ya-romance

You can't make a fan of everyone. Stay true to your story, characters, music, art or whatever it is you do and fuck everyone else who doesn't like it. Life isn't perfect.

She died without us by her side, and now, we are left with the scars. In time, they may fade, but for now, they're still hauntingly there reminding us of the loss and pain.- Unlikely Love (coming soon)

Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin.I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don__ step away.__id you feel that?_ she asks.I shake my head. __ don__ know._ I feel so much, always so much.She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at thepurple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again.Her breath quickens.I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need.__re you doing this?_ I ask. Is she making me want this?__o,_ she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I__ sensing her now, even through the block in the house.We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I__ running, running toward a place I__e never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness.And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor.We breathe, staring at each other.The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she__ doing it. Whatever__ happening, it__ her.I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can__ seem to remember why I shouldn__ kiss her. And kiss her. And . . .I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas.I grip her tighter.Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts.Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

I wanted her to notice me, to pay attention to me. It was an irrational desire, one I__ never experienced before.

The last declaration he'd made to me hung between us. The L word. The one that had nothing to do with like.

Plus, I happened to be a history nerd. Why else would I be interested in a guy born in the year 519?

The combination of razor-sharp wit (completely real) and his credentials (completely fake) had won them over in the end.

You'll get fired if anyone finds out about us!""So many rules in this century," Vane muttered.

Why did you wear heels? How are you supposed to fight a gargoyle in what you're wearing?

Well, can you tell her that?"He looked down at his feet. "I will. I will."Guy-speak for, "I plan to keep avoiding her until she gives up.

If I were to lock you up in a dungeon, I guarantee you would not be bored.

Maybe she knew some day it would become my job. My job to complete the melody she had begun.

Vane grabbed me. __uLac, let__ ch

I'll always choose you.Gabe Willoughby

A fool is a man who believes glory can be found at the tip of a sword instead of on the tip of his tongue. That is life__ cruel trick.

Seconds seem like a life time when the life you lived is slowly drained out of you by those who care not what you felt, hoped, or dreamed. When the darkness comes it is all consuming, there is no light and there is no pain. It is the never ending loss of hope that now consumes me as I die in his arms.

Broken hearts made faults and fools of us all.

Attack me already. Please! I can__ take it anymore.But I don__ say any of that. I just savor each and every slow, amazing, and tongue-free kiss._Maybe he was born without a tongue, I think for a brief second, but then I realize that I am dumb because he wouldn__ be able to talk if he had been, now would he?