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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

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Part 26 - New Year's Day

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 25 -- Part 27

Summary: The morning after the New Years party, the kitchen gets rather crowded...

Warnings: mention of eating disorders, mention of horrible parents and divorce, and also chaos. This is a kitchen scene, after all.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: So this includes some talk about eating disorders, some jokes, even. Obviously those are always very personal, so if some of this makes you go 'that's not a realistic thing to say', please remember that for some of us, it absolutely might be.

@geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @deandoesthingstome

"Good morning." If anything, Geralt sounded a little tired, but that was all. He looked around the still mostly empty kitchen, where his greeting was met with a more hungover-sounding growl. Leon looked like he'd seen better days, for sure, but the most striking thing about his presence was the absence of Ariel.

"You still struck out last night? Man, you- ow!" Dani elbowed Mikey in the ribs to shut him up - a strategy that worked perfectly - before looking at Sol and rolling her eyes.

"Don't act all high and mighty, ladies - please move, too," August said as he came up behind them, moving to do what no one else seemed inclined to do: make coffee. "I know how you talk about us."

"In private," Anjelica countered.

"In excruciatingly graphic detail," August snapped, raising his voice to a point where apparently Leon's hangover couldn't handle it.

"Shh," he groaned miserably as he let his head hang. August scoffed.

Solveig and Anjelica shuffled to the other side of the kitchen.

"We can't fit sixteen people in here," Sol noted casually.

"Well, for starters," Mike said with an unbearable smirk, "it's fifteen at best. Right, Leon?"

"Mike, don't be a cunt," Marshall said behind him right as he swung his hand into the back of Mike's head. All heads turned to him immediately. He looked like shit - really, any other way to describe it would by no means cover just how terrible he looked. Now, it was just a matter of time before someone would bring up what happened.

The girls watched in awe as none of the guys said anything. Even when Elena and Sherlock, and later Charles and Sloane came into the kitchen, everyone pretended like nothing had happened, and Marshall's face didn't look like a raccoon that had been run over by a monster truck.

"I'm sorry, this is nuts," Anjelica snapped after a while, as she tore herself away from August and walked over to Marshall, who had slumped down in a chair.

"Ange," Sy said from the doorway leading into the kitchen, "before ya open that can o' worms… Fourteen people can't cook no breakfast in here at the same time." He was right, though: it was incredibly crowded in this kitchen.

"That's the bigger problem to you?" Dani asked in disbelief when Ange looked around and seemed to actively work on a solution for the issue.

Ange turned around to her. "It is. They'll get hungry. If we don't want these big babies to break the house down, we'll have to feed them."

"I'll be outta your hair, anyway, Sy," Alicia said softly, barely loud enough for anyone but Sy to hear. She turned away immediately, making her way to the door.

"Liz, wait!" Sy followed her into the hallway. "I'd love to take you out soon. I-if you'll let me, 'course."

"Alright, text me," she said before giving Sy a quick kiss and disappearing.

Back in the kitchen, the girls had decided that, since they had cooked for the boys a few days before, it was now the guys' turn to make them food. The motion had made it through by unpopular vote, which meant no more than that each of the girls had given their respective boyfriend that look, and the boys - who would really like to get laid again somewhere in the next month - had agreed. Now, Mike was on pancake duty, August in charge of bacon and eggs, and Sherlock was making more coffee. The smell of food made Leon's face paler than it had been when he had first sat down at the table, and it wasn't long before he disappeared into his room - well, after a rather unpleasant sounding stop in the bathroom.

"None for me, thanks," Sol said as she took another sip of her orange juice, absentmindedly waving the plate August held out to her away.

"Sol," Geralt started, but he didn't get very far.

"Geralt, drop it," she snapped back at him.

"One egg, please," he tried again. Sol whipped her head around and scowled at Geralt.

"Geralt, over the course of two weeks I have moved to another country, been surrounded by far too many people almost constantly, suffered through a party where I didn't even know most guests, and I took care of you when you were overwhelmed… Now look me in the eye and listen: I don't. Want. Breakfast." Without saying another word - and almost burning herself on the pot of fresh coffee Sherlock was holding - she paced out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving the boys behind in a state of bewilderment. The girls, less so…

"Eating disorder?" Anjelica asked Geralt point blank.

He nodded, disarmed by her bluntness. "I don't get it, she looks fantastic, I…" Anjelica rolled her eyes and waved at him dismissively before getting up on a chair, putting a hand on either side of his face and pulling him in.

"Listen," she said, "that's not what that's about. Right now, it's her coping mechanism. She's overwhelmed - and who can blame her - and she doesn't know what to do. We'll all keep an eye on her, but for now you just focus on helping her wind down, okay? She's going to be okay." She let go of his face and stepped off the chair.

"How do you know?" Geralt asked hesitantly.

"I'm the same way," Ange answered, "I mean… I have August to slap the shit out of me now…"

"Always happy to help," August interjected dryly.

"Oh, shut up," Anjelica chuckled. She looked at the table, where Elena, Dani and Sloane were sitting. "Ladies?" Her eyes were asking a question, but the boys couldn’t put a finger on what it was until the girls began to answer it.

"I mean, you've all met my mother," Elena half-joked. All eyes were on Dani next.

"Gymnast," she answered in between bites of pancake. Apparently, that was all the explanation the others needed, leaving the guys looking confused. "Slo?"

"I was a dancer, classical ballet. Puberty hit early, I got a little too much shape… Bada-bing, bada-boom, next thing you know, I'm thinking two rice crackers before a four-hour pointe class is plenty," she said, "Ange?"

"Hockey and horseback riding," she mused, "plus, I went to private school. Boulimia was like the newest Marc Jacobs bag. No one actually liked it, but you just had to have it."

When the girls laughed about Anjelica's story, the guys looked at them as if they had gone absolutely bat shit crazy - which didn’t change much, even after the explanation that being completely miserable about it all of the time wasn’t going to do anyone any good, either.

"Right," Sloane said after she finished her toast and eggs, "I should get going. I have studying to do, because med school is a bitch!"

"Alright, let me…" Charles tried to get up from his chair, but Slo pushed him back.

"Your front door is right there," she said, "I can see it from here." And with those words, she just got up and left, leaving Charles behind in a somewhat… befuddled state. Not that it fazed him for long: he seemed to have no trouble at all going back to his toast and eggs, holding up his cup to ask Sherlock for more coffee.

“After this, it’s every man for himself, I would also like to eat,” Sherlock said calmly as he poured out the last of the coffee to whomever came first.

“Yeah, you should be hungry enough,” Mike teased, wiggling his eyebrows as he quickly shoved a whole pancake in his mouth before handing the plate with what started as a stack - and was now just a pile - to Geralt. Sy and Charles laughed, and there was a hint of a smile on Ange’s face as well, but Mike must have been glad neither Dani, nor Marshall and Geralt could reach him.

“Speaking of,” Elena bravely interjected, “what the hell were you two doing last night?”

“I don’t remember,” Dani muttered with a red face and a mouth full of pancake.

“We were making out on my bed,” Mike said, clearly missing the slight but distinct edge of embarrassment in Dani’s voice, “and suddenly we were accidentally making out next to my bed… It was pretty funny.” His tone was so casual that even Dani couldn’t help but laugh as he talked.

The result of breakfast for eleven people was an ungodly heap of dishes that needed washing, and although the house did have a dishwasher, that hadn’t even been stacked with the other ungodly heap of dirty dishes - namely the ones from the party the night before. Mike, August and Sherlock immediately washed their hands of the task. After all, they’d already cooked everyone breakfast, which left Geralt, Sy and Charles grunting by the sink. Geralt’s appeal to check on Sol was denied by the other two, and he got put on dishwasher duty. The only person who was absolved of any involvement with breakfast: Marshall.

Anjelica pulled up a chair in front of him and sat down, with Dani and Elena flanking him - possibly so he wouldn’t run away, but what were they going to do if he decided to leave after all? Mike, August and Sherlock looked at each other. He wouldn’t talk, would he? Maybe if Ange asked him nicely?

“Marshall, what the fuck happened last night?” So much for ‘asking nicely’... The boys, however, had to watch in awe as Marshall covered his mangled face with his hands, and when he started talking, his voice sounded strangled and broken.

“What’s there to tell? I think everything is pretty self-evident,” he groaned.

“If I had to guess,” Dani said, “you slept with your best friend’s sister, regretted it, hoped he’d never find out, but he did because she told him after she saw you sneak off with whoever the fuck that was, and then he very nearly punched your lights out.”

“Off by a few,” Marshall groaned again.

“He didn’t regret it, he’s in love with her.” Elena almost sighed her romantic realization.

“And I ruined everything by trying to get over her. That’s it. That’s the whole story.” He pulled his hands away from his face, leaving the guys speechless. He was crying. “Happy now? I fucked it all up. For good.”

“Marshall, do you remember what I told Mike the day I made him send that text to Dani to ask her out?” Anjelica said to Marshall - before turning to Dani briefly: “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I distinctly remember ‘God, men are stupid, you all know jack shit about women’,” Sherlock helpfully provided.

“Exactly,” Ange confirmed. “That definitely still applies.”

“Hey, is anyone else coming on the ski trip?” Mike asked after the girls had decided to cease their interrogation of Marshall. “Not enough people signed up, they’re cool with non-freshmen tagging along.”

“I ain’t got the grades,” Sy said - Charles had the same reason for staying put. August offhandedly mentioned that he’d been thinking about it - to which Ange responded that she had already signed him up. ‘Just in case.’ She, of course, played a major part in organizing the whole thing.

Dani looked up in surprise when Anjelica mentioned that her name had also been on the list.

“I’d have to ask my parents for the money,” she warned Mike, who just shrugged.

“My mom paid,” he said plainly, “worst case scenario I call my dad and ask for the money. He’ll pay up.”

Anjelica and Dani both looked at him in shock when he said it, but Elena was the only one brave enough to say something: “Mike, that’s incredibly dishonest.” Understatement.

“Listen,” Mike snapped, startling all the girls - and the guys, too, even though they probably wouldn’t want to admit it, “I had to repeat my junior year because I got caught in the middle of their horrible divorce. They were literally fighting all day, every day about fucking everything.”

“Mikey…” Dani started, but he held a hand up to get her to - bluntly put - shut up.

"No,” he said, “Give me a minute.” He took a deep breath and continued: “I move in with mom, because dad moves away to God knows where, I barely talk to him for a year, and I make it through my second junior year just fine. Then, during my senior year, my mom gets a new coworker who she really gets along with. The coworker is always talking about her husband and her kids, things are fun. She’s been together with him for five years, she says, but they’ve only been married for one, yada yada. One night me and mom are invited over for dinner, get to her place, only to come face to face with her husband, who just so happened to be my fucking dad, okay? Sent my mom into hysterics. I got caught in the middle of that hot mess - and didn't graduate that year, either. So forgive me if I’m not overly worried about lying. Between my dad’s new family and my mom’s fucking midlife crisis, the only thing I ever get from either of them nowadays is money.”

Sy, who had been listening while finishing up the dishes with the others, turned around with a puzzled look on his face. “Come again?”

“Alright, TLDR: My dad married his side piece after divorcing mom. Side piece became mom’s work friend without knowing who she was, and then she turned out to be the woman my dad had been cheating on mom with for years, got it?” Mike clarified with a grin on his face. The girls looked at each other in awe. Even Marshall - whose face was barely in any kind of state to portray any kind of emotion other than agony - looked completely stumped.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Elena said, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Mike said in a small voice. Dani wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“The trip sounds fun.” Elena turned to Sherlock, who looked at her.

“It does,” he agreed, “and you were probably invited to go.”

“My study advisor did mention I could take a spot, yes,” she said coyly, waiting for him to catch on. Of course, he had caught on. He had caught on immediately! Now, all he wanted was for her to stop playing these infernal games! “Oh, for God’s sake, Sherlock, would you come along, too?”

“I signed up a week and a half ago.” For a brief moment, Elena looked like she wanted to slap the smirk off his face. And who could blame her?

“I think I might go, too,” Marshall suddenly said, surprising everyone. The guys - and Ange - knew he loved snowboarding, but they wouldn’t have thought he’d be in the mood to tag along. The man could brood for a while.

“You should!” Anjelica said immediately - maybe a tad too quickly, and too enthusiastically.

Seconds later, a message appeared in the girls’ group chat:

Guess who’s name is also on the list… Carson, Alexandra…

#henry cavill #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #august walker #geralt of rivia #napoleon solo #charles brandon #sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes #mike hellraiser #captain syverson #walter marshall #geralt of rivia x OFC #mike hellraiser x ofc #august walker x ofc

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tintin-58 · 2 years ago

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🔥

The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 8, Pt. II

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 8, Pt. II Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including unprotected sexual intercourse); discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy

Despite the obvious strength in his fingers, Avian marvels at the tenderness of his touch. The easy caress of his thumb sends curls of heat through her, settling low in her belly. Her breathing quickens as he raises her hand and presses his lips to her knuckles. His kiss lingers, mouth parting ever so slightly around the raised bone as he bestows another soft embrace.

Her knees weaken at the hot rush of his breath against her skin, stoking the fire growing within her. His mouth drifts down the back of his hand with such maddening promise, and he opens his eyes to meet hers.

A gasp passes her lips, stunned at the dark desire that swallows the glacial blue of his captivating eyes. It’s more than she could have ever hoped for and the air thickens with anticipation as she burns in the impossible moment. Summoning her courage, she raises her other hand and settles her palm over the racing pulse in his neck, letting her thumb gently sweep the line of dark scruff on his strong jaw. He leans into her touch with a trembling sigh as he reaches his other hand to mimic the same embrace. The warmth from his skin ignites sparks down her spine, and her breathing stops as he draws her close.

She meets his lips in a steady, if uncertain, touch. It’s been an age since she last kissed a man - perhaps there’s a wrong way to do it? But the longer the firm pressure of his dry lips lingers, learning the shape of her mouth as she learns his, the more confidence she finds. His fingers on her jaw tighten, holding her close as he seeks entry to her mouth, and the kiss deepens. Her toes curl, a whimper pitching high in her throat at the heady taste of him, and her body burns for everything that the offer of his promises.

Is this what kissing is supposed to feel like?

She draws a rushed breath against his mouth, head spinning. He gasps for breath in equal measure, noses brushing as they bask in the shared embrace. Her fingers caress his jaw with desire that she doesn’t know how to voice, only that she doesn’t want him to stop. If he kisses her again, there’s nothing she wants to deny him.

So, she doesn’t. She lets her mouth fuse to his, eagerly welcoming his kiss as hard, hot hunger grows between them. His hand slides from her neck, wrapping around her shoulders to pull her closer as he tugs her bottom lip between his. A bolt of arousal shoots through her and her arms wrap around him of their own accord. A ragged, primal sound rumbles in his throat, reverberating to her core that burns with liquid heat. Instinct drives her hand upwards, raking through his dark curls before dragging him down to taste him deeper. The weight of his strong arm brackets her waist, drawing her flush against him from hip to chest.

The full-body press of him makes her melt, arching into his embrace with willing surrender. His solid strength and commanding presence pale in comparison to every inappropriate fantasy she’s had about him, and she presses closer to willingly receive everything he bestows.

“Tell me, honestly.” He rasps against her lips before trailing his nose up her jaw. “Have you laid with a man before?” His mouth finds her earlobe, teeth tugging gently and stirring a needy whimper high in her throat. “You are no blushing maid to my attentions.”

A pang of horror cuts through her desirous haze. Has she been too wanton? Does he think her an utter slattern for embracing him so fervently? His lips continue their dizzying path down her neck, and she can’t stop from instinctually baring herself to him. “Just once before,” she hears herself say. “A long time ago.”

“And what of it?” The husky register of his voice rushes more liquid heat to her core.

A gasp leaves her as she clings close under the maddening caresses of his tongue. “It… it hurt, a-and I didn’t want to… again. It never felt -” A moan cuts off her words as he grinds his hips forward. Her fingers tighten in his curls as she tries to breathe through the delicious onslaught.

“It never felt…?” He prompts gently, holding her close with his supportive strength.

“Never felt… quite like this.” Heat rushes to her cheeks on the admission, even as she clings to him.

“Were you forced?” His words come hard despite the reverent press of his lips to the underside of her jaw.

“No.” Her fingers stroke through his lush hair. “I was willing... but it just felt raw. Painful.”

His answering hum deliciously tickles the skin. “Then he did not give you enough time to be ready for him. A true shame.”

She gasps as his teeth nip along her jaw as her other hand braces against the strong muscles of his back. When his lips find hers again, all hint of hesitation fades as she kisses him with abandon. She doesn’t have the words for everything she wants, for the maddening ache that burns between her legs, for the satisfaction that only he can give. Instead, she finds her feet and pulls him back towards the cottage.

Desperate hunger floods the embrace as he moves with her, growling his approval of her intention. A thrill of anticipation rushes down her spine as she crushes her mouth to his and kicks the cottage door closed before hands tear at clothing.

His fur-trimmed cloak falls aside before his doublet joins it. The open neck of his linen tunic beneath reveals a tantalizing trail of dark curls, and her fingers card through the coarse hair before she can think to ask. He moans his approval as he works the simple ties of her dress until it pools at her feet, leaving only her thin underclothes. His hand cups the swell of her breast, squeezing gently, and he swallows her answering whimper as she tugs him towards her bed.

Her back settles against the worn fur, eagerly pushed into the lumpy mattress by the welcome weight of his body. His shirt and her drawers have been lost in the last steps to the bed, and the full expanse of his bare skin now available to her hands proves dizzying. Her hips roll up into his with only two thin layers of cloth left between them. The hot, rigid outline of him presses perfectly against her burning heat, and her legs instinctually widen - driven only by the need to have him closer, deeper.

A low, throaty chuckle leaves him as his hips rock teasingly against her. “Not yet.”

She whimpers as a strong hand falls to her thigh, prying her legs apart. With a question in his eyes, he meets her gaze as his fingers settle on the hem of her chemise. She exhales a sudden wave of nerves before arching off the bed to let him pull it free. He drinks her in with awed hunger, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the top of her breasts. When he finally takes a nipple in his mouth, between his teeth, a sobbing gasp tears from her. Her hips push against empty air, and her hands tug at the waistline of his drawers.

His hard angles complement her soft curves as their bodies touch. The solid strength of him, the scorching heat of his skin, the weight of his cock… her mouth goes dry, desperate to never let him go. She moans her appreciation against his mouth, running her fingers through his hair as his fingers graze her slick cleft.

His indecent groan matches hers when he eases a finger inside. “Does this feel different than before?”

Fresh heat flushes her cheeks as she manages to open her eyes, meeting his searching gaze when he draws his finger back before sliding in deep. The sight of him braced against her as his hand works between her legs rushes more liquid heat between her legs. A moan stirs in her throat as he moves his finger in a slow push-pull rhythm, and she nods slowly. “Yes, oh,” she moans unbidden. “He didn’t even… even use his fingers.”

He shakes his head with slow rebuke. “Shame on him for giving a woman such poor treatment.” His finger crooks inside her, and a deep-rooted pleasure twists her belly. She doesn’t recognize the cry that leaves her lips as he strokes the white-hot spot again before adding another finger in a delicious stretch that threatens her sanity.

His groan sounds above the rush of blood in her ears, his teeth skimming her chest possessively. “You’re so perfect. So wild. So fucking beautiful.”

Her body involuntarily tightens around his fingers as he continues to move inside her and oh, she hurtles towards something. Something that every fiber of her being demands from him as she clings to him, chases the feeling -

Until his hand withdraws in a sudden rush of loss. She whimpers, chest heaving as she stares up at him, hoping he isn’t finished. A surprising damp sheen of sweat coats her brow and neck, but it pales to the embarrassment that floods her when his fingers come into view, shiny and sticky with moisture in the low light. She gasps with surprise, cheeks burning as she lifts her head to better see. Her body hasn’t done that before. Is… is that supposed to happen?

He leans down, pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to her forehead. “Were you not this way with your previous lover?”

She forces a swallow down her dry throat. “No…” her voice is thin as the blush burns down her chest. “No, the only… wet came from him.”

“No wonder you disliked it so.” He turns his head, wafting his coated fingers under his nose. For a horrifying minute, she wonders if he will open his mouth to the soaked digits, but then he wipes them idly on his discarded drawers.

The pale light catches his handsome profile as he leans down for another kiss - this one slow, hot, savoring. Her unease melts away under the effortless prowess of his embrace, and her hands tug at his waist. His hips shift over hers, and the heavy weight of him rests between her legs as he angles her hips. The breath catches in her throat as he pushes forward in a pleasantly uncomfortable stretch to bury himself fully within her. He groans, low and ragged, against her lips, as she basks in the all-consuming fullness of him.

His kiss steals the last of her breath and her heart before he cants his hips and she ceases to exist.

***

“And you really cannot feel this?” She says, running her tongue over the small, jagged scar along his right shoulder blade.

He chuckles softly from where he lays on his belly, gazing drowsily over his shoulder in the dim firelight where she lays half-atop him. “Believe me.” His voice is rough with delicious exertion. “I wish I could.”

She huffs an amused breath against his skin, pressing her lips to the pale scar. “How did you come by it?”

“Struck by an arrow. Stupid, really.”

Her brow furrows as she rests her chin against his back. “How so?”

He shuffles, freeing an arm that has been pillowed beneath his head. “Well, my horse was sinking in mud and I was in full armor with few options. I shed a gauntlet, and loosened the chest and back plates. An arrow found its mark while I made my escape.”

She snuggles closer to him, basking in the skin-to-skin contact. “You are fortunate not to have died.”

“Admittedly, some nights I thought I might.” A visible swallow works down his throat in the flickering light. “The physicians said I made it worse when I pulled the arrow out, and they might have been right. I’ve never had a fever burn so hot.”

“That pain must have been maddening.”

He reaches for her hand, pulling it over his shoulder to nuzzle the dull silver blemishes embedded in her skin. “I don’t imagine the pain that you endured for this was any less.”

The unwanted memories flash in the back of her mind as phantom pain burns along her wrists and ankles.

“When you lay abed,” he continues, breath dancing around her mottled skin. “Tears in your eyes, pleading with whoever would listen to make the pain go away…” He pauses to press another reverent kiss. “How old were you?”

She doesn’t want to admit how close his words match the memories of those horrible nights following the storm. A sigh leaves her as she can’t bring herself to deny him. “I was eleven.”

“Eleven?” Awed surprise tinges his rich voice. “It’s a wonder you didn’t die.”

Another sigh leaves her. “My father’s research had narrowed the age down to somewhere between ten and thirteen. I was the proper age.”

“And how many died in the course of your father’s research to narrow the age?”

“He never did say.”

“Monstrous man. Were I to have a child….” His voice chokes, and he pauses as if to reconsider. Instead, he tilts his head, again pressing his lips gently to her scarred skin. “For any man to do this to his own child – declaring him a depraved monster is the least harsh punishment.”

“Speak no ill of the dead.” She cautions gently.

“I do not fear them.”

She laughs softly before looking down to brush another kiss on his scar. Nosing over the curve of muscle and bone, her lips drift along the length of his spine. A smile warms her face as his mouth hovers against the cool silver in her skin, lavishing equal affection with tender caresses. The tip of his nose brushes against the back of her hand before his touch retreats - and she stills with concern. She doesn’t think much about the fine, precise scars on the back of her hands, but well….

“And these?” He mumbles the words against her skin as he kisses the white streaks of tiny scars.

“River reeds.” She lets the fingers of her other hand skim down his flank, hoping to distract him and delighting in the answering twitch of his hips. “Whenever I was careless with my letters or did not properly prepare a powder. I’ll admit that the punishment was effective at promoting the benefits of study and practice.”

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have been forced into an unwanted apprenticeship.”

“My father only knew how to have laboratory apprentices.” Her fingers drift along the defined curve of his hip, dipping in towards the smooth plane of his stomach where it rests against the bed. “But, in truth, without everything he taught me – this life would not be possible.”

“But without him, who’s to say that you wouldn’t have grown up in the village? Married a merchant and became a mother?”

She scoffs in dismissal, trailing her lips back up his spine. “This world is not perfect, and those who try to live their lives as such understand so little. It is impossible to say if my life would have been better one way or another, and it matters little now. What is done is done. And that only leaves the here. And the now.” She presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, laying flush against him and slinging a leg over his to press so intimately against his thigh. “And what’s here and now is you in my bed. And years of wasted nights to make up for before the sun rises.”

He groans, his hips rolling into the mattress. His lips return to the skin of her wrist, pressing a decidedly more insistent, pleading kiss. “By God, don’t let them keep you.” He sighs heavily. “Escape. Use your lightning. The guards won’t be able to stop you. Then, disappear.” He pauses, nuzzling against her wrist as if that would always keep her close. “Disappear and I will find you.”

She sighs, burying her face against his neck. His words hold undeniable temptation. To escape the dungeon, to hide, and let the witch die in obscurity. To fall into a life of true hermitage… but then what? Charles isn’t foolish enough to give up his life and position at court to retreat into solitude with her. He won’t ever be able to take her as a proper wife in this life, and he would never deign to live such a life in the woods with her.

He lays another kiss on her wrist as he continues. “Or will you tell me that the cost is too high? Too high to save yourself?”

She swallows hard, breathing in his heady scent and leaning her cheek against his soft curls. “You assume that I want to be saved.”

“How could you not?” Raw emotion colors his voice. “You would give it all up?”

“I do not know how to be saved from the transgressions of this life,” she sighs. “I cannot save you from yours, nor me from mine by running away. If this is the hour that I must be held to account… well. Surely, as an honor-bound man, you cannot deny me that.”

“But you will deny me.”

“No, I trust you.” She nuzzles his ear, swallowing the anxious butterflies that alight in her stomach. “I lov-”

“Don’t say it.”

“But it’s true.”

“Is it? Really?” He turns his head, and the corner of his sky blue eyes glitter in the firelight. “You would give yourself to me once this is over? To the man responsible for your imprisonment and probable torture.”

“You’re not the jailer with the key or the man with the implements.” A shiver races down her spine. “If this attack of your conscience is any indication, I think your own guilt will be enough of a penance for me to forgive your sins against me.”

He snorts a mirthless sound. “You should not know me so well, my witch.”

The corner of her mouth lifts with a wistful smile. “Then you should not have bedded me, my duke.”

“Now that is something I shall never apologize for.” He rolls his hips up, pushing his backside against her and stirring a soft moan in her throat. His mouth dances along her fingers, lingering over her ring finger. “I wish I had something I could give you,” he murmurs against her skin. “But I have nothing to give that I cannot guarantee won’t be taken from you.” He sighs in resignation before he tilts his head sharply, an idea sparking across his handsome face. “No, I take that back.” He shuffles out from under her, freeing his legs and swinging them down to the floor.

Silhouetted by the fire’s dying embers, she watches him rummage in his clothing. The sharp blade of his knife whispers in the air and her face creases with curiosity as he reaches for his black doublet. The sound of cutting fabric fills the cottage as she sits up and gathers the bedcovers to her chest.

He returns the knife to its home before turning back to her and holding up the small strip of cloth. The bed dips under his weight as he rejoins her, wrapping it around her upper arm, just above her elbow. “Keep this concealed beneath your chemise, and it won’t be taken from you.”

Her heart warms at the sentiment, unable to hold back a fond smile. She glances down at the fine black fabric woven with gold inlays as it glints in the firelight. “I’ll be glad to have part of you with me.”

“You have more of me than I should like to admit.”

She forces a hard swallow, heart heavy in her throat. “Then I should hate to lose any of it.” Raising her fingers to settle over the knot, she pulls it loose before reaching up to part her hair. Feeling along her nape, she forms two small strands that gather over her shoulder. With deft motions, she threads the black cloth through the sections of hair, forming a tight braided plait. She meets his gaze in the low light, laying bare all of her love and affection for him as the black and gold peeks out from the finished braid. It may be the closest that she’ll ever wear to a wedding band, and having the physical token of his love pools delicious arousal low in her stomach, warming her body to receive him again.

Summoning a mischievous smile, she combs the rest of her hair back into place and the braid disappears under the fall of wild curls. His smile grows to match hers as they revel in the knowledge of their own private secret.

His hand traces the slope of her neck, disappearing into the curtain of her hair to wrap around the tightly formed braid. A trembling sigh leaves her as he draws her closer, and their mouths meet to speak a language that defies words. And when she pulls him down with her, welcoming him back inside her body, she arches into his touch - into his hand still fisted around the braid - willing to do anything to forever keep him so close.

#charles brandon #duke of suffolk #the tudors #henry cavill #charles brandon x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors fanfic

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henrycavillmasterlist · 1 year ago

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Charles Brandon Master List

You Should See Me In A Crown (Charles Brandon x OFC)

Chapter One: Pageantry At Its Finest

Chapter Two: The Jealous Lion

Chapter Three: The Future Regicide

Chapter Four: Divisive Loyalty

Chapter Five: The Lioness

Chapter Six: Unbridled Rage

Chapter Seven: The Duality of Freedom

Chapter Eight: Wanton Desire

Chapter Nine: And You Spoke

Dancing With the Nightmare (Charles Brandon)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Broken Flowers (Charles Brandon x OFC)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Coeur de Lion (Charles Brandon x Henry Tudor VIII x OFC)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Crown Me: Charles Brandon x OFC

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfic #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fiction

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yenn-reads · 2 years ago

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Monthly Series Appreciation

What's this about?

I want to share some of my most precious reading experiences with you.

I'm a total sucker for a good series to binge or wait excitedly for the next chapter to drop. And I would love to see you all interact more with those stories, with those incredible writers who put so much of their heart into their work. And especially series often don't get the attention they deserve. And I want to change this.

So here are three stories that I love very much. Give them a try, re-read them, shout out to the author, reblog it!

Every tiny bit of interaction keeps the fandom alive and this is what we all want. Right?

Second Chances

Syverson x OFC Eve (💕🔥🌩, status: completed)

I read this early after I found my way to tumblr and I was drawn into this world so fast. @notabronte gave us this lovely small town feeling where we can see Sy fitting in so well. It's the good old enemies to lovers trope, perfectly executed. I had to re-read earlier chapters after I learned a few things about our protagonists in the later chapters and it made me realize how good exactly this whole story was put together. You're going to fall in love with this town, with this car, with this girl and of course with Sy.

The heir

Modern AU Charles Brandon x female reader (💕🔥🌩, status: completed)

This one is special to me, too. First of all, I am such a huge fan of modern AU Charles. I just love the idea of it. And @daydreaming-in-letters is a master in building atmosphere in her stories and The Heir is not an exception. With the first scene she dragged me into that misty morning where we're about to meet His Snobbiness. And it only gets better after that.

Adaptions

Walter Marshall x OFC Jo (💕🔥🌩, status: completed)

This is my favorite Walter ever. He's just perfect. As is @mayloma's writing. She gives us wonderful characters, not only our two lovebirds but also the side characters that we meet. And so many sweet memories, it's heartwarming. Both Jo and Walt have a past and a life and joining them on their journey how to adapt to each other was a great experience.

#monthly series appreciation #yenn recommends #you need to read this #msa september #author:mayloma #author:daydreaming-in-letters #author:notabronte

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gulnarsultan · 2 years ago

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Yandere charls Brandon please

Sorry for taking so long. You want the historical character from The Tudors. Did I understand correctly? I hope you will like it. Feel free to write more requests. It was written inspired by his character in history. Moreover, Henry Cavillin's portrayal of this role makes one fall in love with this character even more.

~Charles can impress many women.

~ He obsesses you from the moment you catch Charles' eye.

~ Believe me, this man will find a way to marry you.

~ It will pamper you in every way. Anything you want will be given to you as soon as possible.

~ No one can stop you from getting married. He will marry you, whether through peace or war.

~ Never gives you physical punishment. Their punishment is psychological and emotional. Isolating you is another form of punishment.

~ This man has a reproductive disposition. He will want a lot of children from you. She especially wants more boys.

~ He sees children as proof of your love. He also knows that you won't leave the children and run away.

~ He is a jealous man. However, it manages to mask it very well.

~ He is not afraid to get rid of his opponents. Moreover, he solves it in such ways that no one can blame him.

~ There is no escape from this man until your last breath. Wherever you go, this man will find you and take you back.

#the tudors #charles brandon x reader #henry cavill characters #charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon #yandere tudors #yandere the tudors #yandere tudors characters #yandere charles brandon #yandere charles brandon x reader #the tudor dynasty

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cardierreh15 · 2 years ago

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This poll would solely be based off of what my Queen would be. Vote Guys! I’m only doing this for a Day!

#henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #vampire king #werewolf king #werewolves #vampires #charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon #henry cavill x black!female oc

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ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist · 11 months ago

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Henry Cavill Masterlist

Here you will find all of my Henry Cavill works, arranged by character and type of work.

One-Shots

Forever And A Day - Explicit - Geralt x Black!OFC - Geralt and Lavinia share a passionate reunion.

Events

You're Mine | Geralt of Rivia + Female Reader + Daddy Kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic (Sweet Treats Events 2024)

Series

Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)

Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

Requests

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth - Explicit - Walter Marshall x Reader - You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Challenges

Fifteen Minutes - Explicit - Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC - What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.

Headcanons

Hobbies

Events

A Little Fresh Air | Walter Marshall + Female Reader + Public Sex + “Hmm, you’re not very patient, are you?” + Smut (Sweet Treats Event 2024)

One-Shots

Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe - Explicit - Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader - Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.

Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse - Explicit - Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader - A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Don’t Kill My Vibe - Explicit - Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader - You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Requests

Happy Birthday, Cupcake - General - Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader - Clark surprises you for your birthday.

Praise You - General - Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader - Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.

One-Shots

What Are You Doing, StepBro? - Explicit - Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader - You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.

Requests

Doing Something Unholy - Explicit - Charles Brandon x Reader - This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.

Series

Scrapbook (finished) - Side characters include Walter Marshall, Evan Marshall, Syverson, and Gus March-Phillipps

One-Shots

Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut] {DARKER FIC} - Explicit - Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader - Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU - Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.

Series

Love, Napoleon (ongoing)

One-Shots

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl - Explicit - Napoleon Solo x Reader - Napoleon wines and dines.

Series

Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)

One-Shots

Treat Me Like A Slut - Explicit - August Walker x Reader - August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.

Requests

Executive Temptation - Explicit - CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader - You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?

One-Shots

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind - Explicit - Sherlock Holmes x Reader - As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Requests

The Paganini Problem - Mature - Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader - Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.

Series

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

Challenges

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - Mature - Syverson x Reader - When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.

Requests

Shape-Up - Explicit - Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) - Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.

Drabbles

My Little Strawberry - Mature - Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) - A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach.

Events

Say It Again | Captain Syverson + Female Reader + Phone Sex + “Hmm, you’re not very patient, are you?” + Smut (Sweet Treats Event 2024)

One-Shots

Nothing More Than An Animal - Explicit - Henry!Wolverine (Cavillrine) x Female!Reader - After entering a dangerous biker bar alone, you’re almost assaulted. You are saved by a mutant with metal claws who might be more animal than man.

Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)

Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)

Clark Kent (Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League)

Humphrey (Stardust)

Charles Brandon (The Tudors)

Mike (Hellraiser: Hellworld)

Napoleon Solo (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.)

August Walker (Mission: Impossible - Fallout)

Gus March-Phillips (The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare)

Will Shaw (The Cold Light of Day)

Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes films)

Captain Syverson (Sand Castle)

Evan Marshall (Blood Creek)

Melot (Tristan and Isolde)

Thomas Apreas (Hotel Laguna)

Chas Quilter (The Inspector Lyndley Mysteries)

Stephen Colley (I Capture the Castle)

Henry!Wolvie AKA The Cavillrine (Deadpool & Wolverine)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY

FULL MASTERLIST IS HERE.

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

Text

Part 23 - Charles

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 22 -- Part 24

Pairing: Charles x ofc (Sloane)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v shenaningans. And some minor violence, and drinking.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Alright, Charles' turn! Do we expect him to shag someone? Yes we do! Does he? That's a stupid question! (It almost didn't happen!)

A liiiiiittle more insight for you guys in the Marshall situation, but not too much (I actually had to go back and edit some stuff out because I felt I was giving too much away, whoops.) Anyway: Enjoy! And let me know what you think! 🥰

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

It’s rather busy in the kitchen, but I think they’re almost done, which means it’s probably safe for me to go take a look without being put to work. Besides, it looks like Leon is taking most of the heat for now. I’m almost slammed into a wall when Mike squeezes past me in the narrow hall, announcing the internet has been fixed.

“I knew there was a reason we kept him around.” I say as I join Leon in the kitchen.

“Yeah, it would be so awful if you couldn’t watch porn for one night.” The only reason it doesn’t sour my mood is because Dani is the one saying it. Anyone else could get bent for all I care, but her, I like. It doesn’t stop me from elbowing Leon wherever I can hit him, though, because he should know better than to laugh.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing any tonight,” I say indifferently. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Mike’s paying attention for a change, and I can’t help but throw in a mildly inappropriate wink at Dani - just to see what he’ll do. And how she will react to it.

“Think you can still get laid with a broken nose and a black eye, Brandon?” I was never planning on taking the flirting further, but if I had been… Mike is fast, and I really don’t need a dent in my face tonight. I’ve definitely become more careful since Sol kicked me in the nuts and Geralt came really close to permanently disfiguring my face.

One look at Dani, however, tells me enough. She’s biting her lip as she looks at Mike. Mikey, on the other hand, doesn’t take his eyes off me while he pulls Dani into his side. God, I’m glad they seem to work out. I can’t take another week of him smiling at his phone like an idiot but too nervous to actually ask her out. I’m fairly sure Anjelica ended up hitting send on that text for him. It was the weirdest thing to witness, because Mike actually has game - which is also why I don’t exactly mourn the fact that he’s off the market, although I’m fairly sure Sy is even happier about that. Everyone in this house has broken up more than one spat between those two about who stole whose chick.

Word travels fast around campus, because there’s a staggering amount of people in the house that I know I didn’t invite. I don’t mind, of course; plenty of the ladies present I’d happily invite back - and from the looks of it, a fair amount of them would be more than happy to come along. Tonight, however, I'm mostly interested in the girls who are with Danielle. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Leon has similar ideas, and he’s a lot closer than I am. Luckily, he seems to be more interested in the other roommate, Ariel. The one I’m after is Sloane Price. She plays hockey on the university team, and I occasionally run into her after practice. She’s been sizing me up for weeks, and it’s driving me insane. The one spanner in the works; Sy. Sloane seemed to have set her sights on him, although I don’t know why. Luckily - again, though I like to pretend I don’t depend on luck - he’s occupied by Alicia Thomson. I decide to try the luck I say I don’t need, and talk to her.

My hand hurts like hell. It’s the price you pay for kicking out some douche who can’t keep his hands off your roommate’s girlfriend.

“Thanks for doing that.” The voice is familiar to me now, and when I look up, Sloane is standing in front of me, holding an ice pack. She hands it to me, and I accept it gratefully.

“Thank you.” The cold is amazing on my sore knuckles.

“Can I take a look at that for you?” Sloane asks kindly. I nod, gritting my teeth as I move my hand slightly. She’s a med student - and this might just be a way to get both of us out of here a little quicker than I thought. “I don’t think anything is broken, but I’m fairly sure you sprained your middle finger. Is there any tape in the house?” Bingo! As a matter of fact, there is.

“I think there’s some in my hockey bag,” I say, “do you want me to check?”

“Might as well come with you.” Sloane shrugs.

We make our way upstairs and I lead the way to my room. My bag is at the bottom of the wardrobe, and I was right about the tape; there’s still some in there.

“This is a pretty nice house,” Sloane says as she starts working on taping my finger to the next. “Better than the apartment I share with Dani and Ari… Definitely bigger.”

“I’d hope so,” I say, “there’s eight of us! It’s crowded enough as is.”

“It’s neat, for a house with eight guys,” she notes. I can’t say she’s wrong; we do keep things clean around here. It’s either that or get murdered by August, Geralt and Sherlock. Trust me when I say no one would ever find the body.

I hiss when Sloane pulls the tape a little too tight. “Easy.”

“Sorry.” She has a fantastic smile. “You’re all set.” She lets go of my hand a tad quicker than I’d hoped. It's strange. Normally I'd be wishing for them to get the niceties over with as soon as humanly possible, so we can get to the fun stuff. Not with her. It's not that I'm going to try to pretend I don't know what's going on. I've been in love before. The guys would try to say that I fall in love three times before breakfast every godforsaken day, but they're wrong. I like to fuck. That's all there is to it, really. More importantly: I don't do relationships. Those just end with everyone involved disappointed and hurt. I can't do that to her. To anyone. Not anymore.

Now, the smart thing to do would obviously be turning away, going back to the party, finding someone else and screwing her brains out. The only problem with that idea is that I wouldn't be with Sloane - who is agonisingly slowly leaning in for a kiss, while I'm moving away even more slowly.

"I'd feel incredibly insulted if I couldn't see with my own two eyes you're rock hard for me," she purrs out of nowhere. "To resist you is an almost olympic level achievement, but to be resisted by you? I'm not sure my reputation could take a hit like that…" Her hands are on my thighs, sliding up. I know exactly where they're going. Do I stop her? Who am I kidding? I don't have the strength of character to do that. Involuntarily, I let out a groan.

Her lips meet mine, and I’m done for: there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop myself now. She pries my mouth open with hers and slips her tongue into my mouth. The vague taste of liquor - not beer or wine, it’s something else - lingers on her lips. It’s good. As far as kisses go, this one is pretty fucking amazing. Miss Price is handsy, and my shirt is on the floor before I know it. Part of me wishes they were all this fast. Yes, from a time-saving perspective. Don’t judge me, at least I’m aware I’m a bit of a jerk. I consider a world where all girls are as eager to sleep with me as Sloane for a moment, until she rakes her fingernails over my chest. When one of them grazes my nipple, I hiss. Hate the feeling. She has way too much control over me at this point, anyway.

I toss her on my bed, fully expecting her to shriek - and she does. They all do. Sometimes, I find myself wondering when things became so predictable. Is there really nothing new to this anymore? She pulls me in for another kiss. God, even if it’s the same old thing over and over again, it never stops feeling good. The decision to wear jeans was a poor one, I have to admit. They’re not going to be a problem for long, however, judging from the enthusiasm with which Sloane attacks my face and neck. Those wet kisses along my jaw and down towards my collarbone make me shiver.

“You like that,” Sloane moans into my ear. I love how it isn’t a question, but rather an observation. And she’s not wrong.

“I do,” I reply, “but it makes me wonder what else that mouth can do.” Not even a minute ago I was impressed with her tempo, and now I’m acting as if she’s not even fast enough for me. What is wrong with me?

“Are we in a hurry?” she asks. We really aren’t, but I’m acting like we are. Sloane raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m happy to admit I’m throwing myself at you, Charles, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with a five minute pump and dump.”

“Don’t insult me,” I scoff, “or do I have a bad reputation I don’t know about?”

“You mean a reputation for being a manwhore? I’m surprised you didn’t know…” I laugh at her retort - albeit sarcastically.

“I mean a reputation for being bad in bed,” I fire back at her. The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t say anything. I don’t consider it a win just yet. Until she finally shakes her head, that is. I smile at her. “I can give as well as take.”

If that’s not a statement of the type ‘put your money where your mouth is’, then I don’t know what is. Sloane sighs as I slowly kiss my way down her neck. It doesn’t seem to do much for her… Oh, well. I’ll figure it out after I get a good look at these tits. She helps me take her sweater off. The fabric is thin, so even though it’s a relatively modest thing, it did reveal that she has much heftier equipment than I had expected. Curse sports bras and their figure-hiding properties - it's practically the only thing I've seen her in up until now. She stops me when I move to undo her bra, leaving me… confused, in a way. Is she distracting me from the fact she won't show me her tits by taking my cock out? Well… it's working.

My jeans are off in no time, and she makes her way down quickly. Those massive bedroom eyes make up for what she lacks in technique. Not that she's bad. Not at all! It's just…

"That - oh, fuck! Keep doing that!" I'm a simple man. There's two or three things I really like, and I don't need much more than that. It makes it really easy to give pointers. Unfortunately, any kind of hint makes it really easy for girls to want to punch me in the nose. Listen, I know us guys can be dicks about getting directions during sex, but ladies… Pot, kettle, black. In my experience, at least. Sloane doesn't seem to mind, though, which is lovely. She just settled for what I told her works best, making this one of the nicest blowjobs I've ever had. It's a matter of finding out how quickly she'll give up, now.

About five minutes into giving a blowjob, about fifty percent of girls are going to call it quits. The ones who see oral as nothing other than pregame. Next forty to forty-five percent are gone after ten minutes. They're the ones who consider sucking dick fun enough to have at it until jaws start cramping or whatever. If she sticks with it after that time, that’s when I start to consider actually saving her number for future reference. Is that something a total jackass would say? Absolutely. Like I said: I don't have any strange ideas about what I am. I know many people consider me a jerk, and Sloane's assessment of 'manwhore' was far from incorrect. Still, I don't think I deserve the amount of shit I get for screwing around. I've never pretended to want more from a girl than a bit of good fun. It's not my fault some still expect me to call them, right? And I quit getting caught up in serious relationships after I ruined the third one by cheating. Now, some of the guys think my stance on sleeping with girls who are in relationships is questionable, and I won't pretend my opinion on the matter is undisputed…

Sloane breaks into my thoughts in a rather unorthodox way: sinking her teeth into my cock.

"I don't feel I deserved that," I groan. It didn't hurt, she was gentle enough, but it was an unwelcome enough surprise, nonetheless. What's worse is that she comes crawling up and kisses me. It's not the kiss that bothers me, it's the fact that she's no longer sucking my cock. Oh well, she's made it well past the ten minute mark.

"Tell me," she moans into my ear before softly sucking on my earlobe. Fuck, she's good. "Would you ever have cum from that?"

"No," I answer honestly, "but it felt absolutely divine." There's a big difference between a good blowjob and one that's going to finish you off.

"I'd ask you to return the favour but… I would actually like to cum," she whispers. I chuckle softly. I'm reasonably confident I can make that happen for her. And I'd love to.

She’s a willing participant for sure. She’s loud, which I’m definitely not going to complain about. Tastes good, too, and the way her pussy clenches around my fingers makes me very curious and very eager to fuck her. I keep eating her out until she screams my name - it’s almost suspiciously easy to get her there, but I’m the last person to question it. I can’t hold back a chuckle when I feel her fingers beneath my chin, pulling me up. Sloane’s hands are gentle, but impatient - so is her mouth. She kisses me fiercely. Feverishly. Almost desperately. I allow my eyes to wander, feel my expression turn into a frown when they meet her bra. It’s pretty, but in my way. Sloane, however, also stops my next attempt to take it off.

“Why?” I ask. I’m curious by nature, which is not always beneficial - not even in these moments. Sloane looks at me and rolls her eyes.

“What? I’m not good enough for you like this?” she counters.

“I never said that,” I warn her. Women and their godforsaken talent to twist your words. I swear it’s at least half the reason I get in trouble all the time. “I was just wondering.”

“I like the support. They’re pretty heavy,” she says plainly.

“I can imagine.” Apparently, there’s a tone in my voice she doesn’t like, because she smacks me in the arm. “Hey!”

She’s testing my patience now, and it’s working. It’s gone. I reach for my nightstand. Can’t screw around the way I do without protection - as disappointed as I am about that. I’m surprised when she puts a hand on my cheek and turns me back to her.

“Skip it,” she says, “I’m on birth control.” Maybe if I hadn’t looked into her eyes, I would have been able to resist her. This is not a good idea.

When she kisses me, I’m lost again. Next thing I know, I’m pushing into her, listening to her moans as she takes me all the way, hissing when she digs her nails into my shoulder. The sprained finger adds another degree of difficulty: it’s incredibly difficult to keep myself up, because - pardon my French - that finger hurts like a bitch.

“Your hand?” she asks kindly as she strokes the side of my face. Her hands are warm and soft against my skin, which makes me sigh. I nod, my face screwed up from the pain. I’m nowhere near drunk enough to ignore the feeling.

“Allow me,” she whispers before gently nudging me onto my back. I’m the last person to complain about a woman on top, especially when the view is so exquisite. As she rides me - with vigour, I must say. It’s greatly appreciated - I almost forget my displeasure regarding her bra. And my own name.

“Do you have this kind of stamina when you’re on top?” she asks after a while. I grin widely - I can’t help myself. It disappears, however, when she climbs off and sits on my bed, my open arms clearly not enough of an invitation for her to join me in a more comfortable position.

“Give my hand some time to heal, I’ll show you,” I say. She doesn’t seem particularly put off by the idea, which is lovely. “Come here for a minute.” Normally I wouldn’t ask. I’m not above a quickie in a bathroom stall, and I have been known to occasionally take off immediately after sex. What I don’t do, is ask the girls I shag in my own bed to leave - and not just because their staying the night exponentially increases my chances of having lazy morning sex, which I might just describe as my favourite pastime. In those cases, after sex cuddling is an inevitability. A nuisance, even. For me to ask for it… It reminds me immediately of just how terrible an idea this was.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask quickly, hoping for an excuse to leave my room and get my head on straight again.

“With alcohol? Yes, please,” Sloane answers.

“I’m sure they won’t miss a bottle of wine.” I put my clothes on as quickly as I can, and make my way downstairs.

At least… I try to, because a spat between Marshall and his best friend Peter prevent me from going into the kitchen. I’m not getting mixed up in this - or rather: I am going to try my very best, but if this guy keeps going the way he’s going, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice. My hand may not be broken now, but it surely will be if I have to assault one more person today. And I wasn’t planning on spending the rest of my night in hospital… Luckily, Ange gets in the middle of it before things really get out of hand. When the dust settles, I make my way into the kitchen to get a bottle of wine. Marshall doesn’t look too good… I might have to ask Sloane to take a look at him in a bit. If he’ll let her. He looks as if he just wants to disappear - and I don’t necessarily blame him. He hasn’t been himself, lately. The bad mood wasn’t unusual, per se, but there was something melancholic to it that didn’t suit him. I doubt this has fixed the issue.

As expected, he won’t let Slo into his room. I’d be sad if it didn’t mean I got to have her back with me quicker. When I got back to my room, I promised myself tonight. Just this one night with her, and then I forget about her. She just wants to know if the stories are true, she won’t mind. If she’s smart, she won’t expect a thing from me - and she’s in medical school. She’s smart. We just finish the bottle, talk about nothing, and laugh.

“Are you up for another round of debauchery?” she asks after she has put the empty bottle on my nightstand. She’s on her knees, straddling my thighs, clothed - unfortunately - because I haven’t had a chance to take her clothes off after she came back to the room. Neither of us are remotely sober now. Chances are that whatever happens next, will be forgotten before morning.

One night. And then I forget about her.

#charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon #179 crescent street #179cs #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #charles brandon smut

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queenoficeandfire · 4 years ago

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The Brandons - A Charles Brandon (The Tudors) Romance - Chapter I - Putting A Ring On It

Synopsis - The life, the love, the ups and downs of The Brandon family in Tudor England.

Disclaimer- I do not own The Tudors or any of its characters. They belong to Showtime and its writers. I own myself and ideas only.

Tag List -@marytudorbrandon @ketterdamclub @omgkatinka @alexa-fangirl-forever

Warnings - This chapter is all kinds of fluffy, so if fluff is not your thing, then perhaps this is not the story for you. Otherwise sit back and enjoy ;)

It all began one day at court, whilst Emma was going about her duties as a maid in the royal household of Henry Tudor.

She was walking down one of the many passageways of Hampton Court palace when someone grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a nearby empty room.

Before she could react, they sealed their lips and kissed her with passion-filled abandon. Pinning her up against the side of the door, causing her to drop the laundry she'd been carrying.

There was only one person she knew who would do such a thing to her.

Charles Brandon. The Duke of Suffolk, best friend to his majesty King Henry and the best thing to ever happen to Emma.

The two of them had been courting sometime now, and Emma still found it a mystery as to what his grace actually saw in her. She was merely a handmaiden, and as well as being the Duke of Suffolk, he held a prime position on the king's council.

"Your grace, now look what you have made me do! Those bed sheets were freshly ironed this morning you know." She teased him in mock annoyance hitting him playfully.

"I have no regrets, my love, I am always all too happy to be a distraction to your duties. Anyway, I have been granted permission to steal you away from court." He grinned.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I went to see Henry after luncheon and he has given us the loan of one of his many hunting lodges. Better, yet it's not far from here so we won't have to ride too far and too long." Charles told her.

"What's the occasion?" She quipped "You are planning something I know."

"Do I need an occasion to whisk my lovely maiden away for a day or so? Besides, you work so hard and you deserve a break for a while. Truth be told, I could do with a break from court too. What better way for us to relax and unwind, alone..together."

"Well then, if we are allowed to escape for a bit, then I look forward to it and it will be nice not to have to worry about work, or life at court. Even if it is for a short while." She smiled.

"I'm glad you are in agreement with me. I shall ensure everything is prepared, all you need to do is pack and enjoy yourself." Charles added.

With that said, the two of them went back to their days.

~~~~

What Emma did not know was there was a special reason for Charles taking the two of them off to one of Henry's hunting lodges for the weekend.

Charles was secretly planning to ask Emma for her hand in marriage.

He had confided in Henry of his plans, and need to make his proposal something he and Emma would always remember.

Henry had been jubilant at the idea, giving Charles his blessings and offering one of his hunting lodges for Charles to take Emma off for a romantic weekend get-away.

Charles already had the ring, left to him by his father after his mother had died. All he needed was the perfect moment to ask Emma to be his wife, his Duchess of Suffolk.

That and the right words.

Charles had seen battle on the continent with Henry, that did not scare him.

Making a fool of himself in front of the love of his life did. What if he jumbled his words, what if she said no.

Lord grant him strength! Charles loved Emma and knew she loved him in return but if there was one thing Charles could not imagine, was a life without Emma in it.

He wanted her, he needed and the Lord knew Charles secretly desired to bury himself deep inside Emma.

Once Charles had been a playboy, sleeping around with the women at court. An unmarried bachelor, not yet a Duke.

But becoming the Duke of Suffolk and meeting Emma had changed all that.

He was older now, wiser, more mature and now the time had come to take a wife.

He could think of no other woman more suited than Emma.

She was good, she was kind. She brightened even the darkest day. Queen Jane was fond of her too, and of course, she was young, and a virgin too no doubt. A dream come true.

~~~

Two days later, and the time had come for Charles and Emma to leave court behind for their private getaway.

Jane had leant Emma some riding clothes and wished her well.

She approved of the Duke and her favourite handmaiden but if the Duke ever did anything to hurt her, there would be hell to pay. Both from her, and from her husband.

Emma met Charles in the front courtyard, where he stood with a ready tacked up and saddled horse.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked knowing his love was somewhat apprehensive, not knowing how to ride.

"As ready as I will ever be, and I know I will be in good hands with you your Grace." She smiled.

"It's okay to be nervous you know, just hold on tight and I will keep you safe. You have my word."

"I know, and I love you for that." She said kissing him on the cheek.

With Charles' help, she mounted the beautiful chestnut mare that stood before them. Swinging her leg over the horse's saddle and then settling herself into the saddle.

She was joined a second or two later by Charles who took a hold of the reigns, and before long the two of them were on their way to Henry's hunting lodge.

The ride there was exhilarating and unlike anything, Emma had experienced.

Being a maid she hadn't had a particularly high upbringing, having moved from a small, sparsely populated village in the North of England, to seek work finding it in the royal household at Hampton Court Palace in London of all places.

She thought back on all that had changed in her life since leaving home.

That fateful day when she'd fallen whilst walking downstairs.

She had missed a step, falling down the last three steps of the stairs she was one.

Despite her tumble, she had been in the right place at the right time. For it had been Charles who had rushed to her aid.

It had been him who had carried her to a safe place, ensure she'd been seen by a physician and visited her every day whilst she recovered from a sprained ankle and bumped head.

It was during this period that they'd gotten to know each other, and ultimately fallen for each other.

That had been almost a year ago now

Emma could no longer dwell on these thoughts, for the next thing she knew Charles' sweet voice came in her ear.

"We're here."

Sure enough, they had arrived at the lodge. Not that it mattered.

Charles dismounted first and helped her down.

A stable boy was in attendance and saw to it that the horse was properly homed.

Meanwhile, Emma allowed Charles to escort her inside. It wasn't as grand as the palace, but it was still special to Emma.

Because it was almost nightfall there were fires lit and candles illuminated the rooms.

"Now that we're here. Would you like me to start dinner?" Emma offered, speaking for the first time since arriving.

"That's very kind of you my dear, but worry not it is all in hand. Tonight is all about you, and you deserve the best. You do not need to lift a finger. If you wish to freshen up, you are more than welcome to do so. There are clean clothes upstairs and I will have a servant run a bath for you." He explained.

"Oh, Charles" She breathed "Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

"I ask myself the same thing." He admitted kissing her on the forehead, cheeks and then lips "You really are the loveliest woman at court you know."

Emma blushed, that was her Charles. Mr Prince Charming.

~~~

Sometime later, after Emma had bathed and changed for dinner she met Charles in the dining room, where he offered her a seat at the end of the table where two places had been laid out for them.

Servants appeared with food and wine before leaving the couple to dine in peace and privacy.

The only sounds that filled the room were their conversation, the firewood crackling in the fire and cutlery against the plates laden with food.

With dinner taken care of, the moment had come for Charles to ask Emma for her hand in marriage.

"I have to say I have never eaten so well in all my life," Emma commented dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

Charles smiled. If Emma was happy, then he was happy.

'I'm glad you enjoyed dinner, though I must confess there was another reason for bringing you here, besides, just having some time alone together."

Emma did not get a chance to ask what that reason was, for at that moment Charles rose from his chair, walked over to her and knelt before her.

This was it, no going back.

Emma gasped in a mix of shock and awe and delight.

Pulling his mother's wedding ring from his pocket Charles, took her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Emma, my love, my darling, my light, my sweet angel. Will you make the happiest man in all of England and marry me?" His blue eyes gazed up at her, his voice filled with sincerity and the love he felt for her.

Bursting into tears because she was so overwhelmed at the moment, Emma nodded her response.

"Yes, yes. Yes of course I will marry you. I love you so much, Charles."

Relief washed over Charles like a river. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"As I love you my Duchess to be."

The two of them stood and sealed their engagement with a deep, love-filled kiss.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Charles then scooped her up in his arms, and they spent the rest of the night celebrating in the bed-chamber.

#Charles Brandon #The Tudors #Tudors fanfiction #Charles Brandon x ofc #please leave feedback if you enjoyed this #fluff #romance #marriage proposal

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tintin-58 · 2 years ago

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🥰

The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 8, Pt. I

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 8, Pt. I Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy

The memories of that night haunt her. His face highlighted in the glowing firelight. The appreciative sheen in his blue eyes. The smooth rumble of his voice. The sheer, frightening rush of desire that threatened to overtake her.

Even now, she doesn’t know how she managed to sleep that night for want of having Charles in her bed. Her hands had clenched in the fur covers as she tossed and turned, daring to imagine that she clutched him close. Close enough to taste, to hear, to feel as he quelled the ache that pulsed within her.

Heat dances along her skin as the thoughts play in her mind. It has been so long since such a feeling of desire last overcame her, but when she last gave in… well, she remembers how it had been with Phillip. The painful stretch, the burning thrusts, the raw skin and lingering soreness. Once had been more than enough, no matter how much Phillip pressed her to spread her legs again. And when he learned the full extent of her knowledge and broke his promise to marry her, she returned to the cottage in the woods, vowing to never let herself succumb again.

Charles hadn’t been wrong to say that a failed love drove her back to a life of hermitage. But the last thing she wants Charles to know is the disgraceful, humiliating truth of it.

Though, would it feel the same to be so intimate with Charles? A frisson of excitement curls through her. Would his shoulders be as strong and broad as they look beneath his clothing? His dark curls as soft as they look ruffling in the breeze? Would it burn when he pushes inside her? Or would… could such an act ever feel good?

It scares her how much she wants to explore those feelings with him.

Frustration wells in her chest and she sighs, blinking to stare down at the powder in front of her. It doesn’t coat the bowl like it should. Pursing her lips, she grinds the pestle against the bowl’s edge, further confirming her suspicion. In her absent-minded wanderings, she’s ground the plant into too fine of a powder that won’t adhere to the honeysuckle for potency. It’s a novice mistake that her father would never approve of, and she sighs again in the face of wasted effort.

By God, she needs to stop thinking about Charles. Her senseless fantasizing provides no benefit, only trouble. Any day now he could return to arrest her for questioning and judgment, and she needs to keep a clear head lest he get the better of her. But as she steps outside to scrape the ruined powder into the dirt, doubt nags at her.

If he returns to her again with the same alluring gaze, with the same soft words - would she be able to withstand him again? Worse yet, would she even want to try?

Her only hope is that Charles stays away. That his duty solely occupies him and he abandons this game to let her live in peace. Then, these feelings, these memories can fade. Perhaps he will be assigned a faraway charge by the king. Perhaps his royal duties will finally occupy him more than this nonsensical pursuit of her suspected witchcraft.

As summer yields to autumn and blurs into winter before bursting into spring with no sight of him, it looks like she might have been right.

***

“Charles! Your return to court is most welcome.” Henry smiles with a grim satisfaction. “I hear excellent reports of the example you set in the northern realms of my kingdom. Now, they will never doubt the punishment that awaits them should they again choose to turn traitorous.”

“No, Your Majesty.” Charles swallows his heavy heart, ignoring the acidic churn in his stomach. Both have become quite commonplace these days. Along with the nights of poor sleep and the endless ghosts that haunt him.

And all for his loyalty to this man - this king - who stands before him.

Henry reaches for the wine goblet in front of him, taking a long drink. “I am most pleased that you were able to bring about a swift end to this business. I should not want prolonged news of this trouble to upset the queen at such a delicate time.”

Charles swallows hard as he suddenly remembers the news about Queen Jane. So much has happened since Queen Anne’s execution and the north’s Pilgrimage of Grace rebellion before he was ordered to return northward and commit massive civilian-killings. He shakes his head to find his words. “My belated congratulations to Your Majesty,” he says, voice tight. “I know how pleased you must be for her to be with child. And I trust the queen is in good health?”

“She is more beautiful now than she ever was, Charles.” Henry’s wide, carefree smile disgusts him. “I pray that God will continue to keep her as such. And, yes - I have already begun organizing jousts and banquets for when my son is born. The entire kingdom shall rejoice as never before.”

Charles swallows his sour mood, tipping his head in silent agreement and allowing the corner of his mouth to lift. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time he smiled. Perhaps it was that quiet, firelit night in Avian’s cottage last year. A pang of familiar longing shoots through him. After all this time, would she even welcome his return?

Henry stares back at him, brow pinching in mild concern. “Tell me, are you unwell, Charles? You didn’t go and catch some illness in the northern wilds, did you?”

Charles blinks out of his thoughts, gently shaking his head. “No, but Your Majesty is thoughtful to ask.”

“Then you should get some rest, take better care of yourself,” Henry counsels. “I have another charge for you that will require your utmost diligence.”

Charles’ jaw tenses as guilt weighs on his soul. He’s already destroyed so much of it upon his return to the north. He can’t even close his eyes without seeing the lifeless faces of all those people swinging from scaffolds in the breeze. How can anything else Henry asks of him now possibly be worse than overseeing hundreds of people - men, women, children - all executed without trial?

Working a hard swallow down his throat, Charles tips a half-bow to his king. “Of course. I am at Your Majesty’s command.”

“You’d better be,” Henry says, eyes gleaming with the sharp edge of disapproval. “For this latest report that I’ve heard comes from your own duchy.”

Charles’ brow furrows, taken aback. “My own duchy? It…” he trails off, scrambling to recall what news he’d last heard in his absence. “If this… this is surely not regarding the ongoing herring dispute.”

“Oh no, this is far more concerning than herring. This has everything to do with the stability and righteous reign of God in my kingdom. And in my court.”

Charles shakes his head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for not understanding…��

Henry waves a hand in disgust. “Whether this is feigned innocence or genuine ignorance – I still count myself disappointed that it has fallen to me to call you out on such menial matters.”

Charles holds his tongue. He’s seen this before, and Henry will continue to unleash the full force of his displeasure for as long as he pleases. If Charles has indeed made a mistake, then opening his mouth now will only make it worse.

Henry shakes his head in clear disappointment. “I’ve received reports of a witch living freely in your duchy. Worse than that – a witch, living freely, that you have some level of acquaintanceship with.”

Charles’ spine stiffens. How… how on earth could Henry possibly know that? What reports could possibly have surfaced in the last year? Had Charles been followed on his visit last summer? Do spies lurk in his own home, turning traitors to serve others who occupy the king’s court? Charles' mind immediately supplies the image of Thomas Cromwell. The man’s network of spies snakes through the court, and Charles’ stomach rots to think that he’s harbored one of them in his private home.

All too late, he realizes that Henry awaits his response. He wets his top lip and draws a breath. “I, too, had heard reports of a witch in my duchy, Your Majesty,” he starts, measuring his tone. “I had just started preliminary investigations when I was summoned to court. It was just one opportunity that I had to speak with her, but could not find any immediate evidence -”

“Yet still, you let her run free in my countryside?” Henry sneers in disgust. “You’re too soft-hearted, Charles. It’s the same soft-heartedness that nearly cost me the north on your first tour. Something truly irritating – a flaw of lesser men not born to the task of ruling a kingdom.”

Charles grits his teeth, stance going rigid as Henry continues.

“You should have detained her. Brought her to the Tower for proper processing by Bishop Gardiner.” Henry shakes his head with deadly promise. “If it does come to pass that you have let a servant of Satan run loose among my people, there will be fitting punishment.”

“If such a result does come to pass, then I shall gladly accept whatever punishment Your Majesty sees fit to bestow.” Charles swallows hard to keep his tone even beneath the steel in his voice. “I uncovered nothing in my initial meeting leading me to suspect that she posed any harm to Your Majesty’s subjects or kingdom. And now that the business in the north is concluded to your Majesty’s satisfaction, I intend to return and complete my investigations.”

“You’ll do more than that.” Henry counters, rising to his feet. “You will find this woman and bring her here to face our questions and judgment. I won’t have your lenient tendencies create a religious rift in my kingdom. Bring her before Bishop Gardiner and myself to face our investigation and verdict.”

Charles’ heart sinks. Of course, it makes sense. After everything else, this is the last thing that Henry can take from him. He swallows the words that crawl up his throat, gritting his teeth against the words he must say instead. “Of course, your Majesty. I’ll straightaway to the task.”

“You’d better,” Henry calls after him. “I should hate to be further disappointed.”

***

Tipping the basin, her soiled wash water sloshes into the deep hole in the forest floor. Dampness still clings to Avian’s hair, pronounced in the evening chill, and a shiver runs through her. Mucking about in the creek basin always made for muddy work and necessitated a thoroughly scrubbing wash afterwards. Maybe someday she can indulge the luxury of a bath, but the warmth of her cottage doesn’t make washing a truly uncomfortable experience.

Taking the shovel in her other hand, she places the groundcover back over the drain sump. Task complete, she turns back for the cottage and lets her gaze wander to the sky above. Stars shine in brilliant form, offering so much celestial beauty to marvel at. For all of her father’s knowledge, he had talked little of the stars and planets - except to postulate that other beings stood on similar worlds and gazed up at them in return. The thought teases a grin to her face. Is it possible that beings on another world stare back at her as she stares at them?

Lowering her gaze, she sets the shovel and basin by the cottage wall and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Despite the clarity of the night sky, the ether crackles with charge. It hums around her, buzzing along the skin of her wrists and ankles with tempting promise. But disrupting the astral balance in favor of temporal release always carries a price and she has no reason to set the forest on fire or light up the sky.

Leaves crunch out of the quiet woods, and her breath catches as she freezes. With wide eyes, she turns towards the noise just as the familiar form of Charles Brandon emerges from the shadows. His black clothes blend with the dark night, painting a sharp contrast to his pale skin and blue eyes that glow with starlight. Appreciation warms her face as her breathing quickens, and the corner of her mouth lifts without her permission. “Good evening, Mr. Brandon.”

He arches a brow with questioning disappointment. “Must you call me that, Avian?”

Her heart leaps to her throat as she tries to reign in her smile. “No, Charles.”

On soft steps he continues forward, and up close, his lovely smile does nothing to temper the gloomy set of his face. “I do hope that I’m not interrupting your star gazing.” He says before turning his gaze upwards. “Or does my bird look to the sky wishing to fly?”

A shiver runs down her spine at the gravity in his voice. “Is that the question of the cat closing in for the kill?”

The hard set of his face intensifies as he turns towards her. “I have always been honest with you that this day would come. When I could no longer ignore the duty of my station.”

Her stomach drops to her feet. “And we’re there already?”

Already, indeed. How many years has he given her? How much time has he let her borrow?

A visibly tight swallow works his throat. “I can only give you tonight. We ride for London in the morning.”

“London.” She repeats, swallowing hard to fight the sudden tide of fear. “Not to the St. Edmunds garrison?”

He gives a sharp shake of his head. “Your existence has been made known at the highest level. And not by me.” His voice carries tense frustration before he sighs heavily. “I would rather they had never learned about you. I would -”

“Hush now.” She cuts him off with a gentle plea. “I won’t hear you speak of treason. If they - if I’m… interrogated,” her voice sticks in her throat. “I don’t want to lie about anything that could compromise you.”

“I’m the last person that you should be concerned with.” His footsteps fall against the forest floor as he moves closer, the answering plea in his voice reflecting on his face. “I would rather see you in the St. Edmunds dungeons, questioned and released there. There’s too much potential for… complications with an official inquiry.”

“And this is official?”

“Orders straight from the king seldom aren’t.”

Her eyes widen, stunned at the gravity of his words. It doesn’t make sense for the king to order Charles to personally detain her. But the longer she studies the conflicted frustration in his handsome face, she doesn’t doubt the sincerity of his words. She exhales a trembling breath. “Well, that’s a whole lot different from the game that you originally promised.”

“And I will do everything in my power to advocate for you,” he reassures. “But understand, it may come to more than that. It may come to a point… a point where I cannot save you.”

Tears sting the corners of her eyes but she refuses to surrender to them. Instead, she summons a weak smile, gathering her resolve. “I didn’t really think that I could spend the rest of my days out here without trouble. Somewhere, I think I… I always knew that my knowledge would draw undue attention from those who fear what they do not understand.”

“And there is much about you to be understood.”

His words cut her through. He already knows so much about her, and yet nothing he’s learned has scared him off. Even after that first night with the tree branch, he always returns to her. Perhaps he’s a fool to trust her - but her heart clenches at the memory of hearing him say it, remembering how she wanted to melt in his embrace. How she still wonders at the strength of his arms holding her, at the press of his kiss against her lips.

She blinks back at him, drowning in the heavy regret that fills his gaze. The urge to offer him whatever comfort she can consumes her, even as her mind screams that she’s the one bound for a London prison cell. But if someone has to take her away, then she’s glad it’s him. In fact, she doesn’t want it to be anyone else.

She makes a decision, letting all the honesty she has shine in her eyes. “You… you told me that you trusted me,” she says softly, heart fluttering. “And I admit that I didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Until now.” Pausing, she shakes her head and exhales a shaky breath. “You say that there is much about me to be understood, but you know so much about me already. More than anyone, in truth.” His gaze threatens to undo her but she keeps her nerve. “You already know that it’s not witchcraft. So, let me trust you with the truth.”

Tearing away from his captivating eyes, she extends her arms, closing her eyes and honing her focus. The buzzing energy around her wrists and ankles intensifies as she channels the magnetic charge in the night air, drawing it in and holding it close. The powerful rush exhilarates her as her breathing quickens, and she raises a hand to reach for the stars.

***

Charles’ breathing stops, unable to trust his vision.

Her hand sweeps across the sky and… and colors fall from the stars. Vibrant waves of green, yellow, blue and purple. The colorful curtains streak across the dark sky, twinkling and glittering as they fall before winking out of view. Starflight fades under the brilliant display as her hand moves again.

More ripples of color appear in the sky, blurring with the other falling waves of color in a gorgeous cosmic tapestry. An awed smile overtakes his face as more waves of color swirl across the dark sky, raining down overhead and never touching the ground. Again, her hands move to summon more colorful light into existence and his wonderment grows.

How is such a feat even possible? How does a mere mortal control light in the Heavens?

Her hands lower to her side, and the waves of color slow their dance. The glowing embers fall from the sky, burning out to reveal the stars just as before. He exhales the breath that he doesn’t realize he held and reaches out, catching her left hand in his grasp.

Her eyes widen at the contact as she gasps and winces with pain. Only then does he feel it. The scalding heat that emanates just at her wrist. His brow creases with concern as he carefully slides his fingers over the fabric of her dress to where the heat burns with such intensity to make him hiss with pain. His curiosity overtakes him as he tugs at her sleeve to reveal the skin beneath, staring down in both horror and astonishment.

A thick stripe of her skin glows with misshapen, orange-hot lumps and spidery tendrils embedded in it. Some connect together like a web, others just clump together as if… as if the glowing orange substance had once been liquid and now hardened. The surrounding skin bears testament to rough treatment, the texture mottled with rough, angry scars.

He doesn’t understand it, but as he turns her hand in his, the glowing orange substance wraps around her wrist not unlike wounds from a shackle. Except the closest thing he can compare it to is a disfigured burn. To say nothing of the orange substance itself.

Working a hard swallow down his throat, he dares to run his thumb over a dim orange spot. He pulls back with an instinctive hiss at the sudden burning sting. “Burning to the touch…” He breathes in wonderment. “Do you not feel it?”

She nods slowly, and maybe tears glisten in her eyes but he can’t say for sure. “I feel it.” Her words tremble in the wake of exertion. “But there is always a cost to manipulate the ether.”

He shakes his head in quick denial. “I didn’t ask you to pay it.”

“And I have no blame to place.” She nods down at her wrist. “You have the truth of the lightning now. Words just… fall short.” A small, satisfied smile lifts the corner of her mouth as she turns her gaze skywards.

His heart sticks in his throat as he again brushes his thumb over her band of glowing, scarred skin. “What sort of alchemy is this? How did this happen to you?” His eyes narrow shrewdly. “Or was it your father?”

Her jaw tenses. “At the time, I was not a willing participant. I was… held fast by shackles of copper that were inlaid with silver and embedded in a tall tree on a stormy night.” Her voice carries the heavy weight of unwanted memory. “I remember crying out, begging my father to undo them as the heavy rain fell. The thunder deafened me, and the lightning blinded me… but it didn’t take long for it to find its mark.” She raises her hand in his grasp and pulls back her other sleeve to show similar markings, the glowing orange spots fading to a dull, dark color. “The shackles burned my skin when the lightning struck, and the silver melted to fuse with my skin.”

“That is utterly barbaric. Worse than witchcraft.” He hisses, eyes blazing with anger. “No man is meant to toy with powers beyond his reach - alchemist or no.”

“Now you understand why he was disgraced and we were reduced to hermitage in the woods. His studies were far too… extreme. But, for all the suffering at the time,” she shakes her head, incredulous as she stares at her wrists. “The results are undeniable.”

Undeniable, indeed. Astonishing and unspeakable and... fantastical. But a stab of guilt strikes him to think that while he’d been struck dumb by the sheer magnificence of the display, she endured the searing heat of metal scalding her skin. He sighs almost reverently, unable to resist reaching for her hand again. “But at what cost?”

Her eyes gleam with satisfaction, as if he’d just said what she wanted to hear. “To every give, there is a take. Between the astral and the temporal, there is nothing created and nothing destroyed. Merely borrowed at a cost.” She turns her hand in his, fingers brushing against his skin. “The silver affords me the ability to harness it, but the level of consumption is always commiserate with the price to be paid.”

“Does summoning lightning hurt less than… well, what you just did?”

“Sometimes. The lightning is an easier outlet to channel and requires less charge. Manipulating ethereal light requires a much larger loan.”

He glances back up at the sky, still unable to believe the colorful display it hosted just moments ago. “And now it’s just up there? Hidden from sight?”

“Yes, it’s always there. Always has been. Always will be.” Admiration sounds in her voice. “The only difference now is that you know it is there.”

His gaze finds hers, wanting to lose himself in her eyes swimming with starlight. “And I know that you’re able to summon it at will.”

Her lips lift with a modest edge as a blush colors cheeks. “Not at will. Some nights, the currents are stronger than others. It’s difficult to pull enough out of a clear sky to create lightning.”

“But I’ve seen you do it.”

“But truly, I need a storm.”

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze as intrigue flashes in his eyes. “Have you ever drawn all the lightning out of a storm?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “Discharging that much of it at one time would likely destroy me.”

Awed affection bursts in his chest, unable to believe how such a woman stands in front of him. His gaze falls to her hand in his, glimpsing the silver drops and streaks that fade to a dull metallic sheen. “You are truly a wonder,” he whispers. “If only the commons knew what you really are. What you can really do.”

“You don’t think ‘witch’ is a fitting title?”

His eyes find hers and leave no room for doubt. “Your abilities are very much of this earth. I no more think you a servant of Satan than myself.”

A hint of nervous fear creeps to her face, and he wants to do everything he can to stamp it out. “I-I can only hope that your king and his clergymen see it that way.”

He squeezes her hand again as a frustrated pang lances through him. His hands already bear the stains of much destruction. Destruction of this world. Destruction of beauty and innocence. Destruction of his soul. Is that just his destiny for the rest of his days?

No. By God, no.

He refuses to be held to account for the destruction of any more beauty.

#charles brandon #duke of suffolk #the tudors #henry cavill #charles brandon x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors fanfic

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