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mariejuli · 2 days ago

Note

dude this is SOOO GOOD

Hey! I hope you are doing well, I was wondering if you could do desire doue? I don’t really care if fluff, angst etc. he is really underrated and no one writes about him 😭

Thanks have a good day! 🩷

✮ Dancing Queen - Désiré Doue

désiré doue x fem!reader

sy: ex-couples, whether you deny it or not, reunite all the time. but at a wedding? the least expected. yet, here you are.

a/n: inspired by the vibes of dancing queen! i sooo agree with you, the drought of fics for him is awful. 🥲idk if this turned out as good as i thought in my head but i hope you likeee<3

warnings: i don’t think so?

the villa is above the sea like something pulled out of a hand-drawn, children’s storybook, washed in bleached stone and the aftermath of sunset light.

the sky stretching wide and pale, above the terrace where white chairs have been placed in careful rows. vines creep up the walls, pale pink roses spilt over clay pots and the breeze carries the smell of saltwater and garden lavender.

you keep your eyes forward, fixated on the floral arch where the couple would soon appear, but the weight of him tugs at you.

you don’t have to see dèsirè to know he’s there. his presence felt like gravity, muscle memory almost.

this is the first time you’ve seen him since your breakup. details don’t matter, and not many knew what exactly went down; you both agreed to keep it that way.

otherwise, since then, it’s been a long year. and if you’re honest, part of you came tonight just so see if he’d be here.

whether this was a subtle set-up or not, invited by one of his cousins, the experience was breathtaking. you’d always dreamed of experiencing a place quite like this: the heavenly haven.

they probably knew you couldn’t pass up the invite as soon as your eyes met the, ‘southern of france’ location. unbeknownst to you, a lure in favour for your ex.

to make matters more perplexing, you hadn’t expected to be seated so close to doue. though, not that it really matters.

because the minute you’d arrived at the villa and caught a glimpse of him by the cypress trees—hands in his pockets, shirt collar open, and blatantly-obviously rolling up his sleeves to display the muscles in his arms—you didn’t mind being seated this close, to steal glances every so often.

a true guilty pleasure of yours, some say.

and also, a gesture from his behalf that he knew you loved. smart dress, but somehow drawing a tousled look.

it had taken everything in you to walk past him under the cypress tree, and pretend you didn’t notice the way he turned toward you just a second too late.

doue has been doing that all day. from the ripe time of 9am, when everyone began spilling out to finish last-minute touch ups to the place.

even as time trickles to 6pm, his eyes still found their way back to you.

you told yourself you’re over him, that he’s just a bittersweet memory you’ll carry until the grave. but apparently not, because sometimes you’d catch yourself looking for him amongst crowds too.

are you as bad as him?

the sun is tardily finding its way below the terrace, the moon making a slow appearance, which is eliciting a resonant shade of golden orange across the sky.

the harmonic chorus of ‘ave maria’ begins playing through violins, as the ceremony commences. your hands are folded neatly across your lap, smiling when others smiled. laughing when others did, just like natural.

though, feeling the stare of him as steady as the tide, it pulls at you until, finally, you look up.

your eyes meet across the aisle, and it’s as if the rest of the world, the flowers, the music, even the bride and groom—the main show, falls away. there’s just him, watching you like he’s searching for something he lost.

for something he wants back.

now, hours after the bride and groom declared their i do’s, the reception follows shortly after. long tables, beaconed with fairy lights ahead.

chatter and laughter filters through the air with ease, almost infectiously as you find yourself conversing with a few women similar to your age. yet, still subconsciously your attention wanders for your ex, and you have no strength to fight it.

“so, do you have any upcoming wedding plans?” one of them asks softly.

you shake your head, almost scoffing. “oh no. i need a boyfriend to even begin starting to think about arranging a wedding.”

to your surprise, all three girls look stunned. “you don’t have a boyfriend?” the blonde one of the group inquires, her hand coming up to dramatically shield her mouth. “we thought you were dating désiré!”

your mouth slightly gapes open too. “desire? we broke up a year ago.,” you mutter, brows suddenly furrowing. “wait—how many people think that?”

“uh.. basically everyone here?”

in shorter terms, you are all having a competition in who could looked the most shocked. a way to drop the bomb, huh?

the blood feels drained from your face. “why do people think that? i thought we made it official that we split up.”

“doue definitely hasnt,” another one replies, taking a small sip from her wine glass. “he only told me you were his girlfriend like an hour ago.”

“he even said that he, i quote: ‘couldn’t imagine being here with anyone else but you.’”

that’s when you swear your heartbeat slows.

abruptly, the band strikes up a gentle melody, disrupting your conversation, and chairs scrape back. “ooh! this is my favourite song,” the girls are the first to rise from their seats. “you coming, y/n?”

you refuse with a forced smile, watching them shrug and drift away as other couples rise slowly, some with excitement, others with reluctance.

however, you do stay seated, quietly folding your napkin; your nerves twisted too tightly to risk standing. your hand brushes your wine glass, and you barely manage to keep it from tipping—with those words lingering in your mind.

“are you not going to dance, sweetheart?”

an older woman approaches, dressed preciously in a warm piggy-pink sundress, her eyes twinkling with joy.

your laugh comes out awkward and startled, rather than friendly as you wished. “oh no—dancing isn’t really a forte of mine.”

she laughs lightly. “oh, nonsense! nobody cares if you’re good at it, it’s about feeling it,” she taps on her ring finger over her chest. “y’know, in here.”

you chuckle, tucking your hair nervously behind your ear. you were never good at striking simple conversations. “maybe after another drink or two.”

“is it dancing alone you’re worried about?”

“you have nothing to worry about—you’re very beautiful,” she says it in the way, you reminisce your grandma saying the same when you were a young child, claiming boys would fall head over heels for you.

not many did, though. bar.. one.

your cheeks warm with a sheepish blush. “t—”

“she is, isn’t she?”

that voice, ringing straight through your ears like a forgotten melody. its désiré, with that innocent smug smile prying on his lips, approaching you both, with a martini in hand.

the man’s curls fall forward just slightly over his temples, his sleeves still rolled and his forearms golden in the fading light. your heart skips a beat.

“oh! and are you the boyfriend?” she beams.

désiré took a glance at you, flickering back to her with an mischievous nod. “something like that.”

“well, you’re a very lucky man,” she purrs, touching his arm before turning to you. “you’ve got one of the good ones i’m sure, love. don’t let him go.”

with a final grin, she toddles off into the crowd.

“what a sweetheart, ey?” doue chuckles, walking from around the table to sit next to you. “i figured you needed saving f—”

“i did not need saving.”

desire ushers a soft laugh, giving his head a small shake. “you looked bored as hell though.”

“i’ll have you know she was lovely to talk to.”

dramatic sarcasm was quite like your love language. seeming so tough on the outside, but inside? still soft in the centre.

“tough crowd,” he mutters under his breath. his eyes scan down from the way your blush highlights your cheekbones, to the pearly, pale pink backless dress that hugs your curves—in which he has been waiting to compliment you all night about it.

“well you look—that dress i mean..” he trails off, only allowing a subtle whistle to escape his lips. “it’s good to see you.”

it was nothing. but somehow everything.

do you shoot back with another sarcastic comment and ruin the mood? or do you spill what you’re really thinking—i’ve missed you and i still feel like you’re the only person who ever really looked at me—and potentially humiliate yourself.

meh, neither. you offer a small nod. “it’s good to see you too.”

the destined, thick silence that was inevitable strikes between you. doue is nervously tapping rhythms against his own oval glass; you’re subconsciously twirling the soft curls of your hair with your fingers.

though, your gaze meets at the same spot. the dancing crowd infront of you.

each and everyone, is a couple. slow dancing to the song, ‘every breath you take,’ perfectly, like their bodies were made for it.

again, you feel your ex’s eyes flick back to you. to the crowd. then, back to you.

“would you care to dance?”

your breath stops. it hitches in your throat, and the lump there that’s grown, is hard to swallow. your attention drifts to him: his hand is out, waiting for you, a soft smile evident on his lips.

“i won’t bite, i promise,” his hand is still outstretched, and your fingers hover over the table for a moment before you reach for him.

and when his fingers close around yours, it feels like all the time apart dissolves between your palms.

he leads you slowly, silently, toward the center of the terrace where other couples are already swaying. the sky above has shifted to deep violet, whilst pearly stars blink gently awake.

and the music, inevitably slow yet aching, wraps around you like a memory you hadn’t let yourself touch in months.

désiré pulls you in gently, one hand innocently slipping onto your lower back, the other still lacing your own.

your faces are only inches apart, to the point where each breath he takes lands squarely against the bridge of your nose; your breathing is a little rackety, a little uneven.

his touch feels nostalgic. a wave of cool air seeps into the fabric of your dress, drawing a shiver from you.

or maybe it’s not the cool air, but rather the way his fingertips are inculpably tracing the lower end of your spine.

“is this okay?”

you gulp. “yeah, yeah. it’s okay.”

doue nods, bringing your arm to reach further across his shoulders. neither of you say anything for awhile, until he finally musters up enough courage to start.

“so, what made you come? i didn’t think you’d accept the invite,” he begins, tranquilly moving to the dilatory rhythm of the classical song.

“i almost didn’t.”

his eyebrows raise. “why?”

you shake your head, dipping to look at your shoes and how they almost accidentally tread onto his polished ones.

“well, i was hoping you would.” doue reassures, reeling your body closer, whilst you look up.

“how come?”

his hand flexes gently against your back, and it takes a few seconds for the words to form on his tongue. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“you havent? i—”

“i’ve never stopped thinking about you,” désiré admits, maybe too casually but even so, the blush on his cheeks gives him away. “maybe it’s a little embarrassing to admit but..”

“it’s not embarrassing,” you deny, cheeks similarly warm. “it’s kinda cute actually.”

“oh yeah?”

you nod. your lips part to continue, until the song that easily reaches your top.1 listened-to on spotify, and having a routine to play it every morning, comes on.

dancing queen.

your head twists to the now-dj to your left, lifting the panels to increase the volume. “i love this song.”

you don’t even notice desire’s smirk. you’re in too much awe, with your radiant grin infecting his expression too.

“i know,” his ears burn red, watching the way your eyes brighten at the familiar melody. “i told them to play it.”

“you did?” you ask, dumbfounded. “why’d you do that?”

“because i know it makes you smile,” and sure as hell it works; it’s like his favourite picture.

your cheeks burn deeper, and you grin like an idiot. “god, you’re such a sap. a total, absolute sap.”

figuring the poignant tension was become unbearable to face, your head finds a path to his broad shoulders, resting snugly against the smooth material of his shirt. désiré takes the opportunity to cradle your waist, smoothing circles with his thumb into the back of your hand that’s still intertwined.

for a few beats, there’s nothing but the lyrics of dancing queen playing. nobody is speaking, nobody’s singing, everyone’s just.. silent.

everyone’s appreciating the moment. you do too, closing your eyes and having full trust in doue to guide your body side to side.

and in this quiet, you realise just how much you’ve missed this—missed him.

his warmth, the safety of his touch, the way his breath mingles with yours like it’s always belonged there. it’s all so blisteringly familiar, like finding home after being lost.

for a faint moment, his lips brush the side of your head, your arm coils around his neck tighter, and you no longer feel anything but peace.

your heartbeat syncs with his, a quiet intimacy. you allow yourself to imagine being held by him always, and you can’t help but wonder if breaking up was the right decision.

things always come to an end, and as the song does—a new one begins, you find yourself with a question on the tip of your tongue.

“hey, désiré,” and he hums agreeably. “i have a question. why are you telling people we’re still together?”

you lift your head up from his shoulder to meet his eyes, and for once, his expression isn’t completely unreadable.

he looks.. nervous.

the muscles in his cheek twitch. he wets his lips, as if he’s buying himself time, however, like normal, you catch on to the way his lips pursue into a thin line, everytime he’s afraid to admit something.

“you can tell me y’know.”

he hesitates, the words catching behind his teeth as his thumb stills against your hand.

“well, ever since you broke up with me, i’ve always been in some state of denial,” he starts off slow, like he’s trying to hold back. “and i—i don’t know, i kept hoping that maybe if you heard it going around.. you’d confront me and.. reconsider.”

“reconsider..?”

“dont kid me,” he cracks a smile, laughing lightly. “you know what i what i mean.”

you nip at your bottom lip, also smiling. “so you mean to say, it was a way for me to talk to you again?”

désiré looks up at the ceiling, his fingertips sliding to caress your neck. “if you wanna put it that way then, sure.”

apart of you is honoured: that despite the vast, forever distance, you’ve lingered so strongly in his heart. but also maybe a little hesitant—you would never wanna lose him again.

your ex tucks a fallen strand behind your ear, clearing his throat. “look. i know it’s selfish. but seeing you again tonight—it’s made me sure of it.”

truth be told, you’ve been laconically reconsidering since the moment you arrived. ever since the cypress trees, since the soft pull of his stare at the ceremony, even to the mildly-annoyingly way he waltzed right into your conversation.

maybe you never really stopped.

“im all up for a second chance,” he says, refusing to meet your eyes, even if he had all the confidence in the world. “if you’d let me love you again.”

oh, who are you kidding?

your hand reaches to find his jaw, the rough arrival of stubble meeting your skin. upon your tender touch, does his eyes glue to your own.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

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mariejuli · 10 days ago

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I love reading anything about curly girls… I feel so seen every time

Omgg just find out you have curly hair!! I've been dying to read a fic a Kenan Yildiz in which reader has curly hair but i think most writers don't have it so they wouldn't really care. So as i said, can you do one where reader just finished her hair routine and Kenan can't help but smell it all the time, also he finds so pretty and is always playing with it

"𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗟𝗦."

all the images were taken from pinterest.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐳 𝐱 !𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫!

a/n: thanks for the request ;) i hope you like it! I really don't see many fics with really curly girls, sad. but anyway, i found this request really cute and it reminded me that i bought a curl activator with a mango scent that is literally SO GOOD but my mom kept complaining that it was smelly lol. and just to top it off, it takes me a long time to comb my hair lol and it's not long, it goes past my shoulders but it's not too much. but there are so many steps to make it look nice lmao.

Oil, styling cream, comb and spray bottle. Everything you need to spend long minutes in front of the mirror combing your hair.

Kenan's bathroom is full of curly hair products that you bring every time you come here. And he doesn't mind, he has a space just for you in the bathroom cabinet. The smell of the products you use is so nice, he likes the smell they leave in the bathroom and it reminds him of you when you're away.

Despite complaining about how long it takes you to comb your hair, he likes how it looks afterwards. Your fragrant and defined curls made Yildiz even more in love.

Today is one of those days where you do a more intense treatment on your hair. Almost an hour and a half of process, between washing your hair twice with shampoo, nourishing mask and of course, the long minutes with the combs running through your hair.

But to the happiness of the impatient Kenan, today you actually managed to finish faster.

"Love, you're taking too long! I just want to lie down with you."

Kenan appeared in the mirror's reflection, pouting like a spoiled child and smelling your hair.

You combed the last strand, in the final seconds you looked at him over your shoulder, "I'm done."

Your boyfriend stepped out of the doorway and stood behind you in the bathroom, smiling as he sniffed your hair and you finished cleaning up the items you had soiled.

"Your hair always looks so nice and fragrant," he said as he played with the tip of one of the curls.

You always told Kenan to try not to mess up your curls when he decided to play with your hair, which happens all the time when you're inches away from him. And it's an involuntary movement, stronger than he is.

But you would never argue with him about it, even though you ask him not to. It's so cute to see him playing with your curls with a look of admiration, passion.

"You always say that," you turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He kissed your forehead, "It's true. Your hair is the most beautiful and fragrant I've ever seen," he made you giggle as he leaned in again to smell your hair.

"You're in love with my hair."

He nodded and smiled, "I love you, I love your hair. I love everything about you, really."

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