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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months

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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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poledancingdinos · 1 year

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Second Chance

Pairing: Charles Brandon X OFC (Emily)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Angst, forbidden love and some long awaited smut

A/N: This is it, the final part. I hope it meets all of your expectations. If you haven’t read my Charles Brandon Modern AU yet, find them here : Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Emily watched the droplets of rain drip down the train’s window as it pulled into the Paddington station platform before coming to a slow stop. A muffled voice called the name of the station over the intercom, signaling it was time for Emily to stand.

She collected her bag and followed the throng of people down onto the busy platform. She’d steadfastly avoided the big city since moving to Somerset. Had it not been for the fact that her brother all but demanded her presence, she wouldn’t have even considered it.

“Emily, dear, it’s been too long,” her mother called as she approached the waiting car. She let herself be pulled into the embrace, feeling no warmth at all from the older woman. Shouldn’t a hug from one’s mother feel at least a little comforting? Charles’ mother had once scratched her bag during a meal between the two families and the sensation had almost made her melt right there in the chair. No, she shouldn’t be thinking about him, not if she was going to get through the next forty-eight hours.

“I’ve been busy with my new job,” Emily argued, sliding into the backseat of the car.

“I don’t see how your job could have kept you that busy, you’re just an administrative assistant.”

Ten seconds in her mother’s presence was all that was necessary to remind her why she hadn’t returned any of her phone calls in the last months.

“Anyhow, you’re here now. I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t brought a garment bag. What are you going to wear to the wedding tomorrow?”

“I have a dress in my bag.”

Her mother turned to her, a look of utter mortification and disgust on her face. “I will not have my daughter wear some Primark dress to her brother’s wedding.”

She leaned forward, instructing the driver to take them to one of her favored luxury dress shops. Emily wasn’t even offended by the comment, having grown immune to them after a lifetime of receiving casual insults.

“I’m not letting you buy me a dress that costs three months of my wages.”

Surely that money could be donated to charity rather than being spent on a dress that would most likely end up collecting dust because she had no appropriate occasion to wear it again. Maybe she could wear it while she did the dishes like Monica from “Friends” had done with that wedding dress.

“Your brother insisted on having you at his wedding. I would have been satisfied making up some excuse about you being away on business but since you are going to be present, you will not embarrass your father and me.”

Emily went along with the shopping trip, if only to avoid having to waste her time and energy arguing with her mother. The faster this wedding was over, the faster she could run back to her quiet life away from the drama.

“Are we meeting Henry for dinner?” Emily asked once they’d returned to the car with two different dresses packed in the garment bags her mother cared about so deeply. She had a sneaking suspicion that the second dress her mother had insisted on buying was not simply due to the desire to spoil her daughter.

“Yes, we’ve made reservations at the hotel. You will have an hour to wash up. Make sure you look presentable, the Howards will be there.”

Emily hummed in acknowledgment, not bothering to point out that her mother didn’t seem as excited at the prospect of her eldest child getting married as she was at having the opportunity to rub elbows with her future daughter-in-laws wealthy parents.

The entire floor of the hotel had been reserved for the wedding guests and a few familiar faces nodded in greeting as she walked down the hall to her room. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of polite yet exceedingly boring small talk. Whenever the subject drifted to her job, her father would interrupt by suggesting another round of drinks or boasting about his various business dealings.

After she was finally able to escape, she all but collapsed from exhaustion. Holding up appearances was no easy feat and if she was to repeat the same process the next day, she would need to be well rested.

Charles went through a mental checklist of all his responsibilities as the groom’s best man. At the top of the list was making sure Henry didn’t pack up and run but as soon as Charles had seen her, he’d had to make sure it wasn’t him who ran out of the church.

Of course she would be there, she was the groom’s sister after all, but even so, he’d never let himself believe she would actually come. He couldn’t remember a word of his best friend’s vows, his entire focus being consumed by Emily.

She, however, hadn’t so much as looked at him which he knew was intentional. If she’d been indifferent to his presence, there would be the occasional accidental glance his way as her eyes flickered around the room. Instead, Emily kept her eyes forward. They never strayed from her brother and his bride except when she was spoken to.

She looked breathtaking. The dress she wore was elegant, hugging her form without ever exposing too much. He had a feeling it was her mother’s choice rather than her own. Emily favored darker colors, but the dress she wore now was a pastel color he’d once heard her call “snot green”.

After Emily moved away, he’d caved to one of Henry’s numerous invitations. With their history, staying away was more suspicious than anything anyway and he’d come to miss his closest friend. He’d only agreed to stay away from them both to respect Emily’s wishes.

“Brandon.” Henry’s voice pulled the young man from his thoughts. Henry put a hand on his shoulder leaning in close to Charles’ ear so as to avoid being overheard. ”Do me a favor and dance with my sister. My father needs us to look like a happy little family and her sulking in a corner is not good for business. Turn on the charm and, for God’s sake, make her smile.”

Charles didn’t hesitate, rising from his seat as soon as Henry stepped away. He crossed the room quickly, afraid that Emily would run if she saw him approach. He dropped down into the seat on her left, placing himself between her and the room.

“Aren’t you afraid that my brother will get upset to see you talking to me? Doesn’t that break some sort of male friendship rule?”

“He was the one who suggested I ask you to dance.”

Emily looked over Charles’ shoulder to find her brother giving her a pointed look.

“Is that all he suggested?”

“He may have said I should charm you into smiling.”

Emily scoffed, shaking her head. “You do know my brother just pimped you out for my father’s benefit.”

Charles took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow sigh as he leaned forward. Request from her brother or not, he was given a unique opportunity and he was not going to waste it. “Or, maybe, this is a chance for us to have that date I suggested five years ago.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. She didn’t like the way the small hint of his cologne had caused butterflies to form in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” she teased, hiding her nerves behind a bit of cheek.

Charles swallowed, catching hold of Emily’s hand and brushing his thumb on her knuckles. “Only if you haven’t been thinking of me the same way I’ve been thinking of you.”

Emily’s breath hitched, looking down at where Charles’ touch sent sparks up through her entire body. “And why would you think that I have?” The cracking in her voice made her false indifference much less convincing.

He moved even closer, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke his next words. “Because every time I’ve thought back to that night, I remembered the way you looked at me. And I dare think it was more than just lust.”

Maybe it was unwise to bring up such a topic during the first conversation they’d had in half a decade, but he’d waited long enough. He pulled back just enough to see her expression shift to a familiar softness.

“Yeah, just like that.”

She held his gaze as the silence drew out between them. Not even the loud chatter or the live music could interrupt their little heated moment.

“I think I’d like to go back to my room now.”

Charles’ heart sank but he didn’t protest, simply nodding in acceptance. “I’ll walk you up,” he said, clearing his throat as he forced himself to smile, though it didn’t hide the disappointment on his handsome face.

She put a hand around his arm, letting him guide her to Henry to say goodnight. Their father seemed less than thrilled but when she made up an excuse about feeling unwell, the woman he’d been speaking to waved them off, even praising Charles for looking out for her. Henry glared at them as they left but Charles didn’t pay him any attention.

The pair of them were silent as they entered the elevator but Emily never released his arm. They paused outside her room as she dug through her clutch. Her keycard was one of the only three items in her small purse and she was well aware it was tuckd in the fold behind her phone, but she needed a moment to think.

Five years. Five years she had tried to put her feelings to rest. Five years she had failed. Finding out it had been the same for him, was almost too much.

“Charles?”

Her whisper was so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her say his name. Slipping a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up to bring her gaze to his. “Yes?”

“You’re right. It’s more. It was always more.”

Charles pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “Then don’t push me away,” he implored.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He didn’t want to be a witness to the rejection he feared was coming, but instead of expressing harsh words, her soft lips brushed against his.

His hands instantly found their way to her hips, pushing her backwards until her body was pinned between his chest and the door. Her lips parted as she let out a surprised gasp and Charles took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Not wanting to partake in a spontaneous episode of exhibitionism, Emily placed her hands on Charles’ chest and forced him back. She turned, struggling to fit her key card into the slot while her hands shook with the nerves currently tying her stomach in knots.

She almost cried out victoriously when the lock beeped, the little green light flashing twice. The door swung open and Emily surprised Charles by yanking him into the room by his black tie. The shock only lasted for a brief moment before they were joined in another heated kiss.

Emily pushed the jacket off Charles’ shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. While she was busy working through his various layers of clothing, his hands reacquainted himself with her body. When all that was left to remove was his underwear, Charles reached for the zipper concealed under Emily’s arm, freezing once he’d pulled it down.

“I… I don’t have any condoms.”

She tried to keep her composure but a laugh still escaped her. Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“It’s just that it didn’t do us any good last time,” he finished for her.

“Yeah... Don’t worry, I’m on birth control.”

Charles cupped Emily’s cheeks, her dress slipping down a few inches to reveal her naked chest and testing Charles’ restraint.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she whispered, pushing the dress down over her hips, “but I want to.”

Charles slipped his hands down Emily’s sides then under her ass, lifting her up into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his hips on instinct as he carried her towards the bed.

His hair was longer than she had ever seen it and Emily couldn’t resist running her fingers through the silky strands. When he deposited her onto her back and wrapped his mouth around one peaked nipple, her grip unconsciously tightened.

“Oh fuck!”

He explored her body with his lips, pulling more expletives from her and slowly finding his way to Emily’s underwear. He quickly discarded the delicate fabric but before Charles had the chance to bury his head between her legs, Emily pulled him back up.

“You can do that next time.”

Charles made a satisfied noise that could only be described as a growl. “Next time? I like the sound of that.”

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from Emily’s forehead as he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple then another to her jaw. The only thing between them was the thin cotton of his boxers which were soon thrown to the floor.

Emily pulling her knees wider apart was all the encouragement needed for Charles to take himself in hand and sink into her waiting core. A shuddering gasp escaped her lips as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

Her body tightened around the intrusion, causing Charles to hiss. “Don’t do that or this will be over before either of us has the chance to enjoy it.”

“I can’t help it, you feel too good.”

He breathed hard as he attempted to get his racing heart to slow. Charles kept perfectly still until Emily’s nose brushed against his jaw, coaxing him to turn his head. Their eyes locked and after a small nod from Emily, Charles withdrew his hips.

Groping Emily’s thigh, Charles angled her hips upwards and slowly sheathed himself back into her wet heat. No matter how much of her he had under his touch, it never felt like enough — not her legs around his waist, not her hands gliding across his shoulders, not her chest under his. Every part of her slotted against him so perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle.

Emily moaned in his ear, moving in time with his thrusts and spurring him on. He wished he could make the moment last forever but the wait had been so long that he struggled to hold on to his control. Placing both hands on either side of Emily’s head, Charles pushed himself up.

“Wha— Don’t stop.”

“I couldn’t stop if I tried,” he answered, slipping a hand between their bodies and lowering his head to suck a deep hickey onto the swell of her breast. If he was going to find his release, he was going to make sure that she found it with him.

Her fingers sank into his hair, guiding him a few inches lower. He was happy to oblige, circling his tongue around her nipple while his deft fingers did the same to her clit.

“Ohh…”

Emily’s legs quivered as pleasure coursed through her entire body. The hot walls squeezing Charles’ dick forced a strangled groan from deep within his chest.

“God, I’m so close.”

So was Charles but he couldn’t form the words out loud. He snapped his hips hard, setting a brutal pace but Emily took everything he had to give. Every thrust hit that sweet spot within her, soon sending her tumbling over the edge. He locked his lips over hers, swallowing her shouts while he spilled himself inside her. Emily’s nails cut the skin of his back, contrasting the shivering pleasure that ran along his spine.

When they had both regained the ability to breathe, Charles rolled onto his back, pulling Emily to lay on his chest. Her hair had come undone from its tight updo and was now tickling his neck. He ran his fingers through it, sweeping the locks aside and uncovering her face.

“Hey…”

Emily tilted her head up, looking at Charles with a hooded gaze. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to run this time. But if you ask me to, I’ll be gone before anyone can find out I was here.”

Emily pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, considering his words. She loved her quiet life but there was no doubt there was something missing. That something was not a material thing, it was more like an empty place in her heart. She shifted above him, hovering an inch from his face while his finger tips travelled over her back.

“I don’t want you to go. I don’t care if anyone finds out about tonight… but I don’t want anyone to know what really happened five years ago. Are you okay with that?”

Charles brushed a finger down her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. Though his feelings had never faded, he’d long since stopped hoping that one day she would ask him to stay.

He couldn’t begin to understand how difficult it must have been for her to go through everything essentially alone. If she wanted to continue to keep their first encounter secret, he would respect her choice.

“You are all I want.”

Their lips crashed together in a bruising assault, a testament to their past and a promise of everything to come in their shared future.

#Charles Brandon #Charles Brandon x ofc #Charles brandon fic #Charles brandon fanfic #Charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon smut #duke of suffolk #the tudors fanfic #henry cavill #modern au

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cardierreh15 · 1 year

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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 · 8 months

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🎧Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🎧

Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.

🎧Bless my current muse...🎧

I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see below who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).

Masterlist is under the Cut...

Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)

Love, Napoleon (ongoing)

Scrapbook (finished)

Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)

Don't Take My Sunshine Away (possibly on hiatus)

Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

What Are You Doing, StepBro?

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader

Summary: You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.

Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader

Summary: Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader

Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.

Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC}

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.

Make That Kitty Purr [Director's Cut] {DARKER FIC}

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.

Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader

Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Happy Birthday, Cupcake

Rating: General

Pairing: Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: Clark surprises you for your birthday.

Treat Me Like A Slut

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Don't Take Your Eyes Off It

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and you have a surprise for Steve!

Don't Kill My Vibe

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Fifteen Minutes

Character: Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.

Pretty As A Picture

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.

Something Old, Something New

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary: Your childhood best friend invites you to your old vacation spot for her wedding, and you have been catching up with your first crush: her recently divorced big brother Nick.

Oxytocin

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Older!Black!Fem!OFC

Summary: At a New Year's Eve party, Ransom Drysdale's life is forever changed by a chance meeting with Ivy Kensington.

My Little Strawberry

Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)

Rating: Mature

Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach.

Doing Something Unholy

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader

Summary: This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.

Praise You

Rating: General, pure fluff

Pairing: Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader

Summary: Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Shape-Up

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cpt Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)

Summary: Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.

Follow-up to Shape-Up: My Little Strawberry

The Paganini Problem

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.

Power Play: After Hours

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Black!Reader

Summary: What happens when Lloyd sees you, his assistant, in something other than what you usually wear? Well, you should be worried about what he does when he sees you.

No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Executive Temptation

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader

Summary: You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?

Walter Marshall - Hobbies

Lloyd Hansen - Family, Quirks/Hobbies, Sleep

Lloyd Hansen - What happens when reader starts dressing to match lloyd?

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)

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)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY

Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)

Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)

Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)

Steve Rogers (Avengers films)

Curtis Everett (Snowpiercer)

Ari Levinson (The Red Sea Diving Resort)

Nick Gant (PUSH)

Jake Jensen (The Losers)

Frank Adler (Gifted)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR CHRIS

Bucky Barnes (Marvel)

Charles Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Steve Kemp (Fresh)

Max (Sharper)

Nick Fowler (The 355)

Lee Bodecker (The Devill All The Time)

Chris (Destroyer)

Justin Capshaw (Law & Order)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR SEBASTIAN

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!

General Fanfiction (Everything)

Henry Character Fanfiction

Chris Character Fanfiction

August Walker

Bright Like The Moon

Love, Napoleon!

Daddy Knows Best

Don't Take My Sunshine Away

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest

~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~

*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*

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lainiespicewrites · 7 months

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LainieSpice Masterlist

I wanted to compile everything because I think I'm going to start writing more!!

Captain Syverson

Oneshots:

The Christmas Cabin

The Christmas Cabin Part 2

Series:

Coach Sy Basically captain Syverson but a high school football Coach 😍

Coach Sy Ch 2

Coach Sy Ch 3

Coach Sy Ch 4

Coach Sy Ch 5

Coach Sy Ch 6

Electric summer: Sy and his old summer camp love reunite when they come back to camp as counselors!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Walter Marshall

Series:

I just want to feel safe

Part 1

Part 2

Henry

Oneshots:

Someone to take her home

A lesson in flirting

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gulnarsultan · 1 year

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Your yandere husband Charles Brandon and your children.

◇ Arthur Brandon

◇ James Brandon

◇ George Brandon

◇ Richard Brandon

◇ Grace Brandon

◇ Victoria Brandon

◇ Thomas Brandon

◇ Henry Brandon

#yandere charles brandon x reader #yandere charles brandon #charles brandon #charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon x reader #yandere tudors characters #yandere the tudors #yandere tudors #house of tudor #the tudors #tudor dynasty

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norabrice1701 · 9 months

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The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 1

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

Series Main List

Ch. 1 Warnings: Alcohol use; talk of witchcraft and religion; memories of death during childbirth

His head pounds. The sunlight shafting through the shutter slats blinds his eyes. His mouth feels heavy with cotton and the last thing he wants to do is stir from bed. Admittedly, perhaps he shouldn't have finished the flagon of wine last night. It doesn't agree with him the way it used to, loathe as he is to admit it.

The price of aging, he supposes. The mark of a weary soul.

But last night only brought the coming of today’s dawn. The day that should mark two years of wedded bliss. And now that he’s awake, he only has ghosts. His beloved Catherine, pale and still in the birthing bed. Next to her, his first child - the innocent face of his stillborn son. To this day, he doesn’t even know the boy’s eye color.

Tears sting his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. He is the Duke of Suffolk. He has duties and responsibilities to attend to, no matter the ache in his heart or the hungover state of his body.

He swings his feet over the edge of the bed, taking the space of a breath to gather his bearings before calling out for Joseph. His voice carries a gravelly and rough tone. An obvious indicator of his ragged state.

In short order, he refreshes and dresses in the adornments of his station, rich garments of black and gold. Breakfast passes with its typical silence, and Charles manages a small, grateful smile as Joseph sets a steaming pot of robust tea on the table. At court, Charles doesn’t dare partake in something so obvious as a pot of tea the morning after too much wine. But in the privacy of his own estate, he doesn’t think twice.

He refills his cup, watching the tendrils of steam curl and dissipate. At least, the Ipswich swordsmith has promised that his latest commission would be finished today. No messages have arrived to the contrary, but given that the roundtrip journey to Ipswich will take the better part of the day, Charles hopes the smithy stays true to his word.

At first, the more noble among noblemen had sneered when he brought the first blade not of London origin to court. Well, truthfully, the more noble among noblemen have sneered at everything his coronet represents. But in time, even Henry has expressed admiration over the handling of Charles’ Ipswich blade, in particular the noted ability to thrust effectively while maintaining the power to cut. It has been yet another point of pride for Charles, who will never let it be said that he is a slouch swordsman.

The fog in his head starts to clear as he polishes off the tea. The ache in his head subsides to a dull roar that he can mostly ignore, even as he squints through the cheery morning sunlight. Blessedly, the ride to Ipswich is an easy one, over well-traveled roads that aren’t too rutted. The sun climbs higher in the sky, heralding the stifling heat that will be present by late afternoon.

But even upon midday arrival in Ipswich, the heat already makes its presence known. The main street through the town hangs heavy with the stench of privy runoff as he passes, nodding at the commoners who stop to acknowledge him. He can’t imagine living his life surrounded by the constant smell of shit. But perhaps the more time someone spends around such a smell, the less that person is inclined to notice it. Nothing about the thought eases the waves of disgust roiling in his gut as he hears the smithy’s shop.

Sweat soaks the shirt beneath his heavy tunic as he dismounts, reaching for the water pouch. He really shouldn’t have overdone himself last night. With a signal for his man to wait outside, Charles steps around what must surely be a pile of excrement before ducking into the crude dwelling.

“Ah! Good morning, Your Grace.” The swordsmith – Milton, if Charles remembers rightly – greets him with an eager smile. The man has never been adept at hiding his desire for Charles to open his coin purse.

“Good morning.” Charles does his best to summon a pleasant smile, but he has no reason to linger. “Is the sword ready?”

“Yes, Your Grace – just as I promised.” Milton turns, gesturing excitedly at a soot-smudged, thin rail of a boy who hunkers against the back wall. “Boy! Go fetch the Duke’s sword. Come on, now – don’t keep him waiting!”

The boy shuffles to his feet, not daring to raise his eyes in the direction of either adult as he moves for a curtained portion of the shop. By Charles’ assessment, the poor boy looks just barely capable of standing, let alone hefting a heavy sword. He hasn’t heard of recent food shortages in his duchy, but it always takes him aback to witness poverty first hand. Sure, he can provide the lad with decent meals for a week, but therein lies the problem – if he provides for one, he needs to provide for all, and his coffers don’t overflow with such bountiful riches. It’s a problem that he isn’t good enough or selfless enough to solve.

When Charles refocuses his attention, something in his face must betray his thoughts. The swordsmith offers him a placating smile as he speaks. “He’s a good lad, Your Grace. Please do not be concerned. He’ll make a fine apprentice as he ages. My current apprentice is out at the market, otherwise, I would have sent him.”

Charles nods with vague understanding and disinterest. Milton continues to prattle on, offering more appreciation and platitudes as Charles takes in the rough tools scattered about various work surfaces. Orange coals roast low in the fireplace, ready to be fanned to life by the nearby bellows, and a primitive anvil stands sentinel. A high-pitched grunt of exertion draws his gaze as he turns with curiosity to see the boy staggering back, arms laden with a long, heavy burden wrapped in burlap.

Charles’ brow pinches in concern. “Well, he won’t make a good apprentice if he cannot develop the strength to lift his own wares.”

“Of course, Your Grace. He is still young, but he will learn.” Milton takes the burlap bundle and shoos the boy back to his resting place against the wall. The boy looks all too relieved to take up his previous post.

Milton rests the bundle on the nearest work surface, untying the crude wrapping to reveal a gleaming, polished sword. The hilt bears a tight wrapping of woven, black leather bands with a clean line of smooth metal studs. At first glance, the sword looks the part - made for slashing and gutting, not putting on airs.

“Please.” Milton supplicates, opening his hands with wide palms to gesture down at the sword. “Please see how she breathes and moves.”

Charles reaches for the sword with his gloved hand, flexing his fingers around the handle, testing the grip. He lifts the solid weight, bringing it up close to inspect the edges for any cracking or tells of brittleness. Taking a step away from the table, he lowers his arm, swinging the sword down and around in a small arc. He turns, thrusting forward and parrying back against an invisible opponent.

Milton beams proudly. “Does she not feel alive, Your Grace?”

Charles thrusts forward, continuing his assessment of the new blade. It feels…sluggish. Heavier than anticipated. He draws back and thrusts again, brow furrowing at the heavy movement. Pulling his arm back, he shifts his grip on the hilt, angling to look at the blade profile. Is there even a taper present? If there is, it certainly isn’t visible.

He looks over at Milton with a stern look, watching the smithy’s smile drain from his face in a wave of apprehension. “Do you expect me to accept and pay –”

“Master! Have you heard?”! A bright, eager young voice cuts off Charles’ words as he bursts into the dwelling, his face alight. “The witch in the woods is up to her tricks!”

“William!” Milton bellows. “Boy, you will hold your tongue and show your respect.” He storms over to the young man whose face has gone slack with fright to recognize Charles’ imposing presence. “You beg His Grace for mercy this instant!”

“Please,” William says, voice trembling above wide eyes. “Your Grace. I –”

Charles holds up a hand, not willing to hear the boy’s excuses over the distant throbbing still present in his skull. “You dared to storm in here and talk over me. I would know why.”

“I… I” the youth stammers, swallowing hard. “I was excited. And I… I didn’t see you there. If I had known… but the story is just so exciting!”

“You’ll do better to remember yourself and keep your head, lest you lose it to someone less forgiving.” Charles says, turning back to Milton and nodding at the offending sword in his hand. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the taper? Or has age blinded you since last we spoke?”

“Your Grace, please – I-I know the taper is… perhaps more subtle than anticipated. But with your arrival today and my lack of knowing the sword’s purpose -”

“Your lies are disgraceful,” Charles interrupts. “You knew well of my expectations for how this sword should handle. And this does not meet with my expectations.” He raises his arm, tossing the sword with a dull, dismissive clunk to the worktable. “I’m saddened to see the compliments I give to your work are so poorly appreciated.”

Milton’s face falls, eager to make amends. “We will work all night and through the dawn to have it ready for your expectations by midday tomorrow. My humblest apologies to Your Grace for this waste of your time. I-I am not worthy of your compliments, but I assure you this sword will be the finest in the land when you next return, and I will not accept any payment for it.”

Charles isn’t going to allow that to happen, but he won’t correct the man now. Let it be a lesson to him. “You’ve caught me in a generous mood.” He says, not feeling particularly generous, but that isn’t this man’s fault. “Tomorrow it is.”

Milton offers a half-bow, blabbering on about his thanks and appreciation for Charles’ mercy, unworthy wretch that he is. Charles nods a curt farewell, ignoring the man and stepping back out into the bright sunlight.

At least the street smells a little less foul now . Either that, or he has lingered for too long and his nose has already become accustomed to the stench. He turns with every intent of mounting up for the long ride back to Westhorpe but stops at the raised voices from inside the smithy’s shop.

“Insolent, foolish child!” A high-pitched whine follows the sound of a slap. “Do you understand what a man of Charles Brandon’s influence can do? With one word, he can bring me to ruin and you will have no coins to feed what’s left of your family!”

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean, please!” The youth whimpers through trembling words. “I’ll be much more mindful in the future. Honest, sir.”

“You’ll do more than that. You’ll stay and work the fires tonight while we make a new blade for His Grace’s approval before he returns.”

“But all night, sir? He didn’t say that he would return tomorrow.”

“I told him the sword would be ready by tomorrow, whether or not he deems it worthy to return tomorrow. It’s no less than you deserve for not doing it right the first time. The taper is the hardest part - but you will work at it until it is right. I will not tolerate another showing like that in front of His Grace.”

“Yes, sir.” A shuffling sound follows. “Do you think he’ll use this new sword to hunt down the witch and catch her?”

“I hear they burn witches alive.”

“Then, I hope he never catches her.”

Milton sighs. “I don’t think His Grace is in the business of witch hunting.”

“But today – oh, the story! She made a man of mud walk. And talk, too! They say she could make an army of mud men!”

“Stop your foolish blabbering.” Milton’s voice comes tense with exasperation. “A man of mud, indeed! What rubbish. Fetch the sword before dirt works into the leather. We might be able to salvage that, at least. Careful of the studs, now.”

The conversation turns more towards the business of sword making, all the excitement around the witch seemingly forgotten. But still… a man of mud?

The whispers of a witch in the woods aren’t entirely unfamiliar to Charles. He’s overheard servants and commoners speak in low tones, stopping short when they realize he approaches. But the presence of a witch is more of a concern for the duchy priests than himself. He’s always dismissed the whispers as tales that commoners use to frighten their children into obedience – but this man of mud business intrigues him. More than likely, it has been something simple that grows more fantastic with each retelling. Has someone merely fallen into a shallow riverbed and everyone assumes it was the work of a witch?

He’s no closer to answers, and his mind continues to spin on the possibilities as he rides over the hills back to his estate and retires for a quiet dinner.

Emptying the last drop in his wine glass, he taps the table to signal Joseph for a refill. As red wine splashes against the polished silver, he glances up at the older man. “What do you know of the witch in the woods, Joseph?”

The manservant shakes his head slowly and offers a kind smile. “I wouldn’t want to burden Your Grace with such nonsense.”

“Indulge me nonetheless.” Charles' lips lift with a tired smile as he reaches for his glass, taking a large drink.

“All that I have heard are rumors. They say she conjures fire and throws it when she is displeased. Another rumor talks of a wolfsbane stew that turned a dog into a man. Yet another involves a raven and lightning, I believe.”

“Dogs and ravens?” It’s hardly the stuff of a mud man, but just as perplexing. How do the commoners come to believe such fantastical stories? Charles wets his top lip in contemplation. “Do they say what she looks like?”

“No, Your Grace. While she has been glimpsed – it’s always in the same manner. Heavily cloaked with a deep cowl. She never speaks when she does appear. Some say she lost her tongue or can only speak the Devil’s language.”

“Never speaks?” Charles laughs against the rim of his cup. “Not even to cast her spells?”

“I wouldn’t know, Your Grace. Villagers in St. Edmunds have claimed that they try to follow her when she appears from the woods and disappears just as suddenly. But those brave souls return from the woods with wild tales – smoke from her fingertips that wordlessly render a man motionless.”

“That is indeed quite a lot for one rumored woman.” He raises a wry brow at Joseph. “Surely you don’t believe half of all that?”

Joseph’s face draws in with a dark, solemn air. “Just as God almighty has servants in this world, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn of the Devil’s unholy servants working among us, too.”

Charles sips his wine, more intrigued than he has any right to be. Mud men? Smoke from her fingers? Who is this woman? If she even does indeed exist.

“Your Grace… please,” Joseph’s hesitant words draw Charles from his thoughts to gaze up at the older man. “Please, I implore you…”

“Yes?”

“Stay in God’s eternal light, Your Grace.” Joseph’s face matches the plea in his voice. “To pursue these rumors - to pursue the witch herself - is surely to court a great darkness. And you can dismiss me for my words, but Your Grace has seen enough dark days these past years. I would not see you burden yourself or this house with any more.”

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

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year

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Part 3 - With flying colors

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 -- Part 4

Pairing: Mike x OFC (Danielle)

Warnings: Smut! 18+ (Minors DNI). shower sex, oral (M receiving), swearing, general awkwardness. There's some footnotes... Those always scare me...

Summary: Dani spends the night at 179th Crescent Street and meets the roommates in the morning...

Word count: 5.8k

If you catch any mistakes, just know that Daddy August doesn't take kindly to tattletales... 😏😏

A/N: Not a lot of smut here - but some of it. Lot's of ~social interaction~. Also, for anyone trying to figure out where exactly these guys go to uni: CANDYLAND, okay? I'm most familiar with Dutch uni's, but some US College-type things snuck in... It's a hot mess, and we're gonna keep it that way.

Finding the perfect movie to watch on a date is not easy. The tragedy commences as soon as someone shoves their Netflix account in your face. Let’s be really clear about one thing: Everything on Netflix blows. There’s too much and too little at the same time, the suggestions are all terrible, they always have that one movie that reminds you of the one you’re actually looking for, but that’s never on there. It’s a nightmare. Then, there’s the selection process itself - and with that a shocking amount of social protocol to navigate. As a woman, you obviously can’t make any unsavory intentions too obvious. Which means you can’t pick something that’s so bad that he instantly knows you’re not interested in watching, but you don’t want to pick something you actually end up watching. And it is slim goddamn pickings in that ‘don’t mind watching, but don’t mind not watching’-category.

“Hi, guys!” It sounded dull, what with the door being closed and everything, but it was definitely Mikey.

Someone else, whose voice you didn’t recognise, replied to his greeting. “Don’t you have company?”

“Yeah, speaking of: Could you keep it down tomorrow morning?” Mike again. Who was he asking? He’d said ‘hey guys’, plural. Who else was out there?

“Of course.” That was definitely a second mystery voice.

“Thanks! G‘night, guys! Nice to meet you, Elena!” Mike’s voice got louder until you could tell he was right outside the door.

“Hey!” Mike smiled at you when he walked in. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Pick something?”

“Eh, no,” you said. Why were you blushing? Why was your heart already out of control?

“Stakes aren’t high, babe,” he walked over and pressed his face into your neck. “Probably won’t see much of it, anyway.” His intentions were probably just sweet and cheeky in a 'can't keep my hands off you' kind of way, but your insecurities really saw their chance and took it.

“That’s the only reason I’m here, isn’t it?” You knew it. You fucking knew it. It took everything you had to not burst into tears; they already burned behind your eyes.

“Are you kidding me? I like you!” Mike looked at you, entirely confused - the only thing missing were cartoon question marks over his head. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. How many times had you heard that before? Mike closed the distance between the two of you and took your face in his hands. “I don’t take girls I don’t like out on dates, Dani.” He looked at you, brows furrowed, one side raised. And that smile. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips, your thoughts went from “punch” to “kiss” and back again so fast it gave you an emotional whiplash.

Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you finally said something: “You’re not exactly taking me out, now are you?” Fuck, you could just about kill him right now. It wasn’t that you had an issue with hooking up, absolutely not, but you did have a problem with being led on.

“Woah, okay, back up.” He put his hands on your shoulders and stepped away from you. “So we agree that this,” he gestured at the both of you, “is a date?”

You snorted derisively. “I’ll agree that I thought this was a date, until about two minutes ago.”

Mike breathed in deeply, his head fell back and you could practically see him count to ten.

“Okay, we agree that when you stepped through this door, like, two hours ago, you thought this was a date, then?” The way he held you messed with your head; at arm's length, hands heavy on your shoulders. Intimate, but distant... You just nodded in reply to this question.

“And so did I. Still do.” He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost laughed. When he took another deep breath, it seemed like he had a better handle on himself than before.

“Okay, so I mentioned taking you out on a date, and you said that this wasn’t ‘out’,” he thought about that for a second. “Does that mean that you think this is the only time we’ve been together that the word date could refer to?”

“Mike, could you fucking stop treating this like a programming issue?” It was your turn to grow impatient.

“How is this not like a programming issue?” He retorted. “If I don’t get the output I’m after, something’s gotta be wrong with the input. Just… Humor me, okay?” You rolled your eyes.

“Alright: yes. Mostly because you asked me out two days ago, and I haven’t seen you since.”

“Okay, I see,” Mike grinned. God, how that annoyed you right now. “Dani, when I asked you if you wanted to go to the movies with me, and you said yes, and we, y’know… Went.” Oh Jesus. “I meant for that to be a date. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that.”

You tried to convince yourself that this could have happened to anyone. It had happened to you, but it could have been anyone. Ariel and Sloane would have a field day if they heard this. Despite that, you were still going to tell them. Mike looked at you questioningly.

“You didn’t kiss me or anything,” you murmured, while you looked at the floor.

“Too nervous,” he chuckled, “that’s what I tried to make up for when you came in.” The distance between your bodies got smaller as you stepped forward, your arms reaching for him, and pulling him in. Strong arms wrapped around you and squeezed gently. With a sigh, you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his body.

“See,” he said softly, his head buried in your neck, “fix the input, get the right output. Programming issue.”

“Damn, computer nerd,” you laughed as you nudged him with your shoulder as best you could. All of a sudden, he put his hands back on your shoulders and pushed you away. For a second, you were afraid you had offended him with the nerd-remark, but then you saw his face. On it, was hands down the dirtiest fucking grin you had ever seen in your life. He licked his lips - you had to choke back a moan when he did: it was so incredibly sexy.

“What?” You asked, but he just looked at you. “Mike, what the fuck is going on?”

“You hooked up with me on what you thought was our first date.” There were three options: you were losing your mind, needed glasses, or he found that thought very entertaining.

Your cheeks burned, and you were sure he could tell. He followed up on his observation with a single word that set every nerve in your body on edge: “Hot.”

The kiss that followed ended way too soon. When he let go of you and stepped away, you noticed it was quite cold. You made your way over to the bed so you could get back under the covers, but Mike grabbed your waist when you passed him and grinned at you. The sudden touch - and the cold - made you shiver. You looked up when Mike chuckled. His eyes summarized him perfectly: horny and cheeky.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower…” You didn’t need much time to pick up on that hint.

The bathroom wasn’t big, but it was nicer than you’d expected. You didn’t realize you were looking around with an open mouth until Mike pointed it out.

“It’s just so… clean.” It was nothing like the student bathrooms you were familiar with - especially not the ones in houses with only men living in them. Or mostly men - or any men. Hell, your own bathroom - and your house was all girls - was messier than this. If by messy you meant: ‘regularly looked like someone bombed a Sephora’. You just couldn’t connect the state of the room to the idea that it was shared by four guys.

“I am one hundred percent sure August will commit bloody fucking murder if we make a mess of this place,” Mike laughed, as he turned the water on, “and I’m about eighty percent convinced that Sherlock won’t think twice to help him cover it up.”

“These guys sound colorful,” you said hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of the remark.

“Oh, things get interesting, for sure,” his laugh echoed a lot less now that the water was running, “but I don’t really want to talk about my roommates right now, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, what did you want to talk about, then?” The whole false naivety schtick worked very well on Mike, you noticed, as you closely watched his reaction to your doe-eyed coyness. He stepped around you, with his signature playful laugh on his face, and reached out to lock the door. In the meantime, you let your sweatpants drop to the floor. Luckily, his t-shirt was long enough to cover you up - you knew you wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer, but it was nice to not be completely exposed.

“I wasn’t planning on talking much, ba-” the shape of his mouth changed from the interrupted a into a silent o. As his eyes changed and his mouth morphed - once again - into a devilish smirk, you were certain that this mischievous piece of work would be the death of you.

“I think that’s mine.” He said dryly, holding out his hand to signal that he wanted his t-shirt back. Now that you no longer felt in control, shyness started to set in. Your fingers rolled the hem of the fabric between them, and it suddenly felt extremely hot in the room. He noticed - of course he noticed! It’s Mike, and he noticed things nobody noticed. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t always a fair trade against missing things no one else missed. That’s what he’d told you right after you had asked him why he was like that - he had quoted Awolnation’s Sail1 by means of an answer.

“C’mon beautiful, I want that back,” he grinned, his tongue darting briefly, wetting his lips. The only thing you could think about was the way he called you beautiful, and the hungry look in his eyes. Very slowly, and as sensually as you could manage, you started to undress. Your fingers trailed your thighs, your hips, your stomach, to finally linger at your chest before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it to him. Before he could get to you, you stepped into the shower.

“Your turn,” you giggled softly, and blew him a kiss.

It took him less than ten seconds to join you. Hands wrapped around your waist and spun you around so fast that you were sure you'd both slip and fall. When you didn’t, you looked at the non-slippery floor in surprise.

“One of us almost broke his neck once,” Mike said while running a hand through his hair, “and we tend to learn from past mistakes.”

“And this guy,” you laughed, “did he happen to be you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” His face told you more than enough. Even with his hair all wet, and in this horrible bathroom lighting, Mike was cute. The horrible lighting probably wasn’t something you should have thought about. Why did it have to be so bright? And there was nowhere to hide! You looked around, almost frantically. There was one place to hide, or at least conceal most of your body from his sight. You leaned into his body, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. He was hard, and the feeling of his cock against your body made you wince.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, “can’t help it. You’re just so fucking gorgeous.” The way he said it was so sincere, so reassuring, that you finally allowed yourself to relax and melt into his embrace. The heat of the water running over your back really helped. You traced the muscles of his back for a while, and he moaned quietly at your touch. After some time, you moved your hands to his chest, resulting in a groan that sounded almost offended.

“Sorry, my hands are getting a little cold,” you said without thinking about it.

“Imagine how my back feels,” he retorted. You must have looked really guilty, because his signature grin broke through the almost cynical mask on his face and he laughed. “It’s okay, baby, I would’ve said something if it wasn’t.” He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. There was a rough edge to it that made your heart pound in your chest - a roughness that hadn’t been there before. For the second time today, you could hardly believe what this guy did to you. Mike was grinding against you as his mouth left yours and dipped into your neck, instead. Your fingers snaked into his hair and pulled him closer while he licked and nipped at the skin of your neck, sucking the most sensitive spots. He occasionally moved up to moan into your ear, and it drove you absolutely wild. Hot water, cold air, soft lips - there were plenty of sensations to choose from, and they all seemed to turn you on one way or another. You both let your hands wander over each other's bodies while entangled in that very wet kiss. Shocked by your own initiative, you reached a hand between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around him. Mike’s mouth found yours again and he turned both of you around so he could lean back against the wall. You stroked him a couple of times, chuckling softly as he moaned into your ear. It felt great, seeing him like this. He sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth.

“No, keep going,” he groaned into your mouth when your hand stopped moving. You pulled your lip free from his grip and moved to his ear. He shivered when you licked his earlobe, and you felt his cock twitch in your hand.

“Is it good?” You whispered.

“Mhm,” he nodded, “very.” You kissed his neck below his ear, then his jaw, his throat. The sound he made when he realized where you were headed2 was charmingly depraved - you couldn’t smile any wider if you tried. Unfortunately, you hadn’t thought this all the way through; the shower floor was rough on your knees, but you figured you’d just have to suck it up3. The bigger problem was the water: most of it came down straight on your head right now, and it made the task at hand4 significantly more difficult. Luckily, Mike reached up to solve this little problem. Part of you expected him to hog all the water and leave you there, freezing, but he didn’t - you decided that these levels of consideration deserved a reward. He struggled to keep quiet as you dragged your tongue all the way along his length. It seemed less scary now. You easily settled on the comfortable depth and rhythm you had before - with similar reactions from Mike - yet something in the back of your mind encouraged you to take it a bit further. Slowly, carefully, you took more of him into your mouth. It wasn’t easy, but the ecstatic squeal that Mike let out made it more than worth it.

“Fuck,” he breathed so softly that you could barely hear him over the sound of the water. You could tell he was trying really hard to stay still, which was very much appreciated. It was already difficult enough to focus on not choking without having to worry about him bruising the back of your throat. His ragged breathing and the slew of profanity that erupted from him as your lips finally reached the base of his cock were beginning to make you feel very good about yourself. You should have known - right when everything seems to go well, tragedy strikes.

“Hey, lovebirds, get out of the fuckin’ shower!” The voice appeared suddenly, accompanied by the slamming of a fist against the door - hard. Twice - and it startled both of you. Mike’s brilliant reflexes made him jerk his hips, which hurt - like a bitch, by the way - and made you gag. Your reaction, however, was far worse. As soon as you could, you let go of him and curled up on the floor in the opposite corner of the shower, making yourself as small as possible. Sloane’s hysterical laughter echoed through your head already. How exactly were you going to tell them this? We were getting it on in the shower and I was going down on him and it was going remarkably well, until his roommate knocked on the door and startled me so much I bit him, or something? Actually, that was probably exactly what you were going to tell them - before dying of embarrassment, that is.

“Sy, fuck off,” Mike yelled back through gritted teeth. That name sounded strangely familiar to you, you just couldn’t figure out why. Not that you were really trying to. “I swear to God, I’m going to fucking kill you!” He turned his attention to you, pulling you into his arms. You hadn’t even noticed him getting down onto the floor with you. “Dani, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” It was nice to rest your head against his chest.

“You’re asking me?” It sounded like a bad joke. “What about you?”

“I’m fine, come here.” He chuckled. “You never answered me.”

“Mortified, but not hurt,” you declared in a surprisingly upbeat way.

“Noted,” Mike nodded, “then, if neither of us are hurt, do I have your permission to find this whole thing fucking hilarious?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you said, but you were already laughing.

Mike owned a suspiciously large amount of pillows - for a man, anyway. He’d tossed all of them into the corner, and then he’d grabbed you and sent you flying the same way like it was absolutely nothing. Now, you were curled up beside him with your head on his shoulder while you played with his hair. It was still damp from the shower.

“So, who else lives here,” you were already pretty anxious about running into any of the guys in the house tomorrow morning - to the point of wanting to escape out the window in the middle of the night.

“Alright,” Mikey smiled, “no need to be nervous. They’re all great guys!” You hid your face in his shoulder, embarrassed at how he always just knew. Maybe you were just anxious a lot, that was entirely thinkable. You didn’t get a lot of time to think that through - and you probably shouldn’t have wanted to, anyway - because Mike continued: “You’ve met Marshall - eh, Walter. We usually use his last name. Criminology major.” He paused again, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Ok, on the ground floor, we have Napoleon. We usually call him Leon - you get why. Does something along the lines of Business Administration, with a minor in Art History.” Art history - not immediately something you had expected to come across in a house like this.

“First floor: Marshall. And then Walker, eh, I mean: August. Third year Political Science with a minor in Criminal Justice."

"The guy who would kill you for making a mess of the bathroom."

"I feel Walker would kill me for a bunch of reasons…" Something about the way he said it made you wonder whether or not Mike was joking. You couldn’t help but point out that this Walker guy didn’t sound very nice.

"Nah! He's great! Very consistent, I like it. He's a good time when he's drunk."

"He sounds like a jerk, Mike."

"And he kinda is, but he also isn't." He laughed at the puzzled look on your face. " He’s complicated. You'll see what I mean."

"I'll take your word for it. Who's next?"

"Charles Brandon, he…" Mike's eyebrows shot up when you interrupted him.

"Ladies man, very much opposed to the concept of monogamy. Little respect for other people's relationships. Does that cover it?"

"Just about. He majors in Political Science, same year as Walker, and he's very good friends with the dean's son," Mike continued the profile, "He's a great wingman, too." He added thoughtlessly.

"Don't need to know, Mikey!" You shoved him so hard he almost fell over.

"Ow! Sorry! Second floor; Geralt. Majors in Mythology and Folklore. And then Sy, the guy who…”

“Made me almost bite your dick off?” A sarcastic laugh escaped from your throat. You absolutely dreaded meeting this guy; he was already responsible for one of the most awkward moments of your life - so far - and you still couldn’t shake the thought that his name sounded very familiar.

“Yup,” Mike laughed, “he’s cool though. Not a great wingman, had a habit of stealing my chicks... OW! Would you stop that, I’m just joking.”

“Are you?” You hated when the insecurities hit you like this.

“Well, mostly. Trust me, I don’t miss striking out at the bar.”

“Do you miss… not striking out?” You looked at Mike, waiting for him to say ‘no’.

“That sounds like a trap, I’m not going to answer that.” Smart man. You shrieked when he tickled you. “Anyway, that’s Sy. Then upstairs; Sherlock. Holmes. Third year Law and second year Philosophy, last thing I heard he was also taking some classes in Psychology. He’s not even nineteen, by the way.” It took you a while to process all of that. You had enough trouble with one major, let alone two. And did Mikey just say this guy was not only your age, but two years above you? Mike saw your face, and laughed. “He’s a genius.”

“I think I’ve heard of him,” you said. You weren’t quite sure where you’d heard the name before, but it was unusual enough that you remembered it very distinctly.

Mike’s next sentence cleared up that confusion: “Oh, and he’s the first violinist of the university orchestra. He and the second violinist, Elena - I actually just saw her for the first time - practice together every Saturday afternoon. He usually starts in the morning, though, but I’ve asked him to keep it down.”

“And he said he would?” Sherlock sounded like the friendliest guy in the house so far.

“Oh, yeah, he never makes a point of it when we ask. But we let him have the two or so days before a concert, that’s the deal.”

“So, with seven other guys in the house, he never gets to really play?” You wondered out loud.

“Oh, no, you’re safe until about eleven. But he’s good, a billion times better than any alarm. I stopped asking him to keep it quiet for anything other than a potential hangover a long time ago.”

“But you did ask him just now?”

“Yeah, for you. Didn’t want it to wake you up if you didn’t want that.” He presses a kiss on your hair. You buried your face in his neck, in hopes of hiding the fact that you were blushing like crazy, but you were well aware that Mike was onto you.

“And the girl? Are they, like, together?” You never imagined that you’d be so invested in the goings-on in this house.

“We don’t know for sure. Leon keeps track of the bets. I’m pretty sure all of us are in on one of those, at least. I believe I’m out twenty if he doesn’t sleep with her by Christmas.” Ah, there it was: The kind of stuff you expected from a house like this. You rolled your eyes and pulled the comforter snugly around you as Mike put on the movie you’d settled on.

Walking into that kitchen was definitely one of the scarier things you’d ever done. Luckily, there was only one person in it when you and Mikey got there. His appearance was striking, with the silvery hair and very light-brown eyes that were almost the color of honey.

“Morning,” the guy said stoically when you walked in, and he put the newspaper he was reading down on the table.

“Danielle, Geralt. Geralt, Danielle.” You were really grateful that Mike took care of the introductions. “Coffee, Dani? G?” Both of you nodded. The kitchen was big and bright, and looked well taken care of. You noticed that the appliances weren’t falling apart like they were at your house.

“You can sit down, I don’t bite my roommates' girlfriends,” Geralt said dryly.

“Just your own?” It was out before you even realized you opened your mouth in the first place. You were about ready to sink into a hole in the floor when Geralt laughed. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because someone else stepped into the kitchen.

“Damn, Mikey, she might actually be able to survive this circus!” How many Brits lived in this house? And why did all of these guys look like they had run away from the covers of magazines? The guy in question turned around to you: “Charles, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m…”

“Danielle. The girl who stole my wingman.” He extended a hand to you, and you took it with the intention to shake it. Instead, he brought it to is lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“Hands off, Brandon,” Mike slapped him against the back of his head with a teatowel. “And take Leon, if you need a wingman so badly.”

“Leon doesn’t need a wingman, girls flock to him offering services in exchange for a discount.” Charles started laughing, while your confusion grew.

“And some of those girls, I sent to you,” a new voice retorted. The kitchen was quickly becoming crowded. “Or to Mikey.” You saw Mike make a not-so-subtle gesture in your direction to signal the newcomer - whom you guessed had to be Napoleon - to shut up.

“I’m sorry, didn’t see you there. Napoleon, call me Leon.” He actually shook your hand. “If you ever need anything, term paper, answers to a test, talk to Mikey.” He laughed. This guy was dangerously charming.

“Thanks, but I don’t suck dick for good grades.”

“Well, maybe computer science,” Mikey said with a wink. You stared at him, unable to believe he just threw you in front of the bus like that - careful not to let your mouth fall open: you were sure it would look even weirder than it already did. Luckily, Geralt caught your distress and kicked Mike in the shins.

“Thanks, I couldn’t reach.” You said sourly while Geralt grinned and the rest laughed. Mike put two cups of coffee on the table and sat next to you. Charles took the last cup from the pot and left the kitchen with it.

“No coffee?” you asked Mike.

“Not if I want to stay awake,” he laughed. When you looked at him funny, he pointed at his head. “My wacky brain,” was the only explanation he offered, and then he shrugged. Leon took it upon himself to make a new pot of coffee.

“Walker here?” A somewhat familiar voice sounded from just outside the kitchen. It belonged to Walter Marshall, whom you had met when you arrived yesterday.

“Don’t think he will be,” Geralt answered. You noticed that his voice startled you - despite having heard it before. It seemed to go against some law of nature for him to speak.

“How so?” Mike was often a tad too curious, but this time you didn’t mind - it sounded like there was some kind of drama here, and you were invested already.

“Anjelica showed up.” For anyone who lived here - or anyone else who knew who Anjelica was and what she was to August Walker, that was enough information. Mike turned his head to you.

“Girlfriend,” he said plainly, and you figured you could fill in the rest.

“Not if you ask him,” Leon scoffed. He leaned casually against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

“He loves her,” Geralt interjected dryly, as if that settled the matter.

“You hear anything?” Mike asked with a filthy grin on his face.

“I hear everything, Mikey,” Geralt sighed. Your eyes went wide and your face turned red. Leon and Marshall laughed when they saw it; Mike tried to grab your hand off your knee, but you pulled it away.

“Ooh,” Leon and Marshall sounded at the same time. Leon murmured something along the lines of ‘someones in trouble’, while Marshall slapped the back of Mike’s head and told him: “You tell a girl about the roommate with the super senses before things get serious, Mikey.”

“What are they talking about, Mike?” You hissed at him, absolutely beyond furious. From the corner of your eye, you saw Leon pour himself a cup of coffee, before holding the pot up to Marshall, who nodded, but didn’t dare speak - they were a little too keen to see how this would play out.

“I can hear Sherlock play the violin,” Geralt said calmly, “he’s three floors up, and using a practice mute.” You were just about ready to slap Mike in the face and storm off; this was definitely something he could have shared before all of yesterday happened.

“It’s exhausting enough as is, so believe me when I say I don’t listen to everything.” He still wasn’t looking up from his newspaper. “Besides; if something is ever… repeatedly annoying…” he chose this time to shoot a meaningful look your way, “Let me put it this way: I’m sure it’s not the reason headphones were invented, but I thank my lucky stars every fucking day that they were.” Now all five of you burst out in laughter. Leon hurried to answer the door the second the doorbell rang, and didn’t return. It wasn’t long, though, before another housemate walked through the door.

“Marshall.”

“Walker.” Ah. The infamous August Walker finally made an appearance. He turned to you as soon as he set foot in the kitchen.

“You must be Danielle,” he said, “nice to meet you.” Whether he assumed you knew his name, or simply didn’t care if you did, you didn’t - and couldn’t - know. He grabbed the coffee pot off the counter, only to find it empty. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath.

“Better make plenty, Sherlock’s on his way down and Sy just woke up. And I could do with another cup, too, if you don’t mind.” Geralt said.

“Then why, pray tell, don’t you do this?” August hissed as he turned the kettle on.

“Alright, I could use a second cup as well, but now I know better than to ask you for anything in the morning, so why don’t you move out of the way and let me do it?” You shocked yourself; you were never this forward. Geralt made a half-attempt to hide his impressed smirk behind his paper, while Marshall and Mike didn’t try at all. Even August had trouble keeping his face in check - unsurprising, it had to be exhausting to frown that goddamn much.

“Charles was right,” Gerald chuckled, “you might be able to survive this circus.”

“The biggest clown is already mine,” you sighed as you got up and waved at August to get out of your way. The boys - including Mike - laughed.

“Is there any coffee left,” someone asked. The voice was soft and polite, and sounded like its owner was in desperate need of coffee.

“Coming up!” You said cheerfully as you pressed the button on the coffee maker.

“First time here and they already put you to work?”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do if she wants coffee,” you laughed, “and I couldn’t ask Mike to do it. His coffee is terrible.” Geralt and Marshall raised their cups in agreement while Walker murmured ‘Amen’. Sherlock chuckled, somehow sounding a lot like a British version of Mike. The five of you drank your coffee mostly in silence. After August had finished drinking his, he made a cup of tea. On his way out of the kitchen with it, he was almost knocked over by Mike as he went to take some orange juice from the fridge.

“Sorry, Walker!” He said. August just mumbled something unintelligible as he went back upstairs. Mike shrugged and put the carton to his lips. You weren’t surprised that this was a habit of his, but you’d expected more protest from the other guys.

“We tried,” Sherlock answered your question - nevermind that you hadn’t actually asked it, “he just gets his own carton, now.”

“You’ll get used to the unusual communication,” a female voice said, “Anjelica Madden, hi!” She greeted you with a hug. “Sherlock, Geralt, Marshall and August you don’t even have to ask anything once,” this woman was awfully cheerful in the morning, “but Charles, Sy, Leon and that dork over there you have to ask everything twice, so it evens out.” She disappeared about as quickly and suddenly as she had appeared.

“Speaking of Sy, he’s taking his sweet time,” Marshall noted.

“Probably taking a shower,” Sherlock responded, “I understand it was occupied for quite some time yesterday.” Geralt, Marshall and Mike looked at each other in surprise. It wasn't like Sherlock to say things like that.

“And on a similar note,” Mike laughed, “have any of us won any bets yet?”

“I heard her leave, so my guess would be ‘no’,” Marshall added.

“You would be correct,” Sherlock muttered. All of a sudden, he looked so much younger than the rest of the guys in the kitchen.

“Will she be here after lunch, though?” Mike asked curiously as he got up and turned to you. “Breakfast?”

“I have no reason to assume the contrary.” Sherlock replied dryly.

“There’s food in the house?” You exclaimed quasi-surprised.

“There better be, I’m starvin’,” a familiar voice sounded behind you. Finally, now that you weren’t concerned that you had maimed Mike, you recognized the voice. Your legs felt like they were made of lead when you turned around while praying it wasn’t true. Unfortunately, when you finally looked up at the man who had just spoken, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Ari, help!” You groaned into the phone as soon as Ariel had picked up.

“Dan, what’s up?”

“I met his housemates - all of them, it was an experience, holy shit, more on that later. But, bitch, I…”

You heard some mumbling in the background - it was probably Sloane.

“Girl, Slo is here, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Hey babe!”

“Slo, oh my god, sit down. Ari, you too. Remember the guy from orientation?” There was no point in drawing this out any longer; you had to tell them.

“You mean your spectacular Southern stud, the Don of dinner down there? The prince of pussy eating perfection?” Sloane yelled in your ear.

“Enough with the alliterations, S.,” Ari laughed, “clearly, we remember. What about him?” How were they not connecting the dots on this? Normally, you were the one who was slow to pick up on these things.

“Nathan motherfucking Syverson is one of Mike’s goddamn roommates.” You felt like you were about to cry. It stayed awfully quiet on the other end of the line.

“So, red or white?” Ari asked in a deviously perky tone. You could hear Sloane’s muffled laughter in the background.

“Red,” you sighed.

A/N: Whoops, some footnotes. 1: “Blame it on my ADD” is the line we're talking about... 2: Pun intended 3: Pun not intended. Happy accident. I promise 4: I am so sorry

#179 crescent street #henry cavill fanfiction #mike (hellraiser)#mike (hellraiser) x ofc #henry cavill characters #mike hellraiser smut #captain syverson #hc sherlock #napoleon solo #august walker #geralt of rivia #walter marshall #charles brandon #mike hellraiser fanfiction #179cs #179cs3

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cardierreh15 · 1 year

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With all of these Charles Brandon gifs lil’ miss @sillyrabbit81 is posting, I need to just go ahead and start this damn fic!

#henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #charles brandon #charles brandon x ofc #Charles Brandon x black!female oc

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yenn-reads · 8 months

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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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catierambles · 9 months

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@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @km-ffluv , @kebabgirl67 , @squeezyvalkyrie , @rebelangel1102 , @dopegardensaladhuman , @ilsacharlotte , @josie-packard (if your name has a strikethrough, I couldn't tag you)

also @peachyvulpixie because vampires *smorches*

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Elizabeth Montague (OFC)

WC 2571

Warnings: Smut and vampy elements

Court was busy, as it usually was, with simpering ladies and peacocking lords, all vying for power and prestige, to increase their standing above one another. Deceit, betrayal, rumors and lies. Blackmail and back stabbing. All were traded and dealt in as easily as coin.

You'd think with the centuries he had spent among them, he would have tired of their ceaseless machinations, but you would be wrong.

He loved it.

Henry sat on the throne at the head of court, his newest bride at his side. Charles didn't bother to learn this one's name. She wouldn't last long, if her predecessors were anything to go by. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking at each of the ladies in turn, their marital status not effecting his appraisal of them. A bed warmer, or a meal, perhaps both, was what he was searching for, and he found that his standing as the King's "friend" made Ladies of court much more receptive of his advances. Taking a goblet of wine from a passing tray carried by a servant, he skirted around the dance floor and its spinning bodies, his eyes moving from one to the next like a lion appraising a herd of gazelle, looking for the weakest.

They stopped, falling on a young woman standing next to a very stern faced older woman. Her eyes were down, her hands clasped in front of her, but her shoulders were back, her jaw strong, not the bearing of the meek and timid. Taking a sip of the wine, he moved towards them, his eyes not leaving her.

"Lady Montague." Charles said, "A pleasure. And who is this beautiful flower you have with you?"

"The pleasure is mine, Your Grace." Lady Montague said, "And this is my youngest daughter, Elizabeth. Say hello, Elizabeth."

"Your Grace." She said, giving a curtsy but not raising her eyes from the floor.

"I don't think I've seen you at court before, Elizabeth." Charles pointed out.

"I--"

"Quiet, Elizabeth." Her mother snapped and he saw the way her shoulders tightened. "Pardon us, Your Grace, but this is mine and her father's last effort at finding a good match for her. The other have not gone well. Twenty one summers and still unwed." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly and he watched the muscle in Elizabeth's jaw jump.

"Not gone well?" He asked, "How so?"

"She's a willful child, Your Grace, more interested in horse back riding and sword play, learning of the stars in the heavens than needlework or anything befitting a proper wife." The Lady said, "Shameful. Every match her father and I have made called off the engagement after a single conversation with her. It's maddening."

"It's--"

"I said quiet, Elizabeth."

"I'll marry her." Charles said and he didn't know who was more surprised at the words, himself or Lady Montague.

"Your Grace!" She exclaimed, "I couldn't possibly allow you to--what I mean to say is she's not fit to be the bride of someone of your personage!"

"Lady Montague, you seem to be under the impression that I'm asking." Charles said, "I'm not. I'm telling you that I will marry her." She looked up then and he felt the smile pull at his lips, "There she is, and what beautiful green eyes she has, like emeralds in the sunlight."

"Your Grace, I..."

"Come now, dearest. We are to be wed." Charles said, "You may call me Charles, if it pleases you. Now, I would love to hear about the stars in the heavens, but I suppose it might be easier if we were looking at them. Shall we go to the gardens?" He offered her his arm and there was a moment's hesitation before she slid her arm through his.

"Yes, Your--Charles. I would love to." Those eyes of hers were only for him, but he caught how her mother's mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish as he led her away. He also noticed how it had not missed Henry's attention, as his own gaze was fixed on them, watching as they walked towards the garden doors.

They were married as quickly as possible, her dowry paid, and he got the feeling that her parents were glad to be rid of her and she of them. Henry oversaw the ceremony as his right as King, the priest spouting the flowery words of love, devotion, loyalty, and servitude. Charles hardly heard them, his eyes focused on Elizabeth as she looked gorgeous in her wedding dress. He still responded when necessary as did she, but she couldn't seem to take her eyes from him as well. Their time in the gardens that night had been an enjoyable one, as she told him of the stars, the myths behind the constellations, tracing between the twinkling lights with a fingertip raised in the air. He had kissed her, taking her by surprise, but her eyes had closed as she responded to him. A true response, not the trained response of someone with ulterior motives.

He had almost taken her right there on the ground, and as hidden as they were, no one would have noticed, but he refrained, leaving her with a beautiful flush to her pale cheeks, her lips rosy and kiss bruised.

The reception after the ceremony seemed to drag on for ages and even though he had literally just been married, some Ladies of the court still tried to seduce him, touching him unnecessarily, laughing falsely at some things he said, pressing their breasts against his arm. Elizabeth appeared seemingly out of thin air, giving him a smile, and the women a steely glare with a such a force that they shrank away, pulling him away with her fingers wrapped around his. His new bride was a wolf among sheep, it seemed, and he couldn't be more pleased.

Finally they were allowed to retire after Henry left and Charles swore he held off his departure as long as possible, as if he were trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

He closed the door to his—their—bedchambers behind him, looking at her standing there still in her wedding dress, her veil having been discarded sometime over the course of the night. She trembled slightly as he went to her, reaching up to touch the side of her face gently. Not fear, he got no trace of that from her. Nerves.

“Have you ever been touched by a man before?” He asked gently and there was a moment of hesitation before she shook her head.

“N-No.”

“I'll take care of you, my wife.” He whispered, “And taking care of you will ensure that you take care of me.” She nodded and he leaned into her, his eyes moving over her face before he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers gently. The sound she made at the touch of his lips was almost imperceptible, but it made him groan and he pulled her closer, crushing her against him with an arm around her waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth to swirl against her. He didn't need to breathe, but she did, and she gasped as he pulled away, her chest heaving in the corset, that beautiful flush back on her cheeks. His fingers worked on the back ties of her dress and soon it was pooled at her feet in a heap of silk and lace, her petticoats joined it and her fingers curled in his shirt as he pulled her against him again, a shudder racing down his spine at the feel of her without so much fabric between them.

The corset was next and she pulled away from him, turning her back on him as it fell away, shielding her body from him.

“Come now, Liz.” He whispered, his hands laying on her bare shoulders. “I wish to see my bride's beautiful form, is that too much to ask for?”

“N-No, I—”

“You're nervous.” He said, “It's to be expected. As I said, I will take care of you.” He then became very aware of the fact that he was still fully dressed and he fixed that, shedding the numerous layers quickly, leaving them on the floor as he stepped very close behind her, holding her arms and pulling her back against him. Her gentle gasp as his bare chest pressed against her back made him smile and her head tilted to the side slightly as his lips touched her neck. Running his hands down her arms, he gently pulled them from where they had been crossed over her chest before dragging his fingertips back up her stomach. Her breasts filled his palms and she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder as he kneaded them gently, rolling the tips between his fingers. “That's it, my dearest, relax and let yourself feel it.”

“Charles...” She breathed and he turned her, taking her in his arms again and kissing her, her arms resting on his shoulders and a shudder ran down his spine as her nails traced through his shorn hair. Bending slightly at the knees, he picked her up in a bridal carry, taking her to the bed and laying her down, moving over her and looking down at her.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispered and pressed his lips to hers, holding the side of her face. He moved down her body, tasting her skin as he went, pulling her small clothes down and off and she was bare beneath him finally. Her small squeak of surprise as he pulled her to the foot of the bed made him chuckle and he heard as her breath caught when he parted her legs, looking down at her.

"What're you---What're you doing?" She asked, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him.

"Don't. Move." He said and pulled a dagger he had from its sheath under the bed.

"Charles?" There was a slight tremor to her voice.

"Relax, my dearest, and you won't be harmed." He said and brought the blade to her mound, running it close to her skin and shaving away the hair covering her womanhood. He kept the blade extremely sharp so there almost no resistance as he worked on her, her breath catching again as his fingers moved her for protection and better angles until there was nothing but a thin layer of stubble left behind. "There." He said, "You'll feel that much more now." A small amount of wetness had gathered from his touches and he ran his fingers through her, the whimper she let out making him smile. "Oh, my dear Elizabeth." Blowing slightly, he blew the shavings from her skin, running his hand over her to brush them onto the blanket folded at the end of the bed before pulling it out from under her, keeping the mess contained and casting it aside. Looking up at her, he watched her swallow heavily and he laid his palms against her inner thighs before dipping his head down and running his tongue along her slightly irritated flesh. Humming, he did it again, this time pressing his tongue between her folds and tasting her fully.

"Oh gods." She breathed and he heard her fall back onto the bed.

"So sweet, my wife." He said and latched his lips onto her, swirling his tongue through her, finding her pearl and sucking it between his lips. Parting her with his fingertips, he flicked his tongue against her, pressing it just inside her before licking up her again, taking her between his lips. Tracing her entrance with a couple fingertips, she gasped as he slid them into her, pumping slowly as he continued to taste her. He felt her fingers move through his hair and he held her hand with his, entwining their fingers and giving her something to hold onto as he pushed her higher and higher.

Her fingers clenched, her back arched, and her name left his lips in a gasp as she came, her soft cries filling the room as waves of pleasure washed over her.

"So good for me." He whispered, pressing soft kisses to her swollen flesh, still pumping his fingers slowly as she fluttered and clenched around them. Pulling his hand from her, he knelt on the bed, moving up her slowly until he was over, seeing her pleading eyes, dark with desire. "My wonderful wife." Pushing his smalls down and off, he took himself in his hand and pumped briefly, coating himself with her before running the wide head over her. "I won't lie to you, it will hurt, but I have prepared you as much as I can so the pain will be bearable." She just nodded. "Hold onto me, dearest." Her arms wrapped around his chest as he aligned them, pressing her into the bed with his weight before starting to push forward. Her breath caught and she tensed at the intrusion. "Breathe, my love, breathe." Her breath left her in a rush and he continued pushing into her.

"Charles..." She whimpered, holding onto him tightly and he pressed his lips to her hair.

"I know, my dearest, it's almost over." He said and soon he bottomed out inside her, pressed inside her to the base and she gasped, gulping in air. "Easy, sweetheart. Easy. I won't move until you tell me." She nodded and he ran his lips over her face, her neck, her shoulders, his hands running over her skin and massaging tensed muscles. Bit by bit she started to relax and she gave a sigh.

"Okay." She said with a nod and he started to move, pushing and pulling slowly. The way she felt, how tightly she gripped him, it made him move faster, looping an arm around her waist and holding her against him as he worked between her legs. Small noises started to leave her lips as he joined them again and again, and he rested his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked but she shook her head.

"Not anymore." She said and he kissed her, holding the side of her face and grunting into her lips. Her legs cinched high around his hips and he buried his face in her neck, panting into her skin. He felt the familiar tugging in his mouth and he ran his tongue along her throat, pulling the vein to the surface. His lips parted and he surged into her just as he bit down, his fangs piercing her skin. The taste of her blood made his head spin and he found himself moving harder, faster, as he pulled from her. Her cries in his ears was almost musical and he felt the moment she released again, her muscles contracting around him so very tightly, massaging and milking him. Pulling away from her throat, he licked the last traces of her from his lips and her skin, his eyes rolling back as she continued to pulse around him, pushing him over the edge. He joined them roughly, pressing them together so tightly he wasn't sure where he ended and she began as he spilled inside her, filling her.

She panted in his ear, her heart thundering against his chest as he pulled back only much as to look down at her.

"My dear Elizabeth." He whispered and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply and holding her tight against him.

#henry cavill #charles brandon

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