#mr cavill will see you now

[honestlydarkprincess]

settle

buck & chimney || rated: g || wc: 702 || read on ao3

A week after he’d been there to tell Maddie, Buck found himself once again at the Buckley-Han residence. Although he knew that she wouldn’t, a part of him hoped that Maddie would have told Chimney so he didn’t have to. But alas, here he was. Buck had already come out to three people so he was feeling a lot more sure of himself. He had however taken the bisexual pride pin Hen had given him and put it in his pocket for good luck. He felt around for it and turned it over with his fingers while he waited for Maddie or Chimney to answer the door.

Chimney swung the door open, a wide smile on his face. “Buckaroo! Just in time, you can settle this argument for me.”

“Oh, um, if you’re having an argument I’ll come back later,” Buck said, putting his hands up. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“Not a real argument,” Maddie called from inside the house. “Chim’s just being ridiculous.”

Chimney scoffed, stuffing a gummy worm into his mouth and making Buck realize that he had a handful of them. “Come on in, Buck, we were just having a little movie night until your sister started spouting nonsense.”

Buck stepped into the house, his shoulders relaxing at the sound of Maddie’s laughter. It never failed to soothe him, knowing his big sister was there and that she was happy. “Where’s Jee?”

“She’s with Mrs. Lee for the night, she wanted some grandma time,” Maddie replied, patting the seat next to her on the couch. “Come sit. What’s up?”

Buck took a seat next to her and Chimney sat down on the armchair, munching on his gummy worms. “I, uh, came to talk to Chim,” Buck said, giving Maddie a meaningful look. Understanding dawned on her and she glanced at Chim who was looking at Buck with open curiosity.

“What’s up, Buck?” Chimney asked. “Why do you look so nervous?”

“Uh, well, you see— wait, you said you were having an argument?” Buck stalled.

“Yeah!” Chimney exclaimed, letting himself get distracted. “Maddie said that Henry Cavill isn’t attractive! I said that everyone thinks he’s attractive. You’re the deciding vote.”

Buck snorted. “Of course he’s attractive, I don’t have to be bi to know that.” He flushed when he realized what he’d said. “Uh, I mean— well actually, that’s kind of what I came to tell you, Chim.”

Chimney’s brows drew together. “That you find Henry Cavill attractive? Not that I’m not happy to see you man, but that could have been a text.”

“N-no,” Buck shook his head, biting his lip. “That I’m— I’m bi.”

“Oh,” Chimney looked surprised.

“When you said I made you my basketball beard, you weren’t exactly wrong,” Buck rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, yeah.”

Chimney grinned. “I knew I was a beard,” He crowed. “It’s not the first time I’ve been one, you get a sense about these things. Anyway, good for you, Buckaroo. Who’s the lucky man?”

“Uh, well, Tommy actually,” Buck flushed a brighter pink, a small smile playing on his lips. “He kissed me and we went out on a date. We’re, uh, taking things slow.”

“Oh, I’m surprised it’s not Ed—” Chimney was cut off from saying anything else when Maddie cleared her throat loudly. He looked at her and she shook her head slightly. Chimney pasted a bright smile on his face. “I’m happy for you, Buck. Congratulations.”

Buck gave them a confused look, but ultimately decided not to question it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer. “Thank you,” He said, ducking his head. “I should get going. I’ll leave you two to your movie night.”

The three of them stood up and Maddie gave him a huge hug before passing him off to Chimney who hugged him just as tightly. “I’m proud of you, brother. Thank you for telling me,” Chimney said softly.

Buck’s breathing hitched and he squeezed Chim back. They pulled apart and Buck gave them both a happy nod before he headed out, humming a cheerful tune under his breath. That had gone well.

Now he just had to tell Eddie.

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 18

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Warnings: FLUFFY LOVE!!! MAJOR SMUT, Sex outdoors, public sex, fingering, squirting, P in V intercourse, innuendos, language, romantic love making.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Part 17

As usual, I wake up well before any alarm I’ve set has the opportunity to start ringing but today I lay in bed. I’m keyed up, feeling similar to how I did in the army before a big mission. I hate that her side of the bed is empty, but Emma’s mother insisted that we sleep separately the night before our wedding. All of the women were at the hotel together, so I couldn’t even sneak in as she was sharing a room with her best friend.

Our wedding. It’s finally here.

Emma didn’t want to wait too long, and between Nana and Diana, the wedding planning became a full event that those two spent every waking hour on. Emma had input and veto rights, but with her busy job she couldn’t devote a ton of time to small details so she let my grandmother and her mother do the heavy lifting.

“All that matters at the end of the day is that I become Mrs. Austin Syverson. Everything else is just details. I’ll definitely have to reign them in at some point though.” Emma told me the next day in bed in Jamaica after we got engaged. We were discussing what she wanted and she said she was happy to have Nana and Diana help plan. She just wanted something classic and outdoors. She of course wanted to choose her dress and she wanted the dogs to be involved somehow. We laid there that night in bed talking about our future and Emma’s smile was just radiant. I lie in bed knowing I won’t get back to sleep before my mind jumps to my second favorite memory of the Jamaica trip, the first being her accepting my proposal.

**Flashback**

The morning after our engagement, I wake up and see Emma still naked and wrapped in the luxurious sheets. Her hair a mess and her lips slightly parted as she sleeps soundly. Her left hand draped delicately over her sheet covered breast catches the light peeking behind the curtains and illuminates the diamonds on her ring. I smile to myself before tossing on some boxers and making myself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker that they provided in the suite. I quietly kiss Emma’s ring, then her forehead before making my way to the balcony to drink my coffee. I sit outside for a while enjoying the view and replaying Emma’s reaction to my proposal in my head when I hear the French doors to the balcony crack open. I turn to see Emma wrapped in nothing but the white bed sheet, her hair still curled from last night but now slightly mussed from sleep as she squints into the brightness of the sun. She gives me the sexiest, sleepy smile and walks further on the balcony closing the doors behind her. Instead of sitting on one of the many chairs available, Emma makes her way directly to my lap and climbs up.

“Morning, Sugar. Sleep good?”

“Mmm.. very good. How about you?”

“I always sleep best with your naked body wrapped up against me, Darlin’.”

She leans in and presses a gentle kiss against my lips. 

“We’re getting married, Sy.”

“We sure are, Sugar. You excited?”

“The most excited. I can’t wait to be your wife.” She smiles and I feel the blood rush to my cock.

“Mm! I like the sound of that. My little wife.” I smirk at her and waggle my eyebrows.

“There’s something wrong though.”

“What’s that, Darlin?” 

“We haven’t completed our mission.” She whispers sultrily and drops the sheet from under her arms to expose her perfect breasts which immediately causes me to groan and reach for them.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? As mission leader and your captain, we need to rectify this problem immediately.” I grunt and thrust my erection against her still covered core before grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her in for a passionate kiss. 

“Now, you gotta stay quiet unless you want us to get caught, ya understand?” I grunt in her ear and she nods.

“Words.”

“Yes, Captain. I understand.” She breathes and I rip the sheet as tactically as I can from her, exposing her naked body to the outdoors. I lift her gently to remove my boxers and kick them off of my ankles before setting her back down in my lap and grinding against her. Emma’s nipples are hard and she grabs my jaw and kisses me heatedly as she grinds herself against me. My hands reach down and grab each ass cheek harshly as I slide my cock through her folds, collecting her arousal which is readily available.

“You’re fucking soaked, Sugar. You like the thought of being caught out here naked?” 

“Ah! Yes.” She all but moans when my tip bumps against her clit. 

“Naughty girl. Anyone could look up and see your perfect body riding against mine right now.”

“Mmmmhmm.” She mewls as her juices actually drip down onto my lap. I like this new kink I’ve discovered about my bride.

With one hand grasping her tit, I take the other and shove a finger inside her core, quickly followed by a second causing her to moan louder than I had expected. 

“Quiet now, Darlin’. I don’t need everyone watching my girl’s perfect body fall apart.” I smirk as I swat her ass and watch her back arch as she starts fucking herself on my fingers. Fuck, she’s so wet and warm. The sun behind her illuminates her tanned skin as she rides my fingers and I’m hard as a rock.

“Aus…I’m” is all she’s able to say before she’s squirting her climax down on to me. Her eyes are clamped shut with her hands gripping my shoulders as she arches her back and moans so sexily while I continue pumping my fingers into her to help her ride it out. I bite my lip and even have to force myself to keep my eyes open as this view is something I want to replay over and over in my mind, while also trying to keep from blowing my load without ever being touched. I pride myself on my stamina, but this ethereal woman makes me feel like a teen going through puberty. Precum is leaking steadily out of my erection and I’m taking deep breaths to keep myself from coming just from the sight in front of me. Fuck porn, this image is spank bank material for the rest of my life. Emma’s eyes reopen and she leans forward planting a dirty, wet kiss on me before lifting up, positioning herself, and sliding down on my cock. We groan together because she is so wet that even though she’s extremely tight I slide in easily. Emma doesn’t even take time to adjust before she lifts up and starts riding me. I plant my hands on her hips to help her and start sucking her nipples in my mouth as she tugs at the short strands of hair that have grown out on my head. 

“After that show, I’m not going to last as long, sweetness.” I tell her and she leans down to kiss me again.

“You’re so fucking hot, Austin. I can’t wait for you to fill me with your babies and make me a mama.” She says with the most seductive smirk as she flips her hair to the side and I growl at her dirty talk. Fuck, she’s giving me a breeding kink that I never used to have.

“Fucking hell, babygirl. You want me to fill you up again?” I grunt and she nods. Without a word, I lift her off of me and bend her towards the balcony railing. Thank God we are on the 4th floor and it’s still early so lots of people are still at breakfast and not out yet. 

“Hands on the railing.” I grunt in her ear and she pushes her perfect ass out. I spread her cheeks and grope her before spearing her back on my cock and fucking her, hard. I reach under her and grab onto her breasts that are bouncing from my arduous thrusting and pick up my speed. The thrill of being caught is exhilarating and I swear, Emma’s arousal is dripping down her thighs.

“My sweet, naughty girl.” I growl as I grab onto her shoulder and wrap her hair around my wrist to continue pounding into her. Emma’s sweet breathless mewls show me that she’s close but trying to remain quiet for me. I reach down and thumb her clit and feel her pussy flutter around me helplessly.

“Cum on my cock, Sugar. Let me feel you.” I grunt and moments later she shatters apart, gripping the railing to keep herself from collapsing as I also find my release and spurt my hot cum inside her walls. I grunt probably too loudly but, in my euphoria, I don’t care anymore as I fantasize about getting her pregnant right now. We rest for a moment before I pick up the discarded sheet, wrapping Emma up and pulling her back down into my lap. I do a quick glance and don’t see anyone gawking and staring so I think our tryst was successfully completed.

*RING! *RING! *RING!

The alarm suddenly lets out a shrill ring, startling me from my pornographic flashback and once again I am alone in our bed, but now with an erection that I want nothing more to take care of but I force myself to wait until tonight. I shut the offending alarm off before wiping my hand down my face, stretching and heading toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. I decide to send Emma a picture of myself smiling with the dogs and a text.

Sy: <attachment>

Happy wedding day, Sugar. I sure can’t wait to see you today. I love you.

Emma quickly returns the text with a picture of her in silk button up pajamas and messy hair and I wish I could touch her.

Future Mrs. Syverson: <attachment>

Happy Wedding Day, Baby!! I can’t wait to see you and become your wife. I love you so so much! Check in your dress shoes for a present from me! ❤️

I head back upstairs to my closet and take my shoes from the shoe rack to see a small gift box tucked into my left shoe. I open it to reveal a really nice Bulova watch with a note. 

I find myself smiling at her words as I slide my new watch on my wrist. I have to admit, it looks really good. I quickly send her a text back.

Sy: Sugar, you got me the nicest gift I could have gotten. Thank you, Darlin’, I love it. Nana should be there with your gift shortly. Hope you like it. I love you.

I knew Nana would be on her way within the hour and had promised to deliver the earrings that my mom had left to me before she passed away. They were pretty little diamond drop earrings that had a pearl at the base. She wore them on her wedding day as a gift from Nana and PawPaw and she said even though her marriage didn’t work, they represented the love of her family. I sent them along with a note for Emma.

After a cup of coffee, Walter shows up and we head over to a diner for a late breakfast. He’s my only groomsmen, as Emma only wanted one bridesmaid, choosing her best friend Cassie from Alabama who I’d met several times when they video called each other. She was an extremely nice girl, redheaded and somewhat shy compared to Emma but I was happy that she came down yesterday and they got to spend the day together doing girly things in preparation for the wedding today. 

“So, how you feelin’ today man? Nervous?”

“Nah, I’m excited. I would have taken her to the courthouse months ago but I wanted her to have the wedding she’s always dreamed of.” 

“I’m glad you found her. She’s a really great girl and God knows how she puts up with your stubborn ass.” Walt jokes but I have to agree. 

“She’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.” 

“I thought you’d have the wedding at Nana and PawPaw’s ranch.”

“That was initially the idea but her mother and Nana convinced her there wasn’t enough room. Emma found the big field near first Baptist down there on main, and loved the idea of getting married in front of that massive oak tree so that was what it changed too.”

“Anything we need to do to help set up?”

“Nah, I already tried that. Nana hired the ranch hands to help out for the day. She said, and I quote, ‘Your only job is to arrive clean, in your suit, and on time. I don’t need you messing up our vision.’”

Walt laughed so loud he startled other customers as I shook my head at my Nana’s antics.

“Well, want to head back to the house and watch a game with a beer before we need to get ready? 

“Absolutely.”

We head out to my truck and head back to my house.

“Emma tells me I’ll like her friend, Cassie a lot.” Walter says subtly.

Oh Emma, trying to set up her best friend and Walt because she wants everyone happy and in love. Matchmaking even on her wedding day.

“I’m sure you will.” I smirk at Walt who tries to act uninterested.

“All I know is that she’s a pretty redhead, who seems a bit shy. She is a graphic designer but I can’t remember where she works. Her and Em have been friends since preteens.”

“Good to know.” Walt nods continuing with his indifferent bluff.

About two hours later, I got a call from Nana saying that Emma loved the earrings and couldn’t stop crying while reading my letter. She already had the earrings on and was excited to wear them with her wedding gown. I felt proud that she appreciated the gift and it made me feel like mama was here with us in spirit. I’m confident that she and Emma would get on like peas in a pod.

My brother, Mark and his family came from Tennessee and would be staying at Nana and PawPaw’s house. I was happy when they came to visit and I got to meet the newest addition to our family, my 3-month-old nephew, Liam. Lucy their daughter would be our flower girl today and was an absolute ball of energy chasing Mills throughout the house. It was really enjoyable getting to catch up with them since we hadn’t been around each other in a while.

Several hours pass and I’m in my dress uniform headed over to the Baptist church with Walt. The girls were getting ready there, thanks to Nana’s membership, so that they could remain unseen before the ceremony. Everything looked incredible, and I had to hand it to the ladies that Emma would love it. Rows and rows of white chairs lined perfectly facing a flowered archway in front of the massive oak tree that had twinkling lights hanging from it. I had to take a deep breath as I saw Emma had framed my favorite portrait of my mom, and had the frame sitting in the front seat of rows of chairs. Effectively ensuring that I knew my mother’s presence was there with me. Seeing the set up made me more excited than ever to see my girl walking down the aisle towards me.

Finally, it was time. I stood at the end of the makeshift aisle with the officiant and Walter as many family and friends that I knew, and several from Emma’s hometown that I didn’t know sat in the chairs facing me. Walt had Aika on the leash with him as Cassie had Mills on the leash with her. Emma had been adamant about training him to behave for him to be at the ceremony. We all chuckled as Lucy threw flowers on the ground, and dumped the remaining flowers from her basket directly in front of the officiant before scuttling over to sit with Mark. The music switched to a romantic piano tune as the officiant called for the audience to rise and I watched as Emma emerged on her father’s arm. She was absolutely stunning in a tight-fitting white gown that hugged her figure perfectly. Her hair in delicate curls with white roses tucked in it, while holding a large bouquet of matching flowers. My favorite shy smile was across her face as she walked closer towards me down the aisle. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I slightly shake my head as I can’t believe this beautiful, perfect woman was going to be mine forever.

All rights and credits go to the owner of these photos

As we joined hands and repeated our vows after the officiant, I never took my eyes off of Emma. She is easily the most radiant and incredible person, I’ve ever known. After exchanging our rings, the officiant pronounced us husband and wife. As the crowd clapped and cheered, I wrapped my arms around Emma and dipped her backwards in a passionate but appropriate kiss. Emma smiled ecstatically at me as I stood her back up before grabbing her bouquet. We gave a quick hug to her parents and my grandparents before heading down the aisle as husband and wife. As we walked back down the aisle together, our loved ones cheered for us as the photographer snapped hundreds of photos. I was more than grateful for a moment to ourselves inside the church as I scooped Emma up bridal style and carried her to a room together for a moment alone. 

“Holy shit, Sugar.” I said as I stared at her body in this gown.

“Baby! We’re in a church! No cursing!” She scolded me playfully.

“Well, you’re sinful in that dress, Darlin’. Let me have a good look at you.” I motion for her to spin for me and she does so. I grunt at her before pulling her back into my arms and letting my hands roam her perfect form.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life, baby girl.” I tell her honestly and smile when her cheeks tint with blush.

“We need to go take pictures.” She says against my mouth as I pull her in for a kiss.

“Mm.. They can wait a minute. I just need a minute with my wife.” I tell her as I press another kiss to her lips.

“Anything you want, husband.” She smirks.

“You’re going to regret saying that, Sugar.” I tell her while arching my brow, not caring that we are in a church as I imply what I’m after.

“Save it for tonight, big boy. We have a wedding to get back too. I’ll make it worth your while tonight, baby.” She promises and I grunt before I adjust myself in my pants. Don’t need that showing up in all of the pictures. I pull her in for another kiss before there is a knock at the door from the photographer ready to do her job. I pout but Emma just smirks and grabs my hand before pulling me out of the room where Walt and Cassie are already waiting on us with knowing smirks.

After what feels like an hour worth of pictures of us and with our families, we head to the field which has been completely converted into a wedding reception. There is a DJ set up and tables with people already eating food. I’m starved so when Nana calls us to a table with food, Emma and I dig in. 

Throughout the night, I’m surprised to see several acquaintances from the army in attendance. Turns out, Nana put Walt’s detective skills to work on tracking down any remaining army buddies and sure enough, they showed. I was proud to show Emma off to them and she loved getting to meet people from my past who couldn’t believe I settled down. Before I knew it, they were telling jokes about some of the nonsense that we all did out in the desert when we were bored between missions and Emma was absolutely captivated with each story. Before the night ended, I was dancing, yes, dancing with Emma before we left for our hotel. This woman could convince me to do just about anything with those doe eyes. I smirk at Walt who has been dancing with Cassie for several songs. Emma, as usual, was right and they seem to be hitting things off. Nana and PawPaw had just left and took the dogs with them as we were going to leave for our honeymoon tomorrow. I look at Emma who has her head resting against my chest and smile.

“Have you had a good time, Sugar?”

“Mmm, the best wedding ever. I’m so excited to be your wife. What about you?”

“It’s been perfect darlin’. I can’t believe so many of my army buddies showed.”

“I can. It’s obvious how much they all admire and respect you, baby. We should make a point to reach out more.” I just grunt in response. Everyone is so spread out now, it would be difficult to see them often. Emma cuts my train of thought with her next sentence.

“I have a little surprise for you.” Emma says while biting her lip.

“What’s that, Sugar?” Emma stretches up on her tip toes to reach the bottom of my ear.

“I stopped taking my birth control a week ago.” She whispers before looking up at me with those beautiful crystal blue eyes and a smirk that runs straight to my manhood.

“Oh yeah? Ready for me to make you a mama?” I ask her quietly.

“Yes, honey. Let’s try for a baby.” She smiles and before I can even think I’m smashing my lips to hers.

“Can we go to the honeymoon suite yet?” I ask when she pulls away from the heated kiss to take a breath, reminding me that we have an audience.

“After the bouquet and garter toss, we can leave. Shall we?”

“Fuck yes!” I murmur before she tells Diana that we are ready to go. Diana gathers all of the single women together and Emma tosses her bouquet into the crowd that is easily caught by Cassie and I smirk at Walt who just smacks my shoulder with a grunt.

Emma sits in a chair and I get down on my good knee and slide myself under her dress to go after her garter. Fuck, she’s wearing the sexiest white bridal lingerie and it makes me even more eager to get her out of here. I pull the garter off with my teeth to the cheers of the crowd before purposefully flinging it directly into Walt’s head with a chuckle. I’ve always had perfect aim and he rewards me with his signature scowl. 

Thankfully, not too much later Emma and I are headed through the crowd of people showering us with flower petals as we get in the vintage car we rented to take us to the hotel. Emma wanted us to enjoy ourselves without having to worry about driving so I was happy to get to kiss on her the entire ride to the hotel.

Emma squealed as I scooped her up bridal style and carried her through the lobby to the elevators and up to our suite for the night. We’d be leaving tomorrow afternoon to catch our flight for our honeymoon but I was determined to make every minute of this night count. I could finally make love to my wife, and so that’s what we did… All. Night. Long.

Part 19

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood, @sofiebstar, @wetzilly

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me while it took me a bit longer to get this chapter out! This isn't the last chapter of the series, but I feel like this story is starting to come to an end which gives me withdrawals lol. I hope you all enjoyed their wedding!

[angryschnauzer]

On Your Knees

Summary: As general maid for 221 Baker Street, you assist most of the residents. However on one quiet night when most of them are out, only one resident returns to his home... a little worse for wear. He thanks you in the easiest way possible.

Fandoms: Enola Holmes 2, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, NSFW, Drunk Sherlock, Oral Sex (Female Receiving).

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Wordcount: 1854

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

On Your Knees

The cold wind rattled the fragile glass in the frame, a chill advancing into your room even further as the dark night continued. The building of 221 Baker Street was colder than usual, most of the apartments empty for the night due to various parties and festive events happening this time of year meaning the tenants wouldn’t be back until the morning. 

As the scullery maid of 221 Baker Street you were in and out most of the apartments each day, tending to the fireplaces and delivering meals if required. The housekeeper who supervised you telling you where to go and what to do wasn’t around either, though her instruction was rarely needed anymore, you knew the routines of all of the tenants and could read the calendar hung in the kitchen showing who was home and who wasn’t.

At that moment the wind rushed against the window again and you pulled your dressing gown further around your body, shivering beneath your quilt. Glancing at your own laundry you’d hand washed that evening, your bloomers hung on the wooden airer where the chimney breast rose through the building. With every pair you owned doing little to dry in the cold attic room, you cursed your schedule for not giving you time to do it earlier in the day when the sun had been coming through the window. Now you just had your thin nightgown and woollen stockings to keep you warm beneath your dressing gown.

You were drawn from your thoughts by the sound of movement in the hallway far below your room. Freezing you wracked your brain to try to remember if any of the tenants were due back tonight, but none were. Through the eerie quiet of the house there was another bump and a quiet curse. You reached for the large floor brush that still sat beside the door to your room with its dustpan, lifting the brush as a weapon as you opened the door and carefully stepped out onto the old floorboards to peer down through the stairwell. Clinging to your brush you leant forwards over the bannister and peered through the darkness, a single lamp in the hall four floors down barely illuminating the entryway before you suddenly saw a shadow move. Letting out a small gasp you clamped your hand over your mouth as you watched, but that tension evaporated when you recognised the wide shoulders and curly dark hair of the tenant in apartment B;

“Detective Holmes!” you called out, the figure below swivelling rapidly before spinning and looking up.

“Ah. There you are…” a soft hiccup followed as he swayed on his feet.

“I’ll be right down Sir”

Just last week Mr Holmes’ sister helped him into his apartment having had too many drinks at the pub, and it would seem he’d done the same again tonight. Padding on stocking clad feet you descended the stairs quickly, soon arriving in the hallway as Mr Holmes swayed a little on his feet;

“Can i help you to your apartment Sir?”

“Oh that would be *hiccup* wonderful Darling”

Hooking your arm around his back and pulling his own arm over your shoulders, you started to help him up the stairs one at a time, before arriving at his apartment. 

“I have a… I have my… dammit” Mr Holmes cursed as he fumbled for his key, and as you glanced down you could see that the bunch of keys in his pocket had caught on the fabric and were stuck. Without even thinking you batted his hand away and slid your much smaller hand into his pocket, moving the keys around until they were no longer snagged on the fabric. You tried not to think of the heat radiating from Mr Holmes thigh, barely separated from your touch by a thin layer of cotton, nor the firm muscle beneath the fabric that flexed as your delicate fingers brushed against it. He answered your silent thoughts with a grunt, before you pulled the keys out and unlocked the door, all whilst he had his arm around your shoulder.

His body was firm and heavy, a welcome weight against your cold frame, and as he swayed you did so too, before he finally pulled his arm free of your shoulders and started to shuck off his coat and scarf, struggling as he went about the task.

“Mr Holmes, Sir, please let me help…”

He swung around, shrugging his shoulders, his coat now held on his arms around his elbows, his wide shoulders only accentuated by the white shirt and silk waistcoat that clung to his torso. Whilst distracted you didn’t spot his flailing, one stray arm of his coat socking you around the chin, and although not hurting you, caught you by surprise and knocked you back where you lost your footing and fell on your bottom. 

“Ta-da! Done it!” he proclaimed proudly, before spinning around; “Where did you…?”

Climbing to your feet you took the bundle of coat from the floor;

“Ah, there you are Darling, didn’t get you did i?”

“Just a little Mr Holmes. Let me hang this up for you”

As you hung the coat onto the hook near the door you heard a gasp and a soft thud, turning to see Sherlock on his knees before you;

“Mr Holmes!”

“My Darling, i am so sorry, so very very sorry”

He had big puppy dog eyes as he looked up at you, his drunken state obviously accentuating his normally muted emotions; I should have been more careful… a heinous crime I have committed to sock a young lady around with my coat, please… please forgive me…”

You tried very hard not to laugh, for this was so far removed from what Mr Holmes was like normally, but also it stirred something within you, to see this big man on his knees before you, his face mere inches from your stomach. 

“Please Darling…” He edged closer, wrapping his arms around your bottom and pressed his cheek to your stomach; “Please forgive me…”

At first you were frozen with fear, this was not only completely out of character for Mr Holmes, but wholly inappropriate, but the long days and lack of sleep perhaps clouded your judgement and you cautiously rested your hand on the top of his head;

“It’s… it’s ok Mr Homes, Sir”

He turned his head and peered up at you;

“Let me make it up to you”

You could only watch in shock as he moved his hands to rest them on your stocking clad ankles, before he started to inch those warm palms up your legs. When he reached your knees his fingertips rubbed soft circles against the backs of your thighs, your nightgown bunching at his wrists. For the whole time you kept eye contact, unable to draw your gaze away until his fingertips reached the top of your woollen stockings and he let out a small grunt of appreciation. He ducked his head forwards and pressed a single kiss to the skin just above the tied ribbons that secured the stockings in place.

“You smell divine” he muttered softly, inhaling deeply before he bunched your nightgown up in one hand and pressed his nose to the apex of your thighs.

“Oh! Sir!”

He pressed a kiss to your soft mound, before his fingers stroked softly along your seam. Never breaking eye contact he lifted one leg over his shoulder, opening you up like a spring blossom. A warm puff of breath warmed your skin before he leant forwards and his tongue found your silken pearl. If it wasn’t for his firm shoulder your leg was hooked over you would have damn near fallen to the floor, you did lose your footing a little, your back falling to rest against the door behind you and your hands found their way to his dark curls. 

The slight tug on his hair seemed to spur him on, his wicked tongue parting your folds, and the appreciative murmur that came from his muffled lips only excited you more. Sherlock knew exactly what to do, and you can’t believe you had never even considered that this fine specimen of a man would be skilled in the art of lovemaking, but because of his cold demeanour it just hadn’t been something you’d thought of. 

You tried to concentrate on the look of bliss on his face, but the way his long tongue was pushing at your secret canal, his nose rubbing against your pearl, it was almost too distracting. Your head slowly fell back until it rested on the wooden door behind you, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure grew in the pit of your belly. It was only when he moved a little, his lips finding your pearl again and he slid a thick finger into your tight channel did your eyes spring open;

“Oh lord!”

A quiet chuckle came from between your thighs, looking down to see the mischief in his eyes and he winked at you just as he slid a second finger in alongside the first. He crooked them just so as he moved them slowly but firmly, stroking at your velveteen walls, his lips and tongue increasing their efforts until you felt a surge of pleasure, a white hot fire bursting forth from your core and you climaxed with a loud cry of his name;

“Sherlock!”

As your body trembled he slowed his fingers, before pulling them free and holding them up to the faint candle light, inspecting the stickiness on them with a learned curiosity, before he sucked them both clean. He looked up at you as you trembled above him, slipping your leg off of his shoulder and he went to rock back onto his feet, but unfortunately losing his footing and topping back onto his behind;

“Oouf!”

As your nightdress fell back around your ankles and on unsteady legs you rushed forwards to help him to his feet, his eyes a little glazed from his drunkenness. He was like a lead weight, swaying on his feet until you managed to half carry half drag him to the chaise lounge and unceremoniously drop him on the soft cushion, watching as he twisted his body until he was on his back;

“What was i saying? I’m sure i should have thanked you for something…” he was already nodding off to sleep, oblivious to the rich smell of your sex now hanging in the room. 

You let out a sigh before turning and to the quiet background noise of his snores you lit a fire in the hearth to warm the room. Making sure a heavy yew log was placed in the centre of the grate to ensure a long slow burn, you set the fireguard in place. Spotting his long blue dressing gown hanging over a chair, you carefully laid it over his sleeping form, and with one last glance back at him you exited the apartment. At least with the fire in his apartment now going a sliver of warmth would seep into your room that cold night.

[mattmurdock42]

Henry Cavill X Female reader

Professor Cavill

Pov: Professor Cavill and student

+- 3.3k

You studied economics at Oxford. You were really fond of what you studied. However, you really liked to sneak into literature classes. It relaxed your head from all the terms and counts of your area.

It was a cold and raining friday, you had got out of your Companies´s class and were exausted, you hated three hours followed from the same class, with no little breaks. As it was 11:30, you went to take something to eat and went to a walk, suddenly, you remember that there was going to be a Shakespeare lecture at 12:30, so, you decided to go, to relax your brain a little, before having more classes in the afternoon. You have missed the first lecture, but you didn´t mind, you liked to hear things about writers. You got there and took a seat at the corner, waiting for the professor to arrive. While you were watching, you couldn´t decide what was catching more your attention, the lecture itself, or the hot, tall, beffy guy who was giving it. It ended at 13:30, you had 15 more minutes until your class started. Everybody was getting out of the class, but you were one of the last ones to go, because you kept watching the hot professor. As you got up to go, you bumps into someone, feeling hot coffe all over your sweater.

Y/N: Fuck!

Henry: i´m so sorry, are you ok?

Y/N: yes, it´s ok.

You say that as you take it off, staying only with you thermal blouse and a daredevil´s shirt. As you look to see who it was, you saw the familiar face who was giving the lecture.

Henry: I am really sorry,now you´re going to be cold.

Y/N: there is no problem, mister...?

Hernry: Cavill, Henry Cavill. And what is your name, miss?

Y/N: N, Y/N

Henry: well, sorry again, miss N.

Y/N: not a problem.

You say it smiling, as you head to a little walk before joining your next class: Holdings. In the end, you were going to the bathroom before your next one, when, you unexpectedly sees Mr. Cavill headind to you, holding something.

Henry: Hello, miss N.

Y/N: hi!

Henry: i wanted to give you this ( he hands you a dark blue sweater). i was feeling bad for you being cold because of me. So this is a reserve sweater that i keep. You can give me back anytime.

Y/N: you don´t need to.

Henry: it´s the least i can do.

You accepts it.

Y/N: thank you, then.

Henry: one more thing, miss. I searched your name on my students essays, so i could knew where to find you to give the sweater, but i didn´t find your name, so i searched on the system and i discovered that you are not from the language departament, nor the classics or the history one. You weren´t supposed to be attending my lecture. Be more carefull the next time.

He says it with a cute smile. You nod as he leaves. You go to the bathroom and put the sweater. It was to big for you, his shoulders were double yours. You folded the sleeves and put the bottom inside your trousers, with just a little out.

At the end of the day, you went to his office to give it back to him.

Henry: do you have any coat to replace it? there is almost a blizzard outside, you can give it back to me next monday.

So, you went home with his sweater. As soon as you arrived you washed it and set it close to your bag, so you wouldn´t forget it.

Monday arrived, your lectures were finished, so you headed to his office. You knocked, no answer, so you went to look for him somewhere else. You found him giving the third part of the lecture about Shakespeare, so you decided to stay and watch it, you´d give the sweater back to him in the end. The moment he saw you, he couldn´t contain a little grin. The lecture ended and you went to him.

Y/N: here, sir, thank you for lending me the other day.

Henry: my pleasure. So, did you enjoy the lecture, Buffett lady?

You chuckled about the nickname.

Y/N: yes, it was really amousing, it is nice to learn more about literature. But i didn´t catch the first class and the first part of this one, so i am not completaly involved with it.

Henry: tell me, why do you watch this kind of classes, if you study economics?

Y/N: it is like a hobby,i am usually tired after my lectures, so sometimes i watch this classes to distract my mind, to take it out of Holdings, Founds and this things, plus, i really enjoy it. So i got used to it.

Henry: do you like sheakspeare? Since you attended two of this classes?

Y/N: actually, it wasn´t intentional to watch it about the same author. However, yes, i like sheakspeare, but i´ve only read six of his plays.

Henry: that´s a lot. Which one is your favorite.

Y/N: i know it´s an ordinary opinion, but Hamlet. The exitencialism in that play seems to scream, and the relationship between Hamlet and his best friend was captivating.

He smiles, noticing you knew some things about literature too.

The time passed, and you always attended some of his classes. You two passed through Tolstoy, Dickens, Shelley, Poe, Byron, and much more. One day, he asks if you´d like to have coffe with him. You said yes, of course, you weren´t stupid to deny a coffe with those sparkling blue eyes looking at you.

The day come and you two met at the Monmouth. You sat at a corner table and the conversation starts. He asked you about your classes, saying how he didn´t have head for those kind of things. You asked him about his job and friends, receiveing the information that he´s being teaching for nine years, and was the youngest of the teachers, with the second being ten years older then him. After the coffe, at the door, you hugged him and went to your house. There, you couldn´t stop thinking about him, his teeths, his polished cheekbones, his body well builded (it was obvious that he spent more than a few hours in the gym), his fluffy hair, everything. The next time you attended one of his classes, he asks you out on a real date. You agreed, as you couldn´t stop your mind of having sick thoughts.

The date would be at the Berner´s Tavern.He picked you up at 19 oclock. You had the most amazing dinner ever. In the end, when he left you at your apartament, he looked at you, and you understood the question. The answer was a soft kiss on his lips. He grinned at you and said good bye. The next week, you were the one who asked him out, picking him at his house. You went to another place this time. Again the dinner was great. As you left him at his house, you gave him a more passionate kiss, putting your hands behind his neck, and him putting his, gently, around your waist, afraid of that gesture being to much.

Dates and more dates passed, the kisses evolving until a burning one, with tongues dancing and hands on dangerous places. One day, after a class about French authors, he envited you for dinner at his house, you said yes. Actually you were a little scared, you never wen´t to a boys house before. As you got there, he invited you to come in and you went to the kitchen, the table as settled, he sat you and went to take the food, he made grilled chiken with rice, and for salad, carot with cucumber.

Henry: sorry if it is to simple, but that´s what you always order, so, this are the only foods i know you ate.

You blushed, noticing he repared at your food. You said it was amazing, the taste was explandit, and the food was not simple, but more than you could ask.

After dinner you went to the couch, to watch a movie. In the middle, you made a risk movement; you put your hand on his thigh, going up and down soflty. He notices, he gets your chin and turns your face to him, your eyebrows move. He understands and asks

Henry: are you sure?

Y/N: yes, it´s been so many dates since i was waiting for this.

He smiles and lifts you, placing you on his lap, each thigh at one side of his hips.

Henry: i´ve been waiting too, i couldn´t stop thinking about you since the day we met. When i got your eyes, furious and at the same time worried and apologetic about the coffe,my mind couldn´t do anything else besides thinking about that moment. But when you told me about Hamlet, then i knew i had fallen in love with you.

You blush, hidding your face on his chest, with your hands on it.

Henry: you are so cute when you blush! Do not hide your face.

You hugh him. Then, you look at his face.

Y/N: do not say those things in this kind of moments, it makes me shy. And i don´t want to be shy now.

Henry: noted.

You kiss him hard, putting your hands on his hair and pulling it. He put his hands on your waist and slide down to your ass, grabbing it strongly. You buckle your hips and he lifts you, you intertwining your legs around his waist. He takes you to his bedroom and lay you down on the bed. He goes on top of you, and you put your hands on his chest. He starts to go down to your thighs.

Y/N: take of your shirt.

He obeys.

Henry: take of yours.

You blush, slowly grabbing the bottom of your shirt. You take it of and try to cover yourself with your hands.

Henry: why are you covering yourself?

Y/N: this is the first time i stay only in a bra in front of a man.

Henry look at you confused.

Y/N: Henry, i´m a virgin.

He stopped imediatly. He looked at you with wide open eyes.

Henry: why didn´t you tell me? Are you ok? Was anything to much?

Y/N: yes, it´s ok. i´m just a little nervous.

Henry: you are so beautiful and intelligent, i can´t believe no one never showed interest in you.

Y/N: some did, but i never really liked then.

Henry: wow, it´s too much pressure now.

He says nervously smiling.

Y/N: it´s okay, just keep going.

Henry: if you let me, i can guide you.

Y/N: that would be nice, just, be gentle, please.

Henry: of course

He goes down the bed while you were still laying, he starts to kiss your thighs, then your inner thighs.

Henry: i´m gonna take of your panties now. Ok?

You nod.

Henry: now, if you don´t like anything, tell me.

He massages your vulva carefully, opening it to start to stimulate your clit. He notices a moan coming out of your lips and he smiles. He keeps doing it for a while, then he increases the pressure on it and put a finger inside of you. You moan heavily, he doesn´t stop. He puts another finger inside, knowing you could take it. He starts doing the movements of come and go with his fingers and you start to twitch. You feel something pass through your body, you could not control your moans.

Henry: that´s okay, Buffett, be as loud as you want.

He says when he sees you trying to contain your moans. Suddenly, it gets to intense and you cum.

Henry: did you not like anything, something i could do better?

You looke at him smiling.

Y/N: you are a god, mister. I only have one complain.

He looked at you seriously, intending to get what you didn´t like.

Y/N: i didn´t feel your cock.

He looked at you surprided. He wasn´t expecting that.

Henry: are you sure? i think it´s to soon.

Y/N: please, i wanna know how does it feel. I know in the begging hurts a little, but i wanna try.

He lowered his head.

Henry: as you wish.

He took of his pants, his cock was a little bigger then most of others. A little more thicker and longer. He opened your legs and put then over your head. He took a condom and put on his dick already hard. He massaged it a little and then asked.

Henry: you are already really wet, and the condom already has lubricant, but if you want more, let me know. I´m gonna put it now, ok?

You nod. You feel his dick gently coming, in and out, just a little part of it. Then, it went deeper. His eyes never leaving your face, to see if you were hurt or not. It was not confortable, but you could take it. After a while, you hear him moan, low, almost inaudible.

He leans over you, and you scratch his back , feeling him get even harder. Then, he cums. He lays on your side.

Henry: are you ok?

Y/N: yes, it was nice.

You say as you massage his scalp, thinking about the first orgasm you had in your life.

Y/N: we should do this more times.

Henry: i agree.

He says with a chuckle.

The next week, you two were even closer; him going to your building to give you his sweaters, so it would smell like you. And you going to his house, to have sex and judge his bookshelfs. He loved to hear your opinion, good or bad, about his books. You always teasing him to let you know who would be the next author he would teach, and him never letting it. He would always say how smart you are, when seeing you studying your field, thinking how smart his grilfriend was.

[holylulusworld]

Sex you up - Kinktober 18

Summary: You attend a Halloween party.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: flirty Henry, meet cute, RPF, size kink, implied smut

A/N: We are having Henry in his Walter Marshall era because this one has me in a chokehold. Suffer with me.

Trope/Kink: Size Kink

Idea by: @sultryfandoms

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Halloween always has something magical to you. Not only because of the people celebrating it, or trick or treat. It’s not only the costumes, drinking, candy, and having fun.

The air is thick with mystery on Halloween, and you think about its origin and the truth behind the legend on October 31st.

“Y/N, hurry up and stop staring at the pumpkins,” your friend groans as you take another picture of the decoration outside the house. “Babe, we got invited to the party of the year. Stop being a nerd for one night.”

You harrumph. Chelsey is your friend, but her words hit home. You always were a little shy, and insecure. When you got older and turned from a girl into a woman it got better.

Still, sometimes you are self-conscious and shy away. Especially at parties with too many people, you do not know. “Coming,” you grumble under your breath. “It’s just, that the decoration is breathtaking. Look at all the jack-o-lanterns. The house looks like a gothic castle from a horror movie.”

“Yeah, spider webs and all,” Chelsey rolls her eyes. “Babe, all I want is to get waisted, and find a cute guy for the night.”

“How about you go inside, and I look at the decoration for a little longer. I’ll be right there.”

“YES!” She pinches your cheek. “I’ll get you a drink and wait for you.”

This time, you roll your eyes. Chelsey will forget about you the moment she finds some cute guy. “Go ahead. Have fun.”

She enters the house without looking back, making you sigh. Chelsey promised you are going to have a ladies’ night. Now you are on your own once again.

“You know, Halloween’s origins date back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain,” you squeak, and press one hand to your heart as a man stands next to you. “Sorry, sweetness. I didn’t want to scare you. On Halloween out of all days.”

You dip your head to get a better look at him. The stranger must be the tallest man you have ever seen, with broad shoulders, a wide chest and curly hair. He’s wearing a beard, making him look wilder than he really is. His soft eyes tell you he’s got a good heart.

“It’s fine. I was just admiring the decoration and got distracted,” you give him a soft smile. “Are you invited to the party too?”

“Guilty,” he returns your smile as he steps a little closer. “I see you came as a wolf. A cute one.” The man grins as you look down at your body. “I like it very much.”

“It was the only one left at the store. Well, the only one fitting me.”

“You look…” He looks you up and down, licking his lips, “Excuse my choice of words, but you look like any wolf would love to eat you alive.”

“I’m a wolf too,” you retort. “What’s your costume? Grumpy sweater lover?” You smirk.

“I’m a werewolf,” he grins, revealing sharpy canines. “See, I’m hiding behind a nice face. But if you give me the chance, I’ll sink my teeth in your flesh and eat you, sweetness.”

“Eat me?” You swallow thickly. This man is a stranger, but you feel drawn to him. His eyes drop to your chest, and you shudder under his gaze. It’s his sheer size dwarfing you that makes your body tingle.

“I bet,” he steps even closer, cupping your face with his large hands, “you make the cutest noises when I use my mouth on you.”

He flashes you a dark smile, revealing his sharp teeth to you. You shudder and press your legs together. “Maybe we can skip the party and get to the part where you eat me…”

"Oh, Mrs. Cavill, you have been a naughty girl," your husband purrs against your lips. "Let's skip the party."

Tags in reblog.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

heyy, maybe prompts 13 and 18 for mindy meeks martin??

‘’Shut up.’’ ‘’Why don't you come over here and make me.’’ + ‘’You have no idea how much I want you.’’

Warnings: smut, masturbation (there was a lot more to the plan, but it was getting too long)

my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time

—

If you and Mindy were a romance cliché, you would be the roommates trope. Chad liked to make fun of his sister for falling into a cliché when all her life she’s been emphasizing on how different she was.

When your relationship became serious, you and Mindy did some rearrangement to the dorm. You pushed the beds together to make one big bed, tired of having to squeeze into one of the twin beds, and got rid of the shirtless Henry Cavill poster that the previous girl had left there. It was really not your vibe.

A sight left your lips, filling the quiet of the dorm. You had been playing on your switch while Mindy was sitting at her desk, working on her film class assignment. It was due for tomorrow so she really needed to get it done before joining you for your nightly movie. You had started this little routine as a way to unwind and spend time together, as if you didn’t already spend 80% of your day together.

You turned your video game off and called Mindy.

‘’I’m almost finished, babe. I just really need to write about this one aspect that I know will get me a lot of bonus points and then we’ll watch a movie.’’

You liked her cinematic-nerd side, but these assignments were getting longer each time.

Another sigh left your lips and you grabbed your phone, scrolling on social media for a few. Quinn had posted a thirst-trap of herself in a tight dress, either heading to a Tinder date or trying to attract DMs from the male gender.

Taking inspiration from Quinn, you put your phone down and decided to tease your girlfriend.

‘’Mind!’’

‘’I’m almost finished,’’ she repeated, her eyes not quitting her laptop screen. ‘’Give me twenty minutes.’’

‘’Mindy!’’

This time, she peeked a glance at you over her shoulder and groaned, feeling her core tighten when seeing your breasts pulled out of your shirt. ‘’Fuck. How am I supposed to focus on school work now? You know I can’t think straight when I see those.’’ Mindy narrowed her eyes, giving you a pointed look. ‘’Are you trying to sabotage my grades?’’

You gave her your best innocent look. ‘’I’m bored,’’ you said, reaching your hand up to your left breast and rubbing your nipple.

Watching you touch yourself and not being able to join you was torture for Mindy. She wanted to ditch her assignment so badly, but she doubted Mrs. Crane would find your teasing a valid enough reason to not give her a bad mark.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, groping your other breast and making it even harder for Mindy to resist.

‘’You have no idea how much I want you. I really, really want to suck on those pretty nipples, but I have to resist the temptation and finish this assignment first. Then—’’ Mindy’s face switched, giving you a dark look, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘’Oh, I have a lot in mind, my love.’’

Her words sent butterflies to your pussy, making it tingle with excitation.

Instead of being good and patient, you decided to push your teasing a notch further and rid yourself of your skirt and underwear. You parted your legs open and brought one of your hands to your folds, sliding your finger up and down a couple of times, drawing out a sigh of pleasure.

It was evil, but you were in a naughty mood…and craving your girlfriend’s attention.

The soft sounds coming from your mouth caught Mindy’s attention, a curse slipping from her lips at the scene behind her. Might as well call it a personal X-rated live-show.

You raised your head, eyes meeting Mindy’s before you raised it to rub slowly against your clit. ‘’Aah, Mindy.’’

She couldn’t tear her eyes away, watching intently as you now pressed two fingers to your clit, rubbing in hard, fast circles as your other hand pulled at your nipple.

You moaned at your own touch, then dropped your fingers lower and pushed two inside yourself. ‘’Mmh. I wish it was your mouth on my clit and your fingers instead of mine—‘’

‘’Shut up.’’ Her voice sounded deeply frustrated.

A grin crossed your lips. ‘’Why don't you come over here and make me.’’

You didn't need to tell her twice.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog 

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[viking-raider]

Love At First Sight > Part One

Summary-> Henry finds himself standing at the altar for the celebrity version of Love at First Sight, where he marries Alexa. Once married, nearly every moment of their new life will be documented for a year.

But the real question is, will they be married at the end of that year?

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/OFC (Alexa)

Word Count-> 9.6k

Warnings-> PG: Arranged Marriage, Language, Banter, Alcohol

Inspiration-> Nick and Vanessa Lachey's Love is Blind on Netflix.

Author’s Note-> The correct post! Hopefully the next parts won't so long. Not doing a lo of warning. But there's not many to do. I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

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

–The Wedding–

Henry was terrified as he paced his dressing room, his shaking hands fiddling with the buttons of his suit jacket. He was dressed to the nines, in a dark blue, three-piece suit with a charcoal, button down dress shirt and black tie, sporting thin gold stripes. He glanced at himself in the mirror for the millionth time, seeing his neatly brushed curls that he'd cut the afternoon before in preparation for the event, and the smoothness of his cheeks, lightly adorned with his sandalwood aftershave.

“God, what have I gotten myself into?” He fretted, biting his bottom lip as he turned on the heels of his shining, black dress shoes, to pace the length of the room again. “Marrying someone, I don't know, with the world watching, then having our every moment followed afterward for the next year.” He felt his heart thunder harder.

Henry's agent had come to him, saying that a casting agent for a show about celebrities who marry each other, at first sight, on the altar, after the show's team of matchmakers, therapists, relationship experts and host of other people match them with each other. Once married, a small film crew would follow them around for a year, to see if they would stay married or divorce. At first, Henry declined the offer, four or five times. But, when his agent came back to him with the show's last offer, a week before his thirty-eighth birthday, Henry had been in a mood, feeling his 'clock' ticking on finding a wife on his own, after so many failed relationships, and starting a family.

So, he had impulsively said yes.

Now, eight months later, Henry was dressed in his wedding suit, waiting to be taken out to the altar so he could meet his future wife. Only knowing her first name, Alexa. He had tried to think of all the famous 'Alexa's' he knew, that had the potential to be paired with him, based on the criteria they'd given him. Such as not marrying him to a woman more than ten years his junior, but there were very few and he wasn't allowed to contact them to ask.

There was a soft knock on his door and Henry paused, turning as it opened and the crew member taking care of him popped their head in.

“We're ready for you, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled at Henry, giving him a warm and encouraging smile.

“Right.” Henry smiled back, trying to exude a calmness, following him out.

The crew member directed Henry to the stage, where they had set up the gorgeous altar, motioning to Henry's mark by the Humanist Chaplain, Preston Larson, who also offered a smile and slight nod.

“How are you?” He asked, in a low voice.

“Nervous.” Henry chuckled, smirking at him.

“I would be shocked, if you weren't!” Preston laughed back, reaching out to rest his hand on Henry's shoulder. “But it'll be great.” He told him, hoping to instill some confidence in him.

“I hope so.” Henry mumbled, taking a deep breath, his eyes moving towards the French doors he'd come through, watching the crew close them, signaling that things were starting to really progress and the moment of no return had come.

The assistant director behind the camera signaled and the wedding music started, sending Henry's heart into his throat. Everything he had been worrying over and thinking about for the last eight months rushed him. Who is she? What did she do for a living and how would it interact with his career as an actor? What did she look like? Would they get along and like each other? Or would they end up hating each other? They both had already signed a contract that stated they couldn't divorce or separate, until the one year mark, for the benefit of the show's content, and obviously the ratings. They could live apart, but that was about it. They would still be obligated to see each other for filming, however.

It would be a draw to see them struggle and argue, or just be cold and ignore one another.

The double doors opened and Henry felt his back straighten, his cerulean eyes widening a fraction as his soon-to-be wife appeared around the corner to stand in the doorway. He felt his thundering heart skip a beat and pause. He vaguely recognized her as one of the many 'Alexa's' he had looked up. She was Alexa Forsberg, a thirty year old musician from Norway. Alexa and her band were quite accomplished, having numerous albums and singles out, topping charts and going platinum. Henry was sure he even had a few of their songs on his Spotify playlist.

He thought she looked utterly gorgeous in her dress, as well. She was wearing an elegant lace, fit and flare, applique on tulle dress, that had a beaded and sheer illusion adorned with thin beaded spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline. Its finishes were a lace up back closure, matching lace embellished hem and a chapel length train. Her snow-white hair flowed down her back, but was adorned with beautiful braids. He also noticed her left arm, from the top of her shoulder to the crease of her elbow, was tattooed.

Alexa's nervous expression turned to one of surprise, seeing Henry standing at the altar, awaiting her. Of all the people she considered meeting at the altar, the amazing and handsome Henry Cavill was not on Alexa's list. Long or short. She figured he would have women climbing all over him, that he'd have someone in his life.

Seems not. She thought, slowly making her way towards the Brit, manic butterflies swarming her stomach.

Henry instinctively reached a hand out to her, as she reached him, momentarily forgetting the rolling cameras and the promotion photographers that were on them. Alexa smiled and took Henry's hand, feeling the gentle, but strong grasp he had on hers, the signet ring on his pinky cooling her heated skin. He smiled down at her, his blue orbs glittering in the lights, Alexa's knees formed into jelly as she stared up at him, feeling all of his attention on her, and only on her.

“Hi.” Henry greeted her quietly, feeling a jitter of another kind.

“Hi.” Alexa replied, grinning and shyly biting her bottom lip. “It's nice to meet you.” She giggled softly, blushing.

He laughed, his head bowing forward slightly. “It's great to meet you too.”

“Shall we?” Preston gently interrupted, smiling between the two of them.

Clearing his throat, Henry helped guide Alexa up onto the raised altar, before joining her. “I'm ready, if she is.”

Alexa took a deep breath and nodded. “I'm ready.” She said, smiling over at Henry.

Reaching over again, Henry took her hand and gave it a squeeze, knowing that they both were in this weird and strange situation together, wanting her to know he was there, even though they just met. Preston looked between them, sensing a bond forming between them, a rare occurrence on the already four complete seasons of the show. He had a small suspicion that Alexa and Henry could be one of the few successes.

“Today, Henry and Alexa, before I marry you today, it is my duty, before God, to remind you of the solemn and binding character of the vows you are about to take.” Preston declared, reciting from the small black book in his hands, before casting his kind, hazel eyes to Henry. “Henry Cavill, do you take Alexa Forsberg, to be your wife and do you promise to stay true to her, as long as both of you shall live?”

A small lump began to form in Henry's throat, before he felt the light pressure of Alexa's hand, it filled him with the courage and calm he needed, on the outside. “I do.” He nodded, glancing down at her, the smile on his lips widening, upon seeing hers.

Preston smiled at them both. “And Alexa, do you take Henry, to be your husband, will you honor and cherish him, as long as you both shall live?” He asked her, seeing a shy and nervous sparkle in her icy-blue eyes as she nodded.

“I do.” She answered, sounding positive.

“Do either of you have anything to say?” Preston asked, glancing between them.

“I know this is unconventional and we only just met,” Henry spoke up, biting his lip and glancing down at their joined hands. “But I promise to do right by you.” He swore, glancing back into her eyes.

Alexa melted, feeling the weight of his words. “I have all faith in you.” She replied, squeezing his hand. “And in us.”

Preston closed his book, hugging it to his chest as he regarded them. “Henry and Alexa, it gives me great pleasure to declare that you are legally husband and wife.” He announced, clapping.

It was a mindless impulse that caused Henry to carefully cup one side of Alexa's face in his large palm and lean in to kiss her. Not catching himself, until he felt his lips on hers and her momentary hesitation, before returning it. Pulling away, Henry took her hand again and they walked down the aisle, back towards the French doors and backstage, where they would get a little alone together, before doing interviews. After that, they'd be able to change out of their wedding outfits, so they could leave and head towards the airport, where they would fly to their destination honeymoon.

Which, at the moment, neither of them

They made it into the dressing room that connected theirs, with Henry's on the left and Alexa's on the right. It was decorated with roses and rose petals, a bottle of champagne on ice with two champagne glasses, their silver stems curved, so they formed a heart when side by side. Mr. Henry Cavill, Groom, engraved on one and Mrs. Alexa Cavill, Bride, engraved on the other.

Seeing the glasses solidified the situation even more to them.

“I'm sorry about kissing you.” Henry blurted out, carding a hand through his hair.

Alexa giggled, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, her lips still tingled from the contact. “It's more than all right, Henry.” She assured him, moving over to take a seat and slip off the cut-out heels she was wearing. “I'm sure it's something we'll be doing more of.” She commented, looking up at him.

“True.” He nodded, moving towards the bubbly. “Are you thirsty?” He asked, motioning to it.

“I am.”

Peeling the gold foil off, Henry carefully popped the cork and poured her a half-glass, handing it over, before pouring himself one. “Can I ask, why did you decide to do this?” He inquired, taking a sip and moving to sit across from her.

Alexa blushed again and looked at her engraved name, considering his question for a moment. “I don't know.” She finally answered, her brow creasing as she searched for a better explanation. “Almost all of my brothers are married.” She said, finally taking a drink of champagne, enjoying the dry crispness. “The ones that aren't are either engaged or have kids. Then again,-” She laughed, shaking her head. “I say, almost, like two of them are old enough.”

“Wait.” Henry shook his head, confused. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Oh!” She smirked over at him, leaning back in her chair. “You have quite the gauntlet ahead of you. My parents had eight kids. Seven of which are all boys. Minus myself, obviously. I'm dead center, at number six, with my twin brother, Jakob.”

“Christ alive!” Henry gasped, eyes wide. “And I thought I had a lot of brothers, at four. Who's the oldest and youngest?”

“My brother, Erik, is the oldest. He's forty-four, and the youngest is Einar, who just turned eight.” She informed him, a fond smile on her face. “I can recite everyone else's names for you later.” She giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You'll probably have to tell me a couple times, till I meet them.” Henry laughed back.

“True.” She nodded, amused. “But, I figured I should probably get into a relationship, before Einar beats me to it, and this came up. So, I thought, what's the worst that could happen? A divorce lawyer?” She quipped, but saw a glimpse of light in Henry's eye, telling her he didn't find it quite as funny. “Well, it can't go any worse than my previous relationship. How about you?”

Henry pressed his lips together and stared into his champagne, his shoulders stiff for a moment. “I was engaged once before, when I was in my late twenties, but it didn't work out.” He explained quietly, a sore strain in his voice. “I figured I would be married and have, at least, one kid by now. Yet,-” He heaved a heavy sigh, biting his lip. “Well, I don't. I originally turned the show down a couple times. But, as the thought of hitting forty soon, and not having either of those things, or one of them, hit me. I figured this was, sort of, my last chance at getting that dream, of having what my brothers have.”

He looked over at her, his brow creased and his eyes troubled and slightly glassy. “Do you want kids?” He asked, a worried bubble in his stomach, realizing Alexa could possibly not want to have children.

“I do.” She nodded, honestly, feeling the urge to get up and soothe him. “I'd like, at least, two.” She told him something never talked to anyone about her dream of children before. “Having an only child, being from a large family, is just an odd feeling and it doesn't seem right, knowing the bond siblings give each other.”

Henry felt a tightness that had wrapped around his chest, like a rubber band, snap with relief. “I feel the same way.” He smiled, licking his lips.

“So, where do you think they're sending us on our honeymoon?” Alexa asked, cocking a brow at the black gift box, wrapped in a deep-red satin ribbon-bow.

“Hopefully somewhere warm.” Henry laughed, remembering the pouring rain as he hurried out of the car to get into the building several hours before. Setting his glass aside and picking the box up, he balanced it in his palm, before carefully tugging the bow free and opening the lid.

Setting the lid on the table beside his champagne, Henry reached inside the box and pulled out a card with two plane tickets. “Looks like we'll be spending our two week long honeymoon at a sweet, little villa, in Tamarindo, Costa Rica.”

“Ooo.” Alexa cooed, finishing off her drink. “I haven't been to Costa Rica in a long time.”

“I've never been to Costa Rica.” Henry commented, setting the tickets aside.

“It's beautiful.” She smiled, fondly. “I'm sure you'll love it.”

“I'm sure I will.” He replied, smiling back at her, holding her eyes and felt a bubble and spark in the pit of his stomach, before shifting his gaze to her tattooed arm. He'd never dated a woman so heavily tattooed before, he did have a few exes with one or two in discreet places, but nothing like Alexa's half sleeve.

“Does my sleeve bother you?” Alexa asked, following his eyes.

Henry started, blinking rapidly to try and clear any expression that came across as disapproval or as if it would prevent him from being attracted to her. Which he was. “No!” He blurted out, quickly. “God, no.” He said, in a more natural tone. “It's just I've never been with a woman with such an intricate tattoo before. Two girlfriends I've dated that had tattoos, had them on their ankles. A butterfly and a little, blue heart.”

“This isn't my only tattoo.” Alexa chuckled at him, an amused and playful light in her blue eyes, holding her arms out to him, showing him the tattoos there.

Tattooed on the inside of her left wrist was a heart and pentagram combination, forming a Heartagram, the logo of the Finnish band, HIM. While on right arm, just below her elbow, on the inside, was an infinity symbol with a semicolon interrupting one side of the loop.

“I have a few other tattoos, one is on my back. It's Family, written in Ogham, or Middle Irish, surrounded by my family's zodiac constellations.” She explained to him, unconsciously reaching back to touch the general area where it was. “And what is actually my biggest, and arguably my most important, tattoo is actually on my side.” Alexa touched her left side, biting her lip and hoping she wasn't putting Henry off. “But it sort of branches out to my back and stomach.”

“What's that one?” Henry asked, curious.

“It's the tree of life, Yggdrasil.” She told him, with a sort of pride. “But it's also sort of combined with a Cherry Blossom tree. I love Cherry Blossom trees.” She confessed to him, beaming. “I suffer, I'll tell you this now, from chronic depression, and have since I was a kid. Winter, while has been, ironically, my favorite season, doesn't do wonders for my depression, with the dark and gloominess. But, there's always been this cool sweet spot to it, for me, because outside my flat, there are three Cherry Blossom trees. They're early blooming trees. They're sorta known for being the first sign of Spring being heralded in, and Winter ending.”

“Seeing those teeny, delicate flowers blooming, while everything is still rainy or snowy and dark, right outside my window, is such a breath of fresh air. Like, they're helping me out of my own winter.”

Henry softly nodded, his expression understanding and empathetic. “I can relate to that.”

“Yeah.” She mumbled, looking into her empty glass. “Anyway, I digress! My tattoo is Yggdrasil, but I have Cherry blossom flowers on the branches, with the leaves. The leaves and blossoms mean something, themselves. I add a leave for a person I've lost in my life, with their initials inside of it. While, with the cherry blossoms, I add a blossom for someone that's made an impact on my life. I don't have one for all of my family, I think that would clutter the entire tree.” She giggled, twisting the end of one of her braids. “But, I do have leaves and blossoms for my parents, siblings and grandparents. As well as, one of my uncles.”

“That's very deep.” Henry observed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wondering if one day he'd have the honor to be one of the Cherry Blossoms.

“Have you ever considered getting a tattoo?” Alexa asked, cocking her head at him. “I know as an actor, it can be a pain for a wardrobe to cover up, if need be.”

“Yeah, they can be quite cross about things like that.” He laughed, nodding his head. “But, yeah, I have actually considered it. Especially, there's a company that can make tattoo ink from cremated ashes.” He explained to her, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I've thought about, when the time comes, to turn some of Kal's ashes into ink and get some sort of tattoo to honor him.”

“That would be so super sweet.” She smiled, warmed that Henry was so devoted to his dog.

“So, what did your parents think about you coming on this show, to marry some random celebrity?” Henry asked, smirking at her.

Alexa laughed, shaking her head with amusement, recalling her family's reaction to her telling them she would be doing the show. “They weren't thrilled. My brothers think I'm crazy and my parents think I should be finding a guy the traditional way. How about yours?”

“They were surprised, but they're supporting me.” He replied, looking down between his feet. “Especially if I end up happy.”

“Well,” Alexa lifted her glass to him. “Here's to us, hopefully, ending up happy together.” She smiled, holding his eye with an expression that told Henry she was being genuine.

“To us being happy together.” He echoed, raising his glass, gently touching their rims together.

There was a knock on the door and a crew member popped into the room, looking between Alexa and Henry, as if expecting to find them either sucking face, being cold and awkward with each other or arguing. But his face changed to one of pleasant surprise, finding them sitting easily with each other, enjoying the bubbly.

“We're ready to start the interviews.” He informed them. “Who wants to go first?”

“Why don't you go first?” Henry suggested, looking at Alexa. “That way, you have more time to keep your heels off.” He said, looking down at her feet, seeing the rosy marks from the heels straps pressing into her feet and the slight swelling, puffiness.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him, grateful for the gesture, since her feet were starting to kill her, standing and following the crew member out of the room and down the hall, where they had a little room set up for the interviews.

Henry got up and poured himself a fresh glass of champagne, before crossing over to his dressing room, while he waited for his wife to return.

– Alexa’s Interview –

Alexa got comfortable on the seat in front of the black and red, damask backdrop they were using to narrow the room and keep the focus on her, with no distractions in the background. She looked towards the camera, watching the crew fuss around behind it and smiled at the assistant director, Riah, who sat perched on a stool, a thick binder in her lap with Alexa and Henry's names on the front.

“How are you feeling?” Riah asked, off camera.

“I feel really good.” Alexa smiled, despite feeling the glass of champagne she had with Henry.

“I'm glad.” Riah smiled, nodding her head, before looking over her shoulder. “Are we ready?” She asked the cameraman, who mumbled something to her. “Great, here we go!”

The light on the camera popped on, signaling it was rolling and Alexa took a deep breath, readying herself for the questions Riah was about to fire at her.

“So, Alexa, you just got married, at first sight, to Man of Steel and The Witcher himself, Henry Cavill!” Riah grinned, nodding her head, like she was trying to instill a bubbly and happy energy into Alexa. “How does it feel?”

“It feels great and surreal!” Alexa answered, blushing softly and giggling. “Of all the people I thought I'd see at the altar, Superman wasn't it. But I'm excited to get to know him, as my husband.”

“Are there any reservations about getting married to a stranger?”

Alexa's brow creased for a moment. “I think to have some concerns would only be natural, in a situation like this. Henry and I have never crossed paths in life before, so we don't know anything about each other. We're bound to find something about the other that creates a conflict or a stress on the marriage. I just really hope, whatever it is, we can work through that.”

Riah grinned at Alexa, giving her a devilish look. “Are there any feelings of attraction going on with you? Do you feel yourself already falling for him?”

“I think you'd be crazy, not to be attracted to him!” Alexa chuckled, smiling. “He's incredibly handsome and--” She paused, licking and biting her lip for a moment. “Yeah, I am feeling a stir of something for Henry. Whether or not, it'll develop into a full blown attraction and love, I think is, maybe, a little too early to say.”

“The two of you just got to spend a little private time together, what was it like?”

“It was very pleasant. He's such an easy person to be around. I feel that I could be myself around him and that I'll be able to trust him. Henry is a real gentleman and I think he'll make a great husband.”

“Do you think you'll be sharing a bed with him, when you arrive on your honeymoon in a couple hours?”

Alexa was caught off guard with her question, not having thought that far into the future yet. “I don't know.” She squeaked, throat tight. “Maybe. We'll have to see when we get to our destination and what the mood is like.”

“What Henry is feeling on the subject.”

– Henry’s Interview –

The wood of the chair was still warm under Henry, from Alexa sitting on it not moments before. He felt oddly at ease in front of the camera, supposing it was because he spent so much time before one for his job. But he felt the gentle simmer of nerves beneath his calm, knowing he and Alexa would be leaving the venue soon for the airport, so they could start their honeymoon. He kept thinking about what it would be like to live with her and if they would manage it.

“Henry, how does it feel to be a married man?” Riah asked, beaming at him as the camera started to roll. “I know you mentioned in several previous interviews, it was a dream for you.”

A startled expression came over Henry's face, not expecting her to bring it up. “It's-uh, it's going great so far! Alexa is very kind and beautiful. I look forward to spending more time with her and learning more about her, to develop our marriage.”

“Have you talked about a living situation yet?”

“Um, no. We haven't spoken about that, quite yet. We just talked about general things. How our families felt about us doing the show and kids.” He replied, shifting in his seat.

Riah's brows went up. “You haven't discussed how you're going to live together, but you've talked about having kids?”

“Yeah.” Henry nodded slowly, realizing his mistake. “It came up, when we were talking about our siblings.” He said, trying to recover.

“Do the two of you want kids?” Riah asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Should the two of you make it through?” She added an edge in her voice.

Henry didn't answer for a second, wishing he could back track. “We both do, yeah. We'll see through.” He said, carding a hand through his hair, awkwardly. “When we do get through our first year together.”

“Are you attracted to her?” Riah inquired, sensing a bit of tension in Henry’s voice.

“There’s something there.” Henry replied, biting the inside of his cheek. “She’s amazingly beautiful and intelligent. We, I think, have started to connect. So, yeah. I think there’s an attraction starting to form with her.”

“You think the two of you will share a bed?”

“At some point, yes.” He nodded, smirking at her, his smooth cheeks warming up. “Whenever Alexa becomes comfortable with it.”

Getting back to his dressing room, Henry let out a hard breath and loosened his tie, relieved that everything was finished. Now, all he had to do was get out of his suit and gather his things, so he could head to the airport for their flight to Costa Rica.

“With my new wife.” He thought aloud, taking a seat on the couch to unlace his shoe and slipped them off, flexing his toes as he set them aside.

He looked up at the door that led to the adjoining room, then across to Alexa’s, where she was no doubt doing the same thing he was. He wondered if they would be going to the airport together or separately. He hoped they’d be going in the same car, it would give them more time together, on top of the time on the plane to their honeymoon spot.

Sighing, he stood up, unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat, carefully laying them out on the arm of the couch, then took his pants off. He grabbed the duffel bag he’d come with and grabbed his casual clothes, a tan colored pull over with four buttons on the right shoulder and a pair of dark wash, blue jeans, with his favorite pair of worn, brown boots.

Dressed, he neatly put his suit away in its garment bag and tucked his shoes into his bag, Henry slung the duffel bag across his body and crossed the adjoining room. He paused a moment, considering another glass of champagne, but noticed that the two glasses had vanished.

“Alexa?” He called, lightly knocking on her door.

The door opened and Alexa stood before him, she had gotten out of her dress while Henry was in the middle of his interview with Riah. Exchanging it for a pair of black joggers, one leg pushed up to her knee, a blue and yellow, gunge crosshairs symbol on the thigh, with a Stranger Things Hellfire Club raglan t-shirt. Feet bare other than her multi-colored, flowery and retro-striped Bombas socks. Her hair was braided shill, she had uncoiled several and pulled her hair up into a bun, away from her face and off her slender neck, but one of the thin braids hung down and rested against her chest.

“Hey,” She smiled up at him. “I'm almost ready.”

“That's fine.” He assured her, licking his lips and biting the inside of his cheek, even out of her dress, he found her beautiful. “I was just wondering, if you had grabbed our champagne glasses?” He asked, twisting his upper body towards the table.

“Oh!” She squeaked, blushing with guilt. “I did. I'm sorry.” She nodded, looking down at her feet.

Henry grinned down at her, touched and amused. “It's all right.” He reassured her, gently. “I was just wondering where they went, that's all.”

Alexa looked up at him, biting the corner of her lip. “Do you want yours?” She asked, quietly.

“I'm positive, it's in good keeping with you, Alexa.” He told her sweetly, daring to reach out and tuck her free braid behind her ear. “I'm ready, when you are. No rush, love.” He added, moving away to lounge in the shared room, pulling his phone out, to open the Cavill family WhatsApp group chat.

Henry: I'm officially a married man!

Charlie: Congratulations! Wish we could have been there.

Piers: Cheers, little brother! Can't wait to meet her. What's her name?

Mum: Congratulations, Henry. Your father and I are happy for you.

Henry: Thanks all. It means a lot to me. Her name is Alexa, and I can't wait to introduce her to you all. We're headed off to Costa Rica on our honeymoon, for two weeks. After that, we should be off to meeting family and friends.

Simon: Can you take pictures and share them?

Henry: We can take photos, but there's no sharing any. They want us to get through the honeymoon first. That way, if there's any trouble between us, there's no raging media posting or anything. It also keeps production under wraps a little bit longer. The production for the show will be announcing the show and who's on it after our honeymoon. Since we're celebrities, it's hard to keep something like this secret for long.

Charlie: That makes logical sense.

Henry: Yeah. Once that NDA clears, I'll send you guys photos of her. She's really beautiful.

“I'm ready to go, Henry.” Alexa said, coming into the room, her backpack over one shoulder and dress draped over her arm.

“Great.” He smiled, standing up and pocketing his phone. “Let's hit it.” He said, heading for the door going out into the hallway, but paused. “They might be waiting for us out there.” He told her, not wanting her to feel ambushed.

“True.” She nodded, taking a deep breath, readying herself.

Nodding back at her, Henry opened the door and stepped into the hall, sure enough, down the hall a short way was the cameraman, his camera resting on his shoulder and pointing up their direction. He hit record as soon as he saw Henry appear, followed by Alexa. The exit was exactly behind the cameraman, forcing them to walk in front of him, while he strode backwards. Henry reached behind him and felt Alexa grab his hand, squeezing it hard as she pressed closer to his back.

“Are you excited to relax in Costa Rica?” She asked, looking up at the back of his head.

“I am.” He smiled at her over his shoulder. “It's been a little while since I've had a vacation from work.” He admitted, remembering the last break from work he had, back in 2018, when he took his brothers and sisters-in-law to Fiji. “I look forward to relaxing there with you as well.” He added an impish twinkle in his blue eyes.

Alexa giggled. “You're going to be a handful.”

“To say the least.” He chuckled back, pausing to shove the exit door open and allow her to go ahead of him, then followed her to the awaiting car the show had to take them to the airport.

The cameraman filmed them putting their things into the car's trunk, then got into the back and drove away.

“How long will it take us to get there from here?” Alexa asked, resting back in her seat. “Do you know?”

“Almost nine hours.” Henry answered, pulling the tickets out of his jacket pocket. “But it looks to be a private jet. So we should be nice and comfortable.”

“Mmm, that's nice of them.” She commented, having expected first class on a flight.

“It is.” He agreed, tucking the tickets back into his pocket, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought about getting on the plane, his leg bouncing anxiously.

The ride was quiet, but it wasn't an awkward silence, the two of them watching the rain patter against the dark tinted windows. Their shoulders gently rested together, in an unconscious reminder that the other was there. As the airport came into view, Alexa leaned forward and unzipped a compartment of her backpack, pulling out a black beanie and secured her bag closed again. Henry watched her pull the cute, almost oversized, beanie over her head, a pair of black horns sticking up at the top.

“What?” She frowned over at him, the beanie pulled lower on her forehead.

Henry grinned even more. “You looked adorable with that beanie on.” He told her, lightly flicking one of the horns.

“Oh.” She blushed, biting her lip and scrunching her shoulders. “It's one of my favorite beanies.” She admitted to him. “One of my brothers got it for me, for my birthday a couple years ago..”

“I like it.” Henry said, fussing with his green, Royal Marines Commando hoodie for a moment, as the car pulled up to the doors of the airport, before he got out and moved around the car, opening her door for her.

“Thank you.” Alexa grinned, slipping out into the light rain, securing her bag over her shoulders, before following Henry to the back to grab her dress from the boot.

She watched him pause to pull a worn and faded brown Kansas City Chiefs hat out and secure it on his head, tugging it low over his blue eyes. Alexa understood what he was doing. As much as Henry was using the hat to shield himself from the rain, momentarily, he was using it to hide his face and hopefully keep any potential fans and paparazzi from spotting him. Drawing attention to him and Alexa being together, spreading word through social media that something was up.

“Thank you.” Henry said to their chauffeur, extending his hand to the man, who shook it with an appreciative nod.

Alexa had a gentle smile on her face at the gesture, seeing how kind and much of a gentleman her new husband was. Turning his attention back to Alexa, he extended his hand to her, which she took, with no hesitation, despite all others she felt inside of her. She allowed Henry to guide her through the double-automatic doors and into the hustle and bustle of Heathrow Airport. Biting her lip, she moved a little closer to Henry, who easily weaved a path through the throng of people coming from or going to their boarding gate, carrying or wheeling their luggage.

“You seem to know where you're going.” She pointed out to Henry.

“I've flown out of this airport a few times by private jet.” Henry replied, heading almost straight for security, that would get them through to the VIP area and their terminal.

When they got through security, their jet's crew hadn't arrived yet, so they slipped into the VIP bar across from it to wait. Henry ordered a whiskey on the rocks and Alexa asked for a Dr. Pepper. It was as she sipped at it, that she noticed Henry only grasped the glass in his hand, thumbing the rim and shaking his leg, while his vivid cerulean eyes were distant and cloudy.

“Henry.” She said softly, cocking her head at him, slightly.

“Hm?” He hummed back, only turning his head a fraction in her direction, his eyes never focusing.

“You're not--” Alexa laid her hand on his wrist. “You don't have flight anxiety, do you?” She questioned, concerned by the sudden realization.

Henry cleared his throat hard, finally picking his drink up and taking a deep gulp of the sharp, honey-amber liquid. “I do.” He admitted, with a straight tone. “It's usually not so bad, because I have my dog, Kal.”

Licking her lips, Alexa shifted beside him, her alarm in her eyes, concerned for Henry. “What can I do to help?” She asked, closing her hand around his wrist, trying to be reassuring.

“I don't know.” He answered, finishing his whiskey off.

“What does Kal do for you?” She inquired, rubbing the inside of his arm.

Henry floundered at her question.

Kal was Henry's best friend. He had the American Akita, since he was just a little pup, before his ears could stand up on their own. What very few knew about Kal, was he was a registered Emotional Support animal. For Henry's anxiety, not just on planes. But he helped best, when Henry had to fly. He had wished to bring Kal with him, but had been asked not to, by the production of the show, so he wasn't a distraction on his and Alexa's big day, then their honeymoon. Once that was over, he was more than welcome to be around them.

But he couldn't put to words how Kal actually helped him get through his anxiety from take-off to landing. Just having the Bear close to him, put Henry at ease, like a warm security blanket out of the dryer. So, to that point, he wasn't sure how Alexa could help him keep it under control, during the nearly nine hours they'd be on the jet.

“Have you ever tried surfing before?” Alexa asked, leaning against him.

Henry blinked, confused by the sudden change in conversation. “No, I haven't.” He answered, looking over at her.

“Mm.” She smiled up at him. “When we get to Costa Rica, I want to teach you how to surf.” She said, resting her chin on the top of his shoulder. “So, I hope you have a good sense of balance.”

“Is that so?” He answered, starting to smile uneasily at her. “I think I have pretty good balance. I look forward to seeing you try. Have you ever been scuba-diving?” He asked, feeling the hot knot in his stomach start to relax.

“I've done it once or twice.” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his thick one.

“We'll have to do it while we're there.” He told her, reaching up to brush his fingertips across her cheek.

“I'd really like that.” Alexa beamed, tilting her head lightly into his touch. “I looked up some things to do in Costa Rica, while you were doing your interview.”

“Did you?” Henry cooed, his anxiety down to a manageable level. “Like what?”

“There's some great nature walks, with amazing waterfalls and hot springs, or you can go whale watching, zip-lining and see the island's wildlife. Obviously, there's stuffing your face with the local food.” She rattled off the things she remembered from the website she'd checked, while waiting for Henry to come back from his one-on-one interview.

“The hot springs sound nice.” He commented, cocking an interested brow. “These old, sore muscles could use a nice spa day.”

Alexa giggled at him, shaking her head. “You're not old, Cavill.”

“I'm not young either, Cavill.” He teased back, looking into her eyes.

“Oh,” She sighed, biting the inside of her bottom lip and blinking slowly. “I highly doubt it slows you down any.”

Henry's throat bobbed and a silent shiver ran down his back, realizing she was flirting with him. Seeing the way her eyes darkened and pupils dilated, caused the forming flame in the pit of his stomach to grow in warmth.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cavill, your flight crew are aboard the jet and ready for you.” An attendant announced, as she came up to their table.

“Great, thank you.” Alexa smiled up at her, feeling the muscles of Henry's arm tense up again. “We'll be right there.” She nodded, hoping the attendant would return to station, so she could focus on getting Henry to relax again.

Smiling at the two of you, she turned and exited the VIP bar, Alexa looked to Henry, resting her hand on his board back and scooting closer to him.

“Breathe.” She whispered softly.

“I'm all right.” Henry muttered back, but still took a slow, deep breath. “I'll be all right.” He repeated, nodding his head and sliding out of their booth.

Alexa gave him a gentle look as they made their way to their gate, handing over their tickets and finally boarding the exceptional jet. Henry dropped his bag by one of the seats and turned towards the bathroom, halfway towards the back of the plane. She wished she could do more, as she set her bag down and slid into her seat. Drumming her fingers against the table in front of her, Alexa tried thinking of something she could do that would distract Henry.

Even for a little while.

An idea hit her and she leaned sideways for her bag, digging through it to pull out her Switch and the portable tablet monitor she had for it. Alexa had finished setting it up just as Henry came back from the bathroom and sat down across from her.

“I challenge you.” She said, sliding the blue controller across the table to him.

“To what?” He replied, catching it before it slid off the edge.

“Mario Kart Deluxe 8.” Alexa grinned, turning the game on. “Best winner, five out of ten, decides what we're eating for dinner.”

Henry stared at her for a long moment, he knew what she was trying to do and appreciated it. He felt the bubble of his competitiveness form in his stomach, pulling a smile across his face as he clutched the controller in both hands and rested back in his seat.

“You're on.” He cooed, confidently. “I hope you like curry.” He teased, picking his driver.

“Bowser.” Alexa giggled, nodding her head. “An interesting pick.”

“Who are you going to pick? Princess Peach or Daisy?” Henry teased back, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Ha!” Alexa laughed, scornfully, before picking Shy Guy. “Shy Guy all the way, baby!”

“You're going to get your butt kicked, love.” Henry tisked, watching her pick a track and readied himself, watching the countdown from the monitor Alexa had positioned between them. “Do you play any other games?” He asked, just as the counter finished and their drivers shot across the starting line.

“I have a load of other games on Switch.” Alexa answered, eyes laser focused on the screen, determined not to let Henry distract her.

“Anything good?”

“Define good?” She asked, cocking an eye at her driver.

Henry chuckled, smirking. “What do you have?”

“You're trying to distract me, Henry.” She commented, shaking her head. “It's not going to work.”

“I assure you, my intentions are pure.” He smirked, tensing for a moment as the track parted and Bowser jumped the gap, colliding with a clear spinning, but iridescent, box with a question mark on it. “Ooo, I got a banana peel. You best watch out!” He warned her, bouncing his brows at her.

“Oh, just a peel? I picked up a shell a lap back.” Alexa replied coolly, but her eyes were mischievous. “I have Zelda, Animal Crossing, a couple Mario Karts, Crash Bandicoot, Spyro, which is one of my favorites. I used to play the original Spyros on the first PlayStation.”

“Showing your age.” Henry teased, playfully.

“I know, right!” She giggled, not offended. “Anyway, I also have Hollow Knight. Oh, and a game called Spiritfarer! Ugh, that game is amazing, but it is an emotional trauma!”

“How is it 'emotional trauma'?” He huffed, frowning over at her for a second.

“The game starts with you playing Stella, who takes over the job of Spiritfarer from Charon.” She began to explain, but paused, seeing Henry's Bowser up ahead of her Shy Guy and focused to catch up to him, the hint of a smile making the corner of mouth twitch, as she primed the turtle shell she'd been hoarding.

“Don't you dare!” Henry warned her, straightening up in his seat, eyeing the glowing blue, speed-boost stripe up ahead of them, then glanced at the banana peel he was sitting on. He didn't want to use it. He was hoping to use it as a last-ditch effort, if need be, to toss out at the finish line, in an attempt to stop her from winning.

“Or what?” She huffed, amused. “Are you going to toss your peel at me?” She taunted him, sending out her shell.

“Shit!” He barked under his breath, swerving in an attempt to avoid it.

“Use those reflexes, Superman!” Alexa laughed, smirking at Henry's maneuvers.

“What about yours!” Henry asked back, tossing out the peel.

Alexa gasped, knowing it was too late. “A cruel fate!” She sighed, watching Shy Guy spin out into the barriers.

Alexa yawned as she exited the jet with Henry, it was almost one in the morning. He looked back over his shoulder at her and smirked, shouldering both their bags.

“I told you, you should have taken a nap.” He cooed, having dozed for a few hours, after they played a couple games together on her Switch.

“Mmm.” Alexa hummed back at him, she had continued to play on her Switch, too worried about Henry's anxiety coming back to fall asleep. “I'm starving though. What are we eating, oh Master of the Mario Kart?”

Henry let out a barking laugh, his wide shoulders shaking with its mirth. He had won seven of their ten games, declaring himself Master of Mario Kart. “I have no idea what they have open at one am, but the Villa will probably have something.”

“Odin, I hope.” She sighed, stifling another yawn.

They got out of the airport and found a car waiting for them.

“Welcome to Tamarindo, Costa Rica, Mr. and Mrs. Cavill.” The driver greeted them, opening the back door.

“Thank you.” Henry nodded, motioning for Alexa to slide in first. “Do you know anything about our Villa?”

“I do, Mr. Cavill.” The driver replied, nodding back.

“Is there any room service or way to get food, this late?” Henry inquired, glancing into the car, licking his lips. “My wife,” A small lump formed around the word, it felt so strange for him to say. “Is quite famished.”

“The Villa does room service, with a twenty-four hour kitchen; should anything strike your fancy in the middle of the night.” The driver assured him, with a soft smile.

“Excellent, thank you so much.” Henry smiled, relieved, before getting in beside Alexa. “We're in luck. The Villa has all day room service, so we can order something to eat, when we arrive.”

“Thank Odin.” Alexa hummed, sighing softly, her blue eyes heavily half-lidded.

Henry smirked at her, gently wrapping a thick arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, coaxing her head against his shoulder. Alexa didn't protest, nuzzling and curling up against the warmth of Henry's body with a soft moan, losing the battle with her eyes. He gulped, feeling her body grow heavy, knowing she would likely fall asleep long before they reached their destination, forty minutes away.

“We've arrived at the La Villa de Playa, Mr. Cavill.” The Driver whispered, looking through the rear-view mirror and into the back seat, seeing that Alexa was out cold.

Henry looked out into the darkness on the other side of his window, to a sweet, little one-story, white stucco building. It was brightly lit and nestled in the palms, as well as mango, lemon and coconut trees. A short walk to a beautiful, private, white sand beach, to which Henry could hear the crashing waves, even from inside the car. He couldn't wait to explore the property and island with Alexa.

“Thanks for getting us here.” He said, before the driver stepped out to open the door for him, offering to take their bags, so Henry could carefully maneuver Alexa out of the car, hoisting her up into his arms, bridal-style, and turning toward the front door.

“Allow me.” The chauffeur offered, pulling the envelope taped to the door down and opening it, ignoring the little card inside for the key and slotting it into the lock, opening it for Henry and setting their things just inside the door. “Have a good evening and congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Henry mouthed, nodding.

Smiling softly, the chauffeur returned to his car and left Alexa and Henry to themselves.

Looking at his slumbering wife, Henry smiled gently at her. “Welcome to our villa, my love.” He whispered to her, kissing her forehead, before stepping over the threshold with her and pushing the door closed with his foot.

Henry managed to find the master suite and laid Alexa down on the king sized bed, gingerly pulling off her black, slip-on converse and her beanie, before pulling the folded down blankets over her. Groaning, Henry tugged his hoodie over his head and tossed it in a chair across and sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed, removed his boots, flexing his toes and glanced to the crescent wall of sliding glass windows that went out to a private veranda, a large hanging chair at one side and a glass-bead fire pit on the other.

The loud grumble of his stomach pulled Henry from his thoughts and he stood, padding into the bathroom for a moment. Closing the door to relieve himself, he noticed that the black two-person, whirlpool tub was outside. It was positioned in the center of a little enclosed courtyard, shaded by a wooden pagoda, with a bubbling pond and river rock waterfall behind it.

“I wonder if she likes baths.” He hummed to himself, moving over to wash his hands, then tiptoed out of the master and into the kitchen to see if there was anything in the refrigerator to eat. “I need to get some of my supplements over here.” He commented, jerking open the door, finding a reasonably stocked fridge, but nothing that really peaked his growling stomach's interest.

Snagging a cold bottle of water, Henry found the telephone that allowed him to call for room service and a booklet, neatly organized for breakfast, lunch and dinner, along with some desert items, the chef's favorite and the option to customize.

“Kitchen of La Villa de Playa, how may I help you?”

“Yes, this is the Cavill Villa.” Henry answered, frowning down at the menu, balanced on his knee. “I would like three of your chicken Empanadas with some rice and beans.” He ordered, before biting his lip and thinking of Alexa, worried she would wake up hungry. “As well as one of your beef tamales.”

“Of course, Mr. Cavill. We'll have your food done presently.”

“Thank you.” He replied, before putting the phone back on its cradle and carding a hand through his hair, feeling the cool metal of his signet ring.

He looked down at his left hand, his ring finger bare, as was Alexa's. It was to be part of filming, the two of them going out to look for their wedding rings together. His heart skipped and his stomach clenched at the idea of looking at rings. What kind of ring would Alexa want? He remembered the engagement ring he'd proposed to his ex with. It was a simple little thing. He wasn't making the money back then, that he was now. It was white gold, half-carat, cushion shaped diamond, that had cost him just over two grand. She didn't have the best reaction towards it, but at the time she'd said yes to him asking to marry her.

However, they broke up a couple months later.

Sighing, Henry shook the thought from his mind, reminding himself that Alexa wasn't his ex and this relationship wouldn't be the same. He'd do better. He'd be a good husband and prove his worth to Alexa.

Alexa stirred, moaning softly as she woke up, finding herself alone in bed and sat up, frowning into the darkness of the bedroom. “Henry?” She called out, tossing the blankets back and got out of bed in search of her husband. “Hen?” She called again, opening the half closed bedroom door and made her way into the living area, finding Henry sprawled out on the couch with a pillow and blanket.

A smile pulled across her face, seeing his long body stretched out on the short couch, bare feet hanging off the edge, uncovered. She shook her head and detoured into the kitchen, discovering a note from Henry on the island.

I wasn't sure if you'd wake up hungry or not, but I ordered you something to eat. It's in the fridge. -Hen.

“He's so attentive.” Alexa muttered, turning to the fridge and opening it, finding the wrapped plate with her tamale on it.

She found the silverware and perched herself on a stool at the island, digging into her food, moaning at how delicious it was, especially stone cold. Once she was finished eating, she went back into the living room and leaned over Henry, resting her hand on his chiseled chest.

“Henry.” She cooed, looking into his relaxed face, her heart fluttering at how handsome and boyish he looked as he slept, one thick arm flung up over his head. “Henry.” She hummed again, running her hand over his torso, rousing him.

His sleepy blue eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to focus on her. “Are you all right?” He asked, becoming alert.

“I'm fine.” She grinned at him, sweetly. “But why are you out here on the couch?”

“Oh,” He rumbled, licking his lips, brows creasing. “I wasn't sure if you'd want to sleep together and wasn't about to just climb into bed with you, asleep, before we had a discussion about it.” He confessed to her, gulping thickly. “So, I just took the safer option of sleeping on the couch.”

Alexa bit the inside of her lip, touched at his gesture. “I don't mind, if we share a bed together, as long as you don't?” She assured him. “Besides,” She looked him over. “You're not going to be feeling very tip-top, if you sleep on the couch.” She pointed out, smirking.

“No.” Henry sighed, smirking back at her, sitting up with his pillow and blanket.

“Thanks for the food, as well.” Alexa said, as they headed back towards the master.

“Oh, you're welcome.” He answered, perking up a little bit, hearing she'd eaten. “I hope what I got you, was all right?”

“It was great!” She giggled, pulling down the bed's blankets. “I actually love tamales.” She confessed, smiling at him.

“Nailed it, then.” Henry smiled back, moving around the bed.

“Are our bags in here?” Alexa asked, glancing around.

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded, sitting down on the mattress. “I put them in the closet.”

“Cool, I'll be right back.” She said, heading into the walk-in closet.

Henry nodded, then got the bed ready to sleep, looking up as Alexa came back out, in a tank top and a pair of black, Jack Skellington short-shorts. He bit his lip, looking her over, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Did you make a pillow wall?” Alexa giggled, sitting on the bed with him, seeing the line of pillows in the middle of the bed, between her and Henry's sides.

“I did.” He nodded, laying down and pulling the blankets over himself.

Alexa laid down with him and grabbed one of the pillows, smacking him in the chest with it. “Are you afraid of your wife's cooties, Henry Cavill?” She teased him, giggling harder at the offended expression he gave her.

“Not married for twenty-four hours and spousal abuse already.” He huffed, grabbing one of the other pillows and whopped her back with it. “And no, I am not afraid of whatever cooties my wife may or may not have.”

“Well then!” Alexa huffed, grabbing the last pillow and tossed it in his face, before moving into the space the pillows had been, their legs touching. “Have my cooties!” She said, burrowing under the blankets.

Henry looked at her, almost hidden in the blankets and smiled. “All right then.” He whispered, turning onto his side to lay facing her. “You can have my cooties too.” He mumbled, draping his arm over her waist and resting his chin on top of her head.

[st-juliet]

Utmost Merit, Part IV

Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: Absolutely 18+ for very very very filthy language, smut with minimal plot, purposely unprotected sex, breeding kink, spouses-to-lovers, discussions of pregnancy, and some period-typical gender roles, but nothing unkind or insidious.

Notes: It’s finally here. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. I love this story and I promise there are a few more chapters in store! And now,  the usual formalities: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. Your kind comments and reblogs are so, so appreciated…please don’t hesitate to reply or send me a message with your feedback if you enjoy!

Previous Chapters: Part I Part II Part III

Your wedding is exquisite.

Sherlock seems almost giddy throughout the entirety of the proceedings, the frosty exterior melted away to reveal the secret romantic beneath. He makes his vows with solemnity in his tone and a smile in his eyes, and you do the same, and confine yourself to a chaste kiss when all you want is to be instantly at home, alone, abed, with your gorgeous, virile husband buried deep inside you. You hope that your flaming cheeks are presumed to be the result of modesty, rather than insatiable lust for the Great Detective, who looks especially, ravishingly handsome in his wedding attire—especially when he raises your hand to his lips for another innocent show of public affection, but meets your eyes across the sparkling diamond on your finger, blue orbs glittering with a sinful promise of the night to come.

It does not help your wild desires to watch your guests with their children, from the gaggle of racing teenagers who pilfer sweets and play at acting grown-up to the littlest guests fussing in their miniature finery. Particularly enrapturing is your cousin’s newborn: a plump, cheery little creature who summarily steals all attention, including yours. Sherlock traces your gaze to the source of your longing looks, makes his excuses to his brother and sister, and returns to your side to draw you close, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

“Don’t fret, Mrs. Holmes,” he murmurs softly, carefully keeping his expression pleasant, neutral, though his tone could not be more lascivious. “You’ll have one of your own soon enough. Have we managed it already, do you think? You do glow like a proper angel today.”

“I hope so,” you whisper back, smiling at your shared secret and trying to contain a shiver as his fingertips trace circles on the curve of your waist.

“Of course it will be weeks before we know for certain,” he muses, all the while nodding pleasantly at the friends and relations who raise their glasses or smile in your direction. “So don’t think I’ll be the slightest bit satisfied to wait and see. Perish the thought; you’ll be on your back and on your knees and on my lap every chance I get this fortnight. You’ll feel me every step you take, if I let you out of bed at all—”

“You absolutely must stop!” you exclaim, flushing scarlet at his wicked whispers, but you both know that you can hardly wait for him to start making good on each and every promise. He lifts your chin to look into your eyes, as much tenderness as lust glowing in in the deep, heart-stopping blue of his gaze.

“You absolutely must understand: I never thought to know happiness like this. You give me such a gift, Rosamund.”

“I will try,” you avow, a little hesitancy in your voice, for the first time truly considering that nothing in life is guaranteed.

Sherlock of course can practically read your thoughts, and he holds you even tighter, and says quietly, almost shyly, “Even…even if fate determines that we shall have no children, your companionship is itself a bounty of which I can only endeavor to be worthy.”

Then he kisses you fully on the lips, eliciting laughter and cheers from your gathered friends, and soon enough you are in your carriage—passionately kissing every available inch of one another, with Sherlock’s hand working dexterously under your skirts, from the moment the door closes until the driver announces your arrival at your new, shared home. You make yourselves barely presentable in time to greet your servants with gifts and coins and an all-to-earnest plea that they all take the rest of the night off…and then you are alone again.

“Where were we, Mrs. Holmes?” he asks, with feigned innocence and a boyish grin that prove just as seductive as his usual growls and smirks. You leap upon him at once, and he laughs, snatching you up and tossing you onto the bed you will henceforth share, laid out with fresh, sweetly-scented blankets. Urgency fades into comfort and calmness as he strips layer upon layer of wedding finery from your body, stopping to savor the scent of your perfume in the hollow of your throat and worshiping at your waist, pressing his lips along your abdomen with an adoring whisper.

“What a beautiful mother you’ll make,” he muses, addressing the hypothetical promise that well could already be blossoming within you. “I think we must have a girl first, don’t you, darling? An Ivy or Lily to complement my lovely Rose…”

A sentiment more romantic has never been heard, in your opinion, and you tug at his curls to draw him back up for a long, lingering kiss. He presses the whole of his body over yours, hard planes of muscle aligned with your soft figure…and you are most especially gratified at to feel how deliciously his long, thick cock inerrantly slides against where you are softest, rubbing up against your sensitive bud and the slick heat of your petals.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” Sherlock asks, pressing you deeper into the bed and rocking his hips, drawing a soft cry of pleasure from your lips. “I must walk through the world like this, betrayed by my own body at the slightest thought of you—giving yourself to me, surrendering this sweet, perfect cunt all for my pleasure, to bear my child.”

His filthy poetry has you on the bring of orgasm already, and you can hardly wait another moment to feel him fill you. He eagerly acquiesces to the gentle insistence of your hands against his chest, flipping him to lay upon his back, and you settle atop him, straddling his thighs and dragging your slit against his cock so he can feel what he does to you in return.

“Such a—fuck, that’s it—you are such a beautiful woman,” he murmurs, burying his face in your neck, his breathing set ragged as you sink down onto his length. You gasp at the stretch, too, and for a moment, you hold one another as close as you can, your foreheads pressed together and Sherlock’s fingertips gently stroking hips and thighs as you clench around him. “Now, this position may be somewhat antithetical to our designs—” You almost laugh at his attempt to regain his composure, to lecture on The Shared Purpose, and in answer, you raise yourself up and sink down on his cock again, and again, faster and faster, delighted at how flustered and frantic he becomes. “—but how I love to…to watch my wife—my pretty, pretty little wife—take her pleasure like this—“

“Your wife, Sherlock?” you tease, increasing your pace and smirking as this massive, powerful man shudders beneath you, as helpless to the pleasure of your union as you are. “I thought you didn’t want a wife…particularly.”

It’s a direct quote from his proposal and he knows it; and you can see the very instant his brilliant brain goes feral at your mischief.

“I don’t want a wife,” he growls, clutching at your hips and slamming you down harder, faster, closer, taking back control with animalistic ardor. “I want my wife. Now come for me, Mrs. Holmes, show me what a good wife you are—show me, show me—“

You absolutely shatter, calling out his name, and he takes advantage of your blissful helplessness to regain the upper hand, deftly, easily laying you out on your back and pull your legs about his waist so he can rut into you with abandon.

“Take it,” he encourages. “All you have to do is take it, let me fuck a baby into you, sweet girl—oh, I know, darling, how much you want this, too.”

He holds you so beautifully close as he comes, kissing you gently even as he moans your name. For a long moment you remain entwined, heartbeats slowing in tandem. But he does not allow you a long respite, carefully withdrawing his length from your tender little channel, only to replace it at once with his fingers.

“This is a rule of our household,” he explains, gently tracing your lip with the pad of his thumb as his other hand coaxes another climax out of you. “You will always give me one more, my lovely bride, when I’m finished with you. To direct the seed to your womb, of course…and because it satisfies me to see you made drunk on the pleasure I give you—yes, precisely like that, Mrs. Holmes.”

“One more” turns out to be an understatement.

Seemingly hours later, a new first intimacy is shared: a spent but infinitely smug Sherlock falls asleep in your arms, his head pillowed on your breasts. He is magnificently warm, and has never looked more peaceful or content than he does now, his eyes fluttering in sleep while you stroke his tousled curls, a little smile gracing his lips and one possessive hand placed protectively over your womb, as if this little extra intimacy might coax into being the baby of your shared dreams.

But you are not so content.

For on this wedding day, you have come to a realization, and on this wedding night, your understanding is only made more palpable. This marriage of shared purpose, this convenient, well-planned union, founded on practicality rather than sentiment…is a lie. 

“I love you, Sherlock,” you whisper in the dark, as he dreams on, unknowing…

If you enjoyed, please do peruse my Masterlist!

And thank you with all my heart to those who left kind comments on the previous chapter: ​ @dopebanditlightpie @torchbearerkyle @mathle0matle @crazyunsexycool @inlovewithhisblueeyes @ghotifishreads @astheskycries @foxchild-v​

[resowrites]

Rogue’s Company - oneshot.

Summary: Henry and his wife become parents…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, mention/some detail of birth (I’ve tried to write as sensitively as possible but please avoid if you’re unsure), banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 2095

A/N: This was supposed to go up next week but I’ve just got too much on. There are a few more pieces that I can post asap but I’m also happy to leave the story here - let me know if you want more.

Please note: as I've tried to write this story as both standalone oneshots and an ongoing series, I now have to use more imagery to flesh out this arc and I'm aware this may disappoint some of you. But I want you all to know, whether you're a regular reader of mine or not, I will always adore and support you no matter who you are or what you look like. Please also note: this is pure fiction (as in completely made up), and not in any way meant to reflect reality. Love you guys ~ R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Rogue's Company.

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the soft but unnatural light. At first, she didn't recognise the off-white walls, punctuated at intervals by bland pictures. After a while, she could hear a strange muffled sound. She realised someone was speaking. "Ollie? Are you awake?" It was Henry.

"W-where… am I?"

"The hospital, darling. You've been asleep the last six hours." Then it dawned on her. She'd given birth that morning.

"Where… where is he?" He smiled softly.

"He's fast asleep, as you should be. Come on, close your eyes." Henry smoothed her hair and hushed her softly, but a burning desire stopped her from slipping back into the depths of sleep. She had to see him.

"Where is he?" His brow furrowed slightly.

"He's just over there, darling. Don't you remember? He guzzled a whole bottle of milk and fell right to sleep…”

"Need to see him--" she tried to sit up slightly but pain shot through her stomach. Her grimace made Henry hold her down by the shoulders.

"Oh no you don't. You've got to try and relax for me darling, or you'll hurt worse." He eyed the buzzer above the bed, wondering if he should call the nurse. That morning suddenly flooded back to her. She remembered the high blue screen, the nauseating sensation as her stomach was pulled apart until… cries. Soft at first and then harder, stronger. They'd had a son. Her need to see him grew desperate.

"Darling, please. I must see him." Henry bit his lip but decided the only thing to do was to wheel the trolley over to her side. He did so painfully slowly, eager not to wake the little bundle wrapped within it. When Henry finally came to a stop, a smile spread across his face. Her eyes were glued to him immediately. Swathed in a white blanket and fitted with a tiny knitted hat, their baby boy was divine. His small fists were bundled up by his cheeks but his bottom lip stuck out, making his expression carefree.

"He's so lovely, isn't he?" He whispered though she could hardly find the words. Instead, tears filled her exhausted, heavy eyes. Henry gently wiped her face as her eyes screwed shut. "Oh darling, you're in pain aren't you?" When she didn't respond, he pressed the red button to the top left of her hospital bed. Moments later, an older woman in bright blue scrubs breezed into the room.

"Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Cavill! I was just about to check on you both. How are you dear? Is your stomach giving you grief?" But Ollie couldn't tear her eyes away from the small bundle to her left.

"Sorry, she's a bit preoccupied…" Henry nodded toward their son.

"Ah, well that's alright. I just need to do a couple of checks and then I can bring you both up some dinner if you’d like?" He tried repeating the offer to his wife but her attention was still fixed solely on their little boy. The nurse went about checking her as quickly and carefully as she could. She also gave her some stronger pain relief. But instead of feeling sleepy, Ollie rallied and became fully aware that she was now a mother. Her sobs came hard and fast.

"Darling, what is it?" The nurse patted Henry gently on the arm.

"It's alright, it's just overwhelming isn't it?" Ollie nodded, somewhat embarrassed that she was feeling so overcome. "I just need to take him for a few minutes so I can see how he's doing as well?" She felt reluctant for anyone to go anywhere near him, but she was hardly in a position to resist. He stroked her hand and reassured her when she could hear their little boy stir the minute he was placed on a table at the other end of the room.

"Is he alright?! You're not hurting him?!" Henry and the nurse chuckled.

"He's fine darling! And I'm sure once the nurse is done she'll let you hold him?" He looked over at her for confirmation.

"Yes, of course! But you'll have to support his bottom, she won't be strong enough just yet to hold him by herself. Let me see now, he's still six pounds, three ounces, and eighteen inches long…" Ollie craned her neck to try and get a better view.

"Has he still got two balls?" She swatted Henry with her hand but immediately regretted it when the sensation reverberated through her stomach. She gathered her strength to try and sit up properly. He dashed to help her.

"I'm fine love, stop fussing over me… are those measurements okay? It seems pretty small." The nurse smiled softly as she put their son back in his babygrow.

"It's somewhat on the small side but he's all good, you've got a very sweet little boy. Well, I'll leave you three to it. I'll be back with dinner in about half an hour, if you need help using the bathroom just buzz. For now, try and get some rest and when you're ready with a name, just let me know." She then smiled, handed their son over to Henry, and made her way from the room. For a while, he just stood holding him, rocking gently back and forth. His whimpering hadn't quite died down but Ollie couldn’t stand it any longer.

"Henry, I can't see him! Please, put him on my chest--"

"Alright, alright, here he is…" Henry ducked down, careful not to put too much pressure on either her chest or stomach. Immediately she was struck by his eyes - bright blue like his father’s. She felt her lip tremble. He just chuckled softly. "So… what do you think? He woke up an hour after you fell asleep and just gurgled away happily in his cot. He hasn't cried once!" She stared down at his little face and felt a strange sensation spread through her chest. It was pure, unconditional love.

"He's… glorious. Even though he looks just like you!" It was true. From the dark tufts of hair on his head to the strong jaw and double chin, there was no denying who his father was.

"Yeah, but he's got your ears, look," Henry rotated him slightly so she could see the side of his head.

"Well that's a relief…" They both laughed. “Wow. I can't believe we made that…" He laughed again.

"I know, I still can't even believe he's here! It feels like only yesterday you told me you were pregnant…" Henry kissed her cheek for what felt like the hundredth time that day. But her eyes were still glued to their son who was cooing to himself.

"Bloody hell… he's chatty like you as well."

"You should have heard him earlier, he was having a whole conversation with the nurse--" He lifted him up to place him back in the cot.

"No, don't. Don't take him away!"

"But darling my arm's going dead! I'm just putting him back down for a little while so you can rest…"

"Fine, but pull that trolley down a bit so I can still see him…" Henry did as he was told, smiling at her enraptured face.

"So, I take it you're pleased then?"

"Pleased? I'm besotted. I never want him out of my sight again--"

"You know you cried and cried when they had to take him away to clean him up?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Really? I have no memory of that…" A pit opened in his stomach.

"Do you remember him being born?" She tried to think.

"Only in fragments. I remember his cries, and that he was all slippery. Apart from that my head's still foggy." Henry crouched over and stroked her head.

"It'll probably come back to you as you recover. The surgeon also did a great job, the incision wasn't that big as he's only a wee thing--"

"It certainly doesn't feel small…" She winced as her mind fell back to the soreness she could feel at the base of her stomach.

"Well, give the drugs a chance to kick in, and if you don't feel better in a little while I'll call the nurse back. So, do we have a name?" A small smile curled her lips.

"Yep. Hal."

"Hal?"

"Yeah, don't you like it?"

"Of course, but why that name?"

"Don't you know your Shakespeare? It's short for Henry. You know, as in Henry IV? And you call yourself an actor—"

"You… you wanna name our boy after me?"

"Well, technically Henry V…" She smiled mischievously but he was too choked to speak. "What I also like is that it rhymes with Kal." Henry snorted.

"Hmm, are you sure you don't want to wait until the morphine wears off?" She gave him a knowing look. "Fine, Hal it is! But if he's named after me then it's only fair he's named after you as well--"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean his middle name should be Oliver. What do you think?"

"My name isn’t Oliver, you little shit!" She went to thwack Henry only for the pain to pull her back to the bed. He smirked.

"Mmm, it’s gunna be a fun couple of weeks… and technically it is! You were named after Oliver—"

"Yes, yes, alright. Hal Oliver, it is. Poor little sod. Well, in for a penny, in a pound, let's use another of your names—"

"What, you mean Dalgliesh?"

"No, you twat, William." Henry snorted but felt pride swelling in his chest once again.

"Hal Oliver William. You know that spells 'How?' He could go by Howie—"

"Yeah, no." He laughed.

"Well 'Hal's' perfect, just like him. And his Mum." Henry leaned closer to kiss her on the forehead. "Well done, darling. I'm so, so proud of you."

"I'm just grateful he's here and doing okay--"

"Me too. Can you believe we're parents? It feels so weird!"

"It does. But in a way, it also feels like he's always been here, as a part of us… I know that doesn't make sense."

"No, I know what you mean. I just couldn't imagine life without him now. We're a family of five! Oh my God, my mum and dad are going to be so thrilled—"

"Have you told them yet?"

"Yeah, though I haven't sent a picture. I wanted to wait until you were awake. Shall I take one of you holding him? That way we can send it to everyone?" She smiled and nodded. But just as he went to pick up their son, the nurse shuffled back into the room wheeling a tray of fresh sandwiches and a bowl of strawberries. "Oh, great, I'm hungry." Ollie giggled and the nurse smiled in her direction.

"Well, I'm glad to see you looking a bit brighter! Just let me quickly check you over again and then I'll get out of your hair. How are you feeling now?"

"Elated," she sighed.

"He is a gorgeous little thing. The spitting image of his father, right down to the chin!"

"It's alright, I still love him…" Henry and the nurse burst out laughing.

"So, have you settled on a name?" They smiled at each other.

"Yes, our son is called Hal Oliver William," her voice broke.

"What is it, darling?!"

"It's nothing, it's just… that's the first time I've ever called him our son." He brushed the tears from his own cheeks and gave her another kiss.

"Aww, that's wonderful! I'm so thrilled for you both. And it looks like you're recovering well, your blood pressure's good too. When you're feeling a little stronger, you can have a walk around and take a shower. All being well, you can all head home in the next day or so. Well, I'll leave you three in peace. Just buzz if you need anything." In a whirl, she was gone. Henry began breaking the sandwiches into smaller pieces so he could feed Ollie directly. Normally she'd have fed herself but she was grateful for the help as her whole body still ached from the procedure.

"There we are, just try and have a little bit for me." He beamed at her, still feeling shocked and relieved it was all over. Henry knew their lives would never be the same, but already parenthood was proving to be so much better than he'd expected. He felt like the three of them could take on the world. "Well, my darling girl, are you happy?" She swallowed her small mouthful and gazed up at Henry.

"The happiest I've ever been in my whole life."

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @livesinfantasyland @jackjanira

[siremasterlawrence]

Breaking In To Hollywood: Henry Cavill

Breaking In To Hollywood studios is having a massive sale so I decide to take a long shot to see if they have anybody available for me as I arrive and the doors swing open as I walk in. The red carpet roles out me the youngest new star enter the compound as the lights blow up shining as I make my way down the red carpet and the owner of gallery greets me. In the door way he offers his hands at me as we shook hands tightly in excitement as I squeeze him hard and I let go as he points for me to sit carrying this massive apple red packet to me.

I grab it feeling something unraveling inside when I open it a golden color emits letting me now it is all about to go topsy turvey for me and a pen appears in my hand at the same minute. The time spins about as I realize my hand is writing on the paper my name turns to gold as it vanishes from my hand and I am completely in awe of it all and next thing the room spinning out of control. Once it stops rotating I soon come to noticing that I am in a entirely different room painted in a array of color schemes forcing me to see it as a door appears and a keys floats down in to my head.

Rising as I make it to the threshold of the door way placing face key in the key hole turning it as the door blows up in brightly lit room fill to the broom in red ink but I am not about to and or could not not make it out. I am swooping in as the door slamming right behind him as the air swirls in cooling up the room wrapping around me, the next thing I know I see the name Henry Cavill written in red paint. A flat screen television flips on switch to a video proof playing of Henry introducing himself to a perspective buyer because he has agreed to see his life for a lifetime.

“Did you buy that little act of mine? “

“Yeah I know!”

“Oscar worthy!”

“Don’t flatter yourself “

“Ok then! Magnificent “

“So you a contract to fill and the lifetime retainer.”

“All settled here you go”

“Excellent! Quiet the thrill ride “

“What is your story?”

“Well one day I found I myself despising the wealthy.”

“So you sought revenge by making them in to meat suits?”

“Precisely! You are lucky to make this deal with me dude.”

“If you can produce the magic.”

“Well step inside, let’s make the magic happen.”

“The machine is rolling on”

“The door closes behind me”

“We have a narrator here”

“Commence it already “

“I’ll see you soon Mr. Cavill”

“Alright! Here we go!”

“Wait for the light?”

“Then what?”

“Hello?”

“Anybody there?”

“Shit”

“Oh well!”

“Please walk to the center “

“Is that a scanner”

“Say cheese “

“This before “

The lights flips on revealing Mr. Cavill is lock in a glass connected to the walls the glass is shiny, clean and such a sight to behold as his eyes are closed and he is everywhere bit swoon worthy as I thought. I approach the class case placing my hand on the frame as I oogle his beautiful body from the front of the glass as it begins to change color and explode on my touch as the body falls forward. It tumbles on top of me so heavy, strong and so admirable before clumps up in to a hefty explosion it’s self drowning me a liquid sea of gold and attaching its self to my body rightly so before I collapse.

My body lifts upward in to the air lower then the ceiling as I begin encircling the upper area of the room going round and round as my body shook like crazy letting the goop sip in to my skin. I fall forward to the ground as I melt into the floor slowly my body took shape rebuilding in to what I thought it is my body fully forming in to a human shape taking a deep breath. Ilove the feeling standing up as I go for awalk towards the mirror happily, instead I see another man’s reflection as I see himHenry Cavill staring back at me with utter love.

I watch with smirk placing my hand under my masculine chin, blowing my self a sweet soft kiss as I feel my masculine body roll under my finger and I feel like God for the first time. My new body shiver at a quake when I check myself out he is ravish in all the ways letting me fingers slide down the cloth and gropes my ass tight knowing that everyone wants to worship this. The door swings open on both sides as he steadily makes his way to stand next to me with pride in his eyes and on his face he is definitely cocky and I plan on using it against.

“This is after “

“You were not kidding “

“Duh! want to try it out “

“Hell yeah!”

“At your service”

“Actually!”

“Don’t do it! Please “

“Ignore Henry! He will become non existent soon.”

“Give me back my body “

“What was that? Connection is bad”

“Asshole! Zip it “

“So static zzzzzz”

“Damn it! You bitch”

“Or what? What can you do?”

“I’ll usurp…”

“You will do no such thing and in fact you will see it my way now.”

“Mwahahahahaha”

“Oh My Goodness! I want to be “

“To be what?”

“Ffffrrrreeeee!”

“Go silent? Good Riddance”

“Where was I? Oh yes! Time to seal the deal bitch.”

The end

[daddyy333]

In love | Chris Evans x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 0.6k

warnings: Chris is literally the biggest simp ever it’s gross

summary: Chris always loves to gush about his wife any chance he gets

“So, Mr. Evans I heard you got married recently,” the interviewer said and Chris blushed just thinking about you. He chuckled and said “I did, I did. Best decision of my life, I wish I could do it all over again”

He looked over subtly, watching as you posed for pictures on the red carpet. He was so damn lucky. “You kept a secret for quite some time I heard, you announced your relationship by posting a picture from your wedding day, correct?” The interviewer asked and Chris couldn’t help the smile and blush on his face.

“Yup. My favorite picture I’ll ever have, our first kiss as a married couple. We’ve been together 5 years and got married on your 5 years anniversary” he said and the interviewer nodded. She laughed a little and said “that’s beautiful, when did you propose?”

“New years. Told her I wanted to spend every new years with her and then got down on one knee. 2nd scariest day of my life, I was so scared she’d run away the day we got married. You know me, I’m an old man now and she could do so much better” he said and chuckled.

The interviewer scoffed and said “I’m sure there’s many people out there who’d disagree with that. You two seem perfect for each other, what’s your married life been like?”

“Nothing shy of perfection. I get to wake up next to the most perfect woman in the world and I get to love her every single day. The best part is that she loves me too. I wouldn’t trade her for the world” Chris said, looking over at you. You looked so damn beautiful, the sun shining on you and your beautiful eyes popping from the color of your dress.

“I’m the luckiest man alive to tell you the truth,” Chris said and licked his lips, his heart fluttering just remembering how amazing his life has been with you in it. The interviewer chuckled and said “must’ve been hard keeping this a secret for so long. You’re blushing so hard you match the carpet,”

He looked down nervously, laughing. He sighed and said “Any man would be if he got the chance to love her and be loved by her. I’ve wanted to scream it from the rooftops since the moment I laid eyes on her” he said and you suddenly walked over, hugging him from behind.

His eyes widened and he turned around, smiling wider. “Hey, lover. You look stunning tonight, babe, you have no idea,” he said, kissing you softly. You giggled and nugged him. “Finish your interview, Chris” you said and he shook his head.

“You two are just made for each other it seems. He’s been practically buzzing with joy since I mentioned you,” the interviewer told you and you rolled your eyes, blushing slightly. You sighed and said “gosh, he’s so annoying, isn’t he? I don’t know how I tolerate him sometimes,”

You giggled, looking up at him. He shook his head and said “yea, yea, yea. I wouldn’t trade you for the damn universe and yet you’d probably trade me in a New York minute” “oh that is so not true!” You said and slapped his chest playfully, all three of you laughing.

You smiled and kissed his cheek, then realizing that you were being called for your own interviews. “I’ll meet up with you when I’m done, try not to miss me too much” you said and caressing his hand for a moment before you left.

“Alright, well let’s talk about the new movie you two are in together…”

Taglist: @kandis-mom

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

Geralt of Rivia

Henry Cavill

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 14

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Warnings: Violence, attempted kidnapping, stalking, injured arm, mention of weapon, nightmares, angst, period care, fear, anxious Sy, police officers, language

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

Part 13

My heart immediately sinks to the pit of my stomach and in an instant, I’m running. It feels like minutes as I run watching Colin’s slimy hands wrapped around Emma’s chest from behind as she fights to defend herself. He is gripping her wrist tightly as he pins it to her chest and she’s twisting and yelling, but I can no longer hear her screams over my own raging thoughts. He looks up as my thundering steps approach just as Emma bites his hand. 

“Ouch! You bitch!” He screams at Emma and I use his moment of distraction to rip Emma from his arms. I push her behind me away from Colin and without another thought, I rare back and punch him square in the nose. The force behind that punch was enough to split my knuckles but I don’t hesitate to follow his body to the ground and hit him again. Hard. As hard as I can. I’m completely lost in my rage as the only sound I hear being the blood rushing past my ears as my adrenaline pumps throughout my body. A large hand lands on my shoulder and I’m about to turn and fight whoever has dared to touch me in this state when I recognize Mr. Ellis. Mr. Ellis is a friend of my PawPaw’s and similar in age to him which gives me momentary pause. When did he get here?

“Son, he’s out cold. You’ve gotta stop now.” Mr. Ellis gestures to Colin’s body which is crumpled on the hot asphalt of the parking lot. 

“I… he was…” I attempt to organize my thoughts but I can’t.

“I know, Sy. I saw. I saw him trying to snatch that girl and I was getting my gun out of the glovebox when you came running up. Didn’t think I could take him alone. I’ve already called 911 and they’re on their way.” Mr. Ellis talks to me like I’m a caged predator and I realize, that’s exactly how I feel. God, it felt so good to split my hand open on his face. To feel just an ounce of the pain I’d like to inflict upon him. I maybe only got two good hits in before Mr. Ellis stopped me, but I made them count judging from the blood seeping on the ground from Colin’s obvious broken nose. I hear a sniffle and whip around to see Emma sitting on her bottom leaned up against a dark colored car with tears streaking noiselessly down her face.

Oh God, Emma.

Despite protest from my bum leg, I clamber up and over to her. She’s holding her right wrist with her hand and looks absolutely petrified.

“Sugar, I’m here. I’m so sorry.” I apologize. I want to apologize for her seeing me like this, for leaving her alone, for not getting there soon enough, the list is endless.

“Austin…” She whimpers and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my lap on the asphalt. Sirens are getting louder as police and EMT’s swarm the grocery store parking lot. 

“I was…sso…scared.” She hiccups between sobs and I feel my heart absolutely shatter.

“I know, Sugar. You were so brave. You were incredible. I’m so sorry.”  

EMT’s quickly rush to Colin’s side where he remains unconscious as they transfer him to a stretcher. Much to my dismay, according to the vitals they were shouting, he’s still alive. 

I know several of the police officers and they agree to call Walt for me. Following protocol, they still have to separate Emma and I to hear the versions of our story to piece together what happened. I refused any care for my hand, as the throbbing in my knuckles felt like the perfect reminder that I gave Colin what he was asking for. As a second EMT is taking a look at Emma’s wrist, a police officer that I knew from the ball field in high school named Keith allows me to say goodbye to Emma before driving me to the station for questioning. 

“Is it broken?” I ask the EMT.

“There’s a possibility of a hairline fracture. We won’t know until she gets an x-ray but Ms. Miller doesn’t want to go to the hospital.” She tells me.

“Emma, baby. Go to the hospital and get it checked out.” 

“I’ll give myself an x-ray at the clinic and if it’s broken I’ll call an ortho doc, but first I’m going to answer the police officer’s questions at the station.”

“Sugar, I” 

“Austin, I don’t want to go to the hospital where he will be. I want to go where you are going.” There it is. She doesn’t want to be in the same building with him and I don’t blame her. 

“Okay, I understand. Are you in pain?” 

“I’ll be fine.” She says as she stands up and a female officer joins us. 

“We have to ride separately because of their protocol, but Walt has been called and I’ll send him directly to you so you won’t be alone, alright Darlin’?”

She nods and I kiss her gently. 

“I love you, and I’ll be with you as soon as they let me.”

“I love you too.” She says with a forced smile. God, I don't want to leave her.

I follow Keith to his cruiser and he allows me to sit in the passenger seat.

I call PawPaw on the way and explain what happened before I ask him to go get my truck from the parking lot since he has my spare keys, that’s full of groceries and take them home for me before dropping my truck at the police station. Nothing surprises that man as he just agrees, tells me that he’ll take the dogs back with him so not to rush and to call him when I can.

I also call Walt and he promises that he’s almost at the station and he’ll go straight to Emma when he arrives. He’s a homicide detective so this isn’t even remotely a part of his job description, but he’s well respected in the community and someone I trust entirely so I want him by Emma’s side until I can be.

We arrive at the police department where I’m placed in a monitored room for about twenty minutes before an older man comes into question me. I explain to him exactly who Colin was, Emma’s history and fear of him, and my actions when I walked out of the store. The investigator surmises that my story matches the witness testimony that was given by Mr. Ellis as well as a young mother who was walking into the store when Colin grabbed Emma. 

“I can confirm that the suspect is conscious now at the hospital, but you should know there is a strong possibility he attempts to press charges against you for assault.” 

I scoff. “I dare him to try.” I say truthfully and the detective just leans back in his chair.

“You’re a big guy compared to him. What was going through your head?”

“I probably would have killed him if Mr. Ellis didn’t stop me. He was trying to take the love of my life. Someone he abused physically, verbally and mentally for years before I met her. I was not going to allow that to happen.”

“Off the books of course, I’d probably do the exact same if someone came after my wife or daughter, so I don’t blame you.” He said with a smirk.

“Can I see her?” 

“She’s still being questioned but I can show you where to wait.”

“Walt with her?” I ask.

“He hasn’t left her side, which is unusual but Walt’s taking good care of her.

After waiting for what felt like forever, Emma finally emerges from the room she was in with Walt right behind her. Her arm is wrapped in a temporary brace as she cradles it to her abdomen.

“Austin.” She says with a visible relief as I wrap my arms around her and she cuddles into my chest.

“Thank you, Walt.” I shake his hand while not removing my arms from Emma’s body.

“Not a problem. She did well. We’re pressing charges against the suspect for attempted kidnapping and stalking, in addition to the violation of the restraining order. He won’t get out of it like last time. We’re talking mandatory jailtime if he’s convicted.” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank God.” I respond aloud.

“We have some paperwork to fill out and then y’all can go.” Walter directs us over to his desk and sends someone to get us coffee.

“The final thing we need to do is a written statement from you, Sy. I got Emma’s in the investigation room. She couldn’t write so I transcribed for her.”

I bite my lip to keep from cursing at the fact that my girl is injured. The poor thing looks exhausted as she cradles the Styrofoam cup of strong black coffee in her uninjured hand. I know it’s bitter after she takes a small sip and places it down with a slight look of disgust. 

“I’ll make this as quick as I can, Sugar.” I say and she nods before looking at the picture of Faye that Walt has on his desk. They engage in small talk as I recount the events of the afternoon starting at the grocery store on paper. My handwriting is just barely legible, but it was good enough for the army to never say anything so they shouldn’t have problem with it either. When I’m finished, I glance at Em who is resting her head against her uninjured arm across Walt’s desk and lightly dozing. I hand the legal pad back over to Walt who reads over it and then has me sign it at the bottom. He adds his signature as a witness to my statement. 

“There was a vehicle in the parking lot near where the assault took place that had an Alabama license plate on it.”

“Was it registered to him?”

“Nope, rental car. I’ve got someone trying to confirm that he was the renter.”

“Was it darkly colored?”

“Black.”

“Damnit..” I mutter. “She said she saw a dark car parked out by her neighbor’s house all night. It turned around in her driveway but she thought it was the neighbor’s kid. I didn’t check the surveillance video when she mentioned it.” I’m such a fucking idiot, I think to myself.

“Was she home?”

“Nah, she was at mine. I should’ve looked into it.” 

“Well, at least she wasn’t there and you’ve got surveillance camera’s up. Send me the video later when you go back and obsess over this.” He knows me well.

“I will.”

“She gonna be okay?” Walt asks and I shrug my shoulders.

“I honestly don’t know. I just can’t believe this even happened. I should have protected her.”

“You did, Sy. That guys face proves it.”

“I shouldn’t have left her alone.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. She’s not a child that needs a babysitter, you didn’t know. Just try to let her process her feelings about it and be there. That’s all you can do in situations like these.” 

“Thanks man. I really owe ya for being there for us. For her. I know this isn’t your responsibility and you certainly don’t have the time to spare.” 

“We’re family, practically brothers. She’s a great girl and I expect to see her officially becoming family one day.” He says with a wink and I smirk.

“I’m just trying not to scare her off or I’d already have a ring.” We shake hands and I gently wake Emma up.

“Sugar, we’re done. Let’s get out of here.” I tell her and she sleepily blinks up at me before nodding. Walt and I are both surprised when she walks around Walter’s desk and wraps her arms around him. 

“Thank you for everything. Next time you have Faye, I would love to meet her.” She says genuinely and Walt smiles, something rare for him.

“You can count on it. As soon as she knows you’re a veterinarian she’ll be asking you a million questions so prepare yourself now.”

“Bring her to the clinic sometime. She can be my assistant for the day.” Emma smiles and I’m surprised at how comfortable she seems around Walt. I’m grateful for it though. I’m closer with him than I am with my own brother and I appreciate her having someone else here she can rely on. Walt’s not an easy man to get to know, so it makes me happy that she broke down that barrier and got him to open up. Breaking down walls seems to come naturally to her. God knows, she worked her magic on me somehow.

We say our goodbyes and make our way to the parking lot where I find my truck parked in the lot, just like PawPaw said he would.

“How?” Emma asked as I opened the passenger door and lifted her in.

“PawPaw. Called him on the way to the station.” I answer before getting in and cranking the engine. It’s late afternoon now and this day seems to have gone on forever. 

“Can we get something to eat on the way home?” Emma asks and I arch my eyebrow at her.

“Sure, but I’m taking you to get that arm checked out.” 

“No. I want fast food, and I want to go home.” She demands.

“Baby, I’m worried that it’s broken. You’re clearly in pain. You’ve been cradling your arm against you since it happened.”

“I just need some Tylenol and a greasy burger. I’ll go tomorrow. After everything today, I just want to go home. Please?” She looks at me with pure exhaustion and almost seems like she might cry. I nod and put the truck in gear. I can't ever seem to tell her no.

“Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts and I’ll take you to the doctor.” I command and she promises.

After securing a bag full of greasy Mcdonald’s, I start making the way towards her house assuming she’d want to be in the comfort of her home. I plan on staying wherever she is, so I’m glad my grandparents took the dogs for the night.

“Where are we going? You missed the turn.” She points out.

“You said you wanted to go home so I figured you meant yours.”

“No. I want to go to yours.”

“Okay, Sugar.” I tell her as I make a u-turn to head back in the direction of my house with a small smile on my lips.

“What?” Emma asks.

“I just like hearing you say you want to go home and meaning my house. I figured you’d want to be in your own bed or something.”

She shakes her head. “Your house feels more like home to me.”

“It is baby. It’s our home.” I tell her as I tuck some hair behind her ear and her smile melts my heart.

After we get home and I explain that the dogs are with my grandparents, Emma takes some medicine before we tuck in to our greasy dinner. Is it really that tasty, or are we just starving from the events of the day? The Wizard of Oz plays noisily on the tv in the background but neither of us seem to be watching it, rather just using it as background noise while we eat.

Emma is quiet, likely processing everything that has happened so I just remain a silent presence as I let her sit in her contemplation, remaining close if she decides she’d like to talk.

I place a bag of frozen peas on her arm when she’s done eating and it startles her almost as if she didn’t notice me moving around beside her. She thanks me quietly as I elevate her arm on some pillows before I run my hands through her hair. We remain sitting in the living room until the movie credits are rolling on the tv screen. Emma is curled against me but seems uncomfortable. I ask her if her arm hurts and she just replies, “cramps”. Damn, in all of the madness today I forgot. This morning seems like it was a lifetime ago. 

“Let’s go take a warm shower and get in bed, Darlin’”. 

Emma nods and I help her up before tossing the peas back in the freezer. I shut off the lights and double check that the doors are locked before we head into the master bathroom and I turn the water on to get it warming. 

“I’ll give you a minute. Need anything?” I ask and she just shakes her head.

I head back into the bedroom making sure I have all of the comfort items I purchased this morning ready for her. I pulled out one of my t-shirts and grabbed some panties from her bag before setting them on her side of the bed. I made sure she had some water and pain relief meds on the nightstand as well. I stripped myself down before knocking on the bathroom door to let her know I was coming back in. Emma was already standing in the hot stream of water so I joined her and wrapped my arms around her. Her bandage was taken off and sat on the bathroom vanity and this was the first look I had gotten of it since she got hurt. I gently placed her arm in my flat palm and looked at the blue, purple, and slightly yellow bruise that had formed along the top of her forearm. 

“I’m okay.” She said as I stared at her arm and tried to reign in my anger towards that bastard of a human. 

“You should see the other guy…oh wait.” She jokes and I can’t help but smirk. Before I can apologize again for not getting to her quick enough, she speaks again.

“Could you help me wash my hair?” 

“Of course, Sugar. Let me.” I take her shampoo that she brought and left over here a few weeks ago and washed her hair before rinsing and conditioning it. While letting that sit, I washed her body as gently as I could. I noticed her knees were scraped but didn’t say anything about it, just gently cleaning them off. After rinsing her hair and her body, I quickly bathed myself before getting us out and wrapping her up in a towel. I attempted to wrap her hair up in a towel as well, but that ended up being more complicated than I realized. She smiled and asked for a moment of privacy so I waited for her in the bedroom as I threw on some boxers. Emma came out a moment later still wrapped in her towel and I quickly helped her put on some panties and my DILIGAF t-shirt that she loves so much. I re-wrapped her hand with the bandage that the EMT’s placed on it earlier today and made her promise that we would get it looked at tomorrow. She showed me how to brush her hair, claiming she could do it with her non-dominant hand, but I was adamant that she let me help her. I gently combed through the tangles over her long hair before settling her in bed with the hot water bottle on her abdomen before crawling in behind her to spoon her.

“Mmm. Thank you for the hot water bottle. And, everything else.”

“I’m just sorry you got hurt. I’ve replayed it in my head a hundred times at least and I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“Baby. Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so grateful you were there.”

“What happened…when I went back inside the store? I’ve been trying not to ask but I just need to know.”

“Well, you went back inside and I started unloading the groceries into the truck. Once I got them all in, I went to put the grocery cart in the little return area. I didn’t see him, I just felt someone come up behind me and I tried to turn around but he wrapped his arms around me and told me to stay still. That’s when I knew. The second I heard his voice and felt his breath on my neck, I knew it was Colin. I told him to stop, not do this. All he said was, “I’m going to make you regret turning your back on me.” I noticed he was sort of backing me up away from your truck and that’s when I started really fighting him and screaming. You showed up a few moments later.” She explained.

My hands gripped tightly into fists as I thought about what happened next. His hands on her, Emma’s screams, my urge to get to her.

Emma placed her hand on top of mine before turning over to face me. I helped her move her hair away from her face before she kissed me. Lovingly, tenderly, appreciatively.

“I love you, Austin Syverson. You mean the world to me.”

“I love you more, Sugar.”

“Thank you for putting up with my baggage.”

“Thank you for putting up with mine.” I say as I stroke her cheek before kissing her forehead. Emma yawns and places her hot water bottle on the nightstand before snuggling into me and falling asleep. Her eyelids flutter in the moonlight that trickles in to the bedroom and I lay there admiring her strength while also running through every ‘what if’ scenario in my head.  What if I hadn’t arrived in time and he had managed to take her? What if he had hurt her worse? What were his intentions by taking her? My brain gets carried away and I’m tempted to get up and get a beer, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving Emma alone after almost losing her. I lay there in the dark with the most incredible woman that I’ve ever met curled against my chest and thank God for letting her be okay before I finally drift off to sleep.

I’m awoken with a start at some point in the middle of the night, blinking the sleep from my eyes as I try and figure out what woke me. I hear Emma whimper and see that she’s having a nightmare. Usually it’s me with the nightmares, but this time she’s the one crying and curled in on herself in the fetal position.

“Sugar?” I gently try and rouse her.

“no, please no.” She mumbles and I flip the lamp on and scoop her up against me.

“Sugar, it’s Austin. You’re safe.” I tell her and her eyelids peel open, groggily.

She takes a deep breath as tears stream down her face. My heart somehow breaks even more.

I don’t know what to do or say so I just keep repeating that she’s safe and hold her until her crying calms down and she is asleep in my arms.

I lay in the dark cradling her as I try to keep my thoughts on my perfect girl, rather than that scum that I wish I had wiped off of parking lot to finish him off. I reach for my phone with my intentions clear. I know what I want. I have some research to do and now is the best time to start.

Part 15

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood, @sofiebstar

[spaceorphan18]

You said you saw Deadpool & Wolverine - how did you like it?

Oohh, thanks Nonny! I had been planning on writing my thoughts! :)

I liked it!

I thought it was a very apt bridge between the old Fox films and Deadpool coming into the MCU.

I'm not a huge fan of uber violent things but something I appreciate about the Deadpool films (and Ryan Reynolds' brand of 12yo humor) is that behind it all is a lot of heart. And this film retained that, through all the crudeness, the point is that ultimately, Deadpool/Wade is a really good guy. And I can respect that.

Getting into specifics... which are very spoiler-y

I thought the plot itself was very thin, and this whole thing probably works better as a bunch of sketches, but it's fine. I was never asking for a lot from this film, and it did the only thing I was really asking of it, which was provide entertainment and get Deadpool into the MCU.

I appreciate that they really didn't shit on Logan's legacy while bringing Hugh Jackman back. Jackman seemed to be having a good time of it, which I'm glad to see.

Btw, loved all the musical jokes we got in this! Loved it.

I LOVED the montage of various Wolverines -- I understood most of the references! Yay me for reading X-Men comics for so long!!

The Henry Cavill cameo? Perfect.

I'm not surprised we didn't see a lot of Wade's family and friends, but it is sad they got such a small amount of screen time.

Ooff, Vanessa continues to be the one really weak piece of this whole thing. Does the actress not want to be there? Does she have limited time? Why is her character always being reduced to love interest whom Wade does everything for but there's no development of her character? Idk.

The TVA stuff is fine. I feel like it's so convoluted now that it doesn't really matter that it ultimately doesn't make much sense. I do think the MCU needs to start moving away from the multiverse stuff. It's just getting too mucky and it's lost focus.

Oh, why is Thor holding Deadpool, I'm sure it was just a gag, but oh god would it be hilarious if they brought it back at some point.

The Happy stuff. It's always great to see him, but how did Deadpool end up in the main universe? Why am I even questioning this?

Cracked me up that they hid Peter's face in that picture. Can't give Sony any more money than necessary.

Oh, in general, I love LOVED all the fourth wall breaks. This is why I watch Deadpool movies.

Cassandra Nova was fine as a villain. The actress was great! She just feels... a little too seriously evil to be in this comedy movie. Idk.

All the returning c-list villains were fun!

Having Chris Evans return as Johnny Strom was a brilliant move and I loved it. Having him just be the opposite of Steve Rogers on top of it was hilarious. Perfect use of a cameo, film.

Wesley Snipes returning as Blade. Goddamn. I'm kinda surprised he agreed to do it!

Great to see Jennifer Garner return as Elektra. I'm kinda glad I made myself watch all those marvel movies (which I still need to finish...) I appreciate this cameo more (and the dig at Daredevil).

Yay Laura returning! Could have always used more of her, but she did what she needed to.

Okay. Okay, let's talk about it. Let's talk about Channing Tatum as Gambit...

The Pros : The accent was fun, the way they used his powers was fantastic and original, they didn't make him the butt of jokes or treat him like a joke, there was a general respect for the character overall and I really, really, appreciate that being a Gambit fan

The Cons : Look, I have nothing against Tatum personally. He just doesn't look right. He's too think in body shape (not meant in a derogatory way), and his face just doesn't work in the headsock. Not to mention the costume looked plastic and cheap.

I really hope Gambit is back, but can we have Tatum as Gambit here like we had JKras as Mr. Fantastic in Dr. Strange? Just a one time fun gag? Please??

Remy is having a really good year despite dying everywhere.

The Deadpool squad (or whatever) I'm afraid I haven't read enough Deadpool to really get it, but it was fun. The side scrolling action sequence reminded me of a video game. And honestly, Wolverine with his cowl on, just kind of loosely moving reminded me of a video game as well.

I'm super curious to see how Deadpool plays within the MCU now. Let's go for it.

The credits were a nice touch. I'm glad they could honor those films for what they did, and I'm glad we can now move on from them.

Tl:dr it was fun and I liked it! :)

[l4long-winded]

iv. the distraction of rising temperature

summary: now that you and sherlock are at a friendlier standing, it's time to explore more of your friendship. or whatever it is (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)

reflection: i am terribly sorry that this took so long. i just wanted everything to be how i envisioned it and of course, i ended up overdoing it. i have that nasty habit of rereading and editing until i have a singular part. then, i do it all again with the next and the next until it becomes far too much. i intended this series to be shorter, but alas, some things are not meant to be. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated and encouraged!

warnings: seamstress!reader, conflicted!sherlock, reader has a nickname, flirting, fluff, close proximity, mystery brewing, cursing, longwinded descriptions, overthinking, sherlock is in deep denial, suggestive language, alcohol consumption, enola makes an appearance, off screen character death, somewhat slowburn, enemies to lovers, sherlock observes reader, a fitting with far too many boundaries crossed, sexual tension, victorian era, eventual smut (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 10,023

previously: mr. wright and jane austen

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

This is the second time you face the golden 221B in front of you and it’s definitely different than the first time, less animosity, about the same nerves, much more intrigue. After you received your book from Sherlock, he seemingly began to appear frequently around the building and around your shop. Only a couple of days passed by and you could recall seeing his recognizable frame through the window strolling by, through his voyages to and from his flat in which he would say nothing but give a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment. He certainly must know you found the book, but it’s clear he won’t approach unless you do so first out of respect for your boundaries. While his note conveyed his desire to restart fresh, it didn’t mean he would go out of his way to assume what you decided to do. Something about that sustained reverence is what pulled you to his door this afternoon, this being the sole amount of free time you’ve had in these troubling times. You’re steady as you breathe in and out for some extra confidence and to quite possibly shake some traveling nerves (it barely helps).

Once you dictate yourself as ready, you rap onto the door and take a single step backwards when you remember how much space Sherlock takes up on his lonesome. The last time, when he insulted you and disregarded your noise complaint, you felt rather small not just by his words, but by your stature compared to his. He loomed over you and narrowed his eyes in a way that caused you to lose hold of your convictions for just a moment, but the moment was enough for him to gain the upper hand, a shark smelling blood in the water. You’re convinced he’s not going to purposely agitate you this time around, but you also don’t want to accidentally toss him another opportunity. You’re hopeful he’ll be true to his word, not stupid enough to drop your guard. You still barely know anything about each other and strangers took advantage of people all the time.

The door comes open with a haste you’re not prepared for and you can’t help but take a half step back from it in reaction. Your hands capture themselves in front of your abdomen in efforts to balance yourself, as if the pull of the door would suction you inside and awkwardly leave you standing in Sherlock’s flat without invitation. It’s hardly a dramatized action since you feel the air surrounding whip around the rebellious strands of hair framing your face. Except, as you ground yourself and shuffle your feet, the person standing in front of you is very obviously not Sherlock, but a young woman with familiar features. Her eyes widen upon recognition of you, her head turning back to look into Sherlock’s flat for what appears to be answers.

“It’s a woman,” she calls back and it gives you the indication that you probably interrupted the two from some sort of discussion. It would explain her haste and why Sherlock’s marching over in what you surmise is in a mix of impatience and irritation. “Were you expecting a seamstress?” The girl asks as Sherlock gets closer and you can see him pause as he gains a better look at you, your eyes locking onto his despite the young woman sitting in between the two of you. From your peripheral vision, you could see her engaging in careful glances switching back and forth between you and Sherlock, an attempt present to decipher what the correlation to one another is since Sherlock’s offered silence. His gait’s suffered a stop enough for the girl to draw on her inspection and you’re not prepared for her scrutiny while seemingly under his.

“Give us a moment,” he finally utters, his eyebrows pinching together in the process of giving the young woman a simple, yet loaded, look. You may not know what’s going on here, but you’re aware of this look having been on the receiving end of one and having conjured it on your own. She seems to quickly catch on and she backs away with her hands up from the door and floats into the flat without further questions. Sherlock seems grateful for her lack of continued communication as he steps through the frame and shuts the door behind him.

“Excuse my sister… Enola’s fully prepared to insert herself into anyone’s business at any time if she becomes interested in any form.” Ah, his sister. That’s what looked so familiar about her. Well, you probably should have guessed it from how she quickly came to the conclusion that you were a seamstress. You suppose that such observational skills run in the family. That dynamic must be insufferable to be around, but you came from your own version of chaos in a family. There’s hardly room for judgment.

“She’s curious, huh? Sounds like she’s trying to mimic someone we both know.” You’re teasing, of course, teasing with an inkling of truth to your choice of words. To your amusement, you watch in real time as Sherlock exhales and musters a small smile.

“Trust me, she doesn’t want to be like me,” he replies and you ponder what he could possibly mean for a second since Enola’s enthusiasm proved to you in a shortened time frame of just how much she matches Sherlock. Your hesitation to ask about it warrants him to continue speaking. “You’re not at work at this hour?”

Somehow, he’s accounted for your schedule and you’re taken aback for an interlude. He doesn’t budge or comprehend how this information is not common knowledge so you have a feeling he’s not trying to be all knowing or superior. It’s perhaps something that just happens to him whether he’s in control of it or not. “No, I didn’t have too much to do today so I decided to take a break. I actually wanted to speak with you about something, but it seems as if I’ve arrived at a bad time.” You don’t want to interrupt him and his sister and could always return later, but Sherlock waves it off and crosses his arms.

“It’s not a bad time at all. Please,” he presses his arms forward into the air, “continue. I trust you received my informal letter?”

“That I did… Thank you for the book. I love it. I have my own copy back home, but I failed to bring it with me during the move. It’s already helped immensely.” You can’t stop yourself from beaming thinking about it. It’s been something to turn to when your brain’s overloaded or your hands are itching for relief from remaining in the same position for so long.

“I’m glad to hear it. Jane Austen’s work doesn’t get nearly enough attention. I assume it’s because people are too behind to understand.” He shrugs his shoulders because it really is an unfortunate circumstance. While she has some traction, much more than when she was alive, you and Sherlock both know why that traction isn’t grander or why she didn’t become acclaimed until later on. It’s a stark elephant in the hall, but you choose not to address it and shake your head to change the subject.

“Well, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I do hate how you’ve ruined the mystery of your name. I was going with Shoulders Holmes before you had to add your input.” Your hands come up to your hips in a mock scolding. It achieves the desired effect as Sherlock releases his arms from the hold against his chest and he stares at you with levity in his eyes. Him and his damn bluer-than-blue eyes.

“At least you had something to go off. I’ve referred to you as Lily for a while now.” The confession causes your hand to come up and grasp your charm out of habit and you want to release it the second you do, but you endure where you are as you try and study his face. It’s not the most terrible nickname since you enjoyed flowers, but it’s come out of left field.

“Not bad,” you exhale, “but my name is Y/N. Or… if you wish to call me Lily, I wouldn’t be opposed.” You grasp the charm tighter, though you’re not sure why you feel inclined to do so. You shouldn’t care so much what he would think of your name as even if he doesn’t, it’s not something you could change. His validation ought to mean nothing to you, and yet as you stare up at him, you feel relief flood your system as he repeats it to you. Warmth nuzzles across your back and shoulders and you could swear the same comes up to hug the apples of your cheeks, all because Sherlock saying your name is a new experience and sensation you didn’t know you could be so fond of. It eloquently rolls off his tongue and his tone is one of approval.

“So, we’re officially acquaintances, then? No longer mortal enemies who glare at each other from across the stairs?” You can’t help but laugh at the dramatics of the situation. But looking back, glaring at each other or refusing to acknowledge one another did seem to be the pattern you both fell into. You feel sheepish about how you acted, but from his body language, he also seems to be ashamed of his antics. His question was genuine as much as he intended it to sound as if he was joking.

“Correct, officially acquaintances. And I, your new acquaintance, have a proposal for you.” You watch as confusion flits over Sherlock’s face. The lines he does have are there from thinking, you can tell. “I want to help you with your investigation.”

This is not what Sherlock expects. His eyebrows raise in incredulity as he regards you. The movement in his shoulders tells you how he’s restraining himself, but you can’t tell if it’s from celebrating or expressing to you of his surprise. He persists in his stillness, quiet befalling the both of you as you look into the depths of his eyes and he traces them at different points of your facial structure and then different points of your body. Normally, a man gazing this intently at you would cause you to protect yourself and hide away, but you can almost see the cogs shifting inside of Sherlock’s head. He does what most don’t and that’s think before he speaks, analyze before jumping to conclusions that may be wrong. Considering how he’s done that before and it ended with you two disliking each other, you don’t say anything to properly give him his time of contemplation.

“I sense a condition of some sort incoming,” he decides on after a beat and you fidget with your hands because he’s right, you do have a condition. You didn’t come up here for just a friendly chat as you had days to mull over what you wanted to say to him and how you two could move forward from starting off on the wrong foot.

“Right,” you begin, and you know he hears that too often, “I want to help you with your investigation, but only if you come down to my shop and allow me to fit you for something. You don’t have to buy anything, I’m not trying to be bought,” you reassure him, “but I also could use some more business. What I’m implying here is that we could help each other out.”

Sherlock is still again. He doesn’t display to you much besides that recurring restraint. You don’t know how he could possibly read you and you could barely do the same to him, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. You stand taller to appear more confident in this and you wait for him to say something with bated breath. There are a number of ways he can respond and you lean more towards rejection than anything else. You wouldn’t be angry if he refused this altogether, there’s nothing obligating either of you to each other just because you’re now standing on common ground. He wants to say something, you can see it playing at his lips, but it’s difficult to dwell on because suddenly the both of you lightly startle hearing Enola’s voice through the door, “I have places to be, Sherlock!”

The impromptu rushing has you falter. You’re sure he’ll wave you away now, but he doesn’t create any rampant motions. He simply looks at you one last time before he speaks, “I’ll think about it.” That’s all you could ask of him since the task isn’t the most conventional of sorts. It came to fruition because of how you didn’t recognize his gift as a full reason to forgive him for his past behavior. There’s also something particularly sleazy about the idea of Sherlock presenting you with a gift of your liking solely to encourage your succor in his work, a light test behind asking him of this. By how he didn’t immediately leap at the opportunity, you’re guessing his heart was in the right place and cease those questions burdening you, the ones asking of his intentions and morals.

You depart thereafter with a polite dip of your head, one he mirrors before he watches you retreat to the stairs. It’s when you’re out of his sight that he enters his flat once more, his sister sitting comfortably in the chair at his desk. He needs to talk with her about areas being off limits because this is becoming ridiculous at this point.

“It’s about time,” Enola chimes, which in turn leads to Sherlock rolling his eyes. He resumes what he did before you knocked on his door and that’s tending to the map in front of him where Enola marked off new spots for him to travel to. They helped each other from time to time and she would soon be off embarking on another adventure he would wind up worrying over with the dangers of the world in his head. He’s examining the map with a comical magnifying glass, too busy immersing himself back into the work because he doesn’t want his mind to stray to you. Lately, it’s been doing that more than he could handle and such a detriment in focus must be tended to accordingly. While you hold the fabric he’s chased for ages now in your possession, he’s treading lightly since any interaction with you might further cloud his head. This is a phenomenon he’s not used to.

“You could use a new tie,” Enola says, breaking him free of his current task. He attempts to imagine she’s not sitting there to continue, at most shooting her an annoyed glare. Still, he can’t completely ignore her. There’s a reason she said what she said, why she chose those certain words, why she’s lying because she knows he has an impressive tie collection.

“I could’ve sworn I’ve talked with you about eavesdropping.” He doesn’t notice her stand until she reaches for the magnifying glass from him. He stands at his full height and looks down at her, again in agitation as he watches her continue on with his task. It’s like she knows he’s trying to corral his thoughts towards this subject to not stray away against his best wishes.

“I’m just making an observation. If you’re going to a fitting, why not?” Sherlock refrains from scoffing. He didn’t decide to attend yet and here Enola goes acting as if he has a plan set in stone to visit you at your shop. It confirms her eavesdropping, but he doesn’t want to give away any more information than that. Enola cannot know of how much you’re in his head, how he accidentally fell into a repetition of observing you from afar, how he wrote you a note and sent you his copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He knows his sister and she will just get the wrong idea. He knows what this may look like to her and that could be farther from the truth.

“... She’s pretty.”

It’s the last thing Sherlock anticipates for Enola to say. While she regularly institutes new ways to catch him off guard, this is not one he could have accounted for easily. His ego alerts him he could have prevented this had he just given more thought to what is lurking through her young mind, but alas, it’s too late for him. She’s said her piece and he now has no choice but to scrutinize it deeper than it needs to be. He doesn’t want to explore anything to do with that factor or anything relating, but Enola’s robbed him of his decorum and magnifying glass, left him a foreboding entity standing at his own desk with nothing to do but think back to how you stood before him just moments ago. You and your imperfect hair pinned to your head save for the defiant strands that love to dangle over your eyes, you and your fluttering lashes that you’re unaware almost whisp to your cheekbones from the length and fan, you and that cheeky smile adorning your lips when you say something teasing or sarcastic.

Enola’s observation is not unprecedented or incorrect. As much as he wants to declare to Enola that you’re indeed unpleasant to look at, he can’t bring himself to do so. You’re attractive, he’s known this already. He didn’t need Enola’s opinion on it. Especially not since such an opinion has led his head to recall the curves within your facial structure, the slope of your neck, how the lily of the valley rests right above your accentuated chest, how the corset cruelly punctuates your hips almost as if they’re beckoning in a pair of hands to rest upon them. These are the thoughts he wishes to avoid. They’re distractions to him and his work, they make his palms feel clammy, his fingers twitch on his desk as he imagines the pair of hands referred to on your hips as his own. This hasn’t happened to him before. He doesn’t know how to approach it or push the less than gentlemanly images beginning to flood his mind.

Thankfully, Enola passes him back his magnifying glass. “Earth to Sherlock,” she says and he’s centering himself back to this reality. He merely gives her a look before he returns to the map. He won’t dare say a thing. Enola’s too much like him and she would know something’s bothering him inside whether his comments were negative, agreeable, or neutral. It’s not worth fanning the flames of her active imagination.

You’re at the front desk busying yourself with checking off commissions and reworking invoices on parchment paper. Mrs. Thomas is there again at a nearby chair resting her feet before she goes home. She’s attended this shop often and you would regard her as a friend by how much you see her if it weren’t for how she’s a paying customer and how her closeness with your father wrote any of her actions off as mourning and pity in your eyes. You don’t want to necessarily see it this way, but it’s difficult not to with how she always seems to smile at you with sympathy lurking in her pupils. As much as you appreciate it, you’re tired of people looking at you with emotion rather than respect since you’re running this shop on your own. Even before, your father may have done a lot, but it’s you who’s created clothing under your former roof with your mother and sister. You don’t think that credit will ever be rightfully handed to you with how everyone cautiously addresses you.

The sad part is that each time it happens, you are hit with the painful reminder of how your father is gone. You’re already constantly thinking of that on your own and it follows you to your work since his last name is plastered on the building and sewed into the tags of the clothing you design. It’s bitter icing on top of the cake for your (his) remaining customers to come in here and talk to you about it or subconsciously bring the fact forth with how they maneuver their facial expressions towards you. Running on fumes is not easy at all and it’s harder with complex emotions involved.

The bell to your front door rings alerting you of a customer walking in. Their steps are heavy on your floorboards and there’s about three taken until you lift your head to view who’s entered your establishment. It’s those broad shoulders you’re sure you could recognize from kilometers away, his face a bit weary as he takes in the area of the shop for the first time inside instead of searching through the window. He walks to you slowly and instead of allowing this awkward gait to greet you at your desk, you round the obstruction and meet him halfway on the path. He pauses in front of you and you’re unable to suppress the grin forming on your features in surprise and disbelief that he came so soon. You thought he would take longer to think about what you offered, perhaps a few days, not mere hours.

“Pardon me,” he begins, “you wouldn’t happen to know where I could possibly be fitted for a tie around here, would you? My sister instructed me how I was in dire need of one.” Much like your own grin is growing by the second, as is his with his emboldened statement feigning cluelessness. You tap your chin in pretend thought as you look up at him, one arm tucking beneath your elbow across your chest.

“Ah, you have a wise sister. You’ve come to the right place. We have a large assortment of ties. Is there anything specific you’re searching for?”

“Whichever you deem best,” he responds almost instantly, his face leaning towards yours in the process for just you alone to hear. It’s a curious endeavor since there’s only you and him and Mrs. Thomas sitting in a chair. It’s then that Mrs. Thomas reminds you both of her presence, “I thought you wanted to commission more than that,” she booms out. She can be loud for an older woman.

You glance back and forth between Mrs. Thomas and Sherlock, then. You didn’t know that they knew each other and by the look on Sherlock’s face that crosses for a split second, he seems alarmed. It quickly passes through and then he’s impassive all over again.

“Yes, you’re right. I wanted to commission a, um…” his eyes scan momentarily, a sign that he’s trying to think fast that you know Mrs. Thomas won’t notice, but you do, “a vest” he decides. “A vest and a suit jacket.”

Not taking the hint that this is more than he’s bargained for, Mrs. Thomas laughs. “Might as well be fitted for the entire suit! Don’t you think so, Ms. Wright?”

Mrs. Thomas holds an unusual expression you haven’t seen before, a genuine and beaming smile that reaches her eyes and erases the sympathy from them that you consistently detect. You’re not sure what she’s doing, but instead of dwelling on her, you pivot to bring your full attention to Sherlock. It’s transparent to you that he’s hiding something, though you feel as if it’s more for Mrs. Thomas then it is for you. Still, you might as well have some fun with his visit. It’s not like you had a line of customers to dawdle on.

“Why, Mrs. Thomas, you are correct,” you can just see how Sherlock narrows his eyes at you in a warning, but despite this, you continue and hook one arm into his, now side by side, “Let’s do an entire fitting and then we can discuss that commission of yours, Mr. Shoulders.”

Sherlock fakes a smile at you, it’s tight lipped and you know this is not what he wanted, but he goes along and waves his goodbye to Mrs. Thomas who is finally standing from her chair to leave. She lingers watching you two disappear into a backroom.

“I did not agree to this,” Sherlock mutters, almost petulantly. It sounds foreign coming from such a deep voice.

“But here I am agreeing… Come on, it’ll be over before you know it. Remove the items on your torso besides the undershirt, please.” You half expect him not to listen, to put his foot down and ask for the tie again, but to your surprise, Sherlock blows a breath out through his nose and then he starts by ridding off his jacket sleeve by sleeve. You feel rather smug by his obedience, but you don’t wish to stop him through this, so you leave him to strip as you said as you go to retrieve your measuring tape and return with fresh paper for your pen and inkwell. When you return, you’re met with Sherlock undoing the current tie sitting at his neck. It slips free and the shirt is as poofy as a falling parachute through the sky.

“Erm… that shirt’s rather… large on you,” you don’t know if that’s the correct word. It seems as if it fits and yet it doesn’t, extra fabric bunching at his arms and waist. You tilt your head examining it and Sherlock takes a glance down to assess what you may mean.

“I’m aware,” he mutters. “I have trouble finding correct sizing and I don’t necessarily make the time to have actual appointments with tailors. Some things fit enough, nothing like a glove.” He shrugs his shoulders and it’s obvious to you he’s reserved himself to this way of dressing. For the most part, he didn’t do a bad job. He dressed elegantly and his other items seemed to fit him accordingly, but the bunched up fabric was for sure going to hinder you in taking his measurements. Because of this, you know what you have to do, and your fingers nervously wind the tape around your hands as you stare at him almost abashedly.

Noticing this, Sherlock looks at you quizzically. “What?”

“Sherlock, do you mind… removing your shirt? It’ll be easier to take your measurements that way, but if you don’t wish to, you aren’t obligated.” You’re already pushing him further out of his comfort zone and how he probably thought this would all go. You can see his hands flex at his sides, quiet as he stares forward and visibly ponders what he should do in this situation. You wouldn’t blame him if he rejected it entirely and put his tie and vest back on, strung his jacket along his arms and walked out of this invasive nature. It shouldn’t be this awkward, it never is with other male clients, but there’s a palpable energy between you that neither of you understand. Each step towards each other in any setting feels like a step too far, but always in the right direction.

He says nothing. You wish you could see past the flesh and skull in his head to truly capture what he may be thinking, but eventually, he whispers, “Very well, then,” and he starts at the cuffs. He unbuttons them gradually, and he glances at you once before he starts to tackle the buttons at his torso. One by one, they come undone, pectoral muscles displayed, a patch of hair on his chest that you had not expected to be there from how clean shaven he keeps his face. From every masculine element about him, it’s something you should’ve probably guessed. That and the swell of muscles in his arms that you didn’t regularly encounter on men around, such that bulge as he slips the white garment off of him completely. He turns away to discard the item with his other clothes, and then he’s left vulnerable standing in front of your full body mirror. He doesn’t look at himself. He keeps his eyes on you, waiting for another direction perhaps.

“Thank you. Let’s start with your arms.” You must carry this out as confidently as humanly possible even with the stature of Sherlock taking you a bit aback. Like a professional, you have him shift his arms out to measure his wingspan, the width of his back rather prominent to you at this moment since he is by no means a small man. You’re timorous as you measure around his biceps, as you catch the scent of his musk and tobacco standing this close by. You alternate between stretching your tape out at his limbs and then moving downward to write off the numbers each time. It’s an intimate affair as much as neither of you would like to admit it, and all that can be heard is the sound of each of your breathing. Not wanting this to be cumbersome, you try and find your voice literally kneeling before him while asking him to adjust his legs. Fortunately (and unfortunately) for you, his trousers are concealing him and it’s less inconvenient on you than when you tended to his torso.

“So, you spoke with Mrs. Thomas about a commission, hm?” You mark off the measurement with your thumbnail and then jot it down.

“Technically,” he admits. It bewilders you further. You stand so you can wrap the tape about his waist, one hand behind his back feeding it through. His warm skin touches your fingers. You’re face to face with his chest and neck here, but you ensure your eyes stay on the tape measure. You’re unaware of how he’s examining the top of your head.

“Technically? What’s technical about it?”

“Well, I wasn’t asking about a commission from you.” This is enough for your head to snap up. Your hands are still firmly on the tape measure around his waist, locking him in position to be this close to you, to be centimeters from this boulder of a man as he stares down at you with sincerity in his eyes. He’s literally so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. Those nerves from earlier are recollecting in your veins holding his steely gaze, but you don’t make any efforts to depart after his confession.

“You were asking… about my father? Why? Did you know him?” You should let go of the tape, but you don’t have the number yet to do so. Letting go just to wrap it back around him would be redundant. This isn’t any better since it’s trapping you practically against him, minimal distance between the two of you that any onlooker would confuse it as some kind of flirtatious bout, his naked torso feeding into the hypothetical guess. You stay where you are, blinking up at Sherlock who shakes his head back and forth.

“I did not. I just noticed that you were here alone so often. It made me question who Mr. Wright was. And so I came up with a bit of deception to tell Mrs. Thomas on her way out one day. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant conversation.” While honesty is easy for him to undergo, he does seem ashamed of his actions. The corner of his lips quirks for a second and it clicks for you that he knew about your father’s passing. And if he knew about your father’s passing, then it had you questioning his motives again. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you hate this kind of subject.

Slowly, you look down to mark the number and then write it onto the pad of paper below. Having that be his last measurement, you detach from him and sigh out in displeasure as you look over the other measurements you’ve taken thus far. “So you got me that book out of pity,” you note, the excitement in your voice drained out from yet another person giving you special treatment you never asked for. “You asked about him because you thought he would help with your investigation since I wouldn’t, didn’t you?” You’re disappointed and you don’t bother to hide it. His cold exterior melting away so abruptly suddenly makes sense now. For a moment, you feel like a fool.

But Sherlock doesn’t allow this to last long. “Yes and no,” he replies and it leaves you puzzled. You stare at him from the side. He’s grabbing his shirt and slipping it back over himself, but he’s still looking at you in the process. “I thought that Mr. Wright may help me with my investigation, yes, but I also wanted to know if you ran this establishment by yourself. I guess a part of me knew that already, but I’ve never been one to carry out without confirmation or evidence.” He leaves the shirt open, the hair on his chest trailing down still very much visible. He conceals more of what makes him a man underneath those professional clothes, the clothes of a proper gentleman and a proper detective, but it’s not any less distracting. “Now, I don’t wish to offend you, but I did not know your father. I had little reaction to the news that Mrs. Thomas broke to me. But I knew you. I didn’t get you that book out of pity. I did it because I misread you.”

He buttons his cuffs somehow without struggling. You’re used to watching men and women alike grapple with said buttons because of the transition between left hand and right hand. You don’t think he’s ambidextrous, but much like other things about him, he’s most likely perfected it in a way where there are less steps, where there is less of a scuffle. You pay attention to this because his words are different from what you’ve experienced during your time in the city with a plethora of people coming to and from your shop. They hold weight because they’re about you, not about anyone else, but you and how you feel. It’s strange to be so known in the eyes of someone you met more than three weeks ago, but it’s also paradoxically freeing to be seen in a light free of that shame that’s haunted you since your arrival.

“I’ll… I’ll bring you that tie.” You settle on, a bit overcome with emotion in this instance from your thoughts bouncing to your father, his passing, the overwhelming “support” everyone’s extended out to you, and how Sherlock has given you what you’ve been craving for a long while now, and that’s validation and transparency. You don’t want to face him with the sting of tears in your eyes so he does appear to be confused as you walk away from him, but in your movement, you take heavy breaths to pull yourself together. It’s only when you feel secure in your features that you move to pull a royal blue tie into your hands. You’re sure it’ll bring out his eyes and he hardly uses color from what you’ve seen in his attire.

Soon, you remerge into the room, and Sherlock’s hands are politely cupping one another behind the small of his back, his shirt now fully buttoned. He’s still not looking in the mirror, the floor his choice of perspective, but with your return, he shifts his eyes up to your face and a thoughtful expression forms. He extends a hand out to you, but you raise your own to stop him.

“May I?”

He falters. You can tell he’s juggling whether he should allow you to or not, but in due time, he lowers his hands back to where they were before behind his back. It’s the slight nod that permits you to walk to him, which you do and you upturn the collar of his now wrinkled shirt for the access necessary. His pupils follow your hands with every movement and they only shut when you lift the fabric over his head to lay it around his neck. You situate both ends and Sherlock involuntarily takes a single half step forward from the light tug, his abdomen brushing against yours. Both of you hear the hitches in your breaths, and you could swear his adam’s apple bobbed from a light gulp, but neither of you choose to comment on it. You busy yourself with maneuvering the tie into its correct loops. You try to ignore how awfully domestic it feels and how your heart thuds harder in your ribcage.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he says, that matter-of-fact tone as present as the day you met him. You forgot that your chests are pressing together and you rectify it by stepping that half step backwards that Sherlock took forward. He’s sturdy this time and doesn’t budge.

“It’s the temperature here,” you lie. This seems to appease him since he doesn’t say anything else about it, to your relief. You slip the knot upwards, one hand holding the tail, the other not stopping until it reaches his neck. Normally, you’d pull away from the client and have them view themselves in the mirror. Since this is not a normal time, you stay there in that position, your fingers against the cloth against his neck. His pulse is resting right into them and by how his jaw sets, you know he’s aware of what you’ve discovered and what you’re about to say.

“Your pulse is—”

“It’s the temperature here,” he parrots and you can’t even fault him for it because you used the same line. His wit may just hold a candle to yours. The speeding pulse introducing itself with your digits remains this way as you gaze at Sherlock. He doesn’t make any efforts to push you away and you don’t stagger backwards even if you think you should. It’s obvious to the both of you that you’re riddled with nerves and this is not an ordinary encounter nor an ordinary fitting. Eventually, you release the tie and step off to the side to maneuver out of his way. His stare follows you, but he soon removes that to walk to the mirror and view how the tie looks on him.

“Not bad, Lily,” he says.

You hide your smile behind your hand as you meet his eyes in the mirror. You were right, the tie enhances his irises. “Blue’s your color, Shoulders.”

It’s late at night, Sherlock paces the length of his floor, cautious in each step since he did not wish to alert the tenants below of his confusion and distress. Or more so, he did not wish to alert you. He’s refrained from playing his violin at such late hours in consideration of you and it’s well past the time that you’ve arrived home from work. He chose not to discuss the fabric he needs for his investigation and opted for it to occur tomorrow. He didn’t want to put a dent in whatever it was that was going on between the two of you since he usually transformed into a different person in detective mode. He’s been told he’s a pain in the ass to work with and it all has to do with the fact that he’s not a team player whatsoever, but someone who does everything by himself. He plans to get that over with when the time comes in his efforts to not completely scare you off as he has done to others in the past. You’re new to getting along with each other and he would like to keep himself from ruining it, a prophecy he holds in his head as a possibility since he is the reason for his lack of approachability. For once, for reasons he doesn’t understand, he would prefer to maintain a friendly status with you rather than antagonistic, or worse, estranged. Don’t ask him why that would be worse, he won’t answer.

Although he will see you tomorrow and he will most likely receive another piece to aid him moving forward, it didn’t stop him from trying to think about the details of the murder. They’re swarming his head all over again and he’s reliving his arrival at the crime scene to see if there’s anything he missed. This would be easier on his brain if he could just return back to the area, but of course, the police force wouldn’t be too keen on letting him reenter. Many officers hold resentment towards him and his intellect because of spite and envy and they don’t appreciate the proud aspects of Sherlock’s personality. Details stand out to him, almost perfectly outlined in paintings of what others deem as muddled colors. A man like Lestrade may display his appreciation for Sherlock’s talents and inevitable solutions, but there’s always the matter of ego to contest. A man’s ego in the fit of the “game” is fragile, especially when another’s wit and ideas are involved, superiority pouncing on what already is insecurity and vulnerability. Men in positions of power such as these hold, in Sherlock’s eyes, the most amount of emotion because they allow their arrogance and pride to corrupt their performances. While they’re in competition with Sherlock, Sherlock is in competition with himself and therefore it ensures the progression of his self growth, a means to always expand on what is already extraordinary.

But the unnerving fact of all of this despite these truths is how Sherlock’s pride still gets in the way. He stubbornly avoids the veracity of his arrogance because even if he did accept the claims of others in terms of his self-conceit, it doesn’t erase the many accomplishments he’s done up to this point. There are more to be consummated, just like this case in particular that refuses to let him sleep and refuses to let him think about anything else in his life, the basic essentials to survival sometimes neglected as a result. Forgetting to eat and nourish himself is not the ideal way to go about everything and really, nutrients would surely help him think better, but it’s how his brain is wired. It will linger on a subject until he can carve a path to the answer, until he can properly close a case and contribute a difference to the world the best way he can. This is his benefaction. Where others still trace as their purpose, he knows he’s in the thick of his own and this slump will be hurdled over as he’s done to other slumps of yesterday.

A clumsy sort of sound disrupts his current brain’s thought cacophony, knocking out of rhythm drawing his focus to his door. He’s not expecting anyone at this hour, especially not this late, so he’s bewildered to say the least. He stares at the door with intrigue, hopeful he imagined the distorting noise as he did not wish to halt his growing examination and introspection, but soon enough, the knocking continues and he knows it won’t disappear unless he answers the door as the person behind intends the impromptu meeting. He sighs his displeasure, but ultimately adjusts his loosened tie for the sake of etiquette, saunters to the door and brings it open after counting to three in his head. Sherlock’s not sure what he expected or who he assumed would be standing across from him, but it certainly wasn’t your back covered in alabaster lace, soft knots of fabric at each arm dangling from where you’ve adjusted the ties accordingly. He swallows with difficulty, especially noticing how your hair isn’t in its usual condition shapened by various tools and pins. It’s loose and free and no longer haphazardly restrained, bold in movement as you turn your body towards him upon your recognition of the door being open. He swears there’s brilliance in your eyes as they widen at him, light up in a fashion he cannot fathom correctly from how they also appear to be bloodshot, almost as rosy as the tint currently coating your face and chest.

“Sherlock!” You beam, definitely with more excitement he’s ever been confronted with in your presence, “I thought I heard you pacing. I knew I wasn’t the only one in this building who couldn’t sleep.” As you lean towards him, your hands find the left and right sides of his door frame. Your cheek presses into your shoulder as you regard him with commendation in your glowing features, innocently acute joy settling in your smile and the crinkles around your eyes. He doesn’t understand how you could be so happy to see him nor why you’re even standing here before him this late, but he does catch how you’re swaying from one side to the next on his frame he feels an odd surge of resentment suddenly for.

“Pardon my asking, but what are you doing here at this time of night? Is something troubling you?” It would explain the time and lack of warning for this visit, and he almost furrows his brows in preparation for some kind of predicament to heed, but those inclinations soon fly out the window as your palm reaches out to lay on his chest in efforts to appease the situation and dull the severity he’s approximated. He’s aware of how his heart rate picks up at the contact, but it’s hardly a point of contention or even importance because it’s occurred to Sherlock how you’re leaning not for warmth or security, but because you’re off balance. The disturbance of your equilibrium leads him to watch your body language and hear your speech pattern which sounds oddly slurred now that he’s thinking on it.

“No, nothing, nothing is troubling me,” you reassure with a pregnant pause in the air. You knit your eyebrows together as your smile falls into a thin line. “I suppose the apparent absence of company is troubling, but other than that, everything else is swell. It’s just the loneliness.” Your hand comes off his chest to wave off the worry simultaneously as your other hand departs from Sherlock’s door frame. In doing so, you stumble forward and almost fall, but Sherlock’s stature does not allow for that to happen. Seeing that he’s a force in front of you, his arms piston out to hold underneath yours, and under another circumstance possibly coupled with deep embarrassment, you would most likely lean away and apologize. Instead, you linger into his touch, weight shifting into him that is both nothing to Sherlock and yet so critically eminent to him all the same. He can smell something florally sweet coming from you and something so distinct that his conclusion of your visit is strengthened and emboldened by it.

“You’re drunk,” he conjects aloud, having already deciphered it internally. It’s relevant and obvious and sure it took him little time to figure it out, much less than the average person would take, but there’s a small portion of him that feels foolish because for a split second, for a split second he believed you were overjoyed to see him simply because he was him. Your drunken stupor’s seeking another’s companionship and there’s nothing particularly special about it being Sherlock since he was clearly the closest nearby.

“It would seem that way, but nonetheless alone!” You protest and concurrently confirm his thoughts at the same time. “You’re aberrantly strong,” you continue, your hands grasping at his tight forearms without a hint of shame. He almost slips and grins, but he keeps his impassive nature and gestures towards the hall. If he takes a few steps out, he could see your flat’s door from here. There’s not much distance to cover to get you safely back into your home.

“I’ll walk you back to your flat.” Sherlock’s willing to help you back and is fully prepared to do so, but you’re quick to rip your arms from his hold. The motion almost sends you flying backwards which then prompts him to shoot his arms out to further guide and protect, but fortunately, you find your footing and attempt to stand taller, squaring off your shoulders and raising your chin.

“You can’t make me go back there. If I see that damned sewing machine again, I’ll… I’ll put it out of its misery!”

A threat of this sort should not bother Sherlock whatsoever, especially not one threatening an inanimate object that not only he does not use, but one that couldn’t affect him directly no matter its livelihood or destruction. Yet, as he takes in your stance, your folded arms over your chest in your sincerity, drunk or not, he knows you’re not at all bluffing. You’ll break it and your sober-self will experience the consequences of such, your work no longer able to be attended to unless you replace the item. It’ll greatly inconvenience you and you have quotas to fill, clients to attend to, a business to run that he cannot authorize to be blundered due to one night of overindulgence. You work too hard and he couldn’t let you throw that away just because you drank a bit too much in one sitting.

“I suppose I could see what our other neighbors are up to. There’s bound to be someone awake, right? Maybe Mrs. Hudson is having a late night tea,” you ponder audibly with one finger coming up to thoughtfully caress your chin. You solely take one step to venture further into the hall, but Sherlock’s arm captures your waist this time, firmly planting you in your spot in front of his door frame. Before you could kick your feet out and push him away (you do neither, and make no efforts to do so, really), he levels you with his gaze and tilts his head to his flat. He feels your hands lightly grasp his arm in place at your waist. If he didn’t know the context of this situation, he would’ve guessed your arms would then wind about his neck for some kind of intimate dance. This does not happen, his mouth dry from how close this contact is nonetheless. It’s almost as overwhelming as how he had to hold still as you prodded him for measurements earlier in the day, except it’s you who’s in a vulnerable position with an inebriated dilemma and an insufficiency of clothing. Such insufficiency that others would deem improper, and worse, take advantage of, your reputation around bound to be soured due to everyone’s perception of what it meant to be a gentleman and what it meant to be a lady. This behavior is in defiance of that perception and he couldn’t enable you to make a fool of yourself, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He does not trust people.

“I have tea,” he clarifies after he realizes that there was too long of a bout of you two just locking eyes. His arm slowly snakes from where it’s encircled about your waist, but a helpful hand maneuvers to your back to further help you steady yourself. Your smile soon returns and your walking continues, this time into Sherlock’s flat.

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

One arm lays over Sherlock’s broad shoulder, the other reaching out to touch trinkets that Sherlock gingerly pulls you away from. From what he can tell, you’re in awe of what you see the more you two explore the length of his floor. He gently deposits you onto his loveseat to sit down.

“Here you are,” he says and then stands towering over you. You’re gazing up at him with the same admiration and astonishment that you did when you first entered his home and he chooses to ignore it. “Stay here and try not to touch anything. I’ll get the tea brewing.”

He’s reluctant to leave you behind seeing as his work is in disarray, his own form of organization that could easily be misshapen by your currently all-too-curious hands, but he also fears that you’ll do something worth regretting if he doesn’t entertain you and keep your attention in some way.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” you nod, one hand saluting him. “I won’t touch anything.” Normally, he wouldn’t believe someone with sticky fingers under the influence, but it’s different with you. He finds it easier to trust you when you smile at him like that and the amusement from how you then sit on your hands certainly skews his judgment.

Despite the slight nerves urging him to stay here with you, he soon finds his kitchen and pours water into a pot. He drank tea earlier so there’s not any that he can grab for you at this time at his disposal. It’s not much of a hassle placing the pot onto heat, his teapot checked for the proper leaves he would soon pour boiling water into. He wonders what preference you may have, if you favor lavender, or perhaps peppermint, or maybe something simple like black tea. He wonders if you drink some in the early hours of the morning to properly wake up, if you brew some for the sake of having something warm to drink with a fresh muffin for breakfast, if you rely on it to calm your rapidly beating heart in the plight of increasing stress. Sherlock wonders if this what you drink when you’re reading, if it’s what you nurse with cautious sips in the midst of stitching pieces together, if it’s what you turn to when you cannot sleep and you decide that you might as well find some kind of warmth in it with blankets that aren’t doing their job, and dreams that won’t make slumber any more appetizing. He wonders if it’s stopped assisting like it used to and instead of taking distance from it to rebuild its charm and tease tolerance, he wonders if it was easier to turn to wine. If it was easier to drink more and more than to sit with thoughts that won’t dare to leave you alone, if each gulp of the alcohol silenced them and buried them until the consciousness of being alive is nothing but a ghost of a whisper you cannot hear unless you’re left without hobby, task, or another human being. If you become painfully aware of how you have no one but yourself in moments like these. Oh, he wonders, he wonders. He wonders if you’re just like him.

It’s the distant sound of a door opening and closing that stops him from wondering. His head snaps up from staring at the surface of the water and immediately, he attends where he left you. When he sees you’re no longer sitting at his loveseat, he pivots to the front door and then marches over to it. Swinging it open, he glances back and forth to see if you left. Knowing that you’re drunk, you couldn’t have possibly gone far, but you’re nowhere in his sight and the thrill of panic sets into his back. It’s the creaking floorboards in his flat that drive him to step back inside, the door shut behind him as he tries to follow the muffled sound for as long as it carries, which isn’t long. Still, it leads him into his bedroom and he cautiously infiltrates the area only to find his made bed now in disorder with you settled underneath his comforter. Your hair fans out in a halo on his pillow as you bury your head into it, your eyes lazily coming open to meet his gaze.

“I told you not to touch anything,” he says, his voice quiet. It’s lacking sternness, but he can’t really be upset since he brought you into his flat with little control in your hands. He’s taking in your size in comparison to the size of his bed.

“I know, but,” you yawn, your eyes shutting in the process, nose wrinkling, a cushiony soft sigh falling from in between your lips that he equates to the hymns he’s heard inside of churches, “I got tired waiting for you. Your bed’s awfully comfortable. I think I might actually fall asleep.”

He didn’t take long in the kitchen, he knows that. However, he’s been drunk before, he understands how those minutes alone must’ve felt like centuries to your own devices. He should be shooing you out and getting you downstairs to sleep in your bed, but something in him can’t seem to do so. You look so… peaceful. It’s not like he was going to make any use of his bed himself since he planned to think all night, at most falling into his sofa for an hour or two of rest. With how much you’ve been through and how you’re constantly working yourself to the bone, Sherlock’s long acquiesced to having you spend the night here before he’s rationalized it.

“Go ahead. You deserve repose.” Sherlock comes closer to adjust your/his pillow. He doesn’t want you to wake with an uncomfortable kink in your neck or aggravate the impending migraine you’ll certainly wake with. He’s in the middle of fluffing, his wrists above your head, when he feels your hands grasp at them. Your hold is dainty, barely there, but he could feel it scorching him. He restrains himself, from doing what he doesn’t know, as he looks down into the depths of your pleading eyes, as your right thumb maddeningly strokes the sliver of skin unprotected by his shirt’s cuff. He confronts the drought in his mouth again and it travels to his throat the longer you keep your hold on him. An onlooker would surely be apprehensive to this image. His brother would absolutely lose his mind if he knew about Sherlock’s abandonment of propriety with an unmarried, unbetrothed woman laying in his bed. He would absolutely lose his mind if he knew of the thoughts mashing together in Sherlock’s head, one after the other, of how he could climb in and join you.

“Lay with me,” you breathe, almost as if you could hear those pesky fantasies clouding his mind. He grips the pillow tighter as he considers it. The prospect, as much as he wants to deny it, is tempting. Something… something in him wants to accept it. Something in him wants to settle in beside you. It’s that something, whatever the hell it is, that causes him to release the pillow from his tightening vise. He brings his hands to himself, your hold physically easy to depart from, but the willpower to pull away is what he had to muster. He feels out of breath.

“I… I-I have to go get your tea.” He points to the door and thankfully, you don’t say anything else. You just watch as he leaves the room.

What you don’t see is how his back leans into the door after he closes it, a large hand coming up to scrub down the length of his face. He’s not sure what came over him or why he even dared to consider laying with you in such a state. It’s wrong. For many reasons. The main being how you’re not sober and unaware of what you were asking for. This is not something he can do. It’s against everything he stands for. Whatever this is, whatever realm of feelings you’ve awakened within him, they have to stop. It’s unknown, thought manipulating—a distraction. Before you came in, he was busy with work. Work he has to get back to now that you’re taken care of and out of his sight. His hands clench into fists and then stretch out at his sides as he ventures back to the kitchen and pours the hot water into the teapot. He picks out the black tea leaves at the end and stares at the door to his bedroom with a tray in his hands.

He’s ready to tell you how there will be no funny business and how this is purely a friend looking out for a friend, nothing more or less, as he brings the door open… only to find you asleep, one of his pillows firmly in your arms, half of your face pressing into it. He sighs and eventually brings the tray to his bedside table. You’ll need it when you wake up.

Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow morning.

[saltycavilltheorist]

Question I have

Now that cavill is charging for his autograph $310.00 dollars and up, why does it say if you want to send in something personal for him to sign you have to send it to Texas????

Cavill's living in Cotswold UK no ??? So shouldn't the item be sent to a London office for him to sign?

Yeah , it looks like the signature will be forged by other people hired to do so on your sent in item 😂

What a fucking joke cavill has become, he's hard up for cash .... sadly this is karma smacking back

Those diapers. Formula and luxury baby clothes ain't cheap 😂 and neither is the liposuction and tummy tuck Ratalie Covidcuso will eventually whine and bitch for, unless she already got it, I wouldn't be surprised 😂

I totally smell a declaration for bankruptcy coming around the bin 😂 🤣🤣🤣🤣

And I'm living for it

Not even the so called future movies

Highlander Reboot,Enola 3 or In the Grey or Warhammer can save his financial troubles

Soon he'll be joining CAMEO for a personalized video for a value of $300-2,000 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

And a Only Fans is around the bin too, $10 dollar subscriptions for daily nudes and 100 dollars monthly to see videos of him wanking off in a shower or him blowing his load spread eagle on a superman sheet cover bed while he wears the cape yelling "LOIS"😂 🤦🏻‍♀️

Oh what a tangled web we weave, A tangled web indeed Mr. C LISTER 🤣🤣🤣

[toastedkiwi]

Chrenry

Summary: a collection of tweets.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Popstar Evans!Reader

Warning: cheating, mentions of rape, assault. Sex.

@/evansaremylife guyyyys remember the mugshots? Hot af. Especially Chris’s. And you bet your asses he doesn’t feel in the slightest bit guilty.

@/jamieleemissjackson not her first song after 4 years being about her getting fucked right by Mr. Henry Cavill.

@/yn+henry do you guys not see how happy yn is with Henry? Like compare it to when she was with Harry! SHE WAS FUCKING MISERABLE. and now she’s being treated like a queen.

@/harry123hoe I can’t believe Harry screwed his director and had the FCKING audacity to try and see yn after she was raped and brutally assaulted. No wonder Chris threw hands without any hesitations.

@/bruhsephine I read the court transcripts from the trial and let me just say that yn and Henry are totally trauma bonded. Like he deadass saw her naked in a pool of her own blood. He didn’t know if she was alive.

@/nobodycares their relationship is sus. She was def cheating on Harry w/ henry.

@/henrycavills can confirm that Henry befriended Chris to get to yn.

@/yn4life omfg she’s finally selling the house she had with Harry? And bought a house with Henry which is rumored to be a few houses down from Chris’ Bostonian home?

@/dodgerismydog even though he cheated, that’s outta be rough for Harry to find out that she was pregnant with HIS baby only for her to lose it after something very traumatic to happen and then have another baby with another man that was friends with her brother meaning that they’d hangout probably often two years later.

@/yourmom damn she had a whole ass baby with her brother’s friend after being cheated on. I’m pretty sure hen was the guy she told Harry not to worry about. That’s some baller shit.

@/imabiggerdilfthanu I wonder if she mixes up the names like Henry and Harry are pretty similar. Plus both of them are British.

@/lmmaaaaoooo I can’t wait for this documentary. I hope she trashes Harry for doing her dirty and letting that lying witch speak.

@/chrisevans4lyfe she came out with an album that has 17 songs. The deluxe is rumored to have 24. Like honey has been waiting.

@/Henners she named her baby after her brother and the father of her child. That’s too cute 🥹

@/chrenrytgether4ever if Henry and Chris weren’t straight, they’d totally be together. At least we get to see Y/n with Henry in this reality.

@/anotherusername it’s nice to see that y/n finally popped off on miss Wilde after she mentioned her kid and caught her in a lie.

@/blahblahblah people are shocked that her and Henry are moving a lot faster than when she was with Harry. Well, harry wasn’t giving her what she wanted and Henry has been. Baby— checked. A ring- check. Stability- check. House— check. Wedding— happening soon.