#the tudors fic
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When you’ve been forced into an arranged marriage with a neighbouring king, but your too busy lusting after your older brothers best friend
Sorry for the glitchy gifs 😕
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Tudor AU
#rhaenicent#rhaenyra x alicent#alicent hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#house of the dragon#moodboard#tudor au#likely another fic I will never write 😔
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Kind of inspired by @uncheckedaggression and @tenderbittersweet
The summer heat is the worst it has ever been and it seems to all have been concentrated in the Council Rooms - even the stuffiest of the privy counsellors have shucked their usual robes and doublets for the lightest linen, some even stripped down to their undershirts and breeches alone with the lightest silk or linen over robe that could be gotten away with.
It is driving Henry mad and it is not the force of the heat nor the thick humid air. It is watching his Thomas. Oh, he is not as underdressed perhaps as some of the others and yet, yet Henry is hard put to not want to order everyone in the room to turn their eyes for him, for the vision that Thomas is should be for he and Anne alone.
His white undershirt, embroidered by Anne with a thread that is purple but does not look it, clings to their husband - a glimpse of his chest as the laces have been loosened on both over robe and undershirt.
Glimpses of curls in slightly damp hair, something that Thomas usually does not allow himself and Christ, Henry thinks, I should make it a royal command that he lets his hair grow out. His light breeches - those slim legs and hips that make Henry think of wrapping his arms about Tom’s waist as he was kissing Anne and Henry had watched.
He swears he’s going to have the woman who looked appreciatively when Thomas smiled that morning sent from court.
Men do still look at Anne and it still enrages Henry but at the least, he can make sure they understand that she is his but when it is Thomas, neither he nor Anne can. Neither of them can protect him fully. They cannot claim Thomas, so all Henry can do is watch as they try to take what will never be theirs.
With an effort Henry pulls his attention back to the business of the council, just to see Anne looking especially beautiful in her light gown and fuck, Henry thinks, looking at the way she looks, the way Thomas looks - two dark haired beauties - his star and his moon - the way the fabric clings to Anne’s form, her pretty breasts that he had kissed that morning, Thomas and his lean muscles and the soft curls that had brushed against Henry’s skin.
He cannot bear it.
-
“You really do not see it, do you? Your beauty - the way I would kill anyone who looked at you if I could. For you and Anne both”
#lil and her ridiculous aus#ot3: political power trio#fic#listen i would have double checked the clothing but also uh assume some AU historical fashion + norms#thomas cromwell#fyi this is the tudors and also an au#(they are a very happy married OT3 who will eventually have eight kids)
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youtube
Videos to Watch if You Enjoyed "Cling Fast"
How Much Booze Did Medieval People Really Drink? - Dr. Eleanor Janega teaches us how to booze it up, White Horse-style.
Could You Make a Living in Medieval London? - Another great Eleanor Janega video about occupations, scandals, and the every day lives of every day folks in Medieval cities.
What Was Life Really Like For A Medieval Peasant? - the last of the Eleanor Janega videos about what kind of life Hob Gadling would have lived before he met his Stranger.
A Tudor Feast - domestic historians and archeologists Ruth Goodman, Alex Langlands, Peter "Fonz" Ginn and Hugh Beamish - under the supervision of Marc Meltonville of Hampton Court Palace's Tudor kitchens - prepare and serve a tudor banquet at Haddon Hall in Derbyshire. Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
Who Do You Think You Are: Danny Dyer Learns Tudor Etiquette - A segment from the Ancestry.com series following actor Danny Dyer as he explores his royal roots.
Who Would Be King of England Today According to Henry VIII's Will? - chartmaker Matt Baker takes us through the royal family tree from Henry the Eighth to the present day, if his edict that the next monarch in the event that his three children (Mary, Edward, and Elizabeth) produced no heirs, then the crown should next fall to the children of his youngest sister. And not, as actually happened, go to James of Scotland.
Royal Myths: Elizabeth I and the Spanish Armada - Dr. Lucy Worsley talks us through the propaganda and fibs that have sprung up around Good Queen Bess, and whether or not she really did declare that she had the stomach of a king.
Dancing Cheek to Cheek: The Devil's Work - Another great series by Dr. Lucy Worsley, chief curator of Royal Historic Palaces, but this time she's joined by Strictly Come Dancing's Len Goodman. They trace the history of dance in Britain, and this episode features some rowdy Medieval and Elizabethan numbers.
Turn Back Time: Tudor Monastery Farm - This series sees Ruth, Alex, and Peter return to the Elizabethan age, this time spending a year on a farm worked by peasants and serfs in service to the church.
The Tudors' Bizarre 12 Days Of Christmas Ritual - The Tudor Monastery Farm Christmas special.
Hardwick Hall: A window onto the Elizabethan world - Sheffield Hallam University gives a great look at Hardwick Hall (more glass than wall), the estate home of the wealthiest woman in Britain at the time, and the kind of place Hob would have aspired to build.
Tudor Food & Etiquette Explained in 14 Minutes - Quick and dirty explanation of where your napkin goes and who the 'chairman of the board' was.
Tudor Houses Explained in 10 Minutes - Not particularly engagingly presented, but a video chock full of visual examples of different kinds of Tudor houses and buildings.
Modern History: The Knight - Jason Kingsley introduces us to the concept behind Modern History and in particular their first series, “The Knight”. Jason has been fascinated by history his whole life, in particular the medieval period and the life of knights. (This is the first video of a playlist).
Royal Armouries - Elizabethan Swordsmanship - a demonstration by weaponsmasters at the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)
Getting Dressed - Tudor Royal Household - a nice, even-paced and well produced video showing what it was like to get dressed in queen Katherine Parr's household.
Dressing Up a Tudor Man - my personal heroes at Prior Attire show us what the blokes were wearing at the time. Keep in mind that this is 40 years too early for Hob and Dream's disastrous Shakespeare-ruined feast. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)
And just for the fun of it:
Medieval Pickup Lines from the folks behind (I believe?) Whores of Yore, and Top Tudor Historian Rates Famous Movie Scenes, wherein Dr Nicola Tallis, British historian and author of three books on the Tudors, rates scenes from five blockbuster movies set in the Tudor period. (I love how scandalized she gets.)
If you want more, I really recommend anything at all featuring Doctors Lucy Worsley, Eleanor Janega, and Ruth Goodman (search their names on YouTube and you'll find a wealth of clips, full episodes, and even playlists.)
#Cling Fast#Losyark#J.M. Frey#Lucy Worsley#Ruth Goodman#Eleanor Janega#Tudor fashion#Elizabethan fashion#Tudor food#Elizabethan food#docudramas#educational docudramas#historics#tudor houses#elizabethan houses#Youtube#dreamling fic
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the rust that grew between telephones (modern au)
The night was long, and the venom running through her veins was potent. The question died on her lips as she set aside her glass of wine, and took his own glass too as they were getting closer, melting into him. She couldn’t help but cling herself to his shoulders; like they were stars that held her entire universe together.
READ ON AO3
#told myself i'd post this if midnights won a grammy#and so i am!#thank you taylor for winning lol#historical fanfiction#modern au#modern au fic#tudor fic#elizabeth tudor#robert dudley#elizabeth x robert#one shot#historical drama fic#hist fic#elizabeth 1998#the tudors
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The Heir
Part 3
01/13/2023
Pairing: (Modern Day!)Charles Brandon x fem!reader (3rd person)
Word Count: 7,736
Warnings: language, bickering and teasing (so much teasing), alcohol, grief and regret, a smidge of angst, Charles being a giver 👅, unprotected sex, fluff
Summary: One day after the eventful evening at the pub, it's time for a visit at Brandon Manor.
A/N: His Snobbiness and the little tree hugger are back for the third and final part. I know, it's been 84 years, sorry. Hope you still enjoy!
Pictures found here, here and here.
Divider by @fireflygraphics
If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.
The Old House
The first stars had settled all across the early night sky when she stepped through the archway and onto the grounds of Brandon Manor. A pity it was so late in the day already, she mused, with darkness beginning to shield the beautiful garden from view which she had come to love so much. They had walked here a good many times, the late duke and her, plotting against Charles and his preposterous plans. They seemed almost blasphemous tonight, she thought, as she took in the magnificent estate that stood like a grey giant against the starry firmament.
The seagulls seemed to have decided it was time to retreat in the face of the things to come, the only sounds coming from the gravel that scrunched underneath her determined feet and the low rumble of the waves that broke against the cliffs. She wanted to get this over with, whatever it was he wanted to talk about, before he could lure her even further under his spell.
Yesterday had been a close call, she knew that now. It was still hard to admit, but to know that he had been there right behind her for the whole walk home had been a rather nice feeling. So warm and comforting, daring her to try it on and see where it would lead her. God, she had been almost tempted to wave him goodbye when she had arrived at her doorstep. He had still been there, patiently waiting by the gate until she had unlocked her door and stepped inside.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” she whispered underneath her breath while her hand found the cold head of the stone lion that guarded the main entrance to Brandon Manor in a habitual pat for good luck. “Stay focused, let him say his part and then get your stupid arse out of here before—“ No, she wouldn’t allow herself to say that out loud. Even thinking about it was wrong on so many levels. And she was glad that her body for once seemed to agree with her will as her hand yanked down the cord of the ancient doorbell decisively.
Fully prepared to wait a good while before he would make it to the door from God-knew-where in the extensive house, she flinched when only seconds later the ancient wood gave way to the outline of his broad shoulders. A faint glow surrounded him, probably coming from the library, and the absence of any other light almost hid his shit-eating grin when he recognised his guest.
“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N. Finished hugging trees already?”
A pair of attentive eyes roamed her body freely and she hated how warm it made her feel with so little effort.
“Evening, Your Snobbiness.” And without waiting for his invitation, she pressed past him.
“Please, call me Charles. I feel that’s appropriate after I witnessed you making scrambled eggs out of a useless pair of testicles yesterday.”
She didn’t need to look at him, the slight teasing in his tone was enough to make her envision the dazzling smirk that was most likely accompanying his words.
“Fine,” she mumbled almost inaudibly, forgetting why she had said it in the first place. There was a faint memory of the words she had actually wanted to throw at him, but when she had turned, his dukey handsomeness had simply taken her breath away. Of course she knew that he was a pretty fucker, but seeing him here, in his natural habitat, his sharp, stubbly jawline and his twinkling eyes hit completely different.
And as if that wasn’t already enough for her senses to deal with, he had chosen yet another outfit that one would expect to find in a posh country fashion catalogue. His camel turtleneck jumper fit his skin tone perfectly while the dark brown suede jacket he wore above it resembled the colour of his hair. And amongst all those earthy shades, his stormy blue eyes stood out like two exquisite jewels.
He must have said something judging from the hand he was holding out towards her expectantly. For a second she stared at it in total confusion, not sure whether he wanted her to take it, before she decided against her instinct and shot him a quizzical look.
“Your jacket,” he repeated the last bit of his question, a knowing smirk pulling the corners of his mouth upwards.
Bloody gorgeous man. And so she reluctantly peeled herself out of her jacket, after she had set her camera carefully onto the bench next to the coat rack. With a silent gesture he bade her to follow him as soon as she was ready.
“I assume you failed yet again on your quest to take a picture of the white stag?”
Her answer was a murderous glare. “And what if I didn’t fail this time?”
His lips twitched a little while he held her infuriated gaze. “Oh, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have wasted a single second to rub your success in.”
“Idiot.”
Her annoyance pulled a deep chuckle from his chest that echoed from the high walls of the empty hall as he led her up the stairs. She knew all too well where he would take her and the memory made her heart grow heavy. Right at the head of the stairs lay one of the former reception rooms which had served his father as a spacious living room with its large fireplace. Two high glass doors led onto a huge balcony. It was common knowledge that there was no view of the sea in the whole of Fakeston that was more beautiful than the view from up here.
It was here that she had last seen the old man, only a day before his heart had gotten tired of beating and as Charles opened the door for her now, she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken about the fact that nothing had changed here since her last visit. If anything, the lack of change made it even more apparent how different the room felt now that he was gone. It seemed a little too big, a touch too dark and the crackling fire couldn’t fully warm the stately old place tonight.
She felt the sudden urge to get out of here. It had been a bad idea to meet with Charles anyway, but before she could think of a good excuse to leave, she felt Charles’ presence behind her back. In an instant she turned, neither trusting him nor herself when he was this close, but to her surprise she found him holding a small wooden box that had definitely seen better days. It was covered in battered crimson velvet which, together with the metal clasp at its front, made it look positively ancient.
“What’s that?”
“That’s the reason I needed to speak to you.”
Carefully his strong hands opened the lid to reveal a stunning gold and silver pendant, beaded with pearls and dark red gemstones. It was attached to a silver necklace that was held together by a small hook, matching the pendant perfectly.
She didn’t understand what this breathtaking piece of jewellery could possibly have to do with her and she understood even less why he shoved the box into her hands.
“It’s yours.” For a moment there was silence. She didn’t know what to say, hell, she didn’t even know if she had heard him correctly and so she was more than pleased when he chose to speak again. “My father instructed me very clearly in his last will that you should have it.”
Patiently, he waited for her response and when she still didn’t move after a while, he reached inside the box, fingers closing around the precious object to take it out. Mere seconds later she could feel the weight of the necklace around her neck, the touch of the cool metal finally making her snap out of her petrified state.
“It has been passed down in my family from generation to generation, mother to daughter or daughter-in-law. I guess leaving it to you means my father gave up all hope I’d ever find a wife to pass it on to.”
“I can’t possibly accept this.” The fingers of her free hand were already reaching for the hook, fumbling blindly at the nape of her neck, when a pair of determined hands wrapped around her own and gently stopped her antics.
“You can and you will.” His tone made it unmistakably clear that he wouldn’t argue with her on this matter, even if his eyes couldn’t fully hide the irritation about his father’s decision, and so her fingers went limp and abandoned their task. “If only because it suits you so exceptionally well.”
Had he just— “Was…Was that a compliment?”
“A compliment?” he spat, a wild smile gracing his lips as he took a step back. “Why on earth would I compliment you? Have you forgotten that we are sworn enemies?”
“How could I ever forget when your infuriating face is right in front of me as a constant reminder of our feud?”
She mirrored his dazzling smirk, her eyes refusing to do the decent thing and look away.
“I take it you’re not interested in staying for a glass of wine then?”
“Indeed I am not.” For a second his smile faltered while hers stayed perfectly in place. “Yet, it is the least I can do after robbing you of your family jewels, don’t you think?”
And there it was again, the million dollar smile that suited him so well and made her knees go weak a little every time. But now, she almost regretted her answer when it made him turn away from her to fill their glasses.
Suddenly, she felt awfully naive. Why had she agreed to stay? Did she really hope anything would happen between him and her tonight? He would never see her as anything more than a tree hugger, a nuisance to his perfect plan. Not that she wanted him to see her as anything else in the first place. What a ridiculous thought. She and Charles Brandon. Ridiculous!
It must have been the pretty room with its romantic fireplace that had gotten to her head. Maybe a bit of fresh air would make her see clearly again. And so she strutted over to the large glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. She walked straight over to the balustrade, letting the fresh breeze that came from the sea ease the turmoil he managed to awaken deep inside of her whenever she was with him.
It was a beautiful night, the crescent moon sat brightly in the clear sky, a few of its beams kissing the waves to crown them with pure silver. Despite the light, she could only guess where the land ended and the cliffs dropped down into the rolling waves although she had seen the thin line of the cliff’s edge a thousand times from this very spot. The wind wasn’t as harsh as it usually was up here, or maybe there was another reason why she didn’t feel its chilly blow as strongly tonight.
Unconsciously, her fingers lifted to find the Brandons’ family heirloom. The pendant felt a little strange as it rested against her warm skin, the white drop of a pearl that was attached to it dangling dangerously close above the valley of her breasts.
She had been so deep in thought that she almost jumped when the glass of wine appeared seemingly out of nowhere in front of her face. Still a little startled, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“The necklace is quite heavy.”
“My father always said it was a symbol of the hardships our title brings along with it.”
“Hardships?” She huffed. “I’m sorry, but I fail to see the hardships you are suffering because of your title.”
His face stayed completely unreadable as he looked out across the bay and for a moment she thought he might not have heard her pointed remark at all when he turned to her again with that playful smirk on his lips.
“Well, for one, there would be the hardship of your company.”
“Hm. Isn’t it the other way around really? I mean, I suffer from your company just as much, plus, it’s me who has to carry the burden of this historical necklace from now on.”
He lifted his glass, using it to point towards her own.
“It’s a good thing you have some wine then to help you through the seemingly never ending hours of my company.”
He leaned in, still holding out his glass towards her with that darned smile on his face.
“To our shared suffering.”
“Cheers.”
Even in the darkness his eyes cast their bewitching spell on her as he held her gaze while he lifted his glass. And he didn’t let go, not even to blink. This man was insufferable, leaving her no choice but to be the reasonable one in this duo and pretend to let her eyes wander to enjoy the majestic view across the moonlit bay.
“How’s Henry? I haven’t seen him around since you used him to thwart my plans the other morning.”
“He’s fine. He fell asleep in the library a while ago. It’s his favourite place in the house. Probably something about the sweet smell of old books, don’t you think?”
She looked over at him and she couldn’t help but wonder if he actually shared his dog’s fondness for old books. There was something utterly enticing about the thought of him in that library, sitting on the window seat or in one of the old wing chairs, completely lost to the world around him. She bet he had the most wonderful reading voice, low and warm as he painted colourful pictures word by word.
“Are you okay?”
Shit, she must have zoned out for a moment.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m fine. Totally fine.”
In a small fit of panic her hand locked around the heavy pendant again and his eyes followed her movement, providing her with the perfect opportunity to seize revenge for making her fantasise about him. Slowly her fingers loosened and glided along the curve of her breast in slow motion until she let her arm fall to her side nonchalantly.
“You’re shivering. Should we go back inside?”
“No, I’m not,” he denied, his eyes shooting up from her chest to form an expression of outrage.
Oh, he had definitely been shivering. “Yes, you are, Your Grace.”
“I am most certainly not.” He raised his chin in defiance. “But we can go back inside if you wish.”
With a triumphant smile, she nodded and wasted no more time to turn towards the building.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you called me by my title,” he started to tease again as they headed inside, obviously regaining his old self-confidence.
“Oh, I wouldn’t read too much into that if I were you. Just a little something to warm your heart as you were so obviously freezing.”
“Was not!”
“Yes, you were.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes like an annoyed teenager, but he couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. His enticing, perfectly shaped lips, so tempting, so kissable, making it so easy to forget that he was still the villain in this whole story.
The sudden change of air as they stepped back inside made her shudder and she drew away before he could notice. She could feel his quizzical gaze on her back as she walked over to the dark mahogany table that held an old gramophone, its metal horn shining in the dancing flames of the fire. It didn’t surprise her in the least when she found the same record sitting on the turntable that had played during her last visit and even after she had wound the crank and carefully placed the needle, her lips held a wistful smile when she looked up to find Charles again.
He was standing by the fireplace now, watching her carefully. She could be mistaken in the dim light, but was there a hint of concern in his eyes? Or was it something else entirely? Something she felt inside as well and was trying so hard to push aside.
“What are you doing?” he asked. The question seemed a bit silly, especially since the first crackling notes of the song already filled the silence, but she chose to satisfy his curiosity anyway.
“Making some music.”
She didn’t know what vexed him more, that she seemed to find it necessary to state the obvious for him or the smug smile she chose to accompany her statement with, but the rolling of his eyes in fake annoyance had been well worth it.
“Thanks for enlightening me, but I can see that.”
“Then why bother asking?” He was just about to come up with a flippant retort, when she cut him off short. “Did you know that this was your father’s favourite?”
“I…I didn’t.” In the blink of an eye all the playfulness that had made his eyes shine so beautifully was gone. “Just like all the other things I didn’t know about him.”
He tore his eyes away to stare into the flames instead, making her stomach clench and her heart ache for him. In the past, she had often imagined to hurt his Snobbiness in the most creative ways for what he wanted to do to the very building they were standing in right now, but never would she have aimed this low. Yet, without intent, she had and before she even knew what she was doing, she found herself by his side, her hand gently squeezing his arm.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have…” Slowly he lifted his gaze to find her eyes again, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe upon the sheer amount of pain and regret that mirrored in the stormy blue. “Can we please not talk about this tonight?”
“Of course.”
Anything. Anything to make that sparkle return to his eyes again.
“How about a dance instead?”
“Huh?”
Anything but that, obviously. He couldn’t be serious, could he? She must have misheard.
“Dance with me. Please.”
He was joking. He must be. As if she would—
A movement broke her train of thought, and when she followed it, she found his hand already waiting for her to take it. So she had heard him correctly. Interesting. Interesting and rather fortunate. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for all evening, her chance to fight for her cause once again. Maybe the last she would ever get. There was no way she couldn’t take it, still she felt bad about what she was about to do.
“I will, if you agree to come to the village council meeting and talk about your plans for Brandon Manor.”
She had expected him to decline or at least think it over for a moment, but he didn’t even hesitate.
“Agreed.”
Eager to cash in his benefit of the deal immediately, he didn’t even wait for her to process his answer before he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. The smuggest of grins began to spread over his face as a startled gasp escaped her, and instead of allowing her some space to breathe, he even tightened his hold and brought her closer still.
A dance. It was just a dance. No need to freeze in his arms, every muscle taut to a point that bordered on painful. But forcing herself to relax was easier said than done, with him pressed up against her body, moving so close to her, only the slightest bit, but enough to make her feel all of him. She didn’t dare look up into his eyes, afraid of what she would find there and, even worse, what it would do to her. Unfortunately, looking down turned out to be no less aggravating as the image of his defined pecs forced itself upon her, clenching and stretching the fine wool of his jumper so deliciously.
Heat. Heat was all she felt. The heat from the fire, the heat of his touch, seeping through her clothes and underneath her skin where his large hand rested against her back, rushing through her, multiplying, until it filled every last inch of her being.
Even the divine softness of the suede leather underneath her fingertips couldn’t soothe her agony. She could still feel him, despite the extra layer of clothing it provided, and no matter how hard she tried to fight it, the thought how he would feel against her without the protection of their clothes kept pushing itself back into her mind relentlessly. It was torture, and enchanting none the less. It made her careless, made her want to relax in his arms, to give in and let him lead the way.
But the spell was broken suddenly when she could feel his leg slide in between hers, his massive thigh clenching and pressing against the one spot where all the heat that burned her body from the inside seemed to collect. With another gasp, her head flew up. A bad idea, she realised, as the sudden movement stirred the air and, the very second her eyes locked onto his, brought a heady whiff of his scent. And she was lost, defenceless against the invasion of her every sense by the same man she had vowed to oppose—to hate—forever.
And now she found herself in his arms, dizzy with want for him, clinging to him tighter with every passing second. She needed to stop this before it would lead to something more, something they would both regret in the morning.
“Remind me again,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his to hide her face, “how did we end up here?”
“I guess it all started with you touching my hand that night at the pub.” He fell silent for a moment, but she could sense that there was something else coming. “I have been wanting to ask you all evening. Why did you do it?”
Her first instinct was to evade his question or to tease him again, but there was something about the tone of his voice, about the way his body seemed to stiffen the slightest bit, that made it impossible not to answer him truthfully.
“I remembered something your father had told me about you. By the time I thought it was just wishful thinking or his guilty conscience speaking. I thought he wanted to make excuses for your abominable behaviour so badly that he’d rather blame himself than letting his son be the villain in this scenario. But that night at the pub, I…I realised he may have been right about you all along.”
“And what did he tell you?”
His lips were so close to her ear, his warm breath wafting over her neck with a shiver.
“He…he believed that the death of your mother broke you and he regretted he wasn’t able to give you the love you would have needed and deserved so much. Your father only realised when it was too late that he had been so caught up in his own grief he had failed at being a good father to you.”
It was the truth, and still it pained her to tell it. Not as much as it must have pained him, judging from the deafening silence that pushed itself between the two of them for a while.
“So it was pity I have to thank for this?”
The icy spite in his voice froze her in place at once. On instinct his accusation made her push him off a little, to be away from him just as much as to be able to look into his eyes. Still her words were as soft as the touch of a feather when she spoke again.
“No. I think your grief gave me something I could relate to, something we had in common. And even though I wanted to hate you more than anything, I couldn’t. Not anymore.” Her eyes fell to her hands that still rested against his chest from pushing him off. “I guess you can’t really hate a person you share an experience as intense as the early loss of a parent with.”
She had feared he might have questions that would force her to dig up the memory of her father again, a memory she had so carefully stowed away deep inside her heart. Only sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, she allowed it to resurface, but it always came at the cost of pain and tears and nightmares. But to her great surprise he didn’t ask any questions. Instead she could feel the gentle touch of his fingers, grasping her chin and lifting her head.
“I’m glad my father had you in his life when I couldn’t be there for him.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. He knew why you couldn’t and he forgave you for it.”
“I know.” The hand on her chin fell to his side as he tore his eyes away from hers. “What I don’t know is if I can ever forgive myself.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to have this weigh on your conscience for the rest of your life.”
With her words, the song died away, leaving a silence that was almost unbearable. It made her uncomfortable, more than their first encounter or his unexpected appearance at the pub ever could have, and it made her foolish. And so she reached for his hand.
She had never expected her gesture to bring much comfort, but then he squeezed it gently, and she couldn’t believe her eyes when he even brought it up to his lips to place a tender kiss to her knuckles. This must be a dream. His Snobbiness would never…
It was only when he pulled her in again, holding her tight and swaying her slowly that she realised the next song had started to play. Eyes fixed on her, he monitored her closely. She didn’t know if he was waiting for something or if he was just teasing again, whatever it was, she didn’t want this to stop.
“So, um, Miss Treehugger, we’re still sworn enemies, right?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely, Your Snobbiness.”
“Good. Good. I’d thought you might say that.” He still held her gaze, his face the epitome of seriousness as his forehead began to wrinkle. “Tell me this though. Why are you smiling then?”
“Smiling?” She wasn’t, was she? Oh dear, it seemed she was. Deny. Deny. “I’m not smiling.”
“No, you definitely are smiling.” Urgh, she was. And that measly try of playing it down wouldn’t even have convinced herself.
“I told you, I am most certainly not! Probably just about to have a stroke caused by the enraging company.”
As excuses go, that had certainly been a better one. Still, it didn’t need more than a cock of his eyebrow to make her cave.
“Fine. So what if I was actually smiling?”
His pokerface was without a doubt masterful in comparison to hers.
“Nothing,” he stated nonchalantly. “I would just be wondering what you are smiling about.”
“My point exactly. What would I have to smile about right now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe…could it be because of me?” The scornful huff that came from deep within didn’t seem to impress him much. “Do you by any chance enjoy dancing with me?” He even had the audacity to lean in. “Being close to me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Your Grace.”
A deep chuckle followed her comment, and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes told her that he was far from finished teasing her.
“You know, just a thought, but if the two of us were characters in a story, I think we both know that right now was the moment we would ever so slightly drift closer until—”
His voice was so deliciously low, luring her into the little narrative he had spun.
“Until?” she breathed, her eyes betraying her last restraint, already knowing the answer as they dropped down to his mouth.
“Until our lips would touch in a tender kiss.”
With all her might she willed down the moan that was forming in her throat, but still her body chose to betray her, pressing itself up against his, one hand drifting around his neck.
“You mean like this?”
“Exactly like this.”
Determined fingers cupped her cheek without resistance and she knew she was lost as his eyes betrayed him just as much, glued to the movement of her lips as she went on.
“What a ridiculous thought. You hate me, just as much as I hate you. And this enemies-to-lovers nonsense only ever works in corny romance stories.”
“You’re right. It’s ludicrous. I would never.”
Determined fingers pulled her face to his, his hot breath caressing her lips. And with the final shred of sanity leaving her body, she whispered her last protest.
“Never.”
And then his lips were there, so soft, yet so enticingly demanding. There was no more room for teasing as he pulled her closer, his body moving so delectably against her own while his mouth devoured her, coaxed her to open up to him so he could claim her wholly. And by all that was holy to her, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin, his mouth roam her breasts while he moved inside her. She wanted to be his, and make him hers in return. But—
With a gasp she broke away. “I should leave now.”
“Why?”
She had hurt him, again. But he would thank her for it in the morning.
“To spare us both the regret.” Obviously, he wasn’t of the same opinion at all, clasping her even tighter. “Please, if you don’t let me leave now, I fear I won’t be able to stop.”
“Is that what you want? To stop?”
Oh, how much she wanted to lie, to tell him that she didn’t want him at all, that this was wrong. But she couldn’t. And when her answer finally came, it was feeble but decided.
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
The words sounded so simple from his mouth, so logical, but they were nothing compared to the feeling of giving in to her desire. It was all-consuming, pulling her in until she wanted to drown in his kisses just to be resurrected by his possessive touch, spiralling her right into a frenzy. There were hands and mouths everywhere. And in a heartbeat she was afire, burning in his arms, and yet she had never felt more alive.
It was only the touch of his bare skin against hers that made her come to her senses again.
“Charles,” she sighed and as if she had lifted the spell that had unleashed their carnal desire, he broke away. But she had been wrong once again, it seemed, as she opened her eyes to find the most alluring sight in front of her, making her knees go weak in an instant. But despite the most prominent thing, she couldn’t even tell what aroused her more, his furry chest, heaving as he used the short intermission to catch his breath, or his eyes, dark, and gleaming with want for her as they roamed her naked form freely. She could have stared at him forever, sadly the pleasure his sight brought was short lived. Soon his gaze settled on her neck, making her wonder what was so interesting about it until his hand reached out to trace the silver necklace all the way down to the gorgeous pendant.
“As I said,” he grinned cheekily, “exceptional.”
His lips mimicked his fingers, following their path along the precious piece of jewellery, and further down. He was kissing, licking, sucking every last inch of her chest, basking in the sweet melody of lewd sounds he coaxed from her lips. She found herself on the brink of madness already when all of a sudden, he decided to stop. Her eyes snapped open in an instant, finding him on his knees, the exact position she wanted him in, his lips mere inches away from her stomach, but all he did was stare up at her with a wicked grin on his lips.
“You are insufferable, Brandon.”
As expected, his grin only grew wider. “Am I now?” And with that his lips found her skin again. Leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, he ventured south, seemingly giving her what she wanted, just to hold once again, right above where she needed his attention most.
“Will you stop teasing me already?”
“As you wish.”
She had never expected him to yield this easily and so she watched in disbelief as his tongue found her hot sex, slipping right in between her folds without hesitation.
“Ah, fuck!”
His eyes shot up to hers upon the expletive his actions had caused, and although his mouth was too engaged in pleasuring her to display the devilish smirk on his face, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. What a sight, to see his gorgeous face between her legs, his sharp tongue finally put to good use after the aggravating comments it usually produced. A skill he had mastered just as much as the art of making her knees buckle and her head swim with the exquisite rolls and flicks of his tongue.
As if he had read her mind, his eyebrows rose up in a challenge and she had to bite her tongue not to moan his name out loud again. She wouldn’t grant him that satisfaction, not before he had granted hers. But he seemed very eager to please tonight, so his tongue was soon joined by two of his fingers. Carefully they pressed into her, a task made easy by the juices that had already collected thanks to his supreme ministrations, while his other hand clutched her bottom tightly to keep her upright.
She had thought it was a rather presumptuous gesture, but as soon as he started to move within her, she found that it wasn’t enough at all. In the dire need to steady herself, she grabbed a fistful of his hair. Just the one should be sufficient, she assumed, but she was proven wrong once more. Her tight grip on him forced a groan so powerful the vibration made her see stars as it rolled across her sensitive pearl. And so her other hand dove into his lush locks as well.
She was so close already, her hands now guiding his movements in tune with the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers. God, this was—
“Don’t stop,” she panted, “don’t you dare stop.”
He didn’t. Instead she heard him mumble something against her that sounded suspiciously like, “Never,” before he tightened his firm grip on her behind to pull her further into him and all of her senses clouded over at once. Her eyes fell closed as the rapture of her high surged through her. She didn’t feel her fingers tighten in his hair, didn’t hear his muffled curses against her sex, half pleasure half pain, that mixed with her own praise of his name so beautifully.
“Charles,” she whispered once again as he slowly retreated, leaving her blissed out yet unbearably empty and already hungry for more. Her whole body was still trembling as he guided her onto his lap and into a strong pair of arms that eagerly awaited her. For a while he just held her like that, his hands drifting up and down her back soothingly while her fingers subconsciously played with the silky fur that covered his chest, until she had calmed down.
Then, as if it was nothing to him, he moved her around, softly laying her onto the plush, warm carpet next to the fireplace.
“Are you all right?” he asked, hovering above her, his thumb lightly gliding along the apple of her cheek.
“I’m perfect.”
“Perfect? Really? Are you sure?”
The playfulness in his voice made her chuckle, and the slight movement it caused evoked his hardened arousal to twitch promisingly against her.
“Well,” she rasped, fingernails grazing down his side, “maybe not completely perfect.”
He smirked through the shiver her nails had caused, “That’s what I thought.”
But to her great dismay, he seemed to be in no hurry to reach that state of perfection he had so thoroughly hinted at, as he leaned down ever so slowly to catch her lips with his. It didn’t take long though before his craving seemed to grow stronger. Soon he deepened the kiss, his tongue fulfilling what the teasing roll of his hips so far had only promised. But then she could feel it, his hand finally reaching in between their bodies. Yet, it was no time to rejoice because, being the annoying tease he was, he chose to torture her just a little longer, dragging his tip lazily through her folds, pressing it into her entrance only the slightest bit every now and then.
“Are you really going to make me beg, Your Grace?”
He might have planned on it, she couldn’t tell for sure, but the second his title rolled so pointedly over he tongue, he was done for. With a groan so sinful it caused another blazing wave of heat to shoot through her core, he gave in, sinking into her slowly but all at once.
The sensation of feeling him, all of him, threatening to overwhelm her, she clung to him tightly, legs closing around his hips just in case he was considering to tease her again. But he didn’t, not anymore. His mind was set on one thing only now, and he was about to drive her insane in the process with his slow, deep strokes.
All she could feel was him, moving inside her, stirring the fire he had already unleashed once anew, his lips that had found her neck, sucking her soft flesh as his heady grunts and groans invaded her ears. It was everything, almost too much, yet still not enough.
But the relief came soon, with a single bite to her neck. The sweet sting made her back arch, slightly shifting the angle of his already maddening thrusts and she keened in delight as he hit the perfect spot. Over and over he found it, slowly making her loose all sense of time and space. She needed to touch him, to look into his eyes once more before she would be gone to the world a second time. Her hands reached for him on instinct, cupping his cheeks to lift his head from the crook of her neck and she was rewarded with the most dazzling smile she had ever seen on his face.
“Are you gonna come for me again?”
Yes, god, yes, she would. Just one more moment, one more languid thrust, one more look at his sickeningly handsome face, those lips, so perfectly shaped, she mused as her thumb traced the pink flesh. With the grin of a famished wolf who was only seconds away from sating his ravenous hunger on his prey, his lips opened and her finger slipped inside. Greedily he sucked it deeper, elation flooding his blue orbs the second he watched her eyes roll back into her head as she satisfied his desire and surrendered herself to euphoria once again.
Through the haze of her high she heard him moan her name, faintly noticed his hand reaching for her own, fingers intertwining before he tightened his grip and allowed himself to join her in her rapture.
His kisses grew soft as their frenzied passion slowly subsided, and with one final brush of her lips and a placid smile he rolled off of her. It was cold in the absence of his body over hers and she shivered.
“Come here,” he mumbled, offering her the comfortable resting spot on his wide chest and she accepted. Immediately his warmth embraced her. It was peaceful here by the fire, nestled into his side, one arm holding her tight, legs entangled while his lips pressed to her hair. She could have stayed like this forever.
In the silence, the drum of his heart was loud and clear against her ear, strong and steady beats underneath her fingertips, seemingly unfazed by what had just passed between them. And it was in this very moment the realisation hit her harder than it should have, leaving a touch of nausea in her stomach.
But what had she expected? That he would be deliriously happy? That he would fall in love with her just because they had shared this insignificant moment of passion? She was such a fool.
She must have stirred in his arms, drawing his attention to her agitated state unintentionally.
“What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
Her first impulse was to go with it or simply act as if there wasn’t a single thing burdening her mind, but even now that whatever they had was officially over, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him.
“No. I’m just so…disappointed.”
“Ouch. That’s a first,” he huffed, the wound in his words unmistakeable even though he tried to hide it behind a crooked smile.
“Not in you.” Idiot, she would have liked to add. But that would be unfair since the only idiot in the room was she. “In myself.” And with that she sat up.
He followed her example immediately, pushing himself up onto his elbow.
“What? Why?”
“Because I did the one thing I vowed never to do.” She couldn’t stand the confusion on his face any longer, honest or fake, she needed to turn away and burry her face in her hands. “Oh god, I really did sleep with the enemy in the end.”
The low chuckle that followed felt like a slap. A well earned one, that much was clear. She should have known he would attempt to lure her under his spell and fuck her brains out so she would give up her silly war and let him have his way with Brandon Manor, and she had made it so easy for him. She hadn't even tried to resist him.
“Did you though?”
His answer startled her and she needed a moment to process his words.
“Well, obviously,” she snapped over her shoulder, “or are you telling me you are not the Duke of Suffolk?”
“I’m sorry to say I am.” He sighed, and his scorching breath rolled over her shoulder like a warning. Still she flinched when a second later his lips pressed to the very same spot in a soft kiss. “But maybe I’m not your enemy.”
“You still want to build this bloody hotel, don’t you?”
Her voice was icy and she hoped with all her might that he would finally take the hint and leave her be before her hand would slip. God knew he could use a little clip round the ear.
“It pains me a little to admit after all the fun I had bickering with you, but I don’t.” What? He couldn’t be serious. In the blink of an eye she turned around, searching his eyes to see if he was just mocking her, but all she found was the tiniest hint of an apologetic smile on his lips. “And I never did. I made the whole thing up to get back at my old man.”
So he had been lying to her this whole time? The little… She wanted to slap him now more than ever, but then she realised what this actually meant. Brandon Manor was safe. No teardown, no hotel. And as soon as the rage had bubbled up inside of her, it calmed again.
“But you’re still leaving by the end of the month?”
“That was the plan, yes. Other than this old house, nothing is keeping me here.” She felt the sudden urge to avert her gaze, but somehow there was something about the way he looked at her that forced down her first instinct. “But I have a feeling that might be about to change.”
There he sat, right in front of her with that darned triumphant smile on his face, His Snobbiness Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, her sworn enemy, about to worm his way into her heart and there was nothing she could do but sit and watch.
“You know,” he rasped while his fingers trailed along the line of her jaw and made her shiver, “I heard tree hugging is supposed to be very beneficial for the heart. So I think I might give that a try.” His fingertips had come dangerously close to her lips and she was about to open up and let him do whatever he wanted to when they fell away and the suddenly very ceremonious tone of his voice irritated her. “I also still have the duties of a duke to fulfil, a county to rule—”
“Idiot,” she chuckled in amusement, her palm pressing against his chest playfully to push him further off of her. But he was quick to grab her wrist, his other hand cupping her cheek as he hauled her against his chest again.
“And a few peasants to vex.”
His kiss wasn’t like any other kiss they had exchanged tonight. It felt easy, free of all the tension and silent doubt that had been hovering above them this whole time. This, right here, right now, was heaven.
She was still smiling when he stopped to look at her again.
“What? Did you think you would get rid of me so easily?”
“Oh, I’d never count myself that lucky, Your Grace.”
The boyish grin on his lips died away suddenly, making room for a hunger in his eyes she didn’t find there for the first time tonight.
“You know,” he growled dangerously lowly, “you really should go easy on the Your-Grace-thing, at least if you ever want us to get to that village council meeting you lured me into in exchange for that dance.”
“I think I’ll take my chances,” slowly she leaned in, her cheek brushing along his until her lips found his ear in a whisper, “Your Grace.”
Tag List: If your name is crossed out, I wasn't able to tag you. If you don't specify which fic you want to be tagged in, you will be added to my general taglist.
@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka @ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @endofalldays01 @nerra75 @indigosaurus @nowyouseeme098 @cap-just-said-language @miss-rebel-without-applause @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maan24 @mochionly @introvertedmouse @sofiebstar @kebabgirl67 @marytudorbrandon @littleone65 @thoughtfullyfurryangel @mimi-just-living @themanfromu @liecastillo @capncassas @evansabove1981 @luclittlepond @geralts-yenn @agniavateira @enchantedbytomandhenry @lumiousmoon @tumblnewby @crazybutconfidentaf @viking-raider @thorins-queen-of-erebor @aletheladyinred @fvckinghenrycavill @lharrietg @sluttyphoenixsworld @supermamabear123
#charles brandon x reader#charles brandon x you#charles brandon#duke of suffolk#the tudors#modern day au#henry cavill#charles brandon fic#charles brandon fanfiction#charles brandon imagine#charles brandon fanfic#henry cavill imagine#the tudors fanfiction#the heir
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“I am the queen, king’s wife. You will show me the respect as such.” the Lady Lyanna almost hissed, her hands fisted clutching the skirts of her red gown.
Rhaenys done with the blabbering woman stepped a little closer to her, at three and ten she was tall as the lady in front of her “I recognize no queen but my mother. The true wife of the king in the face of gods and men.”
________
Cersei Lannister was beautiful just like her twin brother, she smiled beautifully and hugged Rhaenys as the girl rose “You look just like your mother Lady Rhaenys Waters.”
“Thank you. You are a beauty yourself too, your grace.” Rhaenys spoke smiling but the queen’s smile vanished. The former princess knew her words and what the older woman meant.
_______________
Something changed in the older woman and she tensed “Will he kill me if I displease him?” she asked worriedly, words whispered in high valyrian.
Poor thing, King Rhaegar has his name mixed with dirt. “No, he is a loving husband and a good king but still a man. And man can be monsters.” She said what she wanted say and Queen Eloise nodded understanding what she wanted to understand.
_________
Rhaenys sharply looked at Margaery Tyrell, a sixteen year old girl smiling prettily at her, mocking her “The Rose of Highgarden has filled this court with her essence. I pray it spreads for years filling king’s arms with lots of prince's he desires.” Rhaenys spoke in monotone, with a blank expression on her face.
Margaery Tyrell got up from her seat giving her a sweet poisonous smile “I will perform my duties as a queen, as a wife with great responsibility as I am sure you will do as a subject to the realm. And see you are my daughter now!” She spoke all thorny smile and linked her arms through king’s.
_________
“Queen Ashara. It’s so good to see you again after all those years.” Overwhelmed with emotions Rhaenys bowed as they met in Queens Ballroom.
The elder woman took long strides and hugged her “You used to call me Aunt Ash, Princess Rhaenys. Your mother misses you greatly but she is very proud of the wonderful woman you have become.” She praised and in her voice there was no fakeness.
#Rhaenys Targaryen#viserys targaryen#Rhaegar Targaryen#Rhaenys being Queen Mary Tudor#Rhaegar as Henry the VIII#Ao3 fic#Rhaenys x Viserys#This is heavily inspired by the Tudors#Viserys III#Queen Regnant Rhaenys#elia martell#ashara dayne#There is bashing#anti rhaegar#rhaenys daughter of elia
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Humphrey/Sophie for 20 (with a hint of 21 should you wish!) - thelastplantagenet ✨
20: a kiss on a scar.
21: a kiss on a place of insecurity.
Link | Ao3
“What is this?” Sophie said, tracing a line down his back. Her delicate fingers traversed each ridge of his spine, down and then up again; then they came to settle upon—that.
Humphrey fumbled around for his shirt. It was there somewhere, it had to be; but it was subsumed by cream sheets, distinguished only by its blackwork and lacing. He picked it up, shook it out, trying to make a shirt out of folds; it remained sullenly rumpled, and he gave up. Crushed and creased would have to do.
“What’s what?” he said. From where he was sitting, facing his half of the bed, he couldn’t see Sophie; she was knelt behind him, one hand on his shoulder.
“This,” she said, indicating to the wound he knew intimately but could never see. Thanks to its location, it rarely felt the touch of another; Sophie’s nails usually drew red marks into his skin down his sides, down his lower back. Most of the time, it was covered by a gauze of white fabric: first bandages, then a shirt. Now, it was covered by Sophie’s splayed hand, her soft skin soothing against scar. “I have not seen it before.”
He tensed. “It’s … usually it’s under a shirt.”
“I can tell that,” she said. “What caused it, though?”
“Jousting accident,” Humphrey muttered. “I don’t know if you remember it.”
“I remember you being injured,” she said quietly. “I don’t remember seeing the aftermath.”
“No, I, I don’t make a habit of showing it off.”
“I can see why.” Sophie traced a line over his back, following the thick, jagged white line which marred his back. It went up to his shoulder, then down to meet his spine; it was the ugliest diagonal he knew, erupting across his shoulder blade to cut it in half. “Is it sensitive?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “Well. Not any more.”
“That is not what I meant,” Sophie said, stilling her hand. “I meant, does it bother you?”
“I, it…” He fumbled for words. It was a memory of anguish. A lance—that fatal blow—the fall; the white-hot pain, as if he had been struck with a poker; the blood, the hard ground, the rush of unconsciousness.
The failure.
It certainly didn’t evoke anything good.
“Humphrey?”
“It’s not my fondest of memories,” he managed, whilst Sophie did not stray from his side.
“Were you hiding it from me?”
“Not … not intentionally. I sort of expected you’d see it at some point, I just … wasn’t in any hurry to call attention to it.”
“I can see why,” she said. “Did it hurt?”
By Christ, it had hurt. He had wondered, for a brief and foolish moment, if he was dying; if these were the fires of Hell. But no: he had woken up, eventually, stiff and aching all over.
He didn’t remember the months after that.
“Yes,” Humphrey said, “a lot.”
Sophie brought back her hand, settling on his shoulder. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she pressed a kiss to his scarred scapula, gentle but firm. For the first time in a while, the wound ached anew: ached with affection, with love. She pulled away, settling her head in the crook of his neck, and wrapped her arms around him.
“There is nothing to hide from me,” she murmured, slightly muffled by the fact that she was nuzzling his neck. “I have seen most of you before, mon cher amour, a little more of you does not bother me. Besides—you have enough scrapes already. Another is nothing new.”
“Thanks,” he said, voice unsteadier than he would have liked. “I just—it’s not, it’s not honourable, it just—it’s just a flaw.”
“We were made in God’s image,” Sophie said. “How can it be a flaw? You are perfect for me. Which is good, because,” she kissed his neck, feather-light, but enough to remind him of the bites she could leave, “you are mine.”
“Thank you,” he said, “it means a lot to me, but could you let go of me for a minute? I really would like to put a shirt on, it’s cold in here.”
Sophie pouted. “But I don’t want you to have your shirt on, that defeats what I want to do.”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh. Right. Will this involve any kissing my back?”
She grinned. “Should you want it to, then yes.”
“I think—yes. I’d like that. Just, slowly, please.”
“I can do slowly,” Sophie said, “as long as you are happy with that.”
“It’d be my honour.”
With that, she acquiesced, biting lightly at the juncture between neck and back like a particularly affectionate vampire.
Now, this kind of injury he could enjoy.
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fire and blood
#guess what#more Jon#but also a dany!#I’ve never tried to draw a book version of her and I’m quite happy?#went a bit Tudor with the dress#also if Jon gets cool scars so does she#probs drogon related#this is based on a very specific scene in a fic I’ll never write#something like Ned realising ‘oh shit I fostered a targ restoration in the cradle of winterfell’#backgrounds are awful btw#you wouldn’t think it’s difficult to make something simple to frame a picture#AND YET#urgh I love targ Jon#i don’t think it’ll happen#my main bet is kbtw or something for the endgame#but let me dream#also outing myself as a jonerys enjoyer#I’m not exclusive in my Jon coupling thoughts but I do think they’d have a lot to talk about#Jon snow#daenerys targaryen#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#valaryian scrolls#r+l=j#Targaryen#game of thrones#minsart#my art#fanart#snowstorm
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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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Tell us what the TV show trailer is like?
EEEE. This is THE BEST.
Season One
All happy endings have a beginning. To get to the heart of the ever after you have to go back to the once upon a time…
This is a henry voiceover - you flash between their statue, the three crowns, a baby in a cradle in a beautiful field of flowers and trees - lit by a spring sunrise - all soft gold and pinks. And then you go to Henry, saying he wants a divorce, KOA falling to the ground, Bessie Blount with Henry and then an image of Thomas on a ship with small!Gregory looking at the English shore, Anne in France.
“I need a son” - Henry, talking to Wolsey. “And the Queen can no longer give me one”
Thomas, waking from a nightmare.
Anne, reading City of Ladies and discussing it.
End tagline ‘the journey to a golden world starts with a choice’
I’m now imagining promo posters with different characters and it’s like:
Anne. ‘The Queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard’ and ‘Loving Mother. Beloved Queen. Political Genius’ oh also ‘she’s the intellectual powerhouse’ (Anne is wearing her crown and sitting on her throne, smiling dangerously)
Wolsey’s is actually essentially the same as it is for our Tudors (The Cardinal With A Lover).
Thomas Cromwell. ‘Proof That Fairy Tales Are True’ ‘The Commoner Who Became A King’ ‘He’s sleeping with the King…and with the Queen.’ (The first one is genuinely shot like a fairy tale ending disney movie and the second is one of the sexy shots with the three of them in bed, Thomas in the middle).
Henry. ‘Can The King Conquer His Own Demons?’ And listen there’s definitely a Taylor Swift song involved I know it.
#ot3: political power trio#lil and her ridiculous aus#fic#tudors ot3 verse reference#thinking of season two and three/four stuff as well but I will get back to that
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i love and shall until i die [ read on A03 ]
"We will name you the child's godfather," Henry says then, interrupting the spiral of his thoughts, and Thomas' lips thin, though not with displeasure. It is a good plan. It is his own plan, in fact, one that will allow him a measure of closeness to his child that might otherwise seem suspicious.
A child. A dynasty. A reminder.
For @herawell and @mihrsuri 🖤
#Yet again I don't know what to tag this as#Thomas Cromwell#Anne Boleyn#Henry VIII#The Tudors#???#my fics#fic requests
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when the heart would cease, ours never knew peace
The moon was bright, the breeze of the wind breathing against the back of Robert’s neck, even from his spot in the shade. He craved to go back inside his chambers, as the sun had set and supper had been done but Elizabeth liked it out there, so he would stay.
It was a comfortable silence, and he couldn’t stop staring at the way she looked so alive in nature. Her eyes were brighter, her skin warmer, her hair shinier. It was dizzying how irresistible she looked.
That’s the only way he thought to describe it. Beautiful.
She was lost in her own thoughts, back resting against the trunk of the tree they were both sitting under. Robert was always wondering how even words on a page could not describe how she had made him feel, but it didn’t matter how many times he’d attempt to explain it, to properly formulate them into words, he never understood.
He wished he could lose his focus on reality easily, but the only thing that ever came close was her. It felt wrong, but he could stare at Elizabeth for hours and never get bored of it. Sunlight made her stand out and moonlight made her shine; Nothing will take away your brilliance.
He wanted to tell her….So badly. He wanted to say so many things—but something always stopped him.
It almost tasted like fear.
She’d have invaded his thoughts for days, and all he could think about was his hand brushing against hers, or the curve of her lips whenever she’d grin back at him.
It was addicting.
But he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not in the midst of chaos and despair.
He would know when the moment was right.
#hey happy new year#found a little something i wrote back in late 2022#and thought i'd post#ao3 link is above#historical fanfiction#tudor fic#elizabeth 1998#elizabeth tudor#robert dudley#elizabeth x robert#one shot#historical drama fic#hist fic#period drama fic#otp: for i have lived and so will die only hers
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Imagining Anne sneaking out to see Croydon, in hiding, secretly... Just to keep an eye on him at first, make sure he's not going to blow all their covers, but making more and more excuses... Just sitting with him, talking with him, long into the night... Coming home to find her husband and children already asleep... She's not part of their world anymore, she's part of her own secret world.
Croydon is, for the time being, living under a secret identity in a baker's shop, until they can figure out how to smuggle him out of London. Anne wouldn't dream of telling anyone, but she lies awake at night, hoping the plan takes longer and longer to come together. Hoping it keeps getting delayed. She dares not think about how empty her life will be when he goes. When he makes his final escape. Will she ever see him again? Will she even be allowed to know where he's gone? Or will he just disappear one day? Will she just wake up one morning to find her life dulled, London emptier, the streets colder?
She dares not think about the fact that the longer he stays, the harder it will be to say goodbye. She dares not think about the fact that the longer he stays, the harder it will be to refuse him, when he asks her to run away with her. If he asks her.
Croydon is surprisingly good at his new job; he spent much of his childhood in the kitchens of his manor, prefering its warmth to the stark cold of the great hall. Preferring the warmth of its staff to the stark cold of his own parents.
He kneads bread with a skill and deftness that enchants her. His fingers are so long, she notices, as she watches him work. And so soft. Aristocrat's hands. Hands that have never before seen a day's work in their life, before now. And yet those hands gently take her own work-worn hands within them, as delicately as though it were she who was noble, and precious. He guides her hands to the dough, teaching her to knead in the way he does. His fingers over hers.
His hands are so very warm. She could swear she still feels the warmth of them on her own even as she walks home, through the cold wet London air of late November, clutching a loaf of bread, the excuse for her trip to the baker, to her chest as tenderly as though it were a newborn infant.
Everyone can see her glowing, like a fire lit in her soul, kindled by her little secret and her all-too-brief secret meetings, but no-one can get below the surface to see what's fanning the flames.
Bill thinks that maybe she just really likes bread.
#spontaneous fic#bill the film#bill 2015#debgatus 2: tudor boogaloo#the earl of croydon#anne hathaway#simon farnaby#martha howe-douglas
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