#sweetdreamsofgelato writes

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Intrusive Thoughts

(gif from google)

Pairing: Henry x Reader (You)

Summary: Henry's feeling self-critical. Hurt/Comfort; fluff with mildly spicy undertones; see author's note below

Rating: T/M just to be safe

Word Count: 1378

Warnings/Content: RPF; mild references to body image issues/body dysmorphia

A/N:

I saw this post earlier reblogged by @itsrubberbisquit and this is me giving Henry an internet hug 🥺

It's barely edited. I'm quite literally yeeting this into the hellscape and running.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

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

“Henry! What’s going on? I keep hearing thumping.” 

You swung the bedroom door wide to find Henry standing in front of the wall-to-wall wardrobes, the once neatly organised contents of which were haphazardly spilt forth across every surface. A soft, woollen jumper dangling from a lone hanger fell onto a pile beneath it. You caught Henry’s eye in the full-length mirror as he let out a low, frustrated growl and ripped his shirt over his head.

“What in the world happened in here?”

“I’ve nothing to wear. Everything looks awful.” He threw the crumpled shirt in his hands across the room.

“Ah, I beg to differ…” you replied, your eyes scanning the debris and then him. “On both accounts.”

“Nothing fits!” Hurt underscored the annoyance in his tone. “I’m spilling over my trousers and everything makes me look…lumpy.” His fingers pinched at the perfectly normal amount of flesh above his waistband. 

His struggle, whilst not new, was clear and your heart ached for him. Was his body as chiselled as it appeared on screen? No, but that’s because he was sufficiently fed and hydrated as he ought to be. 

The unhealthy lengths actors went to for what passed as on-screen perfection were no secret and a constant point of contention. The industry only fed his insecurities, and you always butted heads over his insistence to adhere to the ridiculous standards for the sake of remaining competitive. The extremity of the comments and practices made you worry about the toll on his mental and physical health. It was terrible and you had a mind to find every person who was rude or unnecessarily critical of his appearance and give them a proper verbal thrashing. 

Instead, you sighed and walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso. You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades before resting your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and murmured, “You’re absolutely gorgeous, Henry.” 

Henry let out a disbelieving grunt. “I’ve taken too much time off at the gym. I need to get back to the grind.” He squeezed your hands as he manoeuvred out of your embrace. “Also, have you seen the state of these wrinkles?” He leaned in and inspected his face in the mirror. “I need to do something about them. Perhaps some new skincare. Maybe do something with my hair too. Too many greys…” he muttered to himself as he toed through piles of clothes until he found a pair of joggers and quickly changed. He snapped the waistband and grimaced.

You took a steadying breath and quelled the rage that welled in your chest. It wasn’t directed at Henry; it was reserved for every twat who ever made him feel unworthy in any way. 

“Sit,” you said, rather more firmly than you intended.

“Sorry?” he asked, confused.

“Sit.” You pushed the clothes off the edge of the bed and patted the downy duvet. “Please.”

Henry gave you a curious look as he pulled a hoodie over his head and shuffled to the end of the bed. You promptly stood between his knees, pointed to his lap and asked, “May I sit?”

He smirked. “I’ll be sorely disappointed if you don’t.”

Rather than letting him cradle you into his arms, you planted one knee on either side of his hips and straddled his lap. His sharp inhale signalled his surprise, but the sly wing of his eyebrow indicated he was not disappointed and was—you hoped—sufficiently distracted as well.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he murmured as his hands slowly ran the length between your knees and hips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your bottom. 

You squirmed. Henry made an approving noise in this throat and your brain fought your baser urges for domain. You wrapped your arms around his neck and settled into a comfortable position. “Calm down, Cavill.” 

Henry groaned into your ear. “You’re not making it easy.”

“Good.” You ground down on his lap for good measure. “That’s payback for the cheeky arse-grab.” He shamelessly groped you again and you laughed. “Stop. I have something to say and you’re going to listen.”

“I do appreciate when you take charge.” His lust-darkened eyes flicked to your lips and his tongue darted out to moisten his own. “Is it something sexy?”

“Henry…” you warned, mostly because if he kept looking at you like that, your mind would cease functioning altogether.

“Ok, fine.” Henry’s hands gently rested on your hips. “I’ll be good…for now.”

You dropped a quick kiss on the tip of his nose and speared your fingers through his hair. Henry always let it grow out when on a break and toying with the soft curls was a favourite pastime. He hummed contentedly, his head dropping back as his eyes fluttered shut.

“I love your hair,” you said, “and every grey one is a uniquely special thread of wisdom marking the passage of time.”

He didn’t open his eyes, but they crinkled at the edges with humour. “How poetic.”

You scrunched your nose and gently tugged on an errant curl. “Shush. I’m trying to flatter you.”

He suppressed a smile and pulled you in closer. “Do continue.”

“And these,” your fingertips traced the delicate creases across his forehead and around the corners of his eyes and mouth, “are a record of all your happy memories, imprinted each time you laugh wholeheartedly and your smile reaches your eyes.” 

Henry awkwardly cleared his throat and sounded somewhat embarrassed to be under your scrutiny. “You’re making me blush.”

He wasn’t lying. You smiled smugly at the tinges of pink dusting his cheekbones. 

“Good.”

You kneaded his tense shoulders and followed down the hard lines of his biceps until his muscles relaxed. Your hands snaked under his hoodie and you indulged in a bit of tender groping of your own. The colour in his cheeks deepened. His throat bobbed and his lips parted, and it took every ounce of your will not to nip at them with your teeth. 

“When I look at you, I see the strength of will and your determination, but also the softness of finding simple pleasures that life would be meaningless without.” 

He flinched when you smoothed over the supple sides of his abdomen. “I’m pretty sure that’s last Sunday’s roast.”

“Which was utterly delicious,” you answered without hesitation, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. “You spent all day preparing that magnificent feast and deserved to enjoy every bite.”

“I did, but—”

“No buts, and I’m not done admiring.”

He tsked. “You’re bossy.”

“And you love it.”

“You may be right,” he grumbled.

You extracted your hands and brought them to cradle his face, tracing a thumb over his bottom lip and across his sharp jawline. Henry’s gaze finally met yours. Behind the fiery want, you knew he battled with his demons and you wanted nothing more than to help him vanquish them. 

Your forehead rested against his as your hand drifted down and stopped in the centre of his chest. “But the best bit is that none of that really matters because the most beautiful thing about you is right here. No matter what you look like, you’ve got a heart that loves fiercely and endlessly, and I’m thankful every day that it loves me.”

“Jesus…” Henry’s voice wobbled under a sudden rush of emotion. He yanked you against his chest, nestled his face into the curve of your neck and breathed deeply. 

A protracted silence settled as you held him, gently stroking the base of his neck as he processed. When he finally looked up, he was blinking back the moisture that threatened to spill over. He brought your hands to his lips and gingerly kissed your palms. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You don’t need to do or be anything to deserve love, Henry. You are, just as you are, and I can't help but love you.”

Henry dragged your lips to his and kissed you so long and hard that you risked becoming a barely sentient puddle. He released your mouth with a gasp, his voice ragged as he asked, “Do I have permission to grab your arse now?”

“Oh, yes,” you laughed, pulling his mouth back to yours. “Please do.”

[deandoesthingstome]

Hall Pass - Masterlist - Complete

Paring: Henry Cavill x Reader (RPF) NO MINORS!!! (Please do not read or interact if a) you are a minor or b) this isn't your thing. Nothing against you, as I hope you hold nothing against me for this.)

Series Summary: You run into Henry Cavill at the start of a two-week house-sitting vacation. You had some previous plans. Some were ruined by your now ex-boyfriend. Some were made better. Guess by whom? See also: this ask

Series Warnings: I’ll be honest, this whole thing is just self-indulgent smutty fluff. Here’s what I offer: meeting, making out, and having sex with Henry Cavill (rpf). I’m probably NOT going to be adding chapter warnings unless I get a bug to re-write and something worms it’s way into the story that I wasn’t expecting.

A/N: I edited this teaser post to act as the masterlist for this story and so I could take the novel out of the remaining chapters. ;)

A/N 2: I started this story shortly after the fiasco of The Witcher and Superman announcements. I thought about how great it would be to try and cheer him up a little. For the purposes of this story, he is single. No hate to anyone in his life right now, in whatever way you imagine that to be. I also understand if you do not read rpf. Feel free to scroll on by. I don’t need to hear about it.

This was going to be a looooong one-shot, but solicited feedback prompted me to break it up for you. 

Playlist: I will add to Spotify with each chapter.

Word Count: 15K over 4 5 chapters (if you were here before, it said 12K; what can I tell you?)

Posting Schedule: Based on the responses to this post, I decided on a series instead of single post. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 am Eastern time, starting February 14th.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Epilogue

Tag Info Below the Cut (I have not updated this original detail at all; if you are on the current tags for Ch 1 and 2 you will be tagged in the rest, as well as if you've asked after the fact.)

Current Tag Lists: Please let me know if you want on or off. @liveoncoffeeandflowersss I moved you off Other Stories as I assume from our chat about "horse boy Henry shit" you want in on this.

Anything - If you are on Anything and I don't hear from you, I'll assume you DO want the tag: @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @kebabgirl67 @fvckinghenrycavill @beck07990 @mysweetlittledesire @itsrubberbisquit @feelmyroarrrr

Other Stories - If you are on the Other Stories taglist for my other stories and I don't hear from you, I'll assume you DON'T want a tag for this: @angelcavill66 @lizzystuffsthings @augustsprincess @alexakeyloveloki @enchantedbytomandhenry @kingliam2019

@henryownsme @littlefreya @marantha @angelcavill66 @sweetdreamsofgelato @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @greensleeves888 @dinoswierdmom @geralts-yenn @wabi-sabi1090 @bourbonwithice

[nerdzzone]

what are your fave fics to read?

I don't read as much as I'd like to because most of my time for fics is spent writing.

But for Chris Evans I would recommend everything by @k-evans-reads! With a special shout out to On Deck as a personal favourite.

And for Henry Cavill I recommend everything by @sweetdreamsofgelato!

[northerndownpourswildchild]

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last ten people who reblogged something from you. Spread the positivity ✨💛🌻

Omg, thank you for asking😸

1. When it’s warm and bright and sunny outside

2. My friends

3. Seeing my parents laugh (preferably about something I said😉)

4. The Beatles‘ music

5. @sweetdreamsofgelato writing!😽

[rmtndew]

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last ten people who reblogged something from you. Spread the positivity ✨💛🌻

Thank you @sweetdreamsofgelato 💜

Rainstorms (when I don't have to get out in them). I love how they sound

The smell of honeysuckles. The ones on my fence have finally bloomed and I can smell them every time I step outside

My growing collection of 'princess' dresses ✨

My grandmother's blackberry cobbler

When a story or chapter goes according to plan and actually makes it easy for me to write it. It's very rare but when it happens it makes me very happy!

[sillyrabbit81]

I was wondering if you had any recommendations for some angsty stories? It can be Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Henry Cavill or any of their characters or others. I am willing to widen my horizons. Thank you! ❤️

Hi Anon

Ahhh you have discovered my weakness! I'm not really into angsty stories. I cry at the drop of a hat and I really hate crying. So I called in some help from my friends in the Hoe Coven and Syverson's Privates to throw me some recs. Thank you all for your recommendations!

First though, I do have some Henry Cavill fic recs here. Most are smutty but there's a few angsty stories in there if you want to check them out. They are stories I have read and recommend. The ones listed below are stories I haven't read... because... well angst hahaha.

Recs under the cut

Henry Cavill Angst Recs

Henry Cavill

@cruelfvkingsummer - The Folklore Break-Up Series

@cruelfvkingsummer - Mob!Henry Series

@radaofrivia - Soon

@somethinginthewayiam - Cherry Lips

@sweetdreamsofgelato - Midsommer Misadventures

@thelastsock - Unsettled

Sherlock

@cruelfvkingsummer - What It Would Be Like To Love You

@youvebeenlivingfictional - When We Were Young

Captain Syverson

@cruelfvkingsummer - Duke!Sy Series

August Walker

@nashibirne - Desperado

Anthony Mackie Angst

Sam Wilson

@divine-mistake - 'Till Death Blooms Us Art

Sebastian Stan Angst

Bucky Barnes

@divine-mistake - You Fracture Light Again

@justreadingfics - Bad Match

@maladaptivexxdaydreaming - Stay

@maladaptivexxdaydreaming - I Know Time Will Tell If We're Meant For This

@mallowswriting - Salt the Earth

@pellucid-constellations - Voicemails To an Unmanned Inbox (Alternative Ending)

@pellucid-constellations - Undisclosed

@tuiccim - Solace

@turbolisedcomet - Whirlwind

@wkemeup - A Twice Broken Man

@wkemeup - Delicate Edges

Chris Evans Angst

Chris Evans

@maroonsunrise83 - All the Praise

@ysmmsy - They Say The Things You Say When You're Drunk...

@ysmmsy - What If You Were?

Steve Rogers

@maladaptivexxdaydreaming - Love Can Only Hurt Like This

@the-soot-sprite - Restless Spirits

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

@heli0s-writes - As It Was

And finally...

https://tuiccimsangstyrecs.tumblr.com/ A whole blog dedicated to angst fics

There you go Anon,

I hope this list keeps your angsty little heart happy for some time!

❤️ Rabbit

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

for the follower ask song would be tupelo honey by dusty springfield fluffy slightly smutty. right now in real life i need a hug. a long hug. but thank you ahead of time for whatever happens.

Fluff Fluff Fluff with shadowy allusions to smut. My big bear internet hug to you, darling. Thank you so much for always being so supportive and encouraging. I truly appreciate it.

Pairing: Henry x Reader (You)

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: 975

Warnings/Content: RPF

You closed the front door and immediately sagged back against it. The sigh you expelled was so heavy that you wondered if it took your soul with it. Exhaustion was a perpetual state of being and you wondered how much more you could survive before your body and mind finally gave up the ghost and checked out completely.

Pinching your eyes shut, you crumpled to the floor. Your belongings fell in heaps around you in the entryway as you drew your knees up and rested your forehead against them. No will to move. May even camp out here for the night.

“Tough day?”

You glanced up, blinking blearily through stress and fatigue to find Henry kneeling before you. You were so out of it that you’d not heard him approach. His brow knitted with concern as he leaned forward and cradled your head in his hand. His thumb ran soothingly over your cheek. 

“Tough day. Month, year. Entire existence…” you murmured as you leaned into his touch. You rubbed at your eyes to release the steadily growing pressure. “Can’t seem to catch a break.”

Henry gingerly removed each of your shoes and set them aside. His strong fingers slowly kneaded up your calves and you groaned as the tightly-knotted tension began to unfurl at his touch. 

You cast him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I know we planned to go out tonight but I don’t think I’ve got it in me.”

He patted your knees lightly before untangling you from your bags and coat. “A night in sounds perfect to me. Want some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.

“Consider it done,” Henry answered. He chuckled at your squeal of surprise when he scooped you into his arms and lifted you from the floor. 

“Henry, you don’t need to carry me,” you half-heartedly admonished. It felt good to be in his arms. “I can manage to the living room at least.”

“I disagree. I absolutely need to carry you.” Henry squeezed you tighter against the broad line of his chest on the way to the living room, and you couldn’t resist snuggling against his warmth. The familiar, woodsy scent of his cologne was profoundly comforting. 

“And maybe I just want an excuse to fondle you.” His hand not-so-subtly sneaked up your thigh under the guise of adjusting his grip.

Your lips ticked into a smirk. “As if you need one.”

“True, I don’t,” he answered smugly. 

Henry dropped a quick peck on your cheek as he deposited you on the sofa. He dimmed the lights, fluffed a couple of cushions and tucked them behind you, then leaned in and kissed you chastely on the mouth. After putting your favourite playlist on the speakers, he disappeared into the kitchen. 

Before you had a chance to settle, Henry quickly reappeared, his jaw set firmly with determination as he strode purposefully toward the sofa. He slowly leaned down over you, his gaze dark and hot on yours as he grasped your chin firmly in his hand and kissed you with an intensity that lit your nerves on fire.

The kettle whistled and Henry growled his disapproval. With one last parting drag of his lips on yours, he disappeared again.

You bonelessly collapsed against the pillows with a dreamy, contented sigh. No lie, it felt good to be fussed over. And lusted after, even if you didn’t have the energy to capitalise on it at present.

Henry returned with tea in your favourite mug which you accepted with much gratitude. It diffused a soothing warmth through your limbs as you held it. You took a restorative sip and sighed happily. “Perfect.”

Henry graced you with a self-satisfied smile before snagging his phone and departing on stern instructions for you to sit back and relax whilst he ordered delivery. Not one to argue, you curled into the cushions and sipped, your mind drifting along with the music all the while. It was the most relaxed you’d felt in ages and just what you needed. The playlist shuffled and the smooth rhythm of Dusty Springfield’s Tupelo Honey floated through the air. A personal favourite. You set your tea aside and got lost in the music. “Dinner’s ordered. How’re you feeling?”

You opened your eyes and found Henry leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. He watched you with a boyish love-struck grin and your heart did a funny flip. All this time together and he still managed to make you feel the butterflies usually reserved for new love.

A flush heated your cheeks. “Much improved, thank you.”

“Excellent.”

Henry swiftly crossed the room. You made a startled squeak when he snagged your hand and gently tugged you to your feet. He snaked an arm around your waist, tucked your entwined hands snuggly against his chest and began idly swaying you both with the music.

You couldn’t resist melting into his embrace as you danced. Henry led you in slow, measured circles; the deep melodic rumble of his hums filled your ears and everything became intensely tactile: the soft brush of his cotton shirt on your skin, the steadying heat he radiated into your bones, the squish of the carpet between your toes as you moved along. It was a kind of grounding that really fuelled your soul. 

“Ready?”

“Ready for wha—” There was a contented sleepiness to your voice, but you didn’t get to finish your question before he encouraged you into a spin. And then another, and another, not drawing you back to him until you were breathless and alight with joy.  

“How is it you always know just what I need?" You beamed up at him. “You’re the absolute best.”

Henry kissed you tenderly before tucking your head under his chin. “Only because you love me.”

🎊FOLLOWER MILESTONE CELEBRATION🎊

FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A FAVOURITE SONG OR LYRIC AND I WILL WRITE YOU A DRABBLE/ONE SHOT FOR HENRY OR ANY OF HIS CHARACTERS BASED ON IT!

🍦CHOOSE YOUR PAIRING

🍦 CAN BE FLUFFY, SMUTTY, ANGSTY, OR ANY COMBINATION THEREOF. PLEASE INCLUDE ANY DETAILS YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED WITH YOUR ASK.

I’m keeping this open all week so if you have a request, don’t be shy! Thank you all for celebrating with me ❤️

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Ebb and Flow

(image shameless taken from google)

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader (You)

Summary: see the prompt below

Rating: E for everyone (maybe T for a little mild language?)

Word Count: 4261 (I know, I KNOW. Yes, I got carried away and no, I don't want to talk about it)

Warnings/Content: AU!RPF; mild adult language; pining 💋 Emotions with a capital E

A/N: 

I was presented with two kissing prompts (#66 and #67) from this list and whilst I mulled over both, this idea took hold, so I combined them. I hope you don't mind, @jolly-polly! To my dear Bonnie Nonnie, I know you requested Henry but I hope that AU!Henry will do. Apologies in advance for deviating from the course.

I'm afraid I might've gone a little overboard with the imagery in this one, but I was IN MY FEELS so I soldier on without regret.

A side note for anyone who enjoys instrumental music: I was utterly consumed by Ludovico Einaudi's In a Time Lapse album the entire time I wrote this. I can't recommend it enough. Time Lapse, Run, Brothers, Experience, and Burning were particularly inspiring.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

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

Working at a charming little bookshop on a leafy corner of the local high street was certainly not your dream when you accepted the job, but the elderly couple who owned it were incredibly kind and desperately needed help, and you were in the market for a job that didn’t completely crush your will to live. 

For a small business, it had a large and fiercely loyal customer base and most days you felt positively run off your feet. Not long after you started, it was plain the shop needed more help. You were only one person, and the Cavills were on the dark side of their golden years—both neither quick moving nor technologically inclined, which made keeping up with demand a daunting task indeed.

Which is why it came as much of a surprise a few months later when you’d expected Mr Cavill to inform you that he was hiring another shop clerk, that he rather announced he and his wife were taking off for the Mediterranean. Truth be told was Mrs Cavill had been not- so-quietly longing for sandy beaches and warmer climes for some time and Mr Cavill finally agreed to dip his toes into retirement.

For a brief moment, you thought you were going to lose a job you’d come to really love. Gratefully, Mr Cavill was not yet ready to shutter the doors or sell off the business. It was still profitable, after all, and the shop had been Cavill-owned for four generations, so he was (rightfully) reluctant to let it pass out of familial hands. It was a relief when a few weeks later, he informed you that though he was taking a “sabbatical” (as he liked to call it), his grandson, Henry, would be stepping up in his absence.

If there was anything you learned over the time leading up to said grandson’s arrival, it was that the Cavills loved him fiercely. Mrs Cavill spent most afternoons regaling you with memory after memory, sparing none of the normal flattery all the while. He was kind, tall, polite, generous, handsome, intelligent, athletic, hard-working, handsome, and friendly. A true gentleman.

And did she mention handsome?

Yes, she had. So much so you were concerned that this all was possibly a set-up. You didn’t think so highly of yourself to suspect that the whole thing was an elaborate ruse, but rather perhaps convenient opportunism was at play. Wouldn’t be the first time some well-meaning grandmother tried to pair you up with a beloved grandson. By Mrs Cavill’s account, Henry was quite lovely and you didn’t look upon him uncharitably, but the fact was that loving grandparents tended to regard their grandchildren through rose-coloured glasses. 

That morning, you were still brainstorming how to gently let them down without making the atmosphere at work irrevocably awkward when the little bell over the shop door tinkled someone’s arrival. You assumed it to be the first customer to drop in on this unusually quiet morning.

“Grandad? Gran?” 

You froze over the box you were unpacking and furtively glanced at the calendar on the back of the door, then at your watch and cursed. Okay, not a customer. It was him. 

“Anyone here?” Henry’s voice was deep and warm and smooth as velvet; you were horrified by the rogue tingle that ran up your spine.

Ever so quietly, you tiptoed around the boxes at your feet and poked the swinging door open just enough to get a glimpse. Your jaw dropped. 

“Oh no,” you gasped. His back was to you, but even at a distance, he cut the exact image Mrs Cavill described: statuesque. Tall and broad, like a rugby player or perhaps a professional lumberjack, if either wore perfectly-tailored tweed suits.

“Hello?” he called out again. He turned and searched the shop for any sign of life. You caught a glimpse of his profile and your knees threatened to turn to jelly.

Shit shit shit! You quickly drew back and caught yourself against the shelves. This was bad. This was really bad. Mrs Cavill had not exaggerated in any way. If anything, she’d criminally understated her description. One could be blind as a bat and still tell that he was exceedingly handsome. He had an aura.

What a fool you were. Here you’d spent the better part of a fortnight coming up with gentle ways to tell the Cavills that you weren’t interested in their grandson, and now here he was in the flesh and you were a sharp jawline away from proposing marriage. You’d not even officially met. 

Horror struck; you slowly sniffed your armpit and your nose wrinkled at the offence. What were the odds that he’d leave if you kept quiet? Not good, you reluctantly admitted. Surely he’d expect that you were expecting him—and you were, it’s just that time had gotten away from you, as it always did when you were focused. Still, after three hours sequestered in the store room doing inventory, you were undoubtedly a smelly and sweaty mess, and you did not want his first impression of you to be that of a wilted shop clerk. 

For purely professional reasons, of course.

You frantically, but quietly—very quietly, hunted for your bag and rummaged for that fragrance sample you’d chucked in for odorous emergencies. You spritzed under each arm as you huffed into your palm. You immediately searched for a mint. 

“Hi.”

It came from the doorway right behind you, and you very nearly hit the ceiling in surprise. The noise that escaped your lips was positively Jurassic.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Nope,” you squeaked, threw your bag across the room and turned to face him. So much for first impressions. You cleared your throat and did your best to school your features into something less spooked. “Nope, you didn’t.”

He watched you with a placid sort of look. The kind someone wears when they absolutely don’t believe you but they’re far too polite to call you out on it.  He leaned against the door frame and gave you a little wave. “I’m Henry.”

“I know,” you blurted. Fuck.“I mean, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” And all of it bloody true, apparently. You held out your undoubtedly clammy hand and made your introductions. 

“Nice to put a face to the name,” Henry said. He gave your hand a firm squeeze and your forearm erupted in gooseflesh. “I’ve been hearing all about you for weeks.”

You laughed nervously, rubbing your palms over your skin and desperately willing it back to normal before he noticed. “All good things, I hope.” 

“Only the best,” Henry answered with a reassuring smile.

Your heart did a precarious little wobble. 

He’s just a man, you scolded yourself, and though he may look like he walked straight off an old Hollywood movie set and could charm the pants off a nun, certainly he couldn’t be everything his grandmother made him out to be. No one was that perfect. 

***

He was. He was so bloody perfect you wanted to cry. 

As a universal rule, men like this didn’t actually exist. It was a commonly known fact that they were myths. Legends. Exaggerated and unattainable fabrications conjured from the imaginations of gothic novelists and social media experts.

You assumed Henry (as kin to the owner) would take up the role of Boss Man, and if a lifetime of anecdotal evidence dealing with attractive men in positions of power proved correct, he’d immediately start throwing his weight around like a proper egoistic tyrant. 

But that was so far from the truth that you still felt ashamed for prematurely judging his character. He was just as described. Handsome and kind in equal measures. Impeccably well-mannered, even when he rang and told off the couriers when they stuffed up deliveries. Generous. Most days he offered to grab lunch or make a coffee run and he always offered a helping hand no matter how menial the task.  Not to mention the thrice-a-week homemade treats. 

It was his way to decompress, he’d said, and you didn’t complain.

Henry’s even-tempered disposition notwithstanding, he wasn’t above throwing around his impressive weight when he deemed it necessary. He pulled off mean and scary quite effectively when he’d chased off a creep who decided it was their life’s purpose to come in every day and pester you. Henry had even offered to escort you home until you felt comfortable walking on your own again.

The man was a damned unicorn and he was the best non-boss boss you’d ever had. 

***

You stood in the doorway to the admin office—which was really a glorified broom cupboard not much wider than the breadth of Henry’s shoulders—and chewed around an overly-large bite of homemade pastry. It was all you could do not to moan. He had no right to be this skilled in the kitchen. It was almost as much a turn-on as watching him assemble one of the shop’s shiny new computers.

One always appreciated a man who was good with his hands.

To add to his ever-growing list of positive qualities, he was also a bit of a nerd. Henry had taken one look at the existing system and had been downright horrified by the outdated technology. He was adamant about bringing the shop up-to-date, but instead of ordering a prefab computer, he’d custom-ordered an entirely new system which he planned to assemble himself. After much anticipation, the equipment had finally been delivered. It would solve a lot of headaches, but not all of them.

As Henry’s arrival more or less coincided with the Cavills' departure, the shop was down one net member of staff, and whilst Henry was more than capable of doing the work of three people, he shouldn’t have to. You both agreed that the shop needed more help. 

“Know anyone who might want a job?” Henry murmured around the tiny screwdriver clenched between his teeth.

Your mouth went dry as you watched his lips move around the tool. “You’d leave that decision to me? 

“Why not?” He adjusted his headlamp, pushed his glasses up his nose and resumed fiddling with the computer’s internals. “Technically you’ve got seniority, so you understand the shop’s staffing needs far better than I do.”

“I just thought, being related to the owner and all, that you’d be in charge of these sorts of decisions.” Of all the decisions, really.

Henry looked visibly uncomfortable at the suggestion. “I like to think we have more of a horizontal organisational structure here.” He fitted the computer cover back in place. “A purely collaborative and democratic effort.”

“Oh.” How refreshing. “Not worried I’ll just hire an irresponsible friend and run the business into the ground?” You stuffed the rest of the pastry in your mouth and gingerly sucked the sugary remnants from your thumb. Not good manners, you knew, but it was too delicious to waste on a napkin.

Henry stuttered to a pause as if his mind momentarily blanked. He cleared the grit from his throat and continued, “I trust you. Not to mention it’d be rather hypocritical to accuse you of nepotism.” Henry graced you with a sly smile and you never felt closer to swooning. “Besides, you don’t strike me as the self-sabotaging type.”

Generally, you weren’t but you’d argue that steadily falling head over heels for your coworker could certainly categorise you as such. Still, the fact that he’d thought of you in any sort of capacity left your cheeks overheated. 

“I know just the person.”

***

“He’s a serial killer.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

You stepped back from the small rosewood display table to both admire your handiwork and question the intelligence behind hiring your eternally paranoid flatmate, Sarah. 

The timing had been rather serendipitous, as Sarah had found herself suddenly out of work—which was no fault of her own. Her ex-boss was an absolute cretin and deserved the throat punch he’d received for groping Sarah in the office lift. Not to mention Sarah’s ability to keep paying rent benefitted you both, but it was possibly at the cost of your sanity.

“Has to be.” 

“He can’t be,” you insisted testily. This was the third time she’d brought this up. Sarah angled you an expectant look that read explain and you fumbled around your brain from some logical reasoning. 

“He bakes,” you added weakly. Surely being able to produce delightfully sugary bits of heaven didn’t preclude one from being a serial killer, but you still liked to think the likelihood of association was relatively low. 

“All the more reason to suspect him,” Sarah replied as she continued boxing online orders behind the counter. “Some of the most notorious serial killers were all described as charming, handsome, or talented in some way. Henry’s all three at least. There is such a thing as too perfect.”

Be that as it may. “You need to lay off the True Crime.”

“Absolutely not.” Sarah pointed the tape gun in your direction. “It’s a prerequisite for modern-day survival.”

You weren’t going to argue; it was too exhausting. “He can’t be all bad if he let me hire you no questions asked.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Sarah admitted. “I know just the way to show my gratitude.”

“By being ferociously dedicated to your job?” you asked hopefully.

She made a vague motion around her face. “Hannibal Lector mask.”

Sarah actually got it for him, and instead of reprimanding her as he ought, he kept it displayed under glass next to the till with a sign reading:

For Emergency Use Only 

In Case of Rude and Unruly Customers or Serial Killers Masquerading as Gentlemen

Break Glass

It was quite the conversation piece. 

Did you mention his wickedly subversive sense of humour?

Ugh, you were in love.

 ***

It was official. You were pining. 

Like properly pining. The can’t eat, can’t sleep, thrown into existential crisis kind of pining.

“You need to do something about it.”

The computer monitor came back into focus as the delightful little daydream about snogging Henry in the storeroom evaporated in your mind. You sighed ruefully; it’d been a good one. 

“About what?”

“Your Henry situation.”

You slanted a sidelong glance in her direction and mumbled, “I thought you said he was a serial killer.”

“I may have been a bit hasty with my judgments,” Sarah conceded as she adjusted the rucksack on her shoulder. “Seriously. I am begging you to go for it, if not for your sake, then for mine.”

Your brow furrowed; you swivelled in your chair to face her.

Sarah took the opportunity to squish your cheeks between her palms, lest you flee the conversation as you’d done on at least two other occasions. “I can’t watch you torture yourself anymore.”

“I’m not torturing myself.” At least not deliberately. You batted her hands away. “I’m being pragmatic.”

“By torturing yourself.”

“He’s my boss.” 

He was more than that, you knew. It hadn’t taken long to pass into the realm of friendship. You didn’t dare presume more than that though, despite having incrementally fallen in love with him since the day he walked into your life. That was the fastest way to a broken heart.

“He’s far more than.” Sarah echoed your inner thoughts and you wanted to crawl under the counter and hide. 

“He’s still my boss.” Was he, though? Henry had adamantly refused the mantle whenever you mentioned it, so you weren’t really certain anymore. The lines had always been a bit blurry. Made for a convenient excuse though. 

“Didn’t Henry give you the whole “horizontal organisation” speech?” Sarah asked cheekily. “Sounded euphemistic to me.”

“Regardless, it’s ethically unwise.” You loosed a long, beleaguered exhale and rested your chin in your palm. “Weren’t you leaving?”

Sarah pointedly ignored your dismissal. “Office affairs are a beloved modern literary trope and a cornerstone of the romance genre.” 

You cast her a wry smile. “Traded True Crime for fan fiction, then?” Not that you were judging. You could go down an Ao3 rabbit hole and easily not come up for days. 

“It’s more common than you think.”

“Reading fan fiction?”

Sarah’s expression flattened. “Shagging your coworker.”

That was a leap you’d not even dared in your own dreams. “The man is three eyebrow hairs away from Adonis.” 

Freak kitchen accident apparently and he’d been afraid to make crème brûlée since. You couldn’t suppress a dreamy smile at the memory of that conversation, because Henry’d relayed it one early morning whilst presenting you with—crème brûlée. It was the best damn thing you’d ever tasted. He’d even let you eat half his portion.

“Why on earth would he want me when he could have literally anyone else?” you lamented.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? He practically worships the ground you walk on.” Sarah looked about two seconds away from reaching across the counter and shaking you. “The man’s in a desperate state but much too polite to make the first move. Honestly, you two are hopeless.”

You were definitely hopeless, there was no denying that, but the rest of it sounded a bit of a stretch. If that were true, surely you would’ve seen the signs. 

“It’ll make things weird,” you said. You left off the last bit of that thought: when he says no.

Sarah looked suspiciously smug. “Not if he says yes.”

The shop door swung open and in strode your personal greek tragedy, two paper cups of tea in hand. 

“Hey Sarah, I thought you were already off on holiday,” said Henry, who glanced awkwardly between you, Sarah, and the two cups in his hands. He set one on the counter for you and offered Sarah the other—the one that you were sure he’d intended to drink himself. 

The pining intensified.

“No, thanks. On my way out as we speak.” Sarah confirmed as she gave him a mock salute. You picked up your tea and took a sip. From the corner of your eye, you caught her silently mouthing Do it! before she slipped out the door. 

“I appreciate you picking up Sarah’s shifts,” said Henry. He came around the back of the counter and rifled through a few bits of post resting next to your elbow. “When she told me Cassie surprised her with a Norwegian cruise, I couldn’t say no to the last-minute request for holiday leave.”

“Mhmm,” you murmured absentmindedly, then turned to Henry in confusion. He was very close and smelled amazing. Warm and spicy, like a smoky campfire in autumn. You swallowed hard, your voice rough when you asked, “Cassie?”

“Her girlfriend,” he prompted with a quizzical raise of his brow.

“Oh, right.” Your eye’s narrowed toward the door. Sarah and Cassie split up two months ago and as far as you knew, she wasn’t dating anyone new. Norwegian cruise but only packed one rucksack? This reeked of subterfuge.

Henry’s eyes swept over towering stacks of boxes and growing piles of books destined for new shelves. The shop was closed to customers for the day and it was all hands on deck for a seasonal inventory catalogue and reshuffle, but you were two hands down and hadn’t made much progress. 

The daydreaming hadn’t helped. You let out a resigned sigh.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a late night.” He nudged his shoulder gently against yours. It took all of your willpower not to lean into the touch. “Let’s order takeaway.”

***

The bookshop was rather magical at night. It was one of many reasons you loved working evening shifts. With the shades drawn and the lights dimmed to a warm glow, it had a sort of natural cosy ambience of a private library. Then again, it could just be the company. 

As you reached up to shelve another book, your focus drifted along the instrumental music still playing through the shop and back to just hours before. The vision swam into view, entrenched on the horizon of your mind’s eye as, now, a core memory:

Henry perched on the edge of the window display opposite, you tucked into a plush armchair he’d dragged over from the reading corner for you. Between you, the remnants of a feast spread over a makeshift cardboard box table because the man didn’t know the definition of restraint when it came to food. He pushed the sleeves of his cobalt knit jumper to his elbows and set aside his steaming mug, the contents of which threatened to splash all over him as he animatedly recounted yet another story that had easily reduced you both to shared fits of laughter. 

You rested your elbow on the side of the armchair and leaned your fist against a cheek so delightfully sore from the near-constant smile Henry so easily coax forth. Watching him at that moment, you knew no matter how much you tried to ignore or deny it, you were in love.

In the present, warmed from the memory, you slid the book home onto the shelf and fought to breathe. 

It was definitely the company.

You forced your way through the haze of your thoughts as you hopped off the railed step ladder. If you lost yourself in work, you couldn’t think about the rest. Or so had been the plan, but it seemed fate had other ideas. With a frown, you inspected the collection of boxes nearest. 

“Henry, do you have Young Adult S2? I don’t have it.”

You heard thumps and shuffling from across the shop, and then Henry answered, “Got it! Stay put. I’ll bring it to you.”

With Young Adult S1 under your arm, you were back up the steps and shelving the last stragglers whilst you waited. When you turned around to descend, you accidentally smacked Henry across the face with the empty box.

“Shit!” you cursed and threw the cardboard aside. “Henry, I’m so sorry!” 

“No worries,” Henry chuckled graciously as he set down the box in his hands and gingerly rubbed his face. “No harm done.”

“Nonsense,” you fussed. By your own terribly unscientific analysis, Henry’s only toxic trait was belying the truth for the sake of others’ feelings. “Let me see.”

Without thinking, you leaned down and gently grasped his chin. He allowed you to tilt his face to the side and inspect the damage. His jaw flexed under your fingers when you traced a fingertip over the faint pink mark blooming across the stubbled skin of his cheek. Even with the superficial scratch, he was still stunning. All beautifully sculpted angles in such sharp contrast to the softness of his nature. Your gaze naturally drifted to his mouth when it parted on a sharp intake of air. 

Your eyes flicked back up; your breath caught and the gooseflesh returned, and this time it was head to toe. Your hand dropped but your entire body rooted to the spot. Henry watched you with piercing intensity. The bright blue of his eyes gone dark as lapis. Sharper and clearer than you’d ever seen before.

It happened all at once, or maybe it hadn’t. People often talk about points of no return, but this was different. Not so much before and after, but rather with a single intimate touch, the barrier between two parallel realities dissolved. They slowly bled together, coalescing in a heavily charged anticipation that swelled unbidden in the space between. It surged through you and kicked up your heart into a frantic pace.

This is where desire lived. 

You bowed into it. An ebb to the flow, unable to resist the pull of its fulcrum. The step ladder shuddered under Henry’s weight as he moved onto the bottom step, his arms bracing the railing on either side of you. He’d not laid so much as a finger on you, but you felt him everywhere. A delicate counter pressure pressing in. You nervously chewed at your bottom lip; Henry’s eyes followed the movement and you saw it again. A flicker of something only just restrained. Barely perceptible, but the shift was undeniable now that you’d had glimpsed behind the veil. 

Henry reached up with one hand and cupped your face as he narrowed the distance. His thumb reverently traced over your bottom lip and across the curve of your cheek. Henry release your name in a breathy oath just before his mouth found yours.

First kisses were funny things. They come with such high expectations. Metaphorical explosions, fireworks, and seismic rifts in space and time. Some sort of divine reordering of the cosmos. But this kiss…

It was gentle and cautious. A greeting between two souls stepping fully into the light and meeting for the first time. Like a camera coming into focus, everything fell away and there was just Henry, and he was absolutely breathtaking. 

His mouth angled against yours and you returned in kind, urgency threatening to take hold, but Henry suddenly broke away. You despaired at the loss.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He was winded. His eyes searched yours, and they were wounded in a way that made your chest ache because you knew where it came from: anticipated rejection. “Are you sure?”

You wished to pour your heart into his. To fill all the cracks from which his vulnerability broke through. You wished to tell him that this little bit of paradise you both somehow managed to discover was safe. Here was a home where he’d only find warmth, joy, and love. 

Your fingers brushed through curls just as soft as you’d imagined and you sank into his embrace. Gently drawing his lips back to yours, your smile melded with his, and you answered without words, in a space between hearts where none were required. 

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Tis the Season

(gif shamelessly stolen from google)

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (You)

Summary: Henry takes Christmas decorations a little too seriously

Rating: T-M for language and innuendo and the lightest sprinkling of spice, but nothing explicit. Mostly just snarky, fluffy nonsense.

Word Count: 2160

Warnings/Content: RPF; Adult language and very mild sexual innuendo

A/N: AUish; could easily fit into my Midsummer Misadventures universe, though it was not written with that intent.

This is a product of a conversation with my neighbour who asked, rather bluntly, how I planned to decorate the outside of the house for Christmas. Not if, but how. Moved to a new area earlier this year and this is my first holiday season here. Apparently, the neighbourhood takes decorating very seriously. Anyway, this idea popped into my head and snowballed into a day lost to hyperfixation. Hope you all enjoy it!

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

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

All was not calm on the Yuletide front. 

A collapsed polar vortex brought with it uncommonly cold temperatures and a sudden heavy snowstorm that thickly blanketed the majority of the county. Henry had just returned from a shoot he’d left for at the beginning of autumn. He’d assumed he’d return in time to string up lights and set up decorations before the winter weather set in, but mother nature had other ideas. 

On the harrowing drive back from the airport, you’d tried to talk him out of his ridiculously overwrought plans but had been resoundingly unsuccessful.

“It’s not worth breaking your neck. I’m pretty sure unnecessary risks to life and limb violate your contracts anyway.” Your grip tightened on the steering wheel when you felt the tyres glide across an icy patch in the road. You'd not even put the winter tyres on yet. 

“This is unbelievable,” Henry breathed against the window. He quickly wiped away the patch of fog to take in the steadily growing snow drifts. “Winter's barely begun.” 

“All the more reason not to tempt fate.”

Henry let out a noncommittal grunt and then squinted out the windscreen. “Turn up here.”

“Are we at our turn-off already?” The windscreen wipers worked overtime, but the steady torrent of fat snowflakes still hindered visibility.

Henry didn’t answer, and then the lighted sign indicating the direction to Highgrass Hill Manor (your closest neighbour) came into view.

“No, Henry. Absolutely not. I am not driving up to Highgrass.”

“It’s on the way, and I just want to see.”

“It’s out of the way and it’s already late, but that’s beside the point.” You firmly shook your head. “I am not encouraging this absurd rivalry.”

“C’mon, just a quick peek.”

“No.” You watched the turn-off to Highgrass Hill disappear in your rear-view mirror then turned down the road that led home. This was precisely why you insisted on driving. Henry kicked up quite the fuss about it when he saw the state of the roads, but you knew if he was behind the wheel, he’d take a detour to scope out the Highgrass holiday display. You’d made the mistake of mentioning it when you’d last talked and he’d been overly eager for details, none of which you’d felt inclined to provide at the time.

“Fine,” Henry pouted, folding his arms and settling back against his seat. He lasted all of two minutes (you timed it) before he turned to you and asked, “Do they have the elf workshop? I tried to buy it before I left but it was sold out everywhere.” He looked supremely annoyed. “No time to order a custom build either…”

“Henry…”

“How about the life-size Santa sleigh and full reindeer team?” he asked eagerly, his lips curving with a self-satisfied smirk. “I managed to get that one just before I left.”

“I know,” you grumbled, “it was delivered on ten pallets.” That’d been a fun morning. The poor garage was bursting at the seams.

“I reckon he’s doing the ice palace again this year,” Henry remarked bitterly, completely unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. 

You angled him a serious look. “You need help.”

“I could probably bribe one of my brothers to drive out.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The man’s tunnel vision was formidable. Despite his late night return, he bounded out of bed at some obscenely early hour that morning. You hoped against hope that it was simply jet lag, but the incessant banging about outside forced you from bed a few hours later. You swore groggily when you discovered the remnants of his breakfast: an oversized bowl coated in dregs of congealed porridge, three shrivelled banana peels, two empty yoghurt pots, and what looked like the scraps of a six-egg steak omelette. 

He fuelled for battle.

You got on with your day and ignored it the best you could, repeatedly reminding yourself that this year’s “Cavillmas” festivities were to raise money for a new ward at the local children’s hospital. You were positive it was a conveniently cooked-up cover for his annual decoration war with Highgrass. You knew Henry already arranged the needed funding for the hospital in full. Proceeds from any public donations were just icing on the cake. 

"A win-win,” he’d called it. 

Another jarring thump sounded from above, followed by three loud bangs. Chunks of dislodged snow showered down outside the front window. A long string of violent curses—though out of your earshot—surely followed. 

You set down your book and scowled through the ceiling. This would end in one of two ways: either Henry would finally end up in hospital or yet another Christmas display would meet an untimely end. Frankly, you weren’t keen to deal with the aftermath of either. With one more sip of steaming tea for fortitude, you jammed on your coat, boots, and knit hat and trudged outside. 

Last night’s storm had finally blown through, leaving brilliantly clear skies and frightfully cold temperatures. You pulled your coat collar tighter around your neck, your breath billowing from your lips as you stomped through the innumerable winding tracks Henry had already left in the snow. Damp bit through your fleece joggers as you assessed the carnage. Pallet after overturned pallet was haphazardly discarded across the lawn. Bits of torn boxes and wrapping drifted from the overstuffed bins next to Henry’s work table. Various tools were scattered about the surface and fresh sawdust danced in the air. Your head tilted to the side as you caught sight of a crumpled piece of paper secured under a fresh offcut of wood, the free corner flapping in the frigid wind. You tugged it into full view; it was a preliminary sketch of something you could only assume was obnoxiously large. 

Speaking of obnoxiously large. 

“Henry!” you called out with renewed urgency.

There was another thump and this time you did hear the cursing. “Get back inside! It’s freezing.” 

The command drifted down from the roof. You looked up and Henry’s head was just visible over the ridge. Snow caked the collar of his puffy coat and knit benny hat and his cheeks and nose were ruddied by the cold. His mien, even at a distance, was utterly defiant. If the man didn’t end up hospitalised from injury, surely it would be from catching his death in the cold. 

“Pack it in!” you shouted back, “you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“The only one at risk is dear Rudolph here,” Henry shouted as he wrestled a large, festively painted 10-point plastic stag into a headlock. “Bloody thing refuses to stay put.”

“You’ve gone absolutely mad!”

“You know what’s mad?” Henry’s tone grew increasingly manic as he crawled across the ridge and toward the ladder perched against the edge of the roof. The reindeer’s hooves cut a sharp line through what was left of the snow as Henry dragged it behind him. “Highgrass installed an ice rink in the middle of his circular drive, and he’s got not one, not two, but five—” He lifted a hand and splayed five gloved fingers in the air. The motion made him wobble precariously and loosed Rudolph from his grip. The reindeer ricocheted down the roof and ended lodged, hooves to the sky, in the tall holly hedge below. Henry thankfully remained safely on the roof. “—fully trimmed fir trees lining the drive. Each one has to be at least fifteen metres tall.”

“How terribly asymmetrical of him,” you deadpanned. You knew all this already and kept mum about it, rightly fearing it would send him into a tailspin.

“Exactly what I thought!” Henry visibly brightened and you groaned toward the sky. “Horrid design plan. Quantity over quality, I say,” he continued. “He’s added a winter wonderland adventure golf to Santa’s grotto, but that isn’t even the worst of it…” 

You briefly wondered if Henry had even taken a breath. His hat had gone askew in the scuffle with Rudolph and he looked properly unhinged.

“Henry, will you please come down before you hurt yourself? You can rant to your heart’s content once you’re on the ground.”

He waved off your concern. “I just want to finish the roof display and then I promise I’ll come in for lunch, but you won’t believe it…” he scoffed as he toed for the ladder, and that’s when you noticed them. 

“Are those rugby boots?”

He glanced at his feet and grunted affirmatively. “Needed extra traction.”

“Henry…”

“...he’s converted the old stable for a live nativity. I saw the donkey! I bet he hired the local acting troupe as well. The absolute cheek of it!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and willed forth every last ounce of your patience. “Please tell me you did not trespass into Highgrass’s stables.”

“I…” Henry sheepishly cleared his throat, having suddenly realised he’d openly incriminated himself. “I, erm, went for a run this morning and took the…scenic route.”

“Henry!”

“He stole my idea!”

“We don’t even have stables!”

“It’s the principle!”

That was it. Enough was enough. Time to break out the big guns. Henry was officially in A State™ and it was time to snap him out the best way you knew how.

“Well, if you aren’t going to come down then I shall just have to manage by myself.”

Henry was halfway down the ladder and trying to yank Rudolph out of the holly by the leg. He was so far gone that he didn’t even look up when he asked, “Manage what? Are you finishing the indoor decorations? I’ve got a great idea for the Blue Room. I’ll help once I’m done with this.” He gave the reindeer’s leg another firm tug and the force very nearly sent the whole ladder over.

Your nerves would never survive him.

“Manage my way onto Santa’s naughty list,” you ground out with as much mystery and allure as your frustration allowed.

That got his attention. He stilled but kept a hand on the reindeer. “How do you intend to do that?” Henry tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice dropped an octave at least, as it always did whenever his interest was piqued. 

“Oh, you know…I was thinking of doing that thing.”

Henry fully focused on you and you graciously afforded him a sly smile. He abandoned Rudolph and his knuckles whitened around the ladder rung as he descended a step. “Which thing, precisely?”

Whenever he went off on a shoot, your nightly phone calls and texts almost always ended naughtily, and you’d be the first to commend the man for his creative mind. This most recent stint away produced a sizable list of new and wicked endeavours. 

“The thing we talked about whilst you were away…” you answered as you casually undid the front of your coat. It was the last thing you wished to do the bleeding cold, but you weren’t about to chance losing him now.

“The thing…” he mused aloud, his voice gritty. “In the…” 

“Mmhmm.”

“On the…”

“Yes,” your voice was intentionally smokey as he descended three more rungs.

“With or without the…”

“Oh,” you shrugged your coat from your shoulders and shivered, only half from the cold air, “definitely with.”

“Alone?” Two more rungs. His eyes narrowed accusingly. “You wouldn’t.”

“I can see you’re a busy man.” You edged backwards toward the front of the house. “Would hate to distract you.”

Henry leapt the remaining distance to the ground and landed crouched in the snow. He slowly rose and when his shadowy gaze locked on yours, the corner of his mouth pulled into a predatory smile.

You had him. 

You immediately turned tail, squealing as you sprinted across the snowy lawn. You did your best to dodge pallets and crates as he gave chase, the thudding of his heavy footsteps keeping pace with your rabbiting heart. You just managed to reach the front door when he grabbed you from behind. 

He spun you about. The chase left you panting, but not nearly as much as the sight of him. His eyes, hot and alight with want, greedily roved over you. His broad chest heaved as he pushed you back against the door frame; he brought his hands to rest heavily against the column of your neck. Your throat bobbed under the possessive weight, and he hummed appreciatively as he drew your face up to claim his prize. The feral, bruising kiss stole what little oxygen remained in your lungs and left your mind deliciously hazy. 

His thumb roughly grazed your cheek; he dropped a quick kiss on your forehead before your world turned over. His low, chesty growl rumbled through your bones as he tossed you over his shoulder. Even upside down, you could see the dents his rugby boots left on the bottom of the door when he kicked it open.

You half-heartedly tried to squirm out of his grip, which earned you a playful slap on the arse when he crossed the threshold. “Never too busy for this.”

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

about the kiss prompt 3, 7, or11 with either Sy, Walter, or August. or Charles if we are feeling Tudory. lol

The #7 “I’ve missed you” kiss screamed Walter to me. This is slightly angsty, but I hope you enjoy it!

(gif from google, if it's yours pls let me know so I can properly credit)

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader (You)

Rating: T for angst; hurt/comfort vibes

Word Count: 667

It was no secret that Walter was a gruff man. His oft-sullen and monosyllabic nature were rather notorious, and whilst no one ever appreciated being on the receiving end, most colleagues made allowances for something they deemed personally beneficial. His apparent ability to emotionally detach meant he was routinely saddled with the worst of the worst: the cases no one else wished to touch because of the inescapable knock-on effect on one’s mental health. Most assumed he was impervious to the foulest dregs of humanity and the horrific emotional gamut he ran each day. Believed that as if by some innate magic, he was able to simply absorb the repeated exposure to an endless parade of tragedy and defuse it all away into nothingness.

How wrong they were.

Walter felt everything and the trauma was acutely visceral. It lived in the permanent dark smudges under his haunted eyes, made its home in the unyielding tension in his every muscle, and burrowed into his soul where it inevitably metamorphosed into the existential exhaustion he continually suffered. His very essence was scarred, and it was a burden he bore without complaint so that the abysmal darkness never touched those closest to him.

His stoicism was how he survived and protected his peace.

It was how he protected you.

And whilst some took exception to his compartmentalisation by accusing him of being unnecessarily cold or distant, you understood and accepted it because you knew one thing with the utmost certainty:

No matter how far gone he may seem to be, Walter always came home.

It wasn’t easy, and the latest case had been particularly gruelling. Most evenings he stumbled in well past midnight and immediately collapsed on the sofa without touching the food you’d left wrapped on the kitchen worktop or taking a shower. Sometimes without even bothering to undress. After a paltry bit of sleep, he awoke before the sun and did it all over again. Days went by without seeing each other, let alone speaking, and it wasn’t for lack of wanting on his part. You knew it was because he was in the thick of it and processing that left him feeling tainted in many ways, and he never wanted that anywhere near you.

But you kept on making meals he could eat in passing and leaving extra cosy blankets and fresh clothes in the spaces he most frequently dropped. Held his hand in companionable silence when words were all but impossible. You continued to ease his burden the best ways you knew how because:

Walter always came home.

Just as he did that night. You were stretched out on the sofa enjoying a bit of television and a warm drink when Walter swept into the house on a wave of energy unseen in recent weeks.

You caught sight of his coat and hat flying through the corridor. His bag quickly followed, the lot chucked and forgotten at the bottom of the stairs. He finally came into view, hopping on one socked foot whilst desperately tugging at the boot on the other. He gave a triumphant whoop when he finally got it off. You made to rise, but he motioned for you to stay put and beelined for the sofa.

He collapsed into your open arms with a contented groan, and even though he was a beast of a man, you relished the weight of him. So solid and reassuring and real.

He enveloped your body with his and cradled your face in his hands. His fingertips sank into the soft column of your neck and yours dragged through his dark curls. Foreheads met, and in the barest moment of mingling sighs, his nose gently nudged yours before taking your mouth with his. His overgrown scruff scratched and stung with every drag of his lips but you cared nought. He was here, and that's all that mattered.

Neither desperate nor impatient, this kiss was slow and deliberate. By pouring himself into you and allowing you to return in kind, it was a recharging of the soul. Checking back in.

He reluctantly broke away, breathed into your neck and whispered, “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Welcome back, Walter.”

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

WIP Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @fvckinghenrycavill!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I have just a few and all are equally neglected 😬 I'm living for the day I have the mental capacity to sit and focus on writing for more than a few minutes here and there, but without further ado:

Midsummer Misadventures: Chapter 8 - F!Reader/Henry

In the Pursuit of Happiness: Chapter 6 (likely to be the last chapter if I can ever get around to finishing it...) - F!Reader/Henry

Defying Nature - F!Reader/Henry drabble in the Midsummer Misadventures Universe

Do You Love Me? - Reader/Henry (maybe Walter?) angsty one-shot

Retreat - OFC/Henry multi-chapter (on the very back burner and still in the planning stages)

Fate and Folly - Reader/Tom Hiddleston AU one-shot

I shall leave this an open tag for anyone wanting to play!

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Fluffy Henry/Reader drabble dropping later tonight 👀

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Nothing like starting my morning of writing/editing off by axing two entire pages 😬 ISTG, fighting with my WIP is like a dramatic reenactment of the Black Knight scene from Monty Python.

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Casual Poll:

If I write a Chris Evans fic, would readers prefer Reader Insert or an Original Character?

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Christmas-themed Henry x Reader one-shot/drabble dropping either today or tomorrow 🎄🦌❄️

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

I'm so excited to post my next one-shot that I am legitimately seething because I have to force myself to take a break and make dinner before I can do a final edit. 😭 I'm so impatient with myself, I swear.