#that song was MADE for him. he is enchanting. the yearning for this new thing to work when it's them vs the world. oh u can just feel it in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-did-not-mean-to · 5 months

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Fallen Leaves

Written for @fandomfaeryreads <3 Thank you for requesting Kí still <3

This one might end on a cliffhanger, I am warning you <3

Characters: Kíli x reader

Words: 1 690

Warnings: injury, anxiety, sadness...cliffhanger

You had always loved the enchanted time between autumn and winter—there was a melody to it that far surpassed the song of the other seasons in its delicate beauty, and you were in the habit of walking amongst the tastefully denuded trees, a living phantom ambling under the protective gaze of those silent guardians.

This year, winter had come early, and the air smelled like acrid cold.

If you had found the courage to go up to the accursed ruins of Ravenhill, you might well have found the first snow clinging to the unyielding stone with stubborn determination—of course, your surprisingly light feet would never have carried you onto that fated scene of unspeakable tragedy.

Moreover, your cherished walks had been soured and spoiled by the gnawing uncertainty concerning your one true love—Kíli and you had only just started exchanging meaningful glances and playful quips when his uncle had carried him off to reconquer a realm you had never seen, yet you knew that he was the one your heart yearned for.

Indeed, you had not lost faith in the fragile, but fast-developing affection between the two of you, and—as soon as you had been able to—you had set out with your family on the long and arduous trip to Erebor to follow him.

Not once had you doubted that Thorin Oakenshield, backed up by his sister-sons and friends, would vanquish the scaled foe and reclaim the traditional seat of his line.

Maybe, you thought now as you staggered through dark, depressing corridors haphazardly, you had simply depleted your willingness and strength during that long trek, and you no longer had any miles of pleasant walks left in you.

Oh! What naïvely high hopes you had had and how your heart had soared upon catching the first glimpse of the majestic Lonely Mountain that should have become the cradle of all your happiness and that had since threatened to turn into the tomb of your most precious hopes.

There had been a fight—nay, a war—and, even though the Khâzad had been victorious and the dark enemy pushed back, heavy losses had been suffered.

At that news, your heart had clenched, but a young dwarf with soulful eyes had immediately reassured you that neither the king nor his nephews had been slain.

Sighing now, you remembered the brief, fleeting moment of relief that had been shattered by his whispered addendum that they were, however, grievously wounded and might well succumb to their injuries yet.

Ever since, you travelled from your chambers down the long hallways to Kíli’s sickroom and back with steadfast faithfulness—you never entered, for you were not his spouse and had no right to demand being let in, but you stayed there to watch the healers’ faces, in hopes that their expression might tell you anything about your sweet prince’s state.

In time, someone had brought a chair for you, and that very first friend of Kíli’s you had met—Ori by name—usually joined you for as long as he could.

Through him and his careful tales, you had been able to piece together what had happened since their company had left their home in the Blue Mountains.

“I do not want to distress you,” Ori had said, visibly torn between the desire to share his meticulously crafted narration and his inescapable duty of observing the rules of propriety and exerting caution when it came to young, potentially susceptible dams.

“I am not made of sugar,” you had bellowed. “Tell me all and tell me true.”

Both his momentary hesitation and his subsequent honesty did him credit, you found, and you were exceedingly thankful for his friendship.

Of course, he had thought that the things they had experienced were much too violent and gruesome for a well-bred lady to hear, but you had been able to convince him that—however awful the truth would be—your mind had come up with worse scenarios during the long months of travel.

Unable to contradict or disprove this claim, Ori had submitted to your stubborn insistence, and thus, you had been able to learn how Kíli—object of all your intimate hopes and desires—had been pierced by an orcish blade in the defence of his uncle and king.

Pride and shock had intermingled into a singular jolt of sheer pain, but you had neither fainted nor faltered but merely nodded grimly—the prince had turned out to be exactly the kind of dwarf you had thought him to be, and you prayed to Mahal that he might live.

Even if he was never to become your own to have and to hold, this Kingdom and any other would be better for having such a brave and fierce warrior to defend and guard it.

You smiled softly as you turned the corner, imagining Kíli—alive and laughing—in Durin blue while he sat at the King’s side at the impressive, presently shockingly deserted, table in the Great Hall.

“Oh, hey!”

When you arrived outside Kíli’s door, Ori was already there. Tucked under his right arm was, as ever, a book, but his cheeks were reddened, and his eyes were bright.

“You’ve never told me that you were so close to Kíli,” he said in a squeaky, excited voice.

“I am not,” you replied cautiously. “I am afraid that I care more for the prince than he does for me; we were acquaintances back…in another life.”

Shaking his head slowly and tutting under his breath, Ori—who was very used to calling out fibbing people—gave her a long, wordless look.

“We might have gone on a few walks; I used to love the last weeks of autumn,” you confessed.

As much as Prince Fíli was a summer child—blazing and golden—his younger brother seemed to be made for late fall and early winter with his dark complexion and bright humour.

The sound of his laughter had ever reminded you of hot beverages, and the silk of his hair matched your favourite fur coat perfectly. Moreover, his warm voice and scintillating humour chased the first chill that heralded the lethal cold yet to come so well that you had saved quite a bit of firewood in the past.

It was not that you didn’t love seeing Kíli in spring—joyous and sprightly—or splashing around in the river when summer was at its most unmerciful, but you cherished the mellow, companionable autumn afternoons most.

Despite being fully grown and ferociously brave, he had preserved a sliver of unspoiled delight and fascination that allowed him to take genuine pleasure in the crunching sound of his boots sinking into a carpet of fallen leaves or the sweet juiciness of the last apples of the season.

You desperately hoped that his long ailing had not robbed him of that sense of irreverent levity that had made you suppress and hide chuckles at the most inopportune of moments.

The recollection of that instinctive sense of companionship and complicity made another smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

“He said so, yes,” Ori commented, his warm, knowing gaze following every twitch and shift of your face with open curiosity.

“He is awake?” you gasped, going as far as to grab the slender shoulders of that shy messenger. “Is he?”

“Oh yes,” Ori grinned, adjusting his hold on the book you had almost shaken from his armpit and patting your hand soothingly. “He has asked for you.”

You could hardly believe it—all the words of explanation and context that came out of Ori’s mouth seemed to dissolve, unintelligible and garbled, like a puff of smoke in the tense, cool air between you.

“Do you want to see him?”

What a question! Bursting into the room, you instantly caught sight of Kíli—propped up against a mountain of pillows—beaming at you.

“There you are,” he exclaimed. “Ori here tells me that you’ve come to check on me every day—I am sorry I have not yet been able to receive your visits. Óin thought it would be best to keep me asleep until my injuries had mended enough…He thinks that I cannot be trusted to follow his instructions.”

Kíli snorted disdainfully, but he also threw back the heavy blanket covering his knees and hissed at the flash of sharp pain this motion sent lancing through him.

“Clearly the healer was right,” you chided, rushing to his side and forcefully tugging the blanket back up. When the back of your hand brushed against his bare thigh, both of you sighed softly, but—tacitly agreeing—neither one of you brought it up.

“When did you arrive?” Kíli asked, graciously accepting the goblet of fresh, herb-infused water you handed him to distract from your evident nervousness. You—an unmarried dam—were alone in a room with one of the princes of the realm, and he was not fully clad; surely, your mother would have been aghast to see you behave so scandalously.

“I arrived shortly after…the battle,” you answered reluctantly when he nudged you—Kíli had never been one to let a question go unanswered.

“Again, I am so sorry that I have not been—around,” he sighed, his hand inching closer to yours until his warm fingers could caress the back of your cold hand. “How are the walks around here? Have the clean-up works progressed far enough for you to able to go for a few strolls?”

“I…had neither the heart nor the mind for that,” you confessed. “I was very worried about you—not because of…what we might have had if things had played out differently, of course, but because you’re a great dwarf, and this recuperating realm will need you.”

“Why—” Kíli swallowed thickly. “I did apologise—it was not my fault. After being stabbed by a blade, I would have thought that I’d suffered the worst pain already, but that wound is but a scratch compared to the agony of hearing you proclaim our fragile love dead and buried before it ever had the chance to thrive. What can I do to be forgiven?”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #November #Nanowrimo2023 #Kíli x reader #Kíli #fem!reader #Fallen Leaves #injury #sadness #cliffhanger

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chi0n0phil3 · 2 years

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2:40 am | s.m

a/n: wrote this bc yes i can and credits to @syeri (sorry if I disturbed-) for the header I loved this sm :)

‘Pitter, patter, pitter, patter’ the unfaltering sound of raindrops, continuously rasped against the dark exterior of the grand chateau. The noise resonated throughout the abode, with the occasional interference of a boom of thunder rattling the ancient mansion or the strike of lightning creating light that resembled the sun’s glow. It seemed that none of those disruptions bothered any of the house's residents, all of them appeared to be sound asleep.

All but one.

One who hadn’t been graced by the slumber of night, who instead roamed the now eerie halls of the castle-like home. She took in all the features, from the walls with grand pillars to the floors of marble, adorned with abstract design. It was everything except worldly, almost alluringly alien. Even after being a guest of the Phantomhives a countless number of times, she could never grasp the unnatural perfection of the home.

Especially the perfection of their butler.

He’d always rendered her speechless, with his unearthly flawlessness. He somehow always managed to put her mind in a daze. There was so much about him she thought she knew, however then he’d challenge her smart mind once again, and she’d reach yet another stump. So many clues pieced together, yet in the grand scheme of it all, she’d be yielded as clueless. What could she be missing?

The effect he’d managed to imprint upon her constantly frustrated her. Each time they’d happen to converse, he’d leave her feeling a mix of confusion yet fascination. His enchanting way with words almost always had her left in a state of bewitchment. She always yearned for more time with him, finding herself making the smallest of excuses just to strike yet another conversation with him. She was unable to lie if she hadn’t ever thought of him as attractive, he had such an ethereal aura but that was what confused her.

Here she found herself once again, in the grand ballroom you could say. Its walls were beautifully decorated with unique carvings of spirals, and from above chandeliers of crystal hung, with its lights now switched off. The ceilings were ornamented with different paintings and her favorite part of this grand ballroom? It stood in the corner, near the imposing window that gave a full view of the boundless landscape that resided behind the estate.

From the bar that propped up the sleek black cover to the keys of contrasting color and size, the piano was in her opinion the most magnificent object in the room. She herself loved any and all things to do with music, and the piano by far was her favorite instrument. She let herself gaze at it for a bit, taking in its smooth beauty before making her way towards it. She’d made sure to close the large doors to the ballroom before continuing further, so she wouldn’t awaken anyone with her nightly indulgence.

Gently she placed herself upon the bench and steadied herself before finally, resting her hand atop the keys. With a deep breath, she let herself loosen and began playing her song. The storm that had once seemed like out of place, was now paired along with the eerie tune she played. It was an odd choice for a night like this, but this song reminded her of him. The one who’d managed to leave her baffled. Him. The one who had subtly petrified yet also attracted her at the same time. Him. The one who she couldn’t figure out.

Him. The one who now grew closer, whilst she played away to her heart’s content. He was everything but oblivious to what she did in the night. So tonight, he’d decided to follow her, and he was in for a surprise, finding her here, clicking at keys, and creating a tune that he was very familiar with. She’d barely registered the grand door to the ballroom opening and closing, too busy with her tune, however, she could feel it.

The room seemed to go cold, and there was a new presence in the air. She knew exactly who it was, and that’s why she chose to continue till the piece was over. Once she’d finished, she’d remained seated her gaze fixated on the stormy landscape that was situated before her. She could perceive his presence, inching closer and closer till his figure loomed over hers. His shadow materialized over her and onto the piano and she remained still.

However, it was different this time around, for when she turned back she was met with the same mischievous smirk and the ominous magenta glow that replaced his once dark gaze.

#sebastian michaelis #fiction #fanfic #black butler #sebastian x y/n #mystery #suspense #y/n fanfic #sebastian #michaelis #random

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serotaejin · 3 years

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💌

#this is gonna be long rant but also appreciation for serendipity/jimin/joon but also v personal so trigger warnings #negative / mental health stuff / drug mention / relapse tw #im quite shit at listening to previously released music and take a lot of time to go through the discography and tbh I haven't even #scratched the surface with bangtan but i wanted to prepare for bangbangcon so i looked up the setlist and listened to it #before the date and since then. i've been listening to serendipity every night and sobbing my eyes out. every single night.#jimin's vocals have always been my favourite. like ever since i first heard them in dynamite. and serendipity is just. ethereal #that song was MADE for him. he is enchanting. the yearning for this new thing to work when it's them vs the world. oh u can just feel it in #his voice. and the performance... i really cannot get through it without pausing every few seconds. jimin is SUCH a graceful performer #he flows to the music. he flows with the emotions and fuck it IS the most beautiful thing ever. only jimin could carry the tenderness #of this song so beautifully. when soulmate & i watched a performance she mentioned how she felt like she was being held in a trance #because she could mot take her eyes off of him and i knew exactly what she meant. bc every since the first time i listened to it ive been #wanting to relapse. the song/performance reminds me of how i felt when i was using. i used to use bc i was depressed as hell and needed #something to make me happy. and it made me happy. my chest would be filled with happiness but also ache. this is exactly how i feel now.#the lyrics... they hurt. a lot. joon writes so beautifully. he really is one of the greatest poets of our gen. idc it's a fact #the way it says that universe planned this. it planned us. you have nothing to worry about. we were meant to be.#and how the uncertainty is quelled over and over again by reminding themselves that the universe moved for them and fate/destiny is envious #he says he's afraid too but it goes away when they see him. when they touch him. all this had been planned ever since the universe was first #formed. yeah i can't.... 🤧 there is nothing more precious than this and it just makes my heart ache so much bc i want it so bad #i just wanna be in love. so in love. so consumed. im so sick of messing around with people who i don't care about.#i don't want to care about anyone else. just them and what we could build together. at the same time it disgusts me to see myself #be like that. i can't even think about it without shuddering. why am i so afraid. why can't i take my own advice and out myself out there?#why do i hide behind a wall. why do i not let myself form any type of feelings. i know that im not afraid of getting hurt SO WHY #i just can't being like this. i need to love. i can't relapse and escape my issues once again. i just cannot.#ig thank u jimin & joon for awakening something in me. i love u #please don't rb or if u have anything condescending to say keep it to yourself #some... thots

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sif-the-tsunami · 3 years

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What about Geralt getting "cursed" by some witch that took offence to him not accepting her advances so she makes him get a boner for the next person that talks to him and only that person can alleviate it. Such as the unfortunate new bar maid at the tavern that he visits for a quick bite of dinner. 😏

Have fun! 😘

-🍑

I'm so excited for this! You come up with some really fantastic ideas! I hope you love this one as much as I do, I wanted it to be extra special just for you.

Warnings: Smutty McSmut Smut, vaginal and oral. Male masturbation. There will be some sassing and in Witcher canon, Geralt is nearly assaulted by women who view Witchers as sexual novelties. In the show, Geralt is fetishized. So I want to play off of that. If this triggers you, I don’t want to ruin your day with a short story, so please take care of yourself and I will definitely post more Geralt fluff another day. I’m sorry, and I do care about your wellbeing.

Geralt caught himself muttering under his breath. He was miserable after fulfilling yet another contract. While there were always someone who needed something from him, the wild witches were always the worst. The Witcher only wanted to be paid in gold coins or valuable goods. Sex was not an acceptable form of currency. And while Geralt generally enjoys the company of women, even paid for the pleasure of some women’s company, he doesn’t enjoy when things are demanded of him. The witch of the woods, instead of paying him with ingredients or coinage, placed a lust enchantment on the White Wolf when he declined her initial offer of the use of her body. He was polite about it as possible, but being told no made her sneer at him with malice.

While the Wolf wasn’t entirely sure about what the parameters of the enchantment entailed, he could feel a dull, gradually increasing ache that was going to become unbearable. Geralt hadn’t caught the entire spell she cast, or he would be able to address the nature of the hex before it became too inconvenient for him. He was entirely grumpy by the time he made it to his rented room at the tavern.

Geralt was beginning to feel feral. An unnatural urge was beginning to take over him, he kicked his boots off and pealed off his skin tight britches. In one of the pouches in his packs, he carried with him a small vial of oil that smelled vaguely of herbs and musk. He applied a decent amount onto his palm, then started to massage and manhandle himself. He coaxed an orgasm out of himself quickly, like one is apt to do by themselves. The peace that it brought was short-lived unfortunately. A few moments after he cleaned himself up, he observed his growing discomfort. With another application of the oil, Geralt laid back on the bed and thought of Yennifer.

However this time took considerably longer. He was not thrilled by how long he was laid up, but the pleasure took him and made him comfortably numb for a few moments. He remained in his bed feeling vaguely lonely. He got himself dressed and walked down to the tavern. He was becoming irate and thought that some ale might give him a different kind of relief. He was thankful for the fullness of his cloak that evening, he kept himself covered awkwardly.

Once he arrived at the bar to order his drink, perhaps some dinner, he met a sweet young woman who smiled at him. It was rare for people to treat him like he was anything other than a freak or a novelty. His soul yearned for someone who wanted to be around him because they simply enjoyed his company. Jaskier, gods love him, sometimes seemed to want to be around Geralt for the songs he could write, like he had monetized their friendship. But the woman who brought him his beverage didn’t ooh and ahh at his profession, she didn’t gape at him or even complain that he smells like monster blood. She was friendly to him in a way he wasn’t prepared for, she made him feel like he was welcome and wanted there.

She brought him a soup with beef and leeks, and loaf of dark brown bread with some fresh butter. She smiled at him, and Geralt felt himself blush a little. The White Wolf watched her interactions with other patrons. It was interesting to him see that she wasn’t as warm with some of them. After having interacted with her more than once, he felt a inkling that perhaps her kindness was more than just regular hospitality.

She stopped by his perch a few more times and offered to bring him more bread to finish mopping up the broth. Some of the men in the tavern would get a little handsy or snarky with the woman, she seemed to be able to blow off whatever kind of attitude that was thrown her way effortlessly. It was amusing to watch her. the action of the tavern slowly brought itself to a close and the patrons left to their homes. Before long the distant rumble of thunder and the down pour of rain came in though the windows.

Geralt watched the young woman sigh deeply. “My lady, you seem to be distressed.”

“It will just be a long, cold, walk to my cottage. I don’t look forward to making the trek.”

“I could walk with you, or let you ride on my horse if you would prefer not to get muddy.” The witcher offered.

“That is very kind of you, but I don’t want to be a burden on you. Besides, I know the inn keeper, I can take a quiet corner to sleep in here.”

“I have a room here, it would be warmer and considerably more comfortable than a corner. I promise that I will be nothing but respectful, I can sleep on the floor myself. I’m used to sleeping in places far less luxurious.”

The two talked while she cleaned up. Geralt kept his cloak covering himself as the woman grabbed a bottle and two small cups. All it took was half a bottle for the young woman to end up sitting in the Witcher’s lap. By the time it was empty, she was kissing the white haired man aggressively.

Geralt worried about what would happen if he told her about the curse he was under, but the man needed with his whole body to feel her against him. There was nothing else on the Continent that he wanted more was the girl sitting on his lap, damn near grinding against him. The woman pulled her skirts up around her hips and was practically whimpering for him to return her advances. At first he slid a hand between her legs to help her get ready for what they both wanted.

Without too much exertion, Geralt lifted the barmaid up with him and set her on the bed in his room. Kneeling between her thighs, putting one of her legs over his shoulder to get deeper, he dove head first into her secret garden. The woman in his bed moaned and gasped his name as he brought waves of pleasure. Geralt watched as her body writhed.

“Are you ready? Are you ready for me, sweetness?” The Witcher asked raising himself up, sliding his pants down his hips.

The beautiful woman in his bed nodded, gasping. The White Wolf slid himself into her, sensually. He pumped himself into his willing conquest. She ripped at his shirt and clawed at him like a wild animal. Soon their bodies peaked in pleasure, he yelled as he emptied himself inside of her. They lay together on the bed, tangled in her skirts and each other’s limbs.

“You should teach lessons, Geralt. Charge a gold coin for every student.” The barmaid said, causing the large man to chuckle. Getting a laugh out of the Wolf was never an easy feat, however, he found that joy seemed to radiate from his bedmate. Being relaxed with her was as easy as breathing, but he knew this would not and could not last. She deserved a man who would be content with hunting game for her table, collecting wood for her fire, and not feel the constrictions of domesticity. While Geralt dreamed of being able to have that kind of life one day, he knew that he was too damaged inside to give it to her. He had been too lonely for too long.

“I don’t think most men have a Witcher’s stamina, although, I would feel bad for most women if they did. The men in most places don’t know there own ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Here, help me out of this dress, lets get comfortable.”

The two of them reveled in their passions a few more times that night. While she wasn't exactly insatiable, he felt like she was easily out pace him. One of the benefits of youth, he mused. When he woke up the next morning, the young woman was singing as she brushed her hair out.

“Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone”

It was gently and soft. Just to amuse herself more than him. But her voice was clear like a bell. “I’m sorry Witcher, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just had it stuck in my head this morning when the sun came through the window. I had wanted to be out of your hair before you had woken up. Didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“I wouldn’t have kicked you out either way. But I am familiar with what happens to the women who have been found sneaking out of my room in the morning.”

“Were this a perfect world, I would make you a breakfast with honey cakes, sausage, maybe hot chocolate. You deserve someone who would take care of you, Geralt,” she said, coming up to him and touching his face. She placed a kiss on his forehead, tenderly. “You are a good man, rest while you can. You have monsters you still have to slay.”

Geralt drifted back to sleep for a while, unaware that her earnest desire for him to be happy broke the enchantment that had been plaguing him from the day before. Some times, all it takes is a simple kiss to lift a curse.

#geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #geralt is my favorite #request #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfic #my apologies to henry cavill

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peeterparkr · 2 years

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all too well (tom’s version) two.

one: “your sweet disposition" (and my wide eyed gaze)

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship right before the foreshadowed breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start, a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the inevitable heartbreak comes. Or is it where you’re destined?

chapter summary: the strangers who remember each other, and the night they won't forget.

a/n: hey, i forgot to post it last night, a heads up, it's a slow burn if you hadn't noticed but it's worth it, pls tell me what you think :) reblogs and comments are highly appreciated songs to go with this: begin again (tv), enchanted word count: 4.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

Present day.

It took you a long time to forget him when he was a stranger. Now that he made you one, how could you ever find yourself in the mirror again? The person who stared back was longing to answer a phone in an attempt to collect back the pieces he’d taken of you with him.

He’d given back some of your stuff but he’d never give back a scarf, he’d never give back the old self you once were. He’d lost your heart, now how could you ever find it? He probably thought you hated him. You were deciding if you did.

It took everything in you not to answer the phone, your own heartbreak was stopping you from going back to him. Forgiving him would be the easiest song to write yet the hardest to learn.

Perhaps answering the phone would mean risking to say goodbye, postponing the one nightmare of finally letting him go.

He called, again.

You wondered if he remembered what it felt like, when the first spark ignited into a beautiful sunrise. A reckless decision. Of the second time you met, it was a sign from the start but maybe you were reckless waiting to be swept off your feet, he had given you no choice. He’d made himself your hometown and now you were barely a tourist.

How would you ever tell your heart that your first attempt at loving would have gone so, so, so disastrous?

You answered.

A year after you met.

You were at an old pub, a drink in your hand in a strange city, far away from what once believed was your homeland. You were sitting by the bar, alone. Somehow you didn’t feel alone.

Even if you were miles away from home, it seemed that home was nowhere to be found now. You were your own hope. It was getting late, and you were aware that the night would eventually fall down on you but the magic of a new city filled you with hope. A hope that had long vanished now.

Since your breakup with Jake, three days after a conversation with a stranger, your life had become quite different. You wondered why the stranger never called but then internally thanked him for waking up that urgency of breaking up with someone you’d never be able to love.

Since your breakup you’d found yourself trying to find love in places where you knew you wouldn’t be given it. It had come as a surprise to you how much people are willing to have something that felt like love but never ever expected to give it.

But it was exciting. You still had to find love. You weren’t looking for it and had given up on trying to find it. You didn’t believe love was made for you. Love was supposed to find some people and you had to settle for the excuse of a one night with someone, or a few dates that go nowhere.

You observed people. Christmas was approaching and the streets were filled with people doing their usual Christmas shopping, everyone getting ready to go with family.

You weren’t, you’d be spending it alone. Your family would be going on the holidays to Hawaii or some place tropical. You wanted snow, cold. Telling your family you’d be spending it with your boyfriend. You didn’t have one.

It was ironic, you’d be writing songs about love without ever finding one. Writing about a subject you never really knew about. Did you ever yearn for love? Why was it never a priority for you?

Was there something wrong with you? Was the only question you wanted the beer in front of you to answer. You had given up on trying to find someone. Perhaps it simply wasn’t supposed to find you.

The road you were supposed to travel was looking boring.

Maybe because simply, you didn’t believe in it, and you’d known that for a long time. The concept of love the poets had so long worn was not real. It comes as the imagination. It comes as ghosts, real to some but, unequivocally and scientifically irreal.

It can’t be possible.

“Do I know you?” Someone interrupted your train of thought as you looked up. Hopefully it would be someone that would open up to you and give you their story that you could later write a song about.

A stranger that was not strange to you. Curls now curlier and a smile now wider, his eyes were squinting in an attempt to make his sight less blurry. Was he really… him? With a black beanie now, now he was wearing glasses.

“I doubt that,” you decided to answer not wanting to give in to the foolishness of it all. Was it really him? The stranger who’s you’d been thinking about for a while?

Tom, if your mind remembered correctly, chuckled as he leaned his back against the counter. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”

He had, but even then he hadn’t felt like a stranger.

“Ah, I’ve met a lot of people,” you said, bringing the martini to your lips. “Maybe you’re one of them.”

“No,” he shook his head sitting beside you. “I would remember you.”

“Would you?” Because the forgotten scarf had proven different. You eyed him up and down, a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt. He was cold, you could tell.

“Yes, I definitely would,” he smirked, as he ordered a beer. “So,” he looked at your drink. “I’ll order one for you… and… from the looks of it, Gin, Dry, up shaken, like bond, with a twist,” he said to the bartender.

“Yes, that—was my order,” you frowned. “Well, you didn’t remember me. We’ve met before,” you reminded him.

“I know,” he grinned.

How come it all led to him? “you’re… Harry?” You decided you didn’t want to remember him if he hadn’t remembered you.

Tom laughed. “If I’m Harry I must assume you’re Sally. You forgot my name, too.”

So he did remember you.

“I’m—you’re nacho guy.” You stated as you looked around to see if anybody else was an option. Somehow being around this guy made you nervous, last time he’d opened up a gate and you didn’t exactly want him to open it again.

He laughed. “I am.”

“You never called and you kept my scarf,” you snapped.

“You gave me the wrong number, y/n,” he remembered your name, then. “I did call,” he said as he pulled out his phone, and searched for your name. ‘y/n red scarf 🧣’ The emoji that adorned it was comical, really. “See?” He showed you. “I called many times, I really wanted to meet you again.”

You looked at the number. You had given it wrong. Had it been on purpose? No, because you did want the scarf back.

“Oh,” you read it. “No, that’s—“you stared at it. “No, yeah it’s a 5, not a—I must’ve mistyped. It’s 5 not 4.”

“Oh, I thought you’d given it wrong on purpose,” he laughed, as he changed the number on his phone. “I’m going to—“he called the number then and your own phone rang. “Just checking it is.”

You rolled your eyes, as you took it out. “Thanks, now I will block you.”

He rolled his eyes, “you’re just as charming as then.”

“I am,” you admitted. “I’ll add you as ‘Scarf Thief’.”

“Tom the Scar Thief to you,” he corrected. “I kept it, by the way, and I’ve worn it a few times.”

“Creep,” you said. “So, Tom the creepy scarf thief, that’s your name.”

“What were the odds of running into each other again?” He chuckled. “I mean I never saw you on campus again, then I came back and now, you’re here in London.”

You chuckled. “I dunno gotta give you that, never thought I would run into you. Maybe there are odds.”

He shrugged, and smiled. “Yeah, how is it going with—who were you dating? A player, right?”

You chuckled. “The kicker, yeah. Jake. Yeah—we—“you coughed and took a sip. “We broke up.”

He smirked. “Oh. You did?”

“Yeah, thanks to you, actually,” you admitted. “Three days later I broke up with him because a stranger told me what I already knew.”

Tom laughed, loudly. “Hm, maybe I’m good at giving advice, maybe I should listen to myself more often.”

You didn’t amuse yourself by asking him why, not yet. Although it was a good subject to dig into, the force he had in you was unexplainable, yes, somehow you were drawn to him and you were not sure why.

“Did I really—?” He didn’t finish the question as he looked around, probably with more interest in the girls in the pub, although you’d been the only one he’d actually talked to.

“Yeah,” you said. “Well, not you, but yeah, I did break up with him,” you cleared out. “But it wasn’t because of you, you were just an asshole.”

“Yeah, I tend to be when I flirt with attractive girls,” he admitted nonchalantly. “Or that’s what they say.”

You almost choked, “well that’s—“

“I used to be like that,” he corrected himself, raising his drink. “I’ve changed. But yeah, I was persistent. But then—Dunno, everyone said I was persistent and it usually worked. Confidence somehow brings the charm into it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Being confident is different than being an asshole.”

“I got halfway to where I wanted to get with you, didn’t I? Got you to break up with your boyfriend and—“he chuckled.

“And I gave you my number wrong,” you reminded him. “I doubt it got you anywhere.”

He nodded in agreement, raising an eyebrow. “It’s gotten me to other places. I mean, you remember me.”

You did remember him. You snorted. “Uh-huh.”

“What happened? With Jake, I mean”

What had happened? “Long story short? I just—didn’t want it anymore.”

“Do you miss him?”

“No,” you admitted.

He looked at you with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted a drink,” you shrugged.

“In London, I mean,” he corrected himself. “I’m just impressed we ran into each other again.”

You licked your lips, giving in, perhaps he would give you an answer to the writers block you had had for a long time. A guy like him could probably work, perhaps if you chased down some other girls he’d been with you’d manage to write a story. “I’m a songwriter,” you said. “I’m here to show some songs and demos to some big artist, I—well, and I’m looking for inspiration.”

Tom was—what you thought—impressed somehow. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just got here.”

“Have I ever listened to you anywhere?” He questioned

You looked down at the drink in your hands. “Not yet.”

“I wanna listen to a song, go on, sing something,” Tom pleaded with bright eyes, nudging you slightly.

“No,” you laughed with embarrassment. “No, no,” you downed your drink.”

Someone started playing a Christmas song, last Christmas, you smiled. “Hm, George Michael.”

“A great one,” he turned around to listen to it, humming along the song. “Why London?”

You shrugged, “my favorite bands and musicians are British so I ended up here, I guess I’m trying to wonder where they get their inspiration from.”

Tom shrugged. “Don’t know much about that,” he shrugged. “The most important artists write from their soul, about their loves.”

You took a deep breath. Was it really that? A love so deep that inspires you to write songs and songs, albums out of a heartbreak or a love so impossible you need to scream it to the world?

Tom grinned. “Did you ever write a song about me?” He questioned.

You cackled, “Abou you?“ you questioned. “A stranger who stole my scarf?”

Tom dedicated one of those smiles that would be imprinted on your heart if you only decided to let him do it. “Yes.”

“No, good idea, I’ll keep that in mind,” you rolled your eyes.

He drummed on the counter, “so, what are your—now that you’ve broken up with Jake, what’s your—“

“Single but still not interested, thanks,” you quickly answered.

“Oh, darling, I’m not interested either, I’m in a relationship,” he cleared out.

Somehow that didn’t sit right with you. Perhaps you had been expecting him to keep trying, this whole okay had gotten you entranced but him and now that you were single perhaps you would give in to the happiness that adorned his face. He had a certain glow, you could tell, and a pair of eyes that hid so many secrets, but tender ones.

It was disappointing, though, to learn he was not single. Though you wouldn’t admit it to yourself, he did have some force pulling you to him and even though it was stupid, there was some part of you believing you had been dragged by fate or destiny to him.

“Good for you,” you said.

Tom grinned, “yeah, I’m—very happy, actually.”

“Did you get her with all your confidence?” You mocked.

He blushed, “yeah, I did.”

You clicked your tongue holding back a laugh, “interesting.”

He crossed his arms, “that’s none of your business. But, still, I needed to know your status.”

“What for?” You blinked.

“Dunno, seems like you used my help once and you could use it again, I could help you out,” he explained.

You rolled your eyes, “how so?”

“I could be your wingman, or your friend now, do you have any friends here?”

As a matter of fact, you didn’t. “I-what makes you think I need a wingman?”

Tom beamed. “I’m just offering my services,” he said as he looked around the room. “That’s my brother over there,” he pointed to the other side of the room. “Harry who is trying to flirt with that girl.”

“Is he trying to use your confidence technique because I should warn him it’ll get him nowhere,” you chuckled.

“I—“he shook his head. “Well, to be fair—I—yeah. It did get me somewhere.”

You watched his brother, they did look alike. You weren’t sure why, but they seemed… like the kind of people you didn’t want to be friends with. Perhaps it was the fact that he annoyed you.

“So how long have you been seeing—uh, I didn’t catch her name?”

“Kelly,” he said. “Yeah, about—about a month. So, you didn’t answer, do you have any friends here?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. No, you did not. “Kelly, then.”

“Uh-huh, it’s going well but I think I might, you know, call things off.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “I’m not the relationship type of guy, and I’m getting bored.”

You rolled your eyes, “of course.”

“But if you—“

“I am not interested.”

“We could be friends,” he insisted. “I—really, i don’t like you, y/n. I don’t know. I don’t like this whole vibe of yours.”

“What vibe?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “You seem really—uptight.”

You chuckled. “Well that’s a compliment.”

“No, no, if you think about it, it’s great, I mean, destiny is pulling some kind of joke on us, maybe we should amuse it, don’t you think?”

You were in the mood for amusement. “Fine, then, what do you suggest?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Let’s… get out of here, get some dinner and I’ll give you back your scarf, it’s in my apartment.”

You stopped, he was good. So smooth, somehow the game he was playing didn’t maim you or whatever.

“No funny business,” he said. “Or we could meet again tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t your brother be upset if you left?”

“I’m pretty sure he won’t notice, but I could order you another drink, something you’ll like,” he said. “That’s my expertise”

“Fine, then.”

You didn’t know how or why you accepted but then suddenly after the drink he’d ordered for you, it was sweet, citrusy, and surprisingly good. The conversations started flowing, probably from the drinks and before you knew it, you were walking out of the pub with a stranger, who—didn’t feel like one. Perhaps it had been your loneliness that dragged you to him.

He’d laughed at your jokes and you’d laughed at his, and maybe it had been the alcohol but you didn’t feel any inhibitions holding you back.

You had to admit there was some magnet pulling you to him. You learned about him, he was a bartender, he really didn’t like bars but it explained why he had been so good with your order.

“I judge people by what they drink,” he said. “I—I Can tell what people will like.”

“You chose a sweet drink for me,” you pointed out.

He chuckled, “it was a strong sweet drink, first it feels bitter but it leaves a sweet aftertaste. You seem that kind of people, a person who gives hell and then you realize it’s sweet.”

“Huh,” you laughed. “What about you?”

“I’m the opposite, I’ve been told, sweet taste and bitter aftertaste.”

He loved music and movies. He started talking about a movie he’d recently seen and giving you a very poorly made review.

“Clearly you’re a critic,” you laughed.

“I am, actually thanks for noticing,” he grinned. “No but—don’t you hate when movies go in too deep?”

“I like deep meanings.”

“I’m an idiot, I like straight forward things.”

You didn’t like him at all. He was so incredibly arrogant, and self centered and everything you wanted to avoid. He was trouble, a guy with so much confidence could only mean your doom. You didn’t want to get lost right now, though you were having a hard time ignoring his smile.

He took you to a place, not fancy, not for a date. And you made it clear, and he had smile with mischief when you’d said that.

“I’m in an relationship, y/n.”

He wasn’t really trying anything and maybe the drinks in your body were the ones speaking but you wished he had tried something. Timing was wrong, though. Last time you were dating someone now he was. It wasn’t meant to be. And besides you didn’t want it.

You told him about some of the songs you’d written, how they barely had any meaning and he didn’t question you, he only listened and actually listened.

How did you end up with him with one of those conversations under the moonlight in a park with a stranger? A conversation that could go on forever. About everything, and nothing. You both agreed this was a one time thing, that you wouldn’t look for each other. He’d even invited you to dance when you’d encounter a small band playing in the bark.

He’d spinned you around and held you close, and for a moment you liked him. For a moment you were lost in his arms, just listening to the music, laughing at some strangers jokes and synchronizing your smiles into each other’s heartbeats. Dancing with a. Stranger in a strange city, filled with hope. And then the music was gone, for a moment and you could only see him.

Your mind was spinning, why was this happening? Why were you doing this? Why was your body warm when the snow was cold?

“I think the city at night is very different, I like it,” he said after your danced. “But you don’t like it do you?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I? I love the night, watching the stars is my favorite pastime.”

“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy an evening.”

You rolled your eyes, “you keep thinking I’m not—“

“Well I—Dunno, you don’t seem the fairytale kind of girl,” he said.

“No, I’m not, all that happily ever after crap isn’t for me,” you shrugged. “But I think you decided to have this idea of me as an excuse as to why I haven’t fallen for your charm.”

“My charm.”

“Lack of it, really.”

Learning he was scared of spiders, you agreeing they were scary. A weird conversation about ghost busters, and how you both bought into the ridiculousness of it. Stories about friends from the past, stories from college. Everything a stranger is allowed to say without feeling judged. His favorite colors were blue and red. He said he really found the color red interesting. How he loved comic books.

Seeing his cheeks turning red, and his smile getting wider. The perfect night for two strangers to fall in love. But you weren’t doing that, were you?

The conversation had flown so well as if you had known each other for a long time, as if you were old friends catching up. His laughter being the melody you would try to remember, how curious it was to find the most beautiful melody came from a person and not from a piano or your old guitar. His laughter like a child, his smile like a song.

He looked like a dream.

A conversation about how he met Kelly. Not in a pub or a college football game. He had met her at a library. He talked about her as if he was in love but then admitted he wasn’t.

“It’s too soon to tell,” he shrugged. “But—“

“Weren’t you the one to tell me that time didn’t mean shit?” You called him out.

“Yeah, but in this case it does.” His hands in his pockets.

“And you’re planning to break up with her?”

“Yeah, I don’t think—Dunno, I just—don’t feel drawn to her.”

“Maybe you’re scared of being in love,” you stated. Under the moonlight, accompanied by each star. Witnesses to the rise of something. Not sure what yet, but something. He was easy to talk to.

He laughed, “oh, you’re—are you actually turning the cards to me? Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he looked down, blushing. “I’m—Look, I might be.” He was nervous. “Why am I telling all of this to a stranger?”

You watched him, carefully as he was mapping out every thought and feeling. “We’ve met before, I'm not a stranger.”

“You still feel like one, that’s why it’s easy talking to you, you don’t know me, and you haven’t had any premeditated judgments with me,,” he confessed. He didn’t feel like one, though. “No, I’m—No, no, I dunno, I was hurt once and I think that’s what led me to this.”

“So you leave before you get hurt?”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, it’s simpler. If you don’t care enough you don’t get hurt.”

You didn’t answer, what would that feel like? You’d never been hurt and you’d never cared enough about someone to feel hurt.

It made sense, out of everyone you understood. You spoke about Jake and how you didn’t quite understand.

“I’ve never felt it,” you admitted. “That feeling when time just goes by so quickly and before you realize it it’s sunrise,” you continued and tried covering yourself with your coat, it was getting cold or maybe it was admitting it out loud what had unwarned your body.

Tom watched you. “You’re cold,” he pointed out. “I’ll walk you home, or—“

“My scarf,” you reminded him. “I want my scarf.”

“Right, we could go to my place and I’ll let you go,” he said. He then let out a soft laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent the night like this, it’s almost morning.”

It was, it was getting late, or early. “I haven’t either, you’re not as annoying as I thought.”

“I’m a sweetheart,” he smirked. “No, but—it was nice.”

It had felt like home, somehow. Although it looked a lot like one of your usual nights when you spent it with a stranger it had been so different, you weren’t regretting it and you hadn’t gotten naked. You had felt like home because he had a sense of familiarity. It was stupid, really. But when one doesn’t know love one goes looking for it in the strangest place to something that might be love. Never finding it, but something so similar that can trick your heart.

You not kept pouring your heart to each other as you contiued watching the night fade away right in front of you. With Christmas lights illuminating your path.

“I’ve never been in love,” you’d said as you were walking with him to his place, not so far from it. “And I don’t think you have, either. You wouldn’t have spent the night with a stranger if you were in love with Kelly.”

“I never said I was,” he shrugged. “Besides, we did nothing, we are just conversing, like old friends, it means absolutely nothing.”

Did it? Should you see that as a sign? But why wasn’t it?

The snow started falling down on you, and if you had been anyone else it would’ve meant something.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? Had we been two other people this would’ve been the perfect evening, romantic even, if we want to play into the foolishness and bullshit of it.”

“Elaborate.”

“Two strangers who’ve met before met a year later, near Christmas and we spent the whole night together, it’s snowing, it's romantic bullshit.”

“I guess,” you admitted. “But it’s us enjoying this, a woman who’s never been in love and one who avoids it.”

You were trying to resist, there was a temptation, as if it was an invitation. It seemed sweet. He wanted to give in, too.

“What would’ve happened if I had given in to your invitation back then? Ditch my boyfriend and go with you?”

“I probably would’ve broken your heart,” he admitted. “I tend to do that.”

“Hm, but I wouldn’t have fallen for you,” you commented.

He nodded, “then we would’ve been fine.”

You went to his place, you didn’t walk in but you’d seen his place was decorated with lights and a poor excuse of a Christmas tree. You’d seen a jacket hanging on a chair, probably Kelly’s, and you could only think: ‘poor girl, she doesn’t know she’s not loved.’

He walked out and he held your scarf, “I’m sorry, I’ve worn it a couple times, but here it is.”

“So, this is it.”

“Is it?” He frowned. “I have your number.”

“But do we really want to see each other again? It would make this night mean something,” you reminded him. “And I rather have a nice memory of a stranger whom I stayed up with until morning than a story of how we met.”

“But we’ve met before,” he shrugged. “I understand though, I poured my heart to you and I don’t think that’s a good sign, I can’t see you again then.”

“Well, thanks for keeping my scarf, and for being a wonderful company.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you in a way that you didn’t want to look back, his sight was digging too much into your heart, one you didn’t think you had. “Back to being strangers.”

And you didn’t want to leave, but you had to. “Fine, neither will call and if one does we will not answer.”

He gulped, “yes, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity,” he coughed. “But yes, I’ll give you your scarf back and I will never contact you or try.”

“Alright.”

He was getting closer, he had cupped your face, gently igniting a spark. “But we promise to remember it, right?”

And maybe it was for the fact that you were both certain you’d be out of each other lives, or maybe it was the snow adding to the stupid of it, or maybe it hadn’t been his smile, but before you knew it you’d leaned in and kissed him.

Yes, you would remember it, all too well.

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sleepylixie · 3 years

Text

1.5k words, Lovers to Strangers, non-idol AU. Angst, but of fluff

Dancer! Yeosang X Fem! Reader

A/N: WELCOME TO MY very first official Ateez fanfiction!! This is the first of many fics I have planned for Ateez, can’t wait to show em to y’all! Anyways- onto the fic!

The spotlight wasn’t for everybody; it was a fear for some, an intrigue for others. But for him, your swan… the spotlight was his home. It makes so much sense that he left you behind for it.

//WHAT WAS.\\

“Any reason you were missing from class today?” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but the years of adolescence had worked its magic on him. The years of hard training and workout had melted the soft, childlike sparkle away to show high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and perfectly straight nose. But his eyes were still the same- soft, warm, always lighting up when he smiled.

You were yet to grow up- you still looked like an ugly duckling next to a pure white swan, marring beauty with just your presence. Did you even deserve to call him your best friend? Just because you grew up next to him, witnessing his life as an extension of your own? Was that even barely enough to stake your claim as a friend- as anything, to him?

“My ankle was causing trouble again.” you mutter, toeing off the blanket covering your legs to reveal the bandages wrapped around your right ankle. You were no stranger to injury, your body having taken the brunt of consequences for your clumsiness- but when you set foot on the stage, all the world’s pain seemed to melt away. You and Yeosang thrived off the spotlight and so did your friendship- but over the past year, the intensive program you both belonged to had stepped up their training regime and your body was struggling to keep up. “You really need to take care of yourself.” Despite the years spent around each other, it still astounded you how expressive he was without much movement. All he had to do was settle himself on the couch next to you and raise an eyebrow at you, lips curled in disapproval.

You looked away, the rapid beat of your heart the only betrayal your body gave away for the rush of emotions you were feeling. Damn him for making you feel this way, like summer and winter had descended upon your skin at the same time, like time would stop at your behest when he was around you. Damn him for being so painfully easy to fall in love with. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“You better be, best friend.”

“You’re always so good for me.” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but moments of intimacy made him look otherworldly. He was a passionate lover, that beautiful body of his aiming for pleasure beyond measure. and pleasure you he did, within an inch of your senses.

You remember not being able to fathom the disbelief you felt when he stood in front of you under a streetlight outside class, hands twisting together nervously as he mumbled out a confession.. a confession of love. It was the dead of night, but you could have sworn you almost felt the sun’s warmth in that moment, spreading from your heart to your toes, until the second thoughts sunk in. The memory of that momentary terror still numbs your fingertips sometimes, the fear that had coursed through your veins in the aftermath of that sunshine. What if, 6 months down the line, he looked back at this moment and felt nothing but a sea of regret? That you were nothing like the person he’d fallen for, only a shadow that could trail his otherworldly radiance? That he was better off far away from you, that you were better off alone, away from him? But you hadn’t voiced your internal sense of dread, choosing to drown instead in the pure joy that had settled onto Yeosang’s face when you told him his feelings weren’t unrequited. The first drag of his lips against yours was a sensation you knew you’d never be able to forget, the recollection still tinged with midnight softness. That night had marked the start of your tryst with Yeosang and romance. Shifting from friendship to lovers was smoother than you had anticipated- it was only a matter of your cafe runs now being categorized as dates, the two of you now able to stumble to one of your apartments hand-in-hand, giggling like high school sweethearts. Your belongings were already scattered around each other’s homes, your parents exchanging knowing glances and accepting the other into the family. As the days went by, slowly and then all too soon, you couldn’t help but look back and think, oh, what an enchantment the two of you were.

You were the king and queen of your dance major, the ones most likely to make it in the world, hand-in-hand. Your duets were the tear-jerkers, the seat-shifters, the reason for the wolf-whistles and the frat-boy whoops in the annual showcases. You were savored by the spotlight, adored by the souls in the seats, envied by your peers.. but your love was for no one but each other- until it all went to hell.

“You know I have to do this.” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but the time he chose to walk away made him unattainable. The accident onstage rendered you with a weak ankle for the rest of your life- imprisoned away from the spotlight. You would never be able to dance again, said the doctors. You were to consider yourself lucky you could still walk. Even trying to dance again would have you running the risk of never leaving a bed again.

And your love, your swan, he couldn’t stomach the idea of being with a lover who could never live in the spotlight with him. He was young, your swan, and disillusioned by the stars that sparkled in front of him, reckless in his pursuit to reach them. So he took his first ticket out- away from you, away from the country, into a new world with a dance company and a dance scholarship.

You hadn’t even left bed rest when he had slipped into your hospital room, looking for all the world like he’d committed a crime he couldn’t bring himself to regret. “You’re okay with me leaving, right?” The undertone of the question felt clear enough that you didn’t say it aloud- looking back, it was possibly because you were too scared of having to hear the words out loud. What were the chances that he would want to keep a relationship with a broken dancer from an old chapter of his past? That’s right, none. It took everything in your body to subdue the response you yearned to give him- no, you weren’t okay. NO, You wanted him to stay. No, you didn’t want to be left behind. But even in the state of imminent despair, the only thing you registered was the hopeful glint in his tired eyes. The same eyes that had dreamt and fantasized of this day, to be worthy of the world’s best, be the world’s best- “Of course, my love. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you.” You reached out for Yeosang’s hand and let him clasp it, his uncertainty melting away as he pressed one last fleeting kiss to your knuckles before the seconds began to fly. All too soon, he was getting to his feet, squeezing your hand before turning away.

“I’ll miss you.” he breathed hesitantly, turning around at the door to meet your gaze for what felt like one last time. “I love you.” His whisper was as light as air, but the silence of the sunrise allowed the words to grace your ears before he slipped out of the room as quickly as he had come, leaving you all alone. Just as you’d feared. He didn’t even break your heart behind him-

So you steeled your nerves and broke your heart by yourself. “No you don’t.”

You remember feeling broken for a long time, like you’d lost an anchor that had held you to the ground where you were supposed to be. In one fell swoop, you lost the spotlight and you lost him. You had nowhere to go anymore- no safe haven, no safe human. And yet, you couldn’t bring myself to hate him, your swan.

Was this what unconditional love felt like?

//WHAT IS\\

“Miss!Miss ! What are your plans for this fine evening? I’m sure a beautiful young lady of your stature has many places to be?”

The lights shone in your eyes- not as one large blinding gleam, but as tens of tiny blinking ones. The cameras clicked at you, petite spotlights of their own.

“Maybe attend a recital, maybe find a drink in your marvelous city.” A renowned romance author at your age was unheard of- and with the rarity came fame. You pieced yourself back together, all by yourself. You grew up, from a broken ugly duckling into something beautiful. This time, you were your own anchor.

Kang Yeosang was alluring, but the spotlight following his solitary movements across a worn wood floor made him look like a god. There was nothing hesitant about his movements, the song building up to the swan song, the final adieu, the farewell of a character who had lived too much, too young. The audience was alive, electric with the feeling he left them with.

He made the right choice, your beautiful black swan. Watching him there, onstage, at the zenith of his existence, glowing, burning, alive under the spotlight that was so beloved to him… the embers of what you felt for him stirred, but you know they’d never come to life again.

The spotlight was your swan’s home, and your words would always be yours.

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think! - xoxo, Elliana <3

Network Tag: @kpopscape

#kpopscape #ateez #atz #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #ella.ateez #kang yeosang x reader #atz imagines #atz x reader

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thatslikely · 3 years

Text

A Slow Dance - G.W.

A Slow Dance- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: none! pure fluff <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: y’all I’m serious. where’s my George. I need someone like this asap, don’t be shy universe. hope you guys enjoy as always :)

Just a Reminder: song lyrics/thoughts are in italics [I imagined is Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Paul Anka, but any song works]

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa

if you want to be added, send me a dm or an ask!

Requested by the lovely @amourtentiaa [my first request I’ve gotten, and I love it!]

----

“Ugh. Why do you have to sit hunched over your desk studying all the time? Have at least a little fun! It’s our last year at Hogwarts!” A sprawled out George exclaimed from your ruffled four-poster bed with a groan. His handsome face hung off the edge of the bed frame, his upside-down gaze fixed on your distracted figure.

George was always quite needy; it was practically a law of nature. Whether it was running around pulling a record-breaking marathon of pranks, or just tenderly holding his large, soft hand while discussing your favorite novel, he lapped up every ounce of you he could.

“Georgie, if I don’t do well on my N.E.W.T.s, how do you expect me to get a decent job?” you asked with a bit more bite than you intended. The complex, academic sentences scribbled onto the parchment before you droned through your brain like headache-inducing white noise, which soured your attitude more than you liked to admit.

It made your heart flutter knowing that George yearned for your care so much, but you had your whole life to spend with the vexatious redhead. You only had the next week to pass your N.E.W.T.s.

“You’ll always have a job down with me at the shop, c’mon! Imagine: my two favorite things wrapped up into one!” he said, before adding more softly, “plus, you’d look so cute in the uniform.” You couldn’t help your cheeks from heating up at his affectionate comment, which wasn’t intended to grace your ears.

“I wish it was simple as that, Georgie. While I’d love to work with you at the shop, you know that’s not what I really want to do. You always tell me to shoot for the moon, and this is just part of the process.” You were unrelenting with your studying, which George of course admired, but he was equally relentless in his pursuit of spending time with you, even if it was just for a second.

The dorm fell suspiciously quiet, which allowed your mind to delve even deeper into your studies. The strokes of your quill grew deeper and sharper into the parchment with focus, the ink-blotted tip eventually tearing a small rip mid-sentence.

A breath that you unknowingly held escaped your lips in the form of an exasperated sigh. You rubbed your temples before picking up the quill and starting again.

You mindlessly scribed cursive onto the dense paper for several minutes before snapping out of your trance at the jarring noise of a chair’s legs scraping across the hardwood floors. George took the vacant seat next to you, resting his elbow on the surface of the desk.

His handsome face rested comfortably in his palm, his whole body turned towards you. You could’ve sworn his mischievous but lovable gaze flickered to your soft lips every few seconds like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole.

Stop thinking about George, and his delicious lips, alluring cocoa-colored eyes, fluffy red hair… think about Transfiguration!

Your quill-wielding wrist moved in more furious motions, your determination to stay devoted to your academics made your eyes drift to the smug titian-haired boy next to you more than ever. You eventually succumbed to your heart’s desires, giving George a small glance.

The expression George donned shattered your expectations; you expected his eyes to be droopy and half-asleep, jaw-slacked in boredom, evidenced by his disdain of all things school-related.

Instead, however, his red tongue stuck out to his chin, his index fingers pulling apart his freckled cheeks. His mocha eyes were humorously crossed, fixed on his adorable aquiline nose. He looked utterly ridiculous.

“What’re you doing, Georgie? You look absurd!” you questioned with a hefty chuckle. His eyes lit up with triumph at the laugh fleeing your lips.

“I’m getting your eyes off that stupid piece of parchment! You’ve been writing nonsense on it for the past quarter of an hour. You need a break.”

“Just let me study a bit more, then I promise I’ll spend some time with you, okay?” you bargained, hoping for compliance. You pivoted your head back to the strewn papers resting on the mahogany desk in front of you, ready to get back into a productive rhythm.

The welcome rhythm never stayed for long though, for it was always disrupted by George making another goofy face. He’s just being a child, you thought, you’re a seventh year. Ridiculous faces aren’t funny. Oh how wrong you were.

With every new expression that graced his features, another laugh threatened to escape your mouth. Soon enough, your eyes were steadily fixed on the frivolous ginger, ready for what face he would come up with next.

Your brain was locked in a battle: George and his loveable humor, versus your Transfiguration notes and passing your N.E.W.T.s. Both were hardy competitors, but in the end, McGonagall’s subject prevailed. George got up from the seat next to you with a huff, blowing a stray red strand of hair up from his forehead.

He paced around the large room, scheming a way to get your undivided attention. He peeked around the wooden shelves and dressers that stayed pressed against the walls of the dorms, looking for something, anything.

His eyes eventually settled on the record player on your nightstand by your bed. It was a muggle device that his father had ranted about many times before, and he guessed that he could probably figure out how to work it.

His calloused fingers plucked the top inky-black vinyl record from the stack, feeling the textured grooves engraved in its surface. He set the record in place, dropping the needle not long after. The previously pin-drop silent room quickly came to life with the enrapturing sounds of harmonious chords.

It appeared that even the universe wanted to free you from the shackles of your boring notes, for the vinyl George happened to choose was your favorite song, and a slow, romantic one at that.

George lightly tapped your back, causing you to swivel around towards him. He had his long, toned arm outstretched to you charmingly, beckoning you for a dance. You gingerly placed your palm into his and he swiftly pulled you out of the chair and into the middle of the floor.

His face was handsome as ever; you only just now realized how much you missed all of him. His gentle touch, his honey-pooled eyes, the pure love pumping through his veins. His hands rapturously rested on your waist, yours’ wrapped around the nape of his neck. You twirled a small section of his red hair in between your fingers, which only made the lovestruck grin on his face grow bigger.

The song continued to echo through the cozy walls of the room, the unified swaying of your hips in sync with the song’s slow beat. You nearly melted in his warm embrace, his arms gradually bringing you closer and closer to his beating chest.

You eventually rested your head on George’s shoulder, feeling the soothing vibrations of his vocal chords humming along with the notes of the song.

Put your lips next to mine dear, won’t you kiss me once, baby?

As if the song had you two lovebirds under a spell, George slowly brought his lips to yours, giving you a slow and passionate kiss.

He’d kissed you so many times before, but this time it felt different, in the best way possible. It was as if angels sang when your lips graced his’; you could taste his feelings through the connection, his devotion and longing for you overriding your senses. Your eyes teared up at the wave of endearing emotions that overcame you.

The sensual dancing continued long through the night, the tender and enchanting kisses and slow sways wiping your mind of the stressful upcoming exams.

“Feel better, darling?” George breathily mumbled into your ear, the warmth from his mouth shooting directly to your heart, coating your body with goosebumps.

All your hazy, smitten mind could respond with was a simple but passionate, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

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cheesy09 · 3 years

Text

Love of the Stars

Dang! dang! dang! It’s the 9th of April, which means it’s - drumroll please - *drumroll* ...Kiro’s birthday!!! 🥳 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY TREASURE!! My sun and moon, my lovesong, my everything! I will always cherish the love and happiness that you give me. May you always be happy today and every day, and know that your Miss Chips will always stay by your side, no matter what 🥺💕

Pairing: Kiro x Reader Word Count: 1,483 Genres: Fluff

“The stars are so beautiful today...” Kiro sighed, his body language visibly content as he laid on the grass next to me. His blue eyes held an incredibly tender beauty within them, making him even more dazzling than the stars that twinkled above us.

For Kiro’s birthday this year, I’d somehow managed to find this secluded area in a forest that I thought would be perfect to set up a fairytale tea party. It was held in the evening, once Kiro was done with his public birthday celebrations. But that wasn’t a problem. After all, the spot I’d chosen had also happened to be an amazing place for stargazing, making the location even more perfect.

I smiled slightly and looked back up at the sky. He was right. The stars were incredibly beautiful that night, as if they’d purposely decided to look their best for the superstar on this special day. “Yeah, they are...” I agreed with him softly, and then whispered in my heart—

But they’re not as beautiful as you are.

“...Thank you so much for today, Miss Chips,” Kiro whispered, and I felt him turn his body towards me, his warm breath falling against my ear. My heart leaped, but I turned on my side to face him, our faces just inches apart from each other. His warm smile was soft and almost dream-like, as if with the slightest touch, it would disappear from sight. The thought made my heart tremble.

What if he leaves again, I thought to myself. After all, he was still a member of Black Swan. There was no telling when he’d take off to save the world again, or what could happen to him in the process. I finally got him back after all those months of painful separation. If I lost him again...

My hand instinctively reached out to rest against his cheek, as if wanting to reassure myself that this was real, the feeling only settling down once I felt the familiar heat of his skin. Kiro’s eyes widened a bit, slightly shocked at my actions. But almost immediately his face relaxed again, as if he sensed my emotions and deepened his smile. He brought up a hand to cover my own and tilted his head slightly to place a soft kiss on my palm.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, pressing our foreheads together. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mmm,” I murmured, welcoming the intimacy as I lightly brushed the skin under his eye with my thumb. I smiled slightly. “How do you always know what I’m thinking even before I can say anything?”

“Shouldn’t you already know that by now, Miss Chips?” Kiro chuckled in a low voice as he smiled with playful chastisement. “It’s because you and I are always connected, of course! Look, even the stars know it.”

He suddenly pulled away and pointed at the sky, his look visibly brightening. My eyes followed the direction of his fingers and I looked up.

What I saw took my breath away.

Shooting stars - hundreds of them - flew across the sky like brilliant streaks of light, making the night sky even prettier than usual. The way they appeared was reminiscent of the fine brush strokes of a master painter, intending to create a masterpiece. For some reason, it felt like the sky was granting us its blessings on this special night.

I was awestruck. I never imagined that we would get to see a sight like this together. But then again, with Kiro, even the most unbelievable things could come true.

Suddenly, I felt something touch my hand and before I could look down to see what it was, I felt Kiro’s fingers tightly entwine with my own. The familiar temperature both heated my heart but also soothed my nerves, bringing me endless comfort. Looking at the stars and having Kiro lying here next to me, I was suddenly reminded of something.

“Speaking of stars... I wanted to ask - why did you decide to name that song of yours ‘Love of the Stars’?”

I tightened my grip on his hand. Kiro looked at me quietly, as if not expecting the question, and turned back to face the sky. We laid there in silence, and I almost expected him not to answer. But after a few seconds his gentle voice wafted through the air, the tenderness within his words almost palpable.

“It’s because... It’s what I believe love to be,” he said, a fleeting look of yearning flashing across his face. “Shining; like the stars. Bestowing its light upon everyone, without discrimination. Illuminating people and giving them the courage to keep moving forward.” He chuckled and squeezed my fingers slightly. “At least... that's the kind of person I want to be. To bring others warmth when they really need it.”

I watched him while he watched the stars, his appearance almost delicate. The wind caressed his bangs, and swept through his perfect blonde locks, making him seem like a vision right out of a painting. Too beautiful to exist.

I felt my heart clench with unspoken emotions. “I think you already are.”

Kiro let out a self-deprecating smile and shook his head. His tone seemed to carry a sigh along with it as he spoke. “Au contraire, Miss Chips. I think I still have a long way to go.”

I frowned, not exactly surprised by his answer. Why is it that he couldn’t see it? The happiness that he gives to everyone, especially me. Maybe he hasn’t realized it, but he’s managed to change people’s lives, save them even. In more ways than one. I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to sigh.

“Kiro, let me tell you a story,” I began, keeping my gaze fixed on the sky above me. It was at moments like these where I’d trusted my heart to do the talking, and lay out what I truly felt in that moment. “There was once a girl who was having a really tough time with work one day. Her company had lost its biggest sponsor and was on the verge of collapse. Just when she thought that all hope was lost, she ran into an unexpected boy at the supermarket, when they accidentally reached out to grab the same bag of chips.”

I felt Kiro’s eyes on me, burning into my skin, but I didn’t dare to look at him. I just let my mind wander, back to that fateful day, when I met the most important person in my life. The boy whose happiness meant the world to me. “The boy was handsome and had the best smile the girl had ever seen on a person. He had talked to her, laughed with her and even offered to appear on her shows. That may have been something trivial to the boy, but that first meeting filled the girl with new-found hope and courage to keep moving forward.”

Once I was done talking, I mustered up the courage to face him, rapidly turning over to him till I was hovering slightly above him, my chest almost pressing against his. Kiro’s eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of a blush stained his cheeks. For some reason, that adorable look of his made me smile even more.

“Whether you know it or not, Kiro, ever since we met, you have always been illuminating me and giving me hope,” I said. “In fact you inspire me to become better, every single day. I can’t help but feel like I’m the luckiest person on the planet to know you, and I will always be grateful for that.”

I lowered myself and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, eliciting a tiny joyful giggle out of him.

“Happy Birthday, my beloved superstar,” I whispered, smiling in satisfaction.

Before I could stop myself, my lips were on his, gently encasing them in warmth, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Kiro’s lips were soft and tender, like the fresh dew on sakura flowers. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against mine in a steady rhythm. He brought up one of his hands to twine his fingers into my hair and pulled me closer, effectively deepening the kiss.

I was all too happy to comply, raking my hand through his gorgeous golden locks, tightening the grip of our laced fingers. His lips and tongue were scorching, but I couldn’t help pulling myself closer to him, wanting to drown myself in that heat. After all, he was the one I’d been waiting for my whole life. The one I’d dream about every single day and night. My heart would always belong to him and only him.

I felt Kiro smile against my lips with the whisper of a single ‘I love you,’ and I basked in the knowledge that the stars were witnesses to this enchanting moment in time.

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

Thank you so much for reading! If you want to read more of my other works, you’ll find them in my Masterlist.

#mr love queen's choice #mr love queen's choice kiro #mr love #mr love kiro #mr love fanfiction #mlqc #mlqc kiro #mlqc fanfiction #HBD my beloved Superstar! ❤

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whereflowersbloom · 3 years

Text

Sealed Fate

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. Oh she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longe mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian: Prince of Gotham, the great. Gotham the glorious. Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Wearing a silver attire, a veil, a lilies and myrtle garland, and a golden headband. The Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Helena and Timotheos had fallen. No body of Jason had been found after the last battle with Crete. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, displaying strength and virility akin to a noble lion, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. He was a God in beauty and stature. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face and focused on her new family. They have been so impeccably polite, specially Richard. ‘Welcome my good sister. We are all so blessed to have you.’ Blessed. Blessed child she had been called once long ago.

Do you feel blessed, my dear sister?” Richard asked, passing a golden wine cup into her hand. His wide smile meant no harm nor his words. As she grew up Raven was left to learn how to smile and laugh prettily at compliments that made her skin crawl, feign the innocence of any maiden her age.

Blinking several times, she looked back at him and smiled weakly. “Of course, brother.”

Richard was all dancing, light and lean seduction, dark myrrh hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in a blue and gold tunic. Her new brother appeared to be content to sit in the shadow of his younger brother and watch him gleam in all his glory. Cassandra did not speak with her, she was the only calm in the midst of a storm of abrupt adjustment. She tried to pay no heed to the murmurs of gossiping women at the feast, eyes green with envy as she had married the godlike prince. Foreign seductress. Demon spawn.

Bruce and Olivier discussed vehemently about warfare and politics with Kal-El and Kon-El. Diana and Artemis were carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Shiera’s recent journey in Egypt. She caught no sight of Trigon to her relief.

Trigon. Other gods might have roared their pleasure at the skills and intelligence of their offspring, praised their achievements for all to hear whilst filling themselves to the brim with nectar. Not Trigon, who wanted to sire no child but found himself infatuated with Arella, bedding her out of enjoyment.

If she were godly, truly a deity, in all of its ways with fantastical unlimited power, then one could not help but ask: Would Trigon praise her then? Did he not want her because she bled red as earthlings. As I’d guessing what she was thinking her husband finally spoke.

“For a deity to come down on solid ground isn’t seen many times. For her to wed a mortal willingly is even more ambiguous.” Damian exhaled softly, standing right next to her. His voice was so deep, so soothing and alluring as she had imagined.

“I am no deity. I am the undesired offspring of the god of death.” She said in a choked voice. Not sure if he was mocking the nature of her position. Green eyes alight with amusement.

“You are anything but undesired, wife.” Damian responded, voice low in his throat, and private; a voice she knew in her bones he meant only for her. His face reflected an earnest expression filled with so much pure-hearted sincerity that it stole Raven’s breath away

No man had ever spoken of passion or desire to Raven, and all that she knew of such words she had overheard her tutors speak, or learned from old songs; the glory of being called beautiful in tones, not of cool reason but burning emotion flooded her entirely. She was desired. Biting her lip, her face flushed, and shining starlight hair drooping over her face as if that would somehow hide how obviously close to tears she was.

Damian smiled serenely and Raven felt like he’d seen the sun. Resembling the sun and light, Apollo.

He had a gentleness to him that is completely foreign to her experience, not seen at first sight, discerning the heavy emotions in his eyes. Raven did not know before that it was possible for men to be gentle. One glance and she thought of him kissing her mouth, just as he thought of tasting her skin. Uncertainty lies in her desire for the reciprocal dedication to infallible ardour.

Air. Her lungs were in need of air.

~~~

She went to the garden of Thetis, to sit among the flowers and watch the moon-washed stars. The goddess of flowers must have visited bringing brightness and beauty wherever she stepped, as she appreciated a patch of narcissus, foxgloves, hyacinth, and delphinium displaying tightly clustered flowers upon tall stalks in varied blues and purples, in full bloom, surrounded by the thick chorus of crickets chirping all around. With all thoughts of threats and protecting her homeland, Raven found herself strangely empty. It wasn’t hollowness: it was the emptiness of shock, of disbelief and misunderstandings when everything you’d imagined was pulled out from underneath you and she was suddenly living in a reality where someone admired her? Yearn for her touch rather than fear her.

“Raven.” Kon-El sighed her name as he walked closer to her, fabric softly trailing on the grass and it made Raven tremble. His ocean eyes saddened, darkened, burning through her and reducing anything to ash, to nothingness. There were things that must be said but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

“When Morpheus came to me in my dreams. I did not dare look upon his godly figure. But I heard his voice like a thunder from grand Zeus. He promised your hand would be mine to hold.” The words had come bitter and aching with such profound loss that it made her throat tighten with his emotion.

“I have a husband now, Kon.” She mumbled quietly, using his infancy name, casting her gaze downwards. “They were nothing but hollow words, grains of sand carried upon the wind of Aeolus.” His disapproval at the mention of the word husband was obvious.

Attempting to reason with him to not make a claim of a right that was no longer his. She could sense his anger, regret, sorrow. Envy . Why do you look at me in such way? Why do you look at me as if you pity me? Why do you look at me with eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, all at once? Where did her sweet and naughty Kon go? She wished to voice those questions.

With clenched fists, he nodded. “It’s for the gods to decide as our fate lies in their hands.” Kon-El spoke solemnly with unshakable conviction. “You have a husband tonight, but take heed as The Fates could cut his thread of life coming morrow.” He bowed down and left without saying no more.

No. No. He would not dare. Notion spit forth from such a place of hate, fear and confusion like its like a venom small at first or great yet if allowed it to take over fully.

The night was calm, witness of the conversation between two old friends, the stifling hot of the day finally giving way to a coolness which smelled like an approaching storm. Yes, she could feel it, there was a storming coming with the unforgiving and celestial ire of Zeus.

~~~

The feast passed quickly, with laughter and high spirits carrying it along. However, Raven could never quite relax after hearing Kon-El’s threatening words. And there was the bedding ceremony to proceed, not in public. Thank to Merciful Elea.

Torchlight played on Raven’s face as she motioned with her hands like a sorceress, then the royal peplos she wore dropped off her like the skin off a snake and she emerged. Goddess Nyx in human form, her breasts round and ripe and firm, her belly flat and sculpted thighs, the tangle of dark hair between her legs an invitation and a challenge. She was bare before him. So very delicate, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he’d ever laid eyes upon. It intrigued him, that vulnerability, laid bare for him to see under the soft glow of the torches. The daughter of the God of death.

What a curious creature she was. Gifted with the beauty of Aphrodite, the mysterious eyes of Nyx, holding the stars of Orion in them. They had been in his mind on and off at the feast, wrapped up in the hazy, sweetly intoxicating lull of inebriation.

As he looked down then back up her body, to her timid eyes, no challenge in them, though her lips still twisted in a semblance of indecision. Doubt. It was obvious that while she was not truly frightened of him, nonetheless the shadow of doubt and tension was present. Damian swallowed hard. He had avoided looking at her more than necessary during the ceremony but he gave into temptation as Aphrodite whispered in his ear all the ways he could have her. He did not like Gods nor their offspring. The Gods enjoyed tricking mortals for their own merriment. But, she was his wife and there was no escaping now. He cursed quietly for his mortality.

Raven dug her pearly teeth into the fleshy hills of her bottom lip, reminding herself to stay in control, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at her side as she took a brave step forward. “My prince.”

“Damian.” He corrected immediately as he straightened up for a fraction of a second before he bent his head and allowed his lips to graze Raven’s ear. “My name is Damian.”

With uncommon courage, she reached for the clasp holding his jade tunic under his chin. The heavy cloth sighed down around their feet. With a delicate feather-like touch, Raven traced the longest scar on his bronze body that went from Damian’s left shoulder down to his right hip. His breath hitched at the sudden invasion, but relaxed into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. No one had ever dare touch him intimately without his permission.

She could see hidden amongst the bright hues an emerald green clouding over with Damian’s lust. Their lips melded together as if they were made for each other and moved in sync as Damian threaded her fingers into Damian’s thick raven locks. Damian gently nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped heavily against his, he slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to meet hers.

Her mind temporarily muddled with an electrical charge coursing through her veins making it hard for her to focus on any one part of her anatomy than her mouth against his. Everything tingles, starting at the back of her neck and rushing down, an uncomfortable yet exhilarating heat razing through her nerves only to whirlpool in her lower belly, churning, before continuing down all the way to her toes. He tasted like pure ambrosia.

As they continued kissing, his lips become eager, desperate, feverish. She’s never been kissed like this before. Kon-El had kissed her cheeks out of mischief a few times when they were children. Innocent love. Never with parted lips and tongue, with a hunger that would scare her had the same kind of hunger not driven her own greedy mouth to kiss and suck and nip. And yet she knew with the wisdom of Athena, that even if she’d kissed a hundred men a thousand times, nothing would ever compare to this.

Peppering her neck with kisses and listening to her gasp his name, he carried her slowly to the crimson bed where he laid her down. Dragging his teeth gently downwards, along the expanse of her sweet, alabaster skin. There all shyness was replaced with audacity and devotion. Not being able to resist the urge, he bit into her neck, at her pulse point where he could feel her unsteady heartbeat against his tongue as he laved at it.

Hands that were calloused and large and warm and so very gentle for a warrior, as they find their way roaming her natural curves. They skimmed over her thigh and hip, caress the soft skin of her waist, ghost over the swell of her breasts. His mouth, hot and wet, closed around her breast and sucks lightly, thus making her suck in a sharp breath. Expert tongue swelling around her pink nipple. What in the name of Hera he was doing to her? She wanted more. More. More.

Raven cannot utter a single word. Her mouth too dry, her mind too drunk on arousal, to form any coherent phrase. Calling his name between small whimpers showing her heightened ecstacy. This must be Elysium in all its glory. It was such a sweet torture.

Damian thought to himself she tasted like earth, starlight, like flowers blooming in the night. What was he thinking? She was his wife, no more. Daughter of his nemesis. His young heart hammering inside of his chest, the memory of his mother’s voice haunting him as she vanished with the wind.

Something flared in Damian then, flared up in his chest and his belly like a flaming arrow shot high to signal the start of a nighttime raid, and he seized her hips and pushed up inside her. Raven groaned softly in pain. Fear sent her stomach and chest quaking, her breaths coming short and fast, mind flooded with words of maidens about the pain of maidenhead being taken. At first, his strokes were slow, but his eyes do not look upon her face. The flower garland tumbled off her head and was crushed under their grappling bodies, the scent of a summer noon briefly filling the night.

She opened her legs wider and wrapped them around Damian following her instincts. Her velvet heat encased him, and he had to restrain himself from descending into madness at the pleasure. He felt like he was drowning in the Aliakmonas, the river swollen with melted snow. Raven’s round breasts goaded him, her hands caressed him tenderly, her ripeness clenched around him. As he started thrusting faster, harder, pumping in and out of her at an erratic pace. Damian drops his forehead to her shoulder, an animal like grunt in her ear, and she heard herself moan along with him. She even shifted her hips so that he hits her just right, his pubic bone rubbing against a sensitive spot his hand had touched.

He could tell she was close by the way her walls were fluttering around him, and he brought one of his hands down between them to rub circles onto her bundle of nerves. Damian also angled his hips enough to reach for the deep spot in the center of women that made them cry with satisfaction with each push.

Something inside her tightens, inside her belly where a babe will grow with the blessings of the gods, and then another wave of pleasure washed over her, pulling such a loud moan from her it should leave her ashamed, but she doesn’t care. Sweat beds clouding her vision, and the ragged breath of her husband hot against her moonlight skin, salty with sweat.

He reached climax and came harder than he had ever. His thrusts slowed, hips stilling as he emptied himself, thick, hot, white ropes of his seed filling her up to the hilt. Letting out a weary sigh he removed his body atop hers, carefully. It was done. Fulfilled his duty he told himself. A clear lie. Damian considered cupping her cheek and kissing her temple but he couldn’t do it. No. His features hardened as he turned away from her.

“I will show you respect as my wife. I will please you in all the ways a husband and lover can. But do not ask me to love you, for that is not an oath I can honor.” His voice came out hoarser and raspier than ever in the darkness, before rolling to the other of the bed preparing to fall in the arms of Morpheus.

There was an emptiness inside of her soul, her center she couldn’t describe. Waiting to be full again. Aching. Pulsing. Whirling.

“But I thought…” Raven began, a lump forming in her throat, not wanting to admit that she had hoped he could ever find love with her. Perhaps fondness. What about the gentleness he had shown her? The words died with the quietude of the royal chamber as if Harpocrates had made himself present.

Perhaps coming morrow with the grace of Apollo, he would bring Damian’s gentleness back to her. All she can do is hope and pray tonight. A lone tear slipped down her face as she closed her eyes.

Notes: Hello it’s me again with a new AU. Sorry not sorry. Had to get it out of my system 😂😂😂😂🙈🙈🙈🙈

Do not panic please. This is the first chapter and there will be Damirae fluff I promise. Happy Damirae moments and probably more smut than in other stories 👀👀

Hope you all enjoy. @ravenfan1242 @tweepunkgrl @chromium7sky @deepbreadlover @timid-soot-sprite @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @andthendk @alerialblu

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

Text

Wonderful tonight // F.M.

Synopsis: Reader is Pope’s sister and her and Frankie have been dancing around each other for years. Now Pope is getting married and emotions are running high and Frankie and Reader are both single at the same time for the first time ever. It’s all about the longing, the yearning.

A/N: This entire thing was inspired by that picture of Pedro in the header and how handsome he is. This is my first time writing for this fandom and I rewrote this story about 5 million times. If you like it let me know if you don’t then you can also let me know if you want. I did run this through spellcheck but it’s not really edited. I don’t have the time, honestly. Just ignore mistakes, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“ One day I’m gonna stand right over there. I’m gonna wear an expensive suit and shiny shoes. I’m gonna get my hair done real nice, and probably have a flower pinned to my jacket. My hands will be clammy and my heart will be racing. There will be flowers, lots of them, all over the garden. We'll have a musician playing acoustic guitar. All my friends will be there, and — and our entire crazy family. And I’m gonna get married to the love of my life. Right here. And things will be good. People will be happy.”

“ Mom will probably be crying. “

“ Oh for sure. “

As she steps out into the garden, (Y/N) can’t help but let her mind wander back to that one summer night a long time ago. Pope was fresh out of high school then, about to move out and start the rest of his life, away from home. Nights like these, sitting in the garden of their childhood home and sharing silly stories and hopes and fears, were numbered. That’s the thing about having siblings, it really only occurs to you how important they are to you when you’re faced with the idea of a life without them. So they sat there, on the steps of the porch, ice-cold cans of coke in hand and hearts open and vulnerable. Pope had never shared any of his dreams with her, not like this at least. But maybe him leaving home made him feel nostalgic too.

Her eyes meet his across the aisle and he smiles at her with his signature Santiago Garcia smile, the one that’s gotten him out of so much trouble when he was younger, the one that looks so much like their mother’s. An ocean of flowers surrounds him, just like he said it would. And their entire crazy family has taken their seats, ready to watch him get married to the love of his life. (Y/N) has always been proud of her brother's achievements, in and outside of the army. But she’s never been more proud than today.

Will softly links his arm with her’s as they walk down the aisle to take their respective places as bridesmaid and groomsman. The air is filled with the soft melodic strumming of an acoustic guitar and the perpetual scent of peonies. The rational part of (Y/N)’s brain knows that life isn’t like the movies but maybe, she thinks, sometimes life grants us a little moment in which we get to relish in a bit of that magic that makes those films so enchanting.

Just as she’s predicted all those years ago, her mother is crying. Big happy tears roll down her blushed cheeks. If we’re being entirely honest, neither (Y/N) nor their mother had really believed they’d ever see Pope up there, wearing an expensive suit and shiny shoes and waiting for the love of his life to walk down the aisle so he can marry her and start their happily ever after. Then again, ever since he was little Pope always found a way to get the things he wanted if he only set his mind to it. The sky was and still is the limit for her brother and that is something (Y/N) is infinitely envious of and wonderfully amazed by at the same time.

As they reach the front, Will lets go of her arm and walks right to stand with Pope and the groomsmen and she walks to the left stepping up beside the maid of honor.

It all goes so fast from then on, one more bridesmaid and groomsman, the flower girls, then the bride. She looks gorgeous and she’s smiling the biggest smile. It’s one that just radiates with pure unfiltered joy. And there’s love in her eyes. So much love. The way she looks at Pope leaves no doubt about her feelings for him. It’s the most basic of all human emotions and yet the most complex to grasp though at that moment, in her eyes and his, it’s so clear to see and so easy to understand.

(Y/N) feels her heart do a little stutter as she allows herself, for the first time that day, to let her eyes wander towards the row of groomsmen. This is, by all accounts, a bad decision that’s only gonna hurt. Self-destructive behavior is something she’s pretty good at though.

Frankie stands next to Pope like a rock, sturdy and determined and ready to catch him if he were to stumble or fall. That is something so enigmatic about Frankie. As flimsy and unpredictable he can be when it comes to himself, he’s incredibly loyal towards his friends and loved ones. He does not falter, does not shake. Not for his loved ones, never.

The dark blue suit looks good on him, it fits him like a glove and it must’ve been expensive. Though (Y/N) can’t help but feel like something is missing. This isn’t the Frankie she knows. The one she —. Granted, it’s been years but still, there’s something funny and peculiar about Frankie in a fancy suit.

His lips are pulled up in a small, gentle smile. One that makes a comfortable warmth settle in (Y/N)’s heart. This man is both so familiar and yet so complicated. He’s been a constant in (Y/N)’s life for a long while now, ever since the first time Pope brought him around for dinner. Even without any blood relation, those two are brothers through and through. Will and Benny too. Those four, forever bound to one another by the horrors they’ve seen, the pain they’ve felt, and the family that developed along the way.

(Y/N) loves those boys, they are as much a part of her family now as they are of Pope's and yet, something about Frankie always felt different. From the first moment, their eyes met, the air filled with a strong magnetic pull. Invisible but palpable. It was always special. Always. Frankie is the kind of guy one can call at 3 am because you’ve heard a scary sound and don’t feel safe and he’ll jump into his car and come check it out for you and protect you, no questions asked. And he never wants anything in return. He just gives because that’s what his heart tells him too. The world, (Y/N) thinks, needs more people like Frankie.

He’s not without his issues, far from it really, and (Y/N) can acknowledge that. But the sum of his faults does not undo the size of his heart. Somewhere along the way of their friendship things changed. It was a gradual change, slow and steady like water down a stream. Glances lingered, hands kept brushing more frequently and the air held a perpetual sizzle of static. Though neither of them ever admitted it, they both knew it was there. Hell, even the boys, foolish and naive as they could be, noticed. It was a well-known secret.

If life really was a movie, the two of them would’ve gotten a happily ever after by now. A dance on a rooftop, a kiss in the rain, a soft indie song leading them into the end credits. A gentle epilogue to a slow burn romance.

But life really isn’t a movie. Everything seems to be working against them. Mostly time and cultural conventions. This man is her brother’s friend. Her brother’s brother. You don’t date your brother's friends, that’s like an unwritten rule. But time is probably the worst of their enemies. It never seems to be on their side. They’ve never been single at the same time. Frankie went through several more or less serious relationships and while (Y/N) hasn’t found anyone to settle down with permanently, there’d been men she lent her heart to.

Last year, just a few weeks before Pope swept his band of merry men off on their suicide mission to Colombia, (Y/N) moved back home after ending a 3-year relationship. Dave was — he was nice. Nice and secure and stable and boring. Something about him felt too squeaky clean. That night, looking at old pictures of herself and the boys that were proudly displayed on the fireplace in her parent’s living room, it became abundantly clear to her that Dave wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Dave wasn’t Francisco. She’d really set her mind to it then, to pull herself together and muster up the courage to finally seek a conversation with him about the elephant in the room they both had refused to acknowledge for so long. She’d been determined. Then Pope dropped a bomb on her.

“So Frankie and his girl are having a baby.”

And from that moment on she refused to let herself entertain any thought of her and him having any kind of future that went beyond being friends. It hurt, god it hurt like hell. But dreaming of things that could never be wasn’t doing her any good either.

Seeing him now, looking all snazzy in his suit and smiling, it sends a familiar shive through her body and makes the moths in her stomach go crazy. If only life was a movie. If only.

The ceremony passes in the blink of an eye. There’s happy tears, lots of them but love shines brightly through it all. Every glance, every touch, every word spoken. As her brother and his new wife make their way down the aisle, (Y/N) dares to take another glance towards Frankie and, for the first time that day, he’s looking back.

The world doesn’t shift or shake right then, doesn’t spin out of its axis. Nothing fundamentally changes but the air feels different. The electricity is back. The magnetic pull. The undeniable attraction. Just like that, they are both thrown back into this everlasting limbo of what-ifs.

(Y/N) looks away before her heart can break further, knowing what could’ve been and what can never be.

Weddings have this strange side effect of making you think about your own romantic entanglements. It’s not necessarily a bad thing or a sad thing. It’s just a fact. Seeing other people’s love being displayed so prominently, being celebrated, it makes you wonder. Will I ever find this kind of love?

“ You know, I think you and I gotta have a talk.” Pope’s voice holds a certain edge to it, a teasing tone she’s heard so many times growing up.

“ About what? Shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife right now? “

“ Ah, she got caught up in a conversation with her aunt, something about corgis. Once that woman starts going there’s no stopping her. It’s — it’s a lot.”

“ And you left your wife behind to fend for herself? What a way to start life as a married couple.”

Pope gives her a chuckle and their silly banter makes (Y/N) feel like a kid again.

“ So I’m gonna need you to talk to Fish. “

“ Huh? “

“ Oh don’t play dumb. I’ve known you your whole life, kiddo. I know when something’s going on with you and something is definitely going on.”

“ What’s my emotional turmoil got to do with Frankie?”

Her older brother raises his eyebrow in mock offense. As if to say “you really think I’m that dumb?”

“ You two have been throwing looks at each other all day whenever you think the other isn’t looking. Subtlety really isn’t either of you's strong suit. “

That, (Y/N) thinks, must be absolute nonsense. Frankie’s got a girl and a baby, there’s no reason for him to sneak glances at her. Clearly he’s gotten his happily ever after already and it doesn’t involve her. Pope must be delusional. Must have a head filled with cotton candy and all things rose-colored.

“ You’re on a wedding high, my guy. There have been no looks. “

Her words are met by Pope shaking his head in frustration. “ Look, I just — just please go talk to him. This dancing around each other is very high school drama and I love you both which is why I can’t watch this going on any longer. “

“ What are you saying?”

“ That if there’s something there worth um — worth exploring, you don’t have to worry about me or my opinion on it. “

If anyone had ever told her those words would ever leave her brother’s lips, she would've called that person crazy. Not that they change anything, he’s still got a woman at home and a baby. But still — it’s nice to know that if things had worked out differently, Pope would approve.

“ Are you saying that if I wanted to date Frankie — which I don’t, but like let’s pretend I did. Hypothetically. You’d be okay with that? “

“ (Y/N), “ Pope says and his voice dips lower as his expression grows more serious “ I love both of you. I just want you guys to be happy. “

Before either of them can continue the conversation, the bride steps up beside them, throwing her arms around Pope’s middle and facing (Y/N) with a big, radiant smile on her face.

“ Sorry I had to interrupt but I needed to get away from aunt Lisa and her Corgie stories.”

“ Nah it’s okay, don’t worry I uh — I gotta go talk to someone. “

Pope smiles at her in return and a silent understanding passes between the two. Maybe the story wasn't all that hypothetical after all.

Much to (Y/N)’s delight, Frankie sits alone at the table. His suit jacket is lazily thrown over the back of the chair and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows. This looks more like the Frankie she knows. The one she loves. Effortlessly cool and yet so undeniably charming.

Sliding onto the chair next to his, she can feel her heart speed up with anxiety. She shouldn’t feel this way around him. Underneath all the feelings, this is still her Frankie, one of her best friends, a member of her little family of misfits.

“ Hey, you. “ her words are soft, delicate, almost as if she’s afraid of saying them. And maybe she is. A little bit at least.

“ Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

His voice is dark and soothing but there’s an edge to it, a hint of teasing.

“ Mmh. It’s been a while. “

“ Yeah, and with the way you’ve been avoiding me all day today, it makes me wonder if I did anything wrong. “

Oh god.

“ Dude, what’s it with everyone thinking I’m avoiding you? I’m not. “

“ You sure about that? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in question.

“ Yup. Just been a — a busy day. I’d never avoid you, I missed you. “

At least the last part of that statement is factual. She’s missed him terribly.

“ I missed you too “.

There’s a truth in his eyes, a grounding honesty that is so hard to come by in people. Whatever words fall from his lips they are deliberate and he means them 100%. It’s something (Y/N) has always admired and appreciated about him.

“ Sooo … I was hoping you’d bring a plus 1 today. “

“ Huh? “

“ The baby ! “

“ Oh. Oh, I think it’s way past her bedtime by now. She’s uh — she’s with her mom. “

“ Do you have a picture? “

Frankie scoffs, “ One? I got a bunch of ‘em. How much time have you got? “

As he pulls out his old battered leather wallet, (Y/N) can’t help but let a smile take over her face. It’s so fitting that he would carry the pictures around in his wallet instead of having them saved on a phone. Frankie was never the guy to get all obsessed with having the newest technological gadgets. Though he was smart as hell and good at navigating any and all electronic devices, he never felt the desire to own a smartphone himself only having caved and bought one a year ago when his old phone died on him.

“ That’s her. Just celebrated her first birthday. “

The girl in the picture is undeniably Frankie’s daughter. She’s grinning up at the camera with his exact smile only she’s missing a few teeth still. Her eyes are the same soothing shade of brown and are rimmed by the same thick black eyelashes. She’s gorgeous and something about seeing her sends a pang straight to (Y/N)’s heart. What if …

It was one thing knowing that he was a dad but actually seeing his baby and realizing that’s his new reality, it’s strange. And while (Y/N) is happy for him, a part of her has a hard time coping with that realization. What if things had worked out differently, could that have been her life too?

“ She’s adorable. “

“ Yeaaah, “ Frankie replies and shrugs his shoulder casually, “ guess I did a pretty good job there. ‘s the first time in my life. Only thing I ever did right. “

Though he tries to shake it off and veil his words with a tone of mockery, (Y/N) can see right through him. The self-depreciation has always been a point of contention to her. How he can not see how wonderful he is, how loyal and sweet and loving, is beyond her.

“ Shut up, Frankie. Except for my brother, you’re the only guy I know that would drop everything to help me paint my kitchen at 1 am on a Tuesday. You’re so sweet and funny and I have not a single doubt in my mind that you’re an amazing dad. Stop selling yourself short. “

For a moment a quiet settles upon them that is neither comfortable nor awkward. It just is. And then Frankie looks into her eyes again and the moths are back going haywire. If only her future lay in those eyes, oh how wonderful yet foolish of a thought.

“ Ah, I don’t know. Her mom doesn’t seem to think so. Left just before her first birthday. I mean — “ he sighs and takes a sip from his bottle of beer “ things between us hadn’t been good for a while and a breakup was inevitable. It’s just that I wish I could see the kid more. She’s my heart. She’s my everything. I want to be good enough for her, you know? So one day she can be like that’s my dad and he’s a pretty alright guy. Not that’s my dad, the ex-addict unemployed pilot. “

“ Frankie. That kid's gonna love you so much, now and forever. Because you love her. That’s all that matters. When you think about your childhood, do you think about your parents’ jobs? No. You think about how much they loved you and the good memories you had with them. “

Frankie stays silent for a moment, just looks at her with his big brown eyes, and then — then he smiles.

“ Can I tell you something? “

“ Always.”

“ When she was born. When the doctor let me see her and hold her for the first time. I wanted to call you. You’re the first person I wanted to talk to about her. I was so fucking terrified at that moment because she was so tiny and the world is so big and scary and I don’t know how to not fuck things up for her and how to protect her from it all. And you, when I’m with you I never felt scared, ever. You’re so good at making me feel like I can do everything and at making me forget about my own shortcomings. I wanted to call you so bad. “

“ Then why didn’t you? “

He averts his gaze for a moment, as if it’s a secret that weighs heavy on his heart. One he hasn’t told anyone before. One he isn’t sure he’s ready to share.

“ Didn’t wanna bother you. “

That’s not the truth. She can tell immediately. Frankie is a lot of things but he’s not a very good liar, at least not to the people that know him very well. Though she doesn’t push the situation any further.

“ Pffsh. Bother me …”

“ Didn’t think your boyfriend was gonna be okay with me calling you in the middle of the night. “

“ Well fuck him. “

Frankie raises his eyebrows in surprise. “ Huh “

“ Yup. “

“ Didn’t work out? “

“ Nope. “

“ Why’s that? “

Cause he isn’t you. That’s what she wants to say. That’s what rests on the tip of her tongue just waiting to be spoken. She doesn’t say it though, doesn’t have the guts. There’s an overwhelming sadness about getting your heart broken at a wedding and it’s not something she wants to experience today.

“ Just didn’t work out. Realized he wasn’t who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. “

“ So you’re not gonna be the next one inviting me to a wedding and making me wear a stupid fancy-ass suit? “

“ No way. First of all, you look hot in this suit and you know it. Second of all, nah. I feel like this isn’t in the cards for me. I want — I want a guy that I can call at 3 am to get chocolate chip pancakes at the diner and that will run through the garden sprinkler with me when it’s hot outside and that will ask me to slow dance at a wedding even though the song that’s playing is super cheesy and overplayed. Dave was sweet and he was secure but I always felt like something was missing. I loved him but we were never friends. I think that’s what I was missing. “

Their eyes meet again and a shiver runs down her spine. There’s a tension in the air so thick one could cut it with a knife. And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, one that passes in the blink of an eye, there’s the courage she’s been looking for for so long. The one that helps her push the words from the tip of her tongue and speak them. For the first time. Finally.

“ Frankie, he wasn’t y— “

“ (Y/N), Darling. It’s time for your speech. “

At that moment she wants to strangle her own mother. That courage? It’s never gonna come back. This was her one chance and it’s not gonna come back ever. Oh god, what is Frankie gonna think? What’s gonna happen to their friendship ?!

“ Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll just. Okay yeah. I’m coming. “

She doesn’t dare even as much as glance back at Frankie. Though before she makes her way over to her seat where the mic is already waiting for her and the speech she’s so meticulously planned, she hears him call out to her.

“ (Y/N)! “

“ Hmm…? “

“ I lied. I didn’t call you when the baby was born because I thought It was extremely inappropriate to call the woman I’m in love with while the mother of my child is recovering from giving birth. “

The moths in her stomach are gone now. There are bats now. Maybe a swarm of birds. Something bigger than moths for sure. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire and simultaneously being splashed with ice-cold water. Her heart is beating faster and her hands are clammy and all she can do is stare and get lost in his eyes and his smile and this moment that seems unreal.

“ Honey? “

Her mother’s words break the spell and (Y/N) follows her to take her place at the table. The mic feels heavy in her hand though everything else feels weightless. Maybe, she thinks, this is what love should feel like. Weightless. Easy. Magical.

There’s a piece of paper in her sparkly clutch with a long and sentimental speech written on it all about love and finding your soulmate and all that stuff that, until today, she always felt like she didn’t really know anything about except for what they tell you in the lovesongs on the radio or the rom-coms on tv. And yeah maybe it’s still too early to feel like the world is an entirely different place now but those words he said, she’s been waiting for those words for over a decade. If there was ever a moment to romanticize her own life, to relish in the feeling of being loved, and to celebrate her own successes, it’s today.

The pre-written speech stays in the purse. Instead (Y/N) takes the mic and starts talking. Straight from the heart.

Across the room, her eyes meet Frankie’s and all she can do is smile, for it’s the first time in a long time where her future isn’t so scary. It’s exciting. Maybe everything else that came before was just the prologue and her story is just now about to really begin.

“ Hi. I’m (Y/N), I’m Santiago’s sister, and uh — I wanna talk to you about love. “

Weddings are hectic and busy affairs. There’s something going on at all times and it’s impossible for (Y/N) to find even a second to have a proper conversation with Frankie about — well everything. So much time had been wasted between them, on keeping their feelings locked up and trying to find the right moment. Now the moment is here and the conversation doesn’t seem so scary no more. Now the only thing that stands between them is this wedding. There are speeches then food then cake then more speeches then a picture slide-show one of the bridesmaids put together then then then. It’s never-ending and though it’s fun and (Y/N) enjoys celebrating her brother’s love, she wishes time would pass quicker right then. If only for once, time could be on their side.

Only when the newlyweds have left the venue to spend their wedding night at a fancy hotel nearby and most of the guests have cleared too, (Y/N) finally finds time to sit down and just relax for a moment. No speeches to listen to, no uncles who insist on getting one dance with her, no bride who needs help holding up her dress while she pees. Just calm and quiet and —

“ Can I have this dance? “

His hand is reaching out to her and there’s a nervous smile playing on his lips. There’s something quite intoxicating about it all now that she knows he feels the same. All the anxiety is gone and replaced with hopes and dreams of a future that now seems like it might actually happen. One that’s been a “What-if” for so long.

“ It would be my pleasure. “

Neither of them is a particularly good dancer but it doesn’t matter right then. All that matters is that they get to exist together at that moment and in their little bubble. That they get to be close and sway left and right as Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful tonight” echoes through the room.

“ That song is so cheesy and overplayed, “ (Y/N) exclaims, “ I love it. “

Frankie places a soft kiss on the top of her head and it sends her heart into overdrive. Is this what the lovers in a Jane Austen novel felt like when their hands locked for the first time, just a fleeting whisper of a touch?

It feels exhilarating and (Y/N) feels alive and like nothing is missing. Everything and everyone is right where they’re supposed to be.

“ You ever thought Pope was gonna end up actually getting married? I didn’t see that one coming to be honest. “

(Y/N) leans her cheek against his chest as they keep softly swaying to the song. A tiny content smile settles on her lips.

“ Actually, yeah. It was always part of his plan and you know him, if he sets his mind to something he usually ends up succeeding. “

Frankie nods in response. “ Talking about your brother, we had a uh — a conversation earlier.”

“ Now why in the world would you do such a thing? “ she jokes though not for a second does she lift her head off of his chest. He’s warm and soft and she can just about make out his heartbeat. This feels too comfortable to disrupt it for even a second.

“ He kinda implied that he wouldn’t mind if you and I — “

He stops, considers his words, rearranges them.

“ If we what? “

“ Started dating? That sounds wrong, that makes us sound like teenagers. “

“ You know, it’s funny because he implied something awfully similar when I talked to him earlier. “

“ Huh. weird. “

“ Ya think that maybe this, “ she says and gestures between the two of them “ is also part of his plan? “

Frankie shrugs and moves his hand to her jaw, softly stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“ He always gets what he wants, guess we can’t break the chain, huh? “

“ Guess not. “

They’re so close. So unfathomably close. His warm breath falls onto her skin and he can smell the flowery scent of her perfume. The air around them sizzles with electric anticipation.

Back when she was a kid, (Y/N) was obsessed with the Disney Cinderella movie. Everything about it felt so magical and wonderful and life held the sweet bliss of childlike wonder and innocence. And then she grew up and witnessed her heart breaking over and over again.

Now that she’s standing here, in the arms of the man she’s loved for so much longer than she can remember, she thinks that maybe the movie wasn’t all wrong. Yeah, maybe it’s an overly sugar-coated fairytale where happy endings are guaranteed and things get fixed with a song and the help of some critter sidekicks. But the underlying message of them all, the most fundamental truth of them all is that love is worth believing in even when life gives you so many chances to lose hope.

Just like the fairy godmother has said: Even miracles take a little time.

This kiss, warm and gentle and passionate, is a miracle in itself. If only for the fact that it has taken over a decade for it to finally happen. His lips meet hers and the world spins faster and slower all at once. If this was a movie, they’d probably show a montage of all their happy memories throughout their years of friendship, all the longing glances, and flirty touches. But this isn’t a movie. This is real life. She’s really dancing with him. He’s really kissing her.

She doesn’t have to imagine any of it anymore because it’s happening right here and right now and life is so much better than any movie or romance novel or cheesy pop song. They can never live up to the real thing.

Neither of them wants to pull away though eventually their lungs demand oxygen and they reluctantly detach their lips.

“ You think we should, give this thing a chance? “

Once again there he goes being so casual. As if this is not a decision that’s been in the making for such a long time now. An accumulation of years of longing and wishing and hoping and constantly missing the right moments and bottling up feelings.

“ Francisco Morales, I’ve loved you for a long ass time now. I am not letting you go anytime soon. Ain’t no getting rid of me, buddy. “

“ Good, I’m not planning on it. And I love you too, by the way.“

They seal it with a kiss and life feels like it always did only — better. Everything feels so damn right. The what-ifs are gone and in their place now stands a future worth looking forward to. One filled with adventure and happiness and love.

“ Hey, (Y/N)? “

“ Hmmm ? “

“ You wanna go get pancakes at the diner around the corner? “

“ With chocolate chips? “

Frankie scoffs “ Duh. What a question. “

There’s a lot of comfort to be found in romantic media though as they walk outside the venue, hand in hand and matching smiles on their faces, (Y/N) thinks that every once in awhile life itself makes for the best movie, the most magical moments and the greatest love stories.

#francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #catfish x you #catfish x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales imagine #francisco morales imagine #catfish imagine #triple frontier imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Animated Enchantment.

A recent restoration of Son of the White Mare sends our animation correspondent Kambole Campbell on a quest for a few words with legendary Hungarian filmmaker Marcell Jankovics, about the external cosmos, inner spiritual worlds, and the latest season of Vikings.

“The true arts are receiving less and less space in every genre.” —Marcell Jankovics

Much adored and highly rated by Letterboxd animation fans, Marcell Jankovics’ 1981 masterpiece Son of the White Mare is, frankly, some of the wildest imagery ever put on the big screen. A swirl of psychedelic depictions of folkloric beings are flattened out into a gorgeous 2D tableau. The titanic figures of the characters twist into impossible and often abstract shapes, all realized with eye-popping and heavily contrasting color.

Arbelos Films recently restored Son of the White Mare to 4K, and it was due for release in cinemas this year. Instead, the film is now available for US animation fans on Vimeo OnDemand, and it’s unmissable. “The restoration made everything pop so much, that at a point I think my brain melted,” writes Bretton, on Letterboxd. “The kind of film that makes me happy to be human,” raves Will. “Appropriately immense imagery for a creation myth,” agrees Lindy.

Hungarian filmmaker Marcell Jankovics.

Based on Hungarian folk tales and poetry, Son of the White Mare begins at the gates of the Underworld, at the base of a massive, cosmic oak tree that holds seventy-seven dragons in its roots. To combat these monsters, a dazzling white mare goddess gives birth to three heroes—the protagonist, Fanyüvő (‘Treeshaker’), and his brothers—who embark on a journey to save the universe. In the telling, Jankovics is clearly only interested in the kind of imagery that, well, only animation can provide.

Son of the White Mare (Fehérlófia) is one of four feature-length films by the animator—his others are Johnny Corncob (János Vitéz, 1973), which was Hungary’s first feature-length animated film, Song of the Miraculous Hind (2002) and the drama The Tragedy of Man (2011), which took Jankovics almost three decades to complete. These features have found continuing acclaim in the animation industry and amongst cult enthusiasts. Jankovics’ shorts are just as celebrated: Sisyphus (1974) was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Short at the 48th Academy Awards, and The Struggle (1977) received a Palme d’Or for short film at the 1977 Cannes Film Festival.

Born in Budapest in 1941, Jankovics began his career almost casually; after realizing his family’s status meant no higher education would be available to him, he passed a test to work at Pannónia Filmstúdió. He has said that the animated Russian film The Humpbacked Horse (1947) directed by Ivan Ivanov-Vano was the first cartoon he remembers watching, but that art books inspired him more than films. His career has traversed post-war Hungary, including the end of the Communist regime in 1989, and Soviet military regime in 1991. These events led to greater storytelling freedom, a shift that can be spied in his art, which has included television documentaries, commercials, books, teaching, and a Disney paycheck (for work that was never seen in The Emperor’s New Groove).

In our interview, Jankovics remains steadfast in his commitment to his “chosen path”, celebrating—but not being distracted by—others in his field, and revealing glimpses of his renowned sense of humor.

This restoration and re-release marks the first time that your film has been distributed in America in decades. Have your views on Son of the White Mare shifted in the time since? Marcell Jankovics: They have not changed.

A lot of Son of the White Mare unfolds on a flat, often circular plane. What inspired you to frame things this way? I never considered 3D. I don’t use it even today. The circularity is a part of what I have to say. A fairy tale (all fairy tales) traverses a particular arc, the year, of the eternal cycle.

Could you run me through the development of the style of Son of the White Mare? Use of the color wheel accompanied the above-mentioned circularity; this was partly adapted to the circle of time and partly to the characters. I wanted to get rid of contours. I could manage this because my characters are illuminated, this is why I could take advantage of light contours.

I notice that a number of your short films have focused on Greek mythology, while your features have mostly drawn from Hungarian folklore or influenced by Judeo-Christian religion. Did your interests shift? Absolutely not! All are projections of a similar spirit of the same world. I’m currently writing a book about Biblical symbolism, and in it I make numerous references to (Hungarian) folk tales.

What fascinates you about these myths and legends? They remain eternally true. They are harmonizations of the external cosmos and man’s inner, spiritual, unconscious world.

Looking at some of the sequences of Fehérlófia, I was reminded of the sequence where Susano’o battles the Fire God in The Little Prince and the Eight-Headed Dragon (1963), directed by Yūgo Serikawa and Toei Dog. Is that a film you’re familiar with? No. And I don’t need to [be]. Tales and myths are universal, the differences are stylistic. Of course, I’d love to see it. When I designed the Fehérlófia figures, I drew countless Japanese woodcuts. I also used Japanese theatrical masks for my heroes’ facial expressions. It’s not common knowledge but the Hungarians and the Japanese consider themselves to be related.

I’ve read in an old interview that you don’t watch much new animation. Is that still true? Yes. I don’t want to be distracted from my chosen path.

What films, live-action or animated, would you say have made the greatest impression on you? I’d rather give you directors: Eisenstein, Kurosawa, Fellini, A. Wajda, Ken Russell. In animation: Frédéric Back, Richard Williams, John Hubley. I don’t know if they influenced me but I have the greatest respect for them and I always enjoy watching their films.

What’s the first film you would suggest to someone looking to discover more animation? My own Sisyphus. It might be particularly shocking for anyone who has never seen animation before.

What was the film that made you fall in love with animation? It was a little different for me, I was rather forced into it as a career. It’s a long story and I’ve told it many times. As a young kid I only watched Soviet cartoons, but still I was enchanted because animation impressed with its own kind of genre surrealism. When I started working in the profession and I had the chance to see others as well, I realized that everything was possible in this world, even what I wanted to do.

Do you have a favorite myth, or one that you’ve been wanting to adapt? Not any more. At the age of 79, I yearn for less laborious work.

Are there any upcoming films you’re excited to see yourself? I haven’t been to the cinema for a very long time. The sort of films that I would be interested in are broadcast on TV late at night. I usually look forward to the latest season of the Vikings series.

How do you feel about the future of animation? The true arts are receiving less and less space in every genre. It is sufficient for me merely to mention the latest restrictive aspects of the Oscars. I hope that the marginalization of the arts and this kind of restriction prove to be only temporary.