#ff: hopelessly a lover

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Give me more.

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 2527 Rating: +18, MDNI

Summary: You're ovulating and can't calm down, just the night before Frankie leaves for a two-day camping trip with the boys for Santi's birthday... luckily Frankie is willing to help you... too much, even.

Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, a lot of kissing, female masturbation (on Frankie's leg hehehe), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), overstimulation, aftercare, reader has breasts and vagina, wears a baby doll and a thong, she's able body, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described and she has no other description, brief reader’s thought insert, marked in italics. Pussy pronouns. Pet names (baby, honey, good girl). Frankie is our PEK on a mission 🫡

A/N: This Frankie is the same as You look like a fun place to sit, but it can be read as a stand alone, there are only some mild references to the previous ff. (If you haven't read it yet though, I hope you do 👀♥️) I have a couple more ideas in mind for these two, I hope to have something out for the Christmas holidays at least. Thank you so much for loving these two in the previous story, especially to @harriedandharassed who read it and shared it like 3 times if I'm not mistaken, I'm so flattered and grateful. I hope this one works just as well as the first one. English is not my first language, I have no beta, I hope there aren't too many mistakes, please forgive me if there are. I'm open to any advice you want to give me to improve but please be kind. (you always are, tbh). Comments and reblogs are always welcome, you would make me so happy 🥹 I started a tag list, if you want to be added leave a comment. If you'd prefer to be tagged only on something specific I can definitely do that, just let me know.

Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you enjoy.

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

“Frankie...” you whisper in the dark.

“Yes?” he answers you in a thick sleepy voice

“Are you asleep?”

“Actually yes.”

“You're answering me, though.”

“Sweetheart...” he picks up his phone from the nightstand ”It's 3:00 a.m. What's wrong?”

“I can't sleep” you groan

“Come here, come on” you shift on his part of the bed and he holds you tightly against his body, you rest your head on his chest and surrender to his comforting embrace and the scent of his skin.

You hum “thank you”

He places a kiss on your forehead “sleep now”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sense of peace you feel wrapped in his strong arms, clasped to his body as warm as a furnace, one leg crossed over his, one arm wrapped around his waist.

It's amazing, really, so amazing that soon you begin to feel something else. a little shiver that runs under your skin, a little electric shock that goes through you all, and then a crescendo of wetness between your thighs.

You’re ovulating and you’re feral, simple as that.

You try not to mind it, to let it pass, not to be too demanding after he has already made you come twice tonight, once on the couch while you were watching a movie - well at least you tried, but you actually have no idea what the movie was about because you were too busy bouncing on his cock, which when you think back on it, it makes you laugh because it seems like a constant in your dating that you can't finish watching a movie without jumping on each other - and once as soon as you got into bed when he saw you coming out of the bathroom in a new babydoll and thong you bought especially for him.

Only two months ago neither of you could stand the other but now, as much as it still bothers you to admit it since he was the last person you thought you would end up with, you are completely and hopelessly smitten with him.

“Frankie,” you whisper, hoping he won't tell you off “can we kiss for a while? Just a little bit?”

It’s so early in the morning that he doesn't have the energy to be sarcastic as usual, he just replies “of course, baby”

He lowers himself on your face and kisses you on the lips, in a very tender but rather chaste way, he still looks half asleep. After a couple of minutes he stops and you sigh, resting your head back on his chest. 

I must let him sleep, you tell yourself. This man is tired, he has already fucked me twice, that should be enough for now. Yet no, it's not enough, you still crave more.

“Frankie.." you mumble on his chest.

“Mmm what is it again?” his voice is even deeper and rougher than usual, which literally sends you into raptures.

"I..." a glimpse of him between your legs as he eats your pussy flashes past your eyes, you squeeze them hard and admit "I want you"

“Still?” he doesn't have an angry tone, nor an irritated one, he's calm, quiet, definitely awake at this point because you feel his hands roam over your back, all the way down to your ass “you insatiable little minx. You know I have to get up in three hours.” 

“I know...but it's not fair, it's Saturday” 

‘You were there when I promised to go camping and fishing with the guys, right?’ You leverage your arms to reach his neck, resting your lips on his soft, amber skin ”mmmm yes” you groan.

He chuckles, as he squeezes your butt cheeks “you know I have to, it's Santi's birthday” 

You continue your run up his neck, slipping your hands under his shirt, caressing his back.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper in his ear, burying a hand in his dark curls, your leg tightening around him brushing your barely covered pussy on his leg. Frankie gasps at the sensation, as you begin to grind against his thigh. “It’s only for two days. Jesus, you really are a menace, you know that?” 

“Yeah, you like that about me” You coo.

He puts a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing your ear while his other fingers wrap around the base of your skull. “I sure do. Go ahead, honey, make a mess on me”

You’re grinding hard, the texture of your brand new thong is adding a delicious scratch between your clit and his skin. 

Ridiculous desperate moans escape your lips and he kisses you, letting them vibrate into his mouth. 

He’s wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, which allows you to feel his warm skin, your clit throbbing against him, your dripping pussy heating from the contact.

You feel the tingle of your orgasm mount inside you, your mouth is wide open for him, your tongue feverishly entwined with his in a sweet struggle that leaves you breathless.

And you come, wave after wave, quivering against him, one of his strong arms keeps you in place while his other hand is still wrapped around your neck squeezing lightly on your pulse point.

Your breath is short and ragged, your body hot and tested and yet you feel like it’s not enough.

As soon as your breathing returns to normal you mutter “gosh...I want more” into his slightly sweaty t-shirt.

His voice comes out more high pitched than he would like, he opens his eyes wide and exclaims, "Baby, do you want to wreck even the last bit of me tonight?”

You giggle softly and coo “She’s aching, you know…”

You feel one of his hands kneading one of your ass cheeks and then sliding down to your pussy, massaging your folds from behind, wetting his fingers with your juices.

“Mmm that’s good” you whisper “but I still want more”

Frankie grunts, flipping you onto your back on the bed and getting on top of you. 

His eyes scan you in the dim light of your room, reading the lust on your face. “How much is she aching?” 

You whine, tighten your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer but Frankie doesn't budge an inch, he's too strong for you.

“Use your words, baby, I know you can.” His gaze is no longer clouded by sleep, it’s alert and authoritative and he pins you down. 

“A lot.” 

“Yeah? Does this wet pussy need me?” he goes down your chest kissing your skin left uncovered by the thin straps of your baby-doll. You moan again, you don't know how to do anything else, your head feels light and confused. 

"Answer me" he says leaving a bite on your shoulder. 

You squirm and a breathy "Yes" comes out of your throat.

You feel his cock swell against your thigh, A trickle of desire runs down between your legs, wetting the thong you're wearing underneath. It’s basically drenched at this point.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me what your naughty pussy needs" 

“Your tongue, your fingers…” you whine “Please, Frankie” 

One thing you learned right away about Frankie is that he really enjoys eating his girl out. 

He's not one of those men who do it just to get a blowjob in return. He's dedicated. He uses his tongue, his lips, his nose even, he compliments how you taste, how pretty your cunt is, how wet and warm she is under his tongue, he doesn't stop until you're left shaking and breathless beneath him, until he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you. 

He really is a force of nature and blows your mind every single time. And not only at doing that, he is experienced and passionate in every field.

“Greedy”

He pulls back the duvet and the cool air hardens your nipples as he reaches between your legs, his lustful, tantalizing eyes peering down at you. 

His mouth brushes your inner thigh, slowly moving up from your knee to your groin, his beard tickling you deliciously, “is that what you want huh?” 

“Yes” you murmur ”yes, please.” 

His plump lips settle on your opening, he sticks out his tongue and licks from above the fabric. You moan, sinking a hand into his raven curls, pressing him against your cunt. 

He chuckles against your folds, sending an exquisite vibration through your body, slips his fingers into the elastic of your thong and slowly pulls it down. 

Your cunt throbs in anticipation as his tongue travels up your slit and you emit a deep “Fuck, yes” as soon as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking away the last bit of reasoning you had left. 

“Oh God, Frankie” 

He goes down again and comes back up, tongue flat out sliding over your wetness, once, twice, three, four times as an irrepressible heat spreads inside you again and then the tip of his tongue stops under your clit and he begins to jerk it quickly with close flicks.

His hand is open on your thigh, he slows down a bit when he feels your body tenses, goes back to teasing your opening and then starts tickling your bundle of nerves again.

You tug his hair, spreading your legs even wider to take in all that he wants to give you, melting under his ministration.

“Fuck, you’re so good, don’t stop” you whine and you see him grinning as he replies “I won’t, baby, I’m going to have a damn fucking meal out of this pussy”

His touch is careful, long laps and sucks on your clit, he knows how to alternate them, he seems to know your body and the way it reacts inside out.

Another thing you discovered about him is that he is great at listening and observing and very often guesses your needs and reactions before you express them. He immediately learned how you take your coffee, how you frown when something is bothering you, he knows that you need a particularly tight hug on Monday nights, and that on Friday nights you like to treat yourself to a drink to celebrate getting to the end of another work week.

Frankie is good, really good, you even start to really like quarreling with him, you like the way he stands up to you, the thrill of it and the amazing sex that usually comes right after. 

He brings you almost to the edge with his tongue without taking his eyes off your face, and then you feel two of his fingers nudging at your entrance “you want them huh?” 

“Yes” you breathe, almost on the verge of delirium and he teases “ask nicely baby, I haven’t heard that little magic word yet” 

You would roll your eyes if you were able to do that but right now all you feel is desire, desire to be full again with his fingers, desire to be fucked just like the way you like, desire to be his and only his. 

“Pl-please” you mutter and he whispers “here she is, my good girl” 

His index and middle finger start to stretch you, it seems like he’s taking all the time in the world while you’re trembling and begging to be satiated.

“Almost there pleasepleaseplease”you plead and he sinks a little bit more, up to half fingers, his other hand gripping on the soft skin on your tummy, keeping you in place while your back feels like a guitar’s string ready to snap.  

Your walls are clenching desperately around his fingers, impatient to have all but instead of giving you your long awaited release he comes out completely. 

"Fuck" you hiss. 

His lips are curved into a mocking smirk.

Your clit is swollen, your hole empty and the almost release is tingling all over your body like a latent fire that cannot be extinguished.

“Did you think I would make this easy for you?” He asks ironically.

You scoff “Goddamn,Frankie!” 

You don't know how he finds strength but he's making you pay for be so demanding, your pussy won't stop throbbing as he barely caresses you, feather light touches on your folds, deliberately ignoring your clit. 

You try to breathe deeply to calm down, but as soon as Frankie feels your body relax he returns to licking you, two fingers on your clit moving in circles. 

You're almost on the verge of tears when he brings you back to within an inch of your brink.

“Frankie, please” you cry “I can’t- fuck- I just can’t”

“Oh yes, you can. You wanted more? I’m going to give you exactly this so now shut up and let me do my job” he’s commanding now.

He’s slow and steady over your bundles of nerves and when you impossibly tense again his mouth is back on it, sucking and teasing with his tongue.

When he gives you your second orgasm he doesn't stop stimulating you as it washes over you, your back arches sharply, you’re gushing in his mouth and all over his face, your hand in his hair tugs to try to pull him away from you but he doesn't move, his lips stubbornly latched onto your clit, his hand firmly on your tummy while the other grips your thigh. 

He doesn't stop as you anchor yourself to the edge of the mattress trying to lift yourself up, your body twitching unbearably, he pulls you by your legs and brings you right back to where he wants you without taking his face off you, in fact sinking even more. “Frankie please, please, I can't” you feel tears stinging your eyes. 

You feel so sensitive it’s almost impossible to handle. 

“Ssssh you’re good” he says, detaching from you just long enough to say it, his beard and mustache glistening and soaked in your essence.

You squeeze your eyes, cover your mouth with your hand as you wail so gravelly it almost doesn’t sound your voice anymore. 

You're overstimulated, your body is sore, you murmur a tearful “please” again, and Frankie finally decides you've had enough. He pulls away from you and takes you in his arms as he whispers, “You're okay, honey,” caressing your back. Your labored breathing slowly returns to normal, giving way to a deep, dense feeling of gratification. 

Frankie definitely reached another level of dedication tonight. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks as he lifts your chin, inviting you to look at him. "Yes," you murmur, and he kisses you tenderly, "do you think I've given you enough to deal with my absence for two days?”

You giggle “I think it's enough to endure a week” and ruffle his hair kissing him again, lingering on his lower lip “But let me tell you something, though, someone they call Catfish who goes fishing… it's really odd”

The sound of his thunderous laugh vibrates against you “I hadn't thought about it but I must admit that you are right. Now let me sleep for...I don't even know what time it is anymore” He reaches out an arm to retrieve the phone on the nightstand and realizes that it is already five o'clock.

“Oh, fuck”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter 🌹

[callieselvisobsessed]

Keep loving on me honey

4K Words (whoops!) Pairing: 60'sElvis! x Curvy!Reader

Warnings: Smutttty smut, p in v, fingering, use of Daddy, reader is insecure about her body slightly, creampie, The Colonel is mentioned (ew). Swearing, Obviously 18+ so minors DNI thankyouuu, if I've forgot anything please let me know!

So this is my first ff, lemme know what you guys think and if I should do another one or not lmao. Enjoy!

This’d been the first time in a long time that you felt… off. Something clearly wasn’t right, every outfit you had tried on did not hug your curves the way clothes used to. As you stood at your full length mirror in yours and Elvis’s bedroom at Graceland, this uncomfortable feeling clearly was not going to disappear. You weren’t about to let it ruin your time though, Elvis had invited the Memphis Mafia and their wives for a barbeque and pool party, so you wanted to look your best. You had decided on a brown sun dress, the material was comfortable, light and made the off feeling subside slightly. The dress had just enough of your breasts showing that you wouldn’t stand out too much.  Youd stand out to Elvis though, you always did. Regardless of the outfit or lack thereof. He loved you hopelessly, endlessly, with his whole beautiful soul. You knew what you meant to him and how much he meant to you. It was these occasions of quality family time that you got to see the side of him a select few got to see.  You wanted to make the time you had together special, as he was in Vegas performing at the International Hotel most days. You loved seeing him on the stage, giving every audience an almost ethereal experience, a once in a lifetime show. To see his passion and love for the music and the performance vibrate through his entire body made you love him more than words could ever describe. It also made you feel a lust no other man could ever make you feel. Those gyrating hips, his sweaty chest, the noises of pleasure he’s make, knowing you were watching, knowing just how to tease you…

You found yourself getting carried away in the mirror and running your hands across your cleavage, across the soft skin peeking above your dress and down your waist. Your skin began to feel all too hot at just the mere thought of your perfect partner, your imagination would carry you away most of the time. With him being away so often as he was, you’d miss him dearly in the day and crave him desperately in the night. The way you’d make love to each other consumed your being; the tender but intense way he’d grab your wrists and pin them above your head, his hitch in breath when he’d enter you from behind, his praises and moans of “that’s it baby”, “such a good lil girl for me”, “o-oh come on honey.. cum for me..”…

“Y/N?”

Your daydreaming was interrupted as Elvis opened the door and began to walk towards you. “Ya’ almost ready honey? People should be here soon.” You turned around and smiled at your lover. He was wearing black shorts and a red shirt, you always loved red on him. Any colour will look astonishing when you’re that handsome. “Nearly baby, just deciding on my outfit. Whatchu’ think?” you did a small twirl and showed the dress to him fully. You still had your doubts, but Elvis always knew what to say to make you feel sexy. He chuckled softly at your twirl and said “mmm well aren’t you a pretty lil thing? Cmere honey, twirl for me again..” He grabbed your hand and span you slowly around, causing you to giggle while he watched you, looking you up and down and biting his lower lip. He pulled you closer to him, sighed and wrapped his arms around your curvy hips. “I love this dress on you Y/N.. lookin’ all dolled up just for me… ” With a squeeze of your ass, Elvis leaned down and kissed you quickly, teasingly. Continuing to knead, he slowly kissed down your exposed neck and collarbone, grazing his hot tongue against you. “so I should wear this one then?” You sighed and moaned softly. Knowing you didn’t want him to stop, he moved further down and began to kiss and nibble at the top of your breasts, licking and sucking at your skin until he made a soft “hmmm” sound, clearly enjoying what you were doing to him with your body. To your surprise and frustration, he stopped, let go of your body and took a step back, smiling. That smile was too smug for your liking, why did he have to tease you like this? He knew just what to do to get you riled up and part of you hated that. “hmphh Elvis…” you whined, knowing how needy you sounded but didn’t care. “What honey?..” he matched your whiny tone, fake pouting. You were not in the mood to be teased today. If he wanted to play this game, then you were all for it. You span back around to the mirror and readjusted your dress and smoothed it down. “I’ll be ready soon baby, not if you keep distracting me though.” You faked a careless demeanour, but the ache between your legs was almost unbearable now. He added fuel to the fire and he knew it. You saw him smile lovingly at you in the mirror. “mhm, well don’t let me get in ya’ way now..”. He stepped towards you again and put his hand on your shoulder, kissing the back of your hair. He closed his eyes and you could feel him breathe you in. You wanted to melt into his touch but needed to finish getting ready. “I’ll meet you downstairs Mr Presley”. With a very soft push of your hips back against his, he let go. “Yes ma’am”. With a playful smack of your ass, he rushed to exit the room with you chasing him to the door, both laughing like children. You loved that no matter what, Elvis and you always had fun. That’s all you could ask for, with your past being the way it was. Elvis lifted your spirits and brought joy to your life again. You’ll always thank him for that.

After a few touch ups, you headed downstairs just as everyone started arriving. You walked through to the kitchen as Elvis did the usual sweep of hugs and handshakes, laughing and joking with his friends that were like brothers to him. You smiled and greeted everyone and you all migrated to the garden as one of Elvis’s staff brought out the lemonade and meats to be cooked. You helped them set up as all the wives grabbed their drinks and sat beside the pool, leaving the men to do their thing for a while (which involved play fighting and playing War.) You had become close with Jennifer, Charlie’s wife. It was a good, welcoming feeling to be friends with Elvis’s friends. She handed you your drink and you sat down with her with everyone else. “So Y/N, how’s things? Has he popped the question yet?” She winked at you and smiled. You chuckled heartily and replied “Not yet. I think E and I aren’t there yet, but if he were to ask I definitely wouldn’t say no.” “Well he better not wait too long sweetie, can’t let someone as good as you slip away!” She grabbed your hand and squeezed it lightly. You hadn’t given much thought to the idea of married life with Elvis, you were content with how things were now. Jenny did make a good point however, you’d been with Elvis for almost two years. You started to overthink why he hadn’t asked yet, questioning his intentions. You brushed it off and tried not to think about it. You knew he loved you so much, was there something in the way? His busy schedule? The Colonel? Another woman? Other women?

You sipped your lemonade and pushed those thoughts out of your mind. Dwelling on it will spoil things between you, you wanted to be happy with Elvis and live in the moment.

A few hours had passed, everyone either being in the pool or lounging next to it. You happily listened to the neighbouring conversations, eventually getting up to grab a burger. As you put the food on your plate, you realised you had accidentally spilt some sauce on the front of your dress. “a-h fuck” you murmured to yourself as you used your napkin to wipe it off. You turned back to walk towards the group of women and saw some of them looking at you and snickering. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered you, in your mind being a curvier girl always meant being the butt of some others joke, you had ignored it in the past and even embraced it. Unfortunately today, it struck a nerve. You walked up to Jenny and whispered “I’m just going to change my dress, I’ll be down soon okay?” “alright hun” she replied and you set down your plate and glass, walking back into the house and going up the stairs. Elvis’s attention had been caught by you walking back inside, he was no longer listening to whatever Joe was saying to him.

You walked into the bedroom and stripped off, throwing the dress on the floor and slumping down onto the bed with your head in your hands. You had already felt emotional all day, this did not help. You sighed and led back, letting your head hit the mattress and looked up at the mirror on the ceiling. Being in just your bra and panties, you stared at yourself. You had built up so much self-love and confidence over the years, why did today feel like a step backwards?

“Honey?” Elvis. You looked forwards and saw him leaning against the door frame with a towel around his neck, in just his shorts. He looked divine, glowing with purely authentic masculinity.  “whatcha doin’ up here?” He walked towards you and knelt down, putting his forearms on your thighs and leaning his head up at you. It baffled you how a man could exude such boyish charm and sexual energy all at the same time. You sat up and ran your fingers through his hair. “I came up to change my outfit, I got something on it..” You paused before you spoke again. “ I just needed to clear my head.. that’s all.” You led back down and closed your eyes. You wanted to just stay in this bed and sleep away your feelings. Elvis began stroking your thigh carefully, giving you all the comfort you needed. “That’s okay Y/N, take as long as you need. It’s just you n’ me.” The pent up tension you carried began to slip away the further up your thigh he smoothed. You started to wriggle your hips slightly at that oh so good feeling of Elvis touching you, you wanted more, so much more.

“Mmm E… you feel good..” you moaned quietly, barely a whisper. You spread your legs ever so slightly, almost attuned to his touch. This was music to Elvis’s ears and he loved to please you, god how he loved to please you. “ahh is this what you needed honey? For daddy to love on you like this?” His breath against your inner thigh and his words made you vibrate with pleasure and you felt yourself becoming wetter by the second. “I- oh.. Yes Elvis..” His touch travelled even further up your leg until he ran his fingers ever so slightly across your clothed pussy, making you whimper. You had given in to the feeling and wanted, needed Elvis to fuck you. “Ya been such a needy girl today, let daddy take care of you.” That word. He knew this was driving you crazy and the teasing was getting to you. He moved your panties to the side and revealed your slick, throbbing opening, making his mouth water and cock twitch in his shorts. You glanced down and saw him reach into his shorts and begin tugging at his cock slowly, loving the way you were nice and wet for him, plump and aching to be fucked. He used his index and middle fingers to spread your lips and rub your swollen clit gently. “Elvis pleaseee..” “please what honey? You’ll hafta use your words..” This incredible man… the teasing… it was all too much now. You sat upright abruptly and grabbed his hand in a huff. You looked into his blue crystal eyes shining up at you and you saw his lips twitch up into that smug smile again. You had had enough. “Elvis Aaron Presley, I want you to fuck me. Hard.” And with that, he grabbed your panties and ripped them down your legs, discarding them onto the bedroom floor somewhere. He pushed you down onto your back and rolled you over onto your front, undoing your bra and throwing it across the room and bringing your knees up onto the bed spreading your legs in the process. Your ass was flush against his crotch and you felt him grind against you, causing a guttural moan to escape his beautiful lips.. The noise escaping you was a high pitched squeal, utter surprise. You had obviously had sex with Elvis before, multiple times. This was the first time he showed his more dominant side compared to the tenderness he’d normally give you. This is what you needed, you knew you were in for a ride tonight.

You were completely exposed to him, at his mercy. He pulled his shorts down and stepped out of them, chucking them with your panties somewhere. You felt him bend over you and take your earlobe in his lips, sucking lightly and running his tongue just below your ear and down your neck, breathing heavily and letting light moans escape him. “Ya want me to fuck you hard huh- mm-? Use you like the bad lil girl you are?” He accentuated his words with a snap of his hips against yours, so rough and so right. You began to feel so desperate that you rubbed your ass against his cock, up and down, feeling your wetness slide onto the inside of his thigh. “Please daddy. God- fuckk- please.. I need you Elvis..” He straightened up and run his hand along your ass, giving you a hard smack and rubbing the soft skin afterwards. The pain mixed with the pleasure was enough to make you cum already, he hadn’t even fully started yet. After a couple more smacks, he aligned his cock to your hole, not before teasing you just that extra bit. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slick, from your clit all the way up to your other sensitive hole. The sensation felt so fucking good, you moaned loud and long. “That’s it baby, moan louder f’ me. Let everyone downstairs know how good daddy fucks ya’”. God this was too good and too much, your whining and moaning sounding throaty and eager, you needed some sort of tension release. You reached down and rubbed your clit slightly, making the ache in your pussy bearable. You knew Elvis would love to watch you do this, giving him a show and rolling your hips, enticing him further. “o-oh god Y/N.. daddys gonna fuck ya’ nice and good now honey..” As he spoke those words, he thrust his cock so deep inside you and grabbed your hips flush to his, both crying out in pleasure in unison. He stilled for a moment for you to adjust to his size, the thickness of his cock stretching out just how you liked. You continued to rub your clit slowly, moaning Elvis’s name like a prayer.

After what felt like forever, Elvis pulled back and out and slammed his cock back in, so hard and desperate for you. You could feel the intenseness of his thrusts through your whole body, making your breasts bounce. He kept his grip on your hips as began to plough into you from behind, the obscene clapping sound mixed with yours and Elvis’s moans and whimpers filling the air. You felt his heavy balls slap against your thigh and you just about lost it. You rubbed your clit so quickly that the room started to spin and fill with the scent of sex. “E-E-Elvis.. Daddyyy.. Oh fuckkk..” You were so close, Elvis felt you throb and tighten around him. “Come on baby, cum f’ me. Cum all over this cock.. uh-h mm..” You reached your peak and came for him, your moans so loud it was guaranteed the guests would have heard you. His pace did not stop, he continued to fuck you hard. The squelching sound of his cock going in and out of you made you smile, you were made just for him. “Y/N.. I need t’ see that pretty face..” he pulled out and flipped you onto your back, pulling your calves onto his shoulders and entering you again. His face was so angelic in this moment, his skin glowy and hot with sweat, his brows furrowed and lips open. You pulled him down to you and kissed him needily, all tongue and lips mushing together. He pulled back and looked down into your eyes moaning “yeah baby, that’s it.. mm-hm look at daddy as he puts in inside ya..”. You began to rub and flick your clit again, needing to cum for Elvis once more. This drove him wild, he entered you again and the volume of his moans got louder and louder. A continuous string of “uh uh u-h” sounds fell from his talented lips, the sound was enough to make you cum again. He pounded your pussy even harder now, letting go of whatever tension he was carrying, giving you every part of him entirely. You were almost at your peak again and Elvis knew, so he reached down and started to play with your nipples, rolling them in his slender fingers and tugging gently. “o-hh Elvis ahh FUCKKK!” You grounding your hips down onto his cock, matching his thrusts. The way you were fucking each other was almost primal, animalistic. You both had discovered a new side of each other, revealing more to love of one another. Elvis couldn’t take it anymore and needed his tongue on something. He leaned down and put your right nipple in his mouth and suckled, flicking his tongue against you and nibbling softly. With Elvis hitting your g spot over and over again, this pushed you over the edge. You let it all go and came harder than you had ever came in your life, squirting juices all over Elvis’s cock and his thighs and all on the bedsheets.

Elvis’s rhythm started to become uneven and you knew he was getting close. You started to throb around him and milked his cock for all he had, looking up into the ceiling mirror and being in awe of the view above you. “Cum inside m-e Elvis, mm-mmhm-uh pleaseee!” As he heard you say this, he moaned against your nipple sending a shockwave of pleasure through your chest. He released your nipple from his lips and moved upwards to kiss you, running his hands through your hair and grabbing hold softly, mixing the dominance and tenderness perfectly like only he knew how. He pulled away and moaned “Wan’ me t’ fill you up huh baby? Make you a mama? Oh-h Lord have mercy.. I love you Y/N, oooh God I love ya so much honey, gonna cum in this lil’ pussy now, make you all mine.. oh uh o-h FUCK Y/N!” you felt him splutter and cum inside you, coating your walls with his thick hot cum. He collapsed on top of you and you both led there for a little while, heavy breathing and coming down from the highs you gave each other. “that was.. wow Y/N..”. He chuckled and you felt him go soft inside you, pulling out slowly. You both gasped as he fully disconnected from you, now feeling less full up. His cum began to spill out of your hole and in true Elvis fashion, his smile lit up and he reached down teasing your hole with his fingers. “awh now we cant have that now can we honey? I said I’d make you a mama…” so he pushed his fingers inside of you, keeping his load from spilling any further out. This made you moan loudly again, God this man. “Elvis… I love you.” “I love you too Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.” He pulled his fingers out after a minute or two and you both relaxed in the comfortable silence, cuddling into each other. Eventually Elvis got up and went to the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth and a glass of water. He handed the water to you and you thanked him as he wiped your stomach and thighs of your juices. “my messy girl” a small blush creeped over his cheeks as he cleaned his front as well. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up gently, leading you to the bed and pulling the covers back. You both led down against the pillows and Elvis wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and enveloping you in his embrace. “should we go back down?” “nah, they can leave if they want. I need my baby next to me.”

Elvis hummed a song to you quietly, almost like a lullaby. You closed your eyes and listened to your boyfriend and wondered how you could ever love someone so much, more than life itself. “Elvis?” “Yes honey?” You wanted to word this a certain way, not to confuse or frighten him. What Jenny said was still on your mind and you needed to talk to Elvis about it, despite it scaring you to your core. “W-where do you see us going?” You felt Elvis shift position to look at you. “whatchu mean Y/N like.. with us?” thank the heavens you didn’t have to explain. “Yeah exactly..” “well…” he began; “you know I love you an’ I know you love me. You make every day brighter, I go crazy when I’m not with ya’. We’ve lived together here for 4 months 2 months and 1 day exactly.. hmm..” He paused to scratch his very slight stubble on his chin. “… The next step is marriage. Is that something you would want honey? to be my wife?” Was he asking for your hand in marriage now? You sat up and stared at him. You needed to check if this was really what he was saying. “Definitely E, I want to marry you and be your wife but… maybe we should wait a lil longer. When your filming is done, when The Colonel lets you have some time off..” You scolded that man in your head, he made you feel physically ill. The way he treated Elvis made you angry and you didn’t like to dwell on it too much. “When the timing is right, i want you to be my husband. My Elvis.” You led down on his chest and placed your hand above his heart, feeling the soft thump of his steady beat. “I agree baby, I really do.. youll make the perfect lil wife someday. Pretty sure you’ll be carryin’ my baby soon enough too..” You felt his hand slide down to your side and begin to tickle you. You tried to pull away but his grip on your side prevented you from moving, so you laughed and squealed as tears formed in your eyes. You tickled him back along his side, giving him no choice but to release you. You quickly straddled his lap and pinned his arms above his head, catching your breathe. He stared up at you like you were the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever seen, the most musically sound song he’d ever heard, the epitome of perfection on top of him. He was yours, every part of him. “I really do love you Y/N, I wanna spend the rest of my life being yours, an’ you mine”. You kissed him gently, replying with your lips on his. No matter who or what affected your mind, you knew Elvis was yours and would be there for you till you both moved onto the next life together. There was truly nowhere you’d rather be in this moment. By your lover, best friend, future husband.

[meowsforyujin]

“I can’t keep doing this” Yang Jeongin ff

Jeongin x fem reader

(Warnings!! Contains: fluff, smut, angst, fwb, best friends to lovers, spanking, demeaning talk, fingering, jealousy)

The feeling of rejection was all too familiar to you, but this one hurt. It’s the FIRST time you’d found someone that piqued your interest other than the man you were hopelessly in love with, but could never be with. 

Lucky for you, you had good friends. One of your closest friends, sophie, decided you invite you to the club with her other friends. 

“The best way to get over being rejected is to act like a total slut and spend the night in someone else's sheets.” 

You decided to invite your best friend Jeongin, who also happens to be your current “fuck buddy”. 

“That way we can both finally find someone that isn’t each other.” was the hardest message to send in your life, but it was your idea anyway. 

Jeongin had been your best friend since middle school, always doing everything together. You and Jeongin were not very popular romantically, to say the least. You both went through the entirety of high school single, no first kiss, no first date, no intimacy, nothing. Until one day, 6 months ago you were both drunk and decided to be each other's first. It was quick to become a pattern, sex with your best friend. The sex was great, great, that’s not the problem. The problem is you’re hopelessly in love with him. That's why this most recent rejection hurt more than usual, it was the only person you actually liked other than jeongin, and that's a problem.  

—time skip—

Jeongin regrets coming immediately. You looked so fucking hot and he couldn’t do anything about that. Tonight’s sole purpose was so that he WONT fuck you. But you’re making it so hard. He shouldn't be mad, he really shouldn't. But you flirting with a guy that wasn't him made his blood boil. The way you smiled when you laughed, that was something he didn’t want ANYONE to cherish other than him. He didn’t want to share. 

.

.

.

You yelp feel your arm being grabbed harshly. 

“Let’s go y/n, were leaving.” 

“Jeongin! What the fuck is your problem?” You try to pull your arm away. 

It's embarrassing how fast you feel your arousal creep up on you when he turns around and gives you a furious look. In that moment you decided it wasn’t worth arguing, not with that gorgeous stupid fucking face of his. 

“Mind telling me what this is about?” You didn't dare look at him.

Jeongin laughed and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

What was this about? What WAS his problem? He doesn’t know. 

“Just keep that pretty mouth of yours shut until we get home.”

You walked after him, slowly and nervously. You had absolutely no idea what was in store for you.

“Go strip and get on the bed, hands and knees.”

You blinked at him, frozen in your tracks. Sure, you and jeongin have fucked, LOTS of times, but not like this. He’s never demanded anything from you. You couldn’t complain, the arousal told you this was a good thing. 

You nodded at him before rushing to his bedroom, taking your clothes off as fast as possible. You got on your hands and knees like he asked, but it was so so so nerve wrecking. You were so exposed, you weren’t used to it. 

“I fucking knew it, look at you slut, soaking wet. Bet it wasn’t even for that asshole back at the bar hmm?”

You moaned feeling him smack your ass, something he��s also never done before. 

“Tell me y/n, who are you this wet for? Me or that dickwad from the bar?”

You whined as his hand made light contact with your throbbing cunt, shortly followed by another smack on your ass. 

“You, fuck. You jeongin.”

He hummed in satisfaction, pushing a finger into you. You were already a moaning mess, relishing how his long slender finger made you feel. When he added another one, you subconsciously began pushing back your hips, trying to meet his fingers pace. 

“You gonna cum for me? Like the slut you are?”  

You helplessly nodded, moans getting higher and higher pitched. 

“Say my name.” 

You didn’t have to even think before chanting his name over and over while you finished. It was easy. You forgot everything but him, and you finally had to go ahead to vocalize that. Something about this made your orgasm so much more pleasurable.

He left you with almost no time to come down from your high, before thrusting his dick into you. Your cries filled the room, begging for more. How couldn’t you? He hit you spot so so so deliciously perfect from this angle. 

“This is what you get for making me jealous baby, you should know better. You’re just mine, only mine. No one else can have you.”

You groaned into the pillows hearing his words, too lost in the pleasure to even register everything he was saying. 

–time skip–

You stared at the ceiling, watching the fan as your mind went wild. The things jeongin said just hours ago, finally starting to get to you. You turned to see sleeping jeongin, his arm wrapped around you still. Did he mean what he said? Surely he did because he was jealous of you and the other guy. But he shouldn’t have been. That was the point of going out. In fact, that was the point of this whole “relationship”. You two were simply just placeholders until you found someone else. But no one else wanted you, not even jeongin. He probably only brought you back because he couldn’t find anyone else. After all, you are always the last choice. 

Jeongin woke up to your sniffling, but didn’t find you next to him. Instead, he found you on the floor of the living room, curled up in a ball crying your eyes out. 

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” He went to hug you but you swerved away

“I can’t keep doing this jeongin.”

“You wha, what do you mean?” he searched your face for any kind of answer. Did you mean fucking? Or being friends? All he could tell was that he had never seen you this hurt before.

“I can’t do this to myself anymore, nobody wants me, not even you.”

“What are you saying? I never said that?”

“Save it jeongin. you only took me home because you couldn’t find another girl. I’m always the last option, and I don’t want to be that anymore.”

“Y/n, that’s not true.”

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve been spending 6 whole fucking months trying to get over you, and NOBODY wants me. The rejections hurts. It’s taking a toll on me and I can’t do it anymore.”

“Get over me? What do you mean get over me?”

“Do you really want to know?” You stood so close to him he could see every color in your face from crying, he hated seeing you this sad.

“I’ve been in love with you since the beginning. I THOUGHT the first time we slept together it was because you felt the same way! Do you know how much it hurt? When you told me your “idea” ?”

his idea, the idea that you would sleep together to fill the empty voids you both had.

“I was just a void filler. Nothing else. I can’t do this to myself anymore Jeongin. ESPECIALLY when you send mixed signals by lying, “I’m only yours” and making me feel like MAYBE you wanted me the way I wanted you.” You rushed past him in attempt to leave, but of course, he stopped you.

“I wasn’t lying. And I never said I didn’t want you that way. I only came up with my dip shit ‘idea’ because I thought you only slept with me because you were drunk. I thought you’d be disgusted if you found out I had feelings for you, so I came up with that. Because it let me atleast get a hint of what it would be like to have you as mine. Maybe that’s selfish but I never thought I’d get a chance to experience the real thing.”

Tears were uncontrollably falling down your face, you didn’t want to believe him. What if he was lying? You don’t want to get hurt

“You’re lying, you just want me to stay so you can get your dick wet once in a while. You don’t love me.”

Jeongin eyes softened and filled with tears hearing you say that. How could he make you feel this way? Feel so unwanted.

“How could I not love you? Everytime I see you I feel all my troubles float away. Your smile is my favorite piece of art in the world. Your laugh is my favorite song in the world. I don’t want anyone else to get the privilege of hearing or seeing you ever. I want you all to myself. You’re the one person who knows me better than everyone else. You’re the only one I’d ever want to spend my life with. I love you so fucking much it’s insane, and no it’s not just to get my dick wet. I’d give up sex all together if it meant you’d stay.”

you nearly fell to the floor. You must’ve been dreaming. Jeongin never used words like this, especially when it comes to feelings

“Please stay.” He held your hand with pleading eyes.

It took one slow nod and his face lit up, like he was never even sad in the first place. He pulled you into a warm hug, placing a light, loving kiss on your forehead.

—time skip—

It’s been 2 months since you and jeongin started dating, and you swear you’ve never been happier. You basically live at his place. Most of your clothes are there, much to his dismay. (He’d rather you wear his clothes). To your surprise, jeongin and you didn’t have sex for a month. When you asked him why, he said it was because he wanted to assure you he didn’t just want you for that reason. You felt like melting on the spot from his sweetness, you loved him so much.

Sometimes you and jeongin lie awake at night staring at the ceiling fan, entangled in each other’s arms and just talk. Jeongin often said in times like those that you both were meant to be, there was never anyone else.

“Also, there’s something I should tell you..”

“Yes what is it jeongin?”

“Well, it’s not like nobody ever wanted you…I just threatened everyone to stay away from you or I’d put them in the hospital.”

“YANG JEONGIN YOU WHAT?!”

[stvharrngton]

💙; a headcanon for steve + any trope/scenario

ok we know king steve was a douche and maybe you dated him in high school and it didn’t work out. but now its been a few years and he’s a reformed douche™️ :-) a little enemies to lovers trope where he tries to win you back?? <3

i’m such a slut for enemies to lovers!!!! hell yes let’s go @blandyton

1k celebration

even tho king steve was a douche i still feel like he had that boyfriendism about him, like he was still sweet on you, sneaking up behind you in the halls, sneaking kisses where he could but like. this bitch was so cocky, so confident and maybe he said or did something that just rubbed you the wrong way. or maybe he just broke up with you like out of the blue and broke your heart :( so now you hate him lmao and every time you see him or someone mentions him you make some little snide comment bc fuck that guy!!

but of course steve being steve he still has feelings for you bc he’s a little dumb he hasn’t been able to bring himself to do anything about it because he thinks you hate him bc well…. you kinda do. so he’s been moping around because he’s not seen you about town in a while but one day you drop into family video and he decides there and then that he’s gonna try and do everything in his power to win you back bc he’s still hopelessly in love with you and you look so pretty and he just wants to be able to kiss you and hold you in his arms again 😪 so he starts off small, offering to help you pick a movie, giving you a recommendation here and there and you’re just like 🤨 but you let him do it, after all he is only doing his job. but then he steps it up a notch, grabbing a coffee and your favourite pastry as he drops it into your work a little sheepish smile on his face and you’re like wtf is he doing here ffs but he just spills the beans. tells you how sorry he is, that he knows he was a douche in high school and that he wants to make it up to you. and he’s like can we just be… friends? acquaintances even? bc i really miss you in my life. if you feel the same… obviously. and ofc cause it’s stevie he’s a little awkward and flustered and you just kinda roll your eyes at him but agree nonetheless but you’re still a little standoffish with him because you can’t just forget what he did, no matter how many times robin or those rag tag kids tell you he’s changed

and maybe one day you’re hanging out and he makes some comment about how mean you used to be to him and you get a little upset and snap like well, yeah you deserved it, king steve so he decides enough is enough and he pulls some grand gesture, shows up at your house, bunch of roses in hand, stereo on the ground outside your window kinda shit. and he just confesses everything to you. tells you he wants you back, that he’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you bc he can’t bear life without you much longer 😪 and obvs you jump at the chance and run down to give him a big smooch bc how could you not

[winthorntales]

💞 When friends become lovers...

Bella Hargrove is many things, but brave isn't one of them. There's nothing her childhood best friend, Tamren Bayne, doesn't know about her. Except one little thing. Bella is hopelessly in love with her. A spontaneous camping trip is her one shot. She can either spill her deepest secret or forever hide her heart's true desire. What happens after could bring them closer in every way imagined or break their special bond for good. Under such pressure, how will Bella ever find the courage to confess to the alpha woman of her dreams?

Genres: FF omegaverse, sapphic romance, contemporary romance

Elements: alternate universe, female alpha (incl. g!p), alpha x beta couple, friends to lovers, sweet and bratty uke, strong and sensitive seme, toxic mother, slimy ex, the power of forgiveness, and spicy love scenes.

Find out what happens next...💞

[truthofherdreams]

hopelessly a lover (and that will be the death of me)

OR Rosaline is so good at pretending to be in love, she even fools Benvolio.

part one out of three, also on ao3

“His smile is most… peculiar.”

Rosaline snorts a laugh at her sister’s remark, and shakes her head a little. Livia never was one to keep her words to herself, especially not in the comfort of their bedroom. A few moments of peace before tonight's ball finds them in Juliet’s old room, laughing and gossiping together like they used to as young maids. Still, Rosaline didn't think her sister capable of bringing up the Montague so casually into the conversation.

“His smile is perfectly normal, dear sister.”

“It is not! He always smiles like…” Livia imitates said smile, forced and pained-looking. Rosaline cannot help but laugh, for it is not Benvolio's smile her sister is portraying - or, at least, not his most genuine one, but the one curling up his lips when he only pretends to be blissful. Rosaline is not surprised that her sister is unable to tell the difference, but startled at her own knowledge of Benvolio's smiles.

“Do not be mean, dear sister,” she replied with a gentle slap to Livia’s shoulder. “Not everyone is fortunate enough to be as beautiful as you are.”

Livia snorts. “Are you defending him?”

Rosaline scoffs at the ridiculousness of such a question. “No. Attack his character to your heart’s content. But we know better than to mock one’s physique.”

Her sister squints at her for a moment, as if ready to reply something. But a servant knocks on the door before Livia can add anything, and they soon find themselves too busy dressing up for the ball to keep the conversation going. Not that Rosaline minds particularly. Whatever her sister had on her mind, something tells Rosaline she wouldn’t have liked it.

She stands by what she said - their mother raised them not to mock things people cannot control. And if Benvolio can control his foul character, there is little to be done about his poor acting skills and how he looks like he swallowed a particularly bitter lemon every time he has to pretend feelings for her. He got better along the way, good enough to fool all of Verona, but Livia is right. His face doesn’t look particularly pleasant when he tries too hard.

Not that it looks pleasant otherwise. Rosaline doesn’t understand how such a man could be so popular with the ladies, what with his bad temper and disagreeable character. How anyone would want to spend time in his company, let alone enjoy it, is a mystery to Rosaline. And the fact that she has to do just that only adds salt to the already sore wound.

“Paris does have a nice smile,” Livia adds after long minutes of silence.

Rosaline looks above her shoulder as her sister, her gasp of surprise turning into a grunt as the servant tugs on the laces of her corset. Now that the Count is back on his feet and back to Verona’s society, he is the centre of the attention of many an unwed maiden, but it is only Livia he has eyes for. Their uncle is delighted at the idea, of course - getting rid of his other niece and getting a nice sum of money out of it, how couldn’t he be? - and so is Livia. Rosaline has never seen her sister so radiant than since Count Paris officially asked to court her. She deserves this happiness, even if Rosaline envies her the freedom to give her heart to whoever she so wishes.

“Paris also have a nice estate,” Rosaline teases. “Methink you are not ready for such responsibilities, sweet sister.”

Livia throws a rag at her from across the room, but it falls a few feet away from Rosaline and makes her laugh. She pokes her tongue out at her sister before focusing back on her outfit and the maid pulling her hair up into a complicated updo. She chooses a simple necklace to match the dress, one Benvolio bought her at the market two weeks ago. What Benvolio lacks in feelings, he makes up in trinkets and little gifts. Jewelries and books and flowers now scattered around her room as token of his (fake) love and making her smile at the ridiculous of the situation.

Livia distracts her from her thoughts by taking her hand, like they did when they were little girls, and pulls her out of the room. Already, the soft music comes from downstairs. Guests will arrive soon, but for now their aunt is simply running everywhere and yelling at every passing servant to make everything perfect, while their uncle roll his eyes, and so both sisters elect to find a hiding place away from the harpy.

Thankfully, they do not have to wait for long before the Capulet house fills with people - Rosaline recognises most of them as Capulets or Montagues, even if it still feels wrong to have both families under the same roof without blood being spilled. The peace may be uncertain but it is present so far, no attack during the previous week allowing for a welcomed respite.

Rosaline is making her way to the buffet, hoping for wine and peace, when someone appears at her side. She doesn’t have to look up to recognise the now-familiar frame of Benvolio’s body or the curve of his smirk. Ever since their first dinner at the castle together, he has the habit of shadowing her when she least expects it. Rosaline rolls her eyes a lot, but it would be lying that to say she minds. There is something almost comforting about the routines Benvolio and she have established in their relationship.

“How are you on this fine evening, my love?” she asks him. She grabs two cups of wine and hands him one without even having to ask, and he accepts it gratefully, bowing his head to her when their eyes finally meet.

“As fine as can be, knowing the old Signora Moretti has already leered at me.”

Rosaline hides her snort of laughter behind her cup - badly, if Benvolio’s unimpressed look is anything to go by. She does so enjoy the fact that old widows are fond of him, as if they could convince him to spend the night warming their beds. When she told him it would be a better prospect than to marry her, his face had been so disgusted that Rosaline had choked on her own laughter for several long minutes while he sulked and glared at her.

“I have no idea what she sees in you,” she admits, only half-joking.

Benvolio rolls his eyes but leaves it at that, before offering Rosaline his arm. She sighs even as she takes it, knowing how things go from there. An evening of walking around the room and talking to everyone, playing the game of the lovesick couple Verona enjoys so much. There is nobody else to convince at this point, for they have won the hearts of all noblemen in the city, but her uncle insists on parading Rosaline around until the wedding. As long as Livia remains a maid, Rosaline knows better than to go against her uncle’s orders.

Her mind drifts off while Benvolio discusses the building of the cathedral with another man - he seems to care more about the damn thing that her uncle, and doesn’t that say a lot. She wonders how much longer before she can slip out of the ballroom and back to her quarters. She could do with one more hour of sleep or two, especially if she is to wake early and visit Friar Lawrence tomorrow as she and Benvolio have planned.

“Are we boring you, fair Rosaline?”

Rosaline startles a little, and the urge to reply with the affirmative is strong. Thankfully, she regains her wits soon enough for the words not to escape her, and she forces a polite smile on her lips instead. “Not at all. It was an excited day of wedding preparation, but I’m afraid it left me exhausted.”

The smile Livia had made fun of curls up Benvolio’s lips at the mention of the wedding, and Rosaline can’t help but be aware of it, now that her sister has pointed it out. It does make his face look funny, truth be told. Like he is trying too hard to be someone he is not.

Benvolio may notice her staring, for he raises an eyebrow at her. She shakes her head slightly in response, and they both focus back on the conversation her wandering mind interrupted.

One conversation leads to another, and another one after that, until Rosaline’s feet burn at having to stand up for too long. She tugs on Benvolio's hand until he follows her to a corner of the room where she can plop into a chair to take a much-needed break. Awareness that Benvolio could have kept socialising creeps at the corners of her mind, but she brushes it off with ease. After all, doesn't that make for a charming tableau, the Montague kneeling in front of his Capulet betrothed to take care of her aching feet?

And, as a matter of fact, Benvolio brushes his hand against her knee while she toes off the dreadful shoes, a look of concern in his eyes when he looks at her. Rosaline refuses to dwell on it for too long, but that's without counting on his stubbornness to corner her into uncomfortable situations.

“Are you alright?” he asks, too caring for his own good.

“I am. I was not lying about the wedding preparations. My aunt kept me running around all day long.”

That is one way to say it. A lot of yelling was involved, alongside the running around, and many a bitter remark was made about not being able to plan for Juliet’s wedding to Paris. As if Rosaline was somehow responsible for her cousin’s eloping and tragic fate. Knowing her aunt, she probably thinks as such.

“She asks too much of you,” Benvolio replies. An understatement. “Thankfully you will soon be out of her reach.”

Whether he means the impending ceremony or the nunnery, Rosaline knows not. But he seems certain, either way, that her aunt will no longer be able to abuse her, and that makes for a small relief. She wishes she had his confidence, but her thoughts are plagued with visions of what will happen to Livia once she has left the Capulet house, filling her stomach with dread. Benvolio might be kind to her in public, still Rosaline can’t find the courage to ask him to pay for Livia’s bride price if Paris changes his mind after all. The fear of rejection is too strong.

He is still kneeling in front of her, as if about to say something, when her uncle appears at their side. Rosaline makes for standing up, but Benvolio applies some pressure on her knee, a silent demand for her to stay sitting, and she finds herself complying, dumbfound by her own obedience. Even more dumbfound by the way Benvolio doesn’t stand either, instead shifting on his heels to look up to her uncle with a smile that would look polite to anyone else, but that also reeks of hypocrisy.

“Good evening, my lord,” Benvolio greets the man, voice like honey covering a sharp knife. “I am afraid our duties as a parading couple came to a dreadful end.”

Rosaline hides her smirk behind a grimace as she kicks one of her shoes further away from her as if to prove a point. Her uncle looks unimpressed, as was to be expected, raising an eyebrow at her antics but not commenting any further. Once upon a time, he was a good man - sneaking sweets to Juliet, Livia and her when they were having tea and telling them jokes that made them gasp. Sometimes, Rosaline wonders what happened to that man. Sometimes, she remembers her aunt kills everything she touches.

As a matter for fact, Lord Capulet sighs loudly, before he replies, “I do believe today was a lot of emotions for one lady. Lord Montague, would you be so kind as to escort my niece outside? Surely she will find the gardens more peaceful.”

It doesn’t take a genius to see through her uncle’s game, but Rosaline puts it aside. If he wants them to have a nice moment outside, away from prying eyes and loud whispers while pretending to be lovesick young people seeking a romantic moment, then so be it. As long as it is less dreadful than the terrible picnic, it suits Rosaline well enough.

Benvolio nods at her silently, as if agreeing with her thoughts, before he stands up. Rosaline is about to do the same when he catches her by surprise with one arm beneath her knees and one around her shoulders. She squeaks loudly enough to turn a few heads, her arms wrapping around his neck not to lose her balance and fall.

“What are you doing?” she whispers furiously into his ear, her nose brushing against his jaw in the process. She may imagine the shiver running down his body, but the grin on his lips is real.

“Taking care of my beloved, of course. What gentleman would let a lady walk, when her feet hurt her so?”

Her uncle shakes his head at the scene but doesn’t object, his way of approving of the public display, and so Rosaline forces herself to play along too. For Livia, she forces herself to play, giggling like a fool and dropping a kiss to Benvolio’s cheek. Another squeak escapes her when he starts walking, but he is thankfully fast enough that it only takes them a few seconds to leave the ballroom and find the gardens. A few seconds filled with whispers and laughter from the other guests, which may have been the point all along.

Benvolio doesn’t unceremoniously drops her the moment they are away from prying eyes, waiting to find a bench for her to sit. She shakes her limbs a little when her feet touch the ground once more, as if willing her body to forget the way it melted against his, as if willing her nose to no longer be overwhelmed by his scent.

“Alone at last,” he says as he sits next to her on the bench, making her roll her eyes at the implication behind his words.

Once, Romeo had come to those same gardens to court her. She had sent him away with many an unkind word about Montague boys, before her cousins saw him and decided to have him dead. To her, he’d only looked like the foolish boy he was, too young to truly know anything about love or courting, with his wide eyes and his heart too easily given. She sometimes wonders if he did the same thing to Juliet, with kind smiles and a few lines of poetry. Her cousin always was a romantic; surely she was charmed by Romeo’s act, charmed enough to defy both families for him.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if…” she starts, unable to finish her question.

“If we hadn’t invited ourselves to your party?” Benvolio finishes for her. Rosaline nods, and he sighs. “Every waking hour of every day. He came for you that night, still heartbroken over your rejection. I hated you so much at first. If you had accepted his courtship, if you had…”

“If I had loved him, Juliet would still be alive.” They both remain silent, imagining what the future would have been. Would she die for Romeo? Surely not, for she barely knew him, let alone loved him. He was but a boy, in love with the concept of love more than he was with her. “Do you still hate me for it?”

She doesn’t know why it matters, for surely Benvolio has many more reasons to despise her, as she does he. But he offers her a sideway glance, as if seeing her for the first time, before he goes back to looking at the stars above them. Only the sound of the music inside reaches them, quiet and comforting, before he replies softly, “I don’t think I hate you anymore, Capulet.”

It takes Rosaline a moment to organise her thoughts and understand. She has to admit that every reason was good enough to hate him at first, from his name to his nightly habits to the way he walks. But that was before the long afternoons scheming together, and the dinners spent whispering mean remarks about other guests into each other’s ear. That was before the common understanding, and supporting the other through grieving. That was before she stopped seeing him as the Montague, and started seeing him as Benvolio. An ally, if not a friend.

“I don’t think I hate you either, Montague.”

He smiles at her, the real smile with dimples in his cheeks and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and Rosaline finds herself easing into the conversation, into that moment of peace they stole from themselves. It comes more naturally from there, to discuss what will come next in their scheme, to decide what they will say to Friar Lawrence come morning. Benvolio gives as much as he takes, challenging her thinking and giving ideas of his own, until they create a plan for the day to come, until they know where to go from there.

She isn’t sure how long has passed when Livia comes and finds them, but the music is dying down and Livia is staring at Benvolio like one would a cockroach. She barely hides her disgust, before she focuses back on Rosaline. “People are bidding their goodbyes, and so should he,” she tells Rosaline with a nod toward Benvolio.

Thankfully, Benvolio never takes affront in Livia’s attitude toward him. Instead, he stands up and takes Rosaline’s hand to help her to her feet. He doesn’t let go at first, not before he lean forward and kiss the back of her hand - all the while winking at her, as if sharing some kind of private joke that has her cheeks a little warmer than before.

“I will see you in the morrow, fair Rosaline.”

He still doesn’t let go as he walks away, fingers trailing along the skin of her palm and making her smile. There is no point in pretending in front of Livia, of course, but Rosaline doesn’t mind his antics, for it makes him more tolerable than his sulking self. He disappears around a bush of roses, leaving both Capulet ladies in the empty gardens, and leaving Livia to stare at Rosaline as if she just lost her mind.

“Do you love him?” she accuses.

Rosaline laughs. “Of course not!”

Livia doesn’t stop her staring, as if doubting her sister’s words. Not that Rosaline will blame her for it, when she lied to her so many times before; for her own protection, of course, even if Livia doesn’t see it that way. The youngest Capulet then tilts her head to the side, a slight pout on her lips.

“You should tell him, then. Because that is not pretending on his part anymore.”

[kyyuri]

to be or not ! - yang jungwon

★彡 synopsis: what happens when y/n, who is hopelessly pinning over her best friend, jungwon- gets betrayed by not one, but both of them ?! and what happens when jungwon falls for her despite all odds ?

★彡 genre: best friends to strangers to lovers , angst (?) crack (?), fluff (?), smau

★彡warnings: might contain profanities

★彡non-idol! jungwon x fem! y/n

FT. enha maknae line and heeseung !

★彡 a/n: inspired by <breaking me in two > @emeraldenha and another fanfic i read here but i cant rmb the name 😭😭 anyways,, this is my first smau so do show some love !!

edit : do check out my next smau < trial and error >

!! however the characters are portrayed in this ff does not represent them irl !!

★彡 date of release: 23 dec 2021

★彡 end date : 28 nov 2022

💌 taglist 2 is open ! send an ask to be in !

profiles [1] ! profiles [2] !

1 ! that’s suspicious thats weird

2 ! u made the baby sad

3 ! waiting waiting

4 ! sunoo detective era

5 ! im sure you are

6 ! lee sunoo and lee niki

7 ! y/nhee love agenda when

8 ! new mission

9 ! y/n heartbreak anniversary

10 ! our hard working pres

11 ! heeseung second male lead (smau + written chap)

12 ! jungwon’s side

13 ! new year new me

14 ! love u

15 ! what are you doing here (smau +written chap)

16 ! not in a million years (written chap)

17 ! count ur days

18 ! code red code red

19 ! war zone (written chap)

20 ! lets date

21 ! when did it even become like this

22 ! she what (smau +written chap)

23 ! pack it up dorothy

24 ! im not my type either

25 ! the moon is beautiful isnt it ? (written )

26 ! the jungwonification of lee heeseung (smau +written chap)

27 ! love (written)

28 ! olivia rodrigo phase

29 ! five days of jungwon (smau +written)

30 ! ynwon project

31 ! what plan

special chap ! the fund raiser (smau + written)

32 ! bride to be [finale]

end <3

epilogue ! hee’s graduation

spinoff : if hee ended up with yn

all works here are strictly mine. please do not translate/ steal them without permission. © kyyuri

taglist (closed) : @enhacolor @yougeans @anti-romantic5 @urresidentdrugdealer @ncityy04 @tyonvrs @fairydosii @dazzledsohn @hwalllllllelujah @mitsukifilms @yizhoutv @kyutiepeachy @hobistigma @tinyjoong @sunshine-skz @meiiiwa @pr0dbeomgyu @tobiosbbyghorl @yogurteume @alderiasamantha @woopetals @beemarkie @hibuki-chan @nyfwyeonjun @yvesismywife @yjwfav @diestheticu @nyfwyeonjun @acciomylove @missmadwoman @hiqhkey @wntrsgf @jungwonerz @cuteyeonnie23 @angel-hyuckie @hobistigma @alo-ehas @rielleluvs @heesunki @yubinism @wonsgf @dinosdance @nrksrealgf @sunheeluvbot @aria-grace-scott @luvrjn @c9tnoos @tomorrowbymoa-together @wonie-core @lunaflvms

[the-book-queen]

Hide your wallets, it’s that time again! #TBQsBookDeals Your Friday thread of #romancedeals is ready, FREE to $2.99. Happy shopping! 📚❤

    FREE ✦ A Mad Passion by Scarlett Scott

Second chance. He's worked hard to become a "respected politician" with a great reputation. She's "hopelessly trapped in a loveless marriage" (so possible cheating? idk).

#HistoricalRomance (MF) | https://amzn.to/2NcIfNl 

FREE ✦ Almost Jamie by Gina Robinson

1st POV. She's a doctor, he's a millionaire who loves to cosplay (as in Outlander, or a similar show). They meet at a local convention.

#ContemporaryRomance (MF) | https://amzn.to/2uzcZli 

$0.99 ✦ Into the Fire by Cynthia Dane, Hildred Billings

Former Marine + reclusive heiress. Said heiress needs a live-in girlfriend for a month.

Some suspense, I think, as it mentions someone is after her.

KU Title

#ContemporaryRomance (Queer, FF) | https://amzn.to/39UneRn 

$0.99 ✦ Blissed by Jamie Farrell

Previously titled "The Husband Games".

Single mom + world adventurer. There's some history between them. Now they must team up to save the town's traditional bridal festival.

KU Title

#ContemporaryRomance (MF) | https://amzn.to/39X6bOm 

$2.99 ✦ Everlasting Desire by Stephanie Nicole Norris

Friends to lovers. He's a chef.

KU Title

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 Putting these lists together takes time. If you appreciate this content, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi. http://ko-fi.com/danielletbq 

[sarahw-world]

“Yellow Roses” - 04 Striptease

Hi guys! Here's the new chapter of my fic!

First of all, I'd like to give you all a HUGE THANK YOU for all the amazing feedback for my last chapter. I was really nervous about that one and it was so amazing and lovely to see that some of you enjoyed it. So, THANK YOU so much, it certainly motivated me to continue working hard on this story.

This one is a really long chapter, and also very intense...

I hope you like it!

Summary:

Bulma reflects on her relationship with Vegeta...

You can read it uncensored on AO3:

You can read it censored on FF:

Or you can keep reading under the break:

She swirled the half-drunk glass of hard liquor absent-mindedly, taking one final sip before depositing it on top of the table as she got mentally prepared to accept defeat and go back home on her own.

Stupid.

Stupid Bulma…

She never thought she’d ever experience such emotions ever again. That hideously familiar oppression in her chest as she held back the tears of humiliation, and that old sense of dread and disappointment which had grown to be so common during those last few years in her relationship with her now departed fiancé.

Neglect had become the norm back then, whether it was due to her boyfriend not truly listening to her whenever she’d try to have a real conversation with him, the faded but unmistakable traces of other ladies’ perfume on his old baseball uniforms, or those mortifying moments when his eyes would lecherously wander towards other women, sometimes as she’d be literally sitting on his lap and his hands would be distractedly caressing her thighs at the same time while they had a drink at one of those grotty pubs they used to frequent so much. In the end, even after Yamcha’s marriage proposal and the consequent official announcement of their engagement, Bulma had been outright unable to get rid of that troublesome voice in the back of her mind, that niggling echo which kept haunting her, warning her, letting her know that perhaps tying her life to his would turn out to be the greatest mistake she’d ever make.

To this day, Bulma still wanted, needed to believe that Yamcha hadn’t known just how degraded he’d made her feel in those days, and that those syrupy words of affection and atonement that’d come out of his lips during their incessant lover’s quarrels were filled with real honesty, regret, and the promise of a greater understanding of each other’s needs, in hopes of building a happier future together when the time came for them to finally tie the knot.

Bulma sighed tiredly as she drew the contours of the rim of her glass with a lazy finger, her mind suffocating in gloomy, melancholic thoughts at the sad memories of a merrier life, a promising existence forever gone to never come back. When the crisp breeze of the night made her break out in goosebumps, freezing cold, she relented once and for all, leisurely standing from her chair, grabbing her small clutch and wrapping her worn shawl around herself, proceeding to walk in the direction of her small apartment in resignation.

She was a fool, a delusional, silly little fool…

There was no other rational explanation that could possibly justify the unbelievably embarrassing way in which she’d ended up deceiving herself when it came to her expectations of her Saiyan lover.

The earthling could still recall the way he’d made her feel the last time they’d been together, when he’d quietly landed on her balcony, waiting patiently for her to make the first move. Vegeta’s unusual silence told her, right away, that he’d already heard the ghastly news of her best friend’s vicious murder, and yet, he’d still chosen to visit her anyway.

Much to her shame, Bulma had to admit that the prospect of her Prince’s return had been the one thing keeping her from losing her sanity ever since Launch had abandoned this world. And yet, in spite of that tiny flicker of hope burning brightly within her soul, a big part of her had still had qualms about the way in which her mysterious Prince would react to her new circumstances, fearing him to be his usual cynically aloof self, and perhaps to mock her, even reprimand her, for yielding to her pathetic human sensibilities.

Against all odds, instead of disdainful ridicule or malicious reprove, Vegeta had revealed a side of himself she never even knew he had in him. From the incredibly considerate offer of leaving, giving her some alone time if that’s what she needed the most, to the poignant tenderness in his touch, as if he were desperately attempting to comfort her, to assuage her pain the only way he could, through actions instead of words. With one single look at him she’d noted his discomfort, how useless and inadequate a warrior like him must have felt as he’d witnessed her state of mourning. And yet, he’d tried, he’d tried the best way he could to make things better, to try to make her forget about the outside world and the sheer madness her life had become.

But it wasn’t his astounding display of physical affection what’d startled her the most, it was his heartbreakingly moving inexperience when it came to dealing with any kind of emotion. That raw vulnerability in his usually remote eyes, and his confusion when she’d shyly offered to bathe him, his athletic body tense as a bow as she’d soaped him up, cleansing him with kind hands and then, much to her surprise, seeing him trying to reciprocate, making the effort to do for her what she’d just done for him.

Bulma knew just how exposed Vegeta had felt in that moment, his helplessness being such a vast contrast with that boundless arrogance of his, that vainglorious satisfaction that she knew he experienced every time he effortlessly bent her to his will with his wicked touch. The frightening ease with which he’d awaken her sensual appetites, hopelessly giving herself to him over and over again until he’d leave her come morning, utterly sated and completely spent, like a well-used rag doll, shamefully counting the days until their next encounter would take place.    

‘This is just a fuck. Nothing more…’ He’d whispered against her lips the first time she’d volunteered to share her bed and her body with him, the brutally honest words forever engraved in her memory.  

Bulma couldn’t forget.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget the crude terms of the agreement she’d signed up for when she’d eagerly agreed to spread her legs for him, embarking in a ‘relationship’ she never, in a million years, thought she’d ever be a part of.

After all, she was Bulma Briefs, heiress to the wealthiest, most technologically advanced company on Earth. A woman like her, born and raised in affluence, had grown accustomed to the finest things money could buy, including an ample selection of eligible bachelors literally trampling each other in the pathetic hopes of getting some scraps of her very selective attention. The earthling was no fool, and she knew too well that most of those men had only seen her as a trophy, an opulently beautiful little trophy they could proudly parade around, trying to compensate for their own deplorable shortcomings. She’d detested each and every one of those idiots back in those days, regarding them as nothing more than a bunch of feeble-minded social climbers and, yet, she’d now reached a point where she’d almost kill for a gaudy bouquet of flowers, a man opening the door of some nouveau rich designer car or some tediously cheesy conversation over a medium steak and a fine bottle of red wine at a lavish restaurant.

Her Saiyan lover had done neither of those things...         

*** Please visit AO3 or FF for more of this chapter! ***

[zutaraverse]

Past Lives & Enemies to Lovers

Days 3 & 4 sort of happened together. @zutaramonth 

Iroh recounts the story of Oma and Shu. Very few people know they were actually enemies, and the similarities between their story and that of Zuko and a certain waterbender are starting to stack up.

Takes place as Zuko is healing from the final Agni Kai, and everybody is back in the Fire Palace!

Enjoy!  AO3  |  FF

-Worldcrawler

“One thing not many people know, nephew, is that Oma and Shu hated one another, in the beginning,” Iroh told Zuko, eliciting a groan from his nephew.

“Uncle!”

“Now, Zuko, until Master Katara tells you that you can stand again I have to keep you entertained… and what better way to do that than a noble story and some soothing jasmine tea?” Iroh chortled at Zuko’s resignation to the situation but noted how his nephew’s eyes would periodically dart to the door as if he expected somebody else to come in.

Handing Zuko a cup, Iroh settled himself on a chair beside the bed, helping Zuko sit up while not moving his bandages.

“Now, as I was saying, Oma and Shu did not like one another to start with!”

There was a silence. Finally, Zuko sighed.

“Why did Oma and Shu not like each other?”

“What an interesting question nephew! Since the story has peaked your interest, I shall tell you. It all started when two towns, one either side of the mountain, went to war. The war was so long and spanned so many generations that they soon forgot what it was all about! But, a child born in either of the towns was brought up first and foremost to hate anybody from the other town.

The mountain itself was perilous to climb, and only the young and fit could do so. One summer a sickness came over both towns, and the cure was tea made from flowers that grew at the top of the mountain, outside of either of their territories. The townspeople sent their most athletic young adults up the mountain where it was too steep for the older generation and too dangerous for the children.

One town sent Oma.

The other sent Shu.”

Iroh paused to sip his tea and looked over at his nephew, more taken with the story than he himself would admit.

“You see, Prince Zuko, the flowers only grew in one field at the top of the mountain, so it happened that both found themselves at the same place.

The first time they met they fought one another fiercely for the flowers and did not even pick one flower! You see, their honour for their town told them to hate the other before everything else… before the welfare of their people.

But as it got dark and they tired of fighting, they ran back to their homes, empty handed. That night people become more sick.

The next day the two agreed a truce while they picked, eyeing one another the whole time.

‘That’s not fair!’ one cried, ‘you have taken more flowers than me! If you take so many there will be none left!’

‘That’s not true!’ the other replied, ‘I’ve taken half as much as you! And my people need the flowers more!’

And so they both tried to snatch up as many flowers as they could before the other, for they did not trust one another at all. They could not see past their hatred to realise they were taking all the flowers and leaving none behind.

That night the towns healed, but more were needed. So the next day, Oma and Shu were sent up the mountain once again to retrieve more flowers. But there were none!

‘You came and destroyed the flowers!’ cried one.

‘Me? No you came and picked them all during the night!’ replied the other.

But the helplessness of the situation dawned upon the two and soon they stopped fighting.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ lamented Oma, ‘my mother is ill and there are no more flowers!’

‘At least she won’t die!’ scoffed Shu.

‘What do you mean she won’t die! My people are dying from the sickness - if I don’t find the flowers soon she might too…’

Shu was silent for a moment.

‘I was told that your town did not die of the sickness, but cursed us to,’ he told Oma.

‘I was told your town cursed us!’ admitted Oma. ‘Are your people dying too?’

‘Yes. My father is ill,’ said Shu.

As he spoke, Oma spotted one last flower at the edge of the field.

‘Look!’ she cried, pointing at it excitedly. Both ran towards it but stopped in front of it, for whoever picked it would save their parent and kill the other.

‘What if… what if we just scrape the seeds out of the centre and plant them?’ suggested Oma, suddenly feeling warmth for her mysterious companion who had not stolen the flower from her.

‘We need water to make it grow, and we must plant them near the surface for them to grow quickly,’ added Shu, respecting Oma for her idea.

They set to work carefully planting each seed at the right depth and dripping water on them. During their work they started looking at one another - really looking.

She is very pretty, thought Shu. He is quite handsome, thought Oma. Soon they were blushing at jokes.

‘My name is Oma,’ said Oma, after they finished their work. It was an offering of peace.

‘I’m Shu,’ he replied.

However, there was another problem! For the seeds to grow quickly, they needed to keep the ground warm. Deciding that leaving the seeds over night would risk them not growing quickly enough, they decided to lie down on top of their plants and spend the night side by side, sharing their warmth with the ground.

All through the night they exchanged stories about their towns - what the towns were really like rather than the propaganda they had been fed from birth. By the time the sun rose on the fourth day since they met, they were friends.

By the fifth day, the flowers had bloomed, enough for both of them! But that is not the only thing that had bloomed. Their young hearts had opened up to one another and it was with great sadness they left to their towns.

The flowers were received with great joy, and both parents were saved! Neither mentioned the other for fear of being outcast by their society, but each wondered how their town would react to knowing the other had saved them. For it was true that without Oma or Shu, people would have died that day - both were needed to grow enough flowers for everybody.

As two people who followed their hearts, however, they decided to continue going up the mountain every day to plant more flowers, knowing that there would be a next time, and enjoying one another’s company.

Now down in Oma’s town there was a young man who wanted to marry her and he followed her around all the time. She was not interested but he persisted. When she continued going up the mountainside after the sickness, he decided to follow her out of jealousy. He was slow and arrived long after Oma had, and peering into the field full of flowers he saw her laughing and falling into the arms of a stranger! When he saw them kiss he was filled with rage: for what had the other town done but steal what he thought was his!

He ran back down to the town and told them all about Oma’s affair, so that when Oma came down in the evening, she was locked up and never allowed to go up the mountain again.

Four days and four nights she was locked away, and four days and four nights Shu waited on the mountain. On the fifth day, the man who wanted to marry Oma went to the field and told Shu to leave. He said he was to be wed to Oma and Shu had disgraced her.

Shu fled, heartbroken.

When the man who wanted to marry Oma told her what he had done, with a cruel smile on his lips, she felt her heart splinter. That night she managed to escape but found her way up to the mountain barred by guards. In desperation she ran along the mountain and hid in a cave refusing to marry anybody but Shu.

As she wept, some curious creatures came to see who had entered their home, and consoled the poor woman. She and the badger moles became friends, and through watching them she learned to move the earth as they did.

A month passed and she tunnelled further into the mountain, leaving a labyrinth behind her. In the utter darkness, however, there would sometimes be light! Green crystals grew and she collected them, curling the stone around them to make a road.

Eventually, she emerged on the edges of Shu’s town.

As these things happen, that night Shu’s heart had called him to the mountain, and as he approached it he saw the figure of Oma, silhouetted in the moonlight. Even muddy and thin as she was, she was beautiful, and he cried with joy that she had not married and she had come to him!

Oma showed Shu how to follow the crystals and come to the heart of the mountain to meet her. She cautioned him not to follow any of the other roads for these would leave him trapped in the mountain. She taught him to learn from the badger moles and bend earth like her so that the mountain would never keep them apart.

When Oma returned to her town her parents greeted her with relief. Where had she been, all muddy and thin?

Mediation, she told them. She had made a spiritual connection and did not want to marry, but wanted to dedicate herself to the spirits.

Spirits should not be taken lightly Prince Zuko, even we know that, and back then they were far more visible in the open world. So if Oma said she was on a spiritual journey, her family could do nothing but oblige.

However, the man who wanted to marry Oma was not convinced, and he tracked her one night. However, he took a torch and so could not follow the green crystals to the heart of the cave - to the heart of the two lovers! He took a wrong turn and was hopelessly lost for a day and a night until he was spat out a few miles from his town.

In anger he mounted a raid on the other town. Shu was with Oma at the time and so did not know it was happening until he emerged from his tunnel and walked into town unarmed. The man who wanted to marry Oma killed him in cold blood.

As Shu’s heart stopped, the crystals ceased to glow and Oma felt her own heart pierced by a spear.

In her great anger and great power she flattened her own town searching for the man who killed Shu, but he was still in Shu’s town, so she bent through the mountain to find him. In her rage she flattened him with a mighty boulder, and then destroyed that town too.

Both her own people and his tried to attack her, but she was too strong and to broken to be defeated, although she killed nobody else. Eventually they decided to listen to her.

She told them of her love for Shu, how both towns were saved because they had worked together. She founded a new city, with people from both the towns, and she built it in two days and two nights with her earth bending.

‘Now you may live together and love each other,’ she told them, and taught some young people how to earth bend. They had to be grounded and firm, they had to listen to the way things were, not the way things were told to them. They had to stand their ground in the open, not as she had hidden on top and below the mountain.

When she completed their truing, she disappeared into the mountain, never to be seen again. They say the crystals started glowing again when she died and finally both hearts were at rest once more. In her honour, the people called the new city Omashu.”

Iroh and Zuko sat in silence for a moment, finishing their tea.

“That was a long time ago,” said Zuko finally, staring at his teacup.

“Perhaps. I find it a most relatable tale still!” replied Iroh, eyeing his nephew critically. “There are not many characters able to defy their own family and bring love and peace to the world, Zuko. To learn about other peoples as if they were your own and unite everybody together.”

“Oma did not unite, though. She destroyed both towns!” protested Zuko, but he still could not bring himself to look at his uncle.

“She did, in a moment of pain and panic. What would you do, Zuko? For the one you loved?” Zuko met Iroh’s gaze then, and watched as his uncle pointedly studied Zuko’s bandages. “In many ways Oma was denied her happy ending, but she rebuilt from the ashes something greater than herself. And her and Shu’s many lives afterwards have tried to do the same. It would be to disrespect them both if that chain were to break…”

Iroh patted Zuko’s arm and gently took his cup from him.

He silently let himself out, grinning to himself, leaving Zuko to whirring thoughts.

“Ah! Master Katara! You look troubled?”

“Hello Uncle! Oh I just had a strange dream about… flowers and badger moles I think? Anyway, is Zuko awake?”

“Yes, and I believe he was just looking for you!”

[wherestoriescomefrom]

*sneakily tiptoes in* *drops prompt like a hot potato* 'Soulmate AU where you have the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your arm. James' is a bit unfortunate(lemontarts4lyf1988)'

HELLO. LISTEN. TELL ME. WHO ARE YOU ON AO3 OR FF NET? Also lol LEMON TARTS SEEMS TO BE A NEW MOLLIARTY MEME AM I RIGHT. 

From the minute the words appeared on his arm, Jim had laughed. It had to be a hopelessly awkward creature to begin their meeting by saying, “I’m so sorry about your lemon tarts.” Of course, it helped that the writing was uncomfortably cramped and rather nervous.

He didn’t think his destined mate was going to pose a threat. Not even a little bit.

The problem came when Sebastian realised what the words were. Because the man needed very little prompting to start laughing, and that is all he did. Every joke from “the girl must be a tart” to “blimey, I think you can never have lemon tarts again,” was repeated. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he had been in the locker room and rather careless about his person when Sebastian saw.

Of course, later, very few people got close enough to Jim to know what the words were. Irene Adler found out because she was his lover – and God help him if he wasn’t more careful after that.

“Tarts,” she whispered to him. “I wonder, James, if you will ever find her. I’d like to meet her if you do.”

“By all means,” he had said. “I’m sure whoever it is would be more than willing to be murdered by either of us. That’s the funny thing about killing – you don’t care who’s behind the gun as long as the shot is still aimed at you, isn’t it, dearest?”

**************************************

But no, no matter how many criminal empires one had, no matter how many people one murdered, and no matter how many countries Jim destroyed, the two people who knew would not stop using the words against him.

“Boss, we have lunch in the evening with the Americans. Arms deal and all that.”

“Of course,” said Jim, twirling his tie.

“Would you like some lemon tarts for tea?” asked Moran innocently.

“Would you like your brains on the wall?” asked Jim sweetly.

**************************************

“Sherlock Holmes would be very easy, don’t worry,” Irene drawled. “I know what he likes – or I’ll find out.”

“I hope you find out soon, sweetheart,” Jim said with a grin.

“As soon as you find lemon tarts,” said Irene just as evenly.

Jim scowled. Whoever the destined lover was, they’d already ruined his life.

**************************************

Of course Moran had organised the meeting with Mrs. Porter in a coffee shop. It was tedious that women wanted their husbands murdered, and it didn’t help that Mrs. Porter was both stupid and extremely high up in the ladder of power – or at least, her husband was.

Jim handled assassinations of ten and above personally. This was one of them.

But Moran – Moran was just pissed because Jim had forced him to do stake-out duty after one quip too many. Stake-outs were ruthlessly boring and gloriously unrewarding.

He rolled his eyes, staring at his watch. The woman seemed to be creating a false image of herself having the leave to be late. That had to be quashed.

“Would you like to order, sir?” asked the waitress.

“The lemon tarts,” he said, without looking at the menu. They were a good dessert, after all. “And a cup of black coffee.”

The waitress disappeared, and Jim regarded the rain outside the window. The maddening drip-drip-drip was like a pounding call of everyday life. He sucked in a deep breath.

That was when the girl entered – she was out of breath, wet due to the rain, soaked to the bone, and clumsy. She slammed right into the waitress who had held a plate with two lemon tarts. It was in this moment, that Jim knew exactly what was coming next.

She picked up the plate, said sorry to the waitress, turned to him, her eyes wide, her brown hair unremarkable, and her life surprisingly boring (he could tell. It was obvious) and she said it as clear as day:

“I’m so sorry about your lemon tarts!”

This had to be a cosmic joke.

“Oh, dear,” he said to her.

Her eyes had been very wide already – now, they became coins. She looked at him with growing realisation, and nothing captured their relationship more than, “I’m so sorry about your lemon tarts!” and “Oh, dear.”

[i-want-my-iwtv]

Hi, I'm doing this project thing for class on IWTV and basically I have to analyze and write essays about themes, characterization, symbols, etc. on a bunch of different passages from our chosen book. I've done a lot but I still have some left to do and kinda have run out of ideas for the last of them. Do you have any favorite scenes/lines/moments/passages/excerpts from the book or any that stand out/you find particularly deep and meaningful? Thanks for the help (:

Hmmm, this is a tough one! There are so many. I’m curious to know which you chose already!

It changes over time, but just skimming IWTV, these are some consistently favorite moments of mine. I think some of them are deep and meaningful, but what’s deep and meaningful to me may not be to you. We all sort of have a conversation with books, you bring your own experiences and tastes and see what matches up with the story you’re reading. Sometimes the story can expand your intellectual palette! It’s done that for me.

What makes a moment (scenes/lines/moments/passages/excerpts/etc.) a fave for me is the mixture of comedy and tragedy, so I’m drawn to parts where Lestat is insulting Louis, or they’re fighting with exquisite tension and clever dialogue, or bits of vampire physiology, or heartwrenching stuff. 

While I’m less interested in things like artful descriptions or didactic lessons from the author, each VC book is a mixture of many things, and I obviously love the series as a whole and in parts. Fave moments, for me, are like amazing desserts in which you can’t always figure out what the ingredients were, it’s just DELICIOUS and you gotta have MORE.

I was going through IWTV and selecting passages but I’m doing too many! Here’s the first few that come to mind, in no particular order, which is a very small fraction of all my fave moments:

Lestat telling Louis that he needs to grow up and quit pining for his mortal life: “’You do not know your vampire nature. You are like an adult who, looking back on his childhood, realizes that he never appreciated it. You cannot, as a man, go back to the nursery and play with your toys, asking for the love and care to be showered on you again simply because now you know their worth.’”

Louis grappling with Lestat over Lestat wanting to kill Freneire. Wrestling in the mud and the cold!

Louis appreciating Daniel’s tape recorder (“Marvelous contraption, really”) and doing/saying other little things that make him seem anachronistic (” “That is, how would you say today … bullshit?” “)

When Louis discovers mortal Claudia, he mentions that he hears a dog that he could take instead (”But there were alternatives: rats abounded in the streets, and somewhere very near a dog was howling hopelessly. I might have fled the room had I chosen and fed and gotten back easily.”), but he’s drawn to her. He’s been malnourished for some 4 yrs, the inner demon pulling him to a human victim is sick and tired of junk food, it wants AN ENTRÉE ffs!

Louis finding Lestat post-trial under TDV clutching Claudia’s yellow dress! ;A; Heartwrenching!

Armand showing Louis he really can climb a tower, just try it! So motivational.

Lestat’s blind dad in general, how they had to pretend to eat dinner to humor him, how Louis was so nice and gentle with him and put him out of his misery when the time came ;A;

Louis telling Lestat he had to leave the plantation bc there was going to be an uprising, and Lestat responds with such a perfect slew of insults that are actually surprisingly accurate: “ `You want me gone! You,’ he sneered. He was building a card palace on the dining room table with a pack of very fine French cards. `You whining coward of a vampire who prowls the night killing alley cats and rats and staring for hours at candles as if they were people and standing in the rain like a zombie until your clothes are drenched and you smell like old wardrobe trunks in attics and have the look of a baffled idiot at the zoo.‘” 

A few more under the cut* 

Anyone is welcome to reblog/comment with their own fave moments ;]

*From when I was starting at the beginning of the book and pulling faves but only got to p. 13 and had 4 already, so I had to stop doing that or I’d have more many than too many.

After Paul dies, Louis talking about his sister, how she felt like she had to act a certain way bc society expected it. This was one of the first things cluing me into the whole idea of disregarding societal expectations, bc what good did it do her to pretend?

“People in society asked my sister offensive questions about the whole incident, and she became an hysteric. She wasn’t really an hysteric. She simply thought she ought to react that way, so she did.”  

The first time Louis really describes Lestat:

He came in from the courtyard, opening the French doors without a sound, a tall fair-skinned man with a mass of blond hair and a graceful, almost feline quality to his movements. And gently, he draped a shawl over my sister’s eyes and lowered the wick of the lamp… His gray eyes burned with an incandescence, and the long white hands which hung by his sides were not those of a human being… the moment I saw him, saw his extraordinary aura and knew him to be no creature I’d ever known, I was reduced to nothing. 

When Lestat is about to turn Louis, it’s so endearing, and there’s comedy in here, as well as some dubious consent, it’s just excellent.

But there was no time for courage. Or shall I say, there was no time in Lestat’s plan for anything but his plan. `Now listen to me, Louis,’ he said, and he lay down beside me now on the steps, his movement so graceful and so personal that at once it made me think of a lover. I recoiled… 

…I wanted to struggle, but he pressed so hard with his fingers that he held my entire prone body in check; and as soon as I stopped my abortive attempt at rebellion, he sank his teeth into my neck.”

Omg, Lestat telling his dad to get off his back about his lifestyle is priceless:

“[Lestat] was in his father’s bedroom meantime, telling the old man good-bye, that he would return in the morning. ‘But where do you go, why must you live by such a schedule!’ the old man demanded, and Lestat became impatient.

… `I take care of you, don’t I? I’ve put a better roof over your head than you ever put over mine! If I want to sleep all day and drink all night, I’ll do it, damn you!’ The old man started to whine.”

[truthofherdreams]

hopelessly a lover (and that will be the death of me)

OR Rosaline is so good at pretending to be in love, she even fools Benvolio.

part one out of three (part 1, also on ao3)

It doesn't keep Rosaline up at night per se, but the thought lingers on her mind until comes morrow, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She tries to distract herself from it when she wakes up, reading a book through breakfast and keeping her mind elsewhere, but Benvolio is to arrive early and there is only so much Rosaline can do before her thoughts wander back to him. It, of course, gets even worse when Benvolio knocks on their door.

The excuse is a well-rounded one, that of visiting Friar Lawrence for details about the wedding ceremony, and so her uncle doesn’t bat an eyelash when Benvolio asks for Rosaline to join him for the morning. She would even bask in the perfection of the scheming, were it not for the way she analyses his every movement a little too much.

There is no pretending in front of Friar Lawrence, for he knows the marriage not to be a loving one. Still, Benvolio stands closer to Rosaline than he would have only a few weeks before. He glances her way every so often, and it unnerves her until she wants to scream - about that, and how his fingers keep playing with the fabric of her skirt. She doesn’t think he knows he does it, which makes matter even worse. This casual familiarity he has around her, this nonchalance when it comes to playing his part.

It is only when he escorts her back to the carriage, after a long but unfruitful conversation with the clergyman, that Benvolio comments on her behaviour. “Is something the matter?” he asks, stopping her with a hand around her wrist.

Rosaline forces herself not to jerk back at the warmth of his fingers, or at the concern in his blue eyes. She was indeed uncharacteristically silent during their meeting with Friar Lawrence, and it could surprise more than one person. That it concerns Benvolio, on the other hand, is most bothersome. She doesn’t want his worry, or his questions, because they come from a place of caring, and Livia’s words keep dancing in her mind.

“I am tired, is all,” she lies effortlessly. “He was hiding something, was he not?”

Thankfully, her question is enough to distract Benvolio, and things are a little easier from there. That, the thinking and the plotting and the scheming together, Rosaline can handle. That is something she can go through without fear of what to come next, without dread for Benvolio’s actions and words. They agree to share a light meal together in the Montague gardens, close enough to a chaperon not to get Rosaline into trouble but isolated enough to speak their mind without spies around them.

Benvolio accompanies her back home after lunch, kissing the back of her hand softly before he disappears around a corner. Rosaline lets him go, staring at the street in front of her but not truly seeing it. Her mind starts racing again, going through and analysing every detail of the day, every interaction, every brush of his fingers against her hand.

She sighs and gives up, only to groan her frustration when she enters her room and finds Livia sitting on her bed. Her sister looks up at the sound, questions in her eyes to which Rosaline only replies, “This is all your fault.”

Livia’s smirk has no right to be this wicked.

 …

 Rosaline is certain her uncle loves to see her suffering, for he organises yet another outing the following day and dismisses any complain she has on the matter. Rosaline still tries to make a case for herself, if only because the previous night was too hot for her to sleep comfortably and she would enjoy one day of peace and quiet, but there is little to be done against her uncle’s stubbornness. So Benvolio arrives at the house after lunch and, along with a couple of guards and the nurse as a chaperon, invites her to the local market.

She wishes Livia were with them, if only because she has an habit of forcing Benvolio to buy the most ridiculous and useless trinkets for her, which is entertaining enough. She still despises Benvolio, even more so than Rosaline does at this point, but Livia has always been one to use new opportunities to her advantages. Especially when those opportunities present themselves as Montague golden coins.

But Livia is otherwise busy with answering to their aunt’s every whims today, and so Rosaline has no other choice but to put her hand on the elbow Benvolio offers and to follow him outside the house. It is a hot summer afternoon, and so they keep to the shadows of the streets on their way to the market, neither of them bothering with conversation. Rosaline forces herself not to analyse this too closely once more, and instead dresses a list of things she needs buying. She would very much like a new pair of earrings for the wedding ceremony, and perhaps even a necklace for Livia. She also needs fabric for a dress, though she does not particularly look forward to wearing it.

“You are quiet once more, my love.”

Rosaline swallows down the groan that threatens to escape her mouth at his words, and instead plasters a smile on her lips. “I thought you liked me better submissive, my lord.”

It isn’t fair on him, she knows, even more so when he sucks in a breath at her words. He has never done anything to repress the fire within her, nor shown annoyance at her temper. If anything else, he might as well be the first man to enjoy it, and to even be amused by her bouts of passion, instead of judging her lack of manners.

Benvolio slows down then, just enough for Rosaline to look up at him and see the seriousness in his eyes. “I like you as you are, fair Rosaline,” he tells her, poorly hiding the hurt in his voice. “Be not afraid to be opinionated to your heart’s content.”

There is too much truth to his word, for he indeed likes her, and that frightens Rosaline more than she would like. She finds herself self-conscious of her every action once more, forcing a smile on her lips before she pulls on his arm to start walking again. Still, her body sways closer to his with each step they take, even more so when they leave the empty street and walk into the crowded market place. This seems to please him, if the smile ghosting his lips is anything to go by, and Rosaline wonders if he would be so bold as to wrap an arm around her waist and keep her close, were it not against all rules of decency.

As it is, he only follows her around from stall to stall, grinning every time her fingers caress a particularly beautiful necklace, every time she raises an earring to the side of her face and ask for his opinion. He may be a man, but Benvolio also is an artist, his tastes more refined that she would have thought from a Montague. Rosaline has no doubt that he would not let her buy something unflattering, even more so when he is the one paying.

She is comparing two pieces of fabric - one the Capulet blue, another one a more neutral beige - when Benvolio stands straighter by her side, his body turning stiff and awkward in an instant. Rosaline doesn’t have time to ask what the matter is, for his unusual behaviour is followed by a, “Greetings, dear aunt,” that has her breath catching in her throat.

Rosaline knows very little of the inner politics of the Montague clan, but she is no fool. Lady Tessa Montague is even more ruthless than her brother, and cares as very little about Benvolio. The reasons as to why everyone seems to despise the younger Montague are still a mystery to Rosaline, and an unfair one at that - as far as she can tell, he always was the scapegoat of the family, even as a child. How anyone could act in such a way with their own blood, Rosaline has no idea - at least her lady aunt has her reasons, no matter how biased.

“Greetings, nephew. Capulet.”

Rosaline takes a deep breath before she turns around, not even bothering with hiding her sarcastic smile. Some battles are worse fighting for, and making it clear that she despises the older woman is a hill upon which Rosaline is willing to die. “Greetings, m’lady,” she replies, messing the title on purpose with just enough of a servant’s accent to make the other woman squirm. “I was just telling Benvolio how lovely this colour look on him, wouldn’t you agree?”

She barely glances back at the stall of fabrics as she grabs one scarf, a vibrant blue piece, and turns around to wrap it around Benvolio’s neck. His eyes are a little wider than usual, even more so when he too notices the colour, before a smile settles on his lips once more. He even lets her tug on the ends of the scarf, as to pull his face closer to her, so only she can hear his little snort of laughter when she winks at him.

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Tessa replies, and Rosaline doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to hear the irritation in her voice, as if the lady had just swallowed a particularly bitter lemon. “Though I am always partial to crimson fabrics myself.”

“Oh no, m’lady,” Rosaline goes on, tugging on the scarf once more. “The blue of the fabric only brings up that of his eyes. We wouldn’t want the magenta to hinder his features.”

“Magenta is pink,” he whispers to her in a breath as to not be heard by his aunt. Rosaline can only reply with a snort of her own as the silliness of the situation, for of course he would know every shade of colour that exists. And then, to his aunt, “Who am I to deny my beloved the chance to gaze into my eyes at her leisure?”

Maybe they are taking it one step too far this time, but it is worth the grimace on Lady Tessa’s face as she battles not to say anything rude in public. It is only a matter of minutes after this until she bids her goodbyes and tells her nephew she will see him at home, before she gathers her skirts and leaves them. Rosaline lets out a breath of relief that Benvolio mirrors, his turning into a chuckle when she pulls at the scarf and it slides off his neck.

“That was interesting,” is his only comment as he hands a few coins to the seller.

It takes Rosaline a few moments to notice his gesture, and by that time he is already draping the scarf around her shoulders and smiling proudly to himself. “Though I have no doubt it does wonders to my eyes, blue is your colour.”

How he always manages to buy her things before she can stop him, Rosaline has no idea. She complains mildly, even if it is no use, before she follows him to another stall. It is yet another hour of wandering before she buys something for Livia and they agree that it is enough socialising for one day.

The way back to the House Capulet is not as silent, for they keep discussing one particular marchant they met on the market place, selling instruments neither of them had ever seen before. Rosaline admits to taking singing lessons when she was younger, but her voice could never compete with Juliet’s skills. Benvolio narrates one particularly colourful night in a tavern that had involved way too many tankards of beer and Mercutio losing his voice for an entire week, much to the dismay of both Montague boys.

As it turns out, talking to Benvolio is not as impossible as Rosaline would have liked to think. He is charming and amusing, and has a talent with words that turns any story into an epic tale of friendship and loyalty, until Rosaline finds herself mourning men she never met.

Before she knows it, they are back where they started, her uncle greeting them in the entrance hall even though he looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. Benvolio bows to him, ever the proper and respectful gentleman, before he delicately takes Rosaline’s hand in his own. He bows to her too, and she startles at his lips grazing against the back of her hand in a barely-there kiss that leaves her skin tingling even after he lets go of her.

“It was a pleasure spending time with you, as always.”

His words are polite and proper, but the gleam in his eyes speaks of more than a simple outing - amusement and companionship, jokes at his aunt’s expense shared in a whisper. And when Rosaline mirrors it with a, “The pleasure was all mine, dear betrothed,” of her own, it is with sincerity in her words and in the slope of her smile.

Benvolio stares at her for a few moments longer, tilting his head to the side as if to truly see her for the first time. A shiver runs down her spine, for this look speaks more than a thousand words, and for she is afraid of what will come out of it.

 …

 Rosaline is only left wondering for a few hours, for the sun is not quite set yet when pebbles are thrown at her window and dread fills her stomach. She slips out of bed and into a dressing gown, caring very little about her state of disarray as she walks toward the balcony. The warm summer wind caresses her cheeks when she opens the window, but she cannot blame the weather on the layer of sweat between her shoulderblades at the sight of Benvolio looking up at her from the gardens.

He smiles, tentative and charming, and it makes Rosaline want to scream. “What are you doing here?” she hisses instead. “If my cousins find you, you’re a dead man.”

Which would resolve many of her problems, though Rosaline has no doubt Escalus would simply marry her off to the next Montague in the line of succession. They care very little about her, but just enough to make sure she will produce an heir for both families. A dead Benvolio would be of no help to her, and she would only be wed to a man she tolerate even less.

“I needed to see you.”

She winces, and curses him under her breath. “You will see me come morrow, Montague. Go home already.”

Benvolio, of course, doesn’t listen to her. Instead, he decides to favour his cousin’s flair for dramatic gestures of affection, moving closer to the house as to grab the vine that runs down the outer walls. No small amount of protesting makes him stop until, with laboured breaths and a smirk, he hauls himself up and over the railing of her balcony. His feet are loud when they land on the floor, panic rising within Rosaline as she grabs his arm and pulls him closer to the window as to be hidden by the heavy curtains.

“Do you have a death wish?” she whispers at him. “My family has killed yours for less than that.”

And they both know it. For a Montague man to be found in the bedroom of a Capulet maiden, would be the worst of offenses, worthy of death in a matter of minutes. No one in her family would care much about their betrothal, when her reputation is at play. She knows Montagues to be careless, but she expected Benvolio to be more level-headed than this.

Alas, there is nothing much to be done about fools in love.

For a fool Benvolio is, his eyes shining in the moonlight and his lips stretched into a lazy yet endearing smile. He moves closer to her, until she forgets about her uncle and cousins, until she forgets about her reputation, until she forgets about everything but the warmth of his breath against her mouth and the adoring way he looks at her. Perhaps it is how Romeo had Juliet falling so deeply and so fast for him - with easy charms and a smile, with this way of making you feel like you are the only one in the world and no other woman matters. And perhaps it would work on Rosaline too, were the situation different. In another life, another time.

“I needed to see you,” he says once more. “I would suffer a hundred deaths by a hundred Capulets, if it meant a few more minutes by your side.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and Rosaline dreads what is to come, what she will do in but a few moments. She is not a cruel woman, but his actions and words call for cruel repercussions that she can no longer avoid.

“Benvolio…”

He grabs her hand, the delicacy of his touch a sharp contrast to the hard calluses on his fingers, and Rosaline forgets to breathe. She knows what is to come, and yet she is hardly prepared for his lips on hers, for the chaste kiss he offers. A shiver runs down her spine before Rosaline finds her wits again and, with her hands on his chest, pushes him away.

He blinks at her, confused, before his eyes harden as the gravity of her actions settles down. Benvolio is at lost for words, long enough for Rosaline to breathe a simple, “Don’t.” that breaks her heart as much as it does his.

“I don’t understand,” is his only reply at first. Rosaline doesn’t know what to say to this - doesn’t even know if there is anything to be said at all. “I thought…”

“You thought wrong, Montague.”

His mouth opens in disbelief, yet no words come out of it. She reads the storm of betrayal in his blue eyes as he takes a step back, her hand slipping away from his grasp until it falls back at her side. Rosaline braces herself for the fight to come, for the explanations she could have done without.

“All along… You were only pretending.”

“Yes. You knew it. You agreed to it,” she reminds him, in a voice she hopes to be kind. She thinks back on their interactions, ever since they agreed to the wedding and started putting on the act, and wonders where exactly she became a much better actress than she thought to be. For surely she believed that she only fooled people into seeing what they wanted to see, that the lies only worked because people were willing to think them in love. Perhaps she was wrong, and offered a much better show than she thought. Perhaps Benvolio took her sarcasm for something else entirely.

“You were convincing,” Benvolio replies, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “Even more so than you give yourself credit for. You should take pride in this.”

“Do not put the blame on me!” She lets out a puff of breath, willing herself to calm down even as anger rises within her. “Do not act like I was misleading you, when you knew from the very start that this was all an act!”

“Have your feelings toward me not changed during the weeks spent together?”

“Changed, yes. I hated you, and I no longer do. But we both knew this wedding to be a loveless one, and it is but your own fault if you were led to believe otherwise!”

Benvolio turns his head, avoiding her gaze. She wants to lash out at him, wants to tell him how unfair it is to expect so much of her when she can only give so little. She wants to blame him for everything, for putting her into this situation, for forcing his feelings on her. She wants to fight him, until she stops feeling guilty for not loving him back. She wants this, and so much more, but finds herself losing her momentum when Benvolio sniffs pitifully.

There is no ignoring the lone tear rolling down his cheek, nor the way her own stomach twists painfully. For it is not his fault, nor hers, if he loves her yet she can’t return his feelings. Rosaline reaches for his hand, willing to apologize - for her crude words, if not for matters of her heart, but he snatches his hand away before her fingers graze his skin.

“I do apologise for the mistake, my lady,” he tells her, stiff and serious. “And for the discomfort it may have caused you. I will do my best to leave you to your own devises from now on.”

“Benvolio…”

“I shall see you again during our next public outing.”

She wants to protest, but it wouldn’t be fair on him, on either of them. Better let him lick his wounds in peace, instead of making it worse with hollow promises and empty words of comfort. So, even though Rosaline has so much more to say, she lets Benvolio go down the vine, lets him disappear into the shadows of the garden, until she is left staring at a bush of roses, and then at the stars.

She doesn’t know how long she remains like this, minutes or hours, glaring at the moon as if it is the cause of all her troubles. The night is warm yet she shivers when Livia enters the room and calls her name, and it is only when her sister gasps that Rosaline notices the tears in her eyes and on her cheeks, the broken pieces of her own heart that no embrace from Livia can mend.