#british rpf

[lokidokieokie]

Daffodils Masterlist

A Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader

World-famous actor Tom Hiddleston and distinguished journalist Y/n L/n were inseparable...well inseparable until an enormous misunderstanding destroyed any trust they both had in each other.

Fast forward five years and the two still haven't spoken. Their friendship seemingly forgotten.

Chapter 1 - A New Feature

Chapter 2 - Blast From the Past

Chapter 3 - Meetings and...Greetings?

Chapter 4 - Bitter Reminiscence

Chapter 5 - The Courage to Speak

Chapter 6 - (coming soon)

[martinsharmony]

❤️❤️❤️

[formulanni]

104!!!

Tags: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time

[complementaryhalves]

how has this pic existed for 5 years and no one has yet written 8k words of smut about it

context from kym's website

" [...] drivers waiting for the national anthem [...] the Hulk’s “sack tap” on Carlos Sainz. He got Carlos completely unaware and gave him a good tap [...] I wished I’d had a wider lens but it was un-announced. It certainly made Lando Norris laugh."

[castielsprostate]

jesus: okay i think your clit to dick transition worked!

judas:

jesus:

judas:

jesus: fuck mate i turned your blood into wine again, innit

[harrywavycurly]

Texting Joseph Quinn Part 23: Fandom

Masterlist: Here

A/N: This was fun and I’m so sorry yall have had to wait so long for an update but I hope you enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day!💖

[viking-raider]

A Christmas Miracle🎄

Summary: You and Henry are celebrating Christmas with family, while expecting your first child together.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Papa Bear!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Christmas Decorating, Pregnancy Stuff, Cotton Candy Fluff, Loving Marriage, Christmas Fluff

Inspiration: This story ties into my Easter story, The Golden Egg.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“Babe!” Henry gasped, as he came into the living room, nearly tossing the steaming cup of tea in his hand, upon discovering you.

You were standing on the two-step high stool, to sprinkle golden tinsel on the fragrant and robust branches of an eight foot Fraser Fir that stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband, but didn't look back at him, as you picked a bit of tinsel off one of the emerald branches, having adorned the needles with too much of the sparkling, thin strands.

“You shouldn't be up there, love!” He scolded you, setting the tea he had made you on the coffee table as he rounded it and the couch, to come towards you, resting his hands on your hips. “I told you, I would help you decorate the tree, once I was done with your tea.”

“I know you did, Hen.” You answered, sighing softly, finally looking down at him and seeing the wrinkle of worry between his brow. It hadn't smoothed since the Brit found out you were pregnant with his child on Easter, nearly nine months before. “But I'm also capable of doing it myself.” You reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his neck a gentle squeeze.

“I'm pregnant, not invalid.”

Henry sighed softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your round and pronounced belly. “I know you're capable, sweetheart.” He assured you, looking up at you with an affection in his blue eyes that always melted your heart. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Especially with you so close to the due date.” He said, helping you step down off the stool. “Just sit down and enjoy your tea. Then, we'll tag team the tree together.” He told you, putting an excited smile on his face.

“All right.” You conceded, settling down on the couch and took up your tea, cupping the mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your palms, before finally taking a sip.

“Your parents will be here in a couple days.” Henry commented, squatting beside a box of Christmas decorations neither of you had opened up yet. “My parents made up their guest house in preparation for their arrival.” He told you, peeking into the box.

Halfway into your pregnancy, Henry had taken time off from acting and the two of you decided to leave your secluded London home for the coziness of Henry's home island of Jersey. Buying a nice, beach front property, three streets and a five-minute walk from his parents' place, with the intent on having your baby boy born in Saint Helier. You loved being on the little Channel Island, sitting on the back patio or taking walks on the beach, breathing in the soothing sea air, which helped your morning sickness a good deal.

The only downside was your family was far out of reach of you, having to fly into Jersey to visit and check-in on you. Your parents wanted to be on hand when you finally had their third grand-baby, so Henry footed the bill to bring them out and his parents were amazing enough to host them while they were here.

“That's great.” You smiled, flexing your sore and swollen feet, watching him pull out ornaments, garland and other little tree decorations. “I can't wait to see them again.” You commented, not having seen them since your fourth month, just before you and Henry left for Jersey. “I'm sure my mom will bring more knitted items.” You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to the soft, butter-yellow blanket your mother had knitted a couple months ago.

“I would be shocked, if she didn't!” Henry laughed back, his broad shoulders shaking as he stood. “What garland do you want on the tree?” He asked, holding up a strand of colorful beads and another of red and white, twisted ribbons.

You hummed, pressing your lips together and studied your tree, eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the colors on its branches. “I think the ribbon would work best with it.” You finally settled, nodding content with your choice.

“All right then.” He nodded back, putting the other garland aside. “Ah, nope!” He tisked, when you set your tea down and started the mini struggle of standing up. “You put the tinsel on the tree, it's my turn to put the garland on. You relax.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed softly, picking your tea back up and rested against the couch cushions, just in time for Kal to jump up beside you. “Well, hello there, sweet boy.” You cooed at him, reaching out to give him good scratches between the ears and around the neck. “Have you come to make sure I stay put?” You quipped, the Akita resting his head in your lap.

“I did no such thing!” Henry called over his shoulder, carefully tucking the garland into the branches.

“Sure, love. Sure.” You chuckled at him, though Henry's protectiveness at times could be a little overbearing, you knew he did it out of love and first-time father worries. “He's paying you in treats and promises of all the good turkey, ham and brisket bits he plans on cooking for Christmas dinner.” You accused, lifting a brow at the unphased Akita, before wincing and pressing a palm to the side of your belly.

“You all right?” Henry asked, catching a glimpse from his peripheral, pausing a moment.

“Yeah, your son just kicks like a Fly-Half.” You answered, chuckling halfheartedly. “If he keeps these strong legs, he'll for sure make the England team.” You said, trying to ease the look of suspicion on Henry's face, that it was the baby kicking, and your own, that the pain was something more than a false contraction.

“You missed a branch there, Bubs.” You commented, drawing Henry's attention away from the subjection, motioning with your steaming black, Nightmare Before Christmas cup.

“Mm.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, but turned to fuss over it.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the globe of your stomach, hoping to soothe any would-be pains. Thankfully, you didn't have any more throughout the morning, helping Henry put up the ornaments and other little hanging knick knacks on the tree. Something Henry was comfortable with you doing, since you kept your feet on the hardwood, safely beside him.

“I want to do a little plaster imprint of his hand and foot, to hang up on the tree for next year.” You commented suddenly, gently holding a little needlepoint ornament you'd made. It was a silhouette of Henry and you, with Kal between you, the year above your heads. You had made one every year since the first Christmas the three of you had spent together. “Should make a new needlepoint too.” You added even softer.

Henry glanced down at you, a fond and nostalgic light in his blue orbs. “I think that would be a lovely idea, babe.” He smiled, warmed at the idea. “I like the idea of making and expanding our little traditions.”

“I should have given myself a baby bump in this one.” You joked, carefully adding the stitched ornament on a branch, accompanied with the others around it. “So much for accuracy.”

“It looks perfect, my love.” He assured you, kissing your hair. “Now, let's turn the lights on and see how this thing looks!” He proclaimed, shuffling around the tree and plugged in the two strings of lights skillfully wrapped around the tree.

You stood back to get a good look at the Fir, just as the tiny, cool and warm-white LED, diamond facet bulbs flickered on. Making many of the ornaments glitter and twinkle. It brought a great feeling of delight bubbling up inside of you, tugging on your exhausted and hormonal raged body, until tears spilled over.

“Sweetheart.” Henry cooed, pouting at you sweetly, as he closed his arms around your shoulders, hugging you as closely as your belly would allow.

“It looks beautiful.” You mumbled into his chest, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt.

He smiled, nosing the hair at the top of your head and rubbing your back with one hand. “It is, dear, and so are you.”

“I'm also starving.” You blurted out, breaking the melancholy mood.

“Butter chicken or pepperoni and feta pizza?”

“Oh god, you know me too well at this point.” You giggled, licking your lips. “But, the butter chicken.”

You sat up in bed, Kal resting between your legs, with his head laying on your belly, as you read your latest book on your Kindle. While Henry was downstairs doing some work on the new Warhammer minis he ordered as a way to keep himself occupied, when he wasn't taking care of you.

“Oh.” You gasped, feeling a sudden, sharp pain. “Gosh, did we disagree on the butter chicken, Bean?” You groaned, pressing your palm to the side of your stomach; Kal lifting his to sniff at your belly as another pain caused you to cramp. “It's all right, Bud. Your brother is just being a little difficult.” You sighed, setting your e-reader on your nightstand and lumbered out of bed, before heading downstairs.

“Hey, love.” Henry smiled, looking up from the Ultramarine mini in his hand. “I thought you were going to bed.”

“I was trying to, but your son doesn't agree with dinner.” You explained to him, looking over his progress on his Warhammer army. “Can you do your trick?” You asked, lulling your head to the side and giving him a cute look.

Henry chuckled, setting his mini down. “My trick.” He smirked, standing up and moving behind you. “Any reason to cuddle.” He teased, reaching around to cup both hands beneath your stomach and leaned you both backwards, taking the weight of your belly as he did.

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes falling shut, while you let your head rest against Henry's chest. “It feels so good.” You sighed, resting your hands on his.

Henry cradling your baby bump had become a god send throughout your third trimester. Taking the weight of your healthy and active baby boy off your lower back and hips. However in your earlier trimesters, the two of you learned it helped relieve your heartburn and whenever your little one got a bit too restless.

You liked to think it was the baby reacting to Henry's touch.

It was calm for a long, few moments, just you and Henry, slowly swaying side to side, the baby calm. But again, your stomach spasmed and you whimpered, making it clear to Henry, you were indeed having some sort of contractions.

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, eyes wide and brows pinched.

“Since this morning.” You confessed finally, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded, startled and worried.

“I didn't have any through the afternoon.” You assured him, patting his hands. “I figured it was just false. But, I'm starting to think otherwise, with how much that one hurts.”

“We should probably go to the hospital.” Henry fret, starting away from you, but you turned and caught his elbow.

“Henry.” You said in a soft, soothing voice. “You remember what the OB said?” You tried reminding him. “Four-One-One.”

“Four minutes apart, a minute long, lasting an hour.” He recited, having listened to your OB, and read numerous baby and expecting parent books.

You had taken a couple of parenting classes as well. Until people started posting photos of you on social media, annoying you and causing Henry to be even more of a papa bear. So, you'd found an online, private class to do in the comfort of your living room.

“Not one has lasted a minute, been four minutes apart or lasted an hour.” You assured him, dropping your hand to his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If they're the real deal, I'm in the early stages and going to the hospital now will only incur hours and hours of waiting. Which we'll be doing here anyway.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, you worry-wart.” You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “Come to bed with us.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes, kissing his bearded cheek and brushing your fingers through the curls above his ear.

“You'll tell me.” Henry insisted as he followed you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Of course, I'll tell you, Henry.” You assured him. “Then, I'll tell Kal.” You quipped, trying to lighten the mood and get him to smile.

But he didn't smile, his mind preoccupied with making sure everything was ready, should you wake him up and tell him your contractions were growing close together.

Did I get the car seat in the Audi correctly? Where did I put the hospital bag? In this closet or the coat closet downstairs? Everything's in it she and the baby needs, right?

“Babe.”

Perhaps I should just go down and get it, to make sure. What about the nursery? Thank God, I finished the crib last month!

“Hen..”

Do we need more diapers? Are they the right size? What if--

“Henry!” You called out, when he didn't answer you, a far off and growing alarm look in his cerulean eyes, startling him out of his worried trance. “Everything is all right.” You said slowly, holding his gaze steadily. “We have everything we need. Everything the baby needs. If we don't, that's perfectly fine. Your parents and mine have offered their help, should it arise. As have your brothers.”

“I don't know how you're so calm.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping down on his side of the bed.

You laughed, smirking. “I'm not calm. But there's no use for us both freaking out, especially at the same time. Besides, when I freak out, I have you to pull me back together, the least I can do is return the favor, when you start to lose it.” You told him, maneuvering yourself back under the covers.

“What's a spouse for?”

“You're right.” Henry nodded, turning the light out and resting against the headboard beside you. “One of the many reasons I love you, and married you.” He said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Snuggling down, your back pressed against Henry's chest with his hand ever present on your belly, you tried to focus on falling asleep.

“You know.” Henry commented, half-asleep himself. “I sort of miss when you were in your first and second trimesters.”

“Oh?” You mumbled back, with interest.

“Yeah, you were always jumping my bones.” He laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth. “Well, until the end of your second trimester, when your belly got too big to do anything other than waddle and ride my cock.”

You were instantly awake again at his words. A huge smile of hot guilt and embarrassment on your face, that you hid in your pillow. It was true! The first stages of your pregnancy had made you quite frisky towards Henry. Sometimes so much so, he hadn't recovered from the last time you'd had sex and would need to pleasure you in other ways to bring your arousal down. Not that the man complained about it! But a couple weeks into your third trimester, the raging inferno of your passions cooled off. Even beyond what they were before you were expecting. You were just too tired and sore, uncomfortable, and just ready to give birth, to think of such things. But again, Henry didn't complain. You were grateful for that, because you felt bad that your mood didn't match his, at the moment.

Having seen the look of concupiscent on his face more than once, as the two of you showered together, went to bed or woke in the mornings. But you just didn't have it in you, and he took it with grace and understanding acceptance, not pressuring you or making you feel like a bad partner, for not reciprocating.

The two of you calmed down and allowed each other to finally fall asleep.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked, the next morning as the two of you finished breakfast.

“I feel all right, Bubs. Only a few pains here and there.” You answered, polishing off your usual cup of chamomile tea, something that had been a staple throughout your pregnancy, to battle your morning sickness and heartburn. “Excited to make cookies with your mum.”

Henry smiled across the table at you. “Good. I bet all these sugary smells are going to drive you and wee man nutty.”

It was a Cavill family tradition to get together, before Christmas, and make cookies for the big family dinner party, as well as to give out as tokens to friends and neighbors. It was also considered quite the honor among the Cavill brothers' wives to have Marianne ask to join her in the massive production. Since she didn't ask just anyone to help her; having a couple secret family recipes to protect in the process. But Marianne had asked, surprisingly and much to Henry's pride, you to help her, at your and Henry's first Christmas. Something that made one or two of Henry's sisters-in-law jealous, especially since the two of you were new and still dating, and one of them had never been asked.

Even to this day.

“Our mouths are already watering for your mother's chocolate chip, mocha cookies.” You confessed; it was one of the many things you looked forward to for Christmas. Marianne's chocolate chip, mocha flavored cookies were something you'd start a fight over, as were her chocolate covered, Oreo truffles with peppermint bark crumble on top. “Oh god.” You moaned, stuffing the last bit of bland, buttered toast into your mouth; Henry laughing at you.

“I'm going to roast up another heritage turkey this year.” He commented, finishing his coffee, then helped clear the breakfast table. “Everyone seemed to love it last year.”

“That's fine with me.” You answered, loading the soap dispenser and starting the dishwasher. “I have one small request.”

“You could make an enormous request, love!” Henry snorted, taking a protein shake out of the fridge.

“I want yams with roasted marshmallows on top.” You told him, confidently. “To myself.”

“To yourself?” He echoed, a smirk on his lips. “How big is the dish?”

“A small one is fine. I just don't want to share it.” You confessed your craving to him.

Letting out a laugh and nodding, Henry shrugged. “All right then. I'll make sure you have your roasted marshmallow covered yams, and I'll have Kal guard them.”

“Excellent.” You nodded back, then looked at your watch. “We should get going. Your mother asked us to get there before ten.” You informed him, heading for the front door and eased yourself down on a small bench that was there.

Henry joined you, squatting down to grab your shoes from underneath the bench and slipped them on your feet, tying them securely, since your prominently belly prevented you from reaching your feet to put on your shoes. Let alone tie them. Your shoes on and helping you back up, Henry got his own shoes on, but paused as he opened the door for you and Kal. He glanced back at the hall closet. Biting his lip, he hurried over and grabbed the baby bag from inside, then dashed after you, putting the bag in the back as he got behind the wheel.

“Just in case.” He answered your lifted brow.

“Fair, I suppose.” You shrugged, unable to argue with his logic.

“How are you holding up, my love?” Henry asked, peeking into the kitchen, before shuffling over to you, sure his mother wouldn't shoo him out.

“My cookie restraint thinned dramatically after the second batch.” You confessed, looking around at all the Santa's, snowmen, candy canes and snowflakes that were either waiting to go into the oven or cooling. “However, your mum apparently anticipated this. Making me batch yesterday, so I could nibble on them, while we made these.”

Henry grinned, touched at his mother's thoughtfulness. “That was sweet of her.” He cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Have you had any more pains?” He asked, his brows pinching slightly, worried.

“Nothing concerning.” You told him, closing your hand around his wrist. “You know I'd come get you.” You tried assuring him, giving him a soft smile. “Or your mum would, should my water break.” You giggled, a smile turning into a smirk.

“That's not funny, babe.” Henry snapped softly, eyes big.

You pressed your lips together, guilty, before pushing up on your bare toes, having taken off your shoes for the long standing in the kitchen, to press your lips against Henry's. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You mumbled against them, before reaching around him, grabbing a finished Snowman, presenting it to his mouth in place of your own. “I baked and decorated this one myself.” You grinned at him, a glitter of pride in your eyes.

“Oh, did you?” He cooed, opening his mouth to admit the round biscuit of white icing, adorned with two black chocolate pearls for eyes and smaller black sugar pearls for a mouth. It had a carrot nose, made of orange icing and the upper crown of the biscuit was covered in purple, blue and white hundreds and thousands, then outlined with silvery snowflake-shaped sprinkles.

Taking the biscuit from you, Henry nibbled on it, already knowing it would be delicious, since you had made it with his family's age-old recipe. “You know.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “I can't wait to share these with our little guy.” He said, smirking down at the bake, before glancing around the kitchen.

“Well, technically, I've already done that.” You giggle, running your hand over the globe of your belly.

Henry snorted loudly, his smirk growing. “You have me there, my love.” He replied, finishing his treat off, reaching out to lay his hand on your stomach as he saw the moments of your son shift, pressing either an elbow or knee out. “Still trips me out to see him move inside of you.” He commented, feeling something around nudge against his palm.

“You should feel it from this end.” You huffed, making a face at the kicks as he tumbled about, prodding a heel into your ribs and a shoulder into your slowly screaming bladder. “Poor bud is running out of space in there.” You cooed, moving your hand to cup the underside of your stomach.

“That he is.” He agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly. “But, soon he'll be out here with us.”

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill.”

A cold chill washed down Henry's back, making the little hairs on his neck stand up as he straightened. “Mum.” He squeaked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You know the rules of setting foot in my kitchen, while we bake.” Marianne scolded her second youngest.

“I do.” He nodded, biting his lip as he half smirked at her. “I was just checking up on her and our little one.” He explained, motioning to you.

Marianne's gaze shifted, her soft and kind blue eyes looking you over. She had noticed the few contractions you'd experience while helping her bake, and had sharpened her eye on you even more. Everyone in the family had a side eye on you it seemed, with your due date so nearby, like they were concerned you would pop like a water balloon.

“I'm fine.” You sighed softly, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Then, you can pop out of our kitchen.” Marianne said, cocking a brow at her son.

You chuckled, loving the nonchalance she had. “We'll see you later, my dear.” You cooed at him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting the sugar on his lips and inciting a need for another cookie from your stash. “Off you go.” You giggled, patting him on the chest and set your eyes on your task.

Henry looked at his mother with a pointed look, gesturing towards you, to which Marianne answered with a roll of her eyes and picked up a sheet of cookies needing to go into the oven.

“My back is to you, Henry, not my senses.” You shot over your shoulder, cutting out more cookies from the dough.

“Christ alive, our son has his work cut out for him.” He chuckled, winking at you as he turned to leave and rejoin his brothers and dad in the living room.

You looked over at Marianne and laughed, your mother-in-law joining in, the two of you amused he didn't realize you'd seen her roll her eyes.

“That boy.” Marianne chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you, helping portion out the raw dough.

“He's freaked out.” You commented, gently laying a Santa on the sheet.

“Understandably.” She answered, wielding the snowflake cutter with skill. “The first baby is always the most stressful, and Henry's wanted to be a father for a very long time.”

“I know he has.” You nodded, feeling your stomach lightly bump the edge of the counter. “I'm happy and excited for our little one.” You told her, wadding up the scrap dough, then picked up a rolling pin. “I'm definitely ready not to be pregnant anymore.” You snorted, smiling faintly.

“And your worries?” Marianne asked, tilting her head at you, without pausing her work.

You drew in a slow, deep breath. “I'm worried about the labor. I'm terrified about whether or not I'll make a good parent.” You confessed to her, letting your breath out. “I know Henry will, he's incredible with kids. I love watching him with his younger fans, with his nieces and nephews.” You gush, grinning at the flashes of memories. “Seeing him hold Ellie, when we first met her--” You shook your head, a bubble of emotions overwhelming you for a moment, til you cleared your throat.

“You'll be a great mother.” Marianne reassured you, running her hand up and down your back. “You have nothing to worry about there. You'll have me and your mum to help you, as well as Heather and all the other girls.”

“I know.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against hers. “And I appreciate it, with all my heart.”

“Why don't you go upstairs, to Henry's old room, and rest for a bit?” She suggested to you. “I can finish the cookies with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, glancing around the organized chaos of the kitchen.

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her hands on your shoulders and turning you away from the counter. “You and my grandson need all the rest you can get.” She directed you towards the entry of the kitchen. “Soon, you won't have it.”

Henry saw his mum guiding you and instantly jumped up from the couch, where he sat beside his brother Simon. “Are you all right, honey?” He cooed, his handsome face pinching.

“She's fine, Henry.” Marianne replied, looking up at him. “She just needs to rest a bit. Take her upstairs.”

“All right.” He nodded, taking your arm and showed you upstairs to the bedroom that was his as a kid. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe.” He asked, helping you lay back on the made, full-size bed.

“I'm all right, Puppy.” You sighed, rubbing your face.

“What's wrong, honey?” He asked, pulling up a chair from the desk in his room and sat down in front of you.

“Nothing's wrong.” You replied, sighing, flexing your plump toes as Henry grasped your foot in his hands. “I'm just tired and sore.” You told him, closing your eyes as you let out a soft moan, feeling Henry's thumbs work your arch.

“I got the Dad Talk from my dad and brothers.” He chuckled, gently touching the tip of your toes, each painted a cute red color, that he had done himself about a week before.

He had started giving you little at home, medi-pedis to treat you to something nice. Though, it had taken him a couple tries to get painting your nails down. Admitting it wasn't as simple as painting his Warhammer Minis, like he'd thought.

You giggled back, smirking. “Did they?” You hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Any good advice?”

“Um, Simon said that I should explain my job to him as soon as we think he can understand it.” Henry recalled, biting his lip with an amused smirk pulling across his mouth. “So, we don't have another Thomas Incident on our hands.”

“My dad's Sherlock Holmes!” You replied, laughing aloud. “Or god-knows who else!”

“Exactly.” He nodded, amused by it too. “My dad suggested, should we have any more kids, to have girls, that way it doesn't continue on the Cavill boy madness, like dead arms and throwing each other off the couch.”

“I would like, at least, one girl, anyway.” You told him, laying your hand on your stomach, feeling your son shift and kick again, wincing as he did.

“Same.” He smirked, as excited as he was for a son, he had wanted a girl too. “Maybe the next one.”

“Mmm.” You hummed back, falling silent and drifting slightly.

Taking the hint, Henry rested your legs in his lap and leaned back, closing his own eyes to rest. Both of you were exhausted from the months of preparation for the baby, all the worrying about if you would be good parents and protecting your son against the world of social media and paparazzi. But the pair of you had only laid there for twenty or so minutes, before you jerked at a sharp pain, inadvertently kicking Henry in the stomach as you did.

Henry gasped and groaned at the blow, doubling over. “Babe?” He rasped, frowning across at you, finding you half sitting up, hand cupping the underside of your stomach with a look of shocked horror on your face. “What's wron—oh shit!” He snapped, seeing the wet patch seeping through your leggings and onto the duvet on the bed.

“Was that--”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, gulping thickly.

“It's okay, all right.” He nodded, running both hands through his curls. “Up we go.” He said, holding his shaking hands out to you, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Broke your water on my childhood bed.” He commented offhandedly, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“It is where we had our first kiss.” You added, lifting a brow at him. “Why not this too!”

“Mum!” Henry called out as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have to go.” He said as Marianne rounded the corner from the living room. “Someone's water broke.”

“Oh gosh!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Go hurry!” She shooed the two of you towards the door, before spinning on her feet. “Code blue everybody!” She shouted at the family gathered in the living room, snapping them into gear, sending brothers and in-laws scrambling everywhere.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked as he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

“Like I just peed myself.” You snorted, clutching your belly. “Henry.” You cooed at him, watching him make jerky movements but not move from your side. “Hen!” You called, reaching out to grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

“Huh?” He whimpered, blinking a few times.

“My shoes are still in the house.” You informed him, offering your sweet partner a smile.

“Oh right!” He nodded, kissing your hand and backing away to close your door, then raced back inside, running into a gaggle of his family fighting to put on shoes and coats. “Excuse me, pardon me!” He barked, diving into the huddle, scrabbling for your shoes.

“Henry!” Nik shouted after him.

“I forgot her shoes!” Henry yelled over his shoulder, pelting back to the car. “Got them!” He smiled, sliding home into the driver's seat and dropping them onto the center console. “I'll put them on you, when we get to the hospital.” He told you, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, while ordering Alexa to map the route to Jersey General Hospital, the very hospital where he and his brothers had been born.

“Speed limit, Cavill!” You reminded him, frowning.

“Baby!”

“He's not going to pop out right now!!”

“He could!

“Between the two of us, Hank, I'm damn sure he's not!” You snapped back, through a contraction. “Deep b-breaths! ” You wheezed, through the pain.

“Relax your shoulders, don't clench your jaw, take a deep breath in....and let it out!” Henry reciting your Douala and doing the technique with you. “Amazing, baby doll. I'm so proud of you.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike.” You sighed as the pain faded. “We're waiting at least three years before we have our daughter.” You panted over at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry laughed, holding his hand out to you. “Whatever you want.”

“I know what we should name him.” You said, softly.

“Oh?” He replied, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “What?”

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “I want to name him, Charlie.” You told him, biting the corner of your lip, you'd put a lot of consideration into it over your pregnancy. “We wouldn't have met, if your brother didn't nag you to come talk to me at that club.”

Biting his lip, a heart shaped lump thumping in his throat. “You're right.” He whispered; voice raw.

Charlie had prodded him for an hour, while supplying him with shots of liquid courage, to finally cross the club you both were in. You were with your friends, blowing off steam after a long work week, and Henry, Charlie and two other friends of Henry's were just hanging out, since he was in town and not working on any projects.

He never forgot the look on your friends' faces as he approached your table, recognizing him, melting into the dark leather of your corner booth and mumbling to each other with hungry, googly eyes. But you, while surprised a celeb was approaching you, hadn't fawned over him, like they did. You'd kept your cool, with jittery insides. Henry politely acknowledged everyone at the table, but his blue eyes were set on you. He asked, trying to have a persona of cool and calm, if he could get you a drink, noting on the way over, yours was empty, and with relief, you'd said yes. So, you dislodged yourself from your friends and followed him to the bar. Striking up a conversation with him, that moved to an empty table, after getting your drinks and lasted until the announcement the club was closing, at two am.

Neither of you had wanted to move apart, but it was late and you both knew it. So, you exchanged numbers and texted while you got yourselves home, then fell asleep. Making the promise to have a proper dinner the next day.

All of which snowballed to this moment. Sitting in the car at the hospital, married and staring at each other between contractions, discussing the name you wanted for your first born, for your son.

“It's perfect.” He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could ask for nothing more for Christmas, than you and our son, for Charlie.” He choked up, leaning across to kiss you deeply.

@winter2112rose / @littlefreya / @kemillyfreitas / @thereisa8ella / @courtlynwriter / @starfirewildheart / @beck07990 / @goldenirishpotato / @pipsqueakkitten

[ao3-anonymous]

[incorrect] Fastest Growing Fandoms on AO3 This Week (05/13/2024)

Every week I pull data on how many fics are in each fandom and compare to the previous week, then calculate the percentage increase to determine fastest growing fandoms.  Since this naturally skews towards smaller fandoms, I have included the same data filtered to Over 1k, 5k, & 10k fics.

Overall:

Over 1,000 Fics:

Over 5,000 Fics:

Over 10,000 Fics:

Source: AO3 Fandom Dashboard

Not everyone was seeing my reblog, so I'm editing the original to include my note:

Okay so if you'll see an earlier post I made, I fixed a bug last week that ensured fic counts include locked fics again. Since last week's numbers were before the fix and the percentage compares last week and this week, all the fandoms with high locked fic % (mostly RPF) are showing on this week's "fastest growing" analysis. Not quite accurate, but it will fix itself next week. Sorry y'all!

[scifrey]

FANFICTION MASTERPOST

Hob Adherent Series

(The Sandman, extended Gaiman-verse)

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means that when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Cling Fast

Carpe Diem

Hold Tight 

Keepsakes

The F-Words Series (the Rovai-verse)

(Loki, MCU; based on the art of @alicerovai)

Loki has fallen for false promises, fallen for Odin's lies, fallen off of a bridge, fallen into the wrong hands... can he let himself fall into the arms of a potential rescuer? Or will he just end up falling for another trick?

Fall

Fold 

Fight

Flirt 

Forgive 

To A Stranger

(Sherlock, Performance in a Leading Role by @madlori)

Here - for the first time - is the screenplay for the unexpected and sizzling hit which swept awards shows; was lauded in Time, Variety, and major publications the world over; snagged a Best Actor Oscar for first-time nominee John Watson; heralded a revolution in LQBTQA+ cinema; and was the catalyst for the incredible romantic journey of two of the greatest actors of our generation.

The Heart of the TARDIS

Rose: Feels to me like a temper tantrum because it can't get it's own way.

The Doctor: It's scared. Come on, you were a kid once.

Rose: Yes, and I know what kids can be like. Right little terrors. I've got cousins. Kids can't have it all their own way. That's part of being a family.

The Doctor: What about trying to understand them?

Rose: Easy for you to say. You don't have kids.

The Doctor: I was a Dad once.

Rose: What did you say?

--"Fear Her"

Respected

(Stargate: Atlantis, Torchwood)

Ianto Jones only wanted a nice, quiet beer. And maybe some damned respect, already.

Tobogganing Series

(Stargate: Atlantis, Casper)

When Johnny Sheppard was ten years old, he begged his father for a toboggan for Christmas.

He Kissed Me First 

(Stargate: Atlantis, The Farm in Iowa-verse by @sheafrotherdon)

"Rodnies? Rodneys? Rodni? How do you conjugate the plural?" John wondered.

The Once And Future Kingdom 

(Stargate: Atlantis, Merlin)

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot!" the boy in the chainmail said. For a small, infinitesimal moment, Rodney considered losing it.

"Right, Prince Arthur, the Prince Arthur," Rodney scoffed instead. "And I'm Merlin."

The dark haired boy that stood a few paces behind his golden Prince cleared his throat. "Uh, no," he said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, "Actually, I am."

Right, of course. Because this totally was Rodney's LIFE.

The Driver 

(Agent Carter, Captain America, British Royalty RPF)

“What?” Dum Dum asked, prodding his seatmate in the ribs with his meaty elbow for the umpteenth time. “Seriously, Falsy, what?”

“Squirfle,” the Brit said, or something like it. His face, under the mustache, had turned an amusing shade of puce that was rapidly verging on the alarming.

“Yeah, buddy, I know she’s pretty, but she’s just a dame, ain’t she?” Dum Dum said. He jerked his head at their driver. She was just a short brown-blonde coif from the back, though from his position against the side of the transportation jeep, Dum Dum could make out a smooth, pale cheek, an archly-painted eyebrow, and impeccable red lips.

The Nihongo Series

(Stargate: Atlantis)

In Japan, it is not too much to say that a great deal is about appearances. It is a habit cultivated over a life-time, and not one easy to break.

*

This is just a partial list of my most popular fics. Please visit my A03 and FF.NET profiles for the full list of fics.

You can also find a master post of my original fiction here.

[drymushroomfics]

•○•♡•○•Fanfic Masterlist•○•♡•○•

A/n: Still in the process of uploading all of these so not everything has links yet

○Sandor Clegane

• Fraye Hill of House Lannister

• Too Many Questions

• Reminiscing

○ Rory McCann

• Boat Ride

• A Gift

○Colin Firth

• Proof

• Time

• Thanks, Stan

• Lust For Life

• Hope Springs

○Kingsman

•Eggsy's Plan

• Reciprocated Feelings

• First Words

○Till Lindemann

• Changes

[loveinstreams]

i need shennant to do something unhinged again

[lokidokieokie]

Bitter Reminiscence

The air in the office was thick as you exited the room. Every step you took to move away seemed to echo the weight of the unresolved conflict that lingered between you both. 

As you sink into your chair, you still can't shake the feeling of resentment that gnaws at your insides. Despite your best efforts to remain professional, Tom's jabs and insults still managed to get the better of you. His words still stung like salt in an open wound. 

With a frustrated sigh, you bury yourself in your work, hoping that the intriguing story of Moriarty: Dead or Alive would whisk your mind away. But trying as you might, you still can't seem to shake the feeling of unease that hangs over you like a dark cloud. 

Hours somehow manage to pass by in a blur. Many emails and phone calls exchanged manage to distract your mind for a while. But despite your attempts to focus on the article in front of you, your mind always manages to drift back to the exchange in the meeting room. 

A soft knock on the door pulls you away from your thoughts. You look up from your keyboard to see Audrey in the doorway, her expression sympathetic. 

"Hey, Y/n," she says, her voice gentle. "I know things got a bit heated in the meeting and just wanted to check if you were okay." 

You nod, forcing a smile despite the turmoil that churns inside you. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, I guess."

Audrey frowns, clearly unconvinced by your facade. "Y/n, you know you can talk to me, right? Whatever happened between you and Tom, I'm here to help."

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. But as you look in her kind eyes, you realise that you can't keep your feelings bottled up any longer.

"It's just...seeing Tom again brought back a lot of painful memories," you admit, you voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I had moved on, but I guess some wounds take longer to heal than others."

Audrey reaches out and places a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I understand. Old wounds are sometimes the hardest to heal. And I deeply apologise for not asking if you were okay to take this article. Had I known that you two had history I would've given it to someone else.

"But you cannot let your past with Tom, whatever it may be, to dictate your future. You're stronger than anyone else I've known. I know that you'll find a way to overcome this."

You offer her a grateful smile, grateful for her unwavering support. "Thank you, Audrey. I really appreciate your kind words."

With a reassuring squeeze of your should, Audrey turns to leave, leaving you along with your thoughts once more. As you reflect on her words, you realise that she's right. You can't let your resentment of Tom hold you back any longer. 

You need to confront your past, no matter how ugly it may be, and move past it. 

Muttering curses about Tom under your breath, you just need to figure out how to deal with it. 

-

A/N I don't think this will be many chapters.

Maybe 15 at the most.

But it's something at least :)

🏷️ @km-ffluv @huntress-artemiss @goddessofchaoss @asgards-princess-of-mischief

please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :)

[pinkpogiclub]

speak up!

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

I think one of the strangest things about Georgia’s haters is that they, overwhelmingly non-British, have this tendency to correct Brits when Brits explain British humour to them. 

British humour is objectively just meaner than American humour. While Georgia’s haters grudgingly accept that ‘taking the piss’ is indeed a normal part of British humour, they insist that this refers only to mild, lighthearted joshing, and that anything more than this is bullying. Nope. It can get mean, but our feelings don’t actually get hurt by it, because we enjoy laughing at ourselves. Those who don’t do so are regarded as a bit pathetic. 

Brits have pointed this out to Georgia’s haters, but they nonetheless maintain that her jokes are too mean, atypically mean. Nope. If anything, I’d actually say Georgia’s jokes are atypically tame. You’ll hear infinitely worse on any UK panel show, or even walking down the average street, and the butts of the jokes easily laugh them off. 

HELLO lovely anon! Beautiful day, innit! (I mean besides the drill!)

I agree wholeheartedly 100% with you dear. Not understanding the cultural context of somebody's remark and then criticizing the fuck outta them is just insane. Yk where I come from siblings take the piss out of each other like anything. It's completely normal to call your sibling "a fckn donkey" out of LOVE. It would be insane if someone said "you hate your sister cz you called her a donkey". No bch. Similarly in some other parts of the country people call their parents in a loud lilting way starting with an "Oi". Now many outsiders might think that it's disrespectful to address your parents with an "oi" but given the cultural context it is completely appropriate.

Also I never thought that her sense of humour was too much (and I'm not even British)! The fact that you can take the piss out of your partner with them not getting hurt is a sign of a very healthy relationship the fact that you're not just lovers but also best friends. And I think it's a universal thing where you take the piss out of your besties. Take my parent's example: they're toxic af and every time one of them cracks a joke about the other disaster ensues. Because they don't (I'm gonna quote that Taylor swift lyric) "lalalala get your humour... sth sth....

As someone that has firsthand experience of what a toxic couple is (in the form of my parents) I know when I couple is NOT TOXIC!.

Also dear tinhatters: "fuck off and let people be"!

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk Anon! I love you! <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey I wanted to ask you if you also write for the actor Tom Sturridge.

If so, could you write a Tom x british princess reader story in wich the princess is born the last child of Diana bevor she died and is a really fascinating person. Like she is very serious about er work and duty but is a really funny and sarcastic person outside of it and makes fun with the queen and her brothers.

Could you pleeeaaase write that for me my love?❤️

Wild Child

Tom Sturridge x Princess!Reader

Summary: There was a reason why you were called the wild child, and one particular man was going to find out for himself during his time volunteering at a nonprofit.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: British Princess!reader, reader is blonde cause duh her mom is princess Diana, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this is such a wild request. peak delusion i think. and i am so here for it HAHAHH PLEASE I AM SO A PRINCESS AND DIANA IS, LIKE, MY MOM FR T_T I LOVE HER SM HAHAHAAH i just like i cant believe im writing this aHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH it's such a niche request HAHAAHAH idk why but writing about the royal family made me apprehensive lol HAHAHH IDK ITS SO CRINGY TO WRITE FOR ME TO ADD THEM so i decided forGET THEM IMMA DO A FREESTYLE I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT MY LOVE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR THE REQ IT WAS SO WILD AND FUN THAT I EVEN MADE THIS HEADER LOL ig im still tagging @pinksirensong because of course i must that was our deal

I spit out blonde strands of my hair when it flies into my mouth. I release a huff as I bend down and pick up a box from the pile which was unloaded from the truck. I then head back inside the place, watching my step as I went.

"Oh, my dear, you didn't have to!" one of the head organizers calls out to me from across the room, interrupting the instruction she was giving to the rest of the volunteers.

I shoot her a lopsided smile, "are you calling me weak, young lady?"

The grey haired woman named Berta laughs as I make my way to the back. She calls out, "not at all, princess!"

Berta, and the two people she had been instructing, watch me go to the back. One of the two whispers to the other, "ya know she's actually the princess, as in the literal princess of the country."

Gasp, "wait, really? I was gonna say she looks so much like the princess!"

"Yeah, she does cause she is the princess! She volunteers here often."

"Hush you two," Berta chides, "enough gossip!"

I release a breath and roll my shoulders back when I put the heavy box down. I take a moment to stretch and then head to the door to repeat the process. That was until someone walked in, grunting, carrying two boxes in their arms.

"Hey, you need some help there?" I say walking over.

I see blue eyes and dark hair peek from behind the brown object. I offer him a smile and move to get one of the boxes from him.

"It's alright, I've got it," he calls as I move to take one from him.

I give him a quick nod and instead watch him as he puts the boxes down.

When he straightens up, he huffs and turns to me, in time to see my smirk before I speak, "an impressive feat, considering the weight of those boxes, superman."

He catches his breath and returns my expression, exaggeratedly biting his lower lip as he grips one of his biceps, "these guns are no joke."

I snort and raise a hand, "lucky for me, I know how to disassemble artillery."

He pulls his head back, lips still curved up into a smile, "wait, really?"

I nod with a brow quirked, "quicker than you can say Worcestershire."

We share a chuckle because of my words. I then extend my hand to him, saying my name in introduction. He obliges, taking my hand, telling me his name is Tom.

"Do you volunteer here often?" he asks after we withdrawing hands.

I hum and narrow my eyes, "I'd say alternatively would be more appropriate."

"Ah."

"And you?"

"I think, is the third time I've come back here."

I nod, motioning to the door, silently leading us out. I turn to him as I say a quick thank you when opens the door, "is there any particular reason you've come back?"

"Honestly, the people here are kind and I've grown to love the company of the elderly chaps I've met."

I match the smile on his face as we make our way outside to get the rest of the boxes. "Yeah, I'd say the same reasons have drawn me back to this place as well."

"Oh, good," someone calls just before we could exit, making Tom and I turn to the speaker. It was Berta, "you're both here. We need help giving the seniors grub. I'd love it if both my prettiest volunteers gave out the food so they wouldn't be so cranky."

Tom and I chuckle, catching each other's gaze along the way.

"Come on, lovies," she beckons, waving her hands, "I've got enough people on the job for the boxes."

When she walks off, I turn to Tom, who raises a hand, "after you."

I give him a nod and a soft smile as I trail after Berta.

Once we get to the cafeteria, it was apparent they really did need help giving out food, for not only were there many old ladies and gentlemen queued up impatiently, there were very apparent individuals giving the poor youth volunteers a hard time over the food.

Berta gives an exasperated gasp.

I place a hand on her shoulder as I watch the scene that was stressing her out, "I've got it," I mutter, walking over to the elderly gentleman and the young lady he was scolding.

Berta watches the scene play out, as does Tom behind her. Tom cannot help but chuckle at the exaggerated expressions and the big smile that replaces the loud remarks that was being thrown.

Berta lets out a sigh as he watched the periodically difficult man walk off happily, "that girl is truly a gem."

Tom nods, humming softly.

"Come along now, love, the food is not going to serve itself."

After disarming the intense argument, I release a sigh and find my way to the food stall, smiling at Tom who was there, blushing at the compliments the elderly ladies were giving him.

"Quite a popular fellow, aren't you," I tease, coming up to his side, as I ask the next person in line what they wanted to eat.

Tom smiles at the lady that tells him he's got gorgeous blue eyes. I chuckle to myself upon hearing it. He turns to me as he grabs an empty plate, "not nearly as popular as you though. You're clearly a fan favorite. Everyone has been asking me about you."

"Hmm, and what have you been saying?"

His lips curve, "that I have but only met the princess today myself, but I am sure she is as brilliant as they have been describing."

I playfully roll my eyes at him, just as a woman greets me by name and title. I match her small curtsy with a nod, as she then begins to trail off about how much she loved my mother, "I remember watching her wedding in '81. Oh, the princess was such a beauty, and you my dear, are the spitting image of her."

I offer her a smile, "that is truly such a compliment. I do try to be more like her everyday."

She sighs, "such a shame. She was gone too soon."

I nod, "yes. Yes, she was."

After that conversation, I the air between Tom and I became a bit rigid. I couldn't blame him. The topic usually elicits that type of reaction. I work on breaking the ice then.

"Tell me, Tom," I say, once we served the last of the people in line. I lean on the food cart as I turn to the taller man.

He nods and peers down on me, brushing off his sleeves along the way.

"Are you one of the very few people on earth that don't like Princess Diana?"

He chokes on his spit.

I snort, "I mean," I raise my hand in surrender, "I do recall how she kept me from eating chocolates to my hearts content, and I say, I still have a bit of resentment in me over that, even after all these years."

Tom breaks into a fit of laughs. It is enough to break his tension.

I join him with much softer laughter before adding, "or perhaps you're just upset you didn't manage to snag a roll in one of the many biographical shows about my family being produced."

Tom snorts again, pressing his lips tightly.

"I have the ladies over there to thank for the information of you being an actor," I tilt my head to the right.

He gathers himself and allows his chuckles to die down a little before continuing. Tom withholds his laughter as he jokes, "I'm actually rather upset over the fact you haven't seen my work."

I match his sarcastic expression with a sigh, "unfortunately, my time watching on the telly is quite limited. I don't have room for bad acting."

Tom hollers, gripping his chest as he throws his head back in laughter, "ok, now that hurts!"

I shrug, pouting as I pat his shoulder, "the truth hurts."

Before Tom could rebut, I hear my name get called by a woman. I pull away from Tom and spot Lizzie. She was, quite frankly, my biggest fan in the place. I wave to her as she does me. Soon enough, she is beckoning me over.

I nod as I smile at her, turning to Tom after, "duty calls."

"I'll be here waiting," he offers, "you've got this, your grace."

I raise a brow at him as I walk off, "it's your royal highness to you."

[harrywavycurly]

Can I get a fluffy joe where shes sick and she has to stay upstairs and he has to stay down stairs because he has to work and can’t get sick but it’s making him crazy and he keeps texting her reasons he needs to come up (she’s needs soups , she needs hugs, she needs him to scratch her head and play with her hair just how she likes ). He finally caves and says he has to come be with her

Hii babes!! So I hope you enjoy this, it’s the same prompt I just changed it a little bit with you trying to keep him away😂💖

*Joe just wants to be the best boyfriend and nurse*