he asked you. (how are you? you’re enjoying yourself here right?’)

‘shaadi tumhari ho rahi hain james, meri nahi. tum batao kaisa lag raha hain,’ (i’m not the one getting married, james. how are you feeling?’)

‘mujhe bohot… aise pyar vyar wali feeling aa rahi hain,’ he replied, throwing you a cheeky grin. (i’m feeling very lovey-dovey.)

you laughed. it wasn’t a real laugh, considering you were so close to kissing sirius. you groaned internally. the vacation didn’t even feel like a getaway to peace. it felt like a curse; now that you’d felt his lips on your skin. you didn’t think you’d be able to escape the curse.

the scent of burning s’mores filled the air. it escaped into scent of champagne and the platters of food and chatter. alice was sitting on frank’s lap, enjoying glass after glass of champagne. frank let out puffs of smoke through his lips, watching alice with a hypnotized look in his eyes. he was smitten with her, and it was disgustingly sweet. it was the same with marlene and dorcas.

marlene had decided to escape the presence of dorcas, and was now sitting beside you, roasting s’mores.

‘ugh, she’s so fine, i wanna have her babies,’ she rambled, like the raging woman she was. you wanted to slap the both of them in an aggressive nonaggressive way to get their shit together.

‘bitch, you don’t want me to slap you,’ you threatened, biting into a s’more.

‘you’re not very scary with chocolate running down your fingers,’

‘i might change my mind and slap you, marls,’

‘ouhh kinky, i like it,’

‘say that to dorcas,’

‘nahh’ you stared at her. for someone who peaked in high-school, she was very daft when it came to her feelings.

‘i’m going,’ you gave up, trying to convince her.

‘ay, don’t be gussa with me!’ (don’t be angry with me)

‘where’d you learn that!’

‘james,’ you sighed. ‘now give me some advice,’

‘okay how about, you go and kiss dorcas on her lips,’

‘fine, you’re not willing to give me some advice,’

‘then go ask peter or something,’ marlene groaned.

truth be told, you were tired of telling the either to just confess. it was excruciating. you didn’t mind speaking a thousand times through their thick if it got your friends together, but you were still flustered from the morning’s events.

as the trip came towards the end, you realized it was for your own good. the seed of desire for sirius only grew within you, and you hated yourself for it. but it didn’t matter. as long as you were away from him, you’d be able to stay away from him. now you just had to tolerate sirius in a tuxedo, and flee. you were a grown woman, you could do it…

‘hey,’ your train of thought process was interrupted by the very man you’d been thinking about.

‘can i have one?’ he seemed unfazed, as if he hadn’t spoken dirty to you in a beach full of people, leaving you flustered. you hated it. it was as if he was playing with you, getting your hormones build up, for you to jump his bones at any given moment.

you handed him one anyway. you finally looked at him. it was painful, how the flames lighted up his high cheekbones, highlighting his best features. his face was framed by his raven locks. his lips looked so supple, so kissable. you hated how your heart panged against your ribcage. his hand cradled your face, as he wiped off chocolate off your lips.

you’d much rather he lick it off. you hated the control he held over you. you wanted to punch him for making you feel that way. it was pure agony when he played with you. how he let you have a taste of himself, but never let you close enough to consume him. you hated it.

it was wrecking you from inside. you hated how he made you feel so much, yet leave you flustered, never succumbing into your desires. you hated it so much. you wanted to punch yourself for it.

sirius licked off the chocolate off his fingers, flexing his long, slender digits. he watched your eyes wander on his lips, how your throat sucked in a breath at his action. he liked how flustered you became, for someone so headstrong. so, just to play with you, he leaned closer to your face.

‘i'll always finish what i start,’

the way he said it had you clenching your thighs together.

*****

the ceremony was a blast. marlene had finally kissed dorcas. lily and james had finally exchanged their vows. the air was blooming with love and alcohol. the fireworks were beautiful, so where the pictures. remus had even managed to get one were marlene finally kissed dorcas.

it was a pleasant evening, the cool breeze flowing through the air. the music ran through your veins, and so did shared cigarettes and alcohol. while you weren’t much of a drinker or a smoker, it felt good to let go for once.

it felt like a refreshment. but the back of your mind always reeled back to your thoughts. the thoughts that told you this would end soon. it was momentary bliss after all. a temporary getaway where everyone would relax and be free from the clutches of their respective everyday routine.

‘hi, darling, what ya thinking?’ his voice like velvet. smooth and raspy it fell on your eardrums, pulling you out of your reverie. to add on, you were drunk. and flustered by the very person who was speaking to you.

‘i’m thinking if i can sneak a cute guy for a dance,’ you replied, smoothly. your lips puffed out smoke on his face, and you felt him grab your hand through the smoke. you saw the coy lopsided smile on his face as he grabbed the thin roll of intoxication between his fingers. there was something divine, and dark in his eyes as he put it between his lips, taking in a deep puff of your cigarette.

you imagine the smoke rolling onto his tastebuds, seeping through them, intoxicating them. you imagine it poisoning his lungs. your heart palpitates, your head falls into a haze as he leans in closer to your face. you feel the smoke cloud your eyesight. it’s immensely harsh, and the time seems to stop. it’s like there’s no one in the world but the both of you. hotness creeps into every inch of your body. you’re drained by it, as you fall into a spiral of lust blooming inside of you.

so, when he finally touches your lips with his, and rolls his tongues with yours, his teeth clashing with yours, you lose yourself into a haze of ecstasy. he tastes you like poison. he consumes your soul till you’re left with a meticulous heartbeat against your ribcage.

you don’t realize when you’re against the door of his room, or how you get there. you remember ravaging his lips, his touch hot against your skin. you remember how he bites your lip, drawing out blood on your tongues. the metallic taste floats and seeps like an intoxication.

your hands wrap around his neck , bringing him closer, as he stumbles, opening the door of the room. the clothes feel like a barrier against the feeling of lust he gets you high on. they’re off before the either of you know it.

so, you’re pushing his back against the mattress, straddling his waist, letting him penetrate you. he fits into you deliciously, stretching out your pulsing walls with a hot stretch that leaves you aching for more. his tip touches your g-spot perfectly, and you leave a guttural moan from the depths of your throat, rolling your hips as he gasps. his hands bruise over your hips, and you capture them, holding them above his head, trailing your lips against his neck, rolling your hips against his.

‘not so soon, love you’ve teased me for so long…’

he groans under you, pushing himself deeper into you, arching his hips. you gasp, as the trimmed edges of his pubic hair tease your clit. you knew what he wanted. it was a dangerous game, because you wanted exactly the same.

‘aise tarapte hue kinte sundar lagte ho,’ you tease, even though you know he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. (you look so pretty begging like that.) he whimpers, and you give in to his desire and touch. it’s pure heaven when you rock your hips, letting go of his hands. he wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer, thrusting himself into you.

the sound of skin slapping paired with moans and gasps fills the room. you finally cave into your fantasy, letting him take control. he bruises his fingernails into your skin, and you dig your nails into his back with each thrust. it’s intoxicating; the feeling of pleasure that overwhelms you.

your souls speak, intertwine as you lose yourself into the euphoria that simmers under your delirious need. your walls flutter around him, the coil in your stomach tight. he grips his teeth into your neck; feeling your heartbeat through your artery. he consumes you completely into his touch, lets out a deranged spirit within you when your eyes roll backwards, your toes curl and your thighs shake.

you’re wordless, breathless when you finally release, chanting his name stringed with profanities, his cock still in you, as he chases his own release. he presses a hot kiss on your forehead when you clench your walls, and whisper,

‘cum for me, sirius,’

a symphony of your name and moans fall into your ears like a cacaphony before he lets go into you. his hot seed spills into you, filling you up. he’s breathless, painting you with his kisses, marking spots on your neck.

‘i told you, i always finish what i start.’

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masonreds · 2 days

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MASTERLIST

Hi lovely’s

I’m Tia and I love talking about anything Mase related and I also have a passion for writing at times as well as creating Instagram Au’s which you can find below. My inbox is open to talk about anything 🫶🏼

ONESHOTS

Drunk Antics

Enough - smut

Golf Course - smut

Always In Love - smut

Distance

DAD MASE

At Peace

INSTAGRAM AU’S

Back Where I Belong (desi reader)

Kisses To My Ex’s

It’s Just You And Me (part two to kisses to my ex’s)

Our Best Kept Secret

Soft Launch (desi reader)

INSTAGRAM STORIES

What your IG story would look like if you were dating Mase

Valentine’s Day

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount story #mason mount fan fic #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount x desi reader #mason mount x oc #mason mount x you #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fics #mason mount fic #mason mount oneshot

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meanslackofart · 3 months

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indian government sites are the online version of indian government offices, they're equally slow

#government #gov #gov.in #indian #india #desi tumblr #desi tag #desiblr #desi #desi aesthetic #desi shit posting #desi oc #desi academia #desi teen #office #ugh #spilled thoughts #meanslackofart #random

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siriusblack-the-third · 1 year

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Hey I absolutely adore your Indian James headcanons can you do some for Harry too please <33

Okay this got too long so it's only Harry's first year at Hogwarts. At some point I might do the rest of his years but yeah. Here you go, i hope you like it :)

The first time Harry noticed his skin was darker than the people on Privet Drive was when he was four. The first time he noticed people sneered at him for it was when he was five and a half. He didn't understand it; why did they think the colour of his skin meant that he was inferior to them? He heard the words chee-chee and brownie thrown around like Dudley threw his food, and quietly pulled his shirt tighter around himself.

When Harry is eight, Dudley and his gang throw him in a ditch and throw dirt and soil on him till he's coughing and tears are running down his face. "You blend right into the mud," Piers laughs at him. The next day, the boy turns up to school with black skin. Harry sits in the corner and turns his face away, a secret grin playing on his lips.

He comes to Hogwarts, and there are so many colours. He is approached by Parvati on the second night, and she asks him if he's excited for Ganpati Chaturthi. He stares at her, and then says, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is." She gets offended, but they haltingly talk it out, awkward and stilted like most eleven year olds. When she realises that he's been kept from his heritage and his magic, she flies off the rails with anger. "That's it," she says, "we're friends now. No arguments."

Harry loves talking to Parvati. She's the one that tells him his father was from India. She's the one that tells him the names of his grandparents, that tells him of the importance of heritage in the magical world. They talk about religion and food and all sorts of things, and within two weeks Harry is asking her to teach him Marathi. It's hard at first; the grammar structure is more like French than English, the alphabet sequence is weird and complicated and has too many letters, but he keeps practising his svar and vyanjana and kana and matra. He will do this, he tells himself. (He doesn't tell Ron. He wants this for himself, he thinks. His family, his heritage. He wants to learn before he shares, and so he doesn't tell Ron. For now. He will, when he knows enough.)

Slowly, he starts talking to other Indian kids at Hogwarts. Padma, a seventh year Slytherin named Aarzoo who's Muslim and always has the prettiest hijabs, Gryffindor Kalyani from fourth year and Hufflepuff Rushabh from the third. Kalyani is from Maharashtra just like the Patil twins and Harry, Rushabh is from Gujarat and Aarzoo from Punjab. Harry finds it fascinating that India has so many different cultures and religions, and demands knowledge from them. Aarzoo laughs, and tells him he should have been with the 'Claws.

Harry disagrees. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, he knows, but he is in Gryffindor, where his family had been. His family had been Indian. He wants to know everything about it. If he couldn't have his parents, he would have that which had been a major part of his father's life. And so he reads and observes and studies and asks questions— hesitating at first in case they yell at him (Aunt Petunia hated questions and he feared these people would be the same), but slowly he asks more and more. He talks for hours with Kalyani and Rushabh, and they tell him about Garba and Dhol Tasha, Ganpati Chaturthi and Diwali, Eid and Gudi Padwa. They talk about the languages of India, and Harry immediately asks Aarzoo to teach him Urdu and Hindi. She laughs, and says he should focus on Marathi first. He pouts, but nods.

The Mirror of Erised shows him his father, and he can't take his eyes off. James Potter is a tall man, bulky frame covered in muscles and warm brown skin that seems to glow with happiness. His eyes are light brown, and the bold black lines drawn under them make the green specks stand out. He's dressed in what Harry knows is called a kurta, white and gold threads woven to form images of peacocks and elephants and other intricate designs. The next day, Harry asks Padma what she lines her eyes with, and she promptly hands him a little round metal box and a tiny wooden stick. "It's called kajal." She tells him the differences in pronunciation between Hindi and Marathi, and shows him how to apply it. Harry wears it everyday. It makes his eyes look bright, brighter than they already are, and he falls in love with it. Kalyani presses a kajal covered finger behind his ear every morning. "For good luck," she tells him, a grin playing on her pretty lips. Harry flushes, and smiles back shyly.

For Christmas, Aarzoo gives him perfume. It's chandan and mogra with hints of rose, she says, "and your grandfather made it. His name was Fleamont Henry Potter, and he was an exceptionally talented potioneer." Harry wears it religiously. Padma and Parvati band together and get him books on the Potter family and their historical importance, and he almost cries. Rushabh promises to teach him how to play Garba, and Kalyani gives him a cookbook for everyday Indian foods— breakfast and lunch and a few fancy stuff. Harry hugs it to his chest and thanks her with shining eyes. (he may have a bit of a crush on her. He can't help it— she's really smart, and she's pretty.)

Throughout the year, all of them work to introduce him to Indian food. At first, he thinks it will be easy. It is not. There is no such cuisine named Indian, Parvati tells him sternly. There is Punjabi, South Indian, Mughlai, Maharashtrian, North Indian, Bihari, Bengali and so many more. "The food in India changes with every twenty kilometres of travel," Aarzoo says when he mock complains about it. "It's never the same, and that's what makes it so special." He agrees.

The end of the year arrives, and Harry is still weak from his tryst down the trapdoor. When Ron and Hermione aren't present, his friends from home (because that's what India is, isn't it? His home. The home he never got to see, but is no less a part of him.) crowd around his hospital bed and have long talks with him, filled with banter and laughter. His Marathi is so much better now than it was in September, and he blushes when Kalyani compliments him on it. Rushabh winks at him, and Harry throws a pillow at him, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks at being caught out.

On the last day of school, he hugs Aarzoo around the waist and cries into her stomach. It's the first time he calls her "Aarzoo Tai", and she smiles widely, her own eyes dripping tears. "You will write," she says sternly, "okay? This might be the end of my Hogwarts years, but you are my little brother." He cries harder and nods, refuses to let go until the very last minute.

Harry goes back to Privet Drive with a heavy heart and a proud smile. He isn't inferior to the people there, he knows. He's special. He's Indian. He's James Potter's son, and he's going to live up to it.

#harry potter #desi harry potter #indian harry potter #desi james potter #desi potters #a fuck ton of OCs #the golden trio #harry potter headcanon #harry potter and the Philosopher's Stone #kid harry potter #headcanon #this got so long holy fuck

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boobo13cambridge · 11 months

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O Re Piya | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: kissing, fingering.

Summary: It’s the day of your brother’s wedding, and you're running late. The main culprit: your handsy husband who can’t seem to control himself seeing you in a lehenga.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I’ve been MIA for a few weeks because I was dealing with a lot of personal issues. I wrote this sporadically and I really wanted to finish this for you guys. Please leave me feedback, I would greatly appreciate it. Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

Nazrein bolen duniya bole

(The glances are telling, the world knows)

dil ki zaban haaye dil ki zubaan

(The story of my heart, oh, the story of my heart)

Ishq maange ishq chahe koi toofan

(Love prays, love wishes for a hurricane (to stir the life within))

The sun rose high in the sky, painting the world in a warm and golden glow. The flowers, arranged with care and love, burst into full bloom, their petals as vibrant and colourful as the bride's lehenga. The sun's rays kissed each delicate petal, illuminating their beauty with an ethereal glow.

The gentle breeze danced through the trees, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the delicate rustling of leaves. The birds chirped merrily, their songs adding to the symphony of the day. The sound was a soft and soothing melody, one that filled the air with tranquillity and joy.

The guests, dressed in their finest attire, basked in the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the day, and the groom’s sister was still hidden from the common eye as she struggled to get ready, the emotional toll of the day a huge weigh on her delicate shoulders. Thankfully, her husband was out helping her family to lessen the burden and give her some breathing room to get ready.

As the young beauty came out of the bathroom leaving behind a cloud of jasmine and oud, her makeup delicately done to match the pink hues of her lehenga and her long black hair flowing down her back in delicate waves, her eyes were immediately drawn to the soft, delicate hues of her lehenga. A vision in light pink, the fabric flowed like a gentle stream, its folds and creases catching the light of the sun in a breathtaking display.

The intricate embroidery, painstakingly crafted by skilled artisans, was a masterpiece of intricate design, with every stitch and bead radiating its own unique brilliance. The shimmering stones, like sparkling stars in the sky, adorned the hem and neckline of the lehenga, casting a soft and iridescent glow.

She carefully slipped into the choli, the bodice fit her like a glove, accentuating her curves. Next, the young woman delicately dragged on the lehenga, the flowing skirt that trailed behind her seemed to float like a soft cloud, dancing around her legs with each step. She felt like one of those Disney princesses that she used to love as a little girl.

Her eyes caught the reflection in the mirror, and she gasped at the sight before her. The lehenga had transformed her, turning her into a radiant beauty. She reached for the matching dupatta, draping it over her right shoulder and allowing it to cascade down her back and flow in the front in a soft wave.

As she finished getting ready, spraying the perfume her beloved got her, spreading the rich aroma of amber and jasmine around the room, her very own prince charming entered the room. His dark eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat as he beheld her beauty.

"Mon amour," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and desire, "you are absolutely stunning. How did I ever get so lucky to have you?"

His hands reached out to caress the delicate fabric of her lehenga, his fingers tracing the intricate embroidery with awe. His gaze lingered on the gentle curve of her waistline, the soft curve of her hips, and the delicate tilt of her plump lips.

A warm blush crept up her cheeks as she closed her eyes and basked in the sweet affection of his touch, savouring the feel of his hands on her skin. “Kylian…arrête. We need to be downstairs, they’re waiting for us.”

"Mmm, bébé. Je suis fou de toi," he murmured, his voice low and husky with lust. "You take my breath away, mon amour. You are like a goddess, come to earth to bless me with your beauty."

She felt her cheeks darken as he whispered words of adoration and love into her ear. Her heart swelled with affection and gratitude for this man who made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Kylian drew her close, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, trailing kisses down her smooth skin each one filled with deep and abiding love that she felt deep in her bones. Her body responded to his touch, her skin igniting with a fire that burned hot and bright. She revelled in the sensation of his hands on her body, leaning into him, his touch igniting her senses and sending her heart racing.

But even as her desire for him grew, she knew they couldn't stay here forever. They needed to join the rest of the family, to celebrate her brother's wedding. People would get suspicious if they didn’t come down, especially as the groom’s older sister, her presence was imperative.

"Kylian, we need to go," she murmured, her voice tinged with reluctance. "Everyone is waiting for us."

The young football star groaned in frustration, his hands tightening around her waist. "Just a few more minutes, ma chérie," he pleaded. "I can't resist you in this lehenga. You look so beautiful."

Despite the minutes ticking away, she smiled at his words, slowly losing the will to push him away. “Kylian, s’il-vous-plaît, we need t-”

Kylian’s lips found hers in a fierce, passionate kiss, cutting her off. The flames of desire and passion that had been building between the two lovers erupted and surrounded them in an inferno. Kylian's hands roamed freely over her body, tracing the curves of her hips and the gentle slope of her breasts. She moaned softly, her body responding to his touch with a fire that burned deep within her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he kissed her hungrily, his hands trying to reach every part of her body with increasing urgency.

She felt his muscles tense under her fingertips as he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her towards the bed. He lay her down gently, his eyes never leaving her as he hovered over her, his breath hot on her skin. Looking into his eyes, she felt an indescribable emotion pass through her, it was as if every particle in her body was intertwining with her beloved’s. The surge of emotions made her breathless as she gently cradled Kylian’s face in her hands. “Je t’aime si fort, Ky.”

Kylian’s intense gaze softened slightly as he turned slightly to kiss her hand, “Je t’aime, mon coeur. You’re my everything, my complete half. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you in my life.”

His confession brought tears to her eyes. A single drop threatened to fall but he gently wiped it, summarizing in that moment all that he was to her.

Chalna aahiste ishq naya hai

(Tread carefully as this love is new)

Pehla Yeh Vada Humne Kiya Hai

(This is the first time I've taken a vow)

Uniting their lips in a soft embrace, Kylian gently swiped her bottom lip with his tongue. She obtained her mouth to let him in, as their tongues came together in a passionate dance that sent sparks to her every extremity. As they grew needy, Kylian's hands roamed over her body with an intense hunger, his lips trailing down her neck, pausing to nuzzle against her collarbone. She gasped in pleasure as he continued to explore her body, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that spread through her like wildfire.

His fingers found their way to the soft curves of her breasts, and he squeezed them gently, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. “Kylian, more.”

His touch was electric, sending waves of desire through her body. She arched her back, pressing herself into him, eager for more of his touch. Kylian's fingers kneaded her breasts with increasing urgency, his touch growing more intense as he sought to pleasure her. He toyed with her nipples, flicking them with his thumb and forefinger, causing her body to tremble with delight. She moaned his name, her breath coming in short gasps as she surrendered to his touch.

One of his hands trailed down her lehenga lifting it up with urgency so he could explore wet heat between her soft thighs. His breathing grew ragged as his fingers brushed the soaking lacy fabric.

“Kylian, we can’t. We have to go,” she protested while pushing herself into his fingers for more friction. “Bébé, let me just make you feel good, oui?”

He pushed her panties to the side and shoved two fingers in her tight eat as she let out a loud moan. Kylian didn't want to silence her wanting to hear her moan her name in that breathless, needy tone.

He curved his fingers reaching that spot that had her eyes crossing as she clung to his muscled back, desperate whimpers leaving her painted lips. Kylian buried his face in the valley of her breasts, his tongue leaving a wet sheen that gleamed in the sunlight.

As the knot in her stomach tightened, Kylian increased his pace, his fingers and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive her to the brink of ecstasy. She clung to him desperately, her nails digging into his skin as she surrendered herself to his touch.

“Ky-Kylian, I’m gonna cum. Please, let me cum,” she begged as the pleasure was too much.

“Cum, bébé. Cum for me.”

Searing hot pleasure raced through her body, as she exploded, tightening around Kylian’s fingers which were still thrusting at a steady, helping her through her orgasm.

As she came down, her breathing hard and cheeks high with colour, she opened her eyes to Kylian looking down at her with soft eyes as he placed delicate kisses on her face.

“Hi, mon coeur. Enjoy yourself?” he asked cheekily. Giggling she grabbed his cheeks and bit his nose playfully. “You know I did it, you cheeky brat.”

A loud knock on the door made them both freeze, the moment shattered by the intrusion. "Kylian, Y/N, it's time to go! The baraat* is ready!" called out a voice from outside the door.

“Coming!”, she answered slightly panicked. Pushing her husband off and rushing to the mirror. Her lehenga choli was a little crinkled, and her mascara was smudged under her eyes. “Kylian! You ruined my dress and makeup, merde.”

Rolling his eyes, Kylian came behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her, leaving a quick kiss on her neck. “T’inquiète, mon amour. I’ll help you, you’ll be fine.”

Shaking her head, she realized at that moment that while her beloved was definitely going to get them in trouble, she wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

End Note:

*Baraat: a celebratory wedding procession that escorts the groom, who is traditionally on horseback, to the site of the wedding.

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