#Henry Cavill neighbor

[toastedkiwi]

Who would have the energy for Chris like “sexiest man alive? I can have you getting a big head” and start roasting the shit out of him?

neighbor!reader, any of the sister!readers, many of the daughter!readers (probably not so much traumatized daughter), and high school teacher would roast him happily.

[nouearth]

red right hand.

pairing. henry cavill x male reader.

word count. 7.3k.

summary. if there was one thing to give your dad credit for (other than helping create your very existence), it was that he has an insanely hot best friend. it was a universal admiration your neighborhood shared with one another. though, how many actively feasted upon their fantasies regarding that hunk of a man? probably only you, because mr. cavill was more than a crush, he was an addiction. and on one summer day, mr. cavill realized that so were you.

content warning. college!reader, dad's best friend!henry, neighbor!henry, age gap, blowjob (r!giving), degrading, throat-fucking, choking, gagging, spitting, kissing, humiliation, body and muscle worship, rough-play, size difference, dirty talk, verbal, praising, size kink.

The warm wind fanned the sweat off your forehead when you slid your window open. The ledge stained your fingers with particles of dust. Grimacing at the fuzz and simultaneous stickiness, it also provoked a storm of laziness as steel reminders from your dad got caught up in the commotion: CLEAN THE HOUSE.

CAR MAINTENANCE.

STOP ORDERING TAKE-OUT AND COOK.

SORT THE ATTIC.

TIDY GARAGE.

CHECK STOVE IGNITIONS BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE.

LOCK THE DOORS.

Ya-dah, ya-dah…

Honestly, how could you check-off any of these tasks with this heatwave currently going on? You were sweating bullets, been sweating enough to bathe in your own salt for days now—which you technically were already doing. It was summer, the long-awaited season after the agony of allergies. A temporary relief to your studies as well, until the humidity hit you like a truck and made you realize that living back in a dorm wasn’t so bad. 

At least the building had a functional air-conditioner. 

“Uh-huh, yep.” Your dad’s voice was going in one ear and out the other as you rummaged through your cabinets for a snack. Cereal; stale. Canned meat; too heavy. Potato chips; not heavy enough. “Dad, you know you’ve gone on business trips before, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I know, but I’m just making sure. It’s a new house, and I’ve been watching these true crime documentaries about men leaving clubs and—“

“Well, the first mistake was going to a sketchy club in the first place…” You muttered, peering into the fridge, and then lingering, because refrigerator air has never felt so cooling against your skin. You duck your head to puzzle yourself into the cold box, dumbfounded that the heat had gotten you irritated enough to claim a bag of deli meat as your bunkmate for the time being. The sound of your dad’s frustrated sigh on the other line curled your frown into a smile, and you laughed, “I’m a big boy. Stop worrying, and go enjoy—Ow!“ You bumped your head against the door on your way out.

“How can I not worry when you just referred to yourself as a ‘big boy?’ Not even a man?!” You never realized how theatric the man was. It was like his presence never left the house, exaggerated hand movements and all wafting the smell of his homemade meals whenever he would scold you in his favorite place: the kitchen. You smiled at the fond memories.

“Good point—“ Though they were made at your old house, you were sure that once he’d returned, your dad wouldn’t be opposed to creating new memories of scolding your ass off on whatever trouble you’d get into. If you do, that is. You’ve grown since then, finding yourself too tired to socialize.

“Remember, spare key’s in the birdhouse. There’s a compartment at the side of it. Hopefully birds haven’t evolved enough to pick it open.”

“If they have, they’d be picking at our locks right now to kidnap me and probably feast on my body.” Luckily, the fridge was stocked before your dad had left. You crucified him for being overly-prepared at times, but for this month, it was an exception. You picked at a slice of deli meat and cheese, and stuffed it down your mouth.

“Not funny, (M/N).”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Lighten up! I know you’re nervous about presenting, but they invited you to talk to an audience for a reason. They like you. Just be yourself, and remember not to speak so fast. Have some water on standby too.” And speaking of the devil, you gulped down a glass of iced water to cool down your body as your dad chuckled in your ear.

“I know, I know, thanks.” A muffled sound on the other end filled the silence, sounds of people passing and cars honking passing through your ear. “Alright, my ride’s here. I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel, okay? You better answer—Oh! I forgot to tell you! Henry’s coming over later to look at the car.”

“Henry—Oh, Mr. Cavill? He’s in the neighborhood?” The name rattled a familiar feeling inside of your stomach. Something rather warm, suddenly ravenous when you thought about the last time you saw him.

“Actually, he was the one that told me about this house! He lives down the street. But tool’s in the garage if he asks for them, okay?” 

“Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” You hadn’t seen him many times. Only when you’d come home from semester breaks, yet the mere mention of his name had you flustered as if he was a long-lost friend or something. 

“Okay, gotta go. Love you, and remember, lock your doors! Bye!”

“I will! Bye…” Your phone blinked back to your previous app after ending the call.

You knew he was your dad’s best friend; a divorced father and a bachelor unsurprisngly made a match in heaven.

He was someone that shared your father’s interest in tabletop games and comic books. A replacement for yourself you thought earlier on, but he was way more knowledgeable about those interest than you ever were. You grew up on your dad’s nostalgia. For Mr. Cavill and your dad? These memories altered them who they would be in the future.

He was a friend that would help your dad out on building projects, like that birdhouse he had mentioned. He was a charming man that built the PC you currently use after hearing you complain about the previous laptop you had. And best of all, his looks were as abundant as his kindness. Standing over six feet tall, with a chiseled face that matched an equally sculpted body; he’d been a little crush since you first met him, being the only man who was capable of rendering you utterly speechless.

And in present, the only man who had the power to tighten your briefs and shorts with only a passing thought of his body; muscular and athletic in all the right places. If only your dad could somehow muster up a beach day before summer ended. Either way, the image of his bare body excited you, the blood flow immediately rushing south in agreement. Your dick kissed your shorts at the thought water cascading off his hulking body like meltwater over an ice shelf, freezing you in your place to not-so-subtly gawk.

“Jesus…” Your body couldn’t catch a break, could it? With the ramping heat and the constant sweating, your erection only added fuel to the bonfire that was the pores of your skin. Your cock pulsed madly within the constraint of your briefs, teasing yet begging to be released, to be sheathed from its slick, because it knew you had the key to its relief.

Or rather, Mr. Cavill did.

It was pathetic. You’d been at this for a year now. As much as you were unfamiliar with Mr. Cavill’s disposition, it was certainly the opposite regarding his physical appearance. Though it hadn’t exactly occur to you when this crush of yours had been tiptoeing along the lines of obsession. 

Wait, was it an obsession..? No, no, it was just a crush. 

You hadn’t done anything wrong. All you had done was browse through his social media—he did follow you, and you mutually pursued—and stalked—no—scrolled through his posts. Thank god, he was an avid poster. Pictures of his selfies, his knack for grilling, his love for his pet dogs, his pride over his geeky hobbies, his friendship with your dad and mutual buddies—all of these pieces attributed to allowing you to get to know him more as you were rotting away on campus, missing life back at home. Like clockwork, looking at his feed brought a sense of comfort, a hope that maybe you could be part of his life as well.

“God, what I’d do to ride that mustache…” You blurted out your thoughts, hyper-aware that you were alone in the house. You’d been waiting for this. You’d been surrounded by your roommates 24/7, and then once break started, your dad wanted to insert himself into your schedules as much as he could before the next semester starts. 

As much as you loved them, you needed space. A space bigger than the privacy of your own room. You deserved the whole house to yourself after enduring months of agony from overdue assignments; stress from bickering roommates that led to chaos within the dorm. You haven’t jerked off properly in months, often resorting to a quick session that comforted you on the occasions you’d have to pull multiple all-nighters to get a project done.

You needed relief.

You needed pleasure.

“Fuck,” Your eyes had been fixated on Mr. Cavill’s social media feed as you stripped yourself free of clothing. On one hand, it helped your body cool off from the heat building in the house. On the other, you felt vulnerable, like someone could walk in on you any second, and god, was that a turn-on. 

A grid of his life displayed happily before you, and your thumb scrolled aimlessly in pursuit of multiple pictures ingrained in your brain that had your cock throbbing in your palm. You laid flat on the couch, earbuds fit snug in the canals after briefly switching apps to play your favorite porn in the background of your search. Your stomach sunk deep when the man began moaning in your ears. Hot like the blistering sun outside; you can imagine Mr. Cavill breathing against you like that, as you took his cock in like the video you had playing. Your balls pulled when the man grunted, “Right there,” and you couldn’t help but pull at the ache of your cock, then at your balls to fondle at the loose stretch of skin.

“Right there,” you repeated when your thumb paused at the desired video of Mr. Cavill. Another major part of his lifestyle was working out. Strength training, cardio, marathons. You name it, Mr. Cavill did it all, exceptionally well, and the crème de la crème of it all was that he bared his torso for most of his videos. “Fuck, you’re so big… Fuck, fuck…” 

It was like watching a warrior prepare for battle. Sweat dripped off the holiest parts of his body as he pumped his muscles with heavy weights. Grunts, heavy and lewd sounds filled your ears while Mr. Cavill powered through his body’s resistance. You wondered to yourself if he could take you like that. Force you to take him with brute strength like the weights in his muscular, veiny hands. You were stroking yourself to him, every part of him, palm slick with sweat and spit. Two fingers would get the job done, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Though, you knew deep down that it would take more than that. Three, or maybe even four, considering the hunk of a man was seemingly built from metal. The video replayed multiple times before you remembered that he had more than enough content for you to jerk off to. You were barely five minutes in, but this was already more pleasurable than whatever you had endured back at the dorms. Your cock felt pleased, spitting out dribbles of thick pre-cum that loosened the stick of your palm as donation to your generosity.

“Fuck, Henry…” You rarely referred to him by his first name. It felt unusual. You were much younger than him. Addressing someone closer to your dad’s age felt rude, like you were trying to assert your dominance despite your age difference. You were many things, but disobedient was not one of them. However, you couldn’t lie. His name felt polishing to your tongue, something that could improve the taste of dreadful meals if one were to whisper it before taking a spoonful.

His name felt like a miracle.

Your sexual appetite was nourished by the frames of Mr Cavill’s second video. He was completely unaware he was bulging, free-balling in his sweaty shorts while he pursued his vitality through jumping jacks, lunges, toe-touches—cardio galore that made his heavy cock bounce in rhythm. You could tell he was large, gifted with insane girth to the point where you could make out the shape of his cock just from him stretching. And the smell; sweat sticking on thick curly hairs on his chest, and a happy trail that seemed to promise a world of musk if you ever had an opportunity to endeavor upon your curiosities. You were practically salivating for him, saliva pooling where your tongue sank, while your cock leaked. You pumped yourself quicker and harder at the frustration that your desire to taste Mr. Cavill’s cock would remain a pipe dream.

All that left you was your imagination, and your own musk. Pulling up at your glans, you squeezed out thick loads of pre-cum before swiping it with your thumb and tasting it off with a suck. Salty, bitterly pleasant on your tongue, and satiated enough to not let your libido falter at the disappointment that it wasn’t Mr. Cavill’s pre-cum, but rather smolder.

“Oh, fuck my mouth… I need that cock, Mr. Cavill. Please—“ The frames of the third video showcased him flexing his arms and torso. His body bursted with pride, veins surging through every fiber of muscle like they were charging him and his very existence. It was veiny too, wasn’t it? His cock. Large and veiny, like how you’d like it. You would struggle fitting him inside of your mouth while his cock veins pulsed with great pleasure knowing that it was Mr. Cavill’s kink that you couldn’t take him. 

No one could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Your eyes rolled back. The slurping sounds from the porn increased by tenfold as you pumped the volume by a few decibels. Lewd, slick sounds you wished you could perform on Mr. Cavill himself violated your ear drums. Pleasure him. Thank him on your knees for being so kind to your father. For building your PC without compensation. For providing you temporarily relief while you were away on campus, and could only jerk off under the blanket. You were grateful for him. For Mr. Cavill. For his thick arms. For his veiny forearms. For his dashing good-looks. For his muscles. For his strong cock. You’d give yourself to him if you could. Worship every inch of his step, every inch of his body, and that still wouldn’t be enough to show your appreciation towards him. 

Your fist tightened. Your other hand had grown limp by now, dropping your phone to the floor by mistake, but you were too fixated on the pleasure your cock was receiving to retrieve it back. You could watch it from where you were laying, just like this, slickly twisting and pumping your cock to the sound of the porn, to the sound of Mr. Cavill grunting simultaneously as if his thick cock was being feasted on like a hungry beast. “Mr. Cavill, please—I’m going to—“

One earbud slipped from the sweat building on your body, but you were close. So fucking close to coming. And when you do, you’d come on your phone.

All over Mr Cavill’s pecs. His abs. His crotch. His face. Anywhere, as long as it was your friendly neighbor, because—

“Enjoying yourself, (M/N)?”

A voice from behind you alerted your body to jolt and whip around upon instinct to defend yourself. Naked or not, you weren’t going to die, not in the hands of a burglar.

Though, as soon as you did, you regretted it. You felt like stone. Cold, hard stone as all signs of life seemingly felt like it had been sucked dry out of your body, with your erection taking up most of the produce surprisingly as you confronted the intruder.

The six-feet, muscular, handsome, and familiar man of an intruder. 

“M-Mr. Cavill?! What—When did you—“ You were flustered. Radiant heat blooming like the season of Spring across several patches of your naked body. It also didn’t help that your porn could be heard from earbuds once you took the remaining one out, albeit a bit muffled. And your phone, it was facing the ceiling, looping the video of Mr. Cavill training over and over again. Right before him.

Your body was shaking, physically evident despite your efforts to conceal the tremors as the man stared you down, unfazed by the drama of it all. “Fuck—“ You didn’t know what to turn off first. The porn? The video of him working out? Or maybe dressing yourself should be a priority because—Mr. Cavill was still staring, blues lingering on your naked body, seemingly outlining every drop of sweat that followed the contours of your figure. There was movement that naturally caught your attention. 

It was his hand, large and muscular over the center of his shorts. Rubbing, squeezing, fondling at an evidently large mass that made you dry-swallow. You mustered up the courage to finally pause the porn, then clicked your phone off. “H-how long have you been watching?”

“Since the beginning.” He chuckled, stating matter-of-factly. “Your dad told me to come look at your car. Your garage was open. Thought you did that for me, but I guess you really just forgot about closing it considering…” He nodded towards your cock, licking his lips when it acknowledged him with a throb. “Was coming to get you, and I found you like this.”

“And you just watched?!” You sputtered out in distress, hastily dressing yourself back into your clothes, stumbling over your feet in the process. Sweat always made it more difficult to put on clothes.

“Well, I did call you for while I was coming in. You didn’t hear me over your video, and…me, I suppose.” It was smug. Amusing to him that you were in this state of embarrassment after being caught red-handed. You groaned, burying your head into your knees after sitting back down on the couch. The heat was unbearable, but to face Mr. Cavill after being caught jerking off to his videos, you were overcome with horror at the ghastly spectacle of the situation.

“Don’t tell my dad about this,” Your fingers scraped through your scalp out of frustration, but also to keep your head pressed to your knees as they interlaced around you. You refused to even spare one more glance at the man when you felt him practically hovering over you, a gentle smile riding along the coattails of his composure. “…please.”

“I won’t,” Mr. Cavill’s voice sounded clearer, closer than before. Right above you, but still, you maintained your position despite the pleasant scent of his cologne almost breaking away your focus. “Just as long as you suck me off.”

Those final words hit you like a truck. 

You were astounded, confused by the turn of the situation. It felt like a taunt, and it was treated as such because it worked. You whipped your head up upon Mr. Cavill’s demand, almost insulted because it was how guys on campus used to taunt you.

What you expected to grace your eyes with was his face; charming as ever with a mustache that was reliable in stirring immense feelings inside of you.

Instead, you were met with a face full of flesh, Mr Cavill’s heavy and large cock. It sported a strong curve, throbbing veins to prove its accelerating lust, with thick balls swinging low to entice you into a hypnotic state. If someone was to grade you upon your predictions, you’d score a perfect mark, because god damn, he was huge. Hairier than you’d expected, though just as arousing, if not more, because this was unexpected for Mr. Cavill as well. He would’ve cleaned himself a bit if he had a plan to meet you under these circumstances.

“I—You’re serious?” With the string of thick pre-cum dripping from the very slit of his head, it seemed like your question was answered. You could smell him. The musk of his pre-cum. It tingled your nostrils, enchanting you akin to what fresh pastries would’ve done for you on normal, non-libido provoking circumstances.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Come on, I’m waiting. You didn’t even say ‘thank you’ to me in person when I built you that PC for Christmas. It’s the least you could do, right?” Without warning, he took ahold of his cock and tapped the center of your lips with it. Your orbs shook as you looked up at him, hesitant through the tremor of your lips as Mr. Cavill stared back, determined for you to accept his plea offer with some kind of answer—with your mouth preferably. “Been teasing me for so long… Think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me whenever I came over? How you kept massaging your cock under the table during dinner? Always in those shorts too… God, you were begging to be fucked with your thighs showing like that.”

“No—I-You’re my dad’s friend, I can’t—“ Your hand said otherwise with your fingers taking initiative on their own, wrapping over his large cock, right above Mr. Cavill’s fist. It was a two-hander, a fucking two-hander, yet your fingers struggled to close around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Your dad doesn’t have to know, right? I won’t tell. You won’t either. We don’t want to hurt him, right?” One of his hands found its way to the back of your head while he took a step closer, bringing his cock closer to your face. Before you could pull away, there was true grit to the palm of Mr Cavill’s hand as he applied pressure to the back of your head, pressing your cheek flush to the underside of his cock. “Look at you, you don’t have the heart to say no, do you? You’re obsessed with my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Cavill…” You were under his control. Locks of your hair bundled under a grip while he ground his cock against your supple skin, making you smell him; his musky cock, the sweat buried in the deep hairs of his pubic area. It was a glorious scene that returned your cock back to its original state of arousal by tenfold. 

“You’re going to be a good boy and suck my cock off, right?” Almost in your mouth. You parted your lips open to trap his cock into your mouth with the way he maneuvered your head like a rag doll, a brute strength your nape now, pulling and pushing your head as his cock rubbed against your face, but Mr. Cavill pulled at the last minute, right when you were one lick away from tasting meaty flesh. “Close your mouth. You will open your mouth when I tell you so.”

“I—I—Yes, please...” You were pathetic. He held you still, head tilted upwards to face the ceiling and his towering body while his cock and balls laid over your face like a table runner, a perfect heater to warm his meat. A t-shirt remained on his body, and that was a true testament to his appeal, being able to get you off like this half-naked. You reached down, back to fondling at your sore cock, at the blue balls you’d given yourself earlier, sniffing, inhaling the heavy delightful scent of his sweaty cock. Guess his house was having air-conditioning difficulties too.

“I can use your mouth however I want?” He dragged his cock over your face, the head leaking out pre-cum in midst of its journey to introducing itself to every one of your facial features, saving your lips for last. 

“Yes,” You gulped at his rousing speech, breathing in the drying musky pre-cum on the perimeter of your skin. “Please fuck my mouth, please—“

“If you’re good, then this can be a regular occurrence, yeah?” You slipped your shorts and briefs off again, jerking yourself off to simply the teasing taunt of his cock, tapping at your skin, brushing over your eyelids, pushing up against your nose. You felt humiliated. You’d been marked by Mr. Cavill, pathetically as it only took his huge cock to make you submit to him. “You’d like that? Sucking your dad’s best friend off?”

“F-fuck, yes…” His cock was a wand to your body. Every time Mr. Cavill was seemingly about to push into your mouth, you willingly opened it to no avail, even if it was obvious that he’d pull away. You could only get off on his scent for so long. He’d draw your tongue out when he squeezed pre-cum out the tip of his cock, right above your pink flesh. It would sink, drip, slowly like syrup, in thick strings, until it wasn’t anymore with the sudden obstruction of Mr. Cavill’s finger swooping in to nick the sticky web, and letting it waste away on the carpet. “Please, Mr. Cavill… I-I’ll be good…”

It was amusing to him, watching you desperately try to taste and watch him in any way you can, to the point of going cross-eyed as he would center his cock in your vision. He waved his cock like a flag as if he had conquered you. Humiliated you with several heavy slaps to your face, thick smacks that you took in whimpering grace because Mr. Cavill had stolen the resources to your insanity.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Mr. Cavill didn’t waste a single second for you to prepare yourself. The pressure on your nape steeled, bruising to make you open your mouth and whimper, and maybe that was the point, because he seized the opportunity to charge his cock inside of your mouth without warning, making you gag on your own desperation. It was a forewarning. A brief prologue on how you should take his cock as he quickly pulled himself out to properly prepare yourself. In the meantime, he slapped your cheek multiple times with the spit you had already layered him with, cooing at how incredible hard and big he was against your dazed face.

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm. That’s it, you can take it. Good boy.” Saliva spilled out of your mouth like a popped water balloon when he pushed himself inside of your mouth again. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control what Mr. Cavill had stripped away from you with the strength he had on your neck. Not to mention, the mass of flesh gagging you into oblivion, leaving you completely incapable of stopping him, as if you wanted him to. “Come on, use your hands too. Don’t be lazy.”

“Mm-mmf…” A compliance that was muffled by a slur of slick sounds, but Mr. Cavill knew what you meant. Amusement played on the corner of his lips as you struggled to fit a hand around the base of his sticky cock, sloppily stroking what was left neglected by your mouth, or rather your inability to take in. You suckled on the head of his cock, plump and heavy on your tongue as it throbbed with every lick you provided him. Stroking its slit with the tip of your tongue, you then dug and slobbered over the salty taste of his pre-cum. “So big… Just like I’d imagined.”

You pulled away to marvel at the size of his cock, taking your time to lube his cock with your spit from tip to shaft before your fist flushed to his pelvis to slap his meaty cock on the pouch of your tongue, lewdly flinging your spit in the air. It was your favorite move, often reliable in coercing a reaction out of the men you’d sucked off previously. The roll of his eyes, the flex of his muscles, the grunt from his gut; you slobbered all over his cock, worshipping every inch with your mouth, polishing the cock knob clean with your tongue and stroking what you couldn’t with two deft hands. Mr. Cavill was no different, he was a man with needs like you, with needs like the rest of the men you’d given head to, and you exploited the hell out of it. You loved making them feel in power, making them feel like you were worth time out of their day, despite their original pleas to use your mouth.

He briefly pulled back to rest a kiss on your lips, one that you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Not only was it because it was your first kiss was him, but because of how delicate he was with you. Warm and inviting like he usually was, his large hands cupped at the end of your jaw, holding you as if you were made of porcelain. “Making me so proud right now, fuck. Take in more of my cock, would you? I like it when you gag.”

“Mm-hmm…” They always do. You mumbled against his lips, no longer needing his guidance to finish what you’d started. Your eyes were glued to Mr. Cavill, aroused by the look he was giving you. A famished stare that demanded to be satiated, by means of sheer persistence as you knew it was going to be difficult to down him with your throat.

Mr. Cavill drove a hand into your hair, cuffing the strands to keep you still, to keep you from pulling away, to dominate you. He watched you without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, cock and balls hanging obscenely as you found a better position on your knees with a throw pillow guarding you from bruising. “Want you to throat-fuck me, Mr. Cavill.”

“Fuck, who knew you had such a mouth on you…” He sturdied his stance, spreading his strong legs while manhandling your head between them. You licked a stripe over his balls, then the underside of his cock until your tongue reached the scorching skin of his precum-slicked tip. Approaching the end of the journey, your mouth opened wide to welcome Mr. Cavill back into your mouth, and like tugging on a loose knot, you drew out moans from within his gut, his body loosening in turn of your hot mouth. “Fuck, just like that…”

With a thundering heart, and a building pleasure so morbidly big, you sunk and lowered your head lower, taking in Mr. Cavill’s horse-cock like a fleshlight. Crimson rose to your cheeks, to your neck, as you strained to maintain him inside of your mouth. He was too big. You’ve utilized all the tactics you’ve learned on campus, on a few buddies, on your roommates. Breathe through your nose, relax your tongue and jaw, let your saliva drip out. Yet you’d barely taken a few inches more than you had done prior before a couple of gags alerted you to take a breather. Your head pulled back, but it was met with violent opposition as Mr. Cavill brought your head back down to further shove himself down your throat.

“Mmm—gggrgh!” Your body jolted in defense, stiffening your body into an upright position when you couldn’t refrain from gagging on his cock. Your hands braced on his strong thighs for balance, squeezing at the muscly flesh of skin to distract yourself from the uncomfortable stretch your mouth was receiving.

“Fuck, yeah. Fuck, fuck, just like that. You’re taking it like a good boy.” You were making him proud, so fucking proud. You coughed, gagging, almost choked on your own spit, but the stuffing of Mr. Cavill’s large cock simultaneously emptied your mouth of saliva as it all came flooding down your mouth in lewd webs. “Shit, look at that. I’m making your mouth water, aren’t I? Fuck, what a waste.”

He yanked your head back, pulling him out of your throat, and you had never felt such relief. Breathing, exhaling and inhaling deep to compensate for the prediction that Mr. Cavill wasn’t going to let you spare a second of abandoning his cock like that. Your eyes watered, reddened from straining your muscles to make him fit inside of your mouth. You knew there was a shift in the room when you looked up at him like that, glossy in the eyes, tremors involuntarily making your knees unsteady, coughing as you held onto his thighs. He towered over you, you were beneath him, beneath the ravenous gaze he simultaneously terrified and seduced you with. You couldn’t complain now. You did your job. You made him feel powerful like you’d wanted. Dominating, as his cock leaked in your spit, and spit your saliva back onto your face.

“You were fucking hungry for my cock, weren’t you? Look at you. You’re a bloody mess…” With one swipe, he gathered the layers of spit you had generously supplemented his cock with, and smeared it across your face. You took his humiliation with good grace, moaning at your loss of pride with every smear. It deducted the more he messily layered your face with your own spit, but as demeaning as it was, there was immense merit to the satisfaction on Mr. Cavill’s face. “Open up.”

“M-mm, ah—“ Your mouth opened with a vulgar sound. If Mr. Cavill had something to compare it to, it would be like sticking a spoon into a cup of jello, and then scooping its content out. Sweet and glorious to his ears, salty to your mouth as he bought your head forward again, and plunged his cock back down your throat, deeper, and further within the confines of your throat. You squeezed around him, eyes clenched tight while he brought your face flushed to his pelvis, the hairy bush of his public area gentle abrasive against your nose. He smelled as delectable as he tasted. A hint of spice, sweat, salt, you could lick at it if it was made into a popsicle, lap it up if it was in a bowl and you were on all fours, bowing to his feet.

Your cheeks bulged as your mouth churned internally to produce more slime to seemingly ease the slide of Mr. Cavill’s cock thrusting inside of you now. He was careless, half-bent over your head to lock you into a tight embrace while his spit-polished cock rubbed at either side of your cheeks, rut against the roof of your mouth, then thrust himself into the depth of your warm throat. You couldn’t have escaped if you had wanted to. He was too strong. Two hands unrelenting around your head while he packed his large cock deep into your mouth, pelting into your gags and whimpers with fast, sharp thrusts, the sound of his wet dick choking you mutually turning you and Mr. Cavill on. You want to quit, yet he was choking you too good. Water streamed down your cheeks. Whether it was your own spit, sweat, or tears, you couldn’t comprehend it because Mr. Cavill was uncompromising, refusing to yield for your comfort.

You were fucking grateful. That was what had been missing from your college experience. A man. Someone taking charge for once. Someone utilizing you like the whore you made yourself out to be. Mr. Cavill saw right through you, through your taunts from several breaks ago, and he was fucking furious for making him wait.

“Shit, I’m close,” Fucking your mouth furiously. You could get off like this. Fuck, no. You were getting off to this. Fucking your cock with your fist, doing your best to match the pace of Mr. Cavill’s hips. You wanted to look up, to watch his face morph from admiration to animalistic desire as he utilized your throat at his own disposal.

You blinked away your tears, even if they had stung, and gawked at how captivating Mr. Cavill was for being selfish, thrusting into your mouth with one hand keeping your face free of your hair from obstructing his view. A frown permanently framed his mustache, and his dark brows furrowed at the approaching climax. He wasn’t looking at you. Rather, he was scrutinizing your wet mouth as it was jam-packed with his cock. How could a mouth look so pretty while doing something absolutely obscene? How could a throat feel so tight, so addictive, even after piping his cock down its drain several times? How could you let him treat you like this, a complete stranger, completely violate and humiliate you on your knees, like a broken doll whose purpose was to fulfill a man’s deepest desires? Maybe he needed to have a talk with your father. Talk about how broken you were, and that you needed fixing. Spend a nights with him at his house, and he would help you rewire your brain. He’d fix you. Fix you with his cock. With his lips. With his hands. With his body. Your eyes rolled back at the thought, fisting your cock faster, twisting to his heavy grunts as he was nearing closer and closer to the edge of his insanity.

“Mfghm!” Your throat felt raw, the subtlest whimper scratching at your throat like claws on chalkboard. But you persisted, pumping your shaft vigorously, your ears lapping up Mr. Cavill’s constant appraisal for your performance. Good boy. That’s it. You’re taking my cock like how I want it. You want your reward? Fuck, sloppier. Spit on it. Spit on my dick. I like it sloppy. 

Sweat pebbled every inch of your skin. You couldn’t take it. It was coming. Your stomach sank and steeled upon the sudden rise of fulfillment, and you quickly released your grip after a final stroke before coming into the air. Thick ropes catapulted upwards, your cock throbbing with every pulse, and your balls emptying itself more and more with a bounce, a twitch, and a jolt. “F-fuck, ugh…”

“Fuck, yeah. Look at all of that cum. Fuck. You came that much just from my cock, look at that…“ Your body spasmed as the carpet soaked up your semen. His voice gruff yet gentle at the same time, making your cock twitch once more before softening. 

“Come on, not done yet. Suck me off.” He spat out, tugging your head forward after a quick breather.

Something in you clicked, and you began sucking his cock off like it was your job. Twisting, stroking at the slick shaft while nipping at the head while you caught up to your breath. Suddenly saltier on your tongue as some of your cum had landed on your hand before it was smeared across Mr. Cavill’s dick. You’ve never tasted yourself before, but it was a found contentment you didn’t expect to turn you on.

Then, you took one last breath, cleared your throat, and charged forward. Long, thick inches slid into your throat once more, and you’d hold yourself there upon his final warning, mouth agape, lips pressed into the fur of his pubic hair. Your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock, and your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you felt a thick warmth rush down and coat the inside of your throat. His cock throbbed, and Mr. Cavill’s grunts emptied from his gut with every spill. You could feel every heavy pulse as Mr. Cavill came down your throat in heavy, creamy spurts. You didn’t want to swallow. Not yet. You wanted to savor him. Savor the taste of his cum. You’d pined for it for so long, for all you could know, this could be your last opportunity to properly taste him. Slowly, but surely, his loads rose and pooled in the back of your throat upon barricading it with a tighten of your trachea. The rest of his spurts emptied on your tongue as he pulled himself out, and milked himself to completion. 

“Don’t swallow yet.”

You nodded, panting, awaiting for his nuts to be emptied as he flung his cock a few times, hurling drips of cum and your spit over your tongue and face. When he was seemingly emptied out, his gaze fixated on his cum pooled in the back of your throat; semi-translucent and filthily swimming with your own spit, and then Mr. Cavill’s own saliva, as he then spat into your crowded mouth. 

“Now swallow.”

You whimpered at the vulgarity of this affair, yet you were highly-aroused by this shame you were feeling. Mr. Cavill’s gaze stilled, anticipating with calm amusement while petting at your cheek. With one clean gulp, you downed your guilt, scrunching your nose when the salty taste of his spunk throttled your tastebuds, and sighed in satisfaction.

“Does your throat hurt?” He was on his haunches, carefully examining your throat as if he had his hand around you from the outside. It was a surprising return to his normal self, at least, the man that you knew as your dad’s best friend. Caring and patient, as he tended to your neck with apologetic kisses, and a gentle massage around your nape, where he must’ve gripped too hard upon your jolted reaction.

“A little… Didn’t take you were one to be rough like that.” Your knees gave out, letting yourself fall back onto your butt knowing that the couch would catch your position.

“Not usually, no… You just… happen to rile me up for some reason.” He was smiling, joining you on the floor, and nuzzling his furry mustache into the crook of your neck as if he wasn’t choking you with his cock a few minutes ago. It was unusual, yet charming. “Seriously, don’t tell your dad, okay?” He whispered into your ear before turning your cheek to look deep in his eyes.

A meaningful stare, a beat of silence, before you spoke, “Only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Cavill pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, another apology for stretching your mouth without much warning.

“You really meant it that this would be a regular thing if I did a good job?” Mr. Cavill scoffed at first. It was almost embarrassing. Were you being naive? Was this too good to be true? Your cheeks flushed red, and you solemnly casted your gaze downwards, defeated because that was that it felt like. The sound of rejection always came with a scoff, everyone knew that. 

“Well, it was going to be a regular thing even if you had accidentally bit my dick off.” He suddenly laughed at how susceptible you were by the smallest actions, and at this moment, you were surprised that maybe this crush wasn’t so one-sided after all. He teased at your frown, kissing the corner of your mouth until it was a smile, and then prodding at your sides when you resisted. “Come on, you couldn’t possibly think this was a one-time thing.” 

“Tempting…” You snuck a head in between his thighs, reaching for a certain tool that had brought in so much pleasure and pain to your body. “I don’t know… we don’t talk much. I don’t know you that well.” 

“Don’t.” Mr. Cavill teasingly warned, stopping you by taking ahold of your wrist. Though, one step too late, as you already cupped his flaccid cock, tormenting his balls with a few tugs and squeeze of your palm as an act of revenge for your throat. “Well… then let’s get to know each other. No problem doing that, right?”

“Mm-mm, guess not.” Pursing your lips, you nodded, feeling placated by his words.

He sighed into your mouth, kissing you again, licking at the inside of your mouth, tasting your tongue and then your cheek, to soothe his selfish stain on your body with the work of his mouth. 

“First, I want to hear you say ‘thank you’ for building that PC of yours before I promise you anything.”

“Jesus, we’re still on this?”

“Yes! Do you know how long that took me?”

“I didn’t ask you to build me one—“

“God, you’re an ungrateful brat.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[cowboybeepboop]

Late Night

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut, gentle and romantic

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Your friendly neighbor Clark Kent comes to your door one evening, allowing for the two of you to finally grow your relationship.

Warnings: This is not proofread what so ever, gentle/sort of shy Clark, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, p in v sex. 

a/n: Idk rn but I genuinely can't wait for David Corenswet to be Superman (Henry Cavill is so hot tho...). I’m already imagining how perfect he's gonna be as Clark Kent. As always, send me any requests you have and I hope you enjoy!

For months now, you had been quietly pining for the man who lived across the hall from me in our unassuming apartment building. His name was Clark Kent, and there was something about him that was utterly endearing. It wasn't just his chiseled jawline or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but the kindness he exuded, the way he always had a helping hand ready for anyone in need. 

You had become something like friends, sharing the occasional awkward small talk as we passed by with our shopping bags or recyclables. You had seen him in various stages of undress, coming back from his midnight runs, his superhero-like physique hidden under loose-fitting t-shirts and sweatpants. 

Something that had fueled your evening pleasure sessions, everytime your eyes fell closed you could remember the image of his hardened abs, his huge and muscular arms. 

On a warm summer evening, there was a knock at your door. It was Clark, the guy from across the hall. He stood there sheepishly, his hand running through his black hair. 

He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned and messy. He held a bottle of wine in one hand. "Hey", he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was wondering if I could get a favor?"

“Sure what’s up?” you give him a small smile, your eyes fall on his exposed chest before quickly flicking back to his face. His heart rate increased as he realized that you could see through the thin fabric of his shirt the toned muscles of his chest covered in a light layer of hair.

He cleared his throat, composing himself, holding up the bottle of wine. "I, umm, I was wondering if I could borrow your corkscrew. I lost mine."

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” you move to the side, allowing him to come in. Your mind clouding with desire as he towers over you, his cologne filling your senses. 

He steps into your apartment, the tight space meaning his body brushes against yours slightly as he passes. The contact between you both is brief, but it's enough to send a shiver down his spine as he enters.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you realize your own appearance, wearing just a button down top that is unbuttoned enough for him to see your cleavage and your underwear. You awkwardly lead him to the kitchen, arm subconsciously moving to cover your breasts as you turn around, handing him the corkscrew. 

"Uh, thanks." He says as he takes the corkscrew from you. Even with your arm draped over yourself, he can't help but notice the glimpse of exposed skin, his eyes lingering before he catches himself and averts his gaze, forcing himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

He starts to open up the bottle, the action allowing him to look away from your figure for a moment and compose himself, his hands shaking slightly as he tries to concentrate. 

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over his. “Oh yeah this thing is weird, you kinda have to do it a particular way.” you murmur, taking the bottle from him as you fumble with the screw. 

He bites his lip as your fingers brush over his, his stomach swirling at the touch of your hand. He watches as you take the bottle from him, his eyes fixated on your every movement as you try to open the bottle.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice low and a bit shaky. His eyes wander down, his gaze drawn to the way your top fits, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. 

“Mhm,” you reply as you pull the cork out, a small splash of wine staining your collar. You bite down on your lip while setting the bottle down, fingers rubbing the fabric. His eyes widen slightly as he watches the droplet of wine slide down your collar, the stains on the fabric making it even more translucent. 

Clark swallows hard, his mind wandering to inappropriate and ungentlemanly thoughts. He clears his throat, trying to look away, but he can't help but notice the way your fingers are now rubbing at the fabric, the motion only drawing his attention further to your chest.

You glance over him, hand falling from your shirt as you give him a soft grin, noticing the way his gaze lingers. 

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, his cheeks flushed. He realizes he's been caught staring, his eyes having been fixated on the way your hand moves over the fabric of your shirt, the motion stirring something deep within him.

"I, umm..." he stutters, his words failing him as he feels his throat dry up. He swallows slowly, forcing himself to focus on something else. "Thanks, for helping me open the bottle," he manages to say.  He shifts on his feet, trying to discreetly adjust himself as he feels his jeans becoming a bit tighter.

“Of course, do you want to share the bottle? Or do you have someone waiting for you?” you move slightly closer to him. 

His heart quickens as you come closer, his mouth going dry as your proximity makes it all that much more difficult to concentrate. He glances down at the bottle sitting on the counter, his mind racing with desire and indecision.

"No," he says, his voice low and a bit huskier than usual. "There's no one waiting for me." He looks back up at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of nervousness and something more forbidden. "I'd like to share the bottle with you."

“Perfect.” You smile, stepping closer as you reach for the cabinet behind him, your chest pressing into his ever so slightly. You open the door, reaching for two glasses ​​his breath hitches as he feels your body press against him, the sensation sending a jolt of heat through him. 

Your chest rubs against his, and he can feel the weight and softness of you against his body. The proximity is driving him mad, his mind clouded by primal desires he's trying to keep in check.

He bites his lip, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter, trying to maintain his composure. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them again, his gaze fixed on your every move.

You step back, with the glasses in hand. “We could watch a movie?” you prompt as you pour some wine into the cups, silently enjoying the way he reacted to your touch. 

He nods, his mind still racing as he tries to calm his racing thoughts and the growing hardness in his pants. "Yeah, a movie sounds good," he mutters, his voice coming out a bit more hoarse than he'd liked.

As you pour the wine, his eyes follow your every move, the way your fingers grip the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glasses. It's all too tantalizing for him. "What do you feel like watching?" He asks, trying to keep his voice level and casual.

“How about you choose?” you hand him a glass, taking yours in hand along with the bottle as you walk into the living room. Taking a seat down on the couch you sip on the wine, your eyes follow his every move, drinking in his muscular form. 

He tries to stay composed, forcing himself to look away and focus on the task at hand. Clark walks over to the DVD collection and scans the titles, his mind unfocused and his thoughts still lingering on you. After a moment of browsing, he picks a movie at random, inserting it into the player.

"All set." He says, returning to the couch and taking a seat beside you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, trying to prevent it from riding up too much while taking another sip of your drink. 

“Great.” you smile, sucking your lip between your teeth as you admire his side profile. He can't help but notice the way you fidget with your shirt, the action drawing his mind to places he shouldn't be going at the moment. 

He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the screen, his gaze keeping wandering over to you, admiring your features and the way the fabric clings to your body. Clark takes a long sip from his glass, the alcohol doing little to calm his racing thoughts and desires. He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself as his jeans grow even tighter.

“Is everything alright?” you notice his movements and set your cup on the coffee table, scooting slightly closer to him. His eyes widen slightly as you move closer, the proximity sending a fresh wave of desire through him. He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice a little hoarse. "Everything's fine, just...adjusting." He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on your figure, his eyes tracing over the curves where your shirt clings to you, the way your position inadvertently exposes more skin.

“Clark?” your knee brushes against his thigh as you scoot closer. He stiffens as your knee brushes against him, the casual touch sending a jolt through him. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he tries to maintain his composure.

When he hears his name, the way you say it, so soft and gentle, almost a whisper, it sends a shiver down his spine. He looks over at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with desire. "Yeah?" He manages to respond, his voice a bit shaky.

“Are you.. seeing anyone?” you chew on your cheek as you search his eyes. At your question, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty crosses his face. He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity.

"No," he says finally, his voice steady and sincere. "I'm not seeing anyone." He swallows, his nerves getting the better of him as he wonders where this conversation is going. He can't help but feel a flicker of hope and anxiety at the same time.

Your eyes light up as you press a hand to his thigh, “Then… well I hope i’m not misreading the situation,” you murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's unexpected, but oh so welcome. 

His eyes widen for a brief moment, before closing as he melts into the kiss. Every cell in his body seems to come alive, the taste of your lips on his sending him into a dizzying spiral of emotions.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his touch gentle as he leans into the kiss, deepening it as he loses himself in the moment. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip as he presses his chest against yours, pushing your back into the plush fabric of your couch. 

Your bodies meld together, your back sinking into the cushion as he bears down on you. His tongue teases your lip, requesting entry which you give him without hesitation.

His heart races as he feels the soft give of your body against his chest, the heat and pressure of your bodies mingling together.

His hand runs over your side, his touch gentle but firm as it moves over the curves of your body, his hand sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his. You lean back, gasping for air as his fingers explore your body. 

He takes your gasp as an opportunity to trail his lips along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he nips and kisses his way down your neck.

His hand moves under your shirt, slowly, his fingertips dancing across your bare skin, mapping out each contour and dip of your body. He groans softly against your throat as he feels your warm, supple flesh under his fingers. You feel so good against him, it's almost overwhelming.

“Clark..” you gasp his name as he unbuttons your shirt swiftly. He loves the way you say his name, the sound of it coming from your lips making his own name sound like a prayer.

He unfastens the buttons of your shirt, revealing more and more of your body to his hungry eyes. He peels back the fabric, his hands roaming over your now-exposed skin, his fingers tracing over your stomach and up to your chest.

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, tasting your scent, committing it to memory. “Clark..” you moan his name again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he kisses down your chest, hands landing on your breasts. 

His name slips from your lips again, the sound like a sweet melody in his ears. He can feel the pressure of your fingers on his shoulders, the touch driving his desire even higher.

His mouth travels down your chest, his kisses feather light and seductive as he moves over your breasts. His hands follow his mouth, palms cupping your breasts as he starts to massage the soft flesh.

He moans against your skin, his touch almost reverent. His body thrums with an aching need, the desire to be closer to you nearly overwhelming as he captures your lips in another hungry kiss. He cups your breasts in his hands, his fingers kneading the supple flesh as they press into your skin. His touch is soft but firm, his hands large enough to cover them completely

Clark pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes locked with yours. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving with anticipation. He can feel your heart racing beneath his palms as he gently caresses your breasts. "Are you sure about this?" He whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I don't want to rush you." His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

You smile up at him, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reply, your voice barely above a murmur. The sincerity in your tone sends a thrill through him, confirming that this is what you both want.

He nods, his expression serious as he leans back down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He savors the taste of you, the feel of your body pressed against his. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, cradling it as he deepens the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

As the kiss lingers, he slowly starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, taking his time to reveal each new inch of your skin. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. You melt into him, your own hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as the fabric of your shirt falls away.

The moment your skin is fully exposed, the air in the room seems to crackle with tension. He leans down to press a line of soft, wet kisses along your collarbone, feeling your body shiver beneath his touch. He takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Your cheeks flush with pleasure as he says the words, his eyes devouring your exposed flesh. He takes his time, kissing and caressing every inch of your body, his hands moving in a slow, tantalizing dance that leaves you trembling with need. Each touch is a promise of what's to come, each kiss a declaration of his desire for you.

The room is filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft whispers of your names on each other's lips. The anticipation is almost unbearable, but you both know that the slow burn of this moment is only making the fire between you grow hotter.

Clark finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling gently as he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You arch your back, gasping at the sensation, your hands tightening in his hair. He teases and worships each peak, his tongue swirling and flicking, drawing out your moans of pleasure.

As you lay there, the warmth of his mouth on your skin, the softness of the couch beneath you, and the gentle pressure of his body above, you can't help but feel that this is exactly where you're meant to be. With each tender kiss and caress, he's claiming you, and you're willingly giving yourself to him.

The movie on the TV becomes background noise as the only thing that matters is the connection growing stronger between you both. His kisses trail down your stomach, his hands skimming over your hips to the waistband of your underwear.

He kisses the skin just above the waistband, the heat of his breath making you squirm. "I want to make this perfect for you," he murmurs, his eyes looking up at you for approval. You nod, unable to form words as your breath catches in your throat.

He takes his time, pulling down your underwear in one smooth motion, exposing your most intimate parts to his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he looks at you, but he keeps his touches feather-light, his mouth hovering just above your skin without making contact.

Clark takes a deep breath, savoring the moment as he gazes down at your exposed body. He gently kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs, moving closer to the apex of your legs. His eyes are filled with a fiery hunger that makes your heart race even faster. He presses a soft kiss to your mound, feeling you tense up at the contact. 

Then, with a gentle caress, he parts your legs wider, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the desire in his eyes, and it only fuels the fire burning within you. With a soft sigh, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue tracing the seam of your folds with the lightest touch. You moan, your body trembling as he starts to explore you, taking his time to learn every curve and sensitive spot. 

Each touch is a declaration of his intention to worship you, to take things slow and savor every second of this shared intimacy. His fingers join his mouth, gently teasing and exploring, bringing you closer to the edge with every stroke. The room is filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and soft whimpers, the only soundtrack to this passionate symphony of desire.

Clark continues his gentle exploration, his tongue circling your clit with a patience that borders on agonizing. He's not in a hurry; he wants to savor every moment of this, to make sure you feel loved and desired. His fingers slide into your wetness, curling gently as he begins to stroke you internally, matching the rhythm of his tongue. 

You can't help but whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as the sensations build within you. He's so attentive, so in tune with your body's responses that you feel like you're floating on a cloud of pure pleasure. Each kiss, each caress is a testament to the connection growing between you, and you know that this is just the beginning of a night that will change everything.

Clark's eyes never leave yours as he shifts his position, aligning his body with yours. His hand moves to guide himself, and with a gentle nod from you, he begins to press into you. His movements are slow and deliberate, his expression one of intense concentration as he tries to read your every reaction. You can feel the tip of him pushing against your entrance, the anticipation of what's to come making you squirm.

As he enters you, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a soothing balm to the building passion. He's so big, so thick, but he's so gentle that it's almost a surprise when he's fully sheathed inside you. You gasp, your eyes flying open, and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation of being filled by him.

He waits, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain or discomfort. When he sees none, he starts to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your toes curl. Each thrust is met with a soft moan from your lips, his name slipping from your mouth like a prayer as he fills you completely.

The feeling of him inside you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's as if your bodies are made for this, as if every inch of him is meant to be connected to every inch of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands sliding down to grip his firm ass as he moves within you.

The room seems to spin around you, the only constant is the feeling of him, the sound of your hearts beating in sync. He kisses you again, his movements becoming more urgent as the passion takes over. You can feel him thickening, growing even more inside you, and you know that he's getting closer to the edge.

You whisper for him to go faster, to give you more, and he responds eagerly, his strokes deepening and quickening. Your body responds in kind, your hips rising to meet his, the friction between you building until it's almost unbearable. You're both so close, the tension coiled tight in your stomachs, ready to snap.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, it does. You cry out, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows shortly after, his own release shaking his body as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you just lay there, your bodies entwined, your hearts racing. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is pure satisfaction, a mirror to what's reflected in his own gaze. He leans down to kiss you gently, a soft promise of more to come.

[drmaddict]

Patchwork

Summary: Henry becomes a father... Just not how he thought it would happen.

Word count: 2.160

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, lots of fluff

"Six?"

"Six."

"Six children?"

"Well not biologically, but.... yes."

(Y/n) looked uncertainly at Henry. The blue eyes stared at her in disbelief.

"You have six children living in your house?"

She sighed. That was always the point at which every guy ran away.

"I understand if that's too much for you," she began. 

Henry shook his head still in disbelief, but grinned. "Do you ever sleep, or do you just get used to  sleep deprivation?"

She smiled cautiously. Didn't trust the peace yet, though. "To be honest there are two kids one 9 and one 12 and four pubescent teenagers."

He regarded her quietly across the restaurant table. "Are you okay?" he asked, "Did I say something wrong? I know my reaction may have been a little surprised, but I didn't mean to cut you in."

She relaxed a little. "It's just... Most guys run away as soon as they hear that, and that would really be .... a shame."

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I don't run away. I hate cardio."

That made her smile.

"But you'll still have to tell me how you get to adopt six children and teenagers.... And that as a single woman in her mid-twenties."

"It's like cats. Somehow I guess it doesn't stay with just one." She tipped her wine glass. "The first one was Jason. He was the son of my neighbors at the time and would come by my apartment every so often in the afternoon until his mother got home. One night he showed up at my door bleeding. His father caught him with make up and beat him black and blue. It took a while, but then he could move in with me. He's graduating from high school this summer. He has even been accepted to a make up school. He wants to go into film as a makeup artist." She smiled softly. "He's come a long way."

Henry curtsied in shock at the story. "Fatima is 16 and has been disowned by her family for not being a virgin. She has ambitions to study law. I don't think anyone will stop her from going to Oxford. Mike is almost 16 - next week - and grew up without a father and even though his mother tried everything, she has high level schizophrenia. She has been institutionalized and now lives in care. We visit her whenever her condition allows it. Mini - Emilia ran away at some point. We don't really know what happened. She is 14. Kamon is 12 and comes from a refugee family. His parents have been sent back to Thailand. We are trying to get a visa for them. Until then, I'm kind of his foster family. He and Mike are not officially adopted. Both love their family and do everything for them, even if they can't always be there. And Lilly. She is 9. Her family died in a car accident. No family member has been found."

She was silent for a moment and continued to contemplate her wine before looking up and looking at Henry.

"Henry... I understand if this is too much, but.... they've all been through enough in their lives and every single one of them has their reasons for making it hard for new people in our family. So if, against all odds, you say yes to this circus, know that it's not so easy to get out of it either." Her gaze became insistent. "If you leave me, that's one thing, but I won't do that to the kids."

Henry, who hadn't said anything all this time, took one deep breath and reached for her hand lying on the table. He smiled. "If they're willing to meet me, so am I."

Henry stood in front of a gigantic house. His house was already big, but this one surpassed it. Despite its size, however, it didn't seem ostentatious. It looked cozy and inviting. The word 'home' popped into his head.

Shouts and frantic footsteps sounded from inside. 

He pressed his thumb on the doorbell. Immediately, everything went silent.

The door opened with a jerk. A dark-skinned boy stood before him, beaming at him. From the colored eyeliner, he concluded that it must be Jason.

"Hello Mr. Cavill." he said in a noticeably loud voice.

Immediately, frantic footsteps sounded and he saw scattered bodies running through the background.

"Hi. Henry will do." he smiled.

"Come on in. I'm Jason. Ehhm... (Y/n) isn't here yet.... Mike had... They had to go to the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

Jason shrugged. "Normally, he is. Boxer you know... Tea?"

"Gladly."

He stepped into the house. It was swept as if empty, yet the traces of life could be seen in it. Self-painted pictures. Photographs. Various equipment for hobbies. Shoes in different sizes. And that was just the hallway. Henry let himself be led into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. None matched the other.

"Mike had a match this morning. (Y/n) said he's already patched up. They're already on their way here."

Henry smiled. "With something like this, you should take your time."

Jason set the steaming cup down for him and sat with him.

Henry accepted it gratefully. "It's very quiet."

"Be glad." was all he said, sipping his tea. "I don't want to chase you away, but it's like human history here. The periods of absolute peace are relatively negligible." He ran his index finger over the rim of his cup and grinned. "And I'm one of the worst divas here. Just a warning."

The front door opened and a rumble sounded, followed by an amused giggle. "Sorry about that." a boy's slurred voice rang out.

"That's okay big guy. Come on off to bed." he heard (y/n).

"I'm fine!"

"That's because they drugged your ass off so you can't feel your face."

"Where's Ammy?"

"Mike you need to rest now. You can call Amber when you're in bed."

"Who are you?" A blond boy in a gray sweatshirt and swollen face looked at him from the doorway, aghast. "Who's that?" he turned to (Y/n).

"A friend Mike. That's a friend. Jason stop filming him!"

Still grinning, Jason put the phone away and turned to Henry. "Welcome."

"What's the dog's name?", Kamon asked him.

"That's Kal...like Superman." he smiled at the shy boy.

"I like Batman."

Henry rolled his eyes playfully. "Oh yeah, why?"

"Batman watches out for kids nobody else wants. Like (y/n)."

Henry smiled.

"I told you not to rummage through my things!" yelled Emilia down the hall.

Henry and (Y/n) sat in the garden each holding a book.

"I wasn't rummaging. I was getting MY eyeshadow, that you stole from MY room!" shouted back Jason. "It's not my fault you leave your lovey-dovey fanfictions lying around in the open like that!"

"You have no business in my room!"

"That being said - Tom Holland? Really?"

A splintering sound rang out.

"I guess that was the vase, then," (Y/n) sighed.

"I would have thought she was more of a Sebastian Stan type," Henry reflected loudly.

"How long has she been sitting there?" whispered Henry to (Y/n).

"Since this morning. She hasn't looked up from that book in five hours."

Fatima sat at the large parlor table surrounded by books, writing notes and index cards.

"That's impressive. Scary, but impressive."

Kal walked over to the table and nudged her.

"I have to study! Sit!" Kal obeyed immediately and sat next to her chair.

"She'd make a good drill sergeant," Henry grinned.

(Y/n) sipped her coffee. "You've never seen her in exam stress."

"This isn't exam stress?"

"This is relaxed studying."

Henry looked in shock at the girl with noise cancelling headphones. (Y/n) grinned into her cup.

 "They need more glitter!" determined Lilly.

Henry reached for the can of edible glitter and sprinkled more of it on the unicorn cookies.

"Like this?"

The little girl looked thoughtfully at the tin. "Like this."

Henry bowed theatrically and slid the tin into the oven. "All for your majesty." The girl giggled.

(Y/n) just watched with a smile.

Jason and Mike sat on the sofa grinning together at a tablet, each with headphones in their ears.

This wasn't normal. Even Henry knew that by now. He wondered if they were both watching porn. He'd been that age once, too. He knew what that was like.

(Y/n) came into the living room and looked over there shoulders at the two of them. She laughed uncontrollably grunting, but immediately suppressed it and came over to him.

No porn, he concluded.

"What about these two?" asked Henry, pulling her to him on the sofa and onto his lap.

"Just a movie," she grinned.

"What movie?"

She continued to shake her head with a grin and waved it off. Henry was very reluctant to be shut out. So he sat (y/n) down next to him on the sofa and stood behind the two teenagers. When he saw his younger self in a black hoodie grinning and holding up a tarot card, he groaned in annoyance.

The boys snorted indignantly. Henry looked defiantly at the display.

"Oh come on Sweet Cheeks! What's wrong?" asked (Y/n) with a laugh.

He looked at her with an intensity that promised she would pay for this yet. She could hardly wait.

"What's with the hair?" laughed Jason.

"It was in back then!"

Henry stood in the kitchen making coffee while there was the familiar bustle around him. Kamon couldn't find his second shoe, Lilly needed a certain T-shirt, Jason occupied the bathroom, Mike shoveled eggs into his mouth, Fatima just drank the coffee straight out of the pot, and Emilia hid behind a book.

He could hardly believe that over a year should have passed already.

They had grown close to his heart. He didn't want to miss the chaos at all. The last time he left for a job, it seemed almost eerie how quiet it was that night. He had told (y/n) about it over Skype. She'd just grinned and said those feelings liked to sneak up on one.

"Do you think they want me in their life?" he had asked her uncertainly.

She had only smiled. "Wait a minute." She disappeared and came back a moment later with a piece of paper. She held it up to the camera. "Lilly drew this for you today." It showed eight roughly drawn people. Under each one, in capital letters, was the name.... except for (y/n) and him. It just said Mum and Paps. Henry stared wide-eyed at the screen. "Please act surprised when you come back. It's supposed to be a gift.", she put the paper back down. "Are you crying?"

Henry had remained silent. He had only nodded.

He smiled at the memory. The picture hung framed in the hallway. It had become Henry's favorite picture.

"Car one go!", (y/n) called down the stairs.

The three mismatched teens got up from the table and walked to (y/n)s car.

Henry packed the last of the snacks into Lilly and Kamon's lunchboxes before he, too, packed them into his cat and drove them to school. Jason had a little break from make up school and stayed at home.

Henry came back earlier than (y/n). He waited patiently for her in the kitchen. Looked at the mismatched chairs and the photos on the wall. Photos that now included him. (Y/n) came shortly after him and dropped into her usual seat next to him. She reached for the waiting cup of coffee and dropped her head on his shoulder. "How did I do this alone before?"

Henry laughed.

"I mean it. Don't you dare leave! I can't take it anymore!"

Henry just smiled at her. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it in front of him. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life anywhere but with you and the kids. (Y/n) will you marry me?"

She looked at him with shocked eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded with a smile. "I want to take Lilly to her dance lessons. I want to be there when Jason gets his first jobs. I want to see Fatima come top of her year at Oxford - in law AND medicine." They both laughed. "I want to cheer Mike on in his competitions. I want to watch Emilia find the romance she secretly wants. I even want my heart to break when Kamon is reunited with his parents. I want to be with you. I want to be with the children. I don't want to run away. I want to be part of this family."

"You already are," she smiled, crying. She pulled him close and kissed him.

"Does that mean yes?" he grinned.

"Yes you idiot." she laughed.

[hertzwritings]

You spin me right round (baby, right round)

A/N: Am I alive? Physically, yes. Am I okay? Probably not. Did I miss all of you guys and writing? YES. Honestly, it’s been weird not writing and keeping in contact with all of you, but I’m trying to get back to it – and that brings us to here. Also, I’ve been listening to Sleep Token on repeat, so I’m feeling things.

I don’t have a set schedule right now, mostly because I have no idea if I’ll be posting regularly or just on a whim, but for now, I’m just getting back in the groove of things!

Your comments, likes, reblogs mean the world to me and would definitely help me stay on it, so if you’ve got anything to say, say it, my loves.

Remember English isn’t my first language, so if there’s errors in grammar or language, try to overlook it. Love you all!

Also, please be gentle wit me on my first day back – it’s like being nervous to start a new school, really.

MASTERLIST

Ask me anything/requests/tag list requests

Pairing: NotFamous!Henry Cavill x female reader

Warnings: Language, dorks being dorks, meet cute, strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, smut (18+, minors DNI), dirty talk, slightly dom/sub, spanking, p in v, tongue on v, blowjobs, slight Msub to Mdom, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, petnames

Wordcount: 4633 (whoops)

You spin me right round (baby, right round)

  Laundry day. Probably the worst of days, especially considering the hefty trek from your 5th floor apartment to the basement, which would be bad enough in and of itself, but carrying the massive load of laundry down without a functioning elevator without spilling half of your delicates did seem like an almost impossible task.

At any rate, you were going to do it, and you were going to be a strong, independent woman, who could definitely carry it down and back up again without dropping a thong or three (like last time, where Pete from 5D was lurking).

You heaved the blue IKEA-bag higher on your shoulder, silently cursing yourself for not actually doing the damned laundry more than you did, and began the descent into the musty basement, your trusty laundry-tokens jangling in your pocket of the loose shorts, you were wearing.

It took longer than you’d like to admit, and you almost did drop the entire bag down a flight of stairs, but you made it and with a loud grunt, you pushed the door to the basement and laundry-room open, almost stumbling inside.

“Oh.” You locked eyes with a very handsome stranger, who looked up from the only dryer, hands still buried pretty deeply in there. “Oh, you need this one?” He asked politely, and that voice – smooth velvet, mixed with a deep rumble that settled nicely in your chest and between your legs. The accent didn’t help at all with how attractive you found him, either, and you shifted your weight slightly. Fuck.   “I-I… I’m… Not right…” You squeaked, silently cursing yourself for wearing your gray, tattered t-shirt with a faded logo on it, that definitely did not do anything nicely for your shape. You cleared your throat. “No, I’m sorry, no. I’m still in the early laundry-stages.” You said with a smile, and immediately wanted to die. Laundry stages?? He grinned, a fanged tooth catching his lower lip. “Alright. New to the building?” He asked, casually loading a basket with his clothes.

  “Sort of. More of a recluse, that have been living here for a month, and just never do laundry at normal people-times.” He chuckled and stood up to his full height. He was an impressive man, easily towering a head and a half above you, and he looked enormous. Muscles rolled under his perfect skin on his arms, and you couldn’t help your brain going in all other directions than polite talk with a neighbor. “Well, nice to meet you, recluse. I’m Henry.” He balanced the basket on his hip (a beautiful move, if you were honest) and extended his hand, which you cautiously shook. “I’m Y/N.” You said with a small smile. His hand was warm and the grasp was firmer than you had expected, small callouses on the tips of his fingers that graced the inside of your wrist deliciously. Fuckedy fuck. “Y/N. Good name.” He winked at you. “Oh, don’t use the second washing machine…” He pointed to the washer with a bright red 2 painted on it. “Stinky Pete from 5D used it, and I don’t want to imagine what on earth he washed, but it still smells vaguely like rot.” He winked at you. “Bye, Recluse Y/N!” And with that he left, leaving you slightly shellshocked and a scent trail of hazel and wood behind.

It went on like that for a few weeks; you showed up, he was already there in various states of undress (once you even came face to face with him in just boxers, because he had spilled what appeared to be red wine everywhere) and you exchanged pleasantries before leaving the basement and going back to your apartment, sighing deeply over the fact, that you never actually talked to the handsome stranger.

----------

 A while later, a little past midnight, you were back at it (still no working elevator) and found yourself face to face with the very handsome British man, who this time was wearing fucking gray sweatpants and a tank top, that definitely didn’t leave anything to the imagination. You could see every single muscle underneath the shirt as he loaded the laundry.

“Ah, look who’s back!” he grinned at you. “I saved the best washer for you, but don’t tell Mrs. Selton on the fourth. She can’t know I play favorites, or I’ll never get cookies again.” You laughed. “Alright, your secret’s safe with me, sir.” You said and stood next to him, before starting to load the washer. He tried to say something, but almost bit his tongue and groaned at the sensation. “Are you always this smooth?” You asked, laughing slightly, as he began coughing. “Inhaled… Spit…” He coughed again. When he was finally breathing normally, he raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll have you know, this is in no way an indication of how I handle normal interactions with people. It’s late, and I’m slightly flustered.” He said with a small smirk.

“Mhm.” You nodded, while mindlessly stuffing your washer. “Sure, I’ll believe you.” “Hey, you don’t know me.” He said, leaning against the dryer and crossed his arms. “Maybe you know my name, and probably the color and general state of my underwear, but you don’t know me.” “I never said anything.” You grinned and closed the lid on the washer. “Wait, that’s not even close to full.” He tsked at you and opened it again. “You have to really stuff it in there, or you’ll be down here until morning.” “Excuse you, can you get your hands off of my laundry, you weirdo.” You slapped his hand away. “Maybe I don’t want my clothes overly wrinkled, have you considered that?” You asked. “Pfft. That’s the charm of communal laundry. It’ll always smell a little like other people and it will be wrinkled.” You guffawed. “Sure thing, Henry. Any plans for tonight?” you asked, mindlessly pouring detergent into the container. He looked at you with his head tilted slightly, a few stray curls bouncing onto his forehead. Goddamnit, it should be illegal to look like that when doing laundry. “Eh, not really. It’s Sunday, Sundays are for me and my boy.” You raised an eyebrow. “Your boy, huh?” “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I am indeed a parent. I have a child.” He said proudly, leaning over you to press the on-button for you. You jumped onto the counter behind you and sat down on it, insistingly ignoring the creaking of the wood beneath your butt. That’s an insecurity for another day. “Really?” He nodded. “Would your boy happen to be a giant dog?” he frowned. “How the hell did you know that?” You pointed to the unwashed load of laundry, where a suspicious amount of hair had settled on pretty much everything. “Why are you pointing at my... Yeah, well, that is a lot of hair…” He looked back at you with a furrowed brow. “Why are you even looking down there? My laundry should be sacred!” He said teasingly, covering the basket with his arm. “Well… That’s… Uhm… Anyway.” You laughed. “Are you just down here for fun, or did you wait for me?” You asked with a grin. He shrugged. “Oooor… Did you wait for me down here, because we’re the only people in this building that are somewhat close in age, and you are trying to befriend me, which is why you’ve hidden a bottle of wine in your laundry?” “Stop making assumptions that are astutely accurate, it’ll turn weird soon.” He groaned, and – as you thought – pulled a bottle of rosé out of his laundry. “I’m not astutely accurate, I didn’t know it was rosé.” You grinned. He laughed lightly and cocked an eyebrow. “To be fair, it’s mostly because I have nothing to do, and I have a feeling you never celebrated moving here. So…” He opened the bottle with a swift move and pulled two red solo cups out of the basket. “Drink?” You laughed.

“Love to.”  

 “Okay, come on, why on earth are you keeping these?” He asked, holding a very old thong between his fingers. “Shut up, and stop fondling my underwear, you freak!” you quickly grabbed it from him with a laugh. The bottle had been emptied, and a new one had been brought down and for some reason, in your tipsy mind, it was a great idea helping each other folding each other’s clothes while you were waiting on the load that was currently spinning in the dryer. “I’ll have you know, some clothes are sentimental!” You said, throwing the thong into your blue IKEA-bag. He snickered. “How on earth is tattered and holed thongs sentimental? Besides, to be quite frank, at this point it’s just… Like… A string.” He laughed. “You’re the one to talk! You threw a pair of his socks at him. “I have never seen so many pairs of boxers with holes in them!” He shrugged. “I call it the surprise.” You frowned. “The surprise?” “The surprise.” He moved closer to you, and every single hair on your body stood up, while your breath hitched. He whispered into your ear, closely enough for you to feel his lips touch your earlobe. “If I’m feeling very saucy, I’ll simply rip them off and yell surprise!.” He said and laughed, sending vibrations through your entire body. “Ah, why of course. That’s a totally normal thing to do.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes a little darker than usual. “As opposed to being sentimentally attached to a thong?” he asked, his arms caging you in – it wasn’t an unpleasant experience, but it did make your thighs shake a little. His scent enveloped you completely and made it almost impossible to think. “Many tings are sentimental. Underwear, stuff…” You answered lamely. He laughed, a low rumble in his chest and cocked an eyebrow at you. When did his face get so close? “Ah, of course. Stuff and thongs. Nothing better than relieving the good, old days of… Black thongs?” He said softly, his breath fanning over your face. It was intoxicating. “Right. Besides, you have no right to judge me when your underwear looks like it could’ve been made during World War two.” You retorted, shifting slightly in place. He chuckled. “Well… Maybe I have to get new ones, then.”

His lips were so, so close to yours, all it would take was just a little nudge and you would be connected. He was intoxicating as he had you caged, muscles rolling in his arms, his scent of wood and something inherently Henry fully filled your brain, and you almost moved your head, but the sound of the dryer going off pulled both of you out of whatever that was.

“Second load done, one more to go!” He said a little breathlessly and pushed himself away from you – you let out a breath, you didn’t know you were holding and jumped down from the counter. “Great.” You whispered, bending down to grab whatever was in there – you would’ve just kept going, if it wasn’t for the small groan that sounded behind you. You turned your head around and caught Henry looking at your ass. “Excuse you.” You smirked. He cleared his throat. “Were you just looking at my ass, Henry from 4C?” “Uhm… No, I… I-” He groaned. “Fine, I was, but you can’t blame me! You’re bending down like that, and you’re wearing those fucking shorts… I can’t help it, you’re fucking gorgeous, darling.” You shivered. “Oh.” A thick silence fell between you, and you slowly stood up, laundry be damned. “Yeah, well… It’s an unfair advantage, I really tried to be proper and all that, but... Jesus Christ, Y/N.” he groaned again and closed his eyes – the small twitch in his gray sweatpants did not go unseen by you. “Respectfully, are you wearing anything underneath those sweatpants?” You asked, slightly out of breath while heat and wetness were pooling in your panties by the mere idea. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you wearing anything under that?” He asked, opening his eyes slightly. “No, my sentimental thongs are in the laundry.” Wherever the confidence came from, you had no idea, but his reaction to you was more than enough for you to keep going. You were slightly shaky as you moved a step closer to him. “Y/N…” He whispered. “Henry…” You were chest to chest to him now, his lower back against the counter. It was slightly exhilarating to have the control, especially over such a big man as Henry. “Henry…” You whispered his name again, and a fucking whimper fell from his lips. Yeah, fuck this.

You pounced – as best as you could, height difference and all – and the moment, he realized what you were doing, his arms wrapped around you and lifted you slightly, so your lips could connect. It was electric. No, not electric, it was like a symphony of colors, feelings and it was like plunging into cool water, when his lips touched yours. You moaned against his lips, and he gasped, letting your tongue glide against his. Deepening the kiss, he straightened up slightly, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist, holding on for dear life. Your lips and tongues slid against each other fervently, a slight groan reverberating from his throat send you over the edge. You bit his lower lip, pulling a soft moan from him, and wrapped your hand in is hair, tugging it slightly. The reaction was better than you could’ve ever imagined. His hands moved from your waist to your ass, squeezing hard, while a mix of moans and your name tumbled from his lips to yours – you could feel his hard length pressing against the sweatpants and your shorts, and you were sure you were leaving wet spots on his pants. “Fuck, Henry…” You mumbled his name, and he turned around to place you on the counter, before going to your throat, kissing and biting. You moaned at the feeling and threw your head back. “Harder.” You moaned, and felt him smile against your skin, before his teeth sunk deeper into your skin, his large hands tightening their grip on your thighs, causing you to roll your hips. “Fucking hell, darling, I can almost taste you from here…” He whispered against you, his hands moving upwards. “Hmm, really?” You moaned, rolling your hips again. “Nobody’s stopping you.” You tugged his hair again for good measure. “No, you’re right about that.” He mumbled, his hands dancing up, up, up, until they reached the waistband of your shorts and gently pulled them down, letting the fabric slide down your legs – you lifted your ass from the counter, allowing them to fully fall off of you, and he groaned at the sight in front of him. “Fuuuck, darling… I can see how fucking wet you are… Can I taste you?” He asked, his darkened eyes finding yours, chest heaving. You cocked an eyebrow. “Ask nicely.” He chuckled, a thick finger gliding along your hip, slowly inching towards your mound. “Please, Y/N, please… Fuck, I need to taste you, please, let me taste you… let me eat you out until you cum on my tongue.” For a seemingly proper British man, he was filthy. “Yes.” He didn’t wait a second before moving down your body, teeth catching both fabric and nipple on his way down, before he stopped, licking his lips, while looking at your exposed, dripping pussy. “Y/N…” He mumbled your name like a prayer, and before you even had the time to breathe, he licked a thick line along your lips, parting them with it. He moaned at the taste and dove in like a man starved. You mewled at the feeling, his tongue moving around your clit, fingers still on your inner thigh, and you could barely hold your upper body up as his tongue dipped inside of you. “Fuck, yes… I want to feel you cum on me, darling…” He mumbled against you, his hips rutting slightly into nothing. “Fingers. Please, fingers.” You managed to moan as his tongue went back to your clit, hardening against it as he began to eat you out with an intensity you’d never experienced before. He obeyed silently, adding two thick fingers into your dripping pussy, curling them upwards. You bit back a scream as they filled you, slowly sliding in and out, hitting your g-spot over and over, while his tongue did magic on your clit; you’d forever be ruined by this man, and he hadn’t even been inside of you yet. “Fuck!” You bit back a scream as he sped up, tongue and fingers working in perfect unison to pull you closer to the edge; he chuckled darkly against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your clit. “Be quiet, little bird, or someone will hear.” He said slowly, taking a small break from your clit. “Fuck off, it’s like three in the mo-or…” You didn’t finish your sentence, as he dove back in, this time with a speed and intensity, that could’ve killed you on a different day. “Shit, I’m gonna…” He moaned as you tightened around his fingers, and he slurped your juices from you, keeping the pace as best he could. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, baby… I want to feel you cum, can you cum for me, please…” He whimpered as your pussy pulled his fingers deeper inside of you, and you shook slightly.

You couldn’t stop it, even if you wanted to. Your orgasm hit you like a fucking train, white spots appearing in your vision, and you felt, more than heard, his moaning as you rode your orgasm out on his face and fingers.

“Fuck, baby, look at you… You squirted for me, didn’t you, darling?” he looked up at you with a devilish smirk on his face, that was shimmering with your cum under the low fluorescent lights. You moaned – his fingers were still going in and out of you. “Now…” he whispered, his voice dangerously low. “You get on your knees, darling.” E stood up and wiped his face gracefully, putting a single finger in his mouth. “You taste fucking amazing.” He grinned at you and stood to his full height, a sense of authority filling the room. “Knees.” He commanded, and who were you to deny that? You slid down from the counter on shaky legs and landed on your knees, looking up at him. “Fuck, darling, you can’t look at me like that, I’ll fucking cum here and now.” He groaned. “Well, where’s the fun in that?” You said while your fingers grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down, letting his cock spring free. You almost salivated at the look of it. Thick, throbbing slightly, a thick vein running down the length of it and a drop of precum sparkling under the lights. He was huge. “Well, what are you waiting for, little bird?” he chuckled, before he cut it off with a moan, as your lips wrapped around the tip, and you slid down as far as your jaw and throat allowed you to. He moaned as the tip hit the back of your throat and you choked slightly on it – you were dripping wet, as you began to move back and fort on his length, swallowing as much as you could, reveling in the taste of is precum. He twitched slightly and a choked moan spilled from his lips, as he thrusted forwards. “Fuck, baby… Shit, you’re really... Fuck… Good at this…” He moaned. You smiled around his length and moved faster, hearing the choked moans above, spurring you on. “Fuck, baby, stop, stop, stop… Stop, I’ll cum if you keep going…” You whimpered as he pulled away from you, a line of spit connecting you, and you looked up at him with big eyes. He groaned and held your chin with a large hand. “Good girl. I want to feel you before I cum, darling.” He whispered, gently guiding you up to your feet again by your chin. He kissed you deeply before turning you around, bending you over the counter. “Fuck, this ass… You’re a fucking wonder, baby…” He reveled, a hand falling on your ass. You moaned at the sensation and your hips bucked, exposing yourself more to him. “Oh, look at you, doing so fucking good for me already, aren’t you?” he whispered. You moaned again. “Henry, please…” You whimpered his name and tried to push back to get him inside of you, but he chuckled and held you tightly in place. “No, baby girl, you’re going to stay right there.” He ran a hand down your spine and slapped your ass again, forcing a whimper from you. “Now, you ask nicely, and I’ll fuck you right here, right now.” He said darkly, his hand gently running circles over your ass, sometimes dipping between your legs. You coked on a moan, and barely had the wherewithal to create a coherent sentence. “Please, please, p-please, fuck, Henry, please… Please f-fuck me, I’m begging you-u…” His finger dipped inside of you. “You want to feel my cock slowly slide inside of you, baby?” He asked, dragging his finger in and out painfully slow. You whimpered a broken yes. “Want to feel me dragging against your walls, huh? Want me to fill you, let my cum drip out of you?” You were a shaking mess as another finger was added. “Y-yes…” You felt like crying. It was so good, but so torturous to feel his fingers glide so fucking slowly. “Ah, you can do better than that, darling.” He said, bending over you – you could feel the tip of his cock against your ass, as his mouth found your neck again. “P-please, Henry, please… I want to feel your cock in me, please…” “Mhm… I want to fill you up, darling… I want to watch my thick cock slide in and out of your tight pussy, seeing you take me…” He rambled, fingers moving faster now, and you groaned at his words. “Fuck, y-yes, Henry, I’m b-begging you, please…” you mewled. He withdrew his fingers too quickly for your liking, and he spat on your already soaked pussy, before lining himself up. “You think you can take all of me right now, baby? Let my thick cock go as deep as it can, huh?” He asked, rubbing the tip against your entrance, smearing the wetness around. You nodded, desperate for anything at this point. “No, no, that won’t do, little bird.” He tsked at you and his free hand wrapped around your hair and tugged slightly, arcing your back as your head got pulled back. You moaned loudly. “Mhm, keep the sound down, we’re in a public area, sweetheart.” He said with a small chuckle. “Ask me and mean it.” He ordered, the tip of his throbbing cock so fucking close to glide inside of you. “Fucking fill me, or I swear to god…” you begged, and whatever you wanted to say got lost in your throat, as he slid inside of you swiftly and in one, single thrust, bottomed out.

You shrieked in both pain and pleasure, your legs shaking and if he hadn’t kept a tight grip on your hair and waist, you’d probably collapse. “Oh, good girl, look at you taking all of me… Sit, it looks to fucking good to see my cock in you, baby…” He mumbled. He didn’t move yet, simply allowing you to adjust.  After a few seconds, you rolled your hips to let him know you were good, and he chuckled darkly. “There’s a good, little slut, darling.” His words combined with his voice sent wetness down your thighs as he began moving, slowly at first, before picking up speed. You felt every single twitch inside of you, and he filled you to the brim. You had never been so fucking full before, and you’d never want to stop, if you were honest. He angled himself a little better and pistoned in and out of you; you saw stars and a red-hot burning started in your abdomen seconds before your orgasm hit you; it was blinding and your legs were barely functioning as you came around him, your pussy pulling him deeper, as your thighs got soaked and he moaned. “Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, Y/N… Fuck, I’m not going to last long…” He moaned as you twitched around him and met his thrust, the sound of your skin slapping against each other filling the otherwise quiet room. “Fucking fill me, please… I want to feel you cum, I’m b-begging you…” you moaned, almost delirious at this point. He roared and bit down on your shoulder, before he picked up speed and began fucking you fiercely, his tick and long cock hitting your cervix slightly. You mewled and another rush of wetness went down your legs, as you neared another orgasm while he whispered praise and encouragements in your ear.

“Look at that fucking… Oh, fuck…” He groaned and thrusted harder than ever, his rhythm becoming irregular. “Look at you taking me so well, darling… You’re doing so good for me, can you cum again?” He licked the spot, he had just bitten. “Can you cum for me again, baby girl? Let me… Fuck… Feel you cum again?”

As if you could deny him.

He clamped a hand over your mouth as you came wit a scream, your pussy tightening and pulsing around his length as he fucked you into oblivion. He roared with pleasure and his hand moved from your waist to your ass, grabbing it harshly before picking up speed and chased his own high. You were shaking, barely coherent as he fucked you relentlessly. “Henry… Fuck, please… Let me feel you cum… Fuck, p-please, I want to feel you fill me, please…” You moaned his name like a prayer, and he growled before his speed stuttered. “Fuck, baby… I’m going to fill you up, you’ll be dripping for days… I’m so fucking deep in your tight pussy…” he mumbled, his hand bruising your ass, wile he pistoned back and forth; he fell silent for half a second, before you felt him swell and twitch slightly. “Tell me you’re mine.” He growled. “Mine.” His cock pounded you relentlessly. “H-henry… Shit, y-yes, yes, I’m yours!” You mewled as he twitched again.

Ropes of his cum painted your insides, and you came with him as you felt the heat of his spend inside of you. Henry growled as you tightened around him again, and he jerked his hips so he was a deep as e could be, whispering praise to you, as you rode out your own orgasm.

 You stayed bent over the creaky counter, sweat dripping form the both of you, his cock still inside of you, for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath.

“Shit, that was…” he whispered, kissing the bitemark on your shoulder gently. You shivered. “Mhmm…” Words did kind of fail you at the moment. He seemed to understand whatever you meant, at any rate, and chuckled gently, before slowly pulling out with a hiss. “Jesus Christ… You’re a fucking wonder, you know that, Y/N?” He asked, the sweetest smile painting his features. You grinned with slightly bruised lips, and pulled your shorts back up. No reason to try and clean up. “Says you.” He bent down and grabbed the black thong, that was more string than fabric at this point, at stuffed it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Sentimental value, you know?” You laughed. “Does this mean I get to see your surprise-move?” You asked jokingly. He cocked his eyebrow and a smile spread across his face – he was a goddamn Adonis.

“Well, I do have more wine in my apartment… And a bed…”

“Lead the way.”

 TAGLIST:

@acaceta @a-skov @buckyshattergirl​ @angelmather1 @cooldreamlandsandwich @doubletriplepowerbomb @est1887@enchantedbytomandhenry @fionnthebandersnacc @herroyalbubbliness @jeepgirls-stuff @Keiva1000 @kebabgirl67 @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler @pandaxnienke @perfunctory-username69 @penneferofvenerburg @sleutherclaw @sofiebstar @summersong69 @spookyboogyuniverse @stardusted26 @thereisa8ella @timetraveller4@thatonechickhere @themanfromu @thelastpyle @tragicphoenix13 @yourlocalhoney @wheretheriversrunintothesea @severewobblerlightdragon @leigh70 @phildunphyisadilf​

[holylulusworld]

I know this has been asked before but I swear I can never find the links of the post of you answering other people. But I just need all of your plus size/ chubby reader 😽🫶 . I love your stories so much and I can’t wait for more, I was just curious to all the other ones you have because I’m never able to find any 🤧🤧.

Hi lovely! I try to list all chubby/curvy/plus-sized reader stories here (any fandom):

MARVEL

(including oder CEvans / SebStan characters)

Steve Rogers:

The assistant masterlist (CEvans characters)

Big girls don’t cry masterlist (AU)

A fresh start masterlist

The captain at a sex shop (also short reader)

Weakling (a/b/o)

Ransom Drysdale:

Once (1) & its sequels Twice, Thrice, Four times & Five times (a/b/o)

His maid

Trust fund prick

Lee Bodecker:

Snuggle Time

Red-Handed

Bucky Barnes:

You are beautiful masterlist

Burned Muffins & its sequels Burned Cookies & Burned Pancakes It's more implied in the 1st chapter that she's plus-sized in this one)

Best night of your life & its sequel Best night of your life (2) (AU)

Fratboys forever? masterlist (AU)

Chubby Bee 🐝 (AU)

The mobster’s cook & its sequels The mobster’s girl, The mobster’s wife (AU)

Tony Stark:

Obsession Stark Style

Fake Diamond

Multichars:

The Fitness Pack masterlist  (Steve Rogers; Sam Wilson; Bucky Barnes, Thor Odinson - they all got a separate story - no poly)

Stucky:

Clingy Love (a/b/o)

Chris Evans:

The heat is on masterlist (a/b/o)

___

SPN

Dean Winchester:

The new neighbor (a/b/o)

Broken Word Masterlist (AU)

His meaty mouse masterlist (AU)

911 for love Masterlist (Cop AU)

The Italian touch Masterlist

Foody Queen & its sequel His Foody Queen (AU)

Auction of love (AU/a/b/o)

Granny is the best (AU/a/b/o)

No friend of mine

Low

He’s my man

Ashamed

Sexy Suits

Family bonds

The back-up plan

Sharing Showers

The talk

Breaking your heart was never my intention

The DUFF (AU) it's implied that she's chubby - hence the title duff

Alone, together & its sequel Together, again (AU)

Sam Winchester:

Cocky matchmaker (Sam Winchester)

Soulless Instinct (Soulless!Sam Winchester - a/b/o)

John Winchester:

The Roommate masterlist (AU John Winchester)

Others:

Beautiful Mine (Cain - a/b/o)

Sam/Reader/Dean:

Our Girl Masterlist (AU / poly - no Wincest)

Never be your sexy girl (poly - no Wincest)

Jensen Ackles:

The back-up plan

___

DC

Sex you up (Henry Cavill)

___

THE BOYS

Dumbass stalker masterlist (Soldier Boy)

___

TWD

Negan:

You belong to me

Physical Education (AU)

His favorite (Negan - a/b/o)

[geralts-yenn]

Geralt-Yenn's Masterlist

Hi! Thank you for taking a look at my materlist! Here you find a bunch of stories in which I put all kinds of Henry Cavill shaped characters.

Most of these stories contain content not suitable for minors, so if you're under 18, please do not read!

Do not copy, translate or post my work anywhere else! I explicitly forbid using my work to feed AI!

What I do encourage you is to reblog my stories. Every little bit of feedback is welcome!

List by character under the cut:

Your majesty (drabble; VampireKing!August/reader) 🔥

a lesson in obedience (VampireKing!August/reader/ofc) 🔥

Believe in me (modern AU vampire!Melot/ofc) 🌩 🔥 💕

Play time (softDom!August Walker/reader) 🔥

bonfire (Sy/reader) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: After months you finally see Sy again. But how will he react to you after he cancelled his date before he left?

Something like that (Sy/reader) 🔥 💕

summary: follow-up of bonfire - Sy finally takes you on a date

Part 1, Part 2

mother's day (drabble; Sy/reader) 💕

Yearning (drabble; Sy/reader) 🌩 💕

Believe in me (modern AU vampire!Melot/ofc) 🌩 🔥 💕

I need you now (Evan Marshall/reader) 💕

summary: After an accident your cute neighbor takes care of you

Brothers and Beers (drabble; Evan Marshall/reader) 💕 (Evan's pov on 'I need you now')

Fighting demons (Evan Marshall/reader) 🌩 🔥 💕 part 2 of 'I need you now'

summary: You've been in a relationship with Evan for a while now, but somehow you are still stuck on first base. You start questioning if he's really that into you.

Believe in me (modern AU vampire!Melot/ofc) 🌩 🔥 💕

Ray of Sunshine (modern AU Melot/ofc) 🔥 💕

summary: just some fluffy, smutty summer dream with a tattooed biker Melot

Hearts Too Big (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: Nina goes on a camping trip with her boyfriend Mel and his cute neighbor Mike. Plenty of feelings - that’s the whole plot

Bubbles (drabble; modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

Bottom (drabble; modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

A very merry birthday (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

summary: The boys are celebrating Christmas and more importantly, Nina's birthday

Found family (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: Mikey needs some love after meeting his family

Fairy Tale (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

summary: Mike, Melot and nina celebrate their first anniversary

 the natural thing to do  (Mikey/reader) 🔥 💕

summary: After another breakup, instead of your best friend you only find her brother Mikey at her home. The guy you had a crush on since you were 12…

pranked (Mikey/reader) 🔥 💕

summary: your babysitter job took some turns that you couldn't have forseen...

caught for sillyrabbit81’s milestone celebration 2023 (Mikey/reader) 🔥 💕

follow-up of pranked, but both stories can be read separately

date night with Mikey (drabble; Mikey/reader) 💕

ice cream, brownies and a hug (drabble; Mikey/reader) 💕

Hearts Too Big (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: Nina goes on a camping trip with her boyfriend Mel and his cute neighbor Mike. Plenty of feelings - that’s the whole plot

Bubbles (drabble; modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

Bottom (drabble; modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

Fakin' it (Mikey/reader) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: To win back your ex-boyfriend, you decide to fake date your best friend. What could go wrong? 

Zoom (mini drabble; Mikey/reader) 💕

A very merry birthday (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

summary: The boys are celebrating Christmas and more importantly, Nina's birthday

Found family (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: Mikey needs some love after meeting his family

Fairy Tale (modern AU Melot/ofc/Mike) 🔥 💕

summary: Mike, Melot and nina celebrate their first anniversary

anahita (Napoleon Solo/ofc) 🔥

summary: After a hard job in Isfahan, Napoleon tries to lose some tension in the hamam of his client, the Shah

Memories (Walter Marshall/ofc) 🌩 🔥 💕

summary: At your brother's wedding you have to face a ghost from your past - Walter Marshall - and you find yourself lost in memories

Part 1, Part 2

Hollow Hearts (Walter Marshall/reader) 🌩 🌩 🌩 (💕)

summary: you break up with Walter but you just can't let go

Hollow Hearts (bonus chapter) (Walter Marshall/reader) 🔥 💕

summary: you and Walter take care of each other (basically porn without plot, can be read without knowing the main story)

Headcanons / multiple characters:

Lazy morning sex 🔥

On-going series:

Inspo boards for my stories

Fluff = 💕 Smut = 🔥 Angst = 🌩

Collection of all my stories - follow to get notifications on new fics:

Yenn-writes

[l4long-winded]

i. a sleep deprived meeting

summary: your upstairs neighbor plays the violin often. so much so that it's distracting you from your work. you decide it's time to confront him (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)

reflection: this is the first part of six. two have been written, and another is currently in the works. i did plan to finish everything and post it in one piece, but then it would be too long. i have dove into a rabbit hole here and i hope i am able to curse others as much as henry's sherlock has cursed me. please enjoy and of course, feedback is always encouraged and appreciated.

warnings: seamstress!reader, sherlock is rude, condescending!sherlock, cursing, somewhat slowburn, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, victorian era (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,604

That damn violin’s surpassing the dimension between floors separating you from your upstairs neighbor again. The vivid sound is so clear that you’re positive your fingertips could rest against the surface of the wall and vibration would greet you not only harmoniously, but physically. Music you could touch because of how it swells in the building, how it echoes out to your flat and bounces off the empty spaces not covered by scraps of fabric. The hum shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but your fingers are not occupying themselves with the task of becoming familiar with the tunes of a skilled violinist; they’re busy with a commissioned dress that must be finished within the time slot of a day. Normally you wouldn’t rush the process, but work came fast and aplenty, leaving you with little to no choice but to overload yourself and answer it with vigor and stubbornness others would describe as not knowing how to quit. You’ve never had a quota this full to meet and you were, after all, one woman, but you’re going to work day and night if that’s what it takes. Or, in your case, another day and another night of nonstop work to add onto your seemingly endless and perpetually sleepless cycle of being.

In your haste, your index finger meets the needle of your incoming thread. It’s a stab straight to your flesh, one of many, and one managing to aggravate your already high level of frustration brewing within. Quickly and without thinking, you shove your finger into your mouth to nurse the small, repetitive wound underneath your tongue. The taste of metal mixes off with your saliva and soon fades from blood and light salt to nothing but a feeling of your pulse throbbing from the unwelcome intrusion. The drum in your fingertip only speeds up as a warning of you to be careful, of how each misstep with the needle may be miniscule, but multiplying the instances periodically would leave behind more pain to ache alongside the pressure forming in your back and neck. Your eyes burn the longer you keep them open, the longer you focus on sewing, there’s no need to add pricked fingers to your list of pain that you would wind up ignoring in favor of more work. And yet, through all of this, it’s not your cramping hands, your stiff neck, your tired eyes, or your crouching back that cultivates your irritation. No, it’s the crescendo of the violin from upstairs nestling in your ear, yelling at you to shut it up.

After personifying the instrument and imagining its voice as a cry for help, of how it’s a victim to the criminal musician’s overuse, you somehow justify yourself pushing the cloth in your lap aside to place it onto the table of your machine. You blow air to flip the hair strands that have fallen out of their way and laid on your lips, the rest pinned to your head so you wouldn’t have to worry about your hair draping over your skin during your job’s duties. You’re so focused on gripping the material of your skirts that you fail to notice the strands falling right back into your eyes on the way up the stairs you’re marching on one by one. The violin increases in volume with every step you take until you’re soon facing a door, a golden label of 221B staring back at you, the contrast being in the floor letter. This is not the first time you’ve been disturbed by this tenant, but it’s the first time you’ve come up here to this door in particular and you’re aware of this as you hesitate and merely glare forward. This self-awareness sets you back two seconds, only two seconds of precious time before you decide to see this through and confront your unnamed tormenter.

Your hand raises into a fist, prepared to knock onto the door seemingly taunting you for some course of action, but it’s then that it swings open and unveils a rather large man with squared shoulders and an annoyed expression that you know mirrors your own. His face is sculpted, boyish curls surrounding masculine and inquisitive features that become more so with a raise of his left eyebrow. Almost as if you were actually staring into your own reflection, your shoulders perk up and you rectify your posture to try and replicate the amount of space he takes in the same fashion that you would imagine a human doing in front of a bear to appear bigger than it was. But it doesn’t matter what he looks like, this complaint must be said with confidence and you won’t let this man’s size or gender intimidate you. Your lack of sleep may have made you a bit reckless, but at least you could move forward and continue without his infuriating habits robbing you of your sanity whether it’s while you work or while you try to unwind (a much rarer phenomenon, but still not as plausible with him around).

Or so, you thought.

“You’re heavy on your feet,” the man cuts the silence without allowing you the chance to speak. “I could hear you coming before you started to ascend the stairs.” Your voice catches in your throat hearing such an utterance, your eyes automatically drifting down to look at your choice of footwear. Your heels weren’t the quietest of shoes, but the clack of them against the stairs is not something that you were noticing in your simmering rage walking up and across the hall. Thinking clearly is difficult to do without sleep on one’s side in general. Embarrassment and shame flit over your chest all at once, but as you peer into this man’s disarray of a flat behind his broad frame, you can see the violin sitting atop a table. That wretched thing that you can no longer stand the sound of, the reason you came up here in the first place despite having not known one another. You didn’t plan to introduce yourself, either, and it seems like a bad idea with the tension currently sitting between you and Shoulders.

“Yes, well,” you slowly clear your throat and try to regain a semblance of decorum after being caught so off guard, “I made my trip here for a reason. You do play a string instrument, correct?”

Without preamble, he takes a single glance behind him and locates the very thing you were about to complain about. It’s not long before his brilliant blues return and level you with the same steely gaze he’s adopted from the moment he first opened the door. It prompts you to close your mouth. You don’t know why you do, but there’s this restraint you’re putting onto yourself in the presence of this domineering stranger. You want to continue on, but he takes advantage of the beat and he leans into the door frame with one capable hand. The position tells you of how you’re wasting his time, how he would rather get back to what he was doing before you interrupted him. “What on Earth told you that? Was it, perhaps, the sound of the Caprice in A Minor or the meek snooping of prying, sleep-deprived eyes unabashedly scrutinizing my flat?”

His sarcasm takes you aback. He couldn’t have known that you were coming up here with any hint of aggression to be speaking to you so poorly. The last thing you wanted to do was portray yourself as judgmental when your own flat was a mess in itself, but you’re also not in the mood to question and doubt yourself knowing the motive for this impromptu visit in the first place. The realization hits you that he also could not have known about your sleep schedule being askew, so you must’ve looked like the walking undead. While your face scrunches up in defense, you rapidly shake your head despite the migraine currently gripping it by the crown. Your neighbor certainly isn’t helping with that. Your disheveled appearance should be the least of his worries.

“Listen, I did not come up here to quarrel—”

“But that’s not true, is it?” His expression changes. It’s subtle, but you catch it from how intently you’re burrowing your eyes into his in an attempt to search for the audacity he seemed to possess without a lick of shame behind it. His expression communicates his words as a fact, as if he had you figured out, as if he had the world around you two figured out. The certainty in his pupils unwavers and you’re a skeptic before anything else, but you already believe what he’s about to say before he even says it just from how he carries himself. So sure. So omniscient.

A deep sigh slips past his lips as he brings the door closed to where only a narrow crevice of his flat is now displayed to you. You can no longer drink in the furniture and trinkets this man holds because there’s no longer a view beyond him and rich wood facing you, leaving you vulnerable to look solely at the curls framing his sturdy facial structure. It’s a dichotomy you’re not prepared for: soft decorating solid, flowers strung along stone. If you dare the eye contact further, then you’ll test how much your own can stand before they start to water from sheer perseverance. You’ve been wiping tears away casually while you sat at your sewing machine today from how exhausted they were and from how you forced them open to continue. You don’t want to shed a tear in this instance since he might think himself the reason and it’s obvious to you that you can’t give him any more of a reaction, any more of a way into how you felt.

“Ordinarily, a walk up this staircase alerts simply from the creaks crafted by age and the weight of a person’s shoes. If you were on a mission to borrow sugar loaves, it wouldn’t have easily caught my ear since I was occupied playing the Caprice.” He gestures to the stairs, the rickety sound of the steps coming back to mind from how you previously walked them. “However, you did catch my ear and it’s not because of an enhanced ability or cautious observation, but because you climbed your way here with intention behind every stomp your elevated heels etched into the floorboards. No one scuffs flooring unless they’re dragging about some kind of vendetta or they’re lackadaisical in their steps, yours far too prominent to be considered the latter.”

Out of curiosity, you throw a look behind your shoulder to assess his story and there’s a lemony scratch in the floor standing vibrantly against the opaque hickory that surrounds it. You compare the mark to the shape of your heel and you foolishly gulp down from how transparent your perturbation has been up to this point. Still, while he may be right about your less than friendly arrival, it doesn’t change anything. Actually, you’re finding yourself more irritated than before, his attitude too set in writing when you’ve barely muttered two sentences to him. Two sentences and he’s gone on some soliloquy exemplifying how he’s most likely not the easiest person in the world to talk to. Great, you have the worst kind of neighbor and you can join that bitter population of people who must deal with those they live beside no matter how much they don’t want to. Your exhale is steady leaving your nostrils in an attempt to calm yourself.

“Fine, then I have some kind of vendetta,” you parrot back to him and match his matter-of-factly tone. “It’s against you and your violin—”

“A noise complaint, right.” He nods his head as a headmaster would, as if you were a little girl raising her hand with an answer needing validation from the authority figure running the class. Your fists ball up at your sides. You don’t think you could handle one more second of his condescension.

“Yes, a noise complaint. I’ve been incredibly busy working and your violin makes it extremely difficult to think.” You puff out your last words, a breath of your current mood following closely behind. It doesn’t deter him and neither do your words. He remains where he is and mulls it over simultaneously as he regards your frame. Stagnant. Inspecting. Almost brooding. You’re in the middle of attempting to conjure another way to put this dilemma in order for this brick wall of a man to understand when he tilts his head down to look at the watch in his vest’s pocket.

“Strange. A seamstress needing to think,” he says, but it’s more to himself than it is to you. It doesn’t mean that it’s any less insulting. By how your blood’s curdling in your veins from the heat beginning to bubble underneath your skin, you’d argue that his response and behavior is that much more insulting.

“I beg your pardon, Mister—”

“Holmes. It’s Holmes.” He points a broad shoulder towards the door behind him. “I understand your concern, but you’re not the only tenant who works from home. While you claim the violin may not aid you in thought, it aids me greatly in it. So, if that’s all,” he leans forward and somehow the above fluorescence catches a gleam to the ice of his irises, “Some of us need to get back to work.”

With that, Mr. Holmes turns away from you, a flabbergasted feeling dawning onto you in his wake. Your mouth’s agape in an odd mix of shock, disgust, and incredulity as you watch him disappear and then promptly shut the door. Just as before, the golden letters taunt you all over again, beckoning your hand to knock and hold your ground. Except, that doesn’t happen. You don’t reach your hand up to try and create another debate with the tenant in flat 221B, not when you’re sure he would just walk you in circles. There are some people in this world you can’t win through speech and quite frankly, you’re too tired and agitated to engage him in anything other than another form of aggression. From how you recall him glancing at his pocket watch, it reminds you how you’re wasting your own limited time squandering over someone you just met. He’s a problem certainly, but not your current problem to resolve. The commission still needs to be dealt with and there’s better success there than here.

Swallowing your pride and gathering your last bits of etiquette to appear as a lady, you slowly withdraw from Mr. Holmes and his door to trot yourself back to the stairs. His voice echoes in your mind, the matter in which you previously ascended the steps being a stark volume. Despite this, you don’t hesitate to resume your stomping, each step booming as resolve slips through your fingers and your heel thuds into the wood with full intent rather than a subconscious one he caught onto too quickly. You take one final look back at the bottom of the staircase to see if the door budges, but nothing happens. But you know he heard it and for now, that’s enough for you to return to your flat to continue your current sewing project.

You sit at the machine and reset your needle, thread, and how you position the fabric before you’re falling back into the rhythm. It’s only when you begin to hear the violin humming through the walls again that it occurs to you that you never told Mr. Holmes you were a seamstress.

[phoward89]

Faceclaims:

(Banners by me, dividers by @saradika)

I decided to do some faceclaims for the Reader's family and for her stalker. I tried to keep her family 'Seam' looking. You can imagine the reader any way you want since her brother is her half-brother. No faceclaim for the reader; like I said imagine her however you'd like.

Rein: Henry Cavill

Is the reader's older half-brother that raised her after their mother abandoned them when he was 15 & the reader was 5. He's a coalminer and lives with his girlfriend, Ashlie.

Ashlie: Phoebe Tonkin

Ashlie is the girlfriend of the Reader's brother, Rein. She lives with him in the Seam. She's from a coal mining family, like most people in the Seam.

Corbin Evergreen 'Everdeen': Tom Blyth

(Oh, yeah. I think everyone can figure out who he's related to...)

Corbin Evergreen 'Everdeen' is the Reader's neighbor and stalker back in District 12. He's 15 and lives with his 'Auntie' after appearing in the Seam out of thin air years earlier. He's an orphan. Reader's older brother Rein finds his fixation on his little sister odd and alarming... Oh, Corbin changed his name from Evergreen to Everdeen due to the reader misunderstanding him/hearing him wrong due to a slight lisp. (He's off his rocker...)

If there's anymore faceclaims I'll update the list. So far this is who I have/will be mentioning in the upcoming chapters I have planned.

[maggyme13]

Moving above the Underworld (1/?)

Ellie just moved into a new flat. Introducing herself to her downstairs neighbor with a cake she did not realize what the future held for her and him. And what had an asshole coworker to do with it?

AN: I never saw Sand Castle and only know about Captain Syverson because of the Henry Cavill Character Rabbithole of Fanfiction. But I thought he would fit the best (visually), so I chose him.

Don´t like-> Don´t Read Minors DNI

Warning: asshole Coworkers, This Series WILL contain dubcon! Wordcount: Around 2k

Masterlist Series-Masterlist

„Finally, the last box is empty. Only took me- what- a month?“, the young woman groaned. Her back was hurting from lifting too much heavy lumber at work. “Now, I gotta get food in the oven and take my hard owned shower. And why am I talking to myself again? If he hears me, he won´t look at me all grumpy but as I am crazy as well. Gotta tone it down, Ellie.” Stripping her dusty work clothes, she made her way into the small bathroom of her apartment. It had dark gray tiles on the floor, with Creme-colored walls, a toilet, a bathtub with a shower, and a sink with a mirrored cabinet above it. Her washing machine and dryer were in a small adjoined room next door. “Still got to introduce myself to my neighbor properly. Now that he is back from his holidays. Guess I could bake something. What do I have in the pantry? What do I have… Flour, sugar, eggs, milk, chocolate, baking powder. Mhm...”, she continued thinking out loud while washing her longish dark-blonde hair and face, “I could make some Straciatella cake with chocolate topping and split one dough into two servings. I could do with something sweet for my breaks.” Ellie fought getting some dried varnish off her arms. “Tomorrow is Friday. That means he should be home when I get off work, right? I still can leave it at his door with a note either way.” Dressed in some of her most comfortable clothes and with her hair up in a towel Ellie ate her Pizza while also preparing the cake dough. If she sat down to eat, she knew she would never be able to get back up and get her shit done. “Note to myself: Get more painkillers at the pharmacy tomorrow.”, she groaned again when a sting of pain spread through her spine, “Would only be half this bad if the idiot would have helped me instead of taking like ten smoke breaks.” She had just placed the pan in the oven when the sound of a door closing and being locked reached her ears; her neighbor was leaving it seemed. He was always gone at strange and unscheduled times, and the woodworker wondered what his job was that he had no schedule. But she was too shy to ask. Not that it was any of her business. “Forty minutes to wait. Hope this works out.” ___

Before she left her flat, she quickly the molten chocolate over the cakes so it would be ready once she returned late that afternoon. “Let´s see if I can even move tonight. Would be nice though.”, she wondered aloud after one last stretch. Just when she wanted to open the front door it was opened from the outside. Her neighbor had returned. He was a giant of a man. Nearly two meters in height with shaved hair, a short full beard, and muscles. His arms were close to the width of her lower legs, his torso as wide as an old beer keg, and his legs fit the rest of that body. When Ellie had seen him the first time she had believed a god stood before her. Cheesy, she knew, but that was the first thought that had crossed her mind. As usual, he was wearing all black: Black shirt, trousers, and shoes. That showed off his tattoo-covered arms and the crook of his neck. He was no one she wanted to cross paths with when he was angry or in a dark alleyway. “G-Good morning.”, she greeted as usual with a small smile on her lips. “´Morning.”, he rumbled back, not cold but tired sounding. Listening to her music, Ellie made her way to the nearby subway station that would bring her to her workplace. Each day she traveled one hour to and from work. And whenever she had to make overtime, she hated it even more.

___

“G-Good evening, Sir. I am sure- cut that- I know you know I moved into the flat a-above you a few weeks back. I- I had no time to introduce myself properly so here I am. Name´s Ellie Miller. I am a skilled Woodworker. Please let me know if I am too loud or do something wrong. And I can leave my number in case something happens.”, she stumbled over her words. Far too shy and nervous standing in front of her neighbor. “Mhrmm.”, he answered quirking one of his eyebrows. His gray eyes staring right into her soul it seems. “Oh- I. I made a cake as an introductory gift. I hope you are not allergic to anything.”, Ellie handed him the box with the cake, “I will leave you to it then. Ha- Have a nice evening.” Fighting the urge to bow (whichever), the woman turned and walked back up to her apartment, feeling his eyes on her back until she closed the door behind her. “That was scary.”, she breathed out, her back pressed against the closed door. The box was returned to her the next Monday morning, clean and with a note that stated: ´Thank you. Welcome to the house.´ The grateful smile that danced around her lips after reading those words only left when she stepped into the workshop and was met by her favorite coworker. He was in his early forties, friends with the boss, and believed women belonged behind a counter and not a band- or circular saw. But he could not get rid of her. Both her work ethic and the results of her work were perfect and not once a customer complained about her. “Boss wants to have a word with you.”, he sneered and Ellie sighed. What had she done now? “You wanted to see me, Sir?”, she asked once stepped into the office. “Your new tasks. Make sure not to mess them up this time. And no more leaving early. Now back to work!”, her Boss told her without looking at her at all. “Yes, Sir.”, she mumbled, taking the binders with her. She had three weeks to build a whole (though small) kitchen, one bedroom interior, one sideboard beneath a sink, and an office table. “Oh joy, over time. Again.”, she groaned, her head hitting the top of her workstation, “At least the table and bedroom are made of oak. We have enough of that lying around. Let´s get that done, I guess. No moving tonight again. Yayy.”

____

It was the Saturday after she had finished the given tasks (with high praises from the customers) and was finally able to relax a bit. And that usually meant doing nothing (productive) all day long, wearing her most comfortable clothes (or sleepwear), maybe some baking, and reading. This time her choice fell on a simple but delicious apple cake with cinnamon-sugar crumbles, and so she got to work. “This one will taste incredible with some fresh whipped cream.”, Ellie hummed. She had last made it a few months back and she yearned for it now that she smelled it again. Her kitchen was clean, she grabbed a cup of tea and launched herself into her couch with the book she was reading at that moment in time. “DAMN. It smells like a bakery in here! I am getting hungry just standing here.”, a man exclaimed in the hallway. He seemed to have a Latin-American accent,” Didn´t know you could use a kitchen without blowing it up.” “My neighbor. She tends to do it often.”, her neighbor answered in a neutral tone. “Think I could ask for some?”, the first man asked and Ellie perked up. “We have shit to do.”, now her neighbor sounded slightly annoyed. “Spoilsport.”, that last mumble of the foreigner made her chuckle, and decided to put some cake and whipped cream in a container and hang it on her neighbor's doorknob. A whole sheet was far too much for one person to eat. Even though when that person was a bit chubby. Two hours later, she did just that, with a small note attached that read: ´I overheard you earlier. Sorry for listening in. I made far too much for one person, so please enjoy it. I hope it was okay that I placed it on your doorknob. I did not want to interrupt whatever you were doing ~ Ellie.´ From that day on, whenever she made something, she would put it in a container on a little stool she placed next to the stairs leading up to her apartment. And every time the container would be empty and clean the coming day. She did not do that because she wanted something in return, but because she loved to bake and share (it). Around that time Ellie started to feel like she was being followed whenever she left the house. No matter where she went. If it was to work, on the way to customers, shopping for groceries, or simply for a walk through the neighborhood. At first, the feeling was only sporadic and every other day, but once she had realized the feeling. She got more and more aware of it, but whenever she was to look around, no one was there that looked suspicious. Up to a point where she had anxiety attacks only thinking about leaving through her door. Two months into that situation Ellie almost knocked out one of the Coworkers she liked with a piece of wood when he had startled her at work. She apologized profusely and promised baked goods as an apology. He declined. But asked if she was alright. She told him yes, that she was simply overworked and ready for her days off the upcoming week. But of course, it should not be that easy for her. The last Customer was screaming to her, that she was a failure and knew nothing about what she was doing. That she should quit and be a housewife like a real woman would. It took everything for within her to not start to cry, and because she had managed to do just that, she treated herself to a ´feel-good´ hot chocolate. Again, the dreaded feeling of being under surveillance crept up her spine and she hurried home to order some food from a local Italian restaurant. With how her day had been, she needed her favorite comfort food. Exited for a calm(er) evening with incredible food, she opened the door for the delivery guy. Who was in his mid-thirties, with oily skin, unruly hair, and some dirt on his uniform. He smelled of booze, but that could be caused by the large stain on his shirt. It seemed like someone had dumped his beer on him. Not being one to judge someone who was looking the way he was, anyone had a bad day once in a while. Heck, she just had one THAT day. Her friendly demeanor left though when the man whistled lewdly and

started to make inappropriate comments. “Thank you, for your delivery, Sir.”, she smiled, trying to close the door on him. He put his hand between the door and frame to stop her from doing so and pushed the door open again. “What are you doing tomorrow? Say at 6 pm.”, he grinned. “Nothing of your concern. Now have a nice evening.”, she tried again but he did not budge. “Go on a date with me and I´ll leave.” Ellie just wanted to tell him off again when the main door opened again. “Your Car is blocking my spot.”, her neighbor stated after a second he needed to take in the scene before him,” Get it moving or I´ll call your boss.” “Sorry, Sir. Think about it Sweetheart.”, the man winked before finally leaving. “No thank you.”, the woman whispered more to herself than anything else, before addressing her savior, “Thank you for that. H-he did not take No for an answer.” “You good?”, he asked, his eyes roaming over her like he was looking for any injuries. “Yes, Thank you again.”, and with that, she returned to her kitchen to hopefully be able to relax. Part 2

AN: Thank you for reading! Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated!:)

[toastedkiwi]

Blackout

Summary: power is out in the house.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Ex-Fiancé!Reader

“Well, shit— HENRY!” you yelled.

The power had just went out but you’re naked in the shower. You’re pretty much done but you’re not too keen on moving when you could slip and fall.

Henry was racing up the stairs with Kal behind him. He has his phone in hand with the flashlight on somewhat guiding him. He’s lived in this house for the last six years, he knows where everything is.

“I’m here!” Henry announced opening the bathroom door.

“Hi,” you said shutting off the water.

“What do you need?” he asked opening the clear shower door.

“Towels,” you said.

“Right,” he said turning to grab the biggest towel on the rack for you.

He ended up placing his phone face down on the counter letting the flashlight shine upward. He then got you wrapped in the towel and helped you out of the shower.

“Is all the power out?” you asked as he pulled you into his arms.

“I believe so,” your husband said.

“Love that for us,” you said sarcastically as you wiped the water off your face.

“I’ll try the breakers in a bit,” he said pulling you into his arms.

“Okay,” you said looking up at him. “You’re staying with me?”

“I cannot have you slipping and falling,” Henry smiled kissing your temple.

True to his word, he stayed with you while you went through a simplified version of your post shower routine. He also made sure that you were in one of his hoodies before leading you off to the living room.

“I want you staying put right here,” Henry said grabbing a nearby blanket as you sat down on the couch.

“What? I can hold the flashlight for you,” you said.

“No. You’re gonna sit right here,” Henry said covering you with the blanket. “And you’ll be here when I come back.”

“So stern,” you said.

“I just want you sitting here all pretty for me,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “I can do that.”

He smiled before kissing you. Kal joined you on the couch. Henry headed off with his phone in hand.

-

Henry came back into the living room with more blankets which he placed down on the couch by you. You smiled at him.

“No power?” You asked.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said. “I already texted the neighbors and they don’t have any either. It’s probably the snow.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna make a fire?” you asked hopeful.

“Obviously,” he said. “I’ve gotta keep you safe and warm.”

“I really like that,” you said.

He smiled at you before moving over to the fireplace. He had already had a wood pile set up and ready to go. He found his matches and immediately started working on the fire and getting it properly lit. You patiently waited.

“There we go,” Henry said looking at his handiwork.

“Nice job, baby!” you applauded.

He headed over to you. You opened your arms and made grabby hands for him. He chuckled diving into them. You squeaked giggling. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He kissed your cheek and your jawline.

“My big strong man built me a fire,” you gushed making him blush.

“You’ve gotten so cheesy, Honey,” Henry said.

“I have not,” you said.

“Yes, you have,” he said.

You shook your head and he sat beside you. He pulled you into his lap and pulled more of the blankets over. You curled up into him.

“At least my songs aren’t cheesy,” you mumbled.

“They kind of are,” he said.

You glared at him.

“Some of them are,” he corrected with a smirk.

You raised your brows. He brushed his hand over your head lovingly.

“That’s all you’re going to get from me, Darling,” Henry said.

[nitannichionne]

If He Was Your Fan (A Henry Cavill Fanfic), Chapter 76: Suitor and Vistor

SORRY, POSTED IN WRONG ORDER!

Chapter 76:  Suitor and Visitor

Trying to work and learn of your new status has been daunting to say the least. First you had cultural classes, and then you had to learn English history or what you called, “English-his story” much to Graham’s disgust. You always believed that wherever you go, every country has a slant on its past. You amused yourself often with the question, “and what did the other guy think?” Wilson entertained this question, but Graham was often flustered.

Wilson, who is your trainer of sorts, did something you appreciated. He always answered the questions. He taught you self defense and how to survive in a forest, which wasn’t far from you. You became familiar with flora and fauna of the land of your ancestors, and he often chuckled when you took pictures with your phone and made notes.

Since Henry was sort of in down time, he and Kal spent free time at your estate. You took horses from Trent, and rode daily, or well at least, you did, often back and forth between the village and the estate, and at times in the forest and countryside.

One day you and Henry come back to find the place with cars parked that you’ve never seen.

“They’re here, Lady Edenvale!” Graham says excitedly.

“Who?” you ask, feeling panic creep up your body and choke you. “Who are these people?”

“Why, suitors, of course,” Graham nods, and gives Henry a look.

“I beg your pardon?” Henry frowns. “I have been with—Lady Edenvale for close to two years now. She is spoken for—”

“But her new status, Mr. Cavill—”

“Henry Cavill, Esquire,” he corrects.

“Ah, an English gentleman,” Graham nods respectfully. “And I believe you have an ancestor in the Knighthood under King Edward centuries ago? Our Lady Edenvale is of higher rank, you understand--”

“As of a month ago!” you interject. “This is preposterous—”

“But true, nonetheless,” Graham tsks shaking his head at you. “Don’t you wish to at least meet some people who can help with your projects?”

“I didn’t invite them,” you shake your head and then you temper starts to simmer. “did you?”

“Well, I am not one to turn them away—”

“Graham!” you are exasperated. “Now it would be rude to turn them away!”

Graham looks apologetic. “Just a few—neighbors, people who live close by. It shouldn’t take long—”

“From now on, forward messages to me to deal with!” You frown at him.

“Yes, milady,” he looks uneasy.

You turn. “Henry, I—”

He shakes his head and gives a small smile. “I think I’ll go for a ride.”

“Thank you,” you say.

You are led to the house and waiting for you…is well…a surprise. You are greeted by broad shoulders and a very fit body turned away from you. Then he turns.

“Hello,” he says.

“Lady Edenvale,” Graham smirks. “Meet Lord Jared Oxfordshire.”

You are taken aback. This man is…well, he’s absolutely handsome. For some reason, you thought you would be meeting some old fuddy duddy type wanting to see your books, not you. He looks familiar but dismiss it. You do a small curtsy. “Good morning, Lord Oxfordshire--”

“Jared, please.” He accepts the drink Graham offers. “Thank you.” He gives a small smile. “I’ve seen you at some of the events.”

“Oh, off the horse, I hope?” you half joke. You are at the lowest skill of the low in any competition. In fact, you really haven’t competed yet. You have only done training, not even first level.

“You have real potential,” Jared nods. “Have you kept up your training?”

“Not really, but I want to get back into it,” you shrug and smile sheepishly. “A lot has happened.”

“Ah,” he nods. “you are a natural, and the fact that Lucifer—”

“Luc—”

“Luc is yours, makes it a wonder to see,” he smiles gently, then leans into you lowering his voice. “He has a reputation, you know.”

You whisper with a grin, “I have never really seen that side of him.” You both laugh, and you hear horse hooves. Henry has left on his ride. You’d hoped he would wait.

“I’d love to take you and Luc out, or maybe you two can visit my estate not far from here—”

“That sounds very nice,” you nod with a smile and then mutter, “I guess now being noticed—” Graham coughs and you roll your eyes. You realize you thought aloud.

“I always noticed you,” he says softly, leaning closer. “An American woman riding Lucifer and bringing him to heel?”

“I just loved him—”

“Ah, as you did the other beast who guards you.”

“What other?”

“The one who just went for a ride.” His look is one of humor at your discomfort and embarrassment. “How do you feel about the gentleman, milady?”

“I love him…” your voice trails off, the memory of Lara and him in your mind.

“But you are unsure of him,” he reads you.

“He noticed me, knew me, before all this—”

He raises a hand at your defense and offers it to you. “Then we shall be friends at the very least.”

You extend your hand and he steps up to kiss the back of it. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, and likewise,” you can’t believe you used the expression.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jared nods. “I’ll see myself out, Graham.”

“Have a good day, sir.” Graham says brightly.

“Thank you.”

After the door closes, Graham smiles widely. “See? Making new friends!”

“How many more?”

“One,” he looks nervous. “Lord Oxforshire asked to see you tomorrow.”

“Elevensies for Oxfordshire,” you say, striding outside. “And I’m going to apologize to whomever is in that car over there.”

“But, but, why?”

“I am still settling in,” you say dismissively. “Thankfully, he just came to introduce himself.”

“But the place is—” Graham sighs at your look. “Yes, milady. But you are making friends?”

“Or rocking my boat,” you snap. But the truth is, the boat was rocked weeks ago. And you haven’t changed your mind. You hope to stay with Henry, but you wish you knew his feelings. Now, with all the new developments, you wonder if you’ll ever know.

@mistress-of-ward @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt  @sweetdreamsofgelato  @mary-ann84  @omgkatinka   -ward @nuggsmum  @ @the-soot-sprite  @viking-raider  @keanureevesisbae  @henryobsessed  @summersong69   @sunshine96love  @michelehansel    @thelastsock   @tumblnewby  @tenaciousneckpartypainter  @rn7rocks  @daydreamin83  @ruthoakenshield  @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog@forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii  @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic   @tamychm  @nikkilynn303  @circesgirl1   @xoxohannahlee  @pixie88@fckdeusername @maan24  @kaatelyyynn​  @october505​ @absentmindr​ @introvertedmouse​  @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @kebabgirl67 @its-carlerr @cherry-piee @starstruckkittyangel @lyrarodriguez

[afro-elf]

i know my next door neighbors (fans of the netflix witcher show) are having a hard time right now but if this means i get to see Less henry cavill on my dash on a regular basis.... it's looking like a win for me personally

[countess-of-edessa]

did your former neighbor mention to you in the long discussion about the plot of the Witcher game that it is based off a book series written by a Polish guy? I know like zero about video games but some engineering guys kept talking about it so I looked it up and this was the only fact that I personally found interesting (have not read the books yet. debating whether I should)

i have indeed heard that from him. according to him the books are kind of mediocre and derivative—he says video game > books > netflix show despite, like every other man i have ever encountered, being in love with henry cavil. but idk, i don't have an opinion because i have not experienced any of these and i think henry cavil is grotesque to look upon lol

[catierambles]

Chimera Ch.13

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Amelia Jones (OFC)

WC 840

Warnings: None? I dunno I just woke up from a nap

@liecastillo @summersong69

Last chapter! I’ll eventually get it all up on AO3. I want to thank everyone for their support during my first foray into writing Henry Cavill character fanfictions and I’m glad you all liked this little brain bug I had about Syverson and his mercenary. Y’all have been great. Really. I haven’t written in a long time and I was honestly worried that the twist in Ch. 7 would turn people off the story. Anyway, enough rambling. Let’s give it a goo

Syverson watched with a heavy heart as they loaded their equipment into the back of the humvee. Locke had been brought back by a retrieval team he sent out when they got back to the base last night and would be sent home in a separate transport. The gash on his arm had been stitched up and wrapped up and he grimaced as it tugged painfully when he crossed his arms over his chest. Johnson was out of medical, already sitting in the humvee as he was useless on his crutches.

“Chase!” Amelia called out, coming out of the command post, “We got everything?”

“Yes, Amy.” He called back, flipping up the back of the truck and securing it.

“Double check it?”

“Already did.” He said and there was a pause.

“Triple check it?” She asked and he gave her a look, coming over to stand in front of her.

“Amelia.” He said and she sighed. “You’re stalling.”

“Am not.” She protested.

“Are too.” He said back and they both looked over to Syverson who was just watching them before looking back at each other. “Go on.” He said, rolling his eyes.

Syverson smiled as she suddenly broke away from Chase, running over. He caught her as she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his. They ignored the hoots and hollers of the soldiers witnessing it, lost in their own little world where it was just the two of them.

“I love you.” She said, pressing her forehead to his.

“I love you too.” He said, trying to commit the feel of her in his arms to memory as he didn’t know when would be the next time he saw her.

“I’ll write you, okay? And call as often as I can.”

“You better.”

“Even when you get rotated home.”

“I’ll send you my address.”

“I already have it.”

“How do you--” She gave him a look, “Dumb question.”

“Amy!” Chase called, hanging out of the humvee window. “Come on! They’re not going to hold the plane just because you want to play grab-ass!” She flipped him off over her shoulder, making him laugh.

“I have to go.” She said, dropping to her feet, and he closed his eyes, breathing deep.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“I love you.” She said again and he kissed her, one last time.

“I love you too.” His eyes opened as she pulled away from him and he watched her walk away, getting into the humvee. Syverson breathed through the tightness in his chest as the engine turned over and they left, the gate closing behind them. He stood there for a bit after they were gone before turning and walking to his office, the door closing.

Digging into his pocket, Syverson pulled out his keys as he walked up the staircase to his apartment. It’s been six months since he left the service, almost eight since he last saw her, a little over two since he last spoke with her over sat comm. She hadn’t been able to talk long, leading a mission down in the Congolese Mountains that she couldn’t go into great detail about, something about a warlord and a Grootslang, whatever that was. He’s been fielding requests to have him as a consultant and offers from private security firms, but not the one he was looking for the most.

“Hey, Silas.” He looked over, seeing his neighbor and he gave her a small, albeit a little tired, smile.

“Hey, Rebecca.” He said, digging out his apartment key from his keyring.

“There was a guy in a suit here earlier looking for you.” She said and he looked at her again, scowling slightly.

“Yeah? He say what he wanted?” He asked but she shook her head.

“I was just getting back, but he asked me to give something to you. Hold on.” She vanished into her apartment and came back out again a moment later, a large manila envelope in her hands. He met her halfway down the hall, taking it from her and looking it over. It was plain, sealed, with a thick sheaf of papers inside and his name typed on the front in block lettering.

Cpt. Silas Syverson

“And he didn’t say what it was all about?” He asked again and she shook her head.

“Everything okay?” She asked and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure it’s fine, probably the Army wantin’ me back. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She said, “Have a nice day.”

“Yeah, have a good one.” He went back to his apartment, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open. Kicking it closed behind him, he walked into his apartment and threw his keys on the kitchen island, looking over the envelope again before tearing it open. Reaching in, he pulled out the papers and stopped as he saw the all-too familiar creature on the letterhead, a wide smile pulling at his lips.

[geralts-yenn]

2023 character wrapped

@deandoesthingstome knows too well I get a little obsessive over some characters - let's see if I can make it to nine (or if I can stop at nine 😁 a look onto my masterlist that's barely a year old tells me we will get there)

Here we go...

My no 1: No surprise here - Mikey

He's my precious silly boy and I will never stop loving him. As part of a family of lunatics here or here, as our best friend, or as the cute neighbor who steals the heart of Nina and Mel

2. Melot

I blame @raccoon-eyed-rebel for introducing me to the slutty lil' braid boy. Just look at that grumpy, miserable little guy. I can't help but thinking about how to make him feel better. That's why he gets the love from not only one but two lovely persons in my Hearts Too Big universe. He's still not quite happy as a vampire in Believe in Me, but I swear we'll get to it.

3. Syverson

Not much of a surprise - how could I not love him? He's the character I read the most this year, for sure. But I also loved to write him into my bonfire story and it's follow up. I was yearning for him and I imagined him as a daddy 🥰

4. Evan

Oh, he was a surprise for me. Even though I liked his character in the movie, I didn't intend to write for him. Until a lovely nonnie put him into my brain and started to fuel my obsession with him here, here and here.

5. Walter

The grumpy bear was always a favorite of me when it came to reading but I was a little scared to write him by myself. In the end, I'm quite happy with the outcome when I finally dared.

6. August Walker

Another one that I love but didn't dare to write. Until it was too tempting to add him as the vampire king in Believe in Me. And then those little pieces of smut here and here with the vampire king were surprisingly easy to write.

7. Napoleon Solo

I love the smooth spy. I had so much fun to pair him up with the lovely Amina and I totally plan to get back to Leon sometime in the future

8. Charles

I wish I had more time to explore his character. I love him so much - especially when he's put into a modern AU. I kinda did this to him as my sidekick for Melot. And I have a wip in my folders, sleeping for way too long, where he's the most annoying and yet adorable duke. I really hope I get to the point where I can introduce him to you.

That's everyone I have written for this year. But I surely don't stop here with obsessing

I won't count Geralt, Will and all the other characters of Henry Cavill because this post is already too long for anyone to read, lol.

But I surely have to count the man himself

9. Henry Cavill

Yes, I am obsessed with this man and I am not sorry! I guess I won't ever get back to the unfinished RPF that got me into writing at all but I will not stop loving the adorkable man that he is.

And then there are still some guys that don't look like Henry:

9. Dean Winchester

I had almost forgotten how much I loved him. Until I introduced the teenager to Supernatural and spent a lot of evenings this year watching that stupid little shit 😍

10. Billy Russo

One of my favorite roles for Ben. And so many good fics out there that I need to explore at some point.

11. Jack Reacher

Very recent addition to the hunks in my head. I love the new season and I'm definitely not immune to that man's visual charms.

I think I will stop here, even if I could name probably another 12...

@ellethespaceunicorn @peyton--warren @gummydummy19 @jvanilly @ronearoundblindly @ylva-syverson want to talk about your favorite characters?