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Charming has a number of lonely plots looking for love. Why not take a gander and see what hijinks your character can get up to? — Kayte ( Submit your own)
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Clare Victoria Basiltree for Christopher Basiltree.
Meddlesome mother, but make her a squib <3
The thought of marrying Cecily Gallivan had occurred to Fitz in the way that the thought of marrying any attractive young lady did: a firm maybe and a hasty step away to more pleasurable topics, like sport or brandy.Fitzroy Prewett in Well. That took a turn.
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Complete five threads where your character experiences good luck, such as finding a sickle on the ground or being saved from a fall!
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#17
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Oh — now this was unexpected. Her hand on his arm, and her words stripped of all pretense. He'd thought to get her begging, of course, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Half a step back, his hand on his whiskey glass and his eyes flitting away from her; was that really all it had taken? After their first meeting, he'd thought she would give him more of a chase. After their letters, he'd wondered if perhaps she was capable of mounting an offensive equal to his own, and whether he ought to reconsider his expectations for their night together. Now... he supposed he'd been wrong. This was Miss Scrimgeour in the garden at the winter party all over again, except that she was more mature; a fine wine compared to fresh grapes.

He could command her to kiss him, if he liked. He was sure she would oblige. He might be able to command her to do other things, too, depending on how smitten she was already.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Professor," he said with a feigned casual tone. "You don't need to prove anything to me. Shall we play cards?"


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#18
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That was the direct opposite reaction Angelica anticipated. Hell, she had never received that sort of reaction married or innocent. What an odd and wholly unwelcome feeling. She had read him wrong, but the question was just how deep did the damage run? “Well, I think we have discovered why ‘delicate surrender’ should be banished from suggestion. I make a rather poor student of the method.” Angelica offered wryly. ”I treated you as uncomplicated. That was my true error.” She mused, mostly making the observation for herself.

She watched him, her brow slightly furrowed as she turned over the situation in her head, unable to keep from picking apart the last three minutes.  “Though, I am more firmly rooted back in ‘intrigued.’” There was truthfully something broken in her to now be curious how a man could move the conversation back to a respectable topic. Wanting to test the boundaries of this new shifting interaction, Angelica nodded toward the seating nearest the fire. “May we sit, sir? Perhaps while we talk we can contemplate mutual obliviation so we can return to where I was up two points to your one.”


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#19
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Emrys watched her expression as she spoke, trying to read her on multiple levels. If she had thought him uncomplicated that was indeed a mistake on her part, but it was not one that he planned to duplicate in dealing with her. He thought he had the upper hand, but he wasn't going to let his guard down if this was in fact a feint of some sort. He took up his whiskey glass and moved towards one of the seats by the fire, with half a smile on his lips.

"I'm not opposed to mutual oblivion," he said quietly. "Though I do wonder if a tendency to overindulge in such things has affected your memory. You never were up two points to my one, Professor."


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#20
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Well, at least he was still paying attention. Angel watched as he crossed the room, taking the opportunity to admire the view as he walked away. She'd nearly destroyed her opportunity to enjoy said view and would enjoy it while she could. She reached for her sherry to combat her suddenly dry mouth.

Crossing to the fireplace, she turned her back to the fire, letting the heat soak into her skin. Shedding her cloak was worth the reaction she'd received, but she rather hoped Mr. Selwyn would have devised a more physical activity to keep her warm by now. Pity.

"Strong, full body, exotic," Angel paused her description to sip from her sherry. "A bit sweet on the tongue, I am afraid you are awarded another point for your taste in sherry, sir." Angel allowed herself a slow sip of the drink as she joined him on the settee. "It is more remarkable than your recollections as you seemed to forget so quickly the score of our game." Her grin came easy now with the banter resumed. "I have a bit of a knack with numbers, you remember."


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#21
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When she crossed to the fire Emrys had considered that maybe she would stay there, letting the light dance across her skin and putting the curves of her dress in silhouette, but he supposed that was too much to hope for. When she moved to sit, he was a bit intrigued that she chose the seat next to him, instead of the chair that was standing solitary a few feet away. A choice she made deliberately, as part of their game, or had she moved to sit on instinct without considering which seat to take? Emrys adjusted himself on the settee slightly, leaning one arm on the back of the cushion and angling himself towards her so that it would only take a gesture — half a gesture, maybe — to touch her, if he wanted to.

"I remember," he said with a wry smirk. "But this is a game that has something in common with Quidditch, in that it matters less how the score tallies as you play and more who makes the decisive move at the end." This banter was about the extent of his knowledge on Quidditch, because he'd never cared for it, so hopefully this didn't become their new metaphor. He sipped his drink and raised his eyebrows at her, his meaning clear although he did not say: I almost had you a moment ago. I was one moment away from winning, and then this game would have been over.
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#22
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A bit of her died at the thought of their evening devolving into Quidditch wordplay. Well, he was bound to disappoint her at some point this evening. "I dearly hope that is their only similarity." She volunteered just loud enough to be heard over his metaphor. Angel bit into her lower lip as he mocked her over the top of his glass. He had the upper hand and they were both aware of the fact.

"Decisive move or luck, I wonder." She mused. She held his gaze as she drank, enjoying the smooth burn and the smirking competition. "I prefer a decisive victory, not luck. I think our game requires skill, Mr. Selwyn." Angel grinned before turning her head toward the fire. "And a better wardrobe."


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#23
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Emrys raised an eyebrow a little playfully at her last statement. "You can't claim the upper hand in that department yet," he teased lightly. "You haven't even seen my wardrobe." Not that he had any intention of showing her, either. Anyone who saw his collection of attire would have considered him a dandy, which wasn't the impression he was trying to give off. He may have changed his outfit three times in one day while preparing for this, but he didn't want her to know that. So his comment was less about the wardrobe itself and more about the implication — the suggestion that perhaps she might find herself upstairs at some point, in a position to get a better view of his closet.

Not his bedroom, though — no one was invited into his bedroom, even if he was sleeping with them. The closet connected to the bedroom next door, which was where he typically took his lovers. With a whole upstairs suite of rooms and only him in the home, however, he had plenty of options on that front.

"I suppose only time will tell how decisive the victory will be," he said with a flicker of a smile. "Though I do wonder if we're playing at the same game, or different ones with some overlapping strategies. Hard to tell when we've both determined to play by our own rules. Does victory look the same for each of us, I wonder?"


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#24
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“My honor as a witch and as a woman requires me to deny you any claim to wardrobe mastery.” Angel didn’t need to look him over again to see the perfect cut of his suit or the cufflinks polished to a shine. His eye for quality, or at least his tailor’s, rivaled hers but she would keep that to herself, thank you. She met his suggestion with an imperious little smirk. “Nor have I shown you mine. Though you do have potential.” She turned toward the fire, tilting her head to display the earrings she couldn’t stand to part with now. “Your influence has my modiste hunting for smoke and gold silks and wondering if there is a new trend on the horizon. You should be proud.” The praise was patronizing, but her tone playful.

She dressed for herself alone, wealth and status in her fabrics, but independence and defiance in the colors and tailoring. She wore her gowns as armor and with pride, a reminder that since her husband’s death, she owned every inch of her body and controlled anything and anyone that would try to touch her. It was power. Taking his gift, wearing him, was a frightening gesture, but the thrill was worth the risk. It wasn’t as if she would ever tell Emrys Selwyn that.

“My dear pirate, that would require you to reveal your hand.” She let her fingertips ghost over the back of his hand, across his knuckles, and down his fingers lounging on the backrest. “I am sure there are some ways we could collaborate, but I would hate to surrender all of my advantages without some show of good will. That would be highly predictable of me.” She offered the last in that warm, breathy voice he would recognize from his late night owl.


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#25
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Her fingertips trailing along the back of his hand might have sent shivers down his spine if he wasn't being so careful to contain her reactions. Emrys ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip while he watched her speak, then was forced to bite it in order to contain a smile when she said he had potential. Potential to see her wardrobe — hopefully she meant up close and personal, from the vantage of her bedroom, rather than just seeing more of her outfits as she wore them out and about. Though if the rest were half so appealing as this, he wouldn't have minded the latter, either. She'd been dressed to the nines the last time he saw her, too; a woman with excellent taste.

"Well, I would never dream of calling you predictable," he teased with a sultry smile. Nevermind that he'd been thinking exactly that only a few minutes ago; the heady whisper she'd dropped her voice to had chased it from his mind entirely. Daring to move his own hand towards her, he trailed his fingertips along the length of her forearm. "What sort of thing would demonstrate my good will?"


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#26
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"I can only imagine what you could think of calling me." She gave right back, her eyes going from amused to hot in a momentary lapse of control. She'd been more focused on his easy, cocky smile than on the fingers currently brushing along her arm. Amature mistake on her part.

Angelica was not known for her patience once provoked. She knew exactly how she would like him to demonstrate several things, but she saw how he reacted when she'd been fool enough to be obvious in her actions. If he turned cool on her now, she may ruin the game entirely. She didn't beg, but Merlin, she nearly had. It was not a mistake she would repeat (possibly). But there were certain ways she could draw his attention where she wished it and still restrain herself (possibly).

Angel let her eyes fall to his lips again, her tongue darting out to wet her own. Closing the distance between them carefully, she paused near enough to him to find his lips if she chose, her eyes dropping closed. With just the smallest of adjustment, she changed course, her cheek nearly kissing his. Even if he couldn't see her smile, he would hear it in the words she whispered near his ear. "You could answer a question of mine. Tell me, Mr. Selwyn, what is the most intriguing place your travels have taken you?" She had to savor the scent of him, which was a horrible thing to do to the part of her brain pretending to make sensible choices. Forcing herself to lean away she hovered just far enough back to see his face. She wanted the answer to her question, but more importantly, she wanted him to see the insufferably smug little smirk on her face.


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#27
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Of course he was expecting her to kiss him when she leaned in, which was exactly what she wanted. He closed his eyes half a second after she did, so her words at his ear was the first indication he had that she wasn't following through with it. He let out a heavy breath, which likely gave away more of his arousal and frustration than he would have liked. That was a point for her, certainly. He opened his eyes as she started to pull back and met her gaze with his own. She was so close now that he wouldn't even have to move his body to kiss her; it would just be a tilt of his head, the simplest thing, and the game would be over. He didn't want to lose their game, but the idea of being able to progress to whatever came next was so tantalizing it almost seemed like it would be worth it.

Emrys let his eyes fall to her lips, then a little lower. Leaning in the way that she was, he could see the tops of her breasts at great advantage, and he savored the sight for a moment. His hand was still on her arm, and he pushed it a little farther, sliding from the back of her elbow to her waist and then towards the exposed skin on her back. "Any traveler would tell you that the most intriguing destination is one you haven't yet visited," he responded in a low tone, his eyes flickering back up to hers.


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#28
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She couldn't kill the little gasp that slipped from her when his exhale hit the crux of her throat and shoulder, teasing the curls near her ear. She wanted to celebrate as he showed yet another sign that he burned with her, for her. She could be smug for all of a second before the heavy buzzing of human proximity, that electric lust that ricocheted between skin when you were just so damn close, just set her sparking. She was losing track of what winning would look like for her and whether or not she had a plan or boundary before arriving. Please, Merlin, let her not remember a boundary.

Her nearly nude flank and back were meant to be his undoing, not her own. The sherry in her free hand nearly met the carpet as she jolted at the initial brush and then forward momentum of his hand. Sending the glass toward the sideboard with perhaps a bit more magical force than necessary, Angelica's free hand wavered for a moment before she let it fall to her thigh, giving herself a rather sharp squeeze, something to anchor in firmly not on his far too clothed body.

Whether it was the pressure of his hand or her need to keep her balance in this holding pattern, she couldn't contain a little thrust of her chest, every inch of her eager to feel him. Oh, hells, could he hurry and conceded so she could taste him? He didn't need to understand a word of Russian to know the word she breathed so near his lips wasn't an exclamation one tended to hear in polite exchanges between men and women. One arm going to his shoulder to steady herself (it obviously had nothing to do with proximity to his chest she was eager to get a hand on), Angel couldn't help both a little huff annoyance and amusement as she finally met his eyes again. "Clever riposte," She did manage to smirk, it was of little surprise he met her question with a deflection. "And have you found any destinations you are tempted to visit in the near future?" She was increasingly more interested in serving as his map.


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#29
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She was leaning in to him, and she had her hand on his arm, and Emrys leaned in towards her slightly without any conscious thought to do so. There was so little space separating them now that he could nearly taste her on his lips already.

"I should think it less a matter of determining where my temptation lies and moreso in divining how well such a place may be defended," he teased lightly, stroking along her spine with his fingertips. She knew very well what he meant; he may as well have come right out and stated it explicitly.


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#30
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The line between game and reality was hideously blurred at this point. Seduction was both the main weapon and apparent goal line for them both, Angelica was certain of that, but what end would justify the means? And damn him for cornering her so near to game point.

Trailing the hand on his shoulder up to his neck, she let it slide to cup the back of his neck, her nails carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. If it pleased him as well as provoked his desires, all the better.

"Such a tempting place is well defended against lesser men, you may say impenetrable." It was impossible not to add that with a smirk and a little shrug of her shoulders. "But for a man of impeccable taste that believes himself up for the challenge? You may find your conquest far more successful." She would offer him many things, but the 'please' would not come. She would not be the first to beg.


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