#fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

Upstate.

Title: Upstate. | Masterlist

Summary: When the Captain learns you’ve kept a secret all these years, he’s more furious than he’s ever been.

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Angst, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, rough sex, dirty talk. Infertility/PCOS. 

A/N: Had this in my drafts forever and sort of forgot I wrote it. Comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

~

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to get pregnant.

It just wasn’t.

You went on the pill shortly after you met, which wasn’t the most glamorous story, but that one drunken pounding against the ladies bathroom wall just days before he was set to ship out set the tone for your relationship. At least in the beginning.

He did two more tours after that. The first time he was on leave, he dropped to a knee, all suntanned and scruffy, after dinner at your favorite little fish shop on the pier.

“We haven’t known each other so long, but your sweet voice on those phone calls, babydoll. They keep me goin’ when I feel like there’s not much reason to.”

That last time he promised, “We’re gonna settle down for good. You an’ me an’ our brood. Daddy just has some unfinished ass to kick, but don’t you worry, sweetness. Nothin’ but picket fences and backyard barbecues soon as I get back.”

You said of course you’d marry your coarse, burly soldier and there never was a happier man who swept up his girl on that pier in a yellow sundress.

You never thought you’d see the day when your hardline, take no bullshit, don’t give em’ an inch Captain would shed a tear - let alone in public - but he did just that the moment he turned his shoulder and saw you in the just barely off-white dress.

He swept his woman off your feet, saying he wanted to be a gentleman and treat you right. But you knew by the intensity of his gaze and how he barely glanced at the pretty white lingerie before he started tearing it off your body that he was going to have trouble being gentle. Not that you minded. You had no regrets when it came to this swollen beast of a man filling every hole, manipulating your body in unnatural positions because you were smaller and he was strong as a horse and built like a brick wall. He’d pin your wrists to the bed above your head and gorge on your heaving tits, or grip behind your knees and have your feet bouncing behind his thick neck, until you were a sweat slick, foul mouthed whore begging for more of his meaty shaft pounding you into a moaning, senseless mess. You thought growing up there’d be something magical and pure about being a new bride dressed in white giving yourself over, blushing and shy, to the man you promised to love forever.

The reality was so much more visceral. All you wanted for days on end was his thick body forcing your thighs open, his hands gripping your flesh, fingers leaving bruises on your hips, crushing kisses that nearly made you faint, the salty taste of his sweat and cum dripping from your lips and cunt, rolling down your thighs, smeared onto the teeth marks he left around your nipples and on your ass like a soothing balm. The only soundtrack in the house was the grunting feral sounds over you as if he willed his very being into yours through the force of each veiny thrust. And the lewd slapping of flesh against flesh, sometimes muted just a bit by the rough hair trailing down his torso leading to his monster cock. The sound of his thighs clapping against your ass and thighs as he fisted your hair and drove himself into your cervix never ever got tiresome.

When he’d get too close, he’d devour your cunt, biceps and forearms flexing and lifting you to his face, swallowing every drop of your slick mixed with his, swirling his thick tongue over your sensitive clit, feeding the mixed liquids back inside your slit. He’d drop to a knee and spread you over his shoulders if you didn’t make it to bed, or in bed, he’d trail down your body, nipping and biting, picking up your skin between his teeth, flashing those blue eyes up at you. He loved going down on his woman maybe even more than burying his throbbing cock, so he’d always glance up to see your lashes flutter, eyes roll back, lips part and scream silently as he gorged on your sex. His beard scratched between your thighs and made you that much more sensitive but fuck you loved it and he loved marking you. He’d sink his sharp canines into the crease of your thigh and bite down just hard enough to make you cry out and arch for him.

By the time you were begging to come and whimpering his name like a prayer, he’d force his heavy, uncut cock all the way inside and start grinding, flexing every muscle in his core powering the grunting snaps of his hips into yours, seeking both of your release. And his mouth would get so filthy pressed to your ear.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up with all this cum. Not gonna be able to walk straight for weeks. That’s right spread wider for me. Fuckin’ give me that cunt. You’re gonna take it all like a good girl aren't ya? Get you all round - knocked up with my seed over and over. All that thick cream in these balls is just for you. That’s right. You want it? Milk it, babe.”

He growled and groaned, slapping his balls against your ass, all of the things that made you gasp and close down on him. You’d come first. Always. pulling the head of his cock right up against your cervix. He’d keep thrusting through your orgasm and his followed quickly after.

His big body could crush you under his weight but you loved it, practically demanded it, so he’d half roll off, resting mostly on his side and forearm and hip, while he panted into your hair on the pillow. But you wanted him all over your skin. The musky scent of his, still rolling down his hot skin, sweaty and thick with pheromones and sex, from working so hard to get both of you off over and over, you had no way to explain how you loved it - except by licking up the side of his neck and suckle kissing behind his ear while he panted into the pillow, his bicep and forearm heavy across your chest or around your hip, still holding you possessively.

He’d chuckle, still panting and turn his head on the pillow. Voice still rough from the beating his vocal cords took while he growled, huffed, groaned and barked instructions to you, he’d whisper in those quieter moments.

“Insatiable, kitten. Gimme a minute. Daddy knows what you need.”

You’d turn over in his weighty, tree bough arms and nuzzle into his hairy chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat hard and steady under your fingers. Tree trunk legs could pull all of you into him, and he’d fold you into his center, so not a single inch of you would have to touch sticky bed sheets when he rolled over onto his back. Thick fingers spread across your back, soothing over your roughed up skin, lifting your hair off of your sweaty neck, until the cool air in the room and his perpetually hot skin balanced to the perfect temperature somewhere in the middle.

It went on like that for three, six, nine months once he was home for good. Only two things changed as the months went on. His chocolate curls grew and spilled onto his forehead - which you loved to run your hands through - and you conceded the beard stays if the curls do too.

You came off the pill immediately, from that first night he came home, and never went back to it.

“Sweetness, don’t stress about it,” he’d coo gently, finding you curled up in bed or in the bathroom, sitting alone in the empty back bedroom in the new house. He’d try to squeeze the sadness out of your body every single month with his huge bear arms.

“It’s fun to try again, ain’t it?” he’d wiggle his eyebrows, and make you giggle through the tears. The more playful he was about it, the harder he leaned into trying everything he could to make it easier on you, so that meant a lot of research on websites. He never in a million years thought he’d be reading up on ‘luteal phases’.

He never had to be told twice that you might be ovulating. You’d whisper it to him sometimes he’d sense it. In bed, he’d smell that wet heat before you even backed your ass up against him, wiggling your aching core against the base of his raging erection. Slipping his big hand down your tummy and into your panties, he’d slide a long couple fingers through your slick heat, spreading your pussy lips achingly wide before withdrawing his hand and wrapping his other arm around the front of your shoulders.

“Mmph looks like you’re ready,” he’d groan, checking the viscosity of your juices. Spreading your slick between his fingers, he’d lick at it, gripping you tighter as you’d smirk and work your hips mercilessly on his dick.

That one taste would be enough to work him into a rutting frenzy though. “Got damnit, I need a taste,” he’d growl, climbing down and burying his face between your thighs. His mouth and beard would come up glistening with your juices and he’d look positively lust drunk on the stuff. Spreading his knees, he’d hoist your thighs up onto his, spreading your knees over his hips, so he’d be able to have a perfect look at your swollen cunt.

Pupils dilated and breathing hard, he’d pinch the hood of your clit and stroke it between his finger and thumb, making you squeal and writhe, pulling your own hair. He was in awe of your pussy every time he actually looked at that tiny, suckling hole - how in the world did you manage to stretch and accept his girthy cock? It had to hurt, right? It HAD to. Gripping your hips, he pulled you up to himself, one forearm supporting under your ass, and the other around your back. Touching foreheads, he nuzzled you lovingly.

You kissed him hungrily, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip before letting go. Hair mussed and giving him the darkest look, rolling your hips in his lap, you purred deep. Much to your confusion, he was the one to slow things down, smiling in his gorgeous blue eyes, kissing over your forehead, temples, eyelashes, nose, each lip.

“I wanna give you everything, babydoll,” he sighed, dropping his head to kiss over your shoulder.

Arching your back, you had him grip onto your hands and ease you, still spread over his hairy thighs, back onto the bed.

“Put a baby in me,” you demanded. He huffed out a sharp breath, puffing out his cheeks, before plunging two thick fingers into your cunt, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. You shrieked and moaned in pleasure, arching deeply.

He could have been gentle but those five little words; that demand of yours. You were his new CO and when he received orders, he ploughed through at a punishing pace.

“Gotta prime these walls,” he grunted, thrusting his fingers in and out, turning his hand so he could rub sloppy juices spilling out of your cunt. Leaning over, he pressed his palm against the mattress next to your head and did something near a one handed push up, coming nose to nose with you.

“Why we gotta prime walls, baby?”

You whined as he flexed and slipped a third thrusting finger into your slurping cunt, begging for something larger to grip onto.

“We prime…” you panted, clawing across the tense muscles in his chest, “because you’re gonna… paint my walls… with your seed.”

Giving you his tongue, he withdrew his fingers and smeared his fingers over his precum-leaking meaty member. Just pushing it down to the right angle and you arched, digging your toes into his tree trunk thighs as you accepted his cock into your aching insides. You cried out, tossing your head back, but that just made him latch onto your throat and thrust into your cervix like a battering ram.

You screamed his name two, maybe three times, and he bared his teeth, growling and swearing, struggling to hold on, planking on his forearms desperate not cum yet while your smaller slippery body, squirmed and writhed under him. One second you were hissing and gasping, sinking your teeth and nails into his shoulders or biceps. The next you’d sob and dig your feet in, because you were so stretched and so sensitive. If he could just hold on that second longer, you’d grab at his ass, let your thighs open up and release your massaging death grip on his cock still buried as deep as he last thrust before you clamped down on him to begin with. Then he slowed just a bit to kiss your panting mouth as the orgasmic shockwaves relaxed. Your deep purr indicated you were ready for more, so he’d catch under your knees and fold you in half, pounding your body at a different angle.

When it was time, he bore his teeth and groaned, burying his face in your neck, getting sloppy with his thrusts until the last two that were exceptionally deliberate, seeding white hot cum directly to the source, his slit ground mercilessly against your cervix, for a direct shot at emptying himself into your womb.

When all was said and done, you’d toss him a pillow and he’d kneel between your legs, pushing the pillow under you to keep your hips elevated. Hooking his arms under your thighs, he kissed all around your sensitive mound. Kissing inside your thighs, he could thumb your swollen lips apart and see how completely full he’d filled you, to the point of leaking, but neither of you minded. If it wasn’t too tender, he’d clean you up with his tongue before lying down with you again, closing your legs, and drawing both your knees up over his hip.

You assured him every time that the pain was hardly anything as you shuddered and clung onto his imposing frame. It was only the last couple of months that instead of giggling and demanding ice cream in bed after what you both agreed was the best sex anyone on the planet was having, you just wanted to be held.

“Shhh, shhh... I got you, sweetness,” he’d soothe, drawing up blankets, rubbing you all over. He’d tuck you into his chest, and you’d curl up even smaller, your soft little body trembling against his twitching muscle always felt amazing before. But not when it came with tears. You hid your face away when he asked what was wrong, but he felt the little puffs of held breath and silent tears falling into his chest hair.

Finally, finally, one night spent cradling you in his arms and kissing your tears away, he convinced you. And you didn’t just break your silence.

You shattered.

“Doc told me years ago... it isn’t... I’ll never have…babies of my own. My hormones are all wrong for it. She said shots, maybe IVF but… even conceiving… even if possible, it’d be…”

The worried lines around his eyes and across his forehead smoothed out as he stared at the blinking red light on the smoke detector above the bed. He stayed quiet, putting an arm behind his head.

“I hoped I would have found a better way to tell you all this before now.”

“You knew before we met?” His voice was uncomfortably calm. “Five years ago.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to—“

“Ya kept it from me. No indication whatsoever there were problems on the home front, though.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to say anything because we’d somehow be pregnant by now and—“

“Ya let me think everything was fine. Told me, “Come on home, soldier. Let’s try workin’ on that family again.’ And I did. Every tour. I came crawlin’ home to you.”

Sitting up against the headboard, he flicked on the bedside lamp and scratched his beard, eventually dropping his upturned hands on his thighs, displaying his defeat.

Even though you wore his shirt from the night before and he was naked, barely covered by the bedsheet, you felt entirely exposed. You wanted to dissolve into liquid and melt into the floor or shed your skin and slink into a nook and never come out again.

His wide eyes plead with you: ‘give me something substantial to grasp onto. Toss a rope and a damn good reason for all of the lies to a drowning man.’

There was only one reason, but you couldn’t bear saying it out loud. You couldn’t the entire time you knew him.

Slipping his hand behind your neck, he thumbed your chin up to look at him. “You thought I wouldn’t want ya if I knew, huh.”

Your bottom lip quivered but he didn’t let you collapse into yourself. Looking over your tense, teary, flushed features thoughtfully, he stayed silent. He had a way of looking still as a sheet of ice while a raging current boiled just underneath. That kind of stillness gave those under his command confidence because even amidst chaos, he made solid decisions. Ones that saved their lives, kept them out of harm's way.

In that moment, you felt no confidence. Sitting on your knees expectantly, you trembled all over. He moved his thumb down from your chin as he inhaled audibly, and furrowed his brow exhaling forcefully, wrapping his massive hand around your throat.

The moments waiting made your ears hot and the blood rush to your face. Tightness crept across your chest. You broke the silence first or you’d have lost your mind.

“You’re angry.”

He chuckled ruefully and went placid in an instant. “Angry. Mmm... Yes, that is one way to describe it, darlin’. Never more so, as a point of fact.”

Swallowing down tears, if he wouldn’t let you drop your head, at least you could close your eyes.

“No.” His calloused thumb stroked up and down the side of your neck. “No—no, you don’t get to do that. Not with me.”

“Please, Sy!” You burst, holding onto his wrist with both hands. “Please say something! I can’t take it!”

He sniffed and took his hand back, rubbing them together instead of touching you any longer. His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “Not quite sure what to say.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at you, not entirely, so he arched a brow and gave a sideways glance. His voice was rough and deep with more emotion than either of you anticipated. “I was uh… unapproachable?”

Lifting your head from your hands, it made your heart shred into a pulp seeing the lifted brows and pained expression tensing his features. “What?”

“Unapproachable,” he graveled, cursing the emotion that made him choke up. “Fuck. I know I can be direct. I been tryin’ real hard to be gentle with you. Did I give the impression you couldn’t, ya know, tell me things?”

“No, of course not, Sy. I tell you everything.”

His smoldering ember pile only needed a breath of fresh air before it came roaring to life, consuming these new logs you’d placed on top.

“Gotdamn it. You knew this was important to me. The way you carried on, let me believe we had a life together. A future. With our family. Do I even know you?”

Smoke from the fire burning inside him made your eyes sting and water.

“Please, stop it, Sy,” you pleaded, pulling away from his grasp. “Please!”

The flames of anger - or was it hate - turned his pupils dark and made him somehow appear even larger with each deep breath.

“How do I know where the lies stop and you begin?”

Embers of his rage floated in the air and easily took to you like the driest kindling. You exploded unlike you never had before. Fists balled and panting, you squared your shoulders up and shifted your weight.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s the truth: I was barely 18 when the doctor looked at me and said, ‘consider adoption’. I wasn’t even thinking about kids then, only why I had cramps every month but no period.

“We’ve tried correcting hormones for years with so little success I’ve felt like a goddamn science project while my friends moved on, grew up, got married, raised families. Do you know how devastating it is to slog through one of those baby showers? Everyone is so warm and happy, celebrating new life and how their bodies produce something amazing.

“Meanwhile, all I can think about is how if I were to conceive by some fucking miracle, the chances of miscarriage are so high, it’d make more sense to plan some kind of memorial for a child I’ll never meet instead of a cute little fucking baby shower.

“And it’s the one thing you asked of me! What kind of a woman am I that I can’t give you the one thing you wanted?! A broken one. With a broken womb. So yeah, be upset with me. Hate me, Sy. But I promise you’re never gonna catch up. I’ve got years’ worth of a head start hating myself.”

Eyes bleary and completely heartbroken now that he knew your secret, your head dropped and you held it in pain from the headache that exploded from the tension.

You didn’t wait even thirty seconds before he nudged your head back up again with his knuckle. Your chest ached so badly from barely containing the sobbing. The moment you saw his arms were already open waiting for you to fall into, you gasped and let the tears come.

You leaned in an inch and he scooped you up the rest of the way. Helping you settle into his lap, thighs spread over his, he cradled you tenderly to his bare chest, wrapping you up in his entire upper body. Burying your face into his neck, you mewled his name softly when his lips pressed behind your ear.

“Sy, I—“

“Shh shh shh…” his baritone was so deep, you could feel and hear it as he dropped his head low to speak close like it was your own secret space to be alone together. “I’m sorry, sweetness. I know, babygirl, I know. Shh shh…”

Rubbing circles over your back, he gave you time to release through deep sobs some of that suffering you’d been dragging with you.

“I’m disappointed, shh—disappointed we can’t have our own, ‘course. But I think I’m more disappointed that you been upset this whole time over somethin’ we coulda sorted out together. Years ago. Babydoll, it breaks my heart to think of you bein’ this sad. Makes it a hundred times worse if you were upset ‘bout lettin’ me down. And you usin’ that ‘hate’ word in the same breath to describe the love of my life… Geez babygirl, that tears my heart right out my chest.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks. You pressed your palms against his hard as rock chest while he encircled you in his long reach. Tears rimmed his blue eyes as you wordlessly attempted to work out if he planned to let go or hold onto you. Eventually, you collapsed into him, exhausted.

“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s important. What? Louder. Deep breath and one more time? Oh. No, I know it’s gonna make you cry more but imma make it better, I promise. Lemme see my girl. There she is.”

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Your lips and eyes felt swollen from crying, and your hair was a mess, but he smiled in his soft blue eyes and stroked it back.

“Kids, no kids, doesn’t matter. I wanted you. Ask Parker or any other CO I work with. That very first night I saw you I said, “Imma marry that girl,” and here we are. But since we are married, I wanna know the things goin’ on inside ya. Not just ‘how ya feelin’, are ya hungry, are ya horny’ type stuff.”

You scoffed, kissing his cheek softly. He squeezed your hips tightly, lifting you closer, up higher on his pelvis, angling slightly back onto the pillows. He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but your heat, wiggling in his lap, and that you were starting to let go of some things inexplicably made the blood rush to his groin. You’d feel it in a second if he didn’t adjust your seating situation and lie back with you a bit.

“You’re not ‘broken’, sweets. And I don’t ever want to hear ya talkin’ ‘bout my girl like ‘at. You’re all woman, an’ the only one for me. You locked that right down in that pretty blue dress down on the pier years ago. Was it yellow? Nah. Really? With the little red… Huh. Color blind or not, this heart ain’t even mine no more so best be lookin’ after it. Yeah, you can cry now. Come here, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

When most of the tears were shed, he thumbed the dimples right above your panty line, just under the back of his lifted shirt you wore. Soothed very nearly to sleep, your fingers wound their way through his hair. He sighed letting his head fall back into your hands; he always loved when you scritched him like a puppy. Wrapping both hands behind your thighs, he held you in place, pressed to him and straightened up his neck when he really enjoyed what you were doing to him.

“Right there?” you cooed softly, raking your nails through his hair, down to the nape of his neck.

“Mmph,” he grunted affirmatively, tipping his chin down. He found one button on the shirt you wore straining against the fabric, exposing your bare skin right in front of his face. So he nuzzled into it. The unexpected tickle of his beard when he kissed inside made you gasp and arch back.

“Hey!” you squeaked and a mischievous smirk flashed across his face. He looped a finger inside his red flannel, releasing the fabric right below your belly button.

His eyes flashed up at you again as he pressed his mouth to your belly, swirling his thumbs in circles over your hips when he slid them inside the oversized flannel draped loosely on your body.

You closed your eyes, curling your fingers in his hair, and listened to the sound of the deliberate, wet kisses he placed from one hip to the other.

Hugging just under the curve of your behind, he ran his scratchy beard against your sensitive skin, but you still cradled the back of his head to you just the same. Finally kissing down to the apex of your sex, using his tongue to moisten the spot first, he placed a slow, suckling kiss that made your clit pulse and hips jerk involuntary.

“Sorry,” you mewled, pawing his hair. His jaw tensed and head lifted just slightly when your body responded so abruptly.

He nuzzled your skin and arched a brow up at you. “Don't be sorry, babygirl. Are you gonna let Daddy make ya feel good?”

A darkness fell across your features hearing that particular pet name for him. You tugged the shirt together.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sy. It’d be the first time not trying for... I can’t think about the… the emptiness. Feels like I’m giving something away too soon.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, collecting your hand from his shoulder. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Time… I guess. And you. Fuck, Sy. I must sound crazy. The way I’m talking, it’s like somebody died.

Here I am going on when you’ve actually witnessed people die.

I don’t want to diminish what you’ve been through with my nonsense.

Of course we need to do this.

We need to do this.

I want this.

I need you.

I need us.

I need this.

Fuck me, Captain.

Fuck me senseless.”

You made quick work shrugging out of his shirt and wrapped both arms around his thick neck. Fisting the mattress, he shouldered your ribs so quickly, it knocked you right off balance and onto his arm. Gripping under one of your thighs, he used that massive upper body strength of his to lie you back gently onto the mattress, holding your whole body up with just one arm.

As he eased you down onto your back, you went quiet and he leaned on his elbow to look down over you.

You stared up at the red blinking light on the smoke detector a long time while he pressed his large forearm down against your chest, between your breasts, and spread his palm over your sternum, attempting to give you an anchor point. Your arms laid limp, one above your head, one at your side, almost like you were having a nightmare except wide awake.

He’d seen that vacant look in the eyes of fresh infantry grunts after their first real battle and brush with death. But he never thought he expected to see it stateside, in the eyes of his wife.

Doing what felt natural to do, after all he was trained for it, he dropped his voice and redirected your attention.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I know you’re feelin’ pretty rough inside. Grief is grief however it comes. Yeah, it’ll take time. But that’s why you’ve got your Unit to fall back on. Unit of two, you an’ me. Makes us a pretty elite team. I’ll do some of the heavy lifting for ya now that I know what we’re working with. I need ya to stay with me though, yeah?”

“Unit of two. I like it. Will you ever… Oh Sy, will you ever touch me like that again?”

He frowned, wrinkles lining his forehead. “Sweets, hell nor high water gonna keep me from lovin’ on you.”

*

Three months later, you returned home from a walk with the new puppy to find Sy standing in the front lawn, one hand on his hip and the other waving at the delivery truck to keep backing up.

“More wood?” you called from across the street over the roar of the diesel truck lift dropping green treated lumber along the side of the house. While your husband signed off on the delivery, you crossed to meet him in the grass with the puppy under your arm.

Looping a sweaty arm around you, he pulled you in by the hip and kissed the crown of your head.

“Thank ya, sir. See ya’ next Saturday,” Sy smiled behind his reflective sunglasses, shaking the driver’s hand.

“Next Saturday?” you repeated, glancing over your shoulder at the new pile of lumber that had been dwindling as he completed projects. Or at least it was. “I thought the treehouse was done, my love.”

“Oh, it is. Come have a look see.” He dwarfed your hand in his, taking you to the sprawling backyard. His truck was parked at an angle on the lawn with his tools laid out in the back and sketches drawn all over sheets on the hood.

Leaning in with his hip, he showed you his drawings, motioning with his hands as to where they should be or already were in the yard.

“Swing set? Done. Slides over there? Done. High and low bars - also done. Rope bridge, climbing apparatus, bouncer thing, treehouse, done.”

Tilting your face, you bumped your head against his chest appreciatively and he smirked. “I want to build out chairs that flip down on the deck. Not sure on the height is all. I don’t suppose you have any input?”

“All the social worker has said is to plan on three siblings from upstate. Two boys and a girl, between the ages of 5 and 10. Sorry I don’t have any help as far as height goes. I think we are more than ready for the little ones next week, Sy. Why don’t you come inside and cool down with me?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder at the freshly installed fence blocking the neighbors’ view. “Better idea, babygirl. How ‘bout we give those swings a try first. Should hold both our weight, I reckon.”

Arching a brow, you folded your arms across your chest, pretending to be annoyed. “Oh, you ‘reckon,’ hm?” you repeated, patting his sweaty chest through his tank top. “Bear, we already have a sex swing upstairs.”

“Yeahhhhh...” he drawled, giving you his most sly smirk, “but this one is outdoors.”

“Captain! I can’t believe you!” you gasped, touching your imaginary pearls before pushing off the wall of muscle your husband provided when he folded his arms across his chest, launching yourself into a dead sprint across the grass toward the swing set. “Ladies first!!”

He chuckled, and jogged behind. “’Course, babygirl.”

~

Masterlist

#fourmarkdovewrites #fourmarkdove masterlist #syverson x reader #captain syverson fic #hurt/comfort #tw: #tw: pregnancy #tw: infertility #henry cavil #henry cavill smut

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn - Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

Title: Fawn - Part 5

Words: 2.1k

Summary: Plans to return to your ancestral home are halted by an accident that nearly costs your life. Angst. Hurt/comfort.

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: Suicidal ideation. If you’re triggered PLEASE skip ahead. Please check out the trigger warnings (tw:) in the tags!

A/N: I appreciate you sticking with me this far. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading as always!

The crack of thunder shook you awake from a dead sleep atop Roach. You gasped, lifting your head from the bicep you’d been using as a pillow for hours and bolted upright. 

“You’re safe,” Geralt soothed in a tone so deep that you felt the sound rumble in his chest pressed against your back. He’d tucked you completely inside of his cloak with him while the rain patted rhythmically on the fabric all around you. Although it was completely dark, your cheeks were so warm and the scent of leather and him was so comforting. Closing your eyes again, you settled back and felt his thumb stroke your hip indicating that’s exactly what he wanted you to do. The gentle motion of the horse under you and how his hips rolled with yours… you wanted to think more about it but you nuzzled against his bicep and were gone again in seconds.

“What’s she doing?” Jaskier asked hours later when your head poked out of the cloak swallowing your frame. Everything was now covered in a thin layer of white as the rain turned to snow. 

Geralt cocked his head to the side, amused by your attempts to catch snowflakes on your tongue.

“So thirsty,” you choked.

“Now how is that possible?” Jaskier complained, receiving a sharp side eye from the Witcher. “I’m just saying… she’s already had yours and mine.” 

The Bard was right. But you’d also used up every last drop of fluid in your body to expel the inky poison just the day before. And the elevation change couldn’t help. 

Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of a nearby stream and tugged on the reins toward that direction.

The moment that Roach paused, you pushed aside the black cloak. You became completely enraptured by the tinkling sound of ice forming and breaking along the banks, the gentle rush of the water flowing over well worn rocks, and the sparkle of what little light reflected across the surface. This mesmerizing scene caused you to all but launch yourself at the ground and race towards it. 

Geralt caught around your hips mid-leap and dragged you back over his thick thigh to his solid chest with a ‘thump’, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Let me go!” you squealed, your hands attempting to pry his solid forearm away from your ribs. 

He grunted, tugging off his cloak and wrapped it around you. He didn’t say so out loud, but he was troubled by how long you slept, how quiet. You’d been draped over his forearm all day and barely woke a couple of times in a daze mewling for water before dropping again. Admittedly, he shifted his weight in the saddle more than once just to check and see if you’d wake and we’re still breathing.

Stepping down, the Witcher led his horse to drink and then lifted you down to sit at the edge as well. 

It didn’t take but a moment for you to scramble onto your stomach and reach out to touch the water, bringing your fingertips back to taste. 

Jaskier filled his water jug and frowned. “Mm… Geralt I think your friend here is still unwell.”

Clearing his throat, Geralt refocused the gaping bard.

“So what’s the plan then? Pause a moment here? Then move on to the next town? I don’t feel much like sleeping out here tonight.”

The Witcher huffed and shook his head. “Give her a moment; then we’ll see..”

As the two men talked, they didn’t see you lean forward and stretch your neck out to drink like Roach. The cool water tasted so good going down your parched throat, you just couldn’t get enough.

With a yelp and a splash, the powdery snow gave way and you slipped right into the frigid water, dragged under with his heavy cloak gripping your neck.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled, knowing immediately what had happened even before he turned heel to run downstream. Racing ahead of you, he planted his feet in the water that didn’t reach quite over his knees and leaned way over to collect the writhing mass of arms, legs, and fabric tumbling underwater toward him.

You came up coughing and it took him a moment to figure out which end was up. “Let go of me!” you cried out, hot tears welling up, threatening to spill down your cold cheeks. 

“Hmm,” he grumped, stepping out of the cold water. Catching under your legs, he noticed the pleats of Jaskier’s borrowed pants were already beginning to freeze, stiffen, and stick to your skin. 

Standing you on a clear spot he made with his boot, his cloak dropped in a heap around your legs. You trembled uncontrollably, from the shock of nearly drowning, the frightening cold seizing your body, and terror of the scowling Witcher tearing clothes from your body for the third time in as many days.

“Jaskier. Build a fire.”

“What? Why? We are headed to the next town, remember?”

His eyes narrowed and he growled, tugging the hem of Jaskier’s borrowed tunic right up over your head. 

“She’s not going anywhere if she’s dead.”

“Alright, alright,” Jaskier sulked, turning away, beginning to collect firewood. He wasn’t too keen on staying out in the forest any longer - not when there was a warm bed and any number of supple breasts waiting for him in town. 

The Witcher looked deadly serious though, his jaw set and gold eyes alight with focus. Feeling through his bags, he retrieved one of his own black tunics.

“Take it,” he rumbled, pressing the worn fabric into your shaking hands clutching your elbows. Left shuddering, you were slow to move. Every muscle in your body ached and the cold had sucked any reserve of energy you’d gained during your long sleep.

The Witcher busied himself tearing apart firewood with his bare hands and tossing them in a pile, making Jasker’s meager armful look like kindling. He could hear your heartbeat slowing the moment he dragged you from the icy water. Even from a distance now, he could make out the faintest sound of your muscles seizing up.

With a hefty sigh, he returned to you and plucked his shirt from your frozen grasp. You’d made no progress peeling off the remainder of the icy fabric, now stiff and sticking to your tender skin.

“Come here,” he husked, bending down from behind you. The rumble of his voice so close to your neck made you gasp.

“I can do it.”

“If you could do it, you’d have done it by now.”

His large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling the fabric down your body. It was a relief to be released from the frozen solid garment and you exhaled deeply in appreciation.

Next he reached around to your belly and tugged at the frozen solid knot of your bottoms. The knot gave way in his fist and they dropped from your hips. Suddenly feeling very exposed to more than just the cold, you folded your arms across your chest like an embarrassed bride.

His black shirt dropped down over you like a sail, skimming below your knees. It was soft and surprisingly warm. As soon as your arms unfolded and slipped into the too long sleeves, he scooped you up under your knees. All you wanted to do was rest your head on his shoulder and curl up against his chest while he stroked you all over but then you remembered the violet-eyed Yennefer. And how he kept the wedding a secret. Embittered by the betrayal, you pulled away when he settled you onto the saddle blanket near the fire just flickering to life and went to repack his saddle bags.

You watched him silently, letting the warmth of the fire gradually thaw your limbs.

“I’m going hunting,” Geralt announced, returning to the flickering fire.

Sitting across from you, Jaskier rubbed his belly. “Not particularly hungry at the moment.”

You shook your head indicating you were fine too. 

He frowned sharply, disapproval furrowed his brow. Without saying a word, his attention snapped to his weapons and stalked into the woods alone.

“Did I say something wrong?” 

Jaskier’s gaze followed his friend until he was out of sight. “Wha… no. He’s just worried about you and it’s made him extra grumpy.”

By the time he returned with several large rabbits in hand, the Witcher’s cloak was tented over a low hanging branch and Jaskier sat near the fire plucking. 

Geralt nosed toward the tent before dropping heavily onto the log nearest the fire and set to work preparing the rabbits.

“She is resting,” Jaskier over-enunciated, still just shy of a whisper. “Are we done traveling for today because I sure would love the feel of a warm bed and soft thighs around my head.”

“Hmm,” he grunted. In truth, Geralt was only half listening, and more focused on turning an ear toward the makeshift tent. “When did you last look in on her?” 

His tone was threatening and it made the bard incredulous, putting his hands up. “A while I suppose? All I did was help put some stones down so it wouldn’t blow away when the wind picked up.”

Geralt huffed, nodding slightly. Still, he always heard your racing heartbeat; something felt wrong. Pinning his knife in the log where he sat, he lifted heavily and crunched through the dusting of snow accumulating around the campsite.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, tearing down his cloak, revealing only his saddle and empty blankets.

“Listen, Geralt, I swear I didn’t know,” he pleaded, following the seething silent witcher. “How can I help? What should I do?”

“Jaskier - you’ve done enough. Go into town like you planned.”

The Wolf followed your boot prints in the muddy snow until there were no more feet to follow. Fortunately, he recognized your scent trail wafting along the underbrush. Stalking in stealth behind you, it didn’t take long to catch up.

Wielding his silver knife overhead, an otherworldly shriek escaped your lips as you dived onto the Drowner, slicing into its sickly flesh. 

He dashed forward into the fray as a second and third, escaping your notice, heaved themselves onto shore. 

Once the fallen creature lay hissing, you leapt atop its writhing body, pinning it to the ground between your knees, and gripped the stolen blade you’d concealed in your boot. 

Dispatching both deadly creatures quickly with his heavy sword, his hair spun like a riptide about his face as he looked for you in the near dark. 

A gasping shriek from the nightmare fodder pinned under his fawn gave way to slick, gouging sounds as you mangled the putrid flesh over and over until you were breathless.

Catching your hand, he pried the blood slick blade from your grasp. Ripping your slippery hand from his yielding grip, you leaned over your gaping kill and released a soul wrenched, hate-filled scream.

Geralt gripped under your arms and dragged you away from the water's edge. Collapsing back against an oak tree with you barely contained in his constantly readjusting grasp, he exploded in anger.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?! That fucking thing could have killed you. Stop - Stop struggling and answer me!”

Letting out a howl more feral than alliterative, you squirmed and elbowed his ribs as hard as you could. 

He easily overwhelmed your attempt to flee and flexed his arms around your body, dragging your back to the solid wall of his chest. Panting, nearly breathless yourself, he gripped you tight and stroked back the hair clinging to your sweaty brow; you relented more out of pure exhaustion than anything else, letting your head willfully dip back against his shoulder.

He frowned severely, glancing side eyed at you as you trembled with every breath and clung onto the forearm pressed across your breasts. 

“What. Happened,” he rumbled, dropping his voice to a more intimate tone.

Your head rolled slightly on his shoulder, licking your dry lips. “I don’t know.”

“Why do you have my knife? You’ve told me how nervous they make you.”

Releasing the grip of the mud underfoot, you began to rest your weight back against him. Feeling your clammy forehead against his cheek, he sighed. And waited.

“I was going to end it, Geralt. Right here by the water. I want to be swept away.”

Jaw clenched, he fought the immediate eruption of rage threatening to explode deep in his belly. 

“But those things appeared and ruined that moment in time when I was at peace with the idea. I got so angry because I was ready but they took it from me. Finally a decision all my own and it was taken.”

“Despair is an ugly look on you,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

Conceding to his blunt objectiveness, you wilted. “Unwanted daughter… Bride. Whore. What else do I have to hide my shame if not despair?”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

#tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: suicidal ideation #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt angst #geralt hurt/comfort #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction #fourmarkdovewrites

[ecoamerica]

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[fourmarkdove]

Fawn - Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

Title: Fawn - Part 3

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Yennefer confirms Geralt’s suspicions and a rift is created between you and the White Wolf. Angst. Suggested smut. Fluff. Hurt/comfort.

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, miscarriage, abortion. If you’re triggered PLEASE skip ahead. Please check out the trigger warnings (tw:) in the tags!

A/N: Don’t blame me. It was that fricking wish! I’m not happy about it, either, but it’s canon. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading as always!

Like an expectant father waiting outside the delivery room, Jaskier paced just outside the tent while Geralt sharpened his sword near the fire.

“No. Get out before I portal you away,” Yennefer demanded yet again when the bard poked his head in and asked for an update. 

“She’ll come out when she’s ready,” the burly Witcher grunted. Another plume of purple smoke rose from the tent door and static sizzled inside. Jaskier began thinking of a verse that needed to rhyme with “plume.”

Wiping her hands, she emerged and motioned at Jaskier: “Watch her. Geralt, you’re with me.”

Sauntering across the way to her own much larger, and much more richly furnished tent, Geralt followed behind like a puppy.

“Well?”

“Well? Well, I saved her life, darling,” the raven haired woman smirked, turning to face him once they reached the foot of her lavish bed. Tossing aside the cloth, she twirled a finger and a dozen candles lit around the space.

He was not impressed by simple tricks. “What happened? It wasn’t just poison, was it? It was a curse.”

“Yes, my love,” she sighed, bored with conversation, so she lifted his shirt and ran both hands up his muscular torso, making the tense fibers just under his skin twitch. “I lifted it though.”

Craning his neck low, he crushed his mouth to her plump lips. The relief and gratitude expressed in his kiss melted when feral heat took over. They were souls bound together by a wish he made years ago to save her life. As such they were drawn time and again to this exact moment.

She moaned, tugging at the ties on his breeches pressed against her stomach. Biting down on his bottom lip suddenly, she flattened her palms to his chest and pushed him back to the bed, intent on climbing him and claiming payment for a job well done.

*

“So she’ll be able to travel soon?” Geralt huffed lazily, one arm under his head on the pillow. 

“You’re really taking her back to her father?” Yennefer sighed, playing with the glistening sweat droplets along the center of his chest.

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, if you do travel with her just have her take it easy the next few days.”

“Why?” He arched an eyebrow down at the naked woman still tangled up with him under the sheets.

“Well, she’s with child, Geralt. But the child is much smaller than it should be. She probably needs to see a real healer to have it dealt with anyway - given the circumstances.”

His brow furrowed sharply and he gripped her upper arms, dragging her off of him as he sat up. “Dealt with...?”

She sighed, running the back of her fingers down the sinews of his forearm. “Mm. She told me who the father is. I just went to his wedding just last month. It's a bad idea to show your new bride your bastard child. So yes… dealt with.”

“Wedding?” he mirrored, breaking into a cold sweat. “Did you tell her this?”

Yennefer shrugged and rolled over. “I alluded to it. Hmm. You know she may not need a healer on second thought. Baby isn’t well. Body might try to reject it after this, so watch for - where are you going?”

Stepping into his breeches, he glanced over his shoulder at the raven haired woman lounging in bed still. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Why? Did you want to attend with me? The food was decent but the wine was weak. I so would have loved to have dressed you, though.”

His frustrated growl was not lost on her but she didn’t budge by the threatening sound of it. “She told me where you met. Geralt, I said I’d try to save her life but she’s your whore. I’ve done more than enough here, my love. If you leave this tent tonight, I’ll be gone by daybreak.”

He didn’t even have his pants tied before he stalked out of the tent barefoot into the dewy grass. Jaskier heard him coming from his own cot opposite yours. Finding it quite impossible to sleep anyway, he met the Witcher at the tent flap opening.

“That witch gave her something to sleep but it’s not quite doing its job,” the bard forewarned, touching Geralt’s shoulder. He held his friend back just a moment longer to catch his golden-eyed attention. “It’s not you she’s been calling for.” 

Jaskier excused himself, ducking past his friend breathing hard with his jaw clenched. Every muscle up the back of his legs and across his spine snapped into tension; the coppery scent of bloody cloths left on the table sent his senses into a frenzy the moment he stepped inside.

“N… no… n...” you moaned in your fitful sleep, writhing and grasping at the pillow under your head.

Cat eyes dilated in the near dark, his attention drew to the shadow of your body tucked under a thin blanket. In two strides, he dropped by your side and dragged the tear-soaked hair from sticking to your cheeks. 

Your head rocked back and forth on the pillow, your expression wrought with grief, one hand grasping at nothing but air until his fingers closed over it. 

He lifted his brows in the center, anguish lining his forehead. Your breathing came in hiccups, clearly crying in your nightmare.

“Wake up, little fawn,” he rumbled, pulling deep from within to sound calm so as not to frighten you. “Come on, wake up.”

“Ah…” Your legs shifted under the blanket and you inhaled deeply.

Your wet eyelashes flashed open, revealing still slightly ink-stained black tears rolling down your cheeks. “Where is he? Where’s Acheros?”

Rolling his eyes at the sound of his name, Geralt backed up into the shadow of a tent peg. “That’s a good fucking question.”

“Why did he leave me in that horrible place?” You pressed, eyes bleary from tears, pain and exhaustion.

“Hmm,” he grunted, sitting back against the other cot.

“He said he’d always come find me. ‘Nothing in all of eternity could keep us apart,’ he said.”

Another frustrated grunt as Geralt sat back. As Jaskier stoked the flames of the fire outside, the walls of the canvas tent illuminated with flicks of orange light.

You stayed silent a long time, letting the length and breadth seep into your conscious thought. Curling up on yourself, you rolled over into the tent wall and away from the brutish man sitting in silence across from you. “Is it true? Did he - get married - without me?”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed in the affirmative, dropping his head back as the reflected orange flames danced on the ceiling. He cursed under his breath. 

There is a screech a striga makes when you deliver that final death strike straight through its heart; the sound is horrendous up close. Because of their circulation system, it takes them a moment to go, all the while realizing they’ve met their end. And then there is the soft little squeak of a rabbit as its neck is being broken. It doesn’t understand what is happening to it and doesn’t expect the end.

Neither startled cry at their moment of death is as difficult to listen to as your trembling gasp and wailing sob at the exact moment your heart broke in two.

Snarling his upper lip in disgust, he planted a fist on the ground to stand up, but stilled hearing you speak into your own hands.

“But… this is his child. And... I’m his.”

“Fuck.” Geralt replanted himself and sighed harshly, rubbing his rough thumb of one hand into the palm of another.

“What?” you shuddered, glancing over your shoulder. “But I love him...”

“You’ve said,” he husked, glancing at the exit with an arched brow and a changed mind. Waking you from that nightmare, he actually considered taking you in his arms and comforting you with all of the strength he had in him. He was not particularly given to tender moments, but if you’d have asked, even whimpered, anything at all, he’d have moved heaven and earth to shelter you.

You turned away from his frustrated growling. “Where is he? He should be here.”

With a huff of rage, he lifted to his feet and took the one large step to the door. Rolling over, your torso twisted and you yelped at the sharp pain. “Ah - fuck! What -“

“You were very sick,” he oversimplified, glancing behind his shoulder. “Yennefer…”

“Yennefer? She says she’s the ‘Love of your life’? I thought I was dreaming but she’s really real?”

“You should know Yennefer saved YOUR life.”

You mewled, ripped the covers down your thighs and tugged at your torn shirt, trying to find the source of the overwhelming pain.

Setting his jaw, he breathed deep and clenched his fist to keep from absolutely roaring at you. “You wouldn’t have survived - to be reunited with whoever this arsehole is, since that’s clearly all you can think about.”

It was neither his tone nor his words that shook you, rather the ache in your belly. “Something feels wrong.”

“As it should. Sleep.”

“Fuck you,” you spat holding your middle, getting up onto your feet much more slowly than he did. Bumping chests, you glared up at him. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t say a damn thing.”

Nostrils flared, patience dwindling, he looked over your head; he knew the second he glanced down and saw the pain in your eyes, it’d just add fuel to his  fire and one of the two of you needed to be levelheaded. 

“Not for certain until Yen told me a few minutes ago. Although I had suspected something like this when you told the story yesterday.”

Suddenly alert, you bolted toward the tent flap, but a heavy arm across the front of your shoulders blocked your way. Desperately, you reached both hands out. “Please! I need to go home. I just need to see him. He’ll explain and fix it.” 

Your pained gaze finally lifted to his, digging your fingernails into his forearm locked across your chest.

His sharp gaze narrowed. “There’s a reason he didn’t come back for you. Showing up on his doorstep, now, won’t produce the results you want, I guarantee you.”

“But - I did everything I was told to do,” you gasped, blinking back tears that spilled down your cheeks anyway. Dropping your head, the tears dripped freely onto the ground. Tilting your shoulders just slightly into him, you bumped your forehead against his chest and stayed like that a long while.

“I hate you...” you sniffled and hiccupped, speaking slowly, clearly drained.

“Mmph.” He grunted, holding the back of your bare neck.

The rage had worn around the edges like two fighters in the last round dragging their feet; both of you were slow to swing back.

“Come on,” he encouraged as gently as he could muster, thumbing behind your neck. “Lie down.”

He sighed, glancing down at your trembling, balled up fist thumping against his chest.

“I-I h-hate y-“ you sobbed, nosing into his chest. “I h-aate-“

“I know,” he grumbled, closing his hand around your fist. “You hate me.”

He rested his chin on your head and carded his fingers through your hair. Feverish tears eventually gave way to panting, then to soft breaths against his skin.

“What am I going to do?” you croaked, dragging your fingertips down his spine, releasing the muscles you’d been clawing into. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The first thing you’re going to do is get some rest,” he graveled overhead. Not giving you a second to protest, he collected your wrists from behind his hips and drew you back to your cot, throwing open the covers with his free hand.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you whined, giving him a side eyed glance.

“Lie down and count geese then,” he huffed, clearly not budging on it.

With a long sigh, you crawled in and curled up, pressing your face down into the pillow. Your eyes closed when the blanket rugged up over your shoulders.

Hearing your voice just barely mumbling into your pillow, he came down onto a knee and tilted his head. 

“Hmm?” he graveled just above a whisper. “You don’t mean that. … No, you don’t. … Hm? Fine, I will. Sleep.”

Settling down cross legged, he reached over the short expanse between you and the edge of the cot. As promised, he smoothed over your hair, and hummed a deeply soothing tune, the one he’d sometimes hum to Roach when she was being groomed. 

Tag Team: @ly--canthrope​ @marswritings​ @fire-in-her-veinz​ @thiclikeh0ney @uncoolcloudyhead​ @michelle-1185​ @boop-le-snoot​ @tearsontape13​ @confusinglump​ @mary-ann84​ @the-soot-sprite @wanderingsoulcelticheart @henry-cavill-obsessed​ @ruthoakenshield​ @nerra75​ @raspberrydreamclouds​

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

#tw: pregnancy #tw: suicide #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: miscarriage #tw: spontaneous abortion #tw: abortion #fourmarkdovewrites #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill angst

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn.

Title: Fawn.

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Geralt stops into ye locale brothel expecting one the ladies to soothe his battle weary soul. You aren’t meant to be there and have no idea how to handle his needs.

Paring: Geralt x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Smut.

A/N: This is a multi-chapter beasty. I’m already up to 10k so I’ll be editing and breaking it up into chapters to post in the next couple days. I’ve held onto this for 3 months (?) and I still can’t figure out where I’m going with it past chapter like 8, so I may be asking y’all what you think when we get there. (Also, I need to go back and tag some folks.) Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

~

It had been weeks since the Witcher had been through town, so when his massive frame darkened the doorway of the inn, the women who worked there scattered to put on their rosy lips and tighten their bodices just a bit more. In truth, none of them would have even asked him for a single coin. Being the one chosen to bed the Witcher later that night would have been more than enough payment for keeping his plate full, his drink topped off, and some easy company with curves to fondle while he consumed and brooded.

By dusk, the leather clad man was served enough of a steady stream of ale to just barely soften the lines across his troubled brow. His demeanor was still altogether sullen, leaning over his mug, shoulders rolled forward, silver strands of hair fallen around his weary features. The hunt had not gone well. 

He needed food, a bath and a hard fuck. Emptying himself out in the tight cunt of a pretty little thing would help clear his head. It might even afford him the chance to get a little bit of rest.

Mathilde, one of the more experienced women, saw Geralt always had proper company to suit his mood. Settling in next to him with a mug, she let out a labored sigh and sipped on her ale. His heavy lidded gaze glanced her way and an acknowledgement “Hmm” rumbled from his chest.

“You look tired, Witcher,” she noted, leaning heavily into his shoulder armor. “Why don’t you stay more than a night or two, my darling? Let Mathilde look after you a bit.”

“Hmm.”

That was usually enough to get him headed into a room upstairs but instead he sat back and downed the last third of his drink.

Mimicking his motions, she sighed and turned away from the room to whisper into his ear.

“Anyone caught your eye tonight, darling?”

Geralt looked in a drunken citrine haze around the room, but took pause at your figure sitting at the hearth, tending to the fire.

“Hm,” he grunted, motioning with his chin, before sipping on the fresh pint just delivered.

Mathilde pressed her lips together and slipped her hand under the table to touch his knee. Lazily lifting an eyebrow at her advances, he waited in silence for more information. 

“She is new since you been here last, darling. Might not be exactly what you’re in the mood for tonight though love. Let’s maybe try Larissa? She can be bent over a sack of potatoes in the kitchen in about two minutes if you want an early night in.”

The slightest downward tick of his mouth indicated he was not pleased with her proposition. Returning his gaze to your outline seated by the fire, he grunted,

“Send the doe-eyed one up with soap.”

You’d barely seen the shadowy figure dragging his weary frame upstairs before Mathilde crossed the noisy room to where you were seated. 

“You’re up, girlie,” the mistress instructed without a drop of honey in her tone. “Take a bar of soap up to the Witcher.”

Willing your hands to stop trembling, you paused and pressed your back against the wall just outside his door. Shaky breaths felt like they could have rattled your body to pieces and left you collapsed on the floor.

You’d been saved the humiliation of participating in the activities all of the other girls were involved with by staying in the kitchen for the last few weeks you’d been at the inn. Knowing absolutely nothing about cooking, you still tried to make yourself useful. Carrots were cut in odd sizes at an achingly slow pace. Onions made you weep so much that you closed your eyes while cutting and sliced your knuckles by mistake. Collecting potatoes, you’d managed to get tangled in a thicket of thistles and stumbled back to the kitchen empty handed and covered head to toe in burrs.

Having absolutely no training about local flora and fauna, you assumed all herbs were created equal. You’d never have known the herbs next to the parsley were in fact poisonous had you not washed and cut them to put in the soup yourself. Just a few sprinkles of green on top of a spoonful of broth made you immediately sick. Your body revolted and cast up everything you’d eaten that day, over and over.

So you were sent out of the kitchen. Potentially poisoning patrons was apparently the last straw. You knew it was only a matter of time before you would be sent upstairs to perform other activities. And it made your hands sweat and breathing quicken so much that you started to see stars.

Just as you were feeling your legs might give out from under you, the door swung open.

The white haired man stood as a broad shouldered wall of muscle, leather pants undone low around his hips, shirt crumpled in his hand.

You were absolutely dwarfed small by his impressive size. Upon one last shallow inhale, the soap dropped from your hand and your eyelashes fluttered closed.

Catching your waist, he tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed, swept you over his forearm and sighed. He’d heard your rapid heartbeat, like a frightened deer hiding under a brush pile, from the other side of his closed door. Of course, he was used to a cool reception wherever he went, but making you faint dead away was not his intention.

Dragging you to the bed, he hummed a thoughtful sound. He’d felt the kind of expensive green fabric you wore under his rough hands many times, but never in a place like this. Dresses this soft came from fabric woven from far away places, which meant you’d come from money and belonged in a court somewhere not collapsed on his bed in a brothel in the center of nowhere.

Fortunately, he had more knowledge of courtly dresses than most men, particularly their quick removal.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let you fall forward so your head rested against his shoulder as he reached for his silver dagger and slipped it right up your spine, slicing the ties laced across your back. Roughly tugging apart your dress, your body responded with a desperate gasp. 

With a shuddering exhale, your fingers grasped onto his thick biceps, trying to ground yourself as the dizzying sensation passed.

He made quick work pulling you free from the binding garment, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it pool around your hips.

“I’m… sorry… I don’t know… what happened,” you stilted, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Why you ladies tie yourselves up in these fucking dresses I’ll never know,” he grumbled almost imperceptibly low. Slipping a hand under your hair, he stroked along your jaw and lifted your head with his thumb. “Better?”

You straightened up a bit and released your fingertips from their death grip into his upper arms. 

“Better,” you lied. “How may I… please you?”

Regarding you with amusement, he lifted a brow. “Please me? Keep breathing for a start.”

You bit your lip, and his golden eyes followed. You were uncertain how to say the things out loud that you were supposed to say. Even moreso, do the things you were in his bed to do.

You frowned in confusion when he reached around your hip and pulled back the covers.

“You can stay here tonight,” his voice resonated deep in his chest. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Can I help?” you asked meekly.

He tugged your bitten bottom lip from between your teeth with his thumb. “You can stay right here.”

Decision made, his weight lifted from the bed making the old frame creak. He went to the fireplace to add more wood before heading to the bath in the main part of the room.

Pushing your heavy outer dress down your hips, you remained in your underclothes and slipped your cold feet under the covers, pulling the wool blanket up to your neck. 

Geralt groaned as he sank down into the bath. Every muscle in his body ached.

Resting his heavy arms along the sides of the bath, his tired eyes finally closed and he rested his head back against the hot water basin.

Still alert like a snoozing cat, he didn’t move a muscle when you padded over, undressed and carefully held onto the edge of the bath to climb in with him.

You settled a long moment opposite him, drawing your knees up to your chest in the warm water. Fairly certain he was sleeping, you were allowed a longer look at him without those keen eyes flashing at you. He really was stunningly beautiful. Somehow that made what you were about to do even more difficult.

You were just inches away from touching his large hand holding onto the edge of the tub but he sensed your reach and grumbled, “What are you doing, little fawn?”

You gasped and froze, glancing at his still reclined and resting form.

“I… um…” you stumbled, pushing forward despite your racing heart shooting up into your throat. Wrapping your hand around two of his massive fingers, you pulled it underwater and his palm around your waist.

“You paid for this... room…” came your breathy voice, collecting every last bit of courage left in your body. Slipping over to him, you rose onto your knees before him, letting the water just skim the underside of your breasts.

His gaze became dark, pupils dilated, as he followed the water droplets rolling down your flushed skin.

He licked over his lip and flicked his gaze back up to yours after drinking in all of the soft flesh you were offering. His hand you’d wrapped around yourself flexed and pulled you flush to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart pounding like a horse’s canter under your palms. Nudging his nose to yours, you could feel his warm breath against your lips when he parted his and waited. 

It was so close and quiet and intimate and it surprised you. 

A man like him could take what he wanted. But he was stalled out, stroking your neck with his thumb and the curve at the small of your back, while you decided. Leaning just that tiny bit more forward, you gave his full lips a chaste kiss, long and lingering, before backing off, still just inches from his face, and gazed at him through your dark lashes.

It was more than enough encouragement for him to stretch his long neck and tilt his head just a degree, capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you like a man starved, filling all of his senses with your sweet, soft presence, inhaling deeply your scent and needing to taste your lips, feel your soft tongue, breathe the same breath with each kiss that he dipped to receive from you.

It filled your body with such heat, from your cheeks to your toes, overwhelmed with the sensation.

Dropping his head, he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving little nips down to your collarbone. Nuzzling your chest there he huffed in appreciation and lifted his gaze again, arching a brow. He had a mischievous glint in his amber eyes which you couldn’t help but smile softly at. It was then that you felt him cup your breast, massaging it gently in his strong hand. His thumb found the sensitive nub of your hardened nipple and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a whimper.

Your eyelashes fluttered closed when your foreheads touched. He nudged his nose to yours and told you in a gentle rumble, “I want to hear you.” 

Pawing your fingertips at the rock hard muscle atop his shoulders, you whined and let your head fall back, your hair spreading across the water as he lifted your body inches more out of the bath, kissing down your sternum, delivering hungry kisses to your warm flesh until his mouth finally found that nipple he’d been teasing.

Your whine turned into a moan as he hugged your hips to his chest. He caught behind one of your shaky knees and helped you wrap your squirming legs around his middle, never pausing for a second on the attention his open mouthed suckling kisses were giving your breast. Once it seemed he’d gorged himself on one breast, he shifted your body slightly and dropped his head down again to capture the second nipple in his mouth.

You dug your heels into his muscular back and threaded your fingers through his hair, arching and whimpering sounds you didn’t know you could make. Flattening his tongue along the swell of the underside of your breast, he lifted it past his lips and into his hollowed mouth, drawing you deep into him and suckling at such a slow even rhythm, rubbing your sensitive nipple into the roof of his mouth. Something like lightning shocked from your nipple down to your clit, making your hips jerk foreword violently. 

“Hmm,” he grunted approvingly, feeling the swell of the hood of your clit nudge against his stomach when your thighs tightened again. Even underwater he could feel your slick heat smearing against his taut skin.

The slightest flutter of gentle fingertips near your core made you gasp his name. Wrapping both arms behind his neck, you rutted into him, trying desperately to get more friction. 

Thick fingers slipped along your folds, coating you in your own sex, and a desperate ache pooled in your belly. Your hips rocked making waves in the bath and some spilled onto the floor.

“Careful there,” he teased, spreading two fingers around your core to stretch your center from outside. His thumb pad completely covered and deliciously circled your almost too sensitive clit. It made you cry out when he sped up thumbing over the tip of your swollen nub and then curled a thick finger over your clit hood, drawing down to his circling thumb. It was a motion and sensation and pressure you’d never even thought of to try yourself and it made your inside walls tighten and become thick with want.

Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, not meaning to pull his hair hard as you writhed into his hand and panted into his mouth. Your eyes were shut, and an almost pained expression tensed your features as you moved into his rhythmic ministrations.

His expressive eyes never closed for a moment, however. Black dilated pupils caught in the light and he gazed at you like a hunter to prey. He wanted to see the heave of your breasts and how they shuddered against his chest at the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to see how your eyebrows lifted and furrowed as if you were singing a song of ecstasy whose melody could only be heard by watching your beautiful features as he stroked your most sensitive parts of you. It was a melody you were writing together with every caress, kiss and muscle twitch.

You wrapped one arm behind his neck and pressed the other’s palm to his shoulder, giving you a bit of push and pull leverage against his anchored body. Your core was tightening and not willing to relax even if you willed it to.

“Fuck! Please don’t stop!” you cried trembling all over. 

He growled a pleased sound, snaking his tongue into your mouth which you licked at wildly. He was doing things to your body you’d never felt before. How were you supposed to tell him it felt better than the best feeling ever without having any words fully formed coming from your brain?

“You like that, little fawn?” he purred as your mouth crashed against his again.

“Ah-hah…” you mumbled into his mouth, coveting more of his strong tongue. You wanted to taste him, every inch of him, have his scent all over your body. The need was incredible.

The forearm holding around your hips eased tension and his free hand slid down to caress over the curve of your behind. You cooed and nibbled at his swollen lower lip, still slipping into his thumb and fingers at your front.

His one strong palm pressed under you from behind almost made a seat for you, and you were able to relax your thighs’ grip on his sides.

You gasped and dropped your head down against his shoulder, shuddering when you felt his thick fingers from behind slicking along your tensed up core and began circling with increased pressure where he’d been working to stretch you before.

Falling silent, your hips stilled and warm breath panting against his neck caught in your throat.

He could no longer see the impending orgasm written across your features when you buried your face in his neck, but he could definitely still feel the hard heartbeat between your legs kissing at his bare stomach. 

One slickened middle finger traced your opening, swirling over it gently at first and then pressed his fingertip into you.

His heightened hearing caught your mouse-sized whisper into his shoulder, “Please don’t…”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #smut #fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

Cider.

Prompt: How about an angsty Henry x reader: she is told during a nightmare/dream that she has only one day left to live - and that she must not reveal anything to her loved ones! Waking up in Henrys arms and realize how lucky she was... Even if it couldnt last forever... @scorpionchild81

Title: Cider.

Words: 3k

Summary: Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Fluff. You hear in a dream you have only one day left to live.

Paring: Henry x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Anxiety, nightmares, panic attacks, dissociative disorder, death/dying. DD/lg if you squint and stand on one foot. (I think that’s everything?)

A/N: Pretty close to the prompt. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

~

Henry inhaled deeply, expanding his lungs audibly as he sat up in the bed you shared. He stroked a soothing hand over the curve of your hip while squinting in the dark, searching for the sound that woke him.

Clutching onto your pillow, you buried your face and mewled into it. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched you lying on your side, tense from the battle behind your closed eyes. His brows knitted with concern. It’d been so long since the nightmares claimed you, he thought for the last few weeks that maybe they’d gone altogether. He was clearly mistaken.

Dropping onto his forearm beside you, he carded his fingers through your hair and called to you gently. His first instinct was to burst through those fiery doors to hell and drag you back to this side of consciousness and safety, but it never worked that way. He had to tread gently, let you return to him on your own time. And it was incredibly painful to watch and wait for.

“Darling?” he beckoned, scratching the stubble on his chin over your shoulder like a puppy. “I’m here.”

Your lips parted and nails clawed into the pillow so sharply that the fabric finally ripped along the seam and soft white feathers fluffed out. A frown set his features hard. Cuddling his much larger frame to you, his thick arms encompassed you completely and thighs drew up close behind yours. He pressed his lips just behind your ear and let his warm breath fan over your skin.

“I’ll wait right here with you, Nugget.” As he began to gently rock your body, your grip on the pillow relaxed and he cooed into your ear about what a good girl you were.

Keeping his arms flexed tightly around your body, he hummed a soft tune, remembering how you always fell asleep in his arms in the hammock out back. He’d put a foot down to keep the two of you swaying, and he’d settle you on his chest, right under his chin, so you’d feel it when it’d rumble in his chest. Eventually you’d succumb to his comforting, and he’d feel your body melt into his long frame. He’d scratch the back of your arms, rub circles over your back, even hold your ass with a squeeze that’d make you sigh. You called it the ‘anxious hammock‘; his woman could call it anything she wanted so long as she felt protected and loved in it.

You’d been extra anxious lately with the news and social distancing and people in your social circle getting sick. And with him leaving your self imposed quarantine to focus on training going back to the Witcher set soon, it really ramped up your anxiety. 

It expressed itself little by little, starting with hugs around his neck as he was about to leave for the gym, but then when he would straighten up, you’d still be clinging on, dangling off of your feet. He’d chuckle and kiss all over your face, leaving you smiling. But other times, he’d find you hugging your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks until the shower ran cold and turned your lips almost blue. 

Other nights, he fully knew what your migraines looked like, so when you’d pretend to have one just so you could avoid dinner, he worried. He still finished dinner, cleaned up a bit, walked Kal and came to bed early with that lavender lotion you liked smeared into his palms. You and he spent a lot of time in that bed together, or the hammock, or the shower, just touching and being together. 

When things felt so uncertain and all of the words and tears were wrung out, you’d take turns massaging oil or lotion into each other. He always needed his kitten’s touch kneading against his sore muscles. And you needed his strength to pull you from the anxious knots you tied yourself into.

It really should have come as no surprise that the nightmares returned. The problem was that he wanted to do more - to solve an unsolvable problem - and that frustrated him to no end. He applied himself and conquered so many other areas of his life but in this part, the most important part, he had to be patient.

Sliding his arm under your head like a pillow, he gently tilted your hips back into him to locate the blanket you tucked between your legs. He knew this was more of a marathon than a sprint, so he settled in with a clenched jaw and tried to exhale slowly and sleep.

The black void is a gasping, vacuous, gaping maw threatening to consume first your sanity and then eternity. You can feel the voice rattling through your rib cage, long before the words make conscious sense.

“One day,” the voice calls from nowhere and everywhere. “One day left and then no more.”

Your entire body shudders free of its own volition and you’re aware of the crisp, scratchy bedsheets under your body. Antiseptic. Something metallic on your tongue. Dripping, beeping, wooshing. Buzzing purple fluorescent lights above. Your eyes roll open, vaguely aware of a nurse checking bags, pushing buttons, lifting your blankets. No privacy, no options, no voice.

Why am I here in this hospital? Why am I alone? ‘One more day’ and then - no more?

Panic sets in. You want to scream but the words won’t come out. There’s so much you wanted to do with your life. So many places you were going to see. You wanted to start a family with Hen... wait. Where is Henry? Does he know where you are? What if he doesn’t and you never get to say goodbye? 

The thought of tears spilling over those bright blue eyes of his, knowing you’d never be able to hold him again, kiss him again made everything in your being ache. You are desperate to cry out but nothing. It’s as if you’re dead already.

Almost as soon as his long lashes closed over his stormy blue eyes, like falling down into your own body, every muscle jerked and you gasped back into consciousness.

Scrambling to sit up, you drew your legs in to get your feet under you. You tore away the covers and your hoarse voice ripped through your parched vocal cords: “Hhhhhhennnnryyyy!”

“I’m here, Nugget,” he offered, his broad shoulders ghosting behind you.

Despite its size, his hand curving around your ribs was incredibly gentle. You shuddered at his touch; horror darkened your pupils and bottom lip quivered like a harp string vibrating to the point of breaking. Your nails clawed desperately into the sweatpants covering his thigh. Lips parted, but no words formed just yet; your eyes closed tightly and fingers touched your lips ruefully.

“Just a dream, sweet,” he comforted in a strong baritone, wrapping his whole hand around your small fingers. “You’re alright. See? Your Henry Bear is right here. Let me hold you, darling?”

Nodding emphatically, you dug your toes into the sheets and launched your whole body at him, not thinking for one moment about how pathetic your whimpers and trembling arms clinging around his neck might have seemed.

His brows lifted in the center and he continued to follow your gaze right up until you buried your face in his neck. The corner of his lips ticked upwards only briefly, before he nuzzled his face into your hair. 

It was stored in his muscle memory by now just where to grasp under your bare thighs, so you could bend your knees and spread over his hips so he could ease you down into a more comfortable position in his lap. There was no awkwardness negotiating who needed to move which limb where because you’d been doing this for years. 

Only recently there was less blushing over soaked panties or groans caused by awkward erections; just within the last six months you found yourselves single simultaneously and decided to give it a try.

Your breath was hot and stilted between sobs into his shoulder; his stubble along his jawline was scratchy against your forehead and temple but you didn’t mind. You just needed the closeness. Lifting your hair up into a ponytail, he pursed his lips, and blew cool air across your sweaty neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he questioned, rubbing slow circles with spread fingertips over your back. Your body tensed at his words but began to relax again when you wound your fingers dipped into his chocolate curls.

“I… don’t want to die,” you could barely whisper over his broad shoulder. “I don’t want YOU to die.”

“Oh Nugget,” he sighed, kissing the nape of your neck. “You dreamed I died?”

“No,” you hiccuped, pulling away and tapping the K on his soft gray shirt, attempting to distract yourself while you explained. “I was. And I wasn’t - wasn’t going to see you and - My heart, Hen. It - it feels broken.”

Cupping your face in both hands, he lifted your gaze and kissed your wet cheeks. “Look at us right now…”

Sniffling, you tucked your hands in between his biceps and forearms. “I know. I - It just felt so real. It feels so real. I’m not sure this feels real. It’s too nice to be real. You are too nice. I don’t know how to be sure...”

Deep worry lines etched over his forehead. Pressing his lips together in a flat line, his nostrils flared and he crossed his arms over his chest, peeling off his shirt.

The bear of a man breathed deep and slow, opening his hands to you. He gave you a wide berth; there would be no forcing - ever. His was a silent invitation to this familiar tango you’d only ever done with him.

Your gaze darted from his large palms resting against your thighs to his patient blue eyes watching you carefully.

“It’s alright, darling,” he encouraged, the softest of smiles lifting the apples of his cheeks. He wiggled his long fingers and you held your breath, sliding your hands into his. You felt the rough spots and calluses from the weights, the weaponry, the rope work, the horses. He worked so hard and should be sleeping right now instead of dealing with whatever mess you brought to him.

His soft kiss pressed to your forehead drew you from your thoughts. “Keep going,” he whispered against your hairline and you narrowed your eyes, focusing on his hands again. 

They were warm and so strong holding you and - oh - his middle and index fingers. The amazing things they did together. You forced yourself to stop thinking of it but your two fingers stroking inside his two fingers, and the furious blush across your cheeks, made him chuckle.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned broadly. Despite your blush, you continued to dance your fingertips inside his forearms, feeling the veins and sinewy muscle, the thick curve of his biceps and and shoulders. With a soft sigh, you lifted your head, kissed his clavicle and nuzzled into the light smattering of his scratchy chest hair. It was your favorite place to cuddle into. 

His particular masculine scent filled your senses and soothed every frayed, exposed nerve in your body; his musk reminded you of spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, orange and cranberry being mixed into hot apple cider on a crisp fall day.

You continued to lazily trace lines along his ribs and down his back, but he knew by your sigh that you’d come home. Tenderly sweeping your hair over your shoulder, he slowly and deliberately slid one arm high across your shoulders and the other low around the small of your back.

“I’m sorry, my love,” you murmured, your voice returning to its usual sweet timbre. It signaled you were returning from the frenzied dissociative state kicked off by that horrifically anxious nightmare. It meant he could speak to you differently, touch you differently.

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart,” he countered, kissing your forehead.

Sweeping your fingers along the stubble of his jawline, you cooed whisper softly and tentatively brushed your lips to his. Securing you to himself, he touched noses and parted lips, deepening the first kiss. Your fingers pushed into the back of his hair and tugged just gently enough to make you both smile.

With a deep, rumbling purr, he grabbed your hips and rolled you easily under him. He caressed two knuckles over your temple and teased your lips apart with his; he chuckled when you chased after his mouth for another.

But you pressed the heels of your palms against his chest and immediately he planked his body, lifting all of his considerable weight off of your much smaller frame.

Shutting his eyes tight, he huffed an exasperated breath and clenched his jaw. He should have known better. It was much too soon to touch you like this.

He intended to roll off and give you all of the comforting and cuddles you needed - until you wiggled a little under him. You shifted just a bit on the bed, reaching down and dragging your t-shirt up your bare stomach. His head was dropped just enough so his dark curls caressed your chest when you lifted your shirt off over your head and sighed softly under him.

You couldn’t help but giggle just a little at the arched brow and wide eyes he gave you when his gaze dragged up your nearly naked body to your face again.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, all better?”

“Yes, my love. Thank you.” Your answer was purely peaches and innocence during the act of wrapping your arms behind his neck drawing him down to you; only this time, he kept some of his weight lifted onto his forearms tucked under your shoulders.

“I thought I was crushing you.” He had a hint of playful warning in his tone.

“Oh. No, you know I love it even if you were,” you cooed, bending your knees and drawing your soft thighs up his ribs. “Isn’t it Oxytocin from the skin to skin contact?”

He smirked and grunted, catching one of your feet working on dragging the sweatpants down his hip. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

The corner or your lips twitched and your chest felt heavy all over again. You hated to admit it but the specter always lingered. “At the moment.”

“I know darling. We do these things one day at a time though, don’t we? Sometimes, by the minute?” He glanced up while you rolled the curls of his hair over your fingers. Collecting your wrist, he drew it to his mouth and kissed your hand.

Swallowing hard, you blinked but a tear escaped and rolled down your temple.

“Hey, shhh, Nugget.”

You sniffled and looked up into those beautiful, truly concerned, blue eyes of his. “You’re so much better than I deserve, Henry.”

He sighed and his shattered heart tore away from your gaze. Rocking his hips further down between your legs, he wrapped both arms under the small of your back and rested his head on your chest. 

It was the first he’d ever put himself in that position unless... he was there to give your breasts some attention? Your nipples hardened at the thought of his hot mouth sucking. He must have seen, or felt your nipple pebbling so near to his lips, because he fisted the edge of the bed sheet and covered your exposed skin.

Uncertain what to do exactly, you laid quietly and listened to his deep breaths and slow heartbeat for a long time. It wasn’t until you heard his breathing pause and stutter that your stomach dropped. “Henry? What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t know what else to do. What other way can I say it so you’ll understand?” His stormy eyes were dark and cheeks flushing pink when he put his chin on your sternum and glanced up at you. “I’m a patient man but you sure are putting me through my paces, sweetheart.”

Panic started to tighten your chest. Hearing your heartbeat and breathing quicken, he pressed his palm over it and spread his thumb away from his fingers to kiss your skin hidden under it.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“What did you want?” You asked bracing yourself with a fistful of sheets in each hand, practically panting the words.

Bearing his teeth, he sat up and stroked your cheek with his calloused thumb. “I want you to not be afraid anymore. I want to take away all of that worry in that beautiful mind of yours.”

As he swept the pads of his fingers over your forehead and down your nose, you gave them a kiss when they passed over your lips.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, swallowing hard so his Adam’s apple bounced. Your brows lifted, confused, but before you could ask, he dropped onto his side and pulled you to him, sheets and all. Legs and arms tangled together, you touched foreheads and shared the same warm breath fanning over each other’s skin.

“Hen?”

“Mhmm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Nugget.”

“Hen?”

“Hmm.”

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Even if it was only a minute. And in the middle of nowhere. I’d want that last minute with you. That’s home… with you. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

You thought for a moment that the wide eyed expression he gave you was surprise, until a smile lifted his features so brightly, his canines appeared. His mouth pressed to yours, gently at first, but taking a breath, he tipped your head and closed his lips over your top one, causing you to whimper and give him your bottom lip next. As your kisses became more hungry by the second, your attention was drawn from his tongue flexing into your mouth to his hands at your back.

They were fumbling with something, although you couldn’t tell quite what. Reaching behind you curiously, he grasped your hand and pressed his thumb inside your palm. Instinctively, you closed your fingers around it as he returned your hand to your chest.

He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and grinned. “Until I can get you a real diamond,” he panted breathlessly, lips reddened and slightly swollen.

Peering down inside your closed hand, you recognized the gold flash immediately. “Henry, darling, you can’t give me your signet ring!”

He scoffed, arching an eyebrow and collected your left hand, “’Course I can.”

Putting your entire ring finger in his mouth, he pulled off the artificial pearl you wore with his teeth and slid his ring on instead, making you giggle and wiggle your fingers.

“It’s a bit large,” you confessed, attempting to keep your fingers pressed tightly together. Turning your hand over, he let it drop into his palm and slid it onto your thumb instead.

“It’s only temporary,” he reminded you, lying back on the pillows and opening his arms so you could put your head on his chest. He let out a long, gruff sigh feeling your body settle down tucked in against him. Closing your eyes, you already felt your body starting to get heavy.

“You know,” he continued, gently raking his spread fingers through your hair, “I wanted to kiss you the first night we met.”

“That birthday party?” you cooed, nuzzling along his jawline. “That was almost ten years ago, Hen. I wonder where we’d be if you would have.”

“I imagine the exact same place. Only there’d be a couple more pairs of little feet running up and down the hall. What do you think, darling?”

You’d have absolutely agreed, and probably squealed at the thought, but you were already fast asleep by the time he finished his sentence. And it was the best sleep you’d had in months.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill comfort #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

Silent Night.

Title: Silent Night

Summary: You’ve been in quarantine for 23 days and your anxiety over coronavirus hits a tipping point.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Anxiety / panic attack. Brief mention of implied sex.

A/N: I’ve been in quarantine for 23 days and my anxiety hit a tipping point, so I started writing. Ha. Haha. Ha. Eh. Comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

He slept soundly beside you on his stomach, one arm stretched out over your side of the bed. He almost always kept a hand on you or a heavy arm draped over you as you slept together.

Pushing down the covers, you turned your knees and put your cold feet on the floor.

“Mmph…” he groaned incoherently into his pillow feeling the bed shift weight. “Where you going?”

“Bathroom, Love.” You lied. You needed to walk out some of this nervous energy in the front room.

You paced in his shirt. And checked Twitter in the dark. Paced some more. Looked out the window over the city that should have at least some cars’ headlights showing, but there were none. No movement. Nothing.

And it’d been like that in quarantine for 23 days.

You thought of family, wondering if they were feeling okay. If they were being safe. Reports were terrible of people even when they did their best to be safe. You trembled at the thought and mouthed a silent prayer.

Heavy footsteps padded up behind you; you held your breath, willing your heartbeat to slow down.

Long arms looped around your waist from behind and he lowered his head down to nuzzle aside your hair and kiss your shoulder. You could feel the warmth of his bare chest pressing flush to your back.

“I’m scared,” you whispered softly, unable to stop the full body tremors.

He let out a slow, deep breath and put his chin over your shoulder. “I know, Nugget.”

“It feels like the whole world is falling apart. What if it never gets better?”

“Darling-“

“I know it could be so much worse for us so it’s not that I’m not thankful, but…”

“Nugget…“

“What if this is the best it’s ever going to get? What if I never get to see my parents again? What if... we never got to say ‘goodbye’ to our friends... to your... whole family… I… can’t breathe…”

You were wide eyed and gasping when he turned your shoulders around to face him. You palmed his chest and he gripped behind your elbows to steady your shaking body.

“Hen… am I sick? Is... this…it?”

“It’s a panic attack, darling. We’ve been through this a hundred times before.” Holding under your chin, he lifted your gaze up to his and arched a concerned brow. “If I go get the meds, will you stay right here and try to breathe for me? Yes? Good girl. Two minutes.”

You shook and wrapped your arms around yourself, mentally demanding that your mind slow down the racing thoughts. ‘Stop it. You look crazy. Stop it.’

By the time he returned with your emergency meds in his palm and a glass of water, you had a hand over your eyes and whispered quickly under your breath, “Fucking stop it right now you stupid fucking brain. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

His jaw clenched and hurt furrowed his brow. “Here,” he grunted as you took the pill and downed the water.

Handing back the glass, your attention returned back to the floor but his slow rolling baritone wasn’t having it: “Look at me.”

The abrupt serious tone he took was surprising. He never used that volume or intonation unless it was during a particularly tense moment in the bedroom but this was the farthest thing from sex. It definitely shocked you out of the panicky haze. He looked more than serious, and different than sexy and playful.

He was pissed.

“I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again, you understand me?”

“That… I’m… worried?” You attempted to wiggle emotionally away from him.

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and arched a brow. “Try again.”

“That I... hate my stupid fucking brain?”

“Right.” He loomed large over you; his stormy stare was so intense but you didn’t dare look away. “I hear it again, I swear I’ll take you over my knee and…”

“Ohh…?” Your eyes lit up and you almost started to coo thinking Daddy was implying playtime. That was an idea you could get behind. So much easier than this hard emotional stuff.

“No. Not ‘ohh’. You’re not hearing me.”

He looked you over thoughtfully and bit inside his cheek for a long moment before holding his hand out for you.

“Come with me.”

“What are we doing, Henry?”

Your hand felt small and cool inside his. Upon arriving in the kitchen, he swiftly lifted you by the ribs right up onto the counter.

“Hen… I don’t have any pants on,” you blushed, tugging on his shirt riding dangerously high up your thighs. He shrugged and shot you a side eyed glance reaching into the fridge.

“I ONLY have pants on. What’s your point, Nugget?”

You sighed watching the muscles in his back move as he picked out things from the fridge.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and not peek? Or do I need to get a tie for your eyes?”

You perked up, closing your eyes tight just seconds before he brought his selected items back to the counter.

The water in the sink turned on briefly and then off again. Not being allowed to see really made you focus on what he was doing. Without even realizing consciously, the anxious knot in your stomach began to relax.

You sensed him even before you felt him step up to the counter between your knees.

His voice came low and gentle like a whisper near your lips but not quite close enough to kiss. “I think you really do want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

“I do. I promise I do.” You mewled earnestly.

The sound of a smile could be heard in his tone. “I know, darling. We are going to give you something else to focus on. You’re wearing yourself thin with all of this worry and I’ll not have it. So… open those beautiful lips of yours.”

Doing what was asked of you, a piece of fruit, small, smooth and round was fingered past your teeth for you to taste.

“Mm blueberry,” You cooed softly.

“Very good,” he praised, popping one into his own mouth as he began slicing on the cutting board next to your thigh. The slices were slick and crunchy and you let out an audible “hmm” trying to guess the next by sound only.

His hips nestled between your thighs again. “Tongue, darling.” Sticking our your tongue tip, he let you lick the fruit between his fingers.

“Smooth but bumpy on the edges… like a triangle but not. Strawberry.”

That guess earned you a gentle, chaste kiss at the corner of your lips. You hadn’t expected it and it made a shiver run up your spine.

“Open,” he directed, placing a sliced strawberry piece into both of your mouths. Something popped and he slid open the silverware drawer, retrieving two spoons that clicked together.

Holding onto your knees, you sat up straight, expectantly. “I like this game, my love.”

“Mhm I thought you might.” Standing between your thighs again, he leaned over and purred deep. “Last one, darling.”

Opening your mouth, you ejected your tongue, very nearly licking his nose. He chuckled and turned the spoon laden with the thick substance onto your tongue. You closed your lips over it and suckled all of the liquid from the metal before releasing it. Placing it on the counter, he pressed both palms flat on the surface on either side of your hips so you were caged in by his long, muscular arms.

“Mm that one was honey.”

“Three for three, Nugget.” Tilting your head up with a finger, he pressed his lips to yours, giving you a series of sweet, soft, slow, honey flavored kisses.

With a nuzzle, he asked barely above a whisper, “Why did put out your tongue for that last one? I didn’t tell you to.”

“Because you were going to give me something yummy.”

“You didn’t know what was coming. Could have been anything. Could have been a limp pickle or cold sauerkraut.”

You screwed up your face and he chuckled lightly, licking his fingers clean. “You can open your eyes now.”

Curling your fingers over the edge of the counter, you watched him place the cut fruit and honey over two small bowls of yogurt. “No, I didn’t know what was coming, but I guess… I trusted that you’d not give me something gross.”

Placing one bowl in your hands, he then lifted your jaw with his thumb. His clear blue eyes searched yours for a second and his jaw tensed before he spoke again.

“I’ll do everything I can to give you all of the best things, darling. We may not know what’s coming next but I’m going to do my damnest to keep you safe, protected.”

Hot tears welled up in your eyes and he made a ‘tsk’ sound, lifting his brows in the center. He hated making you cry even if they were happy tears. Straightening up, he slipped a hand behind your head, and brought you into his chest, curling himself over you.

“Please Nugget. Don’t shut me out. I experience anxiety, remember. Not to your extent but I know how isolating it is. How terrifying. Even if you can’t fully express it, could you try to give me a heads up before it becomes an emergency like tonight?”

“Heads up like… a code word or phrase?”

“If you like.”

“Pickle?” You sniffled and lifted your head, smiling up at him through your tears. “Emergency Pickle.”

He laughed out loud and rubbed your back, craning his long neck down to kiss you. “If you trust me with the little things, then trust me with the larger things too, Nugget.”

“So like dill spears not just gherkins then?” you giggled and he shook his head in mock annoyance.

Helping you down from the counter, he swatted your behind playfully. “Back to bed with your snack now, little miss.”

Once your bowl was empty, he took it from your hand and you curled up even closer into his chest. Settling back into the pillows, he smoothed the blanket up over your shoulder. “We’ll get through this, darling. We always do.”

Your only answer was a sigh as you’d already drifted back to sleep in his arms.

A/N: Keep washing your hands and taking your meds, all you cool cats and kittens. 

#henry cavill #henrycavill #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill comfort #fourmarkdovewrites #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader

[fourmarkdove]

South-Bound Polecat

Title: South-Bound Polecat

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Sy is furious you’re not taking better care of yourself.

Paring: Syverson x reader

Warnings: Disordered eating

A/N: Based off of this post. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

Setting down your oversized bag on the bench near the door, you then leaned over to tug off your heels. You moaned out loud and stretched your toes, unbuttoning your suit jacket. Sy came around the corner and leaned against the double door frame leading out to the hall. Arms folded across his chest, he tilted his wrist and checked the time.

“It’s 9:30,” he complained, watching you shrug out of your jacket. “You said you’d be home three hours ago.”

“I know my love. I’m so sorry.” You came to him and lifted up onto your toes to gently kiss his bottom lip. “Time just got away from me. Good news is that I got all of the quizzes graded and entered into the system.”

“You’re runnin’ yourself ragged, babe.”

“I’ll be fine, darling. I just need a hot bath and then to fall into bed.”

“I grilled steaks for us tonight,” he called up the stairs after you, “three and a half hours ago.”

Ever the keen observer, he caught the scent of - what was that? Ranch dressing? Instead of heading back to the couch, he thumbed open your bag to find the offending smell.

Since he was back from deployment and had more free time than ever, he took it upon himself to look after you like he always said he wanted to. And like you apparently needed. He’d taken to waking on schedule, hours well ahead of you, and he’d go for a run, have a shower, and sip coffee while making your breakfast - usually a smoothie because you flat out told him your “nervous stomach” couldn’t handle eating real breakfast with him.

Every morning he’d pack a lunch for you too. He thought of it as an extra little reminder during the day of how he cared for you by taking the time to slice up thin baby carrot sticks or apple slices earlier that morning.

He sighed a gruff sound, peeling sticky note reminders off of the cracked open container. Ranch dressing had spilled out and leaked all over inside your bag. He popped open the container heading out to the kitchen, discovering you’d not even touched any of the chicken tenders he’d made. That made three times this week that you hadn’t eaten lunch.

When he was all done cleaning up, he sat on the couch and flicked through channels mindlessly. It wasn’t long before he heard the familiar padding of feet coming downstairs and wandering over to the fridge to scrounge for food before bed.

“Babe?” you called, pouring yourself some water. “Any more of that steak? Oh nevermind I found it.”

Coming to the couch in his t-shirt and freshly washed hair, you slide some of the thinly sliced meat into your mouth and cooed, tasting the salty goodness of the rub he’d seared it with. You fold your legs under you as you come to sit next to him, mesmerized by the football game on the screen.

He sat a few long minutes, arm thrown over the back of the couch, and watched you devour the sweet potato fries, steak, and grilled pineapple. Sliding your plate onto the coffee table, you sighed and laid down, using his muscular thigh as a pillow.

Two minutes into the game and you were rolling over onto your side, drawing your knees up and whining about a stomach ache.

“Course it hurts, bug. You just inhaled dinner. You know you’d not come home every night ready to eat the north end of a south-bound polecat if you’d just dig in to the lunches I been makin’ ya.”

You sighed and rubbed your cheek against his leg. “I know. I just get busy…”

“Ain’t nothin’ I ever heard about in your particular line of work that means you can’t stop for 10 minutes to get chow.”

Sitting up, you didn’t have much fight in you between the stomach ache and exhaustion, but still you want him to understand. “Lunch is the only time I can get stuff done. They’ve taken away my planning period. I have to get papers graded. I’ll try to be better about eating but…”

“You an’ I both know ‘try’ is about as worthless as tits on a bull,” he huffed, flexing his fingers over the couch armrest.

Stunned, you gave him a wide eyed look and pulled the damp hair from your face. “Sy, are you angry at me?”

“Geez, woman!” Yes, he was in fact angry. “All I’m asking is for you to look after yourself better. I’m not askin’ for the gotdamn moon!”

He stood up abruptly and paused halfway out of the room. Even in the dim light you could see the muscles across his back were tense and twitching. His fists were balled up and his whole body was rigid.

Your Sy had a temper and there were times when that rage benefitted both him and the men and women who served under his command. His unit needed the discipline he provided because every last one of them knew the training built trust that kept them alive even in the most desperate situations. Most of the time his temperament was fairly sanguine as a natural leader and his charisma was enough to get the job done. If pressed, however, he could and did square up with any soldier who dared to step over the line and disrespect him, the position he held, or ignore instructions given. Even the charisma was calculated. There was never a moment of downtime even if he appeared relaxed.

That’s what frustrated him so damn much dealing with you. He planned to look after you, calculated to make sure you were prepared for long days you faced on your own front line of sorts. He wanted you to feel that same kind of “until the end of the line” support that his unit felt when they trained, when they fought, and when they had down time. Together.

That was the thing - he couldn’t do any of that from home while you went to a school campus. You had no down time together other than collapsing in his arms always for sleep. And he sure as hell couldn’t engage in any kind of training like he was used to. The one and only time he barked at you was earlier on in your relationship, over something altogether innocuous, like how the ladder wasn’t set properly when you climbed up to wash windows. He was correct and it was unsafe but the delivery sent ice through your veins. When you climbed down and approached him, shuddering with fear and bottom lip quivering, his heart broke in two.

He spent the rest of that night cuddling you up in his bear arms, nuzzling your neck and barely speaking above a whisper. He swore he’d never raise his voice to you like that ever again.

When things came across like this not eating lunch thing, it was difficult for him. What was that bullshit book you made mention of about love languages? His was clearly acts of service; why weren’t you seeing that?

I make you lunches because I want to provide for you. I want you to feel supported and loved even when I can’t physically be with you.

That’s what he wanted to say; what he meant to say every time he closed the lid on those containers and slipped them into your bag as you ran out the door and forgot your smoothie.

For you not to even have opened them? Whether you meant to or not, he felt flat out rejected. Did you really not want him? He tried so hard in his own way to tell you how desperately he loved you. But it felt like you couldn’t be bothered enough to care, hence ranch dressing spilled in your bag.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” he sighed. “Night, bug.”

Ten minutes later, he heard the bathroom sink and then the sheets being lifted as you silently slid in on your side of the bed. He faced away, feeling like sinking down into himself and closed his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, he heard a faint whimper as you curled up smaller in your sleep and began to rock yourself. Sitting up, he glanced over his shoulder and sighed. Your belly must have still ached.

Rolling over, he pulled you close and turned your body over so he could rub his large hand over your stomach soothingly.

He felt your little gasp and fingers curl against his chest when you woke with a start. “Mm I… bad dream…” you mumbled. He wrapped a steady arm behind your back so you could use his bicep as a pillow while he rubbed your midriff.

“I know, babe. Shh you’re safe…” he whispered, pressing his cheek to your forehead.

“Please don’t be mad,” you sniffled barely awake, pressing your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

Even barely awake, you said it so easily. It felt like a miracle every time the words fell over your beautiful lips. He tucked a hand behind your head and kissed your forehead gently. “I love you, bug.”

You cooed and settled down, drifting fast now that you were tucked into him.

“Can I take you out for lunch tomorrow?”

“Mm… sounds nice…” you sighed one last time before passing out completely.

He could not have been more awake, however.

His cheeks burned and something tightened in his throat - what was that - choked up like tears? Even if you didn’t remember it, he’d managed to say it out loud.

I love you, bug.

But you remembered.

#captain syverson #syverson #captain syverson imagine #captain syverson headcanons #captain syverson headcanon #Henry Cavill #syverson x reader #syverson x you #fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

Masterlist

Clark Kent

Tiger

Syverson

Upstate - NEW

Sound-Bound Polecat

Flight 292 - Part 1

Flight 292 - Part 2

Flight 292 - Part 3

Flight 292 - Part 4

Geralt / Witcher

Fawn - Part 1

Fawn - Part 2

Henry Cavill 

Silent Night

Cider

Marshall

Locked

Vampire!Henry

Wings

#fourmarkdovewrites #fourmarkdove masterlist #masterlist

[fourmarkdove]

Flight 292 - Masterlist

Title: Flight 292 - Part 1 | Words: 3.3k | Summary: Deployment tears the newlyweds apart. Will they survive coming back together?

Title: Flight 292 - Part 2 | Words: 5k | Summary: Syverson negotiates life back home stateside.

Title: Flight 292 - Part 3 | Words: 5.3k | Summary: Syverson negotiates being Daddy and a daddy.

Title: Flight 292 - Part 4 | Words: 5.4k | Summary: There has never been more tension and less communication between the two. And now with the question of infidelity on the table, will their marriage and family survive? 

#fourmarkdovewrites #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #syverson #captain syverson #syverson x reader #captain syverson imagine

[fourmarkdove]

Wings.

Title: Wings.

Summary: Bouncing back into the dating scene after a bad breakup seems like a good idea until your Tinder date becomes an absolute nightmare.

Paring: Vampire!Henry x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, physical and a hint of sexual assault, violence, blood, dissociation, murder (most foul). You know, the usual. Please avoid if you trigger easily. 

A/N: Inspo based on this edit (above) of Vampire!Henry by @demivampirew​ 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom!” you shouted to your date over the hard thumping house music.

Surprisingly, he looked exactly like his Tinder profile picture, with his perfect blonde haircut, clean lines of an expensive suit, bioluminescent grin. It seemed odd he refused to meet his brown eyed gaze to yours, electing to keep his sunglasses on during dinner, but you cared less and less as the top tier mixed drinks kept coming. He’d thrown his arm comfortably around you way too early, smiled much too brightly. But if you were completely honest, it’d been so long since your last date, before that rough break-up, and you were starving for the attention. It’s not like you were a one night stand kind of woman, certainly not with a smooth, nearly perfect, stranger but if the situation presented itself you were pretty sure you were going to jump on the opportunity - not because he was as amazing as his profile said he was. He was actually quite boring, despite the flash and swagger, tossing cash around like he legitimately owned the nightclub he took you to after dinner.

In the bathroom, you pressed your hips firmly into the edge of the counter to keep from tilting on your fuck me heels. Applying a fresh bit of lipstick, you felt giddy, despite all of the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream. The room spun and you were hazy but in a fun way.

You are a sexy bitch. Smiling at yourself in the mirror, you decided you were going home with him.

He gripped your hips bruisingly hard and kept ramming his bulge against you every chance he got. He even started to kiss and nip at your neck, right there on the dance floor with people pressed in all around you. Who does that? People who find other people incredibly desirable and not at all desperate for validation, that’s who.

Your drunken logic, like your lipstick, was flawless.

After adjusting your push-up bra so your breasts lifted even higher from the black dress you wore, you stumbled back out the door to where he was waiting, leaning against the wall, your tiny purse strap dangling from one of his fingers.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“Mm I think so,” you purred hazily, running your nails over the buttons down the front of his shirt. He gripped your hand so hard you squeaked. His crushing grip hurt as he dragged you through the writhing mass of dancing bodies. You were going to get fucked. And you were going to feel it tomorrow.

“Uber?” you questioned, pulling out your phone the moment you cleared the club doors and were slapped with the shudderingly cool night air. Damn. You should have brought a jacket.

“Nah, we’ll walk,” he griped, leading you a few steps down the sidewalk. “My place isn’t too far.”

You made it exactly three steps teetering on those fuck me heels before you rolled your ankle on the uneven sidewalk and cried out in pain.

“I’m so s-sorry, Bryce,” you whimpered, leaning against a sign post to slip off your heel. “Give me a minute.”

He glanced over his glasses at you and then further down the street. “Come on, babe. Worry about it when we get to my place.”

“I think I might have pulled something. It’s really swelling up. Will you please wait a moment?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he hissed menacingly. “I guess we’ll just have to do this here.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he fisted your hair and yanked hard at the roots.Your hands flew around his wrist, attempting to free yourself as he dragged you toward the darkened alley beside the club. Stumbling in only one heel, your throbbing ankle gave way again and you howled painfully, begging him to let you go. In the rush pry yourself from his grip, your purse swung from your body and landed on the sidewalk.

“Please stop!” you sobbed when your back grated flush to the stone cold brick wall behind you.

He held you by the throat, taking his time pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. There was no hurry now that he had captured and caged you in with his body. He hovered, blown out eyes black as midnight, and breathed in the warm scent of your skin, nuzzling along your hairline.

“You’re a fucking tease; you know that, yeah?” he breathed, tipping his head and playfully edging your strap off your shoulder.

“No, I’m really not,” you gritted, holding onto his wrist for dear life. In your peripheral vision, you noticed your purse had fallen open and spilled its contents under the buzzing orange streetlight. Fuck. Mace was in your purse but too far to manage now, especially on a sprained ankle.

He took advantage of your sideways glance, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. Pressure and sharpness made you gasp audibly. He sighed, savoring the moment and you licked over your bottom lip to find the sting.

“You fucking bit me!”

His grin shown dark, stained with your blood. Wordlessly, he jerked your head to the side and sunk his canines into the soft place between your shoulder and neck. You cried out in shuddering pain, attempting desperately to shift your weight onto your injured side so you could at least give him a swift kick. He had you pinned too well though and any movement made him just grip tighter.

Bare shoulder blades scraping into the bricks behind you made you arch from the wall, but he pressed a thigh between your legs and forced you back onto it, his other hand roaming freely all over your body; grasping, kneading, bruising.

Letting out a choked, desperate cry, you felt your vision going dark. The lightheaded sensation swept through your body and your grip on his wrist loosened. You felt sick and hot and just wanted to escape your body.

You neither saw nor heard your date’s attacker approaching, but the pressure release and being tossed into the gravel shocked you semi-conscious. Through hazy vision, you made out two men scuffling and two others arriving from under the buzzing streetlight. 

Shouting. And growling. 

Pulling yourself up to sitting, you attempted to stand but the pain and disorientation proved too much. Instead, you dragged yourself to the doorway behind the club and held your breath, trying to stay quiet. Hot liquid pooled in the dip above your collarbone which you instinctively pressed your hand over.

The shouting ceased with a sickening click followed immediately by two men dragging a limp body right past you down the alley in the direction of the dumpsters.

A massive form in an all black suit loomed large over your hiding spot and the proximity made you shudder in terror. Flicking on his phone flashlight, he crouched down and laid it beside you.

“You can call the police and I’ll wait here with you. But I’d prefer you let me help you inside.”

His deep voice felt warm, like an embrace to your senses. A dark curl fell against his tense, worry-lined forehead which he pushed back but fell right onto its original place.

“My ankle…” you redirected, anxious to get his steady gaze away from your face. You had yet to look him in the eye.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he slipped it around your body while looking over your swollen appendage. “Hmm, we should get some ice on that.”

Pulling the smooth fabric up close against your cheeks, you burrowed down into his jacket that could have wrapped around you twice over. It was still warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap.

Awash with sympathy, his blue-eyed gaze returned to your pained face. His brows lifted in the center waiting for your decision.

“Maybe some ice,” you suggested, “for my shoulder, too?”

Fishing keys out of his suit pants’ pocket, he put one into the lock above your head and turned it.

“You work here?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, sliding a thick arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you up off the gravel like you weighed nothing at all.

Dumpster lids at the end of the alley slammed open. The jarring sound rattled your nerves and you instinctively buried your face in his dress shirt’s collar.

“You don’t need to look at that, darling,” he instructed gently, rubbing a thumb against the small of your back.

*

Once inside, he flicked on a series of small golden lights down a long hall and into a pristinely presented office. Just past the desk with leather chairs was an executive washroom similarity decorated to the rest: mostly black marble with gold trim around the huge mirror that filled almost an entire wall.

Setting you down gently next to the sink, he slipped from your grasp to wash his bloodied knuckles. Your wide eyed gaze peering out from under his over-sized suit jacket made him smile just slightly.

“What’s your name?” He took a folded towel from the sink and dried his hands.

“Y/N.”

“Henry.”

“I’m not sure I should be in here.”

He arched a curious brow, removing his cuff links. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Looks expensive and I might be sick.” You cringed inside but it was the truth. Your skin was clammy and you kept swallowing hard, trying not to think of your anxious stomach turning over.

His amused smirk faded. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them up his forearms and stepped up between your knees.

When he came that close, you stared straight ahead at his broad chest, particularly the third button down that strained to keep his shirt closed across his pecs. 

Black button on a black shirt with black thread going through two holes. Kind of a shiny button. Almost. Not quite matte. It’s a nice shirt. On a nice man. He smells nice.

“Darling?” he called gently, tugging at your not-so-conscious thought. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. They were the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. Saying nothing, heat rose to your cheeks and the corner of your lips ticked slightly upwards.

“Before we get to that ankle, I’d like to have a look at that shoulder,” he pressed two fingers to the lapel of his jacket you wore.

The moment he applied even the slightest pressure, you recoiled to the back of the jacket and closed your eyes tightly.

“Easy now, I just want to get you bandaged up,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“No.” You appeared to withdraw further into his jacket. “Please… don’t… touch me.”

Sighing deeply, he disappeared a moment and returned with the first aid box and set it next to your thigh. Popping it open, he rifled through bandages and located a pair of scissors, offering them to you, handle first. “Go on, take them.”

You frowned but pried your hand from your grip on the fabric around yourself to hold the scissors. Pressing a palm on the counter next to your knee, he leaned down so you were both eye level.

He searched your gaze for a moment. “In case you were worried, now you have a weapon. You won’t need it, but I do need to have a look at you though.”

Biting your bloodied lip, you nodded and felt an odd sense of relief. He lifted his brows in the center and asked if he could peel back the blood slickened jacket from your chest and you agreed, but immediately regretted it. Hissing in sharply, you clutched the scissors and looked up at him for any indication as to how bad it really was.

He maintained the same expression, however: focused, concerned, but controlled. Once he had your shoulder fully exposed, he reached around and quickly collected one of the hand towels, applying such hard pressure to the gaping bite wound that it made you wail in pain.

“Fuck,” he grunted, checking under the towel edge, adding a second to it and pressing down with the same painful pressure. “I didn’t think he had it in him to bite you as seriously as this.”

“Serious?” you repeated, feeling quite detached from your body. You touched the tendon working along his forearm, over his wrist and hand forcing the towels into the bite so severely, any additional pressure and he could have snapped your clavicle with his bare hands.

“You’re bleeding. Badly.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Jaw clenched, he corrected, “I can get it to stop but you’ll need to trust me and you won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An overwhelming sense of dread filled every corner in the darkest parts of your mind. It made you choke on tears. “Nothing matters.”

“Of course it does,” he nudged gently, lifting your head with his elbow. “What were you drinking tonight?”

“Um… a-appletini. Caramel.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, down at you, he applied both hands’ worth of pressure to your shoulder again, making you whine. “After we get this sorted, we’ll sit down together and you can drink all the appletinis you want. On me.”

“N-no, I… c-couldn’t- I…”

His warm chuckle resonated through your chest. “Of course you can. And will. I own this place and a dozen more like it, Y/N. We’ll sit down together at any one of them that you like, promise.”

“Like… a date?” The words tumbled out of your mouth but in fairness, you weren’t sure the perfectly gorgeous man before you was real or just a dream. It had to be a dream because what would someone who looked like him want anything to do with someone like you?

“Like a date,” he repeated, leaning over and nuzzling your head back up. He huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come on, stay awake.”

Touching foreheads, your eyes opened lazily and you stroked the stubble along his jawline. “S-sorry I... ruined y-your... jacket...”

Worry strained his features; you were fading quite literally in his hands. “Let me do this. Please.”

“Mm...” your hand slipped from his cheek and the sweet solitude of sleep consumed your consciousness, rendering your body limp.

In an instant, the towels were slapped onto a soaked pile on the floor and his massive hands wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you up as his mouth descended to your neck. Your head dropped back, and he pushed tendrils of blood soaked hair over your shoulder so they swung against the mirror making a slippery mess of the glass. He tongued over every inch of your exposed flesh, coagulating the fresh blood rising to the surface with his saliva. The scissors you held clattered into the sink basin.

Dark liquid smeared all over his lips and cheeks, he lifted his head, panting. His bright ocean blue eyes were filled with the red rage and blood lust from the taste of warm, fresh blood. Pushing his fingers into your hair, he tenderly lifted your head and dropped his shoulder to cradle your forehead against the crook of his long neck.

His brow furrowed when he tugged his saturated jacket down the rest of the way, exposing your injured shoulder blades in the mirror. Licking his thumb pad, he stroked over each bloodied wing in the reflection.

He made his way with you still in his arms back to the couch in his office and laid down heavy with you positioned atop his chest. Who knew if you would remember any of what had happened - or if despite his best efforts - if you’d wake up at all?

#vampire!henry #fourmarkdovewrites #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader

[fourmarkdove]

My google docs is an actual dumpster fire. I can’t get a single WIP finished. Right now I have just sitting, unfinished:

Two geralt angst fests. One of them involves a mermaid.

One August smut rage fuck

A multi-chapter Nomis murder plot

A Kal fluff piece

Henry hurt/comfort

And who just started working on a new Sy idea? Yeahhhh me.

#my writing #fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

do you think you’ll ever continue ‘fawn’?

Yes! I have the next chapter or so done-ish. Problem is I keep changing my mind on the happy ending or the sad ending so I’ve written it both ways 🥺

#fourmarkdovewrites #answered

[fourmarkdove]

You ever write a thing and break your own heart? Was writing last night and I made the Henners cry... and then had nightmares about it. 😳 Too angsty for even ME? Eep do I post it? 🥺

#fourmarkdovewrites

[fourmarkdove]

Hello! I stumbled across your blog and I’m obsessed! 🥺✨ I was hoping to be added to the taglist, if possible? 🥰🤍

Aww! You got it!! 💞

#fourmarkdovewrites #answered