Always my Superman 💖
Found this edit on Pinterest.
Always my Superman 💖
Found this edit on Pinterest.
Don't pout sweetheart. Before you know it it's weekend again 😊
Don't like angry guys but this guy can snap me in half. Anytime 😏
😑 Monday mood
Meme by witch_e_woman on Instagram
How have a I just discovered Henry Cavill?! Seriously what rock have I been under. I mean just look at him, he’s so pretty.
Summary: Sy catches you watching Magic Mike XXL again.
Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader
Word Count: approx 1.1k
Warnings: Sy stripping, implied smut.
Authors Note: Ok, let me be clear, I’m only writing this because I love you @nashibirne and because @amberangel112 kept pestering me to do it. Plus I got to watch Magic Mike XXL again. This is very much out of my wheelhouse. It’s inspired by my husband’s reaction every time he catches me watching a Henry movie (minus the stripping of course!) He basically walks in, says something like, “Really, you’re watching this again?” then buggers off only to tease me about it later. I love him 🥰 Thanks to @amberangel112 for beta reading and assuring me it doesn’t suck as bad as I think it does. I’m still nervous as hell though. Anyway I hope you like it @nashibirne .
Original Post that started this mess
You hear Sy’s heavy footsteps on the stairs as he appears in living room dressed for his afternoon run. You consider pausing the movie, but you weren’t quick enough.
“Hey Darlin’, I’m heading out for… Oh for fucks sake Darlin’, really?” Sy shakes his head as he recognises the movie.
“What?” you ask innocently while pressing pause, right on Joe Manganiello’s shirtless body.
“You really watching this shit again?” Sy looks at the screen, Joe body rolling to the Backstreet Boys. It was your fav scene in the whole movie. He knows it is, he must have caught you watching it a dozen times.
Trying to suppress the smile the scene never fails to put on your face you shrug. “It’s my comfort movie.”
He looks back at you, his face a little concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’ve got cramps, going to get my period any day now.”
Skipping back to the start of the scene, you look at what Joe is wearing in the movie and look at Sy. Your eyes widen, they are wearing nearly the same thing, a singlet top and sweat pants. You press play again and Sy stands in the middle of the room, arms folded over his chest watching. He glances at you, and you bite your tongue, trying desperately not to smile. Sy barely contains his jealousy as you watch Joe throw chips in the air and pour water over his head. Sy grunts, “He can’t even dance that good, at least the other guy can dance.”
You get an idea, you know Sy, he can never back down from a challenge. “I think he can dance really well, better than most guys,” you say, allowing your voice to sound defensive.
“Bullshit,” Sy says. “I can dance better than that.”
“Go on then,” you say quickly.
Too quickly, Sy looks at you, raising his eyebrows. He stalks over to you, grabs the remote, pausing the tv. He leans over you, caging you between his bare arms, his eyes narrow, “Is that what you want, Darlin’? You want your old man to strip for ya.”
You bite your lip, and nod, already he was turning you on far more than the movie ever could.
Sy growls, “Gimmie your phone.” You hand it to him and still holding himself over you with one hand resting on the couch, you see him open Spotify and connect to the speakers.
The first sounds of the guitar come through the speakers your eyes go wide, Sy hands your phone back, and smirking moves across the room. You shake your head but can’t stop the grin as AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long plays loudly. Sy faces away from you and when the drum hits, he starts moving banging his head in time with the music, tapping the beat with his foot. He adds a hip movement, shaking his ass from side to side, lifting the back of his top above his butt, so you get a good look at his ass in his grey sweatpants.
“Oh my God!” you giggle.
Looking over his shoulder he narrows his eyes and curls his lip into a smirk, trying to do a sexy look. You cover your mouth with your hands and clench your thighs together. You can’t stop laughing but you can’t deny that he was also making you hot. You worry, Sy will think you were laughing at him, but you saw the way his cheeks creased, and you knew he was trying not to laugh himself.
Just as Brian Johnson’s voice came in Sy jumped in the air turning around to face you.
She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean…
He ran his hand down his chest while trying to body roll. You almost burst trying to hold in your laughter. He widened his stance, bending his knees like he was doing his squats for exercise, while rolling his hips.
You squeal, “Oh my God! Stop!”
Sy shook his head, slapping his thighs as you peal into laughter. He stands tall again grinning, lifting the front of his top over his head but still leaving it on. You stop laughing as he walks over to you, grabs your hand and runs it over his pecs. You weren’t laughing now, his firm furry chest always got you and you licked your lips as he made you touch him, all the way down his fuzzy trail,
Sy knew what he was doing, teasing you, he let your hand go before reaching his pants. While the chorus played, he kicked off his sneakers then pointed at you before dropping to the floor. He began to show off with one armed push ups, locking his eyes onto yours, grunting as he swaps from one arm to the other.
Still holding your gaze Sy commando crawls along the carpet to you, lip curling into a snarl, his eyes hungrily raking over your body. Your breath was coming fast as he pushes your knees apart roughly and kneels between your legs.
Gripping your ass in his hands he manhandles your body until your rapidly dampening pussy presses against him. Smiling smugly, he says, “Told ya, your old man can dance.”
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly.
“Better than that asshole?” he asks jerking his head at the tv. You feel his hips moving, creating delicious friction against your throbbing clit.
“Way better,” you pant.
Sy grabs the front of your shirt in his fist, bringing your body close, his face an inch from yours. He runs his tongue over your lips, and you moan, your hips buck against him. “Good,” Sy growls. Suddenly, he lets you go, pulling his shirt back down and putting his shoes back on.
“What the fuck Sy?” you say confused. “What are you doing?”
“Goin’ for my run,” he says casually.
You splutter, “Um, no. You can’t go now!”
“Why not?” Sy says, he stops putting his shoes on and comes back close to you, kneeling between your legs again. “You need somethin’, Darlin’?”
You nod. God, he was such an arrogant bastard sometimes, but fuck, you loved it.
“Tell me,” Sy says, he loved it when you were desperate for him, when you begged for him.
“Fuck me, Sy,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and waist, grinding against him. “Please,” you pouted, teasing him yourself.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he lifted you off the couch carrying you off towards the bedroom. “I suppose I can get my cardio in this way.”
Tag List 1
@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67
Can we talk about how hot Henry looks when he's acting as Marshall in Night Hunter? Like-
I mean, he's always hot, but like, is it just me?...
@nuggsmum @pussyverson @viking-raider (and anyone else)
*you don't need to interact if not wanting to*
Charles sending some Monday morning love to you all ❤❤😍😍😘😘😘
A white shirt alert has been issued 😉😉😉
Just over here watching Mission Impossible:Fallout and thirsting hard over August Walker 😅😅😅
My entry for @nashibirne ‘s stripper challenge. Underneath. August Walker x Reader. Smut, scars, mention of prior injury, fingering. In his way, he keeps you close to him.
Tagging @iwillmakeyoucraveme @its--fandom--darling @indigosaurus @summersong69 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @imneonpanda @october505 @seriouslygoodlookinggents @feralrunaway @takemeback-toparadise @ashleyskywalker @little-green-love @critfailroll @luclittlepond @devterra @davidbuddbg @brandycranby @mary-ann84 @zealoushound @hylian-hoe @enchantedbytomandhenry
Strip, he says, and his hands are lost in darkness; he could be holding anything because his face betrays nothing. It could be a gun or a rope or a pretty little piece of chain; maybe it’ll be like the time he bound you naked in his study, splayed open and dripping, ruining the carpet with your juices every time he eased into the room to fuck you one more time.
Slower. Do I need to show you? Whatever he’s holding disappears behind the desk and he rises. He rises and rises and rises and he is towering in his boring stupid suit; he should really be in linen, in leather, in silk; he should be dressed in fabrics that tantalize and tease; he should ornament himself like a king but here he is in his beige-and-brown. Like this. And his hands are on your buttons, opening them one by one; he is slow, deliberate, his breath warm as he instructs you.
One. Two. There’s that delicate tremble, the telltale vibration of fingers broken and rebroken. Three. He steps back and tilts his head so his scars catch the light. And you continue with a delicate sway, with the oceanic roar of blood in your ears; he could pull you to the depths and all you’d say is I will follow.
Watch me now, he doesn’t say, because he knows you will; he sees you with his one remaining eye (one blue and keen and burning, the other milky-white and cold but don’t you know that’s the eye that sees beyond). He lays his coat aside and opens his own shirt with deliberation; inch by inch he emerges and all his many scars are brought to light. His body is a map: splashes of burns that drip down his neck, the twist of a knife between his ribs; he is stories upon stories that raise him up as a legend, or drag him to hell as an infamous beast. What do you see?
I see a man. One who’s still wearing far too much. And there’s that little smile, that twist of the lips, the one that makes the silver threads in his mustache catch the light. And maybe his fine control is damaged, but he’s so goddamned strong. He carries days and months of little movements, stretches, rubbing-downs; already he fills rooms with his presence once more. Already he fills you.
Fuck. He grips and tears his way through the rest of your clothes until he can back you up against the wall, until he can hitch an arm under your thigh and press inside. It’s just like the first time with the stretch that smooths out into slick motion, with the tidal roll of his hips. If a fuck could be a word, that word would be mine.
Not much of a striptease, was it? The words punch out from your throat with every thrust; he snorts and there’s a sudden rogue-wave snap of his hips. This close he still smells faintly of snow and fuel, cordite and moss; laid over it all is vetiver and orange and something deep and dark.
Hush, pet. Enjoy being under my hands.
Under him and over him and any position he decides to put you in: August is the architect of this scene. When he moves you off the wall there’s a sudden breathless feeling but he won’t let you fall— never that— if his body is a tool, yours is a precious thing to be protected. And when he sets you on the desk there’s a moment when he stops to look with his unmatched eyes and sees you at a depth beyond the physical; his crows’ feet deepen as he takes you in.
There you are. I have something for you. And he reaches, still inside you; he slides up your body and even deeper inside as he reaches for the top drawer. When he withdraws his hand he holds a fine chain; caught in the links is a silver circle.
You’ll have to close the clasp, I can’t. But pet. You are mine because you consent to be mine. Do you understand? Of course, of course; pain and death are in him deep and yet somewhere beyond there’s him, the August who takes his coffee strong and sweet, the August who called from the deep dark underground and whispered did you miss me, pet, the August who came back somehow both less and more than he was before. And he moves in you slowly now, unhurried; he lays the silver chain across your throat and whispers feel the weight of me.
The weight of him, yes: then and now and all the moments in between, the future yet unwritten and the past an endless map of what might have happened. And when he comes it’s with a sigh and the brush or his curls across your skin as he bows his head. His hands are broad and scarred and trembling when he moves to pull you after; he does it for himself as much as you, perhaps to prove that he still can. Perhaps it’s to spit in the face of pain, perhaps it’s to enjoy the grinding ache of bone. Perhaps he wants to feel you warm around him with every twinge of pain long after, a little light to guide him through the dark.
My genius brother. He will have all the answers.
HENRY CAVILL as Sherlock Holmes ─ Enola Holmes (2020)
I finally found my true sexuality.
Made posters for a hypothetical Superman movie I’d make, which would be lighter and brighter in almost every aspect than the DCEU.
I miss Henry Cavill's Geralt going "hmm"
That's it, that's the post
Starting Man of Steel 2013 with Henry Cavill and Amy Adams ✨
Duke of Suffolk 😏❤️