#A walk in the clouds

[propalahramota]

Aitana Sánchez-Gijón de Angelis and Keanu Reeves in A Walk in the Clouds (1995)

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 15

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: angst, survivor's trauma, smut, FLUFF chapter map

-You stay together for a few days in the hotel in town to recover from your ordeal. Burns, Paul’s slashed arm, a possible concussion, raw scrapes at your wrists and ankles, and the lacerations upon your back that you feel sharply every time you move. A persistent cough dogs you without mercy, your lungs raw from smoke and the pure heat you’d endured in the inferno. 

Anjélica is able to slip away once to check on you. She tells you that Las Nubes has fallen into chaos. No body was ever recovered from the ruins of the house, but it was such an inferno that there’s no conceivable possibility don Juan survived. You hug your sister tearfully, certain you’ll never be able to return to your childhood home again. You do not know how your misadventure will pan out for the rest of your family, living in the shadow of the Aragóns.

When doña Maria sends a representative to your door to make noises about murder and arson, you tell them you’ll be glad to tell the world in court about what depraved things her son Juan Aragón y Espinosa did to you. The papers will eat up every sordid detail. To people like the Aragóns, saving face is everything. It would be their worst nightmare. 

They went away, and you haven’t heard from them again. 

You are sure they will rebuild, and the winery will go on, eventually under Juan’s younger brother, Pedro, who has been away at school. 

You have mixed feelings about Juan’s death. 

A part of you mourns the loss of your childhood companion. The more logical part of you insists that there was nothing left of that boy in the prideful monster Juan became. He fully intended to destroy you for the sake of his own ego, one way or another. He left you to die, and you should feel nothing for him. 

You always thought you would have been burned as a witch in an earlier century. 

You never imagined it was a fate you might actually face in the present time, had your sister, Paul, and the Veterans, bless them all, not banded together to save you. 

Now you and Paul have harrowing nightmares about your pasts, together. You cling to each other at night in your little room, taking turns soothing the other. 

What a pair you make. 

Paul helps change the dressings upon your shoulders. Some of it will heal, but you will be scarred for the rest of your life by what Juan did. You watch Paul work in the mirror, see the dismay upon his handsome features as he peels back your bandages. The wretched words fall from your lips before you can stop them: “Am I ugly?” 

His touch upon you freezes for a moment, taken aback by the vehemence of your outburst. 

You’re afraid that’s your answer, until he asks a question back: “Do you think my scar is ugly?” 

He surely means the long raised cicatrice that stretches the entire length of his abdomen, a souvenir from war shrapnel that nearly took his life in France. You turn in his arms on the bed to look at it, for he is shirtless behind you, only wearing blue-striped boxer shorts and a bandage around his upper arm, every inch your battered war-hero. Your heart is filled with so much love you fear it might explode, and you climb into his lap with your arms around his shoulders.  

“Of course not,” you answer without falter.  

“Why not?” His hands on your waist anchor you, pulling you closer. There’s no where you feel safer, as though finally you’ve found the place where you belong. You cup his face in your hands, tracing those high cheekbones with your thumbs. His eyes are liquid pools filled with so much earnest yearning–this man is so good, so valiant, so true, and you don’t know what you did to deserve him. 

“Because…I love every part of you, Paul Sutton. I love you.” Realizing the magnitude of this admission, you start to cry, but then somehow, you start to laugh too, ducking to hide in the bend of his neck “I’m so sorry.” 

“For what?” he asks through his own tears and laughter, flummoxed by joy and squeezing you carefully in his strong arms.    

“For…everything. For being me. For what happened. For getting you involved–”

He effectively shuts you up with his mouth on yours, a bone-melting kiss that renders you soft and pliant in his arms. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he insists with his forehead pressed to yours. “I would only change…that you got hurt.” 

You’ve never really talked about Juan’s demise, and the parts the two of you played in it. You find that your only remorse in that moment…is that you have no remorse. 

You kiss him again, a lingering lock of lips that feels like offering up a piece of your soul to this man. You feel him smiling against your mouth, and for the umpteenth time you think your heart will burst. 

“Will you say it again?” he asks, so shyly with such a sparkle in his dark eyes. He is breathtaking beyond words, and in that moment you don’t know how you haven’t told him, every day and every hour. 

You never told him what you said to Juan to earn the worst part of your thrashing–you never intend to, you know he would just feel guilty, and that is not a weight you intend to lay on his shoulders, when he already carries so much. But you know what you said that night is true. This man owns you–in the way two puzzle pieces meet, or a lock that has finally found its long lost key–and incredibly…you are fine with that now. There is a freedom in this acceptance of the truth that makes you absolutely giddy inside.  

“I love you.” You say it again, and again, between kisses and running your hands over his form you adore so well. He shudders as your nails graze his scalp and your hips press into his, finding him at full attention between you. Suddenly what little clothing you’re wearing is too much between you. Yet he catches your hands when you reach for the buttons of his shorts. 

“Sweetheart…I want to,” he sighs raggedly. “I want you so much, but you’re hurt, and I–” 

You kiss him again, merciless in your sudden need to devour him whole and lick the bones clean. It’s amazing, how desire acts as such an effective painkiller.  “I’ll be fine. I will not be fine, if I can’t have you inside me.” 

He laughs, that beautiful, unassuming sound that fills you with sunlight. “Honey…” 

“Come here.” He lets you–of course he lets you, you could not budge this strapping man without his cooperation–nudge him over until he can lay back on the bed, and you can straddle his hips. As you undo his buttons you can tell Paul is fighting a war with himself, torn between need and worry. Taking off your brassiere helps slightly–you can’t help but grin with a bit of wickedness as a small sound escapes him, looking up at you. 

“Y/n…” 

“I’m alright,” you tell him gently. “Because of you. Let me thank you.” You feel the burn in your back, the sharp ache as you stretch your skin to lean down to press your lips to his scar, but you have no intention of stopping. 

“You don’t need to thank me…” His breath hitches, his fingers tangling in your hair as you brush the velvety tip of his manhood with your chin 

“I want to. I want to be close to you.” 

That much he agrees with, and you watch him nod, eyes half-lidded, before taking him into your mouth. 

Though he clearly loves it, his head thrown back into the bedclothes, he only lets you savor him for a little while before he tugs gently on your hair, urging you up, needing you too, guiding you with those big hands on your hips until you are sinking onto his thick length, and the both of you see stars. 

“Go slow,” he cautions you sheepishly. “Or I’ll lose it.”

You are so pent up with desire and emotion that you know you won’t last long either. You savor the delicious stretch of him inside you, riding him slowly with your breasts in your hands, his thumb on your ripe little clit driving you mad. He brings you like the sun cresting the horizon, a warm and bright pleasure that fills your center and spreads through your bones. You know he holds on by a thread as your greedy cunt milks every last drop of golden ecstasy from him, his strong fingers digging into your hips with a moan. Breathless, you take mercy on him, uncoupling to take him in your mouth once more. The taste of him spilling upon your tongue is divine–his throaty moans the most wonderful sound. 

With a satisfied sigh you curl up beside him, resting your cheek on his ribs, shuddering for his featherlight fingers tracing over your hair, careful of your shoulders. That disbelieving laughter you love so much draws your attention back up to him, finding him looking down at you with so much joy shining in those lovely dark eyes. 

Not for the first time, you think he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” you answer with a smile, and in that happy moment you know you are equally blessed and ruined. 

The latter, you are finally ready to accept with an open heart.  

___

epilogue to follow...

[zyanlll]

So, I spent about a week creating this video. It is a flawed work, obviously, but I want to finish it before Sep 2 his birthday xD

I havent used premiere for about 6, 7 years. It is so damn hard to pick it up, and I made a few stupid mistakes. Luckily my project file is okay, but sorry for the shitty image quality.

I did not have too much time to find footages, so I asked @scarlettspectra for her help (Thank you very much!!). Also, I was inspired by theses gifs https://www.tumblr.com/cristinaricci/187630362207/the-devils-advocate-1997?source=share (really awesome work!!)

Anyway, I tried my best, hope it isnt that bad (I'm getting nervous already). And happy early birthday to our keke (#^.^#) I know its not time yet, but I'm no good at calculating time difference, so I decide to post it early

Btw, I'm Zyan and I love the vibe of this fandom :))))

[motion-of-love]

A Walk in the Clouds

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[periodedits]

Why can't you just love her? She's so easy to love.

A WALK IN THE CLOUDS (1995) dir. Alfonso Arau

[fruitblr]

Keanu Reeves in A Walk in the Clouds 1995 | dir. Alfonso Arau 🍇

[serendipity-in-love]

A Walk in the Clouds (1995)

[keanu-reeves64]

[bennyharvey]

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 14

gif by omg-imagine

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: violence, fire! chapter map

After Juan’s goons drag you away, it is Anjélica who slips from the chaos and entreats every man she finds at the fiesta wearing a uniform to come to Paul’s aid. By the time she is done the Sheriff has a mob of angry vets outside his jail, demanding the soldier’s release. 

Don Juan’s money was good, but it didn’t seem worth getting lynched over. 

When Paul roars up to Las Nubes in a Willy’s Jeep filled to bursting with fellow veterans, night has fallen, and the flames have just begun to lick out of don Juan’s bedroom window. The few workers who remained home from the fiesta are frantically shouting and passing buckets of water, fighting like hell to keep the rest of the buildings and the fields from burning. 

The house is already a lost cause. 

There is a rumble of thunder in the distance, a late summer storm too far, too late. 

Paul leaps from the Jeep before it has even stopped, running for the house. He knows you are in there, and that you need him. 

Some of Juan’s toughs emerge to meet the Jeep filled with interlopers, and Paul’s brothers in arms surge to meet them head on.

Paul bursts into the house, rushing down the hall on long legs, towards the flames.

Don Juan’s bedroom door is locked. Paul throws himself at it. It takes one, two, three tries before the heavy old wood gives. The burst of heat from the room sends him back a step, before he charges inside. 

His heart falls as he sees you laying there on the floor, crumpled and bloody as a flower crushed under foot, and for a heartbreaking moment he is certain you are dead. 

“Y/n?” he pleads, diving to his knees beside you, gathering you in his arms. 

He’s never been so relieved in his life, as when you stir in his grasp, your question of “Paul?” barely audible over the roar of the flames. 

“I’m getting you out of here.” He adjusts his hold so he can carry you out–and you see the ominous shadow in the doorway. Juan has returned, and he is holding an ornate saber that has been hanging in the hallway for longer than the two of you have been alive combined.  

“Paul–look out!” You try to warn him, but your voice is so weak. Maybe he sees the fear in your eyes, for he ducks just in time for the blade to slice just over his head. 

“You’re just in time for the barbecue!” hisses Juan, slashing again. 

Paul tries to evade, but doesn’t quite. The blade clips his arm, blood spurting. Though enraged, Juan is no swordsman. Before he can swing the heavy sword around to strike again Paul tackles him to the floor, wrestling for the blade. 

An old, familiar fury fills Paul, that consuming savagery from his war days slipped from its cage, and he wants to tear this horrible man to pieces with his bare hands for what he’s done to you.

They fight viciously, rolling, cursing, hitting and biting.

“You dishonored my house!” snarls Juan. “I will kill you both!”

The heat from the fire is scalding. You feel as though your skin will melt right from your bones, and you try to roll away from the growing flames.    

In the end Paul is victorious, pounding Juan’s hand on the floor until he must let go. The soldier throws away the fancy sword into the flames on the far wall. The room is a furnace now, and the fire is spreading out the window, up the house. You all need to go now, but Juan still will not quit, rendered mad by the desire for vengeance.

Desperate to get to you, Paul punches Juan in the jaw, hard enough to knock him out cold. 

“Paul?” you cry out, coughing on smoke. 

The decision is easy for him, to leave Juan behind to the flames, when he scoops you up and barrels into the hallway to make your escape from the burning house. As he passes through the door part of the grand old hacienda collapses behind him.  

He carries you away from the blaze as far as he can before his legs give out beneath him. “Y/n?” He cradles your head in his hands,desperate for you to answer him. Tears make sooty tracks down his cheeks. You both look like you rolled in a coal bin. 

“Paul?” Your eyes open to slits, and you cough violently. 

Are you alive?

For a moment you’re certain that if Paul is here before you–you’ve died, and this is your version of heaven. 

“Thank God,” he sobs, clutching you to him. 

Maybe you’re not dead. 

How marvelous it is, to breathe fresh air, and be cradled in this man’s strong arms again. 

Maybe you should start going to church again, because when the heavens open up and the rain falls down, it feels like a special blessing from above. You sit like that in Paul’s arms for you don’t know how long, soaking wet but warmed by his body sheltering yours. 

“I thought I lost you. Jesus Christ, I thought he’d killed you.” Paul’s words are a low litany in your hair. 

“I’m fine now,” you assure him, your voice rough from smoke inhalation.  

You absolutely are not fine, but you’re alive, and right now, that’s something. 

Even better, in your eyes, Paul is alive, and that’s the greatest miracle of all. 

You tilt your head in question, and without a word Paul answers with his lips on yours, a life-giving kiss that soothes the inferno in your soul as surely as the rain outside.

You sit together in a sodden pile, watching the house burn, before the rain starts to damper the flames. Too late for don Juan, you both are certain. On whose head lays the blame? Yours, for starting the fire? Paul’s, for leaving him? Or Juan’s himself, for being the man he was? 

You are too numb to suss it out, and Paul gingerly loads you into the Jeep to take you to the doctor in town, certain you both have worn out your welcome at Las Nubes.

*divider by animatedglittergraphics

[male-beauty-gifsets]

[motion-of-love]

Why can't you just love her? She's so easy to love. A walk in the clouds [1995]

[cinematicjourney]

A Walk in the Clouds (1995) | dir. Alfonso Arau

[bearnakedbaker]

Definitely Maybe