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sweetdreamsofgelato · 2 years

Text

Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (You)

Summary: The title is pretty self-explanatory

Rating: T-M for language and innuendo, but this is a pretty tame bit of FLLLUUUUFFFFF

Word Count: 3242

Warnings/Content: RPF; Mild alcohol consumption; Adult language and mild sexual innuendo

A/N: Just a fun bit of silly fluff that I hope you all enjoy! I'm really sorry some of the images are fuzzy. It's pushing 1 in the morning and I've fiddled with them for so long that I'm going wonky-eyed and I can't be bothered to try to fix them. I hope they are readable though.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Reposting my works on any other sites or platforms is strictly prohibited (my official AO3 is linked in my master list). Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

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Henry threw open the double doors to the garden and Kal rocketed out. A small, satisfied smile stretched across Henry’s lips. He briefly watched Kal’s rollick around the grassy lawn before he returned inside, leaving the doors open to encourage the fresh spring air through the rental house.

It was the first day of Henry’s Holiday of Undetermined Length. The official title left much to be desired and was hardly alliterative enough for his tastes, but there it was. The most important thing was that he was taking some much needed time for himself after coming far too close to burnout for comfort.

Rental house halfway to the middle of nowhere: check. Gaming rig: check. Cupboards full of snacks and the numbers of every takeaway in the nearest villages: double check. Gym equipment locked away in a faraway garage to be out of sight and out of mind for the duration: absolutely. Let the rest and relaxation commence.

And so it did, and it was glorious.

He settled quickly into his new routine of lazy lie-ins, steady diet of favourite foods, and hours-long gaming sessions. All wrapped up in sweet, sweet solitude. To his credit, he did remember to bathe regularly and—when the weather was fine—he got out for some fresh air, exercise, and an occasional nap in the hammock on the back terrace. Whenever possible, he left the garden doors open and let Kal come and go as he pleased. (He made that mistake on a drizzly day only once. If he ever saw a mop again, it would be too soon.)

All in all, life slowed to a delightfully indulgent pace. All quiet on the Henry front.

That was until he received an unexpected guest.

Henry was mid-raid when the sound of Kal’s barking filtered in through the open windows. He mostly ignored it, assuming Kal had chased yet another squirrel up a tree. However, the barking continued and became increasingly more intense as the minutes passed.

A paranoid sort might be concerned that his location had been leaked, but he didn’t consider himself as such. He could count the number of people aware of his whereabouts on one hand, and they were all fiercely loyal. He hadn’t even been out and about where anyone could spot him and he was also on a social media blackout, so the likelihood of any adventurous paps was low.

Still, best to investigate.

Henry logged off and tossed his headphones down next to his rig. He stood and leisurely stretched the stiffness from his muscles as he pondered his desk. He refused to feel remorse as he pushed an objectively shameful number of empty crisp packets into the bin. Even less so as he gathered an armful of dirty glasses and plates destined for the dishwasher and deposited them in the kitchen on his way out into the garden.

Kal was running circles around the great, gnarled oak tree at the far end of the fenced garden, pausing only briefly here and there to prop his front paws up the large trunk before resuming his noisy revolutions around the base.

“If that squirrel is taunting you, then you likely deserve it,” Henry called out as he trekked toward the tree.

Kal stopped but barely registered Henry’s presence before carrying on with his mad, incessant barking.

“Lay off, Kal,” he said more sternly when he reached him.

Kal whined and impatiently rested on his haunches as Henry looked up into the branches and came face to face with a mildly harassed but mostly unimpressed calico.

“Well, hullo there,” said Henry. He reached up and it watched him with a cautious but curious eye. It gave Henry’s fingers a tentative smell before allowing him a few chin scratches. “You’re not what I expected.”

Henry fetched a garden chair to stand on and tried to get close enough to pull the animal down off the bough, or at the very least get a look at the tag on its collar, but it sidled out of reach before leaping away and scampering over the back fence.

“Can’t say I didn’t try to help,” he muttered as he listened to the jangle of the cat’s bell fade into the distance. He rested an arm on the branch and glanced down at Kal, who looked hopefully deserving of all manner of accolades and rewards. “Do us a favour and stop terrorising the local wildlife.”

Henry didn’t think much of it until a few days later when his raid was once again interrupted. This time he found Kal bounding the length of the side fence as the same calico ran back and forth across the tops of the wooden slats with preternatural balance. It stopped periodically to rest atop the larger support posts to stare down at Kal with a level of feigned indifference that was purely feline.

It let Henry close enough for some ear scratches, and as he ran his hand down its speckled neck, he noted the lack of collar this time.

“You’ve dispensed with the bell, I see.” The cat tetchily flicked its tail and disappeared over the side of the fence. Henry stretched over to try to see in which direction it went, but it was already long gone. “All the better for skulking about.”

On the third visit, Kal raced after a vaguely cat-shaped blur and nearly overturned the grill (whilst Henry was cooking up some choice steaks) and Henry had to ask, “Who’s terrorising who, hm?”

It jauntily capered away on a musical jingle.

And this was how it continued for weeks. He would find her (it was almost assuredly a female, or so Henry had learnt after a little internet research) in all sorts of places. Sunny window sills were a particular favourite if she was able to sneak in through an open door or window, but he also found her in flower pots, sometimes atop the kitchen cupboards, and once curled up in the hammock. That had been a close brush with disaster, as he only found her because he nearly sat on her.

He even awoke one night at the height of a particularly bad heat wave, absolutely certain that he was suffocating from the humidity, only to discover the cat sleeping on his chest. It wasn’t the soupy air that had choked him, but rather the cat’s tail.

Henry wasn’t even upset about it, and that’s when he knew he was getting attached. Even Kal had grown used to having her around and no longer chased the little devil up trees.

Henry eventually named her Trixie (short for Trixter) because he was never able to get a glimpse of her magically disappearing and reappearing tags. He’d noticed a pattern that she tended to stick around longer when she was sans collar. Less likely to be ratted out to her owner, he supposed. Based upon periodic replacements and her general good health, she obviously had an owner, or at the very least was cared for. Perhaps she belonged to a nearby farm or was simply a bored house cat in possession of an irrepressible urge for adventure.

When it was time to stock up on dog food, Henry drove to the nearest village high street. As he perused the small pet shop, he spied a toy mouse and threw it in his basket. The same with a bubbling drinking fountain, several boxes of tinned cat food and treats, and other feline essentials.

Oh, he was definitely attached.

At the till, the woman ringing up his purchase asked if he’d adopted a cat and looked quite perturbed when Henry said no.

“A local cat has taken a liking to my house,” he clarified.

The cashier paused then asked, “Calico cat? Looks like an inkpot upended on its head?”

Henry gave her a startled look. “Yes, actually.”

“You’ll be wanting this.” The woman picked up a business card from a stack next to her till and handed it to Henry.

Henry glanced at the card, the front of which read a single sentence in elegant script:

Have you seen my Arsehole?

He chuckled. On the back was a picture of Trixie, along with a phone number and email address.

On the drive home, the business card burned a hole in his pocket. He was conflicted. Obviously, the right thing to do was to contact the owner and let them know their beloved cat was holidaying at his house, but if he narked, perhaps the owner wouldn’t let her out anymore. On the other hand, the existence of the business card led him to believe that this was a fairly common occurrence. Henry was not the only one playing host to…

…Arsehole could not be her real name.

Henry felt a peculiar twinge of heartbreak but convinced himself that even though Trixie may get around, she obviously liked him best.

He then cursed to himself when he realised he’d completely forgotten to buy Kal’s food and drove back to the pet shop.

After finally returning home, he stuck the business card upon his fridge, and then made quick work of setting up the drinking fountain and other odds and ends. On his hunt for the perfect spot for the cosy cube, Trixie was nowhere to be found, so he set out a small dish of food in hopes of coaxing her out. That was if she was even around and not out adventuring with someone else.

The effort not to feel jealous was herculean.

Weeks went on, and the weather turned crisp and cool. Trixie kept on with her highly irregular schedule of visits and Henry kept ignoring the business card on his fridge. It wasn’t his fault that Trixie liked to hide in piles of leaves and jump out to startle Kal and it was also certainly not his fault that he enjoyed the ensuing spectacle. He very nearly binned the card, but his conscience inevitably won that battle.

The days grew darker and damper and as such he was no longer able to leave doors and windows open without the risk of suffering frozen bollocks.

Henry may or may not have built a heated cat shelter in the back garden.

He hammered the last nail and determined that he was definitely too attached.

Trixie found Henry’s lap one chilly evening when he was sat out on the back terrace sipping his second hot buttered rum, and he finally, after months and months, got a glimpse of the cat’s tags.

“Oh my god, your name really is Arsehole.”

Henry wasn’t sure if it was second-hand indignation or the rum that instigated the text exchange that followed.

He was laughing so hard he had to put what was left of his drink down lest he spilt it.

Henry (grinning like an absolute fool) needed a moment both to compose himself and decide if he was going to give his real name. Perhaps he'd simply eschewed human contact for a touch too long because it was dangerous how much he was already invested. Yes— it was just a short text exchange, and yes—he didn’t know your name and knew even less about your personal circumstances, but that didn’t stop the immediate connection on his end. From a security standpoint, it was a bad idea to get any more involved, but lying about something as simple as his name still felt morally objectionable.

He stewed a moment in his conflict; this was likely a mistake but he was doing it anyway.

This is how it continued every day for weeks. Amidst your good-natured, increasingly flirtatious raillery, Henry learnt that Trixie (he regularly campaigned for a name change, to no avail) was both infamous and beloved amongst the locals but unfortunately suffered from the chronic inability to stay within the bounds of home. She’d also developed the unfortunate skill of slipping out of her collar when getting into mischief, hence the business cards—in case Trixie happened upon someone who wasn’t already familiar with her, like Henry.

Apparently, she’d never pestered anyone as much or as long as Henry, and he was inordinately pleased by the revelation.

Your conversations became his favourite daily ritual and as the holidays drew closer, Henry knew he was in trouble. He woke and checked his messages with much anticipation, and with his morning coffee in his hand, he leisurely wandered and looked for Trixie. He was always disappointed when she wasn’t around, as it was today. Kal, having fully embraced her company, visibly missed his new playmate.

There was no denying Henry was really in the shit when he drummed his fingers on the kitchen worktop that frosty morning and seriously contemplated asking you to spend Christmas Eve with him. It was an absurd notion; the holiday wasn’t far off and surely you’d already have plans of your own. After hitting send with a shaky thumb, he was overcome by an overwhelming combination of embarrassment and foredoomed rejection and promptly shoved his mobile into his back pocket.

Henry distracted himself with a trip into town for some provisions. Enough for two, just in case. He was stringing up festive lights and decorations and nearly wobbled straight off the ladder in shock when he got a return text accepting his invitation.

Disbelief was quickly overcome by dread. Oh lord, how was he going to explain…well…him?

He’d exchanged names and other safe, nondescript personal details with you, but no photos. You’d never asked and he never dared, secretly fearing the consequences that would inevitably follow. Henry—rather futilely it felt at times—wanted a person to like him for who he was and not who he was, and wasn’t disappointed to leave out of it completely the ever-looming fame monster from which he was currently hiding.

The pitfalls of sentimentality. Remaining a hermetic gremlin would’ve been a more intelligent choice. He’d been down this road too many times to count and was never left better for it. Henry frowned at his phone; no time like the present to torpedo his chances.

At that point, Henry was frankly informed that unless he was a smarmy politician or a serial killer, he needn’t worry on your account. He idly scratched at the scruff on his jaw and mulled over telling you anyway, but perhaps the worry was just a nonsensical bit of self-sabotage on his part, so he let it lie.

Truthfully, the chemistry in the texting was off the charts and he was desperate to know if it was the same in person. He just didn’t want to ambush you with his celebrity, but if you were okay not knowing, then he was okay with leaving it a surprise. If just to humble himself, he clung to the possibility that he may not be recognised at all or at the very least, it wouldn’t matter.

The fateful evening arrived and he was an absolute mess. He wore the floorboards thin with his pacing. Restless energy had him straighten and re-straighten the star on top of his tree, stoke the fire for the umpteenth time, and—in a fit of undeniable madness, presumptuously hang a bit of mistletoe under the garden doorway, though he’d already thoroughly convinced himself at least two dozen times that you wouldn’t show.

As such, he nearly jumped out of his ugly holiday jumper (your suggestion for the evening’s dress code) when he finally heard a knock at the door.

Kal rushed past Henry’s legs, nearly tripping him in the process, and skittered across the entry hall. Henry bit back a colourful swear and lurched toward the door, wrangling Kal out from underfoot along the way. He composed himself and reached for the latch, then paused to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers. After a deep breath, he swung the door open and immediately came face to face with Trixie-Arsehole, held aloft and blocking his view of your face.

She was decked out in a cat-sized ugly jumper and brand new jingle bell collar around her neck. The cat let out an aggrieved meow that conveyed nothing short of utter embarrassment.

She wriggled in your grip and you leaned over to let her make her escape without plummeting to the floor. When you rose, Henry’s breath caught. He’d had no clue what to expect, and though he tried to envision what you might look like a million times over, nothing his mind produced came close to reality.

It made no sense, but you looked like home.

He was stunned, quite literally. Henry scrambled to collect himself, only to be hit with the same dread that had almost sabotaged him before. Your gazes locked for a stretch that felt like an eternity. Henry stood awkwardly and braced himself, searching your eyes for some flicker of recognition. A dawning of realisation.

The beginning of the end.

It never came. If you did recognise him, you mercifully gave no outward acknowledgement of it. Instead, you simply smiled, a kind and genuine thing, and Henry very nearly melted into the floor.

Trixie-Arsehole let out another disgruntled meow from the floor and brought Henry back to sense.

“I think she has a few opinions about her outfit,” he finally said.

“You know what they say about opinions. Like arseholes: everyone’s got one.”

“Except you,” Henry replied as he stepped to the side to let you in. The track of the conversation was already full of amusing promise. “You’ve got two if I recall. Perhaps three.” He pointed to your jumper; the front of the chunky knit, garish multi-fluro fair isle monstrosity was taken up by a large embroidered cat arse with an “x” under the tail.

“I do believe I never confirmed the actual number.”

“Well,” Henry said as he looked down at the cat with a lopside smile; she was dramatically flailing about in a vain attempt to wriggle out of her collar, all whilst Kal sat by and watched with rapt attention. “That’s a festive Arsehole if I’ve ever seen one.”

“I could say the same to you.”

He turned and gave you a curious look as he took your coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. His eyes followed your finger, which pointed toward his chest, and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Eye of Sauron,” he corrected, “Though I suppose he is very much an arsehole in a less literal sense.”

“Actually, it kind of looks like…” your voice trailed off.

Henry stopped in front of the full length mirror on the wall and took a moment to contemplate why you were at such a loss for words. After a moment it hit him, and he felt a blush bloom across his cheeks. “Ah yes, I see what you mean. Less arsehole and more…um…”

“I suppose it’s a good thing this isn’t a family event.”

“Who do you think gave me the jumper?”

You laughed and it flooded every crevice of his cynical, battered heart. Smoothed the jagged edges left by repeated disappointment and heartbreak. At that moment, he made it his mission to hear it as many times as possible.

And after losing yourselves in hours filled with rich food and drink and delightfully subversive conversation by the fire, and after you dragged him under that cheeky bit of mistletoe and kissed him senseless, he hoped to be privileged enough to hear that laughter and indulge in those kisses for a long time to come.

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The inspiration for Henry's jumper, in case anyone was curious

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x you #Henry Cavill RPF #RPF #sweetdreamsofgelato writes #fic: unexpected visitor

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