#She offered to help me with make-up without the slightest prompting

[reverserewind]

.

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[chuluoyi]

first ultrasound with gojo (love entries) headcanons?❤️

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 12:55 P.M 」

*sigh* why am i so weak to domestic requests... this is just a little thing i wrote in one sitting while stalling my nanami fic (and after coming back from the company retreat!) sobs, i'm going back to it i promise!! :')) this loosely takes place after daddy-to-be <3

a part of gojo's love entries

“now let us see…”

you were lying on the examination table as the ultrasound gel made contact with your still flat abdomen. the sheer coldness and the way the probe pressed hard on your skin made you wince a bit, until that discomfort was eased by a comforting squeeze of your hand, prompting you to turn your head towards the source.

your husband, gojo satoru, offered you a smile so warm it made everything else fade into the background. beyond his sunglasses was the way he always fondly looked at you, as if he was silently assuring you that he would be by your side every step of this journey.

you couldn't help but smile back at him.

“ah, here’s the baby,” your doctor gestured at the monochrome screen with a grin. “around five weeks now. it’s the size of a seed.”

a seed? your gaze fixed on the screen with a sense of wonder. honestly you couldn’t really pinpoint where your baby was, until you saw one dot that the doctor zoomed in.

and there it was—the tiny beginning of life. the product of you and your husband’s love, growing steadily inside you.

suddenly it felt so real that you were carrying a new life. your heart overflowed with warmth, swelling with emotion, and you struggled to hold back tears as your gaze shifted between the screen and satoru, who offered you a comforting pat on the head.

“hush,” he whispered softly, seemingly moved too after looking at the living testament of his baby on the screen. “don’t cry now, hmm?”

after seeing the sonogram and had it printed, both of you sat before the doctor as she instructed you to take things easy from now on, and through it all, satoru held your hand firmly in his, attentively listening to everything the doctor mentioned and even proactively asking questions in return.

“doc, she gets dizzy and nauseous easily, can you prescribe her something to make it bearable?”

“i can certainly prescribe some anti-sickness medication, but i highly recommend you to have plenty of rests and eat healthy food too to reduce morning sickness—”

“hmm, and can you recommend anything to improve sleep? she can have trouble sleeping too…”

honestly it touched you to see satoru picked up on these little things about you despite being away so often. only now did you realize that he had always been watching over you, without fail.

back at home, he sat you down on your bed, back to being a carefree clown who would draw laughs out of you.

“now, little mom,” he began, his lips already turning up into a grin as he took your hands in his, kneeling before you. “you need to listen to me very closely, okay?”

you snorted. “don't address me like that!”

“uh-oh, no squirming,” satoru warned playfully, pinching your cheeks, and you swatted his hand, holding back giggles.

oh my. just what a blissfully happy couple you were.

“first thing first, now you are to have lots of breaks and rest,” he declared, amusement melted a bit from his tone. “the doctor said so. it'll help with your nausea too. if you feel the slightest bit unwell, you have to go back and rest.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, yeah...”

“and no staying up late too,” he added, fixing his clear eyes on yours. “especially not for waiting for me to be home.”

that got you to clamp up. so he noticed it too, the way you would always wait for him, even at the cost of not sleeping at all. satoru never really said anything all this time, but now you knew, he was indeed worried.

once again, your chest burst with love and warmth. but still...

“can you promise me that?” satoru asked you gently, his smile still in place, but you knew the underlying command behind those words. “i'm coming back. always. i have everything i want here, with you. there's no way i'm not coming back.”

you hung onto his every word, and much like spellbound, you let go of everything and nodded.

“and now baby...”

he then shifted his focus to your tummy, gently brushing his fingers across it, and the gesture stirred something inside you, making you throb with emotion.

“you only have one job. grow big and healthy, and you can even bother mama sometimes! just don't make her too sick or i'll worry...”

somehow your vision blurred with tears, hearing how unusually earnest he was. “satoru, you're so silly.”

but as always, he would pick this moment to flip the switch, reverting back to his usual teasing.

“hmm, what's that? you're getting soft now, aren't you, mommy~?”

“...why do you have to sound like that? you're making it lewd on purpose!”

in this little world of love of yours, it was just you and him, along with the tales of your life together. you had weathered various moments side by side, and now, as you were embarking on another significant chapter with him, you were certain that everything would be alright.

satoru pulled you to the bed and smothered your head with kisses, trapping you between his strong arms. “hmm, comfy now?”

“mmm, yeah. keep cuddling me...”

and from his side, he was sure, that right now, everything had never been and felt so right than ever before—with the love of his life and future in his arms.

[mostlymihawk]

Getting Sick!

Straw Hat Crew (+ Shanks + Mihawk) x GN reader

Prompt: How they react to you getting sick.

CW: Emetophobia (throwing up)

Luffy:

Completely useless.

The man's made of rubber, he doesn't have a clue what to do.

"Um...it's gonna be okay? It's gonna be okay, right?"

You have to ask him for everything.

Does carry you to bed when asked, and will happily snuggle you.

Then asks if you want something to eat.

Food is the solution, and refuses to understand that food can also be the problem.

Nami:

Holds your hair and runs her fingers through it at the same time.

Also dabbing your face and neck with a cold cloth.

Certified professional make-it-better-er.

She did a lot of throwing up when she was younger.

Childhood trauma combined with lying to your sister and working for your mother's murderer will do that.

Knows exactly what she would have wanted, and gives it all to you.

"It's gonna be okay. I've got you, sweetheart."

Keeps tabs on your temperature to make sure this isn't a symptom of something bigger.

Refuses to let you out of bed until you're 100% better.

Zoro:

Keeps his face carefully blank and gently rubs your back.

Looking away the whole time.

You know him well enough to know he does not want to be doing this.

Handles blood just fine but this is a whole other ballgame and he wants no part of it.

Happily helps you to bed after, because it means the gross part is over.

"Better out than in...I guess."

Then he remembers someone has to take care of the cleanup.

Tries to frame it as discipline training to make it better.

Usopp:

Useless, but tries his best.

"Do you need a cloth? Some water? I can get, uh...fresh pair of clothes?"

Standing outside the door, so you croak out what you need and he runs to get it for you.

Needs to be filling the silence.

If he's not asking you something and you're not answering he's talking about how this reminds him of that one time in the Forest of Doom...

Spends the whole night telling stories to help you get to sleep.

Gets a lot better when he realizes this isn't all that much different than barnacles and bird poop.

Unfortunately, the worst of it has already passed by then.

Confidently assures you he'll be ready for next time, though.

Sanji:

As a gentleman, it's his duty to take care of his significant other when they're sick.

He's damn good at it too.

That doesn't mean he has to like it.

His face is pinched as his thumb gently rubs your back, he dabs your face and neck, and offers you sips of water when you can manage it.

"You're alright, sweetheart. A little bit of my tender love and care and you'll be on your feet in no time."

And then he notices the colour, not unlike the blueberry reduction from the dessert you'd asked for after lunch.

Gently helps you to your room, and it's not until the next day that you notice anything is amiss.

In. con. solable.

No one has ever gotten sick from his food before. Ever.

Refuses to serve food.

The Straw Hats have to turn back to Baratie so Zeff can literally beat some sense into him.

Shanks:

Bonus!

This crew loves its alcohol way too much for Shanks to be even the slightest bit bothered by a little vomit.

Sits by your side, dabbing your face, rubbing your back, completely unfazed, cracking jokes the entire time.

"Snuck into the hold and had yourself a little party without me, did you?"

Knows exactly what to do to help you feel better.

Again, the crew loves alcohol too much for anything else to be true.

Cuddles. So many cuddles.

This crew is too experienced to let a sick crew member come back to work early, so despite the unserious approach you're on strict bedrest.

The whole crew makes fun of you...but only once you've recovered.

Mihawk:

This is not a man who routinely deals with people being sick.

Confused.

Why are you sick.

Who caused this.

Who does he need to kill.

(It's whoever cooked your dinner at that restaurant you went to last night, but you don't tell him that.)

Completely repulsed, does not let it show on his face while he tends to you.

Rubs your back very gently, and uses a cool cloth to wipe the sweat off your face.

Helps you to bed, sits up and lets you lean against his chest so you're upright, and encourages a few sips of water.

"Get some rest, my jewel."

The next day there's a doctor at your bedside.

You don't need a doctor, but the look on Mihawk's face says this is non-negotiable.

[streets-in-paradise]

In These Arms - Achilles x (Fem) Trojan!Reader

Warnings: Paris dumped the reader for Helen before she gets to meet Achilles. Includes break up angst + discussion of cheating.

Summary: Heartbroken and publicly humilliated after being abandoned by Paris, you seek peace in the promise of giving up on men without realizing the consequences of his actions would find you one last time.

Turned into a war prisoner and handled to the leader of the myrmidons, the unusual comfort of your master offers you a second chance.

Note: Inspired by two prompt lists by my dear friend @alysinwonderland-at-tea

Angst list - Prompt 4 " Everyone told me you were going to break my heart. I should have listened to them. "

Fluff list - Prompt 2 "I think about you. Ceaselessly."

Tags: @lovelybaka

If everyone else in Troy had reasons for sorrow, on top of theirs you were the most damaged. The man you loved had returned home bringing someone else on his charriot. A stolen queen, woman you didn't have the slightest chance of comparing yourself to given the charm of her famously inhuman beauty. Even when Paris never made any expressed promises priorly, love confessions had once been mutually retributed and you believed in that.

You trusted him going against the advice of many people who attempted to warn you. His own brother had told you that no matter how much he spoke of it, Paris knew nothing about love. Blinded by your feelings, you didn't care, and it turned out the worst mistake of your life.

" Everyone told me you were going to break my heart. I should have listened to them. "

It took you all the strenght you had left not to cry, but at that moment of confrontation it was him the one sobbing in front of you.

" I never meant to! Dear, what I felt for you was real … But it wasn't true love, and I had no way to tell the difference untill I meet Helen. "

You couldn't believe the excuse that was being given to you.

" It was for me, Paris … and because of you I think I will never love again. I gave you everything, but turns out all I am wasn't enough. "

The assumption seemed to have offended him.

" You know I don't mean that! Please, try to understand! "

" What's left to understand? You betrayed your homeland and you betrayed me. You too deserve each other, indeed: a cheater for a cheater … Lovely couple to doom us all! And me the first."

He gave you a hurted look, as if after what he did he still cared for your forgiveness.

" My heart breaks for you, and i am ashamed of myself for the pain i'm causing you … But what can shame do to stop the intensity of love? I would have never accompanied Hector to Sparta if I would have known there I would fall like this for someone else. I couldn't return pretending nothing have happened, and making you live a lie would have been even more unfair than this. You deserve better, I still hold good feelings for you. I swear it on these arms that had comforted you countless times before. "

Paris attempted to pull you closer for a hug, but you stopped him ríght away.

" You humilliated me in front of the entire city! And how strongly I wish I could get granted the mercy of never seeing you again, but Troy is not big enough for that. Blessed is the king of Sparta, who gets the ríght of spreading hate without having to see his wife in the arms of other man every day! Me, instead? I get doomed to watch you smile happyly from afar in the balcony of the palace alongside your mistress for the rest of my life. Do you call that justice, Paris? If that is your mercy, I would rather get your hate. "

In the most twisted way possible, the gods granted at least one of your wishes.

Promising yourself to never love another man ever again after your first love had ended so bitterly, you took the first step into the only path allowed for a woman in your position. With the help of Briseis, who remained your friend despite what happened with her cousin, you seeked to get choosen to take vows in her temple. It was a quick way to restitute your honor in the public eye and be left alone as well. Unfortunately, you didn't get to even try on the priestess robes before the concecuencies of Paris' actions reached you once more.

Greek warriors brought to avenge the husband of his new lover destroyed the temple, killing the priests and taking you prisioner. You would never get to see the great city of Priam again and, despite the sorrow you felt when thinking of your family, that also caused you a dark sense of relief. Because of Paris you have lost everything, even the most bassic of goods such as your freedom. Only after loosing so much, of hitting rock bottom, you had a real chance to be free of him.

Enslaved to Achilles, but liberated from everything you were before, the worst part was having to stand the provocations. The myrmidon enjoyed himself attempting to seduce you, but wasn't forcing you into his bed, and that worked good enough for you in that context.

At one given time you did found his teasing going too far, and only then you became fully honest with him.

" Why did you choose to love a god? I think you will find the romance one sided. "

It made your blood boil, even if you could tell he spoke to you like that because he had no idea of who you were despite knowing your name. Achilles believed to be teasing a priestess and in the discoverment of his mistake you ended up laying eyes on him for longer than you should.

He was wearing the same type of long egyptian styled robes Paris would typically wear in the domestic environment, keeping arms and shoulders covered while fully exposing the torso. It was matched with the same sort of long skirt made of light fabrics opened at the side for more cassual expousure. You could vividly remember he wore a black outfit almost identical to that one during the first night you made love.

And yet, that man looked nothing like him. His sun kissed skin and the sculpted muscles were as contrasting as his blond hair and blue eyes.

" I have choosen nothing, fate forced me to seek shelter in the cult of Apollo after being abandoned by the love of my life. I told myself that, if i could never love again, I could at least give my devotion to the regent god of my city. Because of you I never got to become a priestess, so now i'm a double spoil: rejected for marriage and dragged out of the temple. "

Although standing ríght in front of you, disbelief faded some of the cockiness.

" You won't be rejected here, that's a promise. I had a minor altercate with Ajax because we found you so pretty we both wanted to keep you."

He sat on the ground ríght next to you and observed you with tenderness before taunting you once more.

" Did I ruin your life, or arrived just in time to restaure your faith in men? I don't understand how a girl like you could think of running to hide inside a temple instead of getting herself a better man. "

You answered with the truth, but carefully crafting enough disdain.

" There was nothing I could have done to keep him with me when the competition was the most beautifull woman in the world. The majority of men would have done the same, and that's why I have choosen not to believe in any other ever again. "

Achilles wasn't expecting to find out he was struggling for the attention of the woman that the trojan prince had left behind in his pursuement of the spartan queen.

" Will all mankind pay for the crimes of Paris? That bastard is not even a man. You are so much better without him, consider that perhaps the queen has made you a favor. If he is your reason to give up on men, I have to say it's quite offensive for the rest of us. "

You could tell where his speech was coming and you tried to stop him.

" You would have given me to Ajax if Briseis wouldn't have ran away. I didn't left with her only because I have nothing left to live for. Living in Troy is unbereable for me, but at least here I don't have to worry about seeing them and that's the only perk i expect. Don't try to pretend you could be any different, specially when I'm here because you couldn't find any other more beautifull slave girl to claim yours. "

His hand was then on your face, lifting up your chin so your eyes won't leave his as his thumb caressed your lips.

" I think of you, ceaselessly. If there is any daughter of trojan judged more beautifull than you, I don't need to know and I don't care, because I want you over any other. "

Your hand followed his and pulled down, rejecting his contact.

" Sweet lies won't win me over, not this time. "

It frustrated him, but wouldn't make him desist.

" Would you believe me if I bring you his head on a spear? I can make him cry a painfull death to pay for your tears. Whatever vengeance Menelaus dreams of would be called mercy compared to what I can do to that trojan bastard in your name."

The strange rush of passionate defense encouraged you to reveal yourself.

" Revenge is not on my interest, all I want is to forget. Can you make me stop thinking of the first man who made my heart beat? The moments when we were happy still haunt me like a disease of the spirit, but then I remember someone else occupies my place now and it's like my heart gets eaten raw inside my chest. Pain and regret is all I have for you, son of Peleus. Paris drained me of anything else. "

Achilles got rid of his black robe and wrapped your shoulders with it.

" One night in my arms is all i think that would take me to vanish the memory of that fool from your mind. You haven't yet been loved by a real man: whatever he gave you would taste like few once you would have tasted me."

The fabric was still warm from the contact with his skin and he was holding both sides of it on top of your chest in an attempt of wrapping you tighter.

You didn't try to escape him that time and he used the new proximity in his advantage to trap you in his strong grip, pushing your body against his.

" In this arms you will find happiness again, if you allow me to show you how good I can do just for you. "

[runnning-outof-time]

K, I ran to your inbox the moment I saw you'd opened requests again! Could I pls request a blurb using this gif + the prompt "Working together again. Just like old times" as inspo? Only if you feel inspired tho, if not, feel free to ignore it.

I can always count on you to hype me up and help me out whenever I’m in need, Lee, and I’m deeply appreciative of that. 💛 Thanks so very much for sending this in! I’m sorry it took a bit for me to post it…I hope I did it justice! 😊

Like Old Times

Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: Arthur goes behind his brother’s back and seeks out (Y/N) for a plan.

Word Count: 1146

Warnings: none

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’d love to know what you thought of the story!

“Finally came to your senses, I see,” (Y/N) commented as she realized who it was standing in the archway of her sitting room. “Come, sit. Have a drink with me.”

Arthur Shelby stood, frozen for a moment or two longer. He clenched his peaked cap in his hands, his knuckles growing white as he contemplated whether or not was actually doing to do this. Was he actually going to turn his back on his brother?

“I…I just wanted ta…” he was a fumbling mess, his hesitance spilling out into his words.

“You can skip the explanation, Arthur,” she cut his babbling off. Her stern voice had him standing straight; almost like he’d just been called to attention. (Y/N) grinned when she noticed that she - still - had that effect on him. “Are you with me or not?” she asked then, a slight grin playing on her lips.

“I’m with you,” he nodded his head, sounding more sure now.

“Good,” (Y/N) nodded as well, “now come and sit. I’d still like to have a drink with you,” she attempted to coax him over again.

This time he listened. (Y/N) offered a closed mouth smile and a glass as he sat down in the seat across from her. Arthur accepted it, his eyes locked on her as he slowly brought the glass up to his lips and took a drink.

“So how are we going about it?” (Y/N) asked, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back in her chair again.

“I…” he had to pause and clear his voice, hating how shaky it sounded as it came out, “I’m not sure if Tommy will, uh….I’m not sure he’ll appreciate anyone going against him,” he was finally able to voice his worry on the situation.

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed as she heard what Arthur had to say. Silence hung between the two for a few moments before the slightest smile formed on her lips.

“What’s…what’s that smile for?” Arthur asked hesitantly.

“Tommy’s not going to have a choice in this matter, Arthur,” (Y/N) responded, her smile growing as she spoke.

“What do you mean?” he still wasn’t understanding what she was getting at.

“If I’m remembering what you said correctly…” she began, sitting up a little bit straighter in her seat before continuing, “he put you in charge of the Eden Club, right?”

“He did.”

“And so you’re the one who gets the final say in what happens there, right?” she asked another question.

“I am,” he was slowly starting to understand.

“And why else on Earth would you’ve come to me if not to get a second opinion on what the Peaky Blinders’d like the club to look like?” her grin was ear to ear now.

I miss spending time with you, was what Arthur wanted to say. But he couldn’t say that to her, not yet at least.

He kicked himself every single day for mishandling his and (Y/N)’s relationship. She was without a doubt the best thing that had happened to him, and yet he still managed to make a mess out of what they once had together. She stuck by him when the Shelby name meant nothing; when Arthur was trying everything he could to make sure his family survived after the war ended.

But then he chose the company over her. It was hard for him not to at the time…Tommy wanted him one-hundred percent invested, and Arthur was determined to show his brother that he also meant business. But meaning business meant personal matters fell to the back burner. (Y/N) wouldn’t have that, so she gave him the ultimatum: split his time better or she leaves. The end result was the latter.

“Arthur?” her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?” the noise he made told her that he hadn’t heard what she said.

“I asked you about the vision you had for the club,” she repeated herself, not questioning the reason behind his zoning out, “were you thinking more traditional or modern?”

Arthur felt himself relax as he realized she actually wanted to get into discussion on the club’s appearance. He was worried she would want to re-hash past grievances. But she was ready to get to work, and he was thankful for it.

So get to work they did.

It wasn’t until they got to a pause in their conversation that Arthur realized he hadn’t had much of his drink. He was so engulfed in their shared ideas and her excitement for the upcoming projects that he didn’t so much as think of the thing that he so frequently used as a crutch.

“We laid a pretty adequate groundwork for the club so far, don’t you think?” (Y/N) asked, scribbling a few more things down in the notebook she’d grabbed for the occasion.

“I think so,” Arthur agreed, a grin on his face.

“Look at us, Arthur…” she started, a smile on her face as he raised his eyebrows at her, waiting to hear what else she had to say, “working together again…just like old times.”

Her smile grew as she finished her statement, watching as Arthur raisied his drink in a nonverbal agreement. He took a big swig from it then, enjoying the burn it brought as the liquid travelled down his throat.

“What if…” he started, clearing his throat in hopes he’d sound more confident, “what if I took ya to the club sometime?”

“So I could get a better idea of what we’re working with?” (Y/N) questioned, tilting her head to the side slightly.

“No, uh…” Arthur paused again, feeling silly because obviously she’d take his offer in that light, they’d only been discussing the plans on renovating the club for the last hour or so. “I was thinkin’…I was thinkin’ you and I could go there together. Like…like I could take you there and we could…”

“Arthur Shelby, are you asking me on a date?” she cut into his sheepish babbling, her eyebrows raised as a smile teetered on her lips.

“I, uh…” he let out a sheepish laugh, taking a deep breath and finding her eyes, “I guess I am,” he ended his statement with a smile, waiting on bated breath for her response.

Seconds felt like hours as they passed. (Y/N) wanted to make sure that she was making the right choice. She couldn’t deny that she had missed him. Him showing up and asking her for help at the club surprised her, sure, but she was overjoyed to be able to see him again. And now he was asking her out…maybe this was a chance to start anew.

So, her smile widened as she finally opened her mouth to give her answer, “I’d love to go with you, Arthur.”

Post note: I can’t seem to stop writing Arthur as a stuttering fool when around the woman he has feelings for….I just really think he’d act that way in said situation

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @succubaby @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

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@peakyltd @johannelis2302nely @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @ce1iat

@christinasyellowflowers @insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder @wotcherpeak @call-sign-shark

@sleepyycatt @novashelby

[morgana-larkin]

hey another prompt; r is a teacher in Abbott for years now and has a specific styling of clothes. More of baggy loose clothes. As if her wardrobe are full off oversized pants and button up shirts and either a loafers or converse high lugged. And for some days, she dresses horribly, like more horribly than Janine and one time even managed to put on different shoes 🤦🏻‍♀️. Ava pokes fun of it and Barb and Janine even tried to help r out with dressing up, offering a shopping get together and sort but she declines says she's happy with what she wears and it's comfy. Mel joins teasing r once in a while tho and r just gonna roll her eyes playfully 'cause she's friends with her and knows that Mel was just a lil jealous that r can wear such comfy clothes tho it looks horrible. Then one day there will be like a school visit from.the district and Ava recquired all of the staff to wear formal or casual attire,ofc she makes fun of r again asking what horrible choices of clothes again is she gonna wear. Barb and Janine offered help and again she declines. Then the next day they're all in the staff room talking about it and when Mel is about to say something, r strode inside wearing nice clothes, even nicer than Ava and shocked to see she's wearing skirt and slaying the high heels without stuttering or wobbling. Mel, who's have her mouth agape and having a hard time taking her eyes off the teacher now became the new center of teasing as the teacher walks up to her and closed her mouth saying she might catch fly with a smirk on her face before leaving the break room to start her class.

Hello! This was cute and funny and I enjoyed writing this fic! I hope it turned out how you wanted. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I’m getting through your prompts. I got 8 left and one extra. I also started the next chapter of worth it and got a Marilyn one shot idea. I also got an idea for a Melissa one shot. So lots in store in the future! Btw I’ve noticed that there’s not as many people who reads the Chessy ones, even though it’s the same actress🤔

Speechless

Warnings: jealous Mel 😏, smut, fluff

Words: 3.4K

You walk into the break room with sweats and an oversized shirt on.

“Woah girl, I think you need a wardrobe change. You do realise it’s spring right?” Ava says as soon as you walk in and she sees your outfit.

You sit down at Melissa and Barb’s table and Melissa looks at you and smiles. “I have to agree with Ava, and I thought Janine’s outfits were bad, but yours are a whole other level.” She tells you and you roll your eyes.

“Heeyyy.” Janine complains when she heard what Melissa said and Melissa just smirks.

“Sweetheart, I was thinking that you, me and Janine can go to the thrift store and get some new clothes tomorrow morning.” Barb offers.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I like my clothes, might not be the most stylish but they’re comfortable.” You tell her.

“Girl, your clothes ain’t stylish at all. Like you got two patterns on, they don’t even match.” Ava says.

“Don’t you have some influencing to do? You know, anything besides your actual job?” You tell her and she leaves.

“Why do you have two different patterns on your outfit?” Melissa asks.

“First 2 things I grabbed.” You tell her with a shrug and she shakes her head at you. “You’re just jealous because I don’t care about what I look like and wear comfy clothes.” You tell her and she snorts.

“Hon, there’s comfy and there’s comfy disaster. Which category do you think you fall under?” She asks you and you huff.

“I still think you’re jealous.”

“Keep thinking that hon. Doesn’t make it any more true.” She says back to you. “By the way you realise you have 2 different shoes on right?” She asks you and you look at your feet.

“I do…now.” You tell her and she shakes her head and smiles.

On Monday you walk in with a similar outfit on and Melissa rolls her eyes at you when you sit down. Ava walks in not too long after.

“Listen up, dorks! Tomorrow the school district is coming over for a tour and I need everyone to look good. And I’m mostly talking to you, walking disaster.” She says and looks at you, you just roll your eyes. “Tomorrow can you at least wear something that matches.” She tells you.

“I’ll think about it.” You tell her and she leaves.

“Sweetheart, tonight Janine and I can go to a thrift store with you for an outfit for tomorrow.” Barb tells you and Janine nods her head.

“I’m good, I think I know what outfit to wear tomorrow.” You tell them and Barb looks at you sceptically.

“Are you sure?” She asks and you nod your head.

“Yep.”

“Can't wait to see your best mismatched outfit tomorrow.” Melissa teases you and you smile.

Tomorrow morning, everyone is in the break room. Melissa, Barb and Janine are discussing their outfits and then it lands on your outfit.

“What do you think she’s gonna wear today?” Janine asks as she’s getting coffee ready.

Barb shrugs, and when Melissa goes to speak, you waltz in and her eyes go wide and she freezes.

You walk in with heeled boots, black tights, a nice black skirt that ends mid thigh with a nice belt, and a blue blouse that you tucked into the skirt. Melissa’s eyes roam your entire body and you smile.

“Daammn girl. Where has all of this been for 2 years?” Ava says.

“Not needed.” You tell her and you see Melissa’s reaction. You walk over to go put your lunch box in the fridge and you stop at her. You put a hand out to her and place it under her chin, she looks up at you and grin. You then push her mouth closed. “You don’t want to catch flies.” You tease her and everyone hides a snicker. You put your lunchbox in the fridge and then you walk out to your classroom.

“What was that?” Janine asks as everyone stares at where you just were.

“Don’t know, but I approve.” Ava says.

“Even though she looked better than you?” Jacob says and Ava glares.

“Hey.” She tells him sternly. “She looks good today but not better than me, thank you very much.” Ava says, she flips her hair and then walks out.

Melissa is still stunned, she knew you were beautiful underneath all those baggy clothes, and you had a pretty face, but that shocked her. You were stunning and she doesn’t know how to react.

“Melissa?” Barb says and snaps her fingers at her and Melissa jumps and looks at her.

“What?!?” She asks and everyone snickers.

“You ok? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” Barb says.

“Or she got a crush.” Jacob adds and Melissa whips her head around to him.

“I do not have a crush on her. Just didn’t expect her to look like that today.” She tells him and then turns back around.

Everyone drops it, knowing that Melissa won’t budge, but they don’t forget it.

At lunch, you’re in the break room getting your coffee ready when Melissa walks in. Normally you say hi to her but it seems a teacher is talking to you today. Melissa sees you and the teacher talking and when she gets closer she hears the conversation and realises the teacher is flirting with you. Most of the staff know you’re gay as you’re open about it, and it seems another gay teacher has taken an interest in you today. Melissa doesn’t like it to be honest. She liked it better when you didn’t catch anyone’s eye except hers. She sits down with a sigh and you glance around.

“Oh hi Melissa, didn’t hear you come in.” You tell her with a smile.

“Ya I can see that.” She tells you, a bit snippy and you look at her confused. You bring your attention back on the teacher and she continues whatever she was talking about with you. Melissa is sulking on her phone while glancing at you and the teacher talking, who moved from the coffee machine to the couch. Barb keeps glancing at Melissa, knowing she’s jealous of the teacher flirting with you.

Everyone else seems to be in conversation but that all comes to a halt when they hear the other teacher ask you out and they all spare a glance at Melissa. Melissa freezes and all colour drains from her face. Not wanting to hear your answer, she grabs her things and walks out.

You hear the teacher ask you out and you freeze, you hear the room go silent for some reason and then you see Melissa get up and leave. You look over at everyone else and they all seem to be given a worried look at where Melissa was just standing.

“I’m flattered but no, sorry.” You tell the teacher.

“Are you sure?” She asks again with a smile.

“Ya, I’m interested in someone else.” You tell her and then get up and you walk to Barb. “Is Melissa ok?” You ask her and she shrugs.

“I don’t know dear. Didn’t have time to ask her. Maybe you can go check on her.” She tells you and you nod your head then walk out of the break room.

“This is getting interesting.” Jacob says and everyone agrees.

“Did you see her rocking those heels though, and she didn’t even stumble once today.” Janine says and Jacob looks at her interested in the topic.

“I did ya. She looks good in them too.” He adds.

You walk down the hall to Melissa’s classroom and you knock them open her door. You peak in and catch the tail end of Melissa’s pout before she goes to a neutral face and looks at the door.

“Hey Melissa.” You say to her.

“Hey hon.” She says to you and forces a smile.

“Is it safe to come in?” You ask her and she nods. You open the door more and walk in and then close the door behind you. “Just wanted to check if you were ok. Saw you almost storming out and Barb didn’t know if you were ok either. She suggested I come to make sure you’re alright.” You tell her and she sighs.

Of course Barb told you to come talk to her. She’s been trying to get her to admit her feelings for you for a few months now.

“Ya I’m alright, thanks for asking.” She tells you and you don’t look convinced in the slightest.

“Wanna tell me that while looking at me?” You ask her while she taps a pen on her desk.

“Why should I do that?” She asks and then looks up at you.

“Because it would seem more convincing then the lame ass attempt you already did.” You tell her and she snorts. She makes no attempt at saying it to you though and that worries you a bit. Melissa has never been able to lie to you while looking at you so the fact that she’s not telling you she’s alright while looking at you, it worries you.

You go and grab one of the students chairs and bring it over to sit beside her desk.

“What’s wrong?” You ask her and she looks at you then looks at her pen in her hands.

“Nothing.” She says and you place a finger under her chin and get her to look at you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask her again and she can’t concentrate. All she focuses on is your hand under her chin and she gulps. “I know something is bothering you, so what is it?” You gently push.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tells you while looking at you and you nod.

“Are you sure? Cause I’m a great listener.” You tell her with a smile and she smiles back at you.

“Ya I’m sure.” She tells you and you nod.

“Alright well if you change your mind then you know where to find me.” You tell her and you put the chair back and then leave.

As you exit her classroom you bump into a teacher and you apologise to them.

“Y/n? Wow, I almost didn’t recognise you. You look pretty!” The teacher says to you and you smile and thank them. Melissa sees the interaction and presses down on the desk with her pen and the tip of the pen almost breaks.

At the end of the day, you’re all helping your students get ready to leave. You’re zipping up a sweater for one of them and Melissa sees a parent checking you out as your cleavage is showing to them at that angle. You then stand up and tell the student that he’s ready to go. The mom of the student starts a conversation with you and she laughs at whatever you said. Melissa glares the entire time. When all of hers and your students leave, she walks over to you to where the mom is still in conversation with you and Melissa grabs your arm.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt but I need to borrow y/n.” She says and pulls you with her back to her classroom.

“Melissa, what’s going on?” You ask her as she closes the door and walks over to you. “Why did you pull me away from the conversation with the pa-” You don’t get to finish your sentence as her lips on yours interrupt you. She pulls back a couple seconds later and you stare at her with wide eyes.

“That’s what’s going on.” She tells you. “I’m attracted to you. I have been for a few months now. I wasn’t planning on acting on it but then you get all this attention today because of your outfit and I just can’t take it.” She tells you and you are just staring like she was this morning.

“You like me?” You tell her and she sighs.

“Ya hon, I do. That’s why I walked out when that teacher asked you out.” She tells you.

“Melissa, for the record, I turned her offer down.” You say and she looks at you.

“Why?” She asks and you roll your eyes at her.

“Because, it’s hard to show interest in someone when you’re interested in someone else.” You tell her and she looks confused.

“You’re interested in someone else?” She asks and you nod. “W-who?”

“You.” You tell her and her breathe hitches.

“Me?” She asks you and you nod.

“I tried flirting with you a few months ago but you didn’t seem to show any interest back so I stopped.” You tell her. She stares at you for a few seconds then leans forward and captures your lips on hers again. This time she doesn’t pull back and you kiss her back. She pulls your body more to hers and you gasp. Melissa takes the opportunity and slips her tongue in your mouth. You back up as Melissa is starting to push a lot and you end up getting pinned between her and her desk. She lifts you up to sit on her desk and she moves in between your legs. She trails down to your neck and sucks on a sensitive spot and you moan.

She sneaks her hands under you shirt and trails them up until they land on your bra. You aren’t stopping her so she takes that as permission to unclip your bra and again, you don’t stop her. She cups your breasts while still sucking on your neck and you buck your hips. She starts moving her hands in a circular motion and you hum. She then rubs both your nipples and you buck your hips and gasp. “Mel-Melissa, please.” You start to beg and she smirks.

“Begging already? I’ve barely touched you.” She teases and you whine. She takes pity on you and pulls your tights and underwear down and places her hand on your pussy. You moan and she kisses you to keep you quiet. She rubs a finger through your folds and smirks when she feels how wet you already are. “Oh baby, you’re already soaking and I barely touched you. What got you so turned on?” She asks and you can barely think right now. “If you answer then I’ll stick a finger in you.” She whispers next to your ear.

“You.” You stutter out.

“Me? But I barely touched you.” She says and you whine.

“Y-your shirt and y-your k-kisses.” You stutter out and she looks confused and looks down at her shirt. She sees it’s just a normal shirt that she’s worn before and then it clicks.

“Oh, were you staring at my chest today?” She teases you and you nod. “Hmm, good girl.” She tells you with a smirk. She kisses you and then as promised, sticks a finger in your entrance. You gasp into the kiss. She slides her finger in and out and feels your hands wandering on her shirt. She grabs one of your hands and guides it under her shirt and on her bra. Your other hand follows and then she unclips her bra and you slightly pull your hands back. She puts one of your hands on her breast and once again, your other hand follows. You start playing with her breasts and you both moan. She then places one of her legs on the other side of yours and she starts grinding on your thigh while fingering you.

She slides another finger in and you gasp. The one hand that’s not fingering you she places on your back and pushes you to her a bit more. She then suddenly pulls out and pulls away from your lips, you go to complain but then covers your mouth with her hand. You’re in shock but then you hear Barb knocking on her door and calling her name. You both quickly get dressed and then Melissa opens her door while you lean against her desk.

“Hey Barb what’s up?” She asks as casually as she can.

“Nothing just… oh hi y/n.” She says when she sees you and then notices a hickey on your neck that wasn’t there at lunch. She then really looks at Melissa and sees smudged lip gloss and puts 2 and 2 together.

“Hey Barb, I was just talking to Melissa.” You say and Barb smiles.

“Ya I bet. Might want to cover up your hickey and fix your lip gloss.” She says and then walks away. “Good night you two.” She yells and Melissa is blushing.

She turns back to you and walks towards you with a smirk. “Come on, I want to finish you in my car.” She says and grabs your hand and pulls you all the way to her car. She unlocks it and she pushes you into the backseat and climbs on top of you. She closes the door and then immediately takes your top off.

“Melissa what if someone sees.” You ask her and cover yourself with your arms.

“Relax, no other cars in the parking lot except ours.” She tells you and then grabs your hands and gets you to uncover yourself. She then unclips your bra and looks at you. “I knew you had a beautiful body underneath all those baggy clothes.” She says softly and you smile. “Such a shame you hide it, you should be showing it off.” She tells you and you blush.

“When I don’t cover it, then I get attention like I did today.” You tell her and she hums.

“That’s alright if you cover up, that means I don’t have to punch anyone. More for me.” She says and wraps her mouth around a nipple. You moan at her touch and tilt your head back. She goes to the other nipple and you buck your hips. She pulls back and then takes her shirt and bra off.

“Wow.” You say as you look at her. She grabs your chin.

“Speechless are we?” She teases and you nod. You then lean forward and take the nippe in your mouth and she gasps. She holds the sides of the front seats to stabilise herself as you pleasure her breasts with your amazing tongue and mouth. When you pull back she immediately pulls your skirt, tights and underwear down to your ankles. She spreads your legs a bit and looks at you bare before her and smiles. She then goes and rubs your clit and you buck your hips. She rubs it for a few seconds then trails down and sees you're very wet again. She then slides two fingers in immediately and you gasp. You try and spread your legs more but your tights and skirt are preventing you. Melissa sees your struggle and without pulling her fingers out or stopping, she takes your boots off then takes off your clothes. You then immediately spread your legs and Melissa is enjoying the view. She then takes her pants and underwear off then grinds your leg again. Melissa seems to be closer to an orgasm than you are and then she thinks that maybe you only come with clitoral stimulation, so she brings her thumb to your clit. You gasp and in no time you catch up to Melissa and you come a few seconds before she does.

You two stay as you are and catch your breath, she slowly pulls out of you. You look at Melissa and smile at her.

“See something you like hon?” She asks and you smile wider.

“Ya I do actually.” You tell her and you cup her cheek. “You.” You tell her and she smiles back at you.

She hums and leans in closer to you, her breasts pressed up against you and your breathing speeds up. “How about I take you to my place, I cook you dinner and then I don’t keep my hands to myself for the rest of the evening?” She asks and you smile at her.

“I like the sound of that.” And she smiles and winks at you.

You both get dressed and she does exactly what she suggested, although she had trouble keeping her hands to herself the entire time, not just after dinner.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

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[thestraggletag]

Kin, Part 3 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Something changed after the incident with the arrow, something he couldn't quite put into words. There was a newfound… ease between him and his little maid. An almost enjoyment of her presence. Before he had never had someone to presume his collections to. Now he found himself introducing bits of his treasures to her, delighting in every gasp and sound of awe his maid produced. But it wasn’t until he showed her his library that she had the best reaction, her eyes glazing over, greed shining through them in a way that made them look bluer. Something rippled down his spine, beneath his scales, as Belle slowly spun around, reverently taking in the thousands of books around her.

“It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged, feigning a detached humility he did not feel.

“I suppose. You may use it, if you wish. It could do with some dusting and I’m tired of seeing you walk around carrying those tatty old things you brought with you.”

It was odd how easily and willingly he gave up his library to her. It was not in his nature to share, but rather to hoard and covet. But seeing Belle rifling through his precious books, treating each one with care and a soft touch he was now familiar with. He told himself it made sense to give her a library, if only to have her help him find a solution to whatever the Blue Fairy had done to her.

He began to find himself often in the library. For completely necessary reasons, of course. It was just that, with the drapes pulled back and the windows clean, the light was much better to read by than in his own personal library, where he kept the tricky, dangerous magical tomes that needed almost complete darkness. And it smelled good too, like old books and ink and that burnt caramel smell that clung to his little maid everywhere she went, including the room atop the library, where she now slept, the fireplace continuously lit so that it would be warm and cosy. Clearly the castle was set on cosseting and fretting over his little human, given how it now maintained both the fireplace in her room and the hearth in the kitchen and how it cleaned itself now, driving dust away before it could settle in spots that she had cleaned before. It had never been this accommodating with him, which he resented the slightest bit. 

Spending more time together eventually translated to talking, the silence slowly filling up with little questions and answers. Often Belle would prepare tea, taking a full tray to the library and offering him a cup. He found the blends she picked were pleasant, and it was a nice little pause in the day, to sit down and have tea with her and talk. She asked after his life, genuine curiosity in her tone, and he found himself telling her, bit by bit, what it was like being the last dragon, his life wholly his own, no expectations or constraints.

“So much freedom sounds wonderful. But it also sounds lonely.”

Her tone, soft and gentle and painfully sincere, made him squirm the slightest bit. Funny how he had never felt this exposed with knights charging at him with their sharp lances pointed at him. He shrugged, as if he could physically dislodge her words from his shoulders.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Don’t know anything else.”

“What about when you were young? Did no one look after you?”

“A couple of kind spinners found me as a hatchling, couldn’t have been more than a few days old. They raised me the best they could, since they could not have children of their own. Didn’t mind that I scared their sheep and almost burned down the house a couple of times.”

Her smile washed over him like warm sunlight.

“They sound lovely.”

“They were very nice. Very patient. But, eventually, they were run out of town by angry villagers. When they were able to settle again I ran away, so they would be able to stay. It’s just been me since then, for the last few hundreds of years.”

He had tried, at first, to look for more of his kind. He had never been able to find anything other than bones and empty, looted lairs. He had buried the bones of the first dragons he found, before it became too much of a hassle to do so. 

“And since then, you've loved no one, and no one has loved you?”

She said it so softly, so carefully, but the phrase settled around his midsection like a punch in the gut, prompting him to find an excuse to leave the room. But loneliness wasn’t as enjoyable as it had been before, and so he found that he couldn’t keep himself from his little maid for long, finding excuse after excuse to come across her. It was nice, he supposed, to just talk to someone. And, to her credit, Belle knew exactly what to say and how to say it to get him to open up and spill all of his dark secrets. He found himself opening up against his will, unable to refuse her gentle prodding.

“Is there any way you could have children, if you wanted?” His little maid blushed a bit, pointedly focusing on pouring them tea as he watched her, enthralled by the way the red on her cheeks made her eyes bluer. “I mean, you… you can look human. I- is there a way that-?”

“I may look human, dearie, but I’m not. This that you see in front of you is a facade. A trick of the light. I’m not compatible with humans so no, there is no saving dragonkind. I’m the last the world will see of it.”

He didn’t expect her to look happy, but neither did he expect her to find the idea of complete dragon extinction unpalatable. Dragons were, after all, monsters. Antagonists in children’s stories, evil creatures out there stealing princesses and burning down villages. If there were more dragons around, there would be less humans.

And yet, she looked troubled, her brow furrowed as she glanced at the small creamer she had brought for her own use, since he liked his tea black- but full of sugar, even if he’d deny it. 

“If you don’t stop looking at the milk like that it’ll curdle, dearie. Has it done something to offend you? Do you want me to dispose of the entire tea set? I have nicer ones, you know.”

“Don’t you dare, I like this one. It’s lovely.” She moved the entire tray closer to her, with a possessiveness that he found enticing. “It’s not about the tea set. I just thought… I thought it was a pity that dragons are all but gone.”

“You might be the only human to feel that way.”

“All life is worth protecting. It’s worth existing. All creatures have their place, no matter what the Blue Fairy seems to think.”

It wasn’t the first time she spoke of the little gnat with derision, but it still sent a frisson of delight down his spine. She was lovely in her anger, lips pursed and eyes sparkling. He tilted his head as a new thought crossed his mind. 

“Who was supposed to be your knight in shining armour, little maid?”

She paused just as she was about to take a sip of tea, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Blue Fairy must have had someone in mind to try and rescue you from my clutches, killing me in the process. Your father, perhaps, but I doubt it. He might have been dragonslayer material in his youth, but he’s past it now.”

He flinched dramatically when she threw a sugar cube in his direction, pretending to be hurt when it bounced off his shoulder.

“Don’t be mean. But no, it wasn’t my father. At least I don’t think it was. I think the Blue Fairy meant to use Gaston.”

“A fiance, I presume?”

“An arranged marriage that thankfully never took place.”

She told him then of Gaston Legume, the strapping young heir to a neighbouring duchy, with dreams of not just inheriting his title but also making a name for himself. A natural-born hunter and fighter eager to prove himself to the world.

“He sounds dreamy.”

“He sounds insufferable. He tried to be charming at first, but the facade didn’t last long. It took me little time to discover he wasn’t just a pompous ass, he was truly an awful person. He had no respect for anyone he perceived as weak and was greedy for power and recognition. For adoration.”

She shifted, and he could smell the unease in her. He didn’t like it one bit.

“There was something unsettling about Gaston, something that only I could see. I never quite felt comfortable with him.”

”Like you do with me, mmh?”

He waited for her to laugh at his quip, but she nodded instead, her gaze going soft as she looked at him from beneath her lashes. There was something about that look that drew him in, made him feel like something was burning in the pit of his stomach. It was an altogether unpleasant, but not unwelcome, feeling. 

She didn’t deny it.

“Is that so bad, that I like your company?”

“Not bad. Mad? Certainly. Then again, I’ve known you’re not entirely in possession of your senses for a while now. You talk to that little wisp, for one.”

“Leave Flicker alone. He’s good company.”

She began to pick up their tea things, and he contained a sigh of disappointment that their afternoon was at an end. 

“You’re better, though.”

It used to be that he could spend hours in his laboratories, obsessed with whatever experiment occupied his mind at the time, but now he found himself seldomly spending more than a couple of hours a day there, and more often than not his mind was not fully engaged with whatever he was doing there. Other things occupied his time now. Recently he had taken a liking to roam the orchards in his true form. The sun there was lovely and often Belle would go out with a book and a basket and collect fruits before sitting in the shade of a tree to read. He would bask in the sun next to her, belly up like a cat some days, others curled up around the tree, tail playing with the hem of his maid’s dress, snout lying comfortably across her lap as she stroked the scales from the tip of his nose to the top of his head. She never shied away from his true form, often telling him how beautiful his scales looked under the light of the sun or how soft and smooth they were to the touch, making him preen. 

He found himself aching to go outside on that particular day, which was likely why he did not realise he was mixing sulphur with fulminating silver without wetting it first, which explained why the whole thing blew up in his face, knocking him to the ground. Stunned, he lay on the floor for what felt like forever, ears ringing and clothing singed. He shook his head, trying to dispel the haze clouding his vision.

“What happened here? Are you okay?”

The dragon tried to stamp down the immediate relief he felt when his little maid burst into the laboratory, still smelling of sunshine and peaches from outside, and burnt caramel beneath that. He tried shooing her away when she knelt down and began to prod and poke him, asking him whether something hurt or felt broken.

“I’m fine, don’t be a nag.”

“Your hair’s on fire.”

It wasn’t, just badly singed, some chunks missing in some places and crispy in others. And there was gunk stuck on it, and everywhere else. Thankfully he was mostly fireproof, other than his hair.

“You need a bath. And potentially a haircut.”

He protested, telling her a dip in the lake would be more than sufficient. Sure, it was frozen, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

“Whatever’s stuck to you won’t come out with just cold water and, besides, baths are supposed to be enjoyable. And I’ve been meaning to drag you to one for a while now. There’s no telling me no, so you might as well go with it.”

Impertinent little chit, forgetting her place. And forgetting what he was, feeling comfortable manhandling the world’s last dragon, a being of boundless power, down the stairs like a misbehaving boy, telling him in a firm tone to strip and get into the tub once she had prepared the bath. He thought about disobeying her, of course, but he had to admit the bath she had prepared did feel and smell rather lovely. She had put in some healing herbs and some of her bath salts and lotions into the water, making the water a murky, silvery white, and the temperature was hot, steam curling pleasantly around him. If he didn’t get into the bath she would likely scold him, which was not an attractive prospect. Mouthy little thing, his maid.

In the end he decided it was okay to get into the bath if he did it because he wanted to, not because she had told him. He shed his clothing, noting with some distaste that some of the fabric of his shirt stuck to his shoulder and spine, making it difficult to peel off, and got into the tub, biting back a sigh of pleasure on principle alone. He sank deep into the water, enjoying the way the hearth and a few braziers, placed strategically around the tub, kept it toasty warm. It was pleasant enough to make him drowsy, lulling him into a state of near-sleep that was very relaxing.

“How is it?”

The dragon pursed his lips, unwilling to concede completely in their little fight.

“Passable, I suppose. But completely unnecessary.”

“I see. Tilt your head back so I can get to your hair.”

He did as he was told, more curious about what she had in mind than invested in the notion of imposing his authority in the situation. She poured a pitcher of fresh water down his back, wetting his matter hair, and proceeded to methodically slather some sort of cream into it. It smelt like jojoba oil and hibiscus, the slimy texture almost unpleasant at first, before she began to massage it diligently into his hair. That felt absolutely heavenly, the way her fingers sunk into his hair, her nails scratching his scalp, sending little tingles up and down his spine. 

Touch in general was a rather foreign feeling to him. No one had touched him properly since his aunties, when he was a wee boy, and before he hadn’t thought he had missed it. He had never felt the need to touch or be touched, in his hundreds of years of existence, but it was like his little maid had pried something open deep inside him and all this need was pouring out, all this emptiness that he hadn’t noticed before. But it didn’t make him feel exposed, or vulnerable. Belle felt… safe. Felt like-

Like kin.

He allowed his eyes to slip shut as she cooed at him, praising him for his surprising docility and talking idly about this and that. Her voice was soothing, so much so that he barely flinched when he felt her begin cutting his hair. It was getting in the way of his experiments anyway, a trim might do him good.

…

Something new began to grow after that day. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Rumplestiltskin began to feel new urges, all centered around his little maid. The urge to get her finer things, nicer gowns and sparkly jewellery. After all, he reasoned, she was no longer a maid. She didn’t clean the castle anymore. She was simply his treasure, so it made sense that he wanted her to look good, to polish her a bit, so to speak.

He also found himself seeking out her presence even more, not just sharing tea in the library but also having dinner each night. She insisted on cooking, and more often than not in sharing what she cooked. Reluctantly, he tried on a couple of her scones, slathered with strawberry jam, finding that, surprisingly, he liked sweet things. In turn she grew used to his more meat-heavy dinners, slowly shifting away from more elaborate dishes towards enjoying his charred meats. He delighted in this and soon meal times were a moment spent together, intimate and meaningful.

He decided, during one of those meals, that he would keep her once the Blue Fairy’s spell was broken. This was her home now, and it was unlikely that she would be safe from the little gnat anywhere else. He’d let her stay and, if she wanted adventure, she could accompany him around when he went out to make his deals. He would show her the world, if she would choose to stay. He wanted her to choose to stay. It was difficult now to imagine the castle without her, and the idea of going back to endless years of solitude no longer appealed to him.

It was around the time he had that revelation that he began to feel… uncomfortable. Hot, in a way. And itchy, like he felt when he was shedding his scales, only it wasn’t time yet for that. He found himself wiggling a lot, trying to dislodge some phantom discomfort, and alternating between moodiness and almost suspicious elation. Going outside his castle was usually what turned him surly, especially the longer he remained out, and his mood improved significantly the moment he was back.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed to be coming down with something, though. Belle, he had noticed, was beginning to fidget too, complaining of an itch in her back that seemed to travel all the way down to her toes, never quite localising anywhere that she could scratch satisfyingly. She was also running hot, but did not seem to be under the weather. Quite the contrary, she seemed to have more energy and look healthier than she ever had before. 

He was contemplating pausing in his efforts to figure out the Blue Fairy’s spell. He had to admit his research as of late had been half-hearted at best, his heart no longer in it. As long as Belle was protected he would be safe, and keeping Belle protected had long become a priority for its own sake too. He was doing a once-over in his library, trying to look for books with a medical bent to them, when he heard Belle yell, the castle amplifying the sound till it reached his ears. Instinctually he teleported, appearing in the kitchens to see his little maid curled up next to the stove, a pot of water turned over, steam and water still dripping out. It didn’t take long to connect two and two together.

“You senseless girl!” 

He was surprised that the first thing he felt was anger at her carelessness. Didn’t she know how fragile she was as a human? Why wasn’t she more careful? But, as swift as anger was to come, so it was to be replaced with worry. 

“Come on, let me see. I’ll make it better in no time, don’t worry.”

He knelt beside his maid, itching to gather her in his arms and fix her up, right the hurt. Slowly she unfurled enough to let him take her right arm, which was the one she was cradling close to her chest. The skin there was red, but some careful probing showed no signs of emerging blisters or further damage. He slid the pads of his fingers against the skin there, noticing it felt a bit too slick to be human skin.

“Does it hurt at all?”

She shook her head, still visibly shaken from the incident, even if there was no pain. But there should be pain. He was sure of that. The steam still coming off the upturned pot gave him a clear idea of how hot the water had been when she had accidentally spilled it over her arm. She should’ve been seriously burned, he was sure of it.

“I’m fine. But I shouldn’t be fine, should I?”

He could hear a faint note of hysteria in her voice, and he ached to soothe her, to tell her everything was alright. Except something clearly wasn’t. He turned her arm to one side and then the other, only then noticing the very faint shine the skin had one held to the light. He ushered her to his topmost laboratory, where natural light was the best, and studied her arm carefully. There was something there, more noticeable as the arm went from pink back to a healthy colour. He dragged his mounted magnifying glass so he could study the skin better, turning the arm one way and then the other to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Scales.

Invisible to the naked eye, if not for their opalescent shift. Very much like his, and yet different, more delicate. The entire arm wasn’t covered with them, only the part where the water had spilled, as if the heat had burned away her skin to reveal the scales underneath.

What. The. Fuck.

“Are those-?”

“Yes.” He paused, an idea forming inside his head. “Where did you say your itch originated?”

“On my back, near my right shoulder. Why?”

“Let me see.”

She turned around obediently, biting back a gasp when he sliced the stays of her corset to shreds so he could pull the gown low enough to see. There, clear as day, was a patch of scales. Older than the one in her arm, the scales more noticeable to the naked eye, though still easily overlooked unless someone was looking for them. He touched them, noticing how they mostly mimicked the texture of human skin, except they were more slippery. 

“You see anything? More scales?”

“Yes. Older ones. Is there anything different about this bit of skin? Did you spill anything on it, do anything to it at all?”

She tried to think, body shaking as she processed what was going on. He pulled her closer, nosing the side of her head, trying to reassure her. The smell of her, burnt caramel, hit him like a trainwreck then. It had been growing stronger over time, unnoticeably at first, but obvious now. Leaning down he sniffed her shoulder, where the patch of scales was, noticing the smell seemed to be concentrated there.

What the fuck did it all mean?

“I think- I think that’s where the Blue Fairy’s wand touched me, when she did that spell on me. But it wasn’t meant to do that, was it?”

No, it wasn’t. Then again, none of the maidens that the fairies had used to kill dragons had ever survived more than a week after the enchantment had been placed. Who was to know what the long-term effects of the spell were? 

“You go change, little maid, and bring us some tea to my library, yes? There are some books there that I might need your help with. We’ll get to the bottom of it in no time, you’ll see.”

They didn’t, of course. At least not right away. Days turned into weeks, and even with both of them dedicating as much time as possible to figuring out what the Blue Fairy had done to Belle, there were no easy answers. Little had been written about the subject at all, and most of it by fairies, whose flowery language did not lend itself to easy interpretation, even after Belle carefully translated it. Meanwhile, they both kept track of any symptoms of anomalies they could spot. It was Rumple who pointed out that Belle’s core temperature had increased, and it was Belle who noticed that he tended to lean into their casual touches, often without conscious thought or awareness he was doing it at all. Belle wrote everything down and tried to cross-reference the list with the fairy texts, to no avail.

The snippets they found about the spell did not seem to be very helpful either, at first. The fairies were vague about it in their books, as if afraid to commit the knowledge to paper, determined to keep their secrets. They mentioned what they already knew, that the spell would bind a mortal to an immortal dragon, linking the creature to immortality. By making it kin with the maiden the dragon would become vulnerable upon the demise of the human woman, making it possible for a sword or a lance to fell the beast.

He read and re-read those passages over and over, something rattling inside his brain. Something about the wording, about the implications. He picked up the list of symptoms Belle had written, focusing on her side and trying to think back on the first time he had noticed some of them. Slowly, a picture began to form in his mind. He had studied magic and spells for centuries, including the boring theoretical bits most magical creatures didn’t bother with. Given the general purpose of the spell and where it had gone awry he began to theorise how the spell could have adapted and changed, given the time it had had to macerate and grow. A simple check of a sample of Belle’s scales- taken with utmost care, and replaced the next day by a coat of fresh, healthy scales on her inner arm- seemed to prove his theory, as far-fetched as it seemed.

He needed to tell her. She needed to go. Perhaps putting some distance would slow down the process, giving him time to try and reverse it. Surely there was a way, it couldn’t be permanent yet. He went to his treasury, heaping gold from it into a bag. Jewels would be easier to carry but harder to exchange, so gold it was. Once she was settled somewhere else he would see that she got more money if she needed it.

“What is this?”

Belle looked up from the rather hefty bag of gold he dropped in front of her with a frown. He frowned as well. Was it too heavy? Had he overestimated her human strength? Was it perhaps not enough?

“You have to go. This will help you get settled somewhere else.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.”

He snorted, smoke coming out of his nose in heavy plumes. He had known Belle would want a thorough explanation, but he feared that would take too long and time was working against them.

“You have to. This will keep on progressing if you stay.”

“What will keep on progressing?”

“The change. Your change.”

She lunged forward, her hand curling around his arm as she looked up to him, hope shining in her eyes. He fought the urge to flinch back, terrified of tainting him further, and the secondary, more base urge to pull her close.

“You know what’s going on? Tell me.”

“We don’t have time.”

“Make some.”

She crossed her arms, planting herself as firmly as she could so he had no choice but to have to drag her out if he wanted her to leave the castle. Anger built up inside him. He was trying to do a good thing for her. A thing that went against what he wanted. She was his treasure, letting her go was against his nature, yet he was willing to do that. For her.

“It’s your change. It’ll keep happening as long as you’re here. Eventually it’ll be too late to reverse it, if possible at all. So you have to leave, and leave now.” He paused, struggling to condense the jumble of thoughts in his head into something that he could say. “The spell was designed to change my nature. To make me mortal in the way you’re mortal, which is why it was meant to be triggered by your succumbing to your own mortality. Except you never did. And, over time, in the absence of any trigger for change, the spell began to work on its own. But not to make me more human, but rather to make you more like me. My nature superseeds yours, so it’s the one the spell eventually latched onto.”

He watched her digest his words, bracing himself for a look of disgust that never arrived. Instead Belle went to the mirror in the far corner, studying herself attentively, no doubt seeing a myriad of other tiny things that were not entirely human. There was a subtle shine in her eyes, an almost bluish tint to her hair that wasn’t there before. He wondered if any of those traits would coincide with certain subspecies of dragons.

“Wait, that only explains my symptoms. Not yours.”

He had not allowed himself to go there, to contemplate what his own strange behaviour and feelings meant. But he knew, or at least he suspected something, something he was afraid to voice out loud. But Belle was stubborn, looking at him hovering behind her through the mirror, daring him to answer the question.

“It’s- it’s possible that something in me recognised the change in you before either of us became aware of it. I can’t be sure, I know nothing about the mating practices of dragons, having never met another one of my kind, but it’s possible that-”

He realised a second or two too late what he had just said, or at least heavily implied. One glance at the mirror let him know Belle had understood, her eyes wide and mouth partly opened as she took in what he had said. He waited again for the disgust to show, or some maidenly anger, but she simply frowned.

“So you’ll have me go and leave you? You’ll give up this- whatever this is?” Her voice softened then, eyes going liquid as they stared at him from the mirror. “For me? Because you think I wouldn’t want this?”

“Of course you wouldn’t want this. Nobody would.”

He stuttered, biting his lip when she leaned back into him, trusting that he would catch her. He did, even though he knew it was a mistake, the smell of her, burnt caramel, making him heady, making him have desires, urges, that he’d never had before. It was no wonder he hadn’t realised what was happening, having never before encountered a female of his species. Someone that provoked what Belle did to him.

“Why not?”

“I’m a difficult creature to love.”

Mateless, without kin or family. No living creature was ever supposed to love him. The idea that someone did, that through sheer luck or the whims of magic, seemed inconceivable. But even as he thought that he wrapped his claws around her corseted waist, unable to deny the yearning for what he couldn’t have, the urge to snatch a bit of it for himself, even as he knew it wasn’t possible, that those things weren’t for him. That Belle wasn’t for him.

“That’s not true.” 

She went soft against him, leaning back fully, letting herself sag against him. The trust, the sheer valor of it all, took him aback. He made a soft, wondrous sort of sound, his claws sinking into her waist, barely able to contain himself as he nuzzled behind her ear, where he discovered a fresh patch of scales neither hand noticed before. Her smell was the most potent there and he took lungfuls of it, half-afraid she would pull back and he’d be denied that scent forever. He told himself that it would be enough, to enjoy the smell and the feel of her against him, that he could be content with that alone, if only the gods would let him keep her.

Belle, however, seemed not to have any appreciation for his iron will and staunch determination not to sully her, taking one of his claws and placing it over one of her soft, perfect breasts. Even through the material of her dress he could feel the heat of her, so similar to his own, and unlike anyone else he’d ever come into contact with. 

“Please, Rumple.”

He was lost after that. The hunger that had been steadily building for the past few months, unbeknownst to him, that he had pushed pushed down, shoved away and ultimately tried to keep contained, took a hold of him. He sunk into her, clutching her tightly, his claws ripping the soft jacquard of her dress  as if it was tissue paper. The laces of her stays dissolved under his hands, reduced to tatters, allowing him to shove the unyielding whalebone and stiff cotton away, rewarding him with a proper feel of her soft curves, even through the shift she wore under. The notion that the skin beneath small rows of pearlescent scales thrilled him. 

She was everything the world had ever denied him, and so when she turned around he could do nothing but submit to her kiss. They were both inexperienced and frenzied, all teeth and bite and eagerness. He was hungry for her, wanting nothing more than to sink into her and stay there forever. After a few tense minutes, he felt her gentling the kiss, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers carding through his hair, calming him down. Patiently, she taught him a new rhythm, slow and deep. It made things more intense somehow, more thrilling, and it was only because he was clutching her close that he noticed how she trembled, how hesitant but bold she was. Brave Belle. Beautiful Belle.

When she began to tug at his clothing, the loose banyan in shades of ochre and gold that his little maid had complimented him on so, he shrugged it off, eager to have the least amount of barriers between them. He tugged on her shift then, hands sliding beneath it, feeling her soft human skin break into goosebumps as he exposed her to the room. It took no more than a thought to transport them both to his lair, to lay her down amongst his furs and pelts. The room was dark, but constantly kept warm with a roaring fire that provided a little light. His favourite things were there, his most prized jewels, his oldest books and rarest antiques. As he set her down he noticed, mixed amongst the moss and the expensive silk, one of Belle’s hair ribbons. And one of the throws she liked to use when she read by the roaring fire. He glanced around, noticing small glimpses of his little maid everywhere, silent evidence of what his body had been trying hard to tell him. He tossed her shift to add to his collection, all but purring as he studied the contrast between Belle’s pinkish skin and the dark mess of fabrics and furs that was his nest. In contrast to her now absolute nudity he was still wearing too much clothing, and though his linen shirt was easy to discard his leather pants proved more frustrating, to the point that he scratched himself as he tore himself free of them.

“Easy now. I like you in one piece.”

He let her pet him, soothing his frazzled nerves with soft, cooing nonsense that had him purring, melting into her touch. They stayed that way for the longest time, alternating between gentle explorations and soft, languid kisses, but eventually the urgency began to build up, making him uncomfortable. He wanted to ask for something but didn’t know what, his inexperience making him unable to tell what he wanted.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“It’s… too soft.”

There was no better way to explain it. His body felt poised for violence, for aggression, though the instinct was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But humans were fragile, and Belle was raised to be a lady. Ladies were supposed to be treated with care, with softness. Surely he could curtail these base urges and find pleasure enough in-

His train of thought came to an abrupt, screeching halt when he felt her teeth close around his throat in a playful nip, followed by bolder and bolder bites as she struggled to get on top. This, he thought, was something that he understood. Roughhousing, the give and take of a fight. It was something his body naturally reacted too, what it had been made to do. Though it certainly wasn't the way the dragon had seen humans copulate it felt natural to roll around the furs and fight for dominance. In spite of his claws and his fangs he didn't seem to have much of an advantage. Belle was wily and clever, giving as good as she got.

Naturally, almost without them noticing, a rhythm began to grow between them. The moment he pinned her down, hands holding her wrists above her head and pressing against the furs, the Dark One knew what would happen, what had been waiting to happen since the first time she'd set foot in the castle. She hesitated again then, eyes briefly clouding over with worry, and he remembered she was a maiden, and even a brave one would hesitate in the face of such a step. He gentled their foreplay the slightest bit, letting bites turn into slow, deep kisses and scratches into long caresses. She grew pliant against him once more, her scent spiking and an unfamiliar but very welcome wetness beginning to coat her upper thighs. 

Thrusting into her felt natural, like coming home, and he stilled, wishing to take it all in. She felt scorching hot, in a way he knew no human woman would feel, and it felt like heaven, so good it was almost indistinguishable from pain. He dug his claws into Belle’s back instinctually, but she did not seem to notice or care, trying to pull him close instead of pushing him away.

After basking in the utter delight of being buried balls-deep inside such purity the imp forced himself to pull out, eagerly thrusting back inside a moment later. It was a deliciously messy process, full of blood and sweat, grunts of exertion and impatience and the occasional struggle for dominance. It became impossible to differentiate pain from pleasure, and by the looks of the woman beneath her he wasn't alone in such lovely confusion. Belle was devastatingly beautiful as she writhed beneath him, sweat-slicked hair hallowing her face and cheeks flushed from pleasure.

Though usually a selfish creature by nature the dragon was beyond pleased when he felt the flutter of Belle's inner muscles against his aching cock and watched avidly as she arched beneath him, tight as a bowstring. His own orgasm a few minutes later felt less important than the one he'd torn out of the woman beneath him. A woman who'd willingly and knowingly bedded a monster. With a gleeful sense of triumph the Dark One started to kiss his way down the beauty's body, eager to see in how many ways and how many more times dragons could mate in a single night. Later, he knew, there would be time for other realisations. Time to consider the deeper implications of having a mate, of not being the last of his kind, of the staggering possibility of having little hatchlings running around the castle in the future. But right then and there none of it mattered, his senses full of Belle.

[hb-writes]

A Missed Call

Summary: Anthony has arranged for a potential suitor to call on Sylvie at Bridgerton House. When Sylvie appears to be under the weather on the day of the visit, Anthony tries to work out whether she's tricking everyone.

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton & Sylvie Bridgerton (OC)

Prompt: A Missed Call

Alphabetical Outcast (Bridgerton) Masterlist

—

Sylvie had decided it was rather nice having a late lie-in with just a novel for company. After her Aunt Violet’s initial fuss at hearing that her beloved niece wasn’t feeling well enough to dress and come down stairs for the day’s calling hours, Sylvie had been left to her own devices.

Left to the quiet and solitude of her bedroom, which was…well, it was a bit bliss, actually. 

Quite a nice experience, Sylvie had decided.

It was everything she wanted—an excuse to miss one of Anthony’s meddlesome match-making attempts, some spare time to finish her novel, and a prescription to pass the entire day in bed with no one questioning her.

Sylvie only felt the slightest bit of guilt at lying about the state of her health. She was technically quite well, though she was feeling exceedingly tired after having stayed up through the night to read her book, a rather gripping tale that she had barely set aside since picking it up the previous afternoon. And if she wasn’t actually ill, the thought of entertaining gentleman callers selected by her cousin made Sylvie feel a distinct mixture of nausea and annoyance, so it wasn’t so much a lie that she’d told her aunt as it was an expansion of the truth, a little added embellishment. 

“My mother says you’re too unwell to come down.” Anthony’s voice boomed into the room even before Sylvie could properly see him, after her door clicked open without a single knock placed beforehand.

Sylvie hastily stowed her book away and Anthony’s gaze swept over Sylvie’s placement in bed, donning her robe and nightgown from where she laid beneath the covers. 

Sylvie nodded. “Just feeling a bit off this morning, I’m afraid. Nothing a bit of rest won’t fix.” 

“I see.” Anthony hummed as he stepped closer to the edge of the bed. Sylvie tried her best to remember she was meant to be sick and she frowned, hoping it made her look a touch more pathetic. Thankfully, she looked utterly exhausted, which she was. That certainly helped her case. 

“It is a shame it has happened the same day as Mr. Abney is scheduled to visit. And when you were feeling so well just yesterday. Reading out in the garden all afternoon, if I recall. Chatting through dinner about your new novel…” 

“Yes…it is a terrible shame. Perhaps the afternoon sun was too much for me,” she mused. “Did the visit with Mr. Abney go well?” she asked as she smoothed down the covers on either side of her.

Anthony glanced at his pocket watch. “He’s actually expected any minute now.” 

“Oh. Right.” Sylvie nodded. “Well, please do give him my very best regards.” 

Anthony rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s traveled all the way to London just to meet you, Sylvia…” 

‘That’s absurd’ was on the tip of Sylvie’s tongue because it was. Absolutely, completely absurd. She couldn’t remember where Mr. Abney was from—she hadn’t listened very closely when Anthony had told her about him—but she knew it was rather far from London—far from her family. Far further than Sylvie had plans of ever residing and she refused to believe a man had traveled such a distance only to meet her.

Still, she knew not to take Anthony’s bait. She was meant to be unwell, after all.

“Ah, well, perhaps we can meet on his next visit to town?” she offered. “Anthony, I’m really feeling terribly fatigued. Could we possibly discuss this more when I’m feeling a bit better? I’d just fallen back to sleep when you came in.” 

“Had you?” Anthony stooped to lift a bookmark from where it sat on top of her covers, a miniature drawing of a rabbit Benedict had done for her. Sylvie cursed herself for missing it when stashing the book away.

“Yes, Anthony,” she answered. “I was resting quite peacefully before you came in just now and woke me.” 

“Right,” Anthony answered before reaching under her pillow. “Well, reading is not resting, dear cousin, so I suppose I’ll just hold onto this for you.” 

Sylvie scrambled for the book Anthony towed from its hiding spot beneath her pillow.  

“Anthony, that’s not necessary. I’m well-enough for a bit of—”

“If you are truly well-enough to read, you’re well-enough for callers, but you’ve insisted you’re not well-enough to meet Mr. Abney, so you must need proper rest. This book, as compelling as it appears to be—” Anthony waved the book in question about— “would only be a distraction from your healing.

“I’ll hold it for you until you’re feeling better. I should think a week of rest would be appropriate?” Anthony set the bookmark inside the front cover and placed the book under his arm as he looked at her. “Unless you are suddenly feeling better and would like to come down now to say hello?” 

Sylvie considered it. Her books held a particularly special place in her heart, and she particularly liked the one Anthony currently had in his possession. Not being able to return to it for a week would be troublesome, but not nearly equal to the torment of a forced introduction to Mr. Abney. 

And Anthony keeping that particular book would be better than him noticing and taking away from her the book that still sat in plain view on her nightstand, the one she was currently reading. The one he’d found stashed under the pillow was the previous book in her series. She’d only been looking at it just now to reference a particular character whose significance she'd forgotten about.

“Well, my dear cousin…” Sylvie sighed. “I do fear you may be correct. It's likely for the best if you take it. I’m ashamed to admit I was not entirely honest to you just now. I hadn’t been resting as I said, but reading a passage in that very book. It’s quite clearly a distraction from my healing and you’d be doing me a favor to remove it from my possession.” 

Anthony’s brow furrowed at the admission, well-aware that Sylvie had been voraciously reading her book just the day prior. Separating the girl from a book she was indulging in often seemed like removing a limb. Perhaps she thought he would simply stash it in his office where she could find it if he went out? Anthony had already thought of that, instead planning to bring it to his rooms across town where she’d have no chance of getting at it.

“Perhaps I should hold it for two weeks, then?” he suggested. “Just to be sure you’ve truly returned to health. Wouldn’t want to chance a resurgence of symptoms.” 

 “If you think that’s best.” Sylvie sighed, her shoulders heaving with the breath. “Can we possibly finish this later, Anthony? All the discussion is making me feel rather tired again.” She slid down to rest her head on her pillow as she made the suggestion. “Please pay my respects to Mr. Abney, won’t you?” 

Anthony nodded slowly. 

“Thank you for checking on me.” 

Sylvie watched Anthony’s face, the processing of his thoughts clear in his face as he considered the entirety of their interaction.

“You’re…you are welcome, Sylvie,” he said as he reached down to pull her bed covers over his cousin’s shoulder. “Is there anything else you need? I can have them send up some tea?”

“No, thank you. I think I just need to rest.” 

“Of course,” Anthony said as he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Do feel better.” 

“Thank you, Anthony,” Sylvia answered as he walked toward the door, a perfunctory nod offered in return before he exited, closing the door gently behind him. 

Sylvie waited a few minutes before reaching for the book on her nightstand, thumbing through to where she’d left off, only three chapters left. Had Anthony paid any proper attention, he’d have known the book she’d spent all day reading the day before had a blue cover, not red. Had he known and realized and lifted the correct book, Sylvie was quite certain his proposition would’ve worked, but thankfully for her, Anthony was a man who paid little attention to such details and so Sylvie was able to finish her novel in peace, resting for the remainder of the day, and laughing with Eloise and Francesca when she told them the story of the Viscount’s latest blunder later that night.

Alphabetical Outcast (Bridgerton) Masterlist

[lightsiided]

i offer my help, and this is how you thank me? / fantasy au 😚

* defensive prompts | accepting

     his HELP! rage takes her over at once; rey can feel her face flush deeply with it. she is amazed by his nerve -- his audacity. as she takes a calming breath she has to remind herself it is surely high treason to harm the crown prince, even if every last bit of her body aches to throttle him.

"if this is your idea of helping," she says, voice so thin there's no mistaking how on the very edge of screaming she is, "i would prefer you DON'T." rey's eyes narrow with distaste. while she studies him, she can't help but notice how arrogance oozes from his every pore.

rey doesn't doubt he believes he is helping. probably, thor thinks every last person in the kingdom should be grateful he even DEIGNS to breathe the same air as them. he takes no considerations of all the ways he has harmed her -- he only pats himself on the back for the alleged improvements he MUST feel he's made to her station.

and, sure -- kitchen duty is a step up from working in the laundry, maybe. it would be for anyone else, at least, but rey is woefully untalented with a bowl and a spoon. the laundry was UNCOMPLICATED, even if the basement washrooms were lonely and isolating, dark and depressing.

probably, anyone else would be grateful for the change. the kitchen is always bustling, the work fast-paced. some people might enjoy that, but rey's already burned herself three times, and without magic to ease the sting or speed her work along it has been grueling. that thor expects her to thank him, somehow, when he's brought her nothing but ANNOYANCE -- and that's being charitable -- doesn't help her already foul mood.

at least when she was alone in the washrooms she could use magic here and there. it was never anything too grand -- just little tricks to make her day even the slightest bit easier. sometimes, those tricks made all the difference between an average day and abject MISERY.

thor's seen to it that there's no more of that, now. looking upon his handsome face, rey can't help but to loathe him. his life is so EASY. it always has been. it always will be. of course he is arrogant.

her hands ball into fists at her side. she can practically feel her thin patience bending. "i'm not going to thank you," rey snaps. "all you've done is find NEW and CREATIVE ways to make my life worse at every possible turn. the BEST thing you could do for me is forget i even exist and pretend not to notice me again."

eyes blazing, rey can't help but to mockingly tack on, "your highness," sweeping into a deep curtsy with a loud HUFF.

his help. RIDICULOUS!

@othunderous

[vendettavalor]

@tacticalvalor said: [WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard. -> Val and Lucas

⚔️ Reasons to Cup a Face Prompts // CLOSED ⚔️

The effect is immediately. The second her hands find his cheeks, he is silent. His own hands abandon their task and his gaze is locked on hers. She has his full undivided attention, captured snugly between her fingers. Willing and docile and fixated entirely on her. Her warm brown eyes. Her beautiful plush lips. The part of her hair. The angles of her cheeks. If ever she needed his attention, she would only ever need to take it with the gentlest touch of her palms against his jaw and she would have it in an instant.

"My love," he whispers in quiet Polish. Whatever you need. Anything. Anything at all. His eyes speak for him before Valeriya can even ask him the question. This man would drop to his knees before her, offer her the world on a platter and deliver it in an instant, revere her and worship her like the sun and the sea. This she knows well.

Lucas is entirely devoted to her.

"I'm on leave from mission." She speaks softly, coming to rest his forehead against hers. His eyes widen slightly, but before he can ask she answers him. "Mikhail is in the process of drafting up a contract with someone. Someone new. Someone looking for a more... permanent position from me."

"He's selling you off." The words are clipped and she feels his grip on her waist tighten the slightest fraction. Protective. Possessive.

"No," she assures, caressing his cheek. It does little quell the cold fury behind his eyes. "No. It is a partnership. A temporary one, but it still has a contract attached. I'm not leaving you. Not ever. But the contract would be longer than most."

She would never leave him. After all the time they'd spent apart, desperately searching for one another, she would never let them be torn apart like that again. Never. He stares hard at her, saying nothing. But still she knows that look in his eyes. Wary. Almost afraid. Worried for her and what she'll be doing. Fighting the urge to tremble at the thought of potentially losing her a second time. He looks at her and her heart twists at how he silently pleads with her.

"...I want you to come with me." She whispers, leaning in to brush her lips against his. He pauses, watching her. Her eyes are soft, wanting. Needing. Her hold on him has grown desperate as she watches him with such hope, desperate for his answer. He cannot help himself and how pure she appears. He desperately moves to kiss her with a loely growled "gladly" tangled in between their embraces.

"Anywhere you go, I will follow without question."

[whentranslatorscry]

Miss Kyouko’s Locked-Room Lecture (5/7)

5

The upscale bar commanded upscale prices.

His subordinate’s assumption turned out to be quite inconveniently costly. Not only had the bill from the Italian restaurant they had recently departed almost caused his eyes to pop out of their sockets, but this bar, despite being only a bar, appeared to be more expensive than a full-blown dinner.

Probably wouldn't be on the budget.

Which meant he would have to pay a hell of a lot of his own pocket. It felt entirely more unsuitable a place than he previously thought, but he was past caring at this point.

Despite Kyouko-san’s Nashorn branded outfit also not quite syncing with the posh ambiance here, she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Oh, what a cute little bar!”

She was as giddy as a normal girl.

This detective, cute and charming as she was, could just as well be a devil in disguise. Tooasa had his doubts, having seen one too many colleagues get ahead thanks to her, though he tried not to show it. He couldn’t help viewing them with a slightly contemptuous, grudging eye. However, he may have to reconsider such shallow thinking.

Thinking about the expense they must have incurred entertaining her, he almost felt sorry for them. Though here and now Officer Tooasa found himself in the same boat.

On the way here he had wracked his brains trying to gain some insight of his own, but nothing came to him. It was becoming apparent that he and Kyouko-san operated on completely different wavelengths.

Her hints were no help at all.

Maybe not at all— The hint about the eyewitnesses all being shoppers did suggest that none of the shop staff saw the victim come in. Clearly odd.

It's not impossible but you’d expect shop attendants to notice customers rather than fellow shoppers. They’d greet them as they entered, offer assistance with fashion choices— as it’s a clothes shop.

The staff may have avoided or ignored the ‘troublesome customer’ Yanei Sashiko altogether. But still they must have noticed her presence in the first place. To actively ignore somebody, you must see them first.

None of the attendants spotted a regular and in some ways a memorable customer— why was this?— a big question mark.

What exactly this question mark meant, however, Officer Tooasa simply could not figure out.

As for hints number two and three, he was all but stumped. About the only conclusion he could draw was that fitting rooms in young women’s boutiques harbor mechanisms yet unknown to middle-aged men.

In fact, there were a plethora of unfamiliar terms until Kyouko-san had translated for him— the presence of a mysterious paper intended to prevent makeup stains on the garments, for instance. Had he not been assigned to this case he might have lived his entire life without knowing.

“I concede. My hands are up. I'm just a cop sidekicking for you, so I implore you, Kyouko-san, let us all learn from the wisdom of a master detective.”

Perhaps intoxicated by the steep cost of the alcohol, finally Officer Tooasa gave such a humiliating declaration of surrender.

“My, oh my,”

Kyouko-san said with an expression of shock.

“Try and hold on a little longer, would you? I enjoy it most when I’m sipping fine wine while watching men struggle.”

A little devil she was.

“What a conundrum. You invite me for a meal, ply me with drinks, and officer, how I long to lend you a hand. Alas, I cannot work without compensation… Oh why, why didn't I charge you? Never have I felt such remorse for not taking money. Just imagine how amazing it would be if I had gotten paid! I yearn to aid the police so badly, yet here I remain, unfulfilled.”

“Fine, I’ll pay. Please, allow me to officially compensate you with an additional commission fee on top of the original. Consider it a personal commission from me.”

Prompted by the urging of the fastest detective, he finally gave in— making him suspect the chief had orchestrated this turn of events all along.

Regardless, he could only go along with it now.

The policeman’s rivalry with the detective should never overshadow the urgency of preventing a murderer from escaping justice. A locked room murder was no form of entertainment.

Buying her food and drinks and now even paying her a fee— it was going to cost him an arm and a leg from the look of it. But anyhow, he decided it best to personally handle this as his final stand.

Strangely enough, despite having officially engaged her services and even promised to pay extra beyond the interpretation fee, Kyouko-san displayed only a faint reaction.

With the bar's atmosphere it wasn't surprising that she wasn't jumping for joy, but she appeared somewhat troubled upon his request.

“Mmmmm…”

She even shut her eyes as if deep in thought.

Could it be a misunderstanding on his part? Did she not expect to be asked for her services? Were her statements of anticipation for his deductions genuine?

By the time late regret had seeped in and he felt he should have asked in more formal manner, Kyouko-san, as if reading his concerns, waved a hand dismissively,

“Oh no, you’ve misunderstood,”

She said.

“My deductions are nothing more than brief flashes of insight. It just so happens that, in this particular case, my mind’s light bulb flickered on a nanosecond before yours did. I genuinely appreciate your trust and respect in seeking my assistance, and it truly brings me joy to contribute to the police force in solving mysteries. However, there’s a certain degree of trepidation, a nagging hesitation, when it comes to unveiling my reasoning. It pertains to personal… considerations. But it can’t be helped, sadly. We cannot leave a killer at large now, can we?”

This is part of the job, said Kyouko-san.

Not explicitly, but her words conveyed to Officer Tooasa that she understood his intentions, which gratified him. What concerned him, however, were the “personal considerations” mentioned.

What could possibly be the reason that would make this detective hesitate to reveal her reasoning? The immediate thought that crossed his mind was the possibility of an acquaintance of hers being a suspect. With the forgetful detective though, the concept of “acquaintance” didn’t seem to apply.

For even if she became acquainted with someone today, she would forget them tomorrow.

Even if among today's eyewitnesses, someone had a past connection with Kyouko-san, she would have already forgotten that person. There shouldn't be any reason for her to hesitate pointing out the culprit. But if not that, then what other “personal considerations” had she?

“Right then, if we’ve decided, let’s get to it promptly. It’s getting late, we’ve had some drinks, and I’m feeling a bit drowsy, so best I begin solving this mystery while the deductions are still fresh in my mind.”

Okitegami Kyouko, now in detective mode, with a dramatic, serious look— or not, she had the same relaxed air as before as she got down to business.

“First things first, the locked room.”

6

“First things first, the locked room. Let us classify what sort of locked room we have here. Officer, being an avid reader of detective fiction, I’m sure you’re familiar with the various types of them. But for the time being consider this my interpretation— bear with me.”

And with these words, Kyouko-san rolled up her sleeves once again, again apparently planning to use her arm as a whiteboard. She took the ballpoint pen that Officer Tooasa held out in silence and began jotting down her 'hints'— much like an actual lecture.

“The most likely, or perhaps most popular, type of locked room is of Definition (i): a ‘Locked Room Concealing Murder’. Trap the body where nobody can access it and the crime may escape discovery— you're safe. A variant is when a body is hidden in a locked room as far from sight and reach as possible by someone desperate to escape confronting the grim reality of what they’ve done.”

No objection there.

Or rather, Officer Tooasa thought at first this was such a case—Although.

“Yes. I would think a fitting room doesn’t serve much for coverup. You can hide it, say a couple hours at most— not exactly designed to conceal.”

Kyouko-san wrote in fine print on her wrist: (i), and drew a double strikethrough on the words— and under it, (ii).

“Definition (ii): ‘Coincidental Locked Room.’ It's cases where the crime scene appears like a locked room due to a combination of factors of chance, not the perpetrator's intention.”

A force of habit without any planning involved?

Happening to be a locked room, the odds seemed low, but when viewed as the second-most popular option in reality— Well in reality, not in detective novels, criminals with the luxury of deliberately creating locked rooms are but few.

The discussion thus far suggested this Definition (ii) was the most appropriate for this case…

“Yes. In this case however, it does feel excessively convenient to be by accident. For now I suggest we set it aside and move on.”

Kyouko-san wrote a (iii) below ‘Coincidental Locked Room'— Judging by the space left, there would be five or six definitions total.

“Definition (iii): a locked room designed to simulate suicide. In the otherworldly realm of detective fiction, I’d venture to say this is the most common type of locked room.”

“Yes, it is. The exclusion of other options makes it impossibly to think of anything other than suicide…There’s no shortage of such locked rooms in mystery.”

Rather than that, it could be one of the ways in which the keyword “locked room” survives there. The inevitability of a secret room or such arises in its own way…and even the most outlandish locked room acquires a certain persuasiveness.

“But Kyouko-san, regardless of whether there’s a criminal out there willing to go to such lengths, here it doesn’t seem to apply. It’s hard to believe the culprit tried to make Yanei-san’s death look like suicide.”

“Agreed. …Incidentally, as a variation of this Definition (iii), you could also consider a locked room where the victim genuinely committed suicide. Mystery fans tend to look at cases from a skewed angle, but in normal terms, if someome appears to have died by suicide inside a locked room, usually that’s what it is.”

As she spoke, Kyouko-san crossed out Definition (iii) as well. Though it was none of Officer Tooasa’s business, didn’t she ever consider that her skin also needed care?

“Definition (iv): ‘Locked room in the name of a locked room.’”

“What? What’s that mean?… Something philosophical?”

“It’s far removed from philosophy, rather a whimsical criminal act of fabricating a locked room just for the fun of it. Without real necessity or clear reason behind it, only the conception of a locked room trick that they then put into action. You could even call this the result of reading too many detective novels.”

We should be cautious ourselves, said Kyouko-san— Hard to tell how serious she was being, but it was hard for the officer who had enlisted precisely due to an excessive habit of reading detective novels to write off the existence of such a person.

Just earlier, he had thought, ‘that can’t be’ of a culprit who goes out of his way to create a locked room— a portrait of a criminal obsessively convinced that he must conceive a locked room when committing murder. Alternatively, the culprit could just be lumping ‘creating a locked room’ in with ‘wearing gloves to avoid leaving evidence’ or ‘fabricating an alibi,’ deeming it a required step in the crime process.

“Are we… setting this aside as well, Kyouko-san?”

“I think we can rule it out. A fitting room is too flimsy to be a locked room. If it wasn’t for you and I being detective novel readers, we probably wouldn’t have seen it as such at all.”

Indeed, none of Officer Tooasa’s colleagues had that impression of the case. They probably would have told him he was overthinking it.

“Put simply, that means the clues must be about there…that for some reason, the culprit had to make the fitting room into a locked room, specifically.”

“Hmm…”

The story seemed to make sense and not make sense at the same time. In any case, Kyouko-san rejected Definition (iv) as well.

“What about Definition (v)? I sense we’ve reached a minority here, already at the fourth…”

Depicted as a pie chart, assuming the first definition accounted for eighty percent, the second ten percent, the third at most five percent…the fourth would be at most three percent.

Any locked rooms in the remaining two percent or less could be dismissed as aberrations, missing the mark by less than five percent could be casually brushed aside.

“Quite right. Though for mystery enthusiasts like myself, Definition (v) is the most tantalizing of all…”

After making such an ostentatious remark, Kyouko-san added,

“Definition (v): ‘Impossible Crime Locked Room.’ Creating a situation where the crime seems utterly impossible for anybody to commit, making it difficult to even identify suspects, let alone pin down the culprit, and intending for the case itself to become an unsolvable maze… Morality aside, you have to admit there’s a certain criminal genius in designing the perfect locked room mystery.”

“…This is different from Definition (iii), ‘simulating suicide’?”

“Yes, different. Definition (v) vehemently refuses to be interpreted in a realistic manner— because it’s impossible for anybody, it insists that it’s impossible even for itself. There’s a certain urgency to it… Hence, adding an exception to these five definitions, we have Definition (vi): ‘Other Locked Rooms.’”

Officer Tooasa scrutinized the whiteboard— Kyouko-san’s arm— once again. The crossed-out definitions were difficult to decipher but not altogether unintelligible.

Definition (i): ‘Locked Room Concealing Murder’

Definition (ii): ‘Coincidental Locked Room’

Definition (iii): ‘Locked Room Simulating Suicide’

Definition (iv): ‘Locked Room in the Name of Locked Room’

Definition (v): ‘Impossible Crime Locked Room’

Definition (vi): ‘Other Locked Rooms’

…Nothing particularly original or novel in terms of mystery fiction, but comprehensive enough. Arranged in order of realism, it simplifies and sorts the types of locked rooms in a very understandable manner.

But the discussion would only be a lecture on mystery fiction if it ended here— the question is how these definitions apply to the case at hand.

“Barring one, three and four, our locked room must be either two, five or six.”

“I think we can discount number six, ‘other locked rooms’, as that refers to the fantastical or ‘locked rooms from another world’. For better or worse, our case lacks such fanciful surprises.”

What exactly constituted a ‘locked room from another world’? We can only imagine. A room of magic or curses? If so, it wouldn’t even account for 1 percent of the pie chart. However, within the realm of detective fiction, which can be considered fantasy in its own right, such rooms might indeed exist. Though some readers may find it unfair…

“Then it must be either Definition (ii) or Definition (v)?”

“Supposing there were no eyewitnesses, it would be a locked room of Definition (ii)— this theory however does not allow for further investigation. Such a fluke would be all too convenient.”

“But Definition (v) is ‘impossible crime,’ isn’t it? Not just too good to be true; the complete opposite— it's impossible.”

To create a locked room means the murderer deliberately intended to evade the staff, customers, and cameras— sounds impossible enough. Admittedly, nobody could pull this off.

“But what if this is exactly what the murderer wanted us to think. Put another way, to dismiss a meticulously crafted crime as mere 'coincidence’ with a single word could be deeply displeasing for the culprit as well, don’t you think?”

So allow me to present my theory— she said something which, from the culprit's point of view, was very much undesired.

The murderer most likely did not commit the crime whilst contemplating definitions of a locked room. Be that Definition (ii) or Definition (v), the optimal outcome for them was simply that the crime goes undetected.

“Speaking of which, Officer Tooasa, how far have you pondered the three hints I gave you earlier? If there are parts that don’t need an explanation, I can skip those briefly.”

“Oh, err, to be honest, I haven’t quite… at best, I’ve only understood about half of the meaning of hint number one… Basically it implies that it’s odd for the clerks not to have seen a regular customer, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Excellent.”

She praised him so yet he couldn’t feel satisfied. He agreed something was odd, but he would be at a total loss if pressed to explain why.

“Don't be so modest. If you go back far enough, you will find that the answer is already there— none of the employees, not a single one, seeing Yanei-san, the regular patron, implies that nobody knew who she was. Those not acquainted with her were the ones who saw her."

Huh?

He was about to object to her leap in logic when she went on,

“That is, no eyewitnesses recognized her. Their accounts only prove that a customer dressed in Nashorn’s fashionable attire was present. It does not confirm that they saw her as herself."

“But— the CCTV footage…”

Caught her— from behind.

Considering she was wearing oversized glasses, CCTV footage alone might not suffice to positively identify her. The police therefore attempted to make a comprehensive judgement based on the collated eyewitness accounts— couldn't this confirm her arrival at the store at about eleven?

“Since eyewitnesses identified her solely based on her clothing and naturally, in a clothes store, people pay attention to what other customers are wearing.”

“You, you’re suggesting… they mistook someone else for her?”

Come to that, it had been suggested before.

Prev | Next

[mari-positas]

we need you

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Afraid of failing the two of the people he cares about more than anything, Joel decides you and Ellie are better off without him.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SET IN JACKSON. takes place during Kin. arguing, angst. helpful to know reader was not present when Joel and Tommy talked in the garage. NO mentions of age, reader has no physical description.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: welllllp i don't know about you guys, but i am DEAD inside after tonight so to cope i am going to write a little drabble. already put it in the warning/tags section, but once again, just to be on the safe side of things: potential spoilers, proceed with caution if you do not want the newest episode spoiled!

“Just what in the motherfucking hell was that, Joel?” You nearly growled, bursting through the door of the bedroom that he’d chosen to occupy for the night. Having heard the way he’d spoken to Ellie—not to mention, all that he had said to her even after her heartbreaking confession to him, her unspoken cry for him not to abandon her, all you could see in your mind was the color red. Sure, you and Joel had been through your fair share of bullshit over the years, disagreements that caused friction between the two of you weren’t all that uncommon seeing as the two of you shared similar personality traits to each other, stubbornness being one of them. But you could not, for the life of you, remember an occasion where you’d been this angry with him, this fucking livid. As you watched him sink down onto the bed without a word, your hands curled into fists at your sides. You knew it would only make matters worse, losing your temper, but you weren’t all too sure that you could contain it this time around.

The blood in your veins was bubbling, boiling hot underneath your skin.

“Are you going to fucking answer me or what?” You prompted, a cool edge to your tone despite the heat radiating throughout your body. “You’re really trying to hand her off to Tommy?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Find what out, Joel? That you went off and made a decision, and a really fucking dumb one at that, without even talking to me about it first?” You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Despite how incredibly furious you were, the sadness was heavy inside of your chest. Tt was as if Joel had forgotten the fact that for the last few months, Ellie had been under your care too, and you had every right to be a part of any decision that he made regarding her and her well-being. It hurt you to your very core that he’d done this without talking to you first, and it hurt you even deeper to know that Ellie had known about this and she’d kept it all to herself all evening.

She’d come home from the movies and when you offered her dinner, she refused to eat and stomped upstairs, locking herself in the bedroom. You’d chalked it up to nothing more than a typical teenaged girl simply having a mood swing. After all, it hadn’t exactly been the best day for Ellie. She’d arrived in Jackson and the first thing she noticed was how everyone in the colony looked at her, especially the children. She was different. She didn’t fit in, she stuck out like a sore thumb and you knew that had to have been hard for her. Not wanting to push her, you’d figured that she would come out of the room eventually and talk you about it when she was good and ready. But now that you knew the real reason why she had come home so upset, you couldn’t help but to feel guilty.

For hours, Ellie had been upstairs in that room knowing that Joel planned on dumping her on Tommy and you didn’t have the slightest fucking clue about what was going on until you’d overheard Joel and Ellie’s shouting match just moments ago.

“Joel.” You said his name in a tone neither of you recognized.

Low, venomous, borderline dangerous.

You were like a ticking bomb, seconds away from going off.

Joel narrowed his eyes at you. “She’s better off with Tommy, alright? And we both fuckin’ know that,” he said. “It’s the best thing to do for her. I’m doin’ it because I know damn good and well that if she stays with me, all I’m gonna do is have her fall into the wrong fuckin’ hands or killed.”

“You’re wrong!” You countered, dropping your arms away from your chest and back down to your sides. “Joel, don’t you dare fucking do this. Ellie doesn’t want Tommy, she wants you. She all but fucking said it right to your face just a minute ago!” You cried, pointing a finger towards the door of the room as if pointing to Ellie herself. “She admitted to you that she wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else, Joel. So don’t you fucking do this to her.”

He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles going ghost white. “She’ll be better off with Tommy,” he repeated himself. He paused for a brief moment, just long enough to avert his tortured gaze from yours as he said, “And so would you.”

Your mouth parted slightly in shock. “Fucking excuse me?”

“I can’t keep her safe. Hell, I can barely keep you safe! How many fuckin’ times have I almost lost you? ‘Cause I don’t move fast enough? ‘Cause I’ve made the wrong decisions? ‘Cause I’ve asked you to do somethin’ for me and turns out that I unknowingly sent you into the fuckin’ lion’s den?” He inhaled a sharp breath, and you could hear his voice breaking with each and every word that fell from his lips. “I’ve almost cost you your life how many fuckin’ times now?”

“Joel—”

“Tess died ‘cause of me.” He saw you open your mouth to protest and he quickly added, “You can sit there and tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault ‘til you’re blue in the face, but let’s just fuckin’ be honest and tell it how it is, alright? I couldn’t get to her quick enough and now she’s dead. I won’t let you meet the same fate.” Joel reached up, raking a hand tiredly through his hair, mentally bracing himself for your reaction to what he was about to say next. “I think you should go with Tommy and get Ellie to where she needs to be. After that, you should—you should think about stayin’ here with him in Jackson. I probably don’t belong here, but you do.”

You let out a small, shaky breath of air.

“Who the hell are you to make that kind of decision for me?” You asked, willing yourself to keep yourself from crumbling into tears. “I’m sorry Joel, but you can’t make that kind of a choice for me. And do you want to know what else?” You didn’t even wait for him to respond. “You can’t make it for Ellie, either.”

“She’s fuckin’ fourteen years old—”

You took a step forward as you challenged him. “Do you really think that girl isn’t smart enough to know deep down inside what’s best for her? Tell me, do you really think that Ellie pulled everything she said out of her ass? Do you honestly think that she could ever trust Tommy the way that she trusts you?” You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek and quickly wiped it away before he could see it. “Ellie is young, but she’s not a baby, Joel. I get that sometimes we need to guide her through shit, but let’s be real. She is old enough to make decisions for herself. Maybe not all of them, but the decision that you’re trying to make for her right here, right now—it isn’t yours to make.” Another tear made its way down the side of your face as you whispered, “And the one you’re trying to make for me isn’t either.”

Joel hung his head, seemingly defeated. “Why can’t you see it’s for the best? Why are you makin’ this so hard?”

Willing your trembling legs to move, you slowly walked over to him and sank to your knees in front of him; although you tried to meet his eyes, he refused. “You care about Ellie. I know it, I can see it and I can feel it. For as much shit as you give her all the time, I know that she’s become so important to you.”

“‘Course she is,” he mumbled. “You’re both important to me.”

You reached for his hands, pulling them forward onto his lap. You placed your own hands on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “Then don’t fucking do this to us, Joel. Please. I’m already down on my knees and I will fucking beg and plead if that’s what it’s going to take.” You crouched down a little further, enough so that you could look up into his dark brown eyes. “Ellie wants to be with you, Joel. And I do too.”

Joel’s gaze glistened with tears that he tried, but failed, to keep from falling in front of you. “I’ll fail you, just like I’ve fuckin’ failed everybody else.”

“Joel, please listen to me. Hear what I am saying, for the love of Christ. We have come so far,” You said, firmly squeezing his hands in yours as if somehow that would snap him out of it. “Whether you choose to believe or not, we’ve only come this far because of you. You have done so much for us. It’s why we trust you, why we feel safe with you. Me and Ellie, we belong with you, Joel—not with Tommy, not with anyone else. We need you, okay? We fucking need you. Do you understand me, Joel?”

Joel exhaled the breath he’d been holding shakily, leaning down to be closer to you. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against yours as he tried to even out his breathing.

Rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs in soothing circles, you lifted your head and lightly pressed your lips against his forehead.

“We’re going to finish what we started,” You murmured quietly against his skin, feeling a slight shudder rack his body as a single whimper escaped him. You squeezed his hands again. “Together, Joel.”

[kittyofalltrades]

Poe Dameron (unless you're feeling this prompt for Santiago, I'm not picky) and Trying to stay warm. Please and thank you.

Cold Snap

A small mishap with your jacket and warm Santi up afterwards.

Words: 1032

Beta: @welcometostayingawake

Warnings: Santiago Garcia thats it...it's just fluff

Santi thought the day out Christmas shopping for the boys had been fruitful, even with the cold wreaking havoc with his knees. He’d let you pick the gifts for each member of his group, something you thought would reflect their personality. New sparring gloves for Benny, based on his complaints that his weren’t the best anymore. A rare out of print book for Frankie; Santi was surprised by the choice and even more surprised Frankie could read. As for Will, you’d dragged him into the stationary store, picking up a leather-bound journal. You had even paid extra to have it embossed with his name. Each gift made him realise that you cared about his team almost as much as he did and it made his heart swell with pride and happiness. 

A shriek from you cut his daydreaming short. His body instantly went into fight or flight, ready to defend you in a moment’s notice. His head whipped around looking for you, spotting you quickly just a few steps away shaking liquid from your arms vigorously. He breathed a sigh of relief, a spilled drink he could handle. He closed the small distance between you two, trying to see what exactly had happened.

A woman was babbling apologies while she dabbed at your coat gingerly, not helping the mess in the slightest. You shrugged the sodden fabric off, before gently shooing the woman away. All her help was doing was pressing the now cold fabric onto your dry clothes underneath and at this rate you’d be soaked all the way through. 

“What happened, baby?” Santi asked. He shifted the bags of your shopping into one hand to take your coat and check it out. The entire back was coated in what smelled like hot chocolate. That was no good, you couldn’t wear that the rest of the walk to his apartment. “Here take my coat.”

You shook your head no. You didn’t want him to suffer in the cold because your coat got ruined. But it was sweet of him to offer. “Keep it, it’s not too far now,” you told him, with a smile and a kiss to his unshaven cheek.

Santi narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t protest. “If you get cold, let me know.”

You nodded, prepared to make the last of the 20-minute walk as quickly as possible to get out of the cold. You didn’t want him without a jacket any more than he wanted you without one. If not for the Christmas party later tonight, you wouldn’t have left the warmth and comfort of his bed. You would have preferred to spend the day tangled in the sheets with Santi, enjoying the warmth of his body and the softness of his sheets. 

Santi stopped abruptly, and you took a few more steps before realising he wasn’t beside you. He shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing his long-sleeved blue henley and offered it to you with a clenched jaw. He was annoyed that your teeth had chattered, but you hadn’t asked for his jacket. This was ridiculous but unsurprising because he knew you were stubborn. 

“Take the jacket, baby, please,” Santi pleaded through his clenched teeth. He offered it and waited for you to take it.

You took the leather jacket and pulled it on; warmth and the smell of dark amber and oud, the cologne you’d gotten him for his birthday, surrounded you. You buried your nose in the collar and set off toward his apartment at a trot, trying to get your boyfriend and his bad knees out of the cold as quickly as possible. 

By the time you reached his apartment, Santi’s teeth were the ones chattering but he made no move to take his coat back. Even though you knew he was freezing, he still wanted you warm first. You just might love this man. The word love sprang to mind unexpectedly but there it was, you loved him. 

“Shit,” you swore softly as you both kicked off your shoes in his entryway.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“You’re freezing and didn’t say anything,” you lied. You’d tell him you loved him later. “To the bedroom with you.”

Santi gave you a raised eyebrow, the sexiest thing he could do honestly, but otherwise didn’t protest. Once in the bedroom, he looked to you for further instructions, not something he usually did but you wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to follow orders for a change. 

“Strip and into bed,” you commanded softly. You took the time to undress yourself and climbed into the bed with him. Once settled, you wrapped your limbs around him sharing your body heat with him, warming him faster than anything else he could have done. He sighed happily and rested his face on your chest, basking in the mingling of your perfume and his cologne. 

“I love you,” he whispered softly. So softly you almost didn’t hear it, like he was afraid to speak it into existence, like he expected you to reject him.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back with a wide smile. 

Santi shifted his body on top of yours, his hands splayed on either side of your head, trapping you in place. Your heart sped up as he looked at you from above. His eyes contained every ounce of the love he felt for you, “Can I show you how much I love you?” 

You opened your mouth to answer when a knock sounded at the door. The muffled voice of Ben issued from the other side. 

“Will decided we needed to be here early to set up, so put your pants on and get out here!” Ben called cheerfully from the other side of the door.

“I’m going to strangle you, Miller,” Santi called back.

“Which Miller? There are two here,” Ben laughed before placing a solid rap on the door and leaving.

“Raincheck?” you asked softly.

“Raincheck,” Santi answered. He dropped a soft kiss on your forehead and climbed out of the bed to go confront his friends in his underwear, a minor act of revenge for interrupting what he was sure would have been a memorable few hours. 

[blackdagger456]

Let’s Talk About: Incorrect Analysis’s On Catra

You Cannot Condemn Complex Characters Like Catra By Focusing On Their Negative Actions/Traits Without Or Disregarding Why It Happened.

Really, REALLY tried not to talk about this on Tumblr and to keep it on twitter but I couldn’t help it. I had to share this discussion here. Because apparently it is hard supporting Catra nowadays as said fans like me and supporters of Catradora, Glitra and all other ships involving her are more than fully aware.

I am very sick of people using inaccurate information to just defame Catradora, Glitra and Glitradora. People only using the surface level of their situations and putting scenes out of context makes me annoyed to the highest level. Especially when they use it to prop up other ships

Let’s start with the three original posts in this thread to begin with.

So much.

So much shit is wrong here and we’re only at the first half of this post.

No, my mistake not so much EVERYTHING about this post is bloody wrong. Nevermind the fact that every single person under these threads agreeing or offering their own arguments against Catra is instantly wrong because this person is saying that an abuser was right to abuse their victim. It completely disregards the entire context of said scenes, what they actually mean and any other scene prior.

No, Catra did not deserve anything Shadow Weaver did to her. Nevermind the fact that if Shadow Weaver HADN’T done those things none of what this person ,and others who agree with him, is complaining about would have happened in the first place. Without Shadow Weavers abuse I bet my own right arm Catra would have left with Adora on that day in Theramore.

The scene in which Catra claws Adora is now famously used out of context in arguments against her on both twitter and Youtube. Let me break this down to you in simplest terms.

#1. They were children. Children are emotional and often lash out when they feel threatened or hurt.

#2. It was to further highlight Catras insecurities about Adora leaving her for other people which was further proven when she went to talk to Glimmer in the literal next scene. (One I love for other reasons such as Catra and Glimmer fully letting their guards down around each other and bonding over Adoras silliness to find comfort in each other.)

#3. The rest of that flashback is what prompts Catra to go into the rising action of her redemption--which i agree I wish there was more of but i’m satisfied with what we got--which doesn’t stop until the final episode.

#4. When doing analysis using words like ‘cunt; does not make you or your words seem smart it has the opposite effect.

#5. Catra was having a panic attack because at that age Shadow Weaver was telling her that the only reason she was even alive/kept around was because Adora like her. If Adora stopped liking her Catra would have no use and be thrown out so Adora hanging out with Lonnie and making more friends isn’t just her being possessive or a sociopath it is her associating her survival to Adora liking her.

#6 After that scene we switch to adult Catra looking at the window in thought, thinking back to that moment in contemplation and--in my mind--regret.

Moving on to that just absolute wrong opinion about Shadow Weaver. Yes she was interesting but by no means did she deserve to be electrocuted/binded by magic, gaslit, manipulated and threatened for her entire life.

She did not deserve a lick of the abuse she went through. That is not an opinion that is a fact, nobody deserves to be abused in the slightest.

Which leads me into the next thread.

(Shout out to Dude and SovietOnion for spitting facts. The latter is one of my fav She-Ra account so give em’ a follow.)

In the words of AceVane everything these two just said was “Incorrect as fuck”.

Firstly, SW was responsible for Adora and Catra. Never is it stated or shown that the other three were under her direct care. There was definitely a form of brainwashing in the form of propaganda which linked back to The Red Scare the US went through. 

Shadow Weaver in no way shape or form had anything resembling a redemption arc. What she got was a Darth Vader death scene that still felt iffy in hindsight because of her final words. 

“You’re welcome.”

Ah yes, thank you for gaslighting us and abusing Catra physically/Mentally and Adora Mentally which caused heaps of problems across the war and all seasons.

Truly, we owe you everything.

Now, as a character I like Shadow Weaver and Hordak. As a friend told me “I know this sounds iffy but I like it when abusers have layers. I don’t like em but I like to understand they why.” A statement which I am fine with--HOWEVER.

You not gonna sit there and tell me that no other character in She-Ra was properly developed at all.

Like bro--

A good 90% of the cast was worked on and developed through the entire show Shadow Weaver more or less stayed the same, sasyy, manipulative self through the show. Hordak is another matter but you aint gonna sit there and tell me you’re gonna ignore her gaslighting Adora and Catra as soon as they got back to Etheria and her manipulation of Glimmer.

I’m sorry but that aint flyin by me. You can’t just point out all the negative aspect of Catra and then look at Shadow Weaver and say she’s completely fine.

You cannot judge Catra on her negative actions alone. To do so would be an insult to the character and show, it also shows how little you understand of her AND Adora in the first place. You need to explain it fully. You need to explain the cycle of abuse and how that’s part of Catras arc, breaking that cycle and trying to get out of it and failing. She tries with Entrapta and Scorpia, the only two positives in a toxic environment she’s known all her life. 

But it doesn’t work because she is STILL reeling from her best friend/crush seemingly abandoning her, the plans they had made to eventually run the Horde, refusing to return to their ‘home’ all while her abuser is still targeting her every chance they get. I’m not denying any of Catras actions, but I do realize the why in the situations. Saying that “All she did was apologize.” is a severe wrong to all characters involved.

She did so much more than that and there is so much context. During the entirety of her time in Primes ship was reflecting, she looked upon destroyed worlds, she tried to get SOME kind of familiarity in trying to speak to Hordak, comforting and talking to Glimmer and seeing herself in Horde Prime. Prior to her capture she had once again lost everything, she sent Entrapta to Beast Island an action that gave her PTSD and nightmares. She pushed away Scorpia the consequences of which rocked her and contributed to her breakdown. 

She was going to let Glimmer fully kill her, showing another suicidal tendency like she did during the Portal episode. She didn’t care of she died as long as she won turned into I lost everything just kill me already. Let’s not forget she was jumping at shadows in hopes of  Bringing Scorpia back to the point that Lonnie—someone she grew up with but had a sort of rivalry relationship with—was visibly worried. On Primes ship she sacrificed herself knowing she was probably going to die, ‘knowing’ that with Glimmer gone Adora wouldn’t come for her, acknowledging and owning up to her own actions through—well through her actions. And when it comes to Adora well—if you guys really think she was ‘chasing after Catra’ you really didn’t understand who Adora is. 

Firstly she had no idea Catra was on the ship, secondly when she found out of course she went back for her because at the end of the day Adora isn’t the type to leave someone to freakin die. That’s not who she is, even without their history Adora wasn’t ever going to knowingly leave Catra behind. Even after she rescued her Adora has long since stopped holding Catras hand when it came to her barbs and blame but she understands Catra. She understands her more than anyone which is why she stayed when Catra asked her too during that scene on the ship post rescue. Building on that it’s also why Entrapta forgives her after she apologizes when the two are alone and THAT is a turning point.

Catra apologizing. 

 Realizing what she’s done and finally working to break out of the cycle she has been trapped in her whole life. From journeying to the ship and the entire rest of the war on Etheria she works on herself and is still called out for her actions.

The princesses do not trust her right away nor should they but Catra works on it. She has Adoras trust, they’re together again and she has new support in the form of Glimmer and Bow and returning support in Entrapta. Catra BREAKS the cycle and only then, ONLY then does she start to get what she truly wanted.

Acceptance. Love. Friendship. All she wanted and in the end she is deserving of all of them.

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

AemondxAegonxFemOC

All Chapters Here!

Chapter 4

It might have been the evening’s wine or maybe the comforts of the warm bed, but Viserra did not have trouble finding sleep that night. She played the interactions with Aemond over and over in her head before finally shutting her eyes, trying to ignore the strange feeling that stirred in her chest when imagining his face.

He had been right about her needing to be careful, the game that was being played here in the castle would end up costing many their lives. The Hand was no fool, he had indeed heard about Viserra’s dragon and her skill with the sword. She had been summoned to be a weapon for his disposal once the real chaos commenced. There would need to be much care in establishing allies and gauging who would be dangerous to deal with.

Viserra opened her eyes in the morning to Elia, lightly tapping her arm and holding a candle close to her face. “Lady Viserra, it will soon be dawn. I have brought some bread and butter to break your fast. Your leathers from yesterday have also been cleaned and laid out for you.”

The room was still dark with only the faintest hint that the sun would soon rise outside her window. She crawled out of bed, taking the fur with her and wrapping it around her chest. The bread had been freshly baked, the butter mixed with the perfect amount of salt, it all had practically melted in her mouth.

Without prompting, Elia started working on Viserra’s hair.

“A simple braid will do, but make sure my hair is pulled tight. I do not want it getting in the way in training this morning.”

Elia nodded in agreement and took her time braiding the sides of her hair back. The long braid she finished with, was tight as requested and tied off at the end with a thick leather band. On top of her tunic and breeches, she chose a black leather corset to offer some protection to her core. Viserra had the slightest hunch that this morning would be challenging and there wasn’t any reason to not be totally prepared. After helping her lace up the corset, Elia stepped aside as Viserra grabbed for her weapons.

“Elia, would you be so kind as to lead me to the training yard? I believe that I can get myself back to the castle gates, but would prefer someone to walk with me just this once.”

Elia immediately nodded and without another word, she turned to lead the way to the training yard. The sun was coming up now, just peeking over the horizon and illuminating the hallways and corridors. She noted that the castle was very much alive at this hour, many servants and maids were scurrying about while starting on their daily duties.

The walk back to the front gates of the castle looked familiar and Viserra had confidence that she would be able to navigate it by herself from now on. Eventually, they reached the outdoor courtyard that was still shaded by the tall castle walls.

The yard had already started to fill with people looking to start their training early. The chaos of clanging swords and other various weapons rang like music to Viserra’s ears. Wooden blocks and straw men were being mauled and there was low noises of groans and grunts from those training. On the sidelines there were a few onlookers, both women and men alike, observing the action and talking amongst themselves.

Viserra walked closer into the yard, scanning her eyes for the familiar one-eyed prince. It took only a second to spot him, his tall frame leaning against a pillar, his long platinum hair neatly tied back and his eye fixed right on her.

Once she descended into the chaos, many started to notice the unfamiliar woman curiously dressed to train. One by one, they started to either whisper to each other or silently stare.

Aemond was dressed in his own training leathers, his steel sword in one hand and the other resting on his belt. He was clearly ready for a fight and by the looks of him, he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

“Good morning,” Viserra greeted, giving him a small nod and taking another look at his presentation. She briefly studied his face, looking at the pink scar that stuck out above and below his eye patch. He was most definitely handsome in the sunlight, despite the scar and one eye.

Her staring did not go unnoticed and Aemond straightened himself up under her gaze. Had she made him feel uncomfortable? An interesting thought seeing as she was the only person in the yard that was being gawked and snickered at.

Aemond took a moment to also size up his opponent. Her training leathers were worn, it was obvious that she didn’t just wear them for show. The corset tied securely to her torso was made of thick leather that would help absorb a blow to the belly. Her silver hair was shining bright in the morning sunlight as were her striking violet eyes. His own eye narrowed as they held each other’s gaze and he told himself he would not be distracted by her appearance.

A subtle irritated and arrogant look crossed over Aemond’s face. “Do you need to warm up before we start?” He asked her, hoping to focus himself on the upcoming challenge.

Viserra shook her head, “No”

“Very well. We both will be equipped with a sword and dagger, nothing more… to make the spar fair.” He then turned to make his way over to the center of the yard.

Rolling her eyes and following in his footsteps, she taunted him in a light and teasing tone, “Ah, expecting to follow rules makes me think you have not yet seen real battle.”

He pretended to be unbothered by her comment, the truth was he had never fought outside of the training yard before. But little did she know, he had been trained by one of the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms. If she was judging him only on his lack of true battle experience, it would be she who underestimated him.

“I am never one to refuse a challenge. Come, this might be rather entertaining if I am to be quite honest.” He had turned on his heels and faced her in the yard, placing his hand on his sword and drawing it out of the scabbard.

Challenge? She thought to herself. I thought this was for the purpose of proving my skills for the battlefield. She rolled her eyes at him, slightly irritated at his ego. He was threatened by a woman claiming she could wield a weapon. Typical of a man.

Viserra took her own position, pulling her sword out and looking around at the crowd that had surrounded the area they occupied. “Let us give them a show then, hm?” She smiled and gestured towards the people watching. Noticing the fire in his eye, she felt her own blood start to simmer in excitement.

The tension that filled the training yard from both opponents and their onlookers was palpable. Each one of them waiting for the other to make a first move. It was Viserra who took the offensive position first, taking a deep breath in and then lunging forward to connect her sword to his.

There was no hesitation in her movements and after catching the first couple swings with his blade, he found himself being pushed back defensively. With each blow, he began to grow more and more irritated but hid this behind his cold face.

It was at that moment he realized he had underestimated her. However, he still did not think she would be able to win this duel. If she had not been a woman, would have admired the ferocity and speed behind her movements. His ego flared and the fire within him raged forwards. It was time to turn the tables on her.

Aemond’s blade swung in a sweeping arch towards her, trying to use his strength to overpower his opponent. She had blocked his attack again, but the shear force had started to shift the power into his hands. He would not remain on his back foot. At this moment, there was nothing more that he wanted then to bring this woman to her knees.

Watching his impatience bloom and his impulsive swings come at her in frustration, Viserra took his ego to her advantage. The next powerful swing that came at her was slightly off in its trajectory, giving her the opportunity to duck and roll under his weapon and come right up to his side. She took the flat end of her sword and tapped it to his backside, backing up after the action that would be sure to anger him even further. While before his irritation and anger was only detectable by his energy, this was the first time he blatantly showed it on his face.

If he wanted to beat her, he would need to calm himself and fight with calculation and precision. She was used to larger men trying to use their brute strength to overpower her and win these fights. It was always the same: men blinded by anger that a woman was besting them and causing all strategy to go out the window.

Aemond was not amused by Viserra’s jest in the middle of the spar. He felt the flat end of the blade tap his bottom and the rage he felt immediately with the contact was almost blinding. It was already hard to maintain focus and concentration when fighting a woman, but this was simply tasteless behavior and he thought she was trying to humiliate him.

Once he turned towards her again, his face showed a mix of fury and frustration. He continued to swing his blade at her with heavy and powerful blows. Each swing was accompanied with grunts and groans, showing the amount of exertion it took to keep her on the defense. His face was red and his lips pursed tight as he tried to overpower the woman before him. If he could just knock her to the ground and pin her, he would surely have the strength to make her yield.

Viserra carefully continued to block his blows, feeling her arms tire but trying to hold strong out of plain spite. They moved out of the shade and she noticed his face glistening in the morning sun, realizing he was absolutely beautiful while sweaty and agitated.

“Your anger and humiliation will not win you this fight,” she breathed out heavily, still tracking his moves carefully and blocking them as they came. Both of their cheeks flushed a deep red from the amount of energy it was drawing out of them. The crowd started to buzz with noise, not only shocked at the woman’s ability to fight, but watching someone hold their own against the prince.

Aemond had grown so frustrated with himself and the situation, that he interpreted the noise of the crowd to be taunting. His pride had wanted the onlookers to get riled up on his side, but something in him told him that they were focused on his opponent. This only spurred his frustration further until he finally knocked her weapon up and out of her hands. His next move was to land a heavy blow to her stomach with the hilt of his sword.

As expected, she lost her bearings, unable to catch her breath with the wind knocked out of her. There wasn’t more than a second that went by after she hit the dirt when he pounced on top of her.

Viserra hit the ground with a thud and suddenly Aemond was sitting on top of her, pinning her down with his sword to her throat. His pupil was dilated, he was breathing hard with heavy breaths, but he still tried to hide his face from the anger he felt within.

When he looked upon her face, she wore an expression that was hard to interpret. While he expected her to be surprised or wear a disappointed look of defeat, he saw that her own pupils were dilated and there was a fire that shone behind them.

While analyzing her expression he ended up distracted by her own sharp Valyrian features, her chest heaving up and down with each tired breath, and plump rose colored lips that were slightly agape.

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was straddling this woman in a compromising position and felt an unhonorable desire while pressed against her body. His face again twisted into a combination of anger and contempt as he brought his sword closer to her skin.

“Yield!” He commanded through clenched teeth, again pressing his blade into her neck threatening to draw blood if she did not surrender.

Viserra let her mouth close and the corners of her lips turned slightly upwards. He scowled and watched as her eyes trailed from his face and down towards his chest.

“You might want to think again,” she huffed, continuing to hold her gaze downwards.

Aemond looked in the direction her eyes led him, realizing that she must have pulled the dagger from her thigh on the way down to the ground and it was now pressed against his stomach. They had each other at knifepoint.

The fight was a draw.

Letting out an angry laugh, Aemond almost couldn’t believe what was happening. “You think you’ve got me?” He held his blade fast to her neck, having no intention of removing it at that moment. “You are the one with a blade to your neck, not a mere dagger held somewhere less likely to inflict a fatal wound.”

She only smirked back at him and pressed the dagger harder into his gut. He felt the blood rushing to his head, trying to also clear the unwelcome wave of desire that washed over him as she held her ground.

“I do not think it is the question of whose weapon would inflict the most fatal injury. I believe it is down to who would actually inflict a wound in the first place,” she said in a low voice that only he would be able to hear.

Continuing to stare into her eyes with his own that was filled with resentment, he couldn’t quite figure out why this woman was driving him so mad. Was it the way she spoke to him or looked at him, or that she seemed to always be one step ahead of him? It might have made sense that two people whose blood ran incredibly hot would feel so consumed by each other in a heated fight. No matter, he had to break this impasse between the two of them. Either she would yield or he would force her to. He would win this fight; he had worked too hard to let this woman take away his reputation.

He pressed his blade into her neck again and this time watched it draw the smallest amount of blood. He looked into her eyes again, trying to tell her that he was not afraid of taking it a step further but she only responded with widening her smirk and a surge of that fire in her eyes. 

The crowd had gone silent at this point, watching a spar appear to turn into something much more serious. The pair was too wrapped up in their power struggle to hear the quick and heavy footsteps approaching them in the dirt.

“That is ENOUGH!” The voice boomed and suddenly Aemond was being pulled off of Viserra. The action was enough to quickly snap them both out of the trance they had held between each other.

The irritated voice was from no other than that of the Hand, Viserra had recognized it right away. The man had a scowl on his face that was directed at Aemond and he was more than annoyed that his grandson did not immediately give him an explanation or response.

Suddenly, a round of clapping was started by someone that followed with a distinct belly laugh. It was Aemond’s brother who walked up next, a look that showed he had been more than entertained by the fight he had seen. The other onlookers followed in suit with his gesture and began clapping and hollering while slowly dispersing back around the yard.

“Gods be good! What in the Seven Hells is going on here?” The Hand directed his question at Aemond again while he helped Viserra rise up from the ground.

It probably wasn’t her place to step in-between the grandsire and grandson, but Viserra decided to interject. “I believe Prince Aemond had only wanted to validate my competence and skills before entrusting me to serve your family.” She looked over at Aemond, whose jaw was still tense with frustration but at this point he was again trying to hide it.

“By Gods, I am impressed! I haven’t seen such an entertaining fight since the last tourney,” Aegon laughed as he bumped his tense brother with his elbow. The Hand chose to ignore the older prince and instead continued to look to Aemond for confirmation.

“Is this true, Aemond?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. “Did you not think that I would be fully confident in her abilities before summoning her here?”

Aemond nodded just slightly. He did not want to show vulnerability, he had had no intentions to yield and his irritation was now spurred by his grandsire who not only interrupted their duel, but now tried to make him feel small.

“Looks to me as if the fight were a draw. You almost let a woman beat you, Brother!” Aegon teased him without a second thought. Viserra had thought to herself that it seemed foolish, seeing how heated and out of control his brother was just moments before.

It was obvious that the whole thing was eating away at Aemond’s pride and he was feeling absolutely humiliated. Indeed they had both surprised one another, despite their mutual underestimation, they had held up exceedingly well when it came down to it.

“You are an excellent swordsman, my Prince. I am impressed with your skill, especially since you have not ever been to battle.” She wouldn’t give him a compliment without taking a jab at his ego either.

Aegon snorted out a laugh.

Slowly, she took a step closer to Aemond and watched as he tensed up in response. “I hope to ride by your side on dragonback in battle one day. It would be an honor.” The words weren’t entirely true, but it was more to get the Hand off of their case and to stay in his good graces.

There were a few moments of silence, each of them trying to find the words to break the tension.

She brushed the hair out of her face. Looking over, she could see Aegon studying her with a hungry look in his eyes. This man was one she would have to watch out for when it came to unwanted advances. Each time she had interacted with him, he had looked at her like she was a tasty piece of meat. She wouldn’t deny that he had a certain beauty of his own, but she tended to find irritation in men with such egos instead of flattery.

The Hand ignored Aegon and looked at Aemond and Viserra, addressing them both, “We will be breaking our fast in moments time, it would be best to clean up and look presentable for such.” He then turned to Aemond, “I will follow you back to your quarters, I would like to speak with you.” He turned on his heels and started walking away. Aemond took one last glance at Viserra, pursed his lips and narrowed his eye, then walked after his grandsire.

This is going to make for an interesting morning. She thought to herself, looking around to see that most everyone else had gone back to their usual business, then she brought her eyes back to Aegon’s.

Before Viserra could open her mouth to say a word, Aegon spoke and held out his arm, “It would be my pleasure to escort you back to your chambers.” The smile he wore on his face made her roll her eyes but she didn’t feel like she was in a place to decline the offer.

Taking his arm lightly, she let him lead her back into the hallways, prepared for whatever the morning was going to bring. She still had so many questions, especially regarding the roles of the other family members that had been present at last night’s dinner. He made small talk the whole way back, seeming genuinely interested in learning more about her. His friendliness and playful nature was in stark contrast to his brother, something that had her rather perplexed.

“You should tell your chambermaid to draw you a bath,” he laughed as Elia greeted the pair at the doors of her quarters, “You are rather covered in dust and dirt and I am sure even a pretty girl like you tends to sweat in combat. I will see you in an hour at the dining hall? You are welcome to sit next to me. It would be a surprise if my brother shows up after you crushed his ego in the training yard. We might not see him for a few days after that display.” He didn’t give her time to respond, but instead gave a laugh while turning to walk away.

Viserra allowed him a small chuckle before turning and nodding towards Elia. The girl met  her with wide eyes. “What? You heard the prince. Draw me another bath. I will pick out a dress to wear today.”

The girl did as told and Viserra found herself smiling while replaying the events that just transpired in the training yard. Overall, she was rather pleased with things, but truly only the gods knew how these relationships would develop over time.

Author's note:

Thanks for everyone hanging in there with me through this slow burn. I promise the sexual tension is going to start now and then the good stuff will show up within a few more chapters. :)