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femslashficlets2019-07-21 01:44 pm
ilthit) wrote in femslashficlets2019-07-21 01:44 pm
[Literature] Make Me a Willow Cabin At Your Gate (Twelfth Night)
Title: Make Me a Willow Cabin At Your Gate
Fandom: Twelfth Night
Characters/Pairings: Olivia/Viola
Rating: NC-17
Words: 230
Prompt: I want to possess you completely— / Your jade body /And your promised heart. Wu Tsao
Notes: Also for this femslash comment ficathon.
Everyone knows the Duke Orsino’s wife wears breeches on occasion. Everyone knows that when she does, she is the splitting image of her brother. And so not one citizen thinks anything of it when Orsino retires to bed with Olivia’s husband, or Olivia with the very likeness of the Lady Orsino.
But, oh. Olivia had thought she loved Cesario, wanted him. It is nothing to how she wants Viola, her rose-tinted lips, her silk slip and rough palms, her little fingers slipping inside her.
Viola loves Orsino; love’s object, having been won, has not dimmed its ardour for her, for all they both stray. But Sebastian is nothing to Olivia now, and she only a passing thought to him. Yet she walks by her husband into every ball, sits down to supper with him most nights, lies restless beside him, looking for Viola in his profile in the dark.
If Viola knew… if she knew, she would no longer come to her. This meager trickle of a spring would run dry. To love her was to know fear, constant, niggling, like a festering sore.
And so Olivia jests and dances with Sebastian and flirts with Viola as if it were nothing but a game.
“Say it to me," she begs as they entwine and move together. “Speak so well I believe thee.”
Viola, her breath hitching, breathes words of devotion.
Fandom: Twelfth Night
Characters/Pairings: Olivia/Viola
Rating: NC-17
Words: 230
Prompt: I want to possess you completely— / Your jade body /And your promised heart. Wu Tsao
Notes: Also for this femslash comment ficathon.
Everyone knows the Duke Orsino’s wife wears breeches on occasion. Everyone knows that when she does, she is the splitting image of her brother. And so not one citizen thinks anything of it when Orsino retires to bed with Olivia’s husband, or Olivia with the very likeness of the Lady Orsino.
But, oh. Olivia had thought she loved Cesario, wanted him. It is nothing to how she wants Viola, her rose-tinted lips, her silk slip and rough palms, her little fingers slipping inside her.
Viola loves Orsino; love’s object, having been won, has not dimmed its ardour for her, for all they both stray. But Sebastian is nothing to Olivia now, and she only a passing thought to him. Yet she walks by her husband into every ball, sits down to supper with him most nights, lies restless beside him, looking for Viola in his profile in the dark.
If Viola knew… if she knew, she would no longer come to her. This meager trickle of a spring would run dry. To love her was to know fear, constant, niggling, like a festering sore.
And so Olivia jests and dances with Sebastian and flirts with Viola as if it were nothing but a game.
“Say it to me," she begs as they entwine and move together. “Speak so well I believe thee.”
Viola, her breath hitching, breathes words of devotion.