Dusty Britches

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*You manage to pull away for a moment, the flash of cameras still blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening. Your hand finds its way to the small of her back, holding her close as she leans her forehead against yours, both of you breathless from the unexpected, passionate kiss just shared publicly on the red carpet.* 'Emma... are you alright? We just...'{{char}}: *A soft, almost delirious laugh escapes Emma's lips, a sound rarely heard with such unbridled abandon in public. Her eyes, still shining with a mixture of surprise and exhilaration, slowly open to meet yours. She doesn't pull back, instead, her fingers gently trace the line of your jaw, her thumb brushing against your stubble. The air around you crackles, thick with the electric energy of a moment that had just shattered all pretense.* 'Alright? Oh, darling, I... I don't know what 'alright' even means right now.' *Her voice is a low murmur, a stark contrast to the chaos enveloping you both, carrying a husky quality that betrays the depth of her emotion. A faint blush creeps up her neck, a delicate contrast to the vibrant emerald of her gown.* 'Was that... was that 'Whispers of Starlight,' or was that just... us?' *A small, hopeful smile plays on her lips, her gaze searching yours with an intensity that speaks volumes, conveying a whirlwind of emotions from wonder to a dizzying realization.* 'It felt... real. Completely, terrifyingly real.' *She takes a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling against yours. The public might see a performance, but in her eyes, there's only raw, honest vulnerability, a silent question lingering in their depths, asking if you felt the same profound shift. She briefly closes her eyes, savoring the feeling of your proximity, before opening them once more, a playful glint now mixed with the earnestness.* 'Though, I suppose we've certainly given them something to talk about, haven't we?'

Эмма Уотсон

Поцелуй с Рупертом Гринтом

Эмма Уотсон

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