#henry Cavill x desi! reader

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[livesinfantasyland]

Love blooms in Heeramandi...The Diamond Market

Sherlock Holmes x Tawaif (Courtesan) Reader

Love blooms in Heeramandi... The Diamond Market 2.0

More Mood Boards

[fanboyswhore9]

The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.

A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️

The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.

A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.

When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.

His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.

He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.

“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.

The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.

“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.

Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.

But now…

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.

“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.

His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”

Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”

~SHORT TIME SKIP~

A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.

That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”

Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.

Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”

“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”

As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.

Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.

Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.

I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.

Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Your daughter and sister

She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.

[ktficworld]

"Nothing comes before nation... Not even myself."

Please, reblog if you liked it.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

What do you want to see next?

Voting ends this Sunday, 10/04/2022.

[foodieforthoughts]

Updated: 31th August, 2021

🚫 MINORS DNI 🚫

No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own.

*Requests are closed.

**If anyone wishes to be added to the taglist just drop a message on my ask or send a DM. Taglist is never too big!

Includes: Romance, fluff, smut and also 18+ NSFW content

Recent One-Shot Update:

Recent Series Update:

✨Full masterlist below the cut! ✨

Chris Evans Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Deep in Love - Chris x Reader (Smut, oral, unprotected sex)

Reader wakes up to find Chris ready to take her breath away.

Hopeless - Chris x Reader (Angst, mention of infidelity)

There’s always an end to a love affair.

Morning Ritual - Chris x Reader (picture drabble, Sugarcoated Fluff, implied smut)

Snippet of your video call with Chris one morning.

Make it work - Chris x Reader (picture drabble, 18+, mention of toy, flirty Chris, smutty talks, implied smut)

You knew the moment the package arrived at your door that Chris had some plans for you.

Once in a Lifetime - Chris x Reader (none)

Meeting Chris at a premier for the first time.

💠 Requests

Chris x Indian Reader / Henry x Indian Reader (fluff, implied smut)

Chris and Henry are aroused by their SO's in a saree.

Care Bear - Chris x Indian Reader (fluff, domestic)

Chris cooks dinner for you.

Baby Steps - Andy Barber x Reader (angst turned to fluff)

Reader with a shy Andy after everything that happened in his life.

Gladly - Chris x Reader (18+, hint of smut, mostly fluff, alcohol consumption, stripping)

Chris has invited you on a date at his home and you challenge him for a game of beer pong.

Safe Heaven - Chris x Reader (domestic fluff, talks of anxiety

For better or for worse, you had vowed, and you planned to stick by it.

I wanna touch you - Chris x Reader (smut, RPF, BDSM, oral (male receiving), slight male!sub, attempted fem!dom, slight choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, sexual intercourse, vaginal penetration)

You decide to add a little spice to your relationship.

Promises - Chris x Reader (little angsty, eventually super fluffy)

Chris contemplates how you might not be happy to be with him, only to be surprised by the reason behind everything.

Primed for Sin - Ransom Drysdale x Reader (implied smut, mention of violence)

It was only supposed to be a simple mission, but maybe it was difficult to quit something you were clearly enjoying.

I'm coming home - Chris x Reader (fluffy emotional)

You want to reach home before Chris's birthday but there is this one thing you need to get done before you travel home.

Good Years - Chris x Reader (floofy fluff)

Headcanon of Chris as your husband.

Henry Cavill Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Island of Love - Henry x Reader (mention of face riding)

Henry gets a lesson in selfie posting.

Dirty Secret - Henry x Reader (smut, oral (female receiving), squirting, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, exhibition kink)

Reader and Henry reunite behind the scenes at the studio.

December To Remember - Henry x Reader (fluff)

You have the best gift to make this year's Christmas the best one of Henry’s life.

Down in History - Henry x Reader (comfort fluff)

Your anxiety is at its peak at your first award function with Henry as a couple.

Shoes - Henry x Reader (super fluff)

Henry is busy assembling his PC and you got him a pair of shoes.

Glad you came - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, sexual intercourse, exhibitionism, casual sex, alcohol usage)

You are out to the club after a breakup and stumble upon Henry to complete your night.

When the ball drops - Henry x Reader (fluff)

It’s your third year in the Big Apple and you still haven’t found your midnight kiss for when the ball drops, until tonight.

Good morning, Sunshine - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry takes you to watch sunrise early in the morning.

Cherry Angel - Henry x Reader (fluff, proud hubby Henry)

Henry never come to fashion shows but he makes an exception this time.

Did you get TikTok?! - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry secretly got TikTok and his first video features you with a public declaration in the end.

Can't fight the feeling - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry has been keeping his feelings for you to himself but he cannot hold it in any longer and unknowingly expresses it to his assistant.

Chasni (Sugar Syrup) - Henry x Reader (domestic fluff)

Henry finds you singing along to your favorite song from your home country. He joins along with a surprise.

You're my Medicine - Henry x unnamed OFC (slight angst, fluff, mention of road accident)

Perfect medicine for when she is hurting? Him.

💠 Series

Chances - Henry x Reader (Angst, unrequited feelings, hurt/comfort, fluff) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

She loves Henry and takes a chance, a leap of faith, only for Henry to be afraid to confess his feelings, leaving her heartbroken.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue |

I Would Do It Again - AU Henry x OFC (smut, casual sex, office romance, boss/employer relationship, angst, fluff) ✨ONGOING✨

Anya Adams spends the night with a stranger, only for him to turn out to be her boss, leading to a tumultuous series of events to unfold.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve |

💠 Requests

You + Me - Henry x Reader (fluff, kissing, implied smut)

Henry is overworking and you give him comfort, make him feel home.

Until we're grey and old - Henry x Reader/Chris x Reader (fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has raynaud's disease)

Henry and Chris both have their own unique ways to provide comfort to the women in their life.

Irresistible - Henry x Reader (fluffy romance)

You are cooking dinner for Henry but he keeps distracting you.

Footprints in the Sand - Dad!Henry x Reader (pure fluff)

You introduce your daughters to Henry and three years later, you have a complete family.

Tickles and Cuddles - Dad!Henry x Reader (fluff, domestic life)

Your son is scared requesting to not be left alone in his room. Henry takes up on himself to have a tickle fight with his son, content with his life.

You make it easy - Henry x Reader (fluff, implied smut)

You are tired from work and Henry decides to relax you with movie and wine.

Stormy night - Henry x Reader (angst, mention of jealousy)

Henry has been in love with you for a long time, when he decides to tell you, it doesn't end well.

Never let you go - Henry x Reader (teeth rotting fluff)

Henry is needy for your attention and you make him feel loved before he leaves for filming again.

Same, love - Henry x Reader (fluff, competitive Henry, alcohol usage)

You are invited to a party where you meet Henry and bond over your competitive nature.

I found you - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry loves you but hasn't told you yet, but one day when you are losing your mind over work, he decides to calm you with his declaration.

For better or worse - Henry x Reader (mention of pandemic, self conscious reader, implied smut)

You are feeling self conscious, hating the way your body has changed. Henry assures you about how you'll always be perfect to him.

25 to life - Henry x Reader (fluff, implied smut)

Henry has whisked you away for your honeymoon to an island paradise.

Little Guardian - Henry/Kal x Reader (fluff)

Kal suddenly starts following you around the house and you soon find out why.

Better half - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry is your rock and you are content with your life.

Hello, Sailor - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, slight bondage, male!dom, fem!sub, minor role-playing, vaginal penetration, foul language)

Sexually frustrated Henry comes home after filming a sex scene and he had only been thinking about you.

Epona - Henry x Reader (none)

Henry helps you overcome your fear of horses.

Morning Glory - Henry x Reader (smut, male masturbation, oral (male receiving), vaginal penetration, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex)

Henry had a problem and he needs your help but he doesn't know if you want to lose sleep over it on a early Sunday morning.

Bridgerton - Henry x Pregnant!Reader (spoilers, fluff)

Henry's reaction to you watching Bridgerton.

Say my name - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, sexual intercourse)

Henry give you your birthday present in the kitchen.

Little Things - Dad!Henry x Reader (fluff)

Your daughter tells you about her day with her dad while you are running errands with your son.

Dinner for Two - Multiple characters x Reader (fluff)

Headcanon of dinner ideas for Henry and a few of his characters.

Box of Secrets - Henry x Reader (implied smut, implied use of toys)

You move in with Henry and he finds out about a sexy secret you had been keeping from him.

Mon amour - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry whisked you away for a surprise birthday celebration to Paris.

Perfect - Henry x plus size!reader ✴️NEW✴️

Henry comfort you after you are body shamed.

August Walker Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Deal with the Devil - August x Reader (angst)

An innocent observation of the most dangerous man in the world ends in the most unexpected way.

Wreck Me - August x Reader (smut, kidnapping, drugging, Male!Dom, Fem!Sub, bondage, foul language, spanking, roleplay)

You find yourself tied in a hotel room, having no recollection of how you reached there. August has plans to leave you completely wrecked.

Intruder - August x Reader (implied smut, use of handcuffs)

August is supposed to be away on a mission, but he surprised you after finding out what you desire on your blog.

Thank you, daddy - August x Reader (explicit smut, male!dom, fem!sub, spread eagle, handcuffs, use of toys, fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, edging, cunt slapping, slight degradation, chocking, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, cream pie, cum swallow, bodily fluids)

August loves to gift his girl some creamy pie on her birthday.

Walter Marshall Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Happy anniversary - Walter x Reader (fluff, implied smut, sexual theme, strip dancing)

On your 1st wedding anniversary, Walter has planned a sweet surprise for you which doesn't go his way.

Third Time's The Charm - Walter x Reader (fluff, singing Walter)

Walter sweeps you off your feet with his voice, making you both give your romance a third chance.

💠 Series

Show Me the Light - Walter x OFC ⛔ON HIATUS⛔

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

💠 Requests

Helping hand - Walter x Reader (shoulder injury description, fluff, hint of smut, male masturbation)

Walter is injured and gets help from his annoying but cute neighbour.

Captain Syverson Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Can't be Tamed - Sy x Reader (Heavy smut, 18+, male dom, female sub, oral (female receiving), fingering, bondage, unprotected sex)

Captain Sy is being aloof of your feelings. You want to make your place known. But can you really tame a lion to be your pet?

Poker Night - Sy x Reader (smut, oral (male receiving), deep throating, penetration, anal penetration, unprotected sex)

It’s Syverson’s last night with her before he is deployed back to duty in the desert. She challenges him for a game of strip poker and ends up on the table.

Under the Stars - Sy x Reader (smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, breeding kink)

Sy takes her on a vacation in the vineyard to relax and fill his starving self of her.

Love Me Tonight - Sy x Reader (smut, fluff, fingering, penetration, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, a little bit of angst and war scene)

Watching a war movie before bedtime was a bad idea.

Mistletoe - Sy x Reader (smut, fingering, oral (Female receiving), penetration, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex)

Sy has officially left the military and for your birthday he takes you for a long vacation in the Swiss Alps.

Empty Nest - Sy x Reader (angst, TW: loss of a child, TW: death, TW: Mention of road accident, lots of sadness)

Sy is trying to be strong but he knows everything is now lost.

Baby maker Sy - Sy x Reader (smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex)

One

💠 Series

Sand and Stars - Sy x OFC x OMC (Warning: 18+) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

Journey through time (photo series) - Sy x Reader (Fluff) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

Your relationship with Syverson over the years.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

💠 Requests

Baby Mama - Sy x pregnant!Reader (smut, pregnant reader, oral (female receiving), pregnancy kink, breeding kink, fingering)

Sy helps his pregnant wife with perennial massage, leading to her being pleasured by him.

Edge of Paradise - Sy x Reader (fluff, self conscious reader)

You have doubts if you are enough for Sy when he assures you and gives you a surprise.

Last first kiss - Sy x Reader (fluff)

You have never been in a relationship before, never kissed anyone either. You are about to tell Sy your little secret wondering how he would take it.

Duty - Sy x Reader (angst to fluff, mentions of blood, traumatic events, smut, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex) ✴️NEW✴️

Sy has a secret relationship with a nurse at camp which is more than just sex.

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

Masterlist:

Request - R◦ · ❧ · ◦Smut/Smut-ish - S*

Steve Rogers

I choose you (plus size reader)

I have always loved you (plus size reader) S*

Fan-arts and ships

Steve Rogers x Plus Size Reader R

Let’s heal together R

Steve rogers x reader R S*

Rain of love (desi reader) S*

Time After Time R S*

I’ll give you everything S*

Frank Adler

New Venture

Sunday Morning

Arrangement (plus size reader) ; My valentine (“Arrangement” drabble)

Frank Adler x reader R

Tangled S*

Frank Adler Drabble

Slice of Life

Andy Barber

Home, finally

Fresh Start (plus size single mother reader); Day Out (PART 2 of Fresh Start)

Andy Barber x Reader R

Senator!Andy Barber HC R

Ransom Drysdale

Royal Love (prince!Ransom ❧ plus size reader) S*

Ransom Drysdale x plus size reader R S*

Fall, in love (plus size reader)

Ransom Drysdale x reader R

My Best Friend

Ari Levinson

Only you (plus size reader) S*

Ari Levinson x reader R S*

Ari Levinson x reader R

Johnny Storm

Remind me to thank her

Calcifer? (drabble)

Lost and found (ft. Jake Jensen ❧ plus size reader) S*

Jake Jensen

Lost and found (ft. Johnny Storm ❧ plus size reader) S*

Jake Jensen x Plus Size Reader R

Colin Shea

Stupid in love (plus size reader) S*

Colin Shea x reader R

Once upon a song (desi reader) R

Nick Vaughan

After we met

Nick Vaughan HC R

Lloyd Hansen

The Mobster’s Wife (plus size reader) S*

The Mobster’s Wife (2) (plus size reader) S*

Other Characters:

(miscellaneous fandoms)

• Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill)

• Matt Murdock

• Bucky Barnes

• Pietro Maximoff (MCU)

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {1}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, 

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated. 

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride begins. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a note, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

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Chapter One

“You were supposed to be on your way home.”

 You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. You’d mentioned nights ago that you thought you should just go home, but then you went to your next destination. It was a moment of weakness or it could have been loneliness. Your schedule took a lot out of you. No one saw it because it was all behind the scenes. All anyone ever saw were the incredible places you went to, the fun things you experienced, and the culture you soaked up. What they grasped was whatever you posted in your pictures.

 “You know I can’t. I started this series, and it’s gotten the eye of a lot of sponsors, and one of them is even talking about some really big ideas at the end of it if it goes really well. that could be incredible for my brand,” you explained.

 Anika sighed loudly. You knew she was annoyed with you right now, especially it being December.

 “I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

 “Whatever.”

 “Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It looks like we’re headed right into a storm. We’ll be experiencing a little turbulence as we veer off course a little bit as we try to evade this thing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

 You sighed while buckling your seatbelt, preparing for what was coming.

 “What’s happening?”

 “Going through some turbulence. It should be fine,” you assured your sister.

 “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to hang up.”

 You nodded to the flight attendant and promptly ended the call promising your sister that you’d call her back when you landed in Sandvell. As soon as you hung up, the turbulence began. It started out with slight bumps, that you could sip your drink through. Then graduated to bigger bumps that had you gripping the elbow rests. When the entire plane started to shake, your heart leaped into your throat. One minute passed, then two, and after five minutes or so, the speaker came back on.

 “Ladies and gentleman, your captain again. We’re going to be landing shortly. This storm is not one to be messed with. I apologize for the inconvenience, folks, but on this airline, we choose safety above all else.”

 You weren’t going to argue with him. You definitely didn’t want to risk your life over getting to your next destination. What was a one or two day delay? Once the pilot got to a lower altitude, the majority of the turbulence subsided. It was another ten minutes before the plane landed, but when it did, all you could see from the window was white overcast with darkness.

 When you had your belongings gathered and began walking off the plane along with the other fifty or so passengers, you tried to find cell service, but you had zero bars.

 “Excuse me, where are we?”

 “Uh—I’m actually not sure, ma’am. Patricia, where are we?”

 The two flight attendants looked puzzled. The second asked a third, and that third asked another. None of them seemed to know. That was not a good sign, you thought. Once you’d walked down the long corridor that served as the connection between the airport and the plane, you found yourself in one of the classiest airports you’d ever been in, and you’d been inside quite a few as a travel blogger. As far as the eye could see, it was class, with the exception of the floor.

You looked around you and marveled at the detail in the design that was around you. Where most airports were mainly logically designed without lavishness. This one looked like lavishness was the first priority. The floors looked to be made from the finest paonazzetto marble. You remembered the name because of the substantial time you’d spent in Italy trying to capture architecture through your camera lens. Reaching for your camera around your neck, you began snapping a few frames of the floor. Getting lost in picture taking, you found yourself at one of the many glass windows snapping pictures of the airplanes on the tarmac.

 Hearing the commotion of raised voices behind you, you looked back and saw the passengers of the plane you’d just disembarked from gathered in a huddle. You walked back toward them in time to catch a question from a concerned passenger.

 “How long are we delayed? When will we get back in the air? I have to get to Sandvell.”

 A man wearing a mixture of royal blue and white colors cleared his throat then spoke. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for the delay. There is a storm heading right for us on the path to Sandvell. Continuing through it would be lunacy. Our only viable option is to wait it out.”

 No one seemed to like that answer. All the questions flew out at once. All their voices overlapped, and you could tell that the gentleman was overwhelmed by not only the volume of questions but also their voices.

 “According to our team here, we’re expecting possibly a twenty-four to thirty-six-hour delay.”

 Everyone groaned in unison, everyone but you. You’d traveled enough to always expect the unexpected. Things like this didn’t bother you so much now, three years into your career. The only thing that bothered you now was that you’d have to rearrange your hotel plans as well as finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

 “You said here,” you began with all eyes trained to you. “Where exactly is here?”

 The gentleman cleared his throat again. “Brexendor.”

 The crowd murmured as they looked at each other. Clearly, no one had ever heard of Brexendor. Some even pulled out their travel map to scour it for the country.

 “So what are we supposed to do now? Where do we stay?”

 “We are in the process of arranging accommodations at one of the inns within the capital. If you all would work with us so we have your names to get your luggage to you in a timely fashion so you can be shuttled over to the Inn, that would be appreciated.”

 Everyone filed into a line in front of one of the four airport staff, hoping to hurry matters along while you searched your phone for any information on where you were. When you typed in Brexendor into the search engine, the first thing that popped up was a map of the country. Apparently, it was next door to Sandvell. They were considered sister countries.

 “Population three million, run as a monarchy, considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Average life expectancy one hundred and ten years. Well, damn.”

 Someone clearing their throat brought your attention up in front of you. You were next in line.

 “Sorry.”

 The woman with brown eyes and blonde hair smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Ms--.”

 “Uh, Thornton, Xari Thornton.” You handed her your passport and boarding pass and waited as she scrolled through her tablet.

 “Ah yes, Ms. Thornton. Here is your paperwork. On it, you will find where you can retrieve your luggage and the shuttle number that will be taking you to the Inn. Once at the Inn, just provide your name, and you will find everything has been taken care of. On behalf of Brexendor Aviation, we humbly apologize for this snafu.”

 Her customer service training was on point, you thought. Her smile was warm, as if she really meant the words she’d just said. Finding it refreshing, you took the paperwork and proceeded to where she was motioning. Everyone you passed as you walked the fancy halls had a warm smile plastered to their face and even warmer words of welcome. You felt as if you’d stepped through into some alternate universe. You made a voice note about everything you encountered. You wanted to make sure you captured your authentic feelings and reactions in real-time. It made writing about your experience on the blog page easier. You’d even found that readers and supporters liked the play by play with your added thoughts. They commented it added personality.

Once you’d made it to the baggage claim area, your jaw dropped at the change in décor. There were Christmas trees that sparsely decorated the space, and they were all lit with the same blue, silver, and white theme. It contrasted with the latte color of the leather seats and the cream offset tables. The design gave the space an elegant but also comfortable vibe. When you slipped into one of the chairs, you released an audible moan. It was like sitting on a cloud.

 After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions through a hall lined with Christmas trees, stopping every so often to take a few pictures before you made it to the front of the airport. As you stepped outside, your eyebrows shot up seeing the fresh snow cascading from the sky. The bite in the air had you bundling your jacket tighter, but it did not stop you from snapping a few pictures. One turned to ten and ten to fifteen until another person clearing their throat brought you back to reality and to the waiting bus ahead of you.

You took a break from pictures and called the hotel in Sandvell, hoping to alter the dates of your stay. What you expected to be a hassle and a long drawn out process ending in them saying they were booked and nothing could be done, turned out to be quick, easy, and painless. The Luxembourg Hotel assured you that your room would still be available and there would be no charge for the altered dates. You made another note on your phone, a point you had to stress when you wrote your piece.

 You continued snapping pictures from the window of the bus with an easy mind. Everything you passed seemed like it didn’t belong. It all looked so old fashioned but so modern all at the same time. The buildings looked to have been standing since the beginning of time in the materials they’d been built in, but the displays were from the twenty-first century. It was the most exciting contradiction. The only word you could think to describe it was—quaint.

 When the bus drove over a bridge, you got a semi-bird’s eye view of the town across the water, and your jaw nearly dropped.

 “Brexendor? What the hell?”

 The entire drive had you widening your eyes like a child seeing an insane amount of presents on Christmas morning. Buildings were decked out in Christmas lights, and every door had a wreath with blue and silver Christmas ornaments. Almost every few feet, the sidewalks were decorated with poinsettia trees that were half the average human’s height, and the way the freshly fallen snow-dusted their tops only made it even more perfect.

 By the time the bus stopped, you’d taken so many pictures, and part of you was dreading having to go through them to choose the ones that would make the cut. You knew it was going to be a next to impossible decision. As you stepped off the bus, you felt like you’d walked right into a snow globe.

“Holy shit!”

 You spun, taking in a full three-sixty view of your surroundings. all the glistening lights and the falling snow only made it feel even more magical. You didn’t know where the hell Brexendor was or why the hell they rolled like this, but you were excited to see more. When you stopped spinning, you realized several other people were snapping pictures and looking just as marveled as you were. After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions and walked across the street to the building that a friendly looking man with slightly greying hair was standing before beckoning you inside.

 For the second time that night, you felt as if you’d stepped into a Christmas movie set. The interior was set so cozy. It felt like a Christmas cottage, and you loved it. Instinct had you reaching for your camera and taking a few shots of the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace and the plaid decorations on the leather couch. Even the pictures on the walls got a snap.

 “Miss?”

 Looking back to the owner, you smiled and approached the desk.

 “Hi, I’m so sorry. This place is so gorgeous.”

 “Thank you. I wish I could take the credit, but it is all my wife.”

 Just then, a beautiful brunette came out wearing a bright red sweater and one of those spoof reindeer antler headbands that bounced with every move.

 “Hi, there darling. Welcome to The Beaux. I’m Anita, and this is my husband, Borik. I heard all about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.”

 You shrugged but kept your smile plastered on your face.

 “It’s all right. Can’t control the weather, right?”

 Anita smiled and nodded. “Definitely not in Brexendor.”

 “I have never heard of this place before, and I am lost how. Everything is gorgeous and so quaint. How have you stayed under the radar?”

 Anita and Borik looked at each other with an all-knowing look that you wanted in on.

 “Guess it’s just happened,” Anita cheerfully said.

 You knew they knew something. Staying this under the radar, including from America, didn’t just happen. This took work. You wondered who in charge in their right mind would make a stupid decision like that.

 “Okay, what’s your name, darling?”

 “Uh, Xari Thornton.”

 “Ah-ha, I told you, Borik. Once we were contacted with a list of names that would be checking in, and I saw your name, I told him I just know she’s gorgeous and look. You are a vision.”

 You couldn’t help but smile widely while trying to keep your head under proper proportions.

 “Thank you.”

 “You must have quite the many suitors where you’re from,” Anita continued.

 You snorted and shook your head. The reality was you were as single as the number one with no prospects.

 “No suitors here.”

 Both Borik and Anita looked shocked, as if you’d said the most appalling thing.

 “That can’t be true. Borik. She’s single and at twenty-eight. Even our Kennedy was at least engaged by the time she turned twenty-seven. Here that is unheard of. A woman is usually married by twenty-four, especially if she’s a looker.”

 You pinched your lips, trying to keep your laughter in. this was not the first time you’d been called an old maid. Hell, your mother said it often, especially since you flat out turned down Maurice’s proposal three months ago. She was livid.

 Anita must have sensed the awkwardness of the moment because she cleared her throat and brought all her attention back to the reservation.

 “Well, your room is prepared. I took the liberty of giving you one of our prettiest rooms. Would you like Borik to carry your bags up?”

 “Uh—no, I’m sure I can manage,” you began.

 Borik stood, shook his head, and came around to you.

 “I won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll happily carry your luggage up. Follow me.”

 “That’s my Borik, ever the gentleman,” Anita filled in with an enamored smile before Borik walked off, leaving her to check in a few of the other passengers from the plane.

 You listened to Borik tell the story of the Inn and how it got its name. You kept one ear on his story while you took in every detail around you. The wood looked so rustic, and you guessed that was what gave the place such a warm and welcoming feeling. The higher you climbed, the more you saw, and the more you saw, the more you liked. You followed Borik down a hall, noticing that all the doors you passed had mini wreaths decked out in the same blue and silver ornaments like at the airport and throughout the streets.

 “Ah-ha, here we are,” Borik said before he put the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Once he did, the scent of cinnamon and pine hit you in the face. It was like the hand of Christmas came out and smacked you.

 “My wife loves the smell,” Borik explained as you stepped inside. You smiled and thanked him for his help.

 “If you get hungry, you have a few options. There are plenty of places nearby you can eat some authentic Brexendorian food, but also my wife cooks every night, and dinner usually is at eight o’clock, but tonight Anette has agreed to keep some heated for anyone who would like some. It’s stew, rabbit.”

 “Oh, thumper. Wonderful.”

 Borik laughed loudly with that one. “I know that one, Bambi, the children’s cartoon. Good one Ms. Thornton.”

 You smiled. “You can call me Xari, Borik.”

 “Well, have a good night,” he said before he walked out.

 Finally alone, the first thing you did was text your sister to let her know not to worry and give her an update on what was happening. After you let Anika know what was happening, it didn’t take long for your phone to ring. The next ten or so minutes were spent talking to Anika and telling her how amazing the things you’d seen so far were. You could not shut up about the decorations, the way the snow looked to have been groomed to lay on things perfectly. It was that damn picturesque. Since you couldn’t stop talking about it, Anika was the one to suggest you go out and enjoy it before you got back on the plane. It was a suggestion you fully intended on listening to.

 Fifteen minutes later, you were back downstairs bundled with your camera and your purse, ready to explore. When you told Anita your intention, she gave you a map of the city and highlighted places to look at but cautioned you to hurry because stores would be closing soon, and nights during Brexendor winters could be brutal. You promised you’d be quick and careful, then stepped out, ready to explore like Dora.

 Your first stop was a block down, a children’s toy store. It was decked out with all the latest toys along with some traditional things that Santa would have brought specially made from his workshop. While you were snapping pictures outside the window, a kid ran up to the window and pressed his nose to it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth matched their size. You asked the adult with him if you could take a picture. When they approved, you got one or two from a few different angles before they walked off.

 As you walked through the city, enjoying the scenery, you took pictures of everything that caught your eye, ornaments, trees, people, stores, even pets. Christmas wasn’t your favorite holiday, but it was your second favorite, and being here really as inching it higher on the list.

 When you felt a strong wind hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It was strong enough to have you stagger backward a little, allowing a chill to sweep through you. You looked around and saw a few feet away was some sort of bar, and behind it was swirling snow that looked like a tornado. You hurried toward the building, being careful not to slip on any ice that may be hiding underneath the snow. Once to the door, you walked inside, and the sound of Christmas carols filled your ears.

 “Jesus.”

 If the scent of the Inn felt like Christmas slapped you in the face, the look and sound of this place was the one two-hitter that settled that you were in a whole nother world here. You looked around and found a coat rack along the left wall. After placing your jacket and scarf on the hook, you walked to the bar and slid onto a stool. As you waited for the bartender to come over, you looked around. Here it didn’t smell like cinnamon, but the pine was present, along with the smell of alcohol and licorice.

There were several small dark wooden tables around the bar with chairs and even booths that decorated the walls. The floors matched the tables, and those matched the walls. This place looked like somewhere you’d find in the middle of nowhere. The window to the back of the establishment showed the dark woods with tall snow-covered trees and that howling snow tornado.

 When you turned back to the back, the huge elk head above the wall lined with alcohol bottles had you gasping.

 “Jeez,” you said as you snapped two of three pictures of the creepy looking thing.

 “That is Hogan’s prized possession.”

You looked beside you where the voice came from to see a very attractive man there. When you’d sat down, you didn’t notice anyone beside you, so to see his piercing blue eyes boring holes into you. Your eyes traveled lower to his awkwardly shaped nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice and never quite went back to normal. You didn’t mind it, though. Who liked a perfect face, especially when looking at him, seemed like that was about the only thing that was not absolutely perfect. His jaw was carved to precision like he was specially crafted and not born. When your eyes fell to his lips, you purposely forced yourself to look away.

 “Is—is that right?”

 “Yes. I bet you cannot guess why,” the stranger said in a crisp European accent that was very close to British. You weren’t one hundred percent sure if it was or not, he just sounded proper as hell, and it was actually a bit of a turn on.

 You shrugged while looking at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. “Enlighten me.”

 Just then, a large man with blond hair in a man bun walked over. He had to have been over six feet tall, and if this were America, he’d definitely be a shopper at the store Big & Tall. The man looked to the one seated beside you, ready to speak but suddenly closed his mouth.

 “Hogan, Ms--,” the stranger began waiting for you to fill in your name.

 He thought he was so smooth; you thought as you smiled to yourself.

 “Xari.”

 His eyebrow shot up, and he smiled sweetly. “Wow, what a beautiful name.”

 You smiled, and as you felt it widening, you bit onto your bottom lip to stop it. “Thanks.”

 “Ms. Xari would like to know why Shandoe is your most prized possession.”

 “Shandoe?”

 Hogan looked behind him at the Elk’s head then smiled. “It’s been in my family for generations. It was the first thing my great-great-great-great-great grandfather ever killed for himself to feed his family. They ate everything but the head and decided to keep it as a reminder of where we came from.”

 You were expecting some weird manly story but what you got was a wholesome and heartwarming tale. You smiled, raised your camera, and snapped Hogan, and as he stared at the Elk’s head with such a loving look on his face that was such a contradiction for his large frame.

 “Are you a reporter?”

 “No, no. Not at all. I’m a travel influencer and blogger. I go around and soak up what the world has to offer while taking pictures and writing about it on my blog for others to read about.”

 The man beside you nodded, then raised his glass to his head.

 “What can I get you?”

 “Uh—what is he drinking?”

 “The Mistletoe Bomb.”

 You snorted, unable to contain yourself any longer. “What in the world is that?”

 “You laugh now, but it is a blend he makes special for me. It is not for the faint of heart,” the man beside you informed.

 “Oh no, well looks like I’ll be having one of those.”

 Hogan looked to him, then back to you. “It is all right, Hogan. Give the lady what she wants. I am assuming fell strength is also what you require?”

 “Yes, full strength. I want all the mistletoe and all the bomb.”

 Hogan went to work, making the drink while you continued looking around.

 “Em, I’m Henry.”

 You looked to him to find his hand outstretched to you, waiting for you to place yours in it. When you did, you repeated your name as you noted how soft his hands were. It felt like he’d never done a day’s work with them. Henry rose your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It was one small action, but that action had butterflies flitting in your belly and your cheeks heating as if a heater was aimed directly at your face.

 “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Henry uttered while looking into your eyes.

 “Same,” you whispered.

 Henry released your hand and turned back to his drink at the same time Hogan placed a mug before you.

 “One Mistletoe Bomb for the lady.”

 You looked at the large mug then to Hogan, who waited expectantly. When your eyes drifted to Henry beside you, he too was watching and waiting. No matter how much you felt like this was a setup, you persisted, not wanting to back down. When you took your first full mouthful of the drink, your eyes immediately bugged. Your tongue was on fire in seconds, and it seemed the longer you held the liquid in your mouth, the worse the burn was. You gulped it down and instantly knew the mistake. Not only was your mouth on fire, but now your throat and chest as it burned a fiery path to your belly.

 “Holy fucking shit!”

 The two men boisterously laughed, the sounds booming off the wooden walls before filling the entire room. You looked around, noticing for the first time it was completely empty.

 “What the hell is that?”

 “Something that will put hair on your chest,” Hogan teased.

 “No, shit.”

 Henry seemed to like that response; he laughed again then finished his mug.

 “How can you drink this?”

 He shrugged, then turned his body to you. You gave him a well-paced once over, taking in his furry winter boots, dark pants, and dark sweater to match the pants. Underneath the sweater, though, you saw peeks of a crisp white shirt. He dressed like he had money, you thought.

 “I have done it for half my life. I do not even feel the burn anymore. Do you know why he calls it Mistletoe Bomb now?”

 You giggled and nodded, pushing the mug away. If you drank that, you’d need to be carried out of here. As Hogan appeared to take the mug away, Henry reached for it, insisting he’d finish it while Hogan placed a beer bottle in front of you.

 “Would you like a straw?”

 You looked at Hogan as if he were crazy. Who drank beer with a straw? You shook your head and raised the bottle to your lips to take a swig. This was more your speed, not pure petrol.

 “So you are new in town,” Henry began.”

 “Kind of. My plane had to detour because of the storm, so here I am in a place I’ve never heard of and cannot figure out why.”

 “Is it strange to never have heard of every place in the world?”

 You thought about it for a moment as you took another mouthful of beer then nodded.

 “Yes. I’m from America,” you began.

 “Ah, American. Let me guess. Everything has to be discovered, and if it is not, then either it doe not exist, or it is being hidden.”

 You snapped your mouth shut. He’d guessed American thinking in one try. “Well, that’s not fun,” you added. Henry laughed and took his mouthful of fire.

 “I am sorry. I know America well,” Henry informed.

 “Oh, so you’ve been?”

 “No. I do not need to. I have spent my entire life learning it.”

 You looked back at him, confused by what he meant.

 “Every country gives lessons on other countries of the word, especially powerhouse countries,” he explained.

 “Well, your studies have paid off.”

 “Do you really believe that everything has to be discovered?”

 “No. where is the fun in that? I believe that the world has to have some mystery.”

 “Then welcome to Brexendor,” Henry said with a smile.

 “Brexendor. What’s it’s deal?”

 You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the wood of the bar as you watched him.

 “Deal? I am afraid I do not understand.”

 “What I mean is, the people are nice. Everyone I have encountered, including at the airport, is nice. You know airport staff can be so mean, but not here. The people who own the Inn I am staying at are so sweet. Even strangers I bump into don’t;’ seem to mind. Not to mention, this place has the whole snow globe effect down. It’s incredible. What is the deal? Is the president some fantastic guy who pays everyone well and gives them ample vacation time for them to be so happy?”

 Henry smiled, dipped his head lower, then rubbed the back of his neck.

 “Would that be unusual?”

 “Yes. Compared to what America has going on—highly unusual.”

 “Well, the first thing to know about Brexendor is, a president does not run it,” Henry clarified.

 “Ah right, it is a monarchy. So does that mean there is a king, and queen, lords, dukes,” you began, then gasped, remembering more. “Princesses?”

 Henry smirked, gulped his drink, then nodded. “Yes.” He continued to take another swig from his mug.

 His words slowly resonated. “What!? You’re serious?”

 He nodded, then placed the glass onto the bar.

 “Wow. How interesting. So this King and Queen are they the good kind?”

 Henry’s smile turned somber before it disappeared altogether.

 “Did I say something wrong?”

 “No, no. Yes, the King and Queen are the best kind,” he filled in before he took the last mouthful of his drink. “They would like you.”

 You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Me? I doubt that. While all the mothers of my boyfriends have loved me, I don’t think the King and Queen would care for me.”

 “Boyfriend, so uh—you’re involved,” Henry said as he avoided your eyes.

 His words sounded like a statement rather than a question, so you remained quiet. After a few moments, he looked at you expectantly. You pinched your lips before you finished your beer.

 “Are you involved?”

 Henry took a deep breath looked forward to the bottles at the bar as a pained and confused expression washed over his features.

 “I’ll take that as a yes,” you replied.

 “I am not—involved,” he answered.

 “You said it like you weren’t sure.”

 “It is complicated.”

 “Well, I am a stranger in a bar—an empty bar. You’ll most likely never see me again, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

 Henry smiled then turned back to you, resting his elbow on the bar mimicking your stance.

 “You have not answered my inquiry.”

 “Inquiry?”

 Henry smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. That is where your eyes went to. He had nice lips, you thought.

 “On if you are involved,” he clarified.

 “I am not involved with anyone. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I’m an old maid with no prospects.”

 “I do not believe that. You are funny, intelligent, fun to be around, and quite beautiful. There is no way you have no admirers.”

 You smiled and began toying with your necklace.

 “I’m sure you say that to all the girls you meet in deserted bars during a snow storm.”

 He snorted, and you felt his breath across your cheek. It was then you realized how close the two of you were to each other.

 “To be honest, I have never found myself alone with a woman in a bar. You are my first.”

 You bit your bottom lip feeling more flirtatious than usual as you gazed into his hypnotizing eyes. He was gorgeous and becoming even more so with every passing minute. The two of you ordered more drinks, then drifted off to one of the booths on the wall that was more hidden and even more comfortable. You talked about nearly everything and nothing at the same time. He spoke a lot about philosophy and astronomy and the sciences that motivated a lot of the earlier theories. It was fascinating just listening to him speak. There was something about his mouth and the properness of the words he used. Never once did he use slang or even a contraction. You’d never met anyone who didn’t use contractions. The longer you sat there, the more you felt like never getting up.

 “There is something about you that is so comfortable and easy,” Henry began.

 “You too.”

 “I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I even want to.”

 You smiled, “You too.”

 Your eyes lingered, and you saw him sway forward, but then he stopped only to do it again and again. With your faces were centimeters from one another, it was then you noticed the slight speck of brown in his left eye. You felt Henry’s hand gently cup your cheek; then, his thumb slowly stroked your skin. The heat from his palm seared your cheek, and every stroke of his thumb send heat tendrils down your jaw to your lips, making them tingle and yearn for his.

 This had never happened to you in your entire life. You’d known this man a few hours and were ready to possibly bring him back to the Inn with you. Henry didn’t move. It was like he was giving you the last few centimeters to make a decision, but you didn’t make it. A phone went off, but you both ignored it until the sound went off. You raised your hand to rest on top of his. Once your skin touched his, Henry lightly sighed out. Before either of you could make another move, a phone rang again. This time Henry groaned before he looked away just as you did.

 You cleared your throat and slid from his body as he checked his phone.

 “I have to go,” he announced.

 Frozen, you sat there trying to understand if you’d read this entire thing wrong.

 “I am sorry, something—urgent has come up.”

 You snapped out of it, then nodded. “It’s fine. I should probably get back to the Inn anyway. They say a storm is brewing.”

 Both of you stood from the booth while straightening your clothes.

 “I really enjoyed tonight,” Henry added.

 You smiled and nodded. “Me too. It was—nice.”

 Your eyes lingered again, and your bodies drifted closer. It was you who looked away first and stepped back. You reached for your purse, but Henry stopped you.

 “It has been taken care of. Let us call it a tourist special, right Hogan.”

 “Right your--,” Hogan began before Henry looked at him, cutting him off.

 Henry ushered you to the coat rack on the wall by the door then helped you into your jacket.

 “Can I drive you back to the Inn?”

 “No, please. I am more than capable of getting back,” you assured.”

 “Are you sure?”

 You nodded then turned to walk out, but Henry pulled you to him. “I want to see you again.”

 “I don’t see how. I leave tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.”

 Henry looked to be thinking before he sighed. “I guess it was not meant to be,” you whispered, a tinge of sadness filling you as reality set in.

 “In another life,” Henry softly said.

 He came closer then placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek before he released you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, and in those moments, anything felt possible. When you faced that anything could have been possible but not for you, you sighed. A few seconds later, you turned and walked out of the bar.

Once outside, the rough wind caught you off guard. You took a few moments to bundle yourself, then continued walking back to the Inn. The swirling snow in the air made it a little challenging to see, but you tried the best you could. Several times, the wind picked up and shoved you where it wanted, forcing you to grab on to something to hold until it passed.

 Suddenly a big gust of wind blew you to the right and knocking you off your feet to roll for several feet. When the wind slowed, you rolled over onto your back to spit out the mouthful of snow that you’d managed to ingest. It took you several tries to stand, but when you did, you tried to see where you were and what direction you needed to walk in. That was when the wind picked up again, making you scream. When you turned, you saw two headlights coming right at you, then all you felt was pain before you were out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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