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funfickgirl22 · 20 days

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Summary: You witness Sy having a night terror for the first time, and together, you deal with the aftermath.

Words: 14k Pairing: Syverson x Reader, ETS Universe Tags: Nightmares/Night Terrors, PTSD, Anxiety, Angst, and then my all-time favorite trope Hurt/Comfort

Notes: This happens directly after ETS so maybe there are spoilers I guess?

It's the middle of the night when you're awoken from your sleep by a faint and distant noise.

Since moving in with Sy, you’ve discovered many strange noises belonging to this old house. Though admittedly a little unnerving at first, it wasn’t long for you to figure out which sounds were the floorboards creaking due to temperature changes, which were just the old windows rattling from the wind, and which soundswere the fireplace popping. Combined with all the other background noises that naturally come with living out in the country, by now you’ve gotten used to all the small sounds, and typically, they don’t even bother you at all anymore.

So, with this particular noise being nondisruptive enough for you to keep your eyes closed, you scoot your ass backwards towards Sy, fluff up the pillow underneath your face, and wait for sleep to take you under again like usual.

The background sound only increases in volume, however, somehow rhythmic yet spotty, and it just–won’t go away. The steady whirring of the floor fan in the corner of the room does nothing to even cover it.

For a moment, you think it’s just a residual part of your dream, but that can’t be right. It’s getting louder, so it's definitely not in your head. And it’s definitely not a regular “old house” sound, either.

Using the dim light from Sy’s bedside alarm clock, you roll over and slowly open your eyes to look around the room. Next to you, Sy is fast asleep on his back, shirtless with the bed’s thin blanket resting just below his chest. Because he sleeps in all different types of positions depending on how he feels on any given night, it’s not odd at all that he's flat on his back like this. What is definitely odd is how stiff he appears. Instead of being relaxed in sleep, all of his muscles are visibly taut.

You push yourself up on your elbow and stare at him. His mouth is entirely closed, his jaw tightly clenched and his lips pulled downwards in a deep frown, and that’s when you realize that the strange sound isn’t coming from the house at all. It’s coming from him.

Like a deep, muffled hum forming in his chest and trying to push its way up his throat and out his mouth, the sound is…it's weird. There’s no other word for it. It's weird.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, actually, and as it grows louder, it only grows weirder–like Sy’s trying to bellow with a hand held over his mouth. Never able to truly escape, the shattered sound forms in his chest and gets caught in his throat. Every single time.

As your sleepy brain finally gets your body to fully register the situation, you sit up all the way in bed. You know Sy has bad dreams sometimes because he’s told you he does, but you’ve never been awoken by him actually having one–not ever. He's been doing much better, he said. He told you recently that he hardly has nightmares at all anymore.

The next series of events happens so quickly that it’s hard for your still-groggy brain to make sense of what you’re even witnessing. Despite the darkness, you see sweat visibly begin to coat Sy’s hairline and even start beading up on his forehead, and his tensed-up arms start to twitch by his sides like he's seizing. The entire time, the awful noises from his throat continue trying to escape.

With your mouth suddenly dropped open, you watch in shock while Sy’s head then turns side to side on the pillow and his arms start stiffly jerking so much that they get caught up in the blanket covering his waist. The entire time, the noises he emits are just horrific, more high-pitched and desperate than you’ve ever heard Sy’s voice sound before, all with his mouth entirely shut.

When Sy's chest starts to jerkily rise and fall, you throw the covers off yourself and hop out of bed, helplessly staring at him violently moving.

Shit.

This isn’t a bad dream. Hell, this isn’t even a nightmare. This is a full-on night terror like he's said sometimes happens, and you don’t even begin to know what to do. All of this has happened in the course of a minute.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, walking around the bed so you’re directly next to him. Within a second, the sound of your beating heart starts to join the room’s panicked noises from Sy.

The sounds are starting to scare you; they seem so urgent that you feel like you’re in the middle of a battle or something, like there must be danger right around the corner that you need to brace yourself for, and you’re not prepared for this, you’re not–you’re not ready to handle something like this–you don’t know what to do. If Sy’s showing this immense amount of fear, then surely you have a reason to be afraid, too.

But then you remind yourself that this isn’t real. None of it is real. And even if you aren’t prepared for this whatsoever and have absolutely no clue what you’re gonna do right now, and even if you’re still shaking off sleep yourself, there’s no other option besides helping.

You’re gonna step up and do whatever it is that you can for Sy. Just like he always does for you. You have to act. You have to. You must.

You take a shaky breath. “Okay, uh–Wake him up,” you mumble to yourself. “He said to wake him up if this happens.”

By Sy's nightstand, you reach out to touch his tense shoulder. Feeling its sticky sheen barely give under your fingers, you try to shake it.

“Sy,” you call out, shaking his shoulder again amidst his unpredictable movements. “Sy, baby—wake up.”

He responds by growling at you, and–Oh, God, this is so different than just a nightmare. This is–This is scary. Sy is scared.

You take a deep breath and try to get a handle on your nerves. You can do this. This shit happens to you, too. You get scared at things that aren’t real. You can do this. He’s safe. You’re safe. And you’ve got to make him feel like he’s safe again. You've got to wake him up.

“Sy!” you call out again, bending over him and shaking his shoulders with both of your hands now.

You try to apply more strength in your attempt to wake him up, but a second later, one of his hands–no, one of his fists–quickly comes barreling upwards from underneath the covers. Gasping, you quickly move away as fast as you can while his arm rises upwards in the air, but his knuckles still end up briefly making contact with your left earlobe before you fully get out of the way.

The contact is slight yet unexpected, and it leaves a residual sting that’s sharp enough for you to lift your hand up to alleviate. Instantly, your earring–one of the tiny studs you typically don't even remove for bed anymore–falls to the floor.

“Okay,” you tell yourself shakily, taking another deep breath as the stinging by your ear dissipates. “Okay. You’re fine, it’s fine, it’s okay.”

You don’t care about your earring. Well, you do because Sy gave it to you for Christmas, but–You don’t care at all. You’ll get it later.

Let’s try this again.

Being more careful this time but also somehow more forceful, you shake just Sy’s left arm, staying away from actually bending over his body since that obviously wasn't a good idea.

When you get both of your hands around his bicep, you move his arm side-to side as strongly as you can, calling out louder than before over his muffled shouts. “SY! It’s me! SY!”

Continuously, you shake his arm, feeling as if you’re trying to yank dead-weight off the bed, and all the while, his noises grow absolutely haunting. Some of them are long and harrowing, but most of them are quick and urgent. All of them are loud.

“Wake up!” you urgently plea. "It's okay, Sy, you're okay, but you gotta wake up. Please. You gotta…you gotta wake up."

As you begin losing strength and getting tired, you let go of Sy and let out a dry, desperate sob to match the next hauntingly tortured scream he lets out.

“Please, babe, just wake up,” you beg. “Just wake up. I’m right here. Come on, Sy.”

In a flash, Sy’s eyes open wide, startling you enough to gasp. With eyes big enough to match his, you wipe off your cheeks and just stare at him. Though he’s blinking, he doesn’t seem awake at all.

Because he’s not. He can’t be. Looking trapped in his body, his breathing is still rapid and panicked. Worse, the bellows from deep in his chest go on and on, making you feel like you’re doing nothing to help.

“You’re okay, Sy,” you say in the gentlest, most confident voice you can, despite it shaking. “You’re–You're safe. I promise. Everything’s okay.”

Suddenly, Sy bolts upright and gasps like he's emerging from water, and with huge eyes, he stares outward at nothing. Even in moments of vulnerability, you’ve never seen Sy appear anything but confident and strong, and upon witnessing the most helpless expression in existence spread over his face, you cover your mouth with your hand.

In the next second, the noises Sy’s been making finally stop, and his shoulders seem to slump a bit. With your own shoulders still up by your ears, you take a small step forward and slowly lower the hand that’s been resting over your dry, shocked lips.

You don't know if you should try to touch him again. You don’t know if it’s too soon…if he’ll feel threatened by you like he probably did just a few moments ago when you were leaning over his body… You still don’t know what to do.

“Sy?”

Sy falls back onto the mattress in one fast movement and looks to the side of the bed where you were laying just a few minutes ago. Quickly pushing himself up on his elbows, he then begins to look around the room in a rush, only stopping when he sees you standing next to him.

"Get down!”

Gasping again at the volume of his voice, you stay frozen. “I–”

“Get down!" he orders again.

Your hands stay useless and shaky by your sides.

"You let her go!” Sy urges forcefully, and you step to the side so he’ll be able to see you clearer. “You let her fuckin’ go right fuckin’ now!”

“Sy, I–I’m here,” you tell him, getting whiplash from how quickly he’s gone from hauntingly groaning to outrightly shouting. He sounds so convincing that you have to force yourself to be rational about this; even though it sounds like these words are directed towards you, obviously they’re not.

He bolts upright again, and you step back with another gasp. “Get in position! Now!” he orders. “I got front.”

You swallow, watching him in an agony all your own. “Sy, you’re h-home,” you say, your mouth twisting down. “No one’s comin’. You don’t–It’s just me.”

"You–said–she–was–free!"

As your stomach hurts from anxiety, your heart positively aches, and you fight the urge to cry. “You’re having a–you’re havin' a... You’re in bed right now, Sy. You’re in your bed in Georgia. Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

Sy's shouts incomprehensibly get lower in volume, ultimately turning to mumbles. Resolutely, you take another deep breath.

“I promise you’re safe, Sy. I promise. You just gotta–You just gotta wake up and see. Everything’s fine."

You heave in another lungful of air.

"Everything’s completely fine," you repeat, clutching your hands together. "You're okay. You’re okay. And–And so am I. Wake up and come back. Come–Come back to me."

Like a gloss has been lifted from them, Sy’s steely eyes change in the darkness, a shift that you can acutely sense. The second he finally focuses on your face, you recognize a semblance of consciousness behind a screen of intense worry.

“Y/N?”

Exhaling all your trembling air, you shakily nod and take a hesitant step towards the bed.

This was…This was no joke. This was…It honestly was scary, and you’re glad it’s over now. For both of you.

“Y-Yeah.” Your voice has gone dry, so you clear your throat. “Yeah,” you repeat.

“You need to be–What’re you doin’ out here?” he asks intensely, almost in accusation, and your mouth drops open. “Get back! Get down!”

It’s not over yet.

Sy's eyes hold residual panic while he looks behind you. Before he can interject like you can see he's about to, you carefully turn on the lamp atop his nightstand.

Slowly, you hold out the hands you’ve just been wringing and gesture around the bedroom. “You're home. See?”

Untensing his muscles, Sy looks side-to-side. After several thick and silent moments pass where all he does is breathe heavily, he finally falls back in exhaustion, bringing a hand to his forehead. The other reaches out and takes hold of one of your wrists, and he pulls you closer to him, squeezing there like a lifeline.

"Oh, thank fuck," he quickly whispers under his breath, and it’s not until he says the words that you’re able to relax a little bit.

But only a little bit.

Gritting his jaw so heavily that it's extended almost in an underbite, Sy examines the ceiling with the passing ghost of fear on his face.

Lowering your shoulders–this time for good–you simply stare at Sy. He’s back, but his face looks like it’s been through a very brief, very intense war.

He’s covered in more sweat than should even be possible, all of his body hair flattened onto his chest and stomach. The bedsheets underneath him are stuck to his back, the pillow underneath his head stuck to his neck. You feel his quick pulse through the hand he’s gripping you with, and with visible effort, you watch as he struggles to catch his breath.

You sit down on the sliver of mattress beside him and put a gentle hand on his chest. “Shh. Try to slow it down.”

“I was–” He closes his eyes. “You–”

You mimic taking a slow breath before speaking softly. “You’re safe. You're okay."

Sy doesn’t keep his eyes shut for long, and he doesn’t remain laying down for long, either. Within seconds, even as you're trying to comfort him, he sits upright and swivels, moving until he’s at the very edge of the bed. After putting his feet on the floor, he shakily puts his elbows on his thighs and drops his head into the palms of his hands. You hear him let out a loud breath like emptying all the air from his lungs.

“I don’t even remember–It was–”

You put a hand on Sy’s damp back, making silent circles until you eventually just stop to keep your arm securely wrapped around his waist. After a while, he places a hand on your bare leg and keeps it there, squeezing. You both sit still in the aftermath, holding each other.

“If that scared you,” he eventually mumbles, "I'm so fuckin’ sorry."

You rest your cheek on his arm. “You don’t have to say sorry. For anything.”

Once Sy lifts his head, you don’t know what else to say or do, so you don’t say or do anything. You just hold onto him, wondering what images he must’ve seen just now, and where he had gone, and what he had been through.

His breathing finally evens out entirely with the help of you audibly assisting him.

“There you go," you murmur, and he clears his throat.

You do the same.

“Are you…Are you feelin’ any better?”

Sy just nods at you. He doesn't let go of your leg.

“Want some water?”

Wordlessly, he nods again, and you stand up to quickly breeze out of the room, glad to be doing something to help, even if it’s just something small like getting something from downstairs. When you ascend the stairs again with a plastic bottle of water, your eyebrows crinkling together in worry, you catch Sy stepping out of the hallway bathroom, dabbing his face with a small towel.

After walking ahead of you into the bedroom, he gets in bed again, sitting up at his sweaty section of sheets and staring blankly ahead at the wall. All earlier fear and exhaustion from his face is erased. Now there's just a shadow of scorn.

You swallow as you approach him, standing next to him like he’s in a hospital bed for a moment, but when you figure you’re probably acting strange, you walk around the bed and join him.

You’re not worried that the blankets are all messed up and wrinkly or even that they’re damp and dirty. There's nothing on your mind except Sy.

He drinks the water you give to him in one go, squeezing the plastic and almost sucking it entirely down, then he tosses it carelessly on the floor. Laying down all the way, he scowls at the ceiling, and you climb in bed beside him and worry even more.

While he lays horizontally, you stay upright, crossing your legs and turning your body towards him so your kneecaps touch his side. You get as close to him as possible, gently touching his chest and running circes over the skin there. He closes his eyes under your touch, so you don’t stop.

You don’t speak until Sy finally breaks his stillness to lift a hand to his forehead. He keeps it there with no purpose before reaching out to touch you, grasping your sleep-shirt and holding it in his clenched fist almost like a lifeline. You cover his hand there with your own.

“Do you not like to talk about it either?” you carefully ask. “Like when I…Like with me?”

Sy shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him softly, continuing to touch his fingers until they finally loosen up a bit. “Then we don’t have to talk about it.”

When he finally lets go of the death-grip on your shirt, he keeps his hand on your hip, and the heat from it sears your skin through your clothes. After that, the room remains oddly still. Even the fan in the corner of the room seems quiet.

His croaky voice interrupts the silence. "They just…"

You lift your eyebrows.

"Nothin'," he finishes.

"You can tell me."

He shakes his head. "Just wanna forget that shit even happened."

In understanding, you nod. “I have medicine you could take if you want,” you keep your voice down and offer.

“Ah, I’m alright,” he tells you, almost dismissively, and you just continue to softly frown down at him.

That can’t possibly be true. Not with the look on his face right now, the residual doom, the fear from earlier that no amount of strength or willpower could get him through. Not with the noises he had made. Not with the things he'd said.

Well, he does have the skills to work through this stuff, you know. Alone. He’s not just physically strong; he’s mentally strong, too. His military training and experience are kicking in by now, and he’s probably pushing the occurrence deep down in his psyche. Trying to forget it even happened. Just like he said.

But he’s human, though. And everyone has their limits.

Sy inhales deeply and lets all the air out in a rush while lifting his hand from your side and running it over his forehead again. "Gonna shower," he mumbles.

After nodding, you lean down and kiss his mouth, as gentle and slow as possible. When you back away, your hair falling onto his shoulder, the two of you just stare at one another. While holding each other's gazes so long it almost becomes sentimental, you reluctantly slide your hand off his chest.

"You want any company?"

He tries to smile, but it's only the corner of his mouth purposefully twitching and then evening out again. "Just gonna be a minute," he says, his version of asking for space.

After touching your face and staring into your eyes for another heavy moment, Sy rises. Soon after he walks out into the dim hallway, you listen as loud, cascading water from next door audibly sounds out.

Then it’s just you by yourself.

The guilt from everything that had just happened starts to shroud you, layering up so much in the forefront of your mind that your head becomes heavy.

Of course it’s not your fault that he’d had a night terror or anything, but the fact that he gets night terrors at all…it has you feeling helpless. It was horrific. It was horrific to witness, and it must’ve been just as horrific to experience.

As always, you struggle with the desire to fix everything and make it peaceful and nice again, but with this, you’re in uncharted waters. Uncharted waters that Sy’s had to navigate countless times. With no help.

To keep your mind off worrying with no end in sight, you step out of bed and mindlessly begin to clean up the room, first collecting your earring that had fallen to the ground. Your ear feels sore, so you don’t put it back in your earlobe; you just remove the other earring and put them both on your nightstand.

In between biting your nails, you throw out Sy’s discarded water bottle next along with some other pieces of trash laying around. You then pick up some random clothes on the floor, toss them all in the hamper, and then finally begin to just strip the entire bed. Sy’ll appreciate not having to lay on top of dried sweat directly after showering.

After putting all of the dirty sheets in a giant pile in the corner of the room, you get a set of fresh linens from a closet in the hallway and then get to work stretching everything over the large expanse of the mattress, taking care around all the corners.

Since moving in with Sy and putting your own touch on the house, the bedroom is a little more cozy than the utilitarian way it'd looked before. A new chair sits in the corner of the room, the large window facing the front of the house now has curtains, and a large rug is now underneath the bed, tying together the space by the fireplace on one side of the bed and the window on the other.

You’d like to think the bedroom is more welcoming now, more home-like. That maybe, possibly, by chance, it’s helped Sy’s mind calm down a little.

He's always said that sleeping next to you keeps the bad dreams away, at least.

Usually.

Until tonight.

A recent memory enters your mind while you put a pillowcase on Sy's favorite feather-pillow. When the forest began showing signs of green again–around the time you'd first moved in–you’d opened the windows and watched the newly-purchased curtains move in the spring wind. Sy had walked into the room to catch you staring outside, and he’d matched his chest to your back before placing his chin on your shoulder. Together, you looked out at the pink blossoming cherry trees in the distance, at the bright yellow forsythia bushes scattered throughout the woods beyond the long winding lane, at the random array of tulips you were surprised to see pop up by the garage. You'd remained quiet together. Just looking.

Now that summer’s come early, you’ve started to open the same big window to let fresh air into the house. You frequently still stare outside. At the greenery and the rabbits and the chickens and the deer.

You softly smile while finishing up the bed. You’re happy living here, happy with settling in. And, like Sy's always said, he's happy when you're happy. He honestly doesn't mind you changing or rearranging things. Not even if it requires him to help with heavy lifting. Not even if you move something and decide you liked it better where it was before all along. He may give you a look, but he truly doesn't care.

These bedsheets you've kept the same, though. Sy’s got good taste in bedsheets.

He says it’s because he’s gone too many years sleeping on the itchiest military-grade bedding imaginable and won't settle for less now. You say it’s just because he sleeps naked so much and the expensive sheets feel better on his skin. You hear his voice in your head asking, “And why exactly can’t it be both?”

You can only hope the clean linen offers some sliver of peace to him after his shower. That he can fall into bed and just…be comfortable.

You don’t know. Just…knowing how he is, he’s going to have a hard time relaxing again.

You hope he can go back to sleep after this.

By the time Sy re-enters the room with a towel around his waist, you’re back under the covers in bed again, head on your pillow. You watch him lazily drop the towel by the door while simultaneously opening the top drawer of his dresser. He puts on a new pair of boxers before walking towards the bed and joining you underneath the sheets, and within seconds, the rich and spicy scent from his shower fills your nose. Getting closer to him as he gets situated in his spot, you breathe more of it in.

After Sy finishes fixing the pillows underneath his head, he lifts his right arm in invitation, and you snuggle even closer while staying curled up against your pillow and the fresh blanket. It takes a few seconds before you get settled–your earlobe feels tender depending on how you lay–but you finally stop shuffling around after a minute passes.

In the still air, you run your fingers through Sy's damp chest hair. He stays quiet.

Your hand flattens and pauses in between his pecs while you strain your neck to kiss whatever skin is closest to your lips. Right over his ribs is where your mouth connects. He still stays quiet.

Finally, you lower your hand to rest atop his stomach, and at that, Sy places his own hand atop yours. Gently, he squeezes there. You squeeze back.

"Good shower?" you check in after the silence goes on forever.

"Mm."

"Feelin' any better?"

The noise he replies with is a mixture between a scoff and a chuckle, a sarcastic coping-mechanism you’ve seen him use before.

You know it’s just a facade, but still, you frown. From where your face is pressed so close to Sy’s chest, he can’t see it.

"I just wanna make sure you're okay," you explain against his skin.

"I'm fine, baby," he tells you through a long exhale, and he sounds perfectly normal. "Don'tchu worry 'bout me none. You got work in a few hours."

“I mean…I’m gonna worry,” you admit, glancing up at him. “I just don’t want you to…not be alright.”

His eyes soften a bit when he sees your face. “Just stay like this.”

You nod. He’s probably just as used to his night terrors as you are with your panic attacks. In the shower, he probably already came to terms with what happened and compartmentalized it in his head. Now he just needs time to decompress.

"You stay right like this next to me and get back to sleep," he says with a squeeze to your body.

"Are you gonna?" you ask. "Get back to sleep?"

There's a pause. "With you like this, I can."

You kiss the side of his chest again and then roll over. Facing the window, you cuddle back against Sy until he rolls over to match his chest closer against you.

“Bed smells nice,” he mumbles.

“Mm.”

As he drapes his arm over your body, you recall a similar scene from several months ago–the night of your first panic attack in front of him. On his motorcycle. On the side of the road. Where he helped you breathe again. When you had been mortified.

You both were in this exact same position later that night–spooning in bed.

You sincerely hope his mind isn't running as much as yours had that night.

Maybe this is comforting to him. Just like this. You reach out for his hand that’s wrapped tightly around you, lift it up to your mouth, and kiss it.

“I love you,” you whisper, and Sy kisses the back of your head.

His mouth moves against your hair when he says, “You got no idea how much I love you, too.”

Breathing evenly with your fingers interlocked, you cuddle together and don’t say anything else. With the way he firmly holds you against his body like he doesn’t want you to move at all, you’re eventually lulled back to something resembling sleep. A few hours later when your alarm starts beeping, though, Sy’s no longer next to you.

Finding his departure from bed slightly upsetting but more or less predictable, you groggily get dressed for work and head downstairs without any makeup on and without doing anything whatsoever to your hair. You mess around with it while walking through the foyer so at least it'll look semi-okay for the day.

Drinking coffee at his regular spot at the kitchen table, you find Sy dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans. A wrinkled-up Car and Driver magazine is open in front of him that he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to.

As these things go, there's a strange feeling in the air while you help yourself to the coffee Sy's prepared, but he had already told you last night that he doesn’t want to talk about what had happened–at least not yet–so you're going to respect that.

When you sit down next to him, you hook one of your feet around his ankle under the table and treat him like you would on any other regular day, making small-talk about your plans for the day. Sy will be working on expanding the chicken coop out back before the afternoon heat gets too unbearable; you'll be at the office. Next, Sy will be working on Liana's car in the garage; you'll still be at the office.

Though your morning coffee together is quiet and intimate, it's careful. What had happened last night floats around the room above your heads, but you don’t dare bring it up. Even after all this time with him, you still struggle on a regular basis with knowing the difference between expressing concern for someone and pestering them.

He’d set a boundary, though. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. You’re just being respectful.

After standing up, Sy kisses the top of your head and carries both of your empty mugs to the sink. He stands there for a few moments, just staring out of the window at the windchimes hanging on the back deck. The almost forlorn look on his face propels you to stand up and walk to him.

"You okay?"

He grunts. While he pours coffee into a thermos, you walk to the foyer and put your work heels on. They click on the hardwood on your way back into the kitchen where you meet him by the back door to say your goodbyes.

After an exchange of softly-spoken I love yous, he steps outside through the back door, and to save your shoes from the mud out back, you leave through the front.

Naturally, you worry during your entire commute about Sy. About if he’s really as fine as he seems. About your role in all this. About whether you're not doing enough.

Not able to help it, the moment you're in front of your work computer, you log in, bypass your email alerts to open up a search engine instead, and simply type night terrors. After pressing enter, you click on the first legitimate link you see.

You're not a complete dumbass, so much of the article's information is self-evident and doesn't help enlighten you much, but in the span of one minute, something you read makes your stomach drop.

Under no circumstances should an individual attempt to wake up a person having a night terror.

You read the article three times in a row to make sure you correctly understand what’s written. And even after going to another article to make sure you’re not reading entirely incorrect information–and another article–and another–you find they all say the same thing. Don’t wake up the person having a night terror.

You had…not done that.

You hadn’t done any of the things the articles advise. The more you read about night terrors from an outsider's perspective, the more you realize how ill-prepared and impulsive you really were last night.

You hadn’t stayed out of Sy’s way like these articles suggest. You hadn’t stayed calm, either.

And you had tried to wake him up.

What if that had made it all worse? What if your voice somehow made its way into his head and panicked him more? What if you genuinely scared him?

You think of your own panic attacks. You've had two in Sy's presence already. Two. And he's dealt with you expertly. He's always known what to do.

Though you’re always unreasonable at first, still entirely stuck in your own head and afraid you're dying when you logically should know better after all this time, he's always unfazed. He always focuses on the goal of getting you to breathe again, and afterwards, he always sits with you in silence.

His presence is perfect to have.

He doesn’t make a huge deal about it in the aftermath.

He’s always so confident when it comes to you and your needs. He knows what to say. He knows what to do. He knows everything. And you…You aren't like that at all. Of all people.

Feeling inadequate, you close the door to your cubicle and stare at your computer monitor until the images get blurry and you have to wipe the corners of your eyes.

You have nothing to offer Sy. Really, you just don't. It's always him helping you. Never you helping him. All you do is take. You never give. You're always the one needing assistance. And the one time Sy needed it from you, you still couldn't do it in the right way.

You successfully isolate yourself from your coworkers and your supervisor while putting off all the work you definitely could be catching up on, and the phrase keeps entering your head, again and again–You could've done better. You could've done so much better. Last night and this morning.

But then, even if you had, you'd be sitting right here in this same spot wondering if you’d pestered him.

Your brain just won't let you fucking win.

You close your eyes. What would Sy say to you if you voiced all these thoughts out loud to him? What would he say if you told him you'd read articles about night terrors and that you discovered you'd fucked up? And more than that, that you trying to wake him up maybe made the whole thing worse than it otherwise would've been?

It takes seconds for you to predict Sy's response.

"I was the one who toldja to wake me up before, baby," he'd tell you.

Because he did. He said that. He said that before.

And if you expressed concern that you weren't calm like you were supposed to be–– "It scared you," he'd also say.

And if you worried that you hadn't done a thing at all to actually help— "Just you bein' there was all I needed."

That's what he'd say to you. You can hear it in your head just as clear as if he were truly beside you speaking it. He'd be understanding. He’d be kind. And if you truly had fucked something up, he'd be forgiving. Because he always is.

Talking to yourself internally in a mixture of Sy’s voice and your therapist’s voice and the newly-emerging inner voice of your own, you take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, and you rearrange your mindframe.

Maybe he was a little forlorn and shut-off this morning, yeah, but that’s not a reflection of you; it’s the aftermath of the situation he’s personally dealing with. That’s all. And what happened isn't your fault.

You sigh. You can’t believe that he’s the one who had a night terror, yet here you are needing to reassure yourself over it. It’s ridiculous.

But here you are. Y/N. And you’d done the best you could.

You really had tried your hardest to stay calm. And hell, maybe you actually did exude calmness somehow without you realizing it. Maybe your wavering voice still got through to Sy in the throes of it. Maybe it really had helped. Maybe holding onto one another afterwards was enough for him, and maybe when you get home tonight, he'll be okay.

And besides, you hadn’t really woken him up to begin with, had you? You’d tried, but you failed. He was in too deep. So…Maybe you hadn’t fucked up too badly, after all.

You’re still gonna have to talk to him about it tonight, though. The thoughts will eat you alive unless you let them out.

Going easier on yourself, by mid-afternoon, you open up your message thread with Sy to check in with him. When he sends you a picture of himself in the garage, you tell him that you’ll grab supper at his favorite fast food place on the way home. That’ll be one less thing for you both to have to worry about, you reckon.

Even though you end up working a bit late–well past what this little town calls its rush hour–when you finally leave your agency's parking lot, you're surprised to find the traffic unusually thick. Even for a typical Friday, the number of cars out on the road and people walking around the streets is odd.

It takes you a minute to put it together: Memorial Day is Monday. Folks are visiting for the holiday, preparing for the parade that'll go down Main Street.

The drivers in particular seem to be preparing for the parade early–creeping down the road with no regard to any traffic patterns. Cars with people hanging out of the windows. Cars slowing down at stop lights to catch up with friends and family members they recognize in the car next to them. People walking in the streets.

Impatiently navigating around it all, you mutter under your breath, just wanting to get home to Sy. He’d be pretty upset to see what he considers a really somber day be used as an excuse for this sort of excitement.

In addition to all the people out on the roads, there’s also a long line at the drive-thru. The fast food chicken joint, Sy’s favorite, is conveniently positioned directly next to Sy’s favorite junkyard. “The poor man’s KFC by the poor man’s AutoZone,” he likes to say. Normally you crack a smile thinking about that. Now you’re simply too annoyed.

After ordering grilled chicken for yourself and fried chicken for Sy, you load up on a bunch of sides and wait about twenty full minutes to leave with all your food, gratefully speeding once you hit the open, windy roads of the country. You just want to get home.

By the time you arrive and step inside the house with your arms full of bags, it’s quiet. You look to the left to see if Sy’s in the living room, but it’s empty. Next, you walk down the hallway and peek into the kitchen, only to find it entirely empty, too. And clean. Spotlessly clean. That's when you hear muffled music and the sound of clicking metal from down the hall.

You place the bags of food onto the counter and walk towards the work-out room. You stand at the doorway and quietly look inside.

In the middle of a set of bench-presses, Sy loudly grunts while repeatedly pushing his loaded-up barbell away from his chest. With his last rep, he lets out an extended groan before setting the barbell onto the rack above his head.

With no break at all, he sits up, panting, and instantly bends over to lift a singular free-weight off the floor. You continue to watch as he begins doing bicep curls, starting with his right arm and then moving on to his left. In the muscle-shirt he’s wearing, you’re enamored for a bit at the sight of his muscles at work, and you feel like it's worth readdressing his idea of putting a large mirror on one of the walls.

Since Sy hates having headphones in his ears, you clear your throat when you see your opening to get his attention, and he looks back at you instantly, shoulders temporarily rising in a moment of shock that’s short-lived. A line of sweat drops down the center of his nose, and he sticks out his bottom lip to blow it off.

You offer a small apologetic smile after accidentally startling him. “Didn’t hear me come in, huh?”

Sy wipes off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Guess not.”

As he takes a long sip of water, you take in his appearance. His gray shirt is drenched in sweat, almost soaking wet. His loose athletic shorts stop just where his knee-brace begins. His body looks just the same as it always does–impressively large, confident in the space it’s in–but his face is haggard. His eyes are red-rimmed. He’s tired.

You tilt your head to the side to gesture to the kitchen. “Surprised all that yummy-smellin’ chicken didn’t give me away,” you comment, trying to keep things light.

"Yeah," he replies.

You clear your throat. “I’ll warm everything up whenever you’re done. Just say when.”

Sy makes a hand-gesture by his throat to indicate he’s finished. With a grunt, he stands up from the bench and begins to walk towards you.

“What all’d'ju pick up?” he asks before he leans down to pretend-kiss you.

You slide out of the way of his dripping-wet face and stick out your tongue. “Chicken, taters, slaw,” you answer. “Green beans and rolls…The regular.”

While pulling his arms behind him in a stretch, he makes a long, low noise of appreciation. “Thanks, baby.”

You just smile, and Sy stands there momentarily, looking at your face. Seeming to inspect your hair next, Sy’s eyes linger by your cheek in a way that has you tuck a few stray pieces behind your ear with lingering self-consciousness you suppose you’ll never be able to shake.

You’re about to ask if you have something on your face or something, but then he just says, “Gonna shower, then I’ll come back down,” so you nod at him.

Sy lightly taps your ass as he walks around you, and you reach out with your foot to kick his ass in retaliation as you follow him. On your way into the kitchen, the dryer buzzes from inside the laundry room. You gaze inside to see a few baskets of linens sitting on top of the washing machine.

You call out to Sy who’s heading down the hallway, “You do laundry?”

“Yeah,” his muffled voice calls back, and you tilt your head to the side.

“Huh,” you simply murmur. He cleaned up the kitchen and he’s done laundry, and he’s worked outside and in the garage, too. “Well, jeez, Sy, you’ve been busy today.”

You set the table in the now-entirely-finished dining room with care while reheating all the food that’s had time to cool down on your drive home. You even move all the food into nice-looking dishes before setting it all out. It may be fast food, but still.

When Sy comes downstairs in another muscle-cut t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants, you meet him in the foyer and gesture to the dining room with an exaggerated flourish. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He stretches. “You got no idea.”

After Sy takes his seat at the end of the table, you get behind him and put your chin on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him the best you can. You squeeze him for a while before kissing his scruffy neck and standing back up and sitting down next to him.

Sy loads his plate up like it’s Thanksgiving, and you fill your plate with the things you’re able to eat. Though he’s acting normal, he looks utterly exhausted, and you can’t help but be concerned.

You don’t know how much concern is appropriate. You keep going between “He’s fine, he’s gone through this before, he knows how to handle this” and “He’s repressing what happened, he’s not fine at all, you need to help him.”

You clear your throat before taking a bite of mashed potatoes. “You been out in the garage most of the day?” you ask, looking at his hands as he shovels a bite of food into his mouth, too. Though he’d just showered, there’s still grease underneath his fingernails.

He nods while chewing. After swallowing, he just comments, “Liana’s air conditioner blew.”

“That sucks.” You make a face. “It’s gettin' so hot outside already.”

Sy grunts. "’Course that’s not all that needed fixin’. Spark plugs covered in grease. Brakes worse’n yours were last year.”

"Oh, no," you make another sympathetic face and reply. "Does she have somethin' to drive while you work on her car?"

Sy nods. "She's in MaMaw's car."

“Oh, nice,” you say. “That car’s pristine.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, “‘cause she never uses it.”

You smirk. “Thanks for also findin’ time to clean and do the laundry,” you tell him before you begin eating.

He nods. “No problem,” he says quietly, and his face turns a little more serious as he chews.

It’s because you’ve reminded him why the bedsheets needed to be washed in the first place. Now the topic is Out There.

After going through a mostly-silent dinner together due to combined hunger and good food, Sy puts his fork and knife on his plate and leans back in his chair. As he wipes off his mouth and beard with a napkin, you know the time is now.

You take a deep breath in preparation to speak, but before you even let out a word, Sy's already talking.

“I got a question for you.”

In slight surprise, your eyebrows lift, and after you swallow, you agreeably nod almost instantly. In reaction to Sy's serious face, you touch the area around your mouth, nervous you have food there due to how intensely he’s suddenly looking at you.

"...Yeah?"

He sharply inhales through only his nostrils, and you're….confused.

"Didju have a nosebleed last night?"

The question takes you as off-guard as his surly demeanor, and your eyebrows furrow in confusion while you shake your head.

"No…" you answer slowly.

Sy mumbles something impossibly quietly, and you continue staring at him, utterly lost.

You've only seen this particular look on his face two times–once with his sister Liana's ex and once with yours. He's angry.

"Sy, what's the matter?" you ask, now growing more worried than confused. "What's gotten you so mad?"

"Myself," he replies.

Your confused face only accentuates. "What on earth for?"

"Your pillowcase has blood on it," he answers.

You pause. “What, the pillowcase in the dryer?”

"The pillowcase that’s on the bed now.”

“Oh…I mean, I might’ve had a nosebleed then, I dunno,” you say, but Sy still doesn’t relax. He keeps looking all around your face.

"What did I do to you?" he asks you through his teeth.

Lost, you blink a few times and then slowly bring a hand up to your left ear. "Oh, that!"

Sy lifts a thick eyebrow at you.

"My earring…" you murmur, reaching up to touch your bare earlobe. "It got snagged last night and fell out. I guess there must’ve been dried up blood from that.”

"It got snagged how?"

"It was–when I–"

You could lie and say it just happened in your sleep, but you won’t. It was when you'd bent over Sy to try to wake him up. Because for some reason, you had thought that doing that was a good idea. To hover over a person actively having a night terror.

"I hit you, didn't I?"

Upset again at the fact that you’d done something so stupid to scare the shit out of Sy in the first place, you frown and look away briefly. That seems to give Sy his answer, and he sharply takes in a breath.

“Just barely, Sy,” you instantly reassure him, not knowing if you should be frustrated or flattered at this sort of response. “Seriously. Just, like–” You make a gesture by the side of your jaw to show how his hand had just barely touched your ear. “Like a graze.”

As Sy's face twists in deeper anger, wrinkles begin to spread along his forehead. To feel that this sort of reaction could be directed at you, you almost wither, but you sit up straighter instead. You know within every pore of your body it can't be directed at you. It’s directed at himself. He’d said so himself.

"Sy, it wasn't 'cause'a you,” you promise. “It was me. I leaned over you and scared you."

Like your words are just making things worse, a grimace takes over the scowl on Sy's face.

“Babe,” you say gently, reaching across the table with open palms. “It’s seriously fine. I promise.”

"You were bleedin’. ‘Cause’a me. You know that ain't fine.”

"I mean, I…I get that that’s how it seems, but it really wasn't–It really was hardly any–" You sigh. “It’s fine.”

"Hittin’ you and makin’ you bleed ain't just somethin' that's fine," he interjects with venom.

You blink a few times. You really weren't expecting this sort of emotional response from him.

While you sit frozen in shock, Sy just shakes his head at himself and stands up from the table, collecting your plate and then his own so the utensils rattle on the porcelain. You quickly rise from your chair and follow him into the kitchen.

“It’s fine because you didn’t mean to,” you tell him. "You had no idea what you w–"

“Doesn’t matter what someone means to do,” he puts the dishes in the dishwasher and gruffly says. “Matters what they actually do.”

“Okay, so, uh. You didn’t actually do anything, though, Sy,” you say, trying another angle. "It was just your knuckle touching my ear. I didn’t even know it was bleeding."

Sy stops messing with the dishwasher and stands upright. He emits a tired-sounding sigh and rubs his face with both of his large hands. “Okay.”

You stare up at him in yearning, hating this stubbornness that's so rarely directed towards you.

"You're makin' me feel bad," you whisper.

"How?"

You shrug. "Like I can't even handle a microscopic injury on my earlobe."

"You didn't–This ain't about what you can handle here, Y/N," Sy says, sounding exhausted.

"I'm–I get that. But I swear to you, I'm fine."

"Okay," he says again, and though it's not condescending–Sy would never–it's still so…dismissive.

You sigh. You’d just told him that he’s making you feel bad by acting like this, so now he’s trying not to make it worse. Now he’s separating himself from you.

After another quiet trip into the dining room, you and Sy both end up in the kitchen once more, loading dishes into the dishwasher together.

You touch his arm once his hands are empty. "You didn't mean to."

He just looks down at you wearily. "But I still did."

Your mouth falls open while you try to think of something else to say besides "I'm fine" and "You didn't mean it" and "It was just a scratch." None of those words have gotten through to him at all.

Ultimately, Sy leaves the kitchen before you can change tactics and think of anything else to say. Approaching the stairway, he briefly turns around and pauses.

“Thanks for bringin’ home supper,” he meets your eyes and says loud enough for you to hear through the hallway. "It was…Everything was great."

You simply nod, almost amused that even while stubborn and grumpy, he’s using his manners. You can’t really be amused when you’re still so worried for him, though. He's being unreasonably hard on himself.

Giving Sy and yourself the alone-time you both need to regroup, you finish clearing the dining room table. After scraping all the leftovers into tupperware and stacking the containers in the refrigerator, you rinse off dishes in the kitchen sink. You load everything into the dishwasher on auto-pilot and then wipe down all the surfaces you can find even though they’re clean already.

Next, you head down the hall to finish up the laundry that Sy had graciously begun taking care of earlier. A giant twisted ball of bedsheets greets you when you open the dryer, and you yank them out and drop them into a wide wicker basket on the floor to get them out of the way for a bit.

Afterwards, you pull out the lint-trap from the back of the dryer while simultaneously reaching out for the giant Mason jar on the shelf on the wall beside you. Peeling off all the fluffy residue from the lint-trap, you add a giant screen of white lint to the existing ball of blue and gray inside the jar, and then you place the lint-catcher back into the dryer. Sy won’t use the collected lint any time soon, but when it gets cold again, it’ll be good for starting fires. You make a mental note to bring a new jar into the laundry room since this one’s getting full.

You fold the two baskets of bed-sheets while letting your mind roam for a bit, and then you go upstairs and put everything away in the hallway closet.

Sy’s in bed watching a movie when you step inside the bedroom, and you know you’re going to have to handle this delicately. The pillow that’s next to him has a tiny spot of brown blood on it.

He watches you from the corner of your eye while you change into comfortable clothes –a pair of athletic shorts and one of his old Skynyrd shirts–and then you join him in bed. Before settling back next to him, you pointedly flip over your pillow.

Really…his hand accidentally hitting your ear had been comparable to him accidentally stepping on your foot that one time you’d gotten him to dance with you at your cousin’s wedding—a quick, sharp sensation that dissipated within seconds. And he hadn’t reacted like this then. At all. If you recall, he'd actually laughed with you that time.

This is nothing like that, though. There’s nothing good-natured at all about this.

“I don’t wantchu to feel bad just ‘cause I’m in a bad mood,” he grumbles.

“I don’t wantchu to feel bad just ‘cause I made a mistake,” you counter.

His answer is a heavy yet clipped sigh.

"Is all this still just 'cause you think you hit me?"

He glances back at you in an instant. "I did."

"Sy, I promise it’s fine. It really is.”

His head thuds against the headboard. “It shouldn’t be fine to you, Y/N."

"But it was an accident. A total accident. You didn't mean for it to happen."

“An' yet it still did.”

"Because I leaned over you," you explain. "It wasn't your fault."

"So you're sayin' it's your own?"

"I mean…" You shrug. "Yeah."

He mumbles something under his breath you can't hear, and you feel him tense.

You've never seen such a bullheaded side to him before. Not towards you, at least. You've seen it to a degree with his family, but this is the first time for you.

"Sy, please," you beg. "Try to see it from my side, okay? You were–You were basically, like, paralyzed, and I was tryin’ to wake you up but I couldn’t, and I shouldn’t’ve even attempted to do that in the first place, but I leaned over you while you were already–I scared you.”

“That’s not how I’m seein’ it.”

You sigh. “How are you seein’ it?”

"I’m seein’ a man hit a woman, and now that woman's blamin' herself."

You blink. Your face softens. Your heart slightly breaks.

"Sy, I–It's nothin' like that. At all."

He remains quiet.

"Look, do you wanna see my ear?" you offer, turning your face to show him. "See for yourself. There’s nothin’ there."

Sy's quiet for a long time until saying, "Let’s just watch this movie."

You try to watch the movie, but you can’t focus. Long minutes stretch by with your mind somewhere else.

“I don’t…I don’t like knowin’ you’re upset.”

"I ain't upset with you."

"Upset at all," you clarify.

"There really ain't no changin' that, babe," Sy says humorlessly. "It is what it is."

You blanch. "I don't think you're bein' fair to yourself. At all."

"It's fine," he gives you a non-answer.

The evening slowly passes. You continue mindlessly watching the movie that Sy’s put on. You do your nightly routine in the bathroom. You get back in bed and decompress by scrolling on your phone. Sy turns the lamps off and switches the channel on TV to ESPN.

Normally ready to pass out after such a long work-week by now, it’s hard for you to actually wind down.

"Please don't shut me out," you whisper into the stillness of the air.

Genuinely struggling with this, Sy looks up at the ceiling. You watch his chest constrict as he takes in a breath.

“We can talk more about it tomorrow,” he says. “Just get some sleep.”

With a frown, you move your eyes from him to the flickering television set in front of you. After sighing, you crane your neck out to offer him your lips, and he meets them with his own. Morphing the meeting of your mouths from just a sulky goodnight kiss to something more meaningful, Sy pours a longing sort of dogged passion into his lips before breaking away.

Like always, when Sy uses his mouth not just to speak, he says much more. He looks at you almost fiercely after breaking away, and you want to just shake him and hug him and pull out all his pain.

"You're a good man," you tell him quietly. "And I love you."

His eyes leave yours after only a few seconds, and he nods almost solemnly.

For once, you’re able to experience first-hand exactly how it feels to want to help somebody so badly and to have them continuously brush you off, saying they’re fine. The situation is eye-opening at best and despondent at worst. You just don't know what to do.

Closely spooning, you and Sy hold each other tightly all night, and all you can do is hope to discuss this again in the morning with well-rested brains.

The next morning, however, the spot next to you is empty again, and you reach out to touch the indentions of Sy's heavy body on the mattress with a wistful hand.

After getting up, you use the bathroom and stare at your completely-fine ear in the mirror while brushing your teeth. Still wearing your pajamas, you go downstairs to find Sy at the kitchen table drinking coffee alone. Just like yesterday. Same spot, same outfit, same scene.

You pour some coffee for yourself. “Mornin’.”

With a voice that sounds off, Sy greets you back. You approach the table and curiously glance at him, and what you see is bad enough that you almost drop your mug of coffee. He looks horrible.

You don’t often think that about Sy, but it’s undeniable–he looks unwell. His skin is dry and pale yet dark under his eyes, and his eyes themselves appear not only red-rimmed like they were yesterday but bloodshot now. Long enough to touch the tips of his ears, his hair is longer than he typically lets it grow, and he hasn't shaved the stubble covering his throat, making his beard extend far down his neck.

Good God, he’s starting to get physically affected from this.

“Sy, you...” You put a hand on his forehead. "You look awful,” you worry aloud.

Sy just makes a noncommittally deep noise, and as he's planning to stand up from the table and dismiss you altogether, you decide to do something rash, especially for the first thing in the morning: you move your hand to his shoulder so he’s forced to remain in his chair.

In response to the challenge, he looks up at you with weary eyes. You just shake your head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Sy, this–this isn’t okay. You have to know that this…We really need to talk. You’re not okay. You know you’re not okay.”

He takes a deep breath before replying, “I’m fine.”

You audibly set down your coffee cup. “And I say that shit when it’s not true, too.”

Your sentence hits him, and instead of responding, he looks away from you.

You don't take it personally. This surly behavior obviously has everything to do with his self-directed anger that he’d accidentally hit you, but you don’t know how to get him to see that you’re fine. He's clearly hung up on it.

Surely he must subconsciously understand you're fine, though. You'd shown him your ear–your completely fine ear. And his opinion of you would have to be seriously low to think you couldn't handle something as small as a piece of jewelry cutting your earlobe. Yeah, he's protective of you, but you're not made of damn glass.

There's something else going on. This is more than just simple guilt. There has to be something else going on. And he's being way too stubborn to really talk, so you’re going to have to get to the bottom of it yourself, then.

Closing your eyes, you channel the inner workings of his mind.

Sy…Sy…Sy….

Sy.

Similar to how much you hate having panic attacks because of how out-of-control they make you feel, you know Sy’s got to hate his night terrors just as much, if not more. For someone with such a high level of self-control, you imagine that the loss of control would be devastating. He must've hated that you’d had to witness it.

And obviously that he'd accidentally hit you during it–the entire reason you’re in this situation to begin with.

He’s got extremely high standards for personal conduct. One of the only things he's truly unforgiving about is people mistreating the people he loves, so now he’s probably lumped himself in with that category of people he despises. …Which has now resulted in this self-hatred. And moodiness. And stubborn detachment.

Your face softens, and you slowly take a seat in the chair beside Sy. You scoot directly next to him and place your hand on his knee.

To imagine Sy feeling like he's turning into someone like his step-father or something…It fills you with grief. He's such a great man.

He just won’t budge, though. He won’t listen to your reassurances that he's a good person and it was an accident. At all. He’s being far too stubborn.

And that stubbornness goes hand-in-hand with his high standards for personal conduct…the self-control only borne from the military. But he’d slipped in a moment of weakness. Or–in a moment of what he’d consider weakness.

So…Knowing him, that act was unforgivable–even if it was just your earlobe–and this detachment he’s showing is his version of…of what? Of protecting you from him? Of trying to put space between himself and the event? Of punishing himself?

You’re almost positive that he wants to protect you from himself. As if you'd ever have to protect yourself from him–but you know how his brain works. That’s probably exactly what it is. He hates that what happened had happened at all, but it did, and he had no control over it. So…now he’s going to do everything in his power to keep it from happening again. But since that’s something he still has no control over…like, he can't predict that another night terror will happen again, or when it’ll happen again since he’d be unconscious during it, now he's–

As your lips part in realization, your eyes widen. You stare into the dull color of Sy’s own.

“You’re not sleepin’ at all,” you whisper aloud your realization. “Sy, you’re…you’ve been makin’ yourself stay awake, aren't you?”

He doesn't respond.

"Because you think you hit me and you don’t wanna do it again."

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his broad chest. "I did hit you."

"Your knuckle touched my ear.”

Sy won't look at you. "That's called hittin', Y/N," he says before diverting his eyes and standing up, and then he walks into the living room.

You sigh. Here we go again.

You stand up, too. Unlike last night, you’re not going to give up on this. You’re settling the issue once and for all. You won't continue letting him go on like this. If it means being just as stubborn as he is, then that’s what you’ll do.

Following Sy to the next room, you say, “Sy, it was on me."

“It wasn’t.”

You take the seat next to him on the couch. “Yes, it was.”

He turns to look at you and points to his chest. "I took the action to hitchu."

“Because I took the action to bend over you while you were thrashin' around," you counter. "I got in the way. That’s what happened. I didn’t move out of the way quick enough. That's it.”

Sy closes his eyes, and he tensely inhales.

“Everything I’ve read says that I shouldn’t’ve done that, Sy, but I didn’t–I didn’t know. I had no idea not to wake up someone havin’ a night terror. I just…" You speak quieter when you say, "I was just tryin' to help."

When he opens his eyes, Sy’s expression seems to shift, and you desperately try to read what he's feeling but not able to say. It seems like…shame?

Shame over what, though? For accidentally hitting you? For having night terrors in the first place? For requiring your help?

Your bottom lip inadvertently quivers.

"Please, don’tchu go cryin'..."

"You're not hearin' what I have to say," you tell him.

"Baby, I am hearin' it," he replies after sighing. "I just can’t get myself to agree."

Frowning, you sit still for a few moments. When you finally do speak, your voice is lower than a whisper. "I hate sayin’ this, but you’re almost makin' me feel like I’m inadequate," you utter, looking down at your lap. "Like I’m glass. Like I can't handle somethin' as small as my earring fallin' out."

"It didn't–"

"It didn't just fall out," you interrupt him and finish despondently. “Yeah. I know.”

"Y/N, it ain't that I'm aimin' to treatchu like glass," he sighs again and replies. He puts an arm around you and brings his other hand up to rub his face. “That ain’t what this is.”

"Then what're you aimin' to do?" you ask. "Punish yourself 'til you die of sleep deprivation?"

You can tell he's amused by your blunt statement, but he's still holding on to such a resolute opinion that he won't let anything besides sternness show.

“Y/N….I don't think you're weak. I've said that before. So if that's what you're gettin' from all this…"

“You’re actin’ like you bashed my head against the wall or somethin’,” you argue. “Your hand was, like, going up in the air–probably ‘cause you knew someone was hoverin’ over you–and it just…"

You take Sy's hand that’s draping over your shoulder and just barely tap on the side of your ear. He still doesn’t say anything.

“Why won’t you bend on this, babe?” you ask desperately. “Just–”

"Look, I know you,” he interrupts you with a sigh. “I know you very well. You're a people-pleaser. Whenever somethin' bad happens to you, you got the tendency to think it's not that big of a deal ‘cause you don’t wanna be seen as a problem if you complain."

He squeezes your shoulder to show he’s not trying to be unkind. Finally, he twists his body so he can see you better and make eye contact.

"This isn't me doin' that, though," you earnestly respond, hating the deep bags under his eyes. "It really did only happen 'cause I leaned ov–"

“You also blame yourself all the time when somethin’s not your fault so you can spare anyone else from feelin' bad," Sy interrupts. "When someone else is uncomfortable or somethin’, you’ll do whatever you can to get things calm again. This is exactly one of those times.”

“I–”

Sy knows what you talk to your therapist about. You share just about every conversation with him. You know that he knows how you have a habit of fawning. How uncomfortable you are with other people’s discomfort. How you’ll willingly take blame for things that you don’t need to just to keep things peaceful.

He knows that. But this really isn’t that. This isn’t you taking on something that’s really not your burden to bear.

“It literally was just one time, Sy,” you say, and apparently it’s the wrong thing to say, because Sy’s weary eyes flash.

"One time is one time too many,” he retaliates.

“Sy, I literally was in your face,” you put a hand on his leg again and tell him. “I was bent over you shaking your shoulders. I was trying to wake you up when you were in the middle of–of–I still don’t know what. But I know it was scary. And I know I made it worse.”

“Y/N…”

“That was on me. I shouldn’t’ve done that. I just…I didn’t know. I really didn’t. But I know now.” You take a deep breath and let it out. “I know now, and I won’t ever do it again. Which means I won't get in the way of your hand again.”

“Just stop blamin’ yourself, Y/N,” Sy mutters. “You didn’t do a thing. You didn’t. I did. People get woken up like that all the time without doin’ what I did.”

“Normal people, yeah,” you retaliate. “Not someone havin’ a night terror. You’re a vet who’s been through a lotta shit, Sy. A lot. A lot you probably won’t ever tell me even ten years from now. You were–You were entirely somewhere else in your mind, and I know that I had to’ve scared the shit outta you. I made it worse. I just–I didn't know."

“So it’s all okay?” Sy challenges with a quiet internal scoff. “It’s okay for me to punch my fuckin’--”

You slightly shake his leg. “You didn’t, though.”

“Your ear was bleedin’, Y/N,” he argues. "You don't wanna say what happened, and I get that, but I know. I know what I can do. I hit you, and even after you changed the sheets you were still bleedin’."

"You've never hit anyone in your sleep before," you murmur. "You've never done that. You told me that before."

He’s silent long enough for you to check in.

"Have you?" you clarify. “Hit someone?”

His answer is immediate. "No."

"Then why do you think you did this time?"

"Because I did."

"You didn’t. Your knuckle made contact with the bottom of my ear, and my earring snagged and fell out,” you explain, going over the same information you already have. "But Sy, I've literally run into a door before and had that happen. It’s really not hard to do."

"I made you bleed."

You challenge his stare. "Gettin' it pierced in the first place made me bleed."

"Which you did voluntarily," he counters, starting to slur. "You knew whatchu were signin' up for."

"And I could say that I did the same thing by tryin' to wake you up," you murmur. "But I did it anyway. Because I wanted it to stop for you. Because I care."

He’s silent.

"The arguments never stop with you, huh?" you try to make light. “Tryin’ to think of another one?”

"It ain't a matter of arguin', baby, c'mon.” Sy looks upwards at the ceiling. “I hit you. You bled. That's it. That's what happened. I hitchu."

"It was just–"

"It ain’t what it even was, Y/N,” he exasperately interjects. “It’s what it coulda been. That's whatchu ain't gettin'.”

Your face falls. “Oh.”

“Who's to say that this don't happen again tomorrow night and then it's your face? Then it's your head? Then it's–” He cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. “That’s my point, Y/N. You’re focusin’ on one thing and I’m focusin’ on another."

Impulsively, you make the decision to straddle Sy's lap. It takes him a second to realize what you’re doing and adjust the way he’s sitting, and his legs are so big that it honestly takes a good deal of work, as well, but once you’re fully seated, you reach out for his upper arms and firmly grasp them.

“Sy. I know you say that I have a tendency to downplay things sometimes,” you whisper while looking directly at him face-to-face. “And maybe that’s true. And I’m super happy that you speak up for me all the time ‘cause I’m still…me. And it's hard. But you have a tendency to think that nothin’s ever my fault, and that’s just impossible. Because sometimes things are."

His face gets surly, his mouth turning into a thin line. “This wasn’t,” he maintains, leaning back on the couch so he's now looking up at you. "I hit you."

Your hands fall from Sy’s shoulders and you tilt your head to the side. “I could argue with you,” you reply, “that it probably wasn’t the smartest idea to lean over a man who’s, like, eighty percent muscle actively havin’ a night-terror.”

Sy is about to interrupt, but you continue to speak before he gets the chance to. “But,” you clarify, “you’re right. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know not to bend over you to wake you up. I didn’t know not to try to wake you up so…abruptly. But now I do. And it won’t happen again.”

You’re being a lot more forgiving towards yourself than usual, and you credit therapy for that as well as the fact that you’ve been living with Sy long enough to start to believe all of the things he says all the time.

“You can’t predict that,” Sy mumbles, slightly lifting his hands in the air.

“Predict what?” you ask. “I just said I won’t get in your way, babe, and I won’t.”

“But you can’t predict that I won’t hurtchu,” he argues. “I can’t–What if I–what if it happens when you’re still fuckin’ sleepin’ next time? What then? You can’t predict that. You can't.”

Your face drops while witnessing the distress on Sy's own. Watching him show anxiety in a way he normally never does has your heart feeling torn.

Still, you remain calm.

“Sy, your noises would…they'd wake me up before it ever came to that,” you tell him seriously.

Soft and quiet and serious. Just like how he is with you after you have a panic attack. That’s how you keep your voice.

“You…The noises you made weren't like anything I've ever heard before," you say while trying not to shiver. "They were…They…They'd definitely wake me up first. I promise you.”

Sy still wants to argue, you can tell, and the rebuttal is right there forming on his lips, right there about to exit, but when he closes his mouth, you know he’s finally accepting what you have to say. That, or he’s growing too exhausted to continue to fruitlessly offer arguments.

You're left watching him struggle internally.

“Babe, if it happens again," you promise, "I’d get out of the bed just like I did before, and I’d–"

You'd be worried sick.

You’d be worried and anxious and maybe afraid again, but you’d be prepared and resolved and headstrong, too. You'd be there for him. Just like he always is for you. Every time. No matter how hard it still is for you to accept his help.

"Next time, I won’t lean over you. I won’t get in the way tryin’ to wake you up. I won't make you feel threatened."

You realize your eyes are growing prickly, so you blink a few times in a row.

"And it’ll be fine," you finish. "We'll both be fine.”

Sy takes a long, deep breath, and with deliberately slow words, he responds to you. "You should never have to make up a plan designed to protect yourself from me."

"I–"

"Not from me. Of all people."

"It's not to protect myself, Sy. It's to help you."

"Still shouldn't have to do it."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have to bring me paper bags when my lungs don’t work," you reply humorlessly, "but here we are anyway, aren't we?"

Sy clicks his tongue. “You can’t help that.”

“And you can’t help this.”

He takes another deep breath, and you put your forehead on his.

“It’s not me protectin’ myself from you, Sy,” you quietly repeat, now putting your hands on the sides of his face. “It’s me tryin’ to help you. You help me all the time. I wanna help you, too.”

"Y/N…"

"Just let me help you. I don’t want you to have to deal with it all alone. I hate that I get panic attacks just as much as I know you hate this. I get it. Of all people, I get it. But it’s not your fault. It’s…You really can't help it," you softly tell him. "It makes you feel so outta control…At least for me, so I can imagine it's the same for you."

Sy shuts his eyes, and he remains sitting there with you on his lap, squeezing your thighs like he’s grounding himself.

"I feel like I'm rude as shit to you when I'm having a panic attack. I always…I always tell you to leave me alone and stuff. Right when I need you the most. And I don't mean what I say at all. And I always feel horrible when it's over. 'Cause words can really hurt. They really can. But what is it you always tell me?"

You don’t give him the time to answer before you’re continuing.

"You tell me I have nothin' to apologize for," you answer for him. "You always say that–You always tell me that you know I didn't mean to push you away. This is me tellin' you….You have nothin' to apologize for, Sy. You really couldn't help it."

Sy opens his droopy eyes, and with an intensity, he says, “You’re important to me. You know that.”

You touch his nose with yours. “You’re important to me, too,” you whisper, starting to see that he’s starting to become so tired he's growing delirious.

"I couldn’t live with myself if I did somethin’ t' hurtchu like that," he practically slurs. "I mean it. I really couldn't. That ain't me. I could never.”

“I know.”

You stare into his eyes for a long, long time. He’s never one to hold back his tongue, but when it’s stuff that he’s ashamed of like this, you get that it’s hard. It's hard for him to not be strong in every single situation.

“You wouldn't ever hurt me, Sy," you tell him.

Practically unblinking, his eyes are like a midnight ocean. On one hand, the heavy intensity is taking you aback; it really was just a knuckle to your ear because you got in his way. On the other hand, though, you get the symbolism of it all.

“You wouldn’t ever hurt me,” you repeat. “Even on accident. You love me too much.”

Sideways, he finally offers a little smile. “I do, but that ain't how it w–”

"And anyway, I've got pretty quick reflexes thanks to workin’ out with you."

Sy lowers all of his fingers at once so they’re in between the webs of your hands, interlacing them in mid-air. "I'm bein' serious here," he says, almost grumpy again.

"So'm I," you maintain, slightly pushing on his palms. "You'd never hurt me while awake, and you wouldn’t hurt me in your sleep. I’ve already told you that your noises would wake me up, and plus, I've got quick reflexes. We're covered."

Your concise and simple summary seems to finally be accepted by Sy–finally–and you pray that he doesn’t drag out his self-flagellation any more.

You know how intimidating he can be. To the people who deserve it, you know exactly what his hands are capable of. You know the pure strength he carries in his muscles. He'll never show you the true extent, but still, you know.

"I'm not scared of you, Sy," you whisper in finality. "You know I'm not."

After a long time, he turns his head and looks out the front window. Several moments pass before he speaks again.

“Thought they were gone,” he whispers. “Hasn’t happened in so long. Thought that I…Thought I was in the clear.”

You reach out and touch his face. “Is there somethin’ that happened recently?” you ask. “That maybe…had somethin’ to do with it?”

He sighs like letting all the air out of his lungs at once. “Shit just comes up ‘round this time’a year more, that's all."

You pause. "Memorial Day?"

Sy nods. You reach down for his hands again and put your smaller fingers in between his larger ones, interlacing them once more in between your bodies.

You remember meeting some of his military friends at Amelia and Johnny's Christmas party. You remember hearing them talk about the people who aren’t around anymore.

"I'm sorry this is somethin’ you have to deal with," you say somberly, and his shoulders shake a bit as he chuckles.

The response would either confuse or offend someone who didn’t know him, but you do know him. You’re aware that his humor can be somewhat dark at times.

You’re also aware that dealing with the loss of so many people leaves its mark, leaves its holes behind. You know Sy in particular carries everything with him deep down, in a way that he almost never, ever shows.

Just like with Aika.

"I get that laughin' is your way of coping, and that's fine," you say, "but I am serious, you know. I'm really sorry that you have to re-live stuff like that when you’re awake and then again when you’re asleep. And that you can’t control any of it. And I’m sorry that you…I’m sorry that it traps you like this."

“Just the price,” he murmurs, looking back at you, and you frown. He’s been up so long his words are starting to be indecipherable.

You nod. “I get that. I know I’m just one person and can’t, like, prevent it from happenin’ or anything, but I’m here to help. However I can.”

He mumbles something you can’t make out. You lean in closer. “Hm?”

“You do, y’know,” he repeats himself. “Help. Livin' here. Bein’ around."

You touch his forehead. “I know. Now let’s getchu back in bed, baby,” you decide.

“C’mere ‘n kiss me first,” he slurs, and you smirk and oblige, but when he wants the kiss to go on for longer, you disengage. Instantly, he sits all the way upright on the couch and wraps his arms around you.

You chuckle quietly while disconnecting his hands from your back. “You’re gonna go upstairs and get some sleep now.”

He lifts a tired eyebrow. “Am I?”

You nod and slide off his lap. “You're done bein' stubborn."

"Yeah? Says who?"

"Says me. Get up."

"Mm?"

"Mm,” you repeat while tugging on his arms to fruitlessly help him get up. “Go upstairs. It's an executive order.”

He lets you pretend to boss him around while you walk him up the stairs, and he watches in amusement as you tuck him in the bed.

He starts to drift immediately, his eyes heavily falling shut and his lips parting like he's about to do some serious mouth-breathing.

His exhaustion doesn't stop him from mumbling one last thing, and you have to lean close to his mouth and ask him to repeat himself.

"Thanks for fightin' for me," you’re able to understand, and then he's out.

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funfickgirl22 · 3 months

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she needs dick from a weird nerd

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funfickgirl22 · 4 months

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Rainy days | Andy Barber

Pairing -> Fiancé!Andy Barber x Fiancée!Reader

Summary -> It’s a rainy day and when your fiancé comes home from work he just wants to cuddle with you.

Warnings -> (G) none, just fluff

Wordcount -> 0.7k

Request -> oooh maybe spooning with Andy Barber? Maybe rainy cold days? or Andy came so so tired from work? he just wanted cuddles with his fiancée? @rogersbarber

A/N -> Thank you for the request, it was really fun to write this one. I also want to thank @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for proofreading this for me, it really means a lot and I really appreciate it.

Masterlist | AFG Fluff Bingo | Fandom-Free Bingo | Andy Barber Masterlist

You sit on your couch, wrapped in a big, warm, and comfortable blanket. You look at the window, following the raindrops slowly sliding down the glass. The sky is dark gray, and you’re glad you're sitting cocooned in your blanket, with hot cup of tea.

The television shows your favorite show, perfect for a cold, rainy day. It would be better if your fiancé was sitting next to you, wrapping his arms around you, but he is still at work,ing through the paperwork and discussing with his colleagues about their clients. At least you think he is.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the keys in the door. Immediately, you look through the room to see the floor, where you can hear Andy.

“I’m home, princess,” he says, and you hear him closing the door.

Before he appears in your eyeline, he takes off his shoes and jacket and places his bag in its own little place next to a small shelf. Then he walks into the living room, where you’re sitting.

He smiles when he sees you wrapped in a blanket and with your favorite and biggest cup in your hands.

You look at your husband and see his exhausted expression. But a smile is always on his lips when he sees you, and it’s like all the sleepiness fades immediately away when you smile at him.

“You look exhausted,” you mumble, trying to get out of your blanket.

It probably looks more like a fight with your blanket, and Andy can’t help himself but burst out laughing.

“Let me help you,” he laughs.

With a few steps, he stands in front of you. His hands gripping the corners of the blanket, and with a few movements, he frees you from the blanket.

Andy leans down to press his lips softly on yours. He lets the blanket fall down on the floor, and his hands find their way to your waist. He pulls you closer. You slide your hands through his wet hair.

“You’re cold and wet,” you say.

Your fiancé chuckles and nods. He was walking outside for only a few minutes; it was almost like a shower, but a cold one. Andy is slightly shivering even though he is inside now, but the cold wet drops of rain from his hair are slowly sliding down his neck and down his back.

“How about you take a shower and I make some tea?” you ask, and he nods with a smile.

Andy presses a soft kiss on your lips before he walks out of the room and makes his way to the bathroom. You stare at him before you walk into the kitchen and prepare some food and tea for the two of you.

It doesn’t take long before Andy comes back into the living room wearing a long t-shirt and boxers. You’re already sitting on the couch, with the blanket next to you and, in front of you, the food and the tea.

“Smells great,” he mumbles and smiles while he walks towards you.

You open your arms to welcome him into your embrace, and he lets himself fall beside you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you and laying down.

“I thought you would like to eat first," you ask, turning your head to face your fiancé, who lays behind you.

Andy shakes his head and kisses your neck. His arms pull you as close as possible, and he inhales your scent. He closes his eyes for a moment before he kisses your neck again.

“You should at least eat a bit,” you mumble, but he shakes his head.

“We can do this later. Just stay here and cuddle with me,” he whispers into your neck.

You feel goosebumps all over your body when his breath meets your sensitive skin. You slide your hand over your body to his leg and squeeze it slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

Andy hums sleepily and snuggles his face further into your neck. He bites into your neck and makes you giggle softly.

“You’re mine,” he tells you before he slowly falls asleep with you in his arms. Making sure to hold you tight against him finally feeling calm with you in his arms. He adores the days when he comes home and can relax after his exhausting work.

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funfickgirl22 · 4 months

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Hello, Freya! Would you write an imagine with Sy accidentally finding out(and loving it) that if he caresses your bare back or arm, you (reader) become boneless or start melting into him and falling asleep. He found out this after the two of them had sex and he started caressing your skin and you just melted and fell asleep in seconds. Thank you!

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, light mentions of post-coitus, camping, mention of frogs, reader is mentioned to be shy, a sweet banter between a couple.

N/A: No beta, I’ll die like August Walker slipping off a cliff, getting a hook in the head and then falling into an explosion. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Cosy.

"The frogs are sure vexing tonight,” you hummed with your fingers weaving through the bristly pelt of your beasty lover.

Pressing his chin to your head, Syverson glanced at the glowing embers that whispered in the little firepit, trying to remember when was the last time he felt so easy and calm. Not in the desert, that’s for sure. Not with any other woman too. You were unique, his little shy girl who once told him he has a nice voice when overhearing him hum to a song by Nick Cave at the bar. And even though your shyness hid a spitfire, there was always peace with you.

A crispy scent of smoke and sex hunkered above the two of you as you shared a sleeping bag under the stars. Sy chuckled gently at your remark. On his breath you could still smell the whiskey.

“What’s wrong, Nugget? Don’t like frogs?”

“They’re annoying, they won’t let me sleep.” You narrowed your eyes with comical agitation as if trying to spot the frogs who lurked at the darkness.

The quake in his chest made you bounce slightly as he laughed beneath you. His hand pressed onto your back.

“Be thankful for the frogs, they are keeping the mosquitos away from your naked ass.”

“And there I was thinking it’s your smelly sweat,” you dared to tease him but your spirited sarcasm was cut off by a small moan as you felt his thumb slowly graze down the length of your spine. Almost by instinct your eyes fluttered shut and your entire body slumped onto his as if you were made of liquid.

Sy crooked an eyebrow intrigued, sensing the utter ease that permeated through your muscles.

“That good?” He asked, brushing the rest of his fingers up your back.

“Uh... yes...” you hummed and huddled into his broad chest like a soft little kitten. “It makes me sleepy.”

“Perfect, now I know how to get you to sleep,” he provoked and kissed your brow lovingly.

“Oh... I hate... you...” you mumbled groggily.

“Sure you do,” he mocked. His hand glided up and down your back until you were sunk deep into the ocean of your dreams. Engulfing you in his large arms, he then took a deep inhale while peering at the crescent moon and listening to the song of the toads and crickets who dabbled by the lake.

He agreed with their blissful chant; he was indeed the luckiest man alive at this point.

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funfickgirl22 · 4 months

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Miss Perfect and Her Brothers

This is an amazing series. For now, two books have been translated to English but I hope soon the translation of the rest of the books will be completed

I highly recommend it.

#rodzinamonet #miss perfect and her brothers #hailey monet #wattpad

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funfickgirl22 · 4 months

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funfickgirl22 · 4 months

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O Christmas tree.

Henry Cavill x Single mother/Reader.

Words: 705

You were looking for a perfect Christmas tree but you have found the perfect man.

Keep reading

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funfickgirl22 · 5 months

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Resignation

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You get to know Andy a bit more and put in your notice, but your boss doesn't it take it well. Word Count: Almost 4.4k Warnings: Slow burn, getting to know each other, sugar daddy contraction, tension, flirting, slight insecurities, inner monologue, yelling (apologies to anyone named Sean), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly Previous Part: Sign the Dotted Line A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Hope you lovelies enjoy. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The feeling of floating on cloud nine wasn't something you experienced much in your life. There were high points, of course, but nothing like the elation that filled you as Andy went to make a copy of the contract. It was almost dizzying to think that for the next three quarters of a year, everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.

All thanks to Andy.

Estelle shrieked as she pulled you to your feet. “You're a sugar baby! You're a sugar baby!” she sang, making you laugh as she did a little dance with it.

“I thought you said I was going to be his ‘companion’,” you teased.

She leveled you with a look. “It’s the same thing,” she said, grabbing her bag. “And since your new ‘companion’ is taking you to the diner, why don’t we celebrate tomorrow? You better give me all the details.”

You giggled again at the implication as she squeezed you in a tight hug. If you weren’t happy before, you would've been thanks to her infectious attitude. “You sure don’t need me to head down with you?”

“No, I’m good. You just enjoy the rest of the day,” she said, winking at you and pointing at Andy when he came back. “Have fun and be good to her or I’ll destroy you,” she told him as she walked by with every ounce of confidence you wished you had. “And nice meeting you!”

You half expected there to be an air of awkwardness once the two of you were left alone and were surprised not to feel it at all. It was hard to describe the atmosphere outside of that, but it was something both familiar and new. Maybe that was because Andy continued to put you at ease all while exciting you. The next chapter of your time would be unpredictable in ways that you were looking forward to encountering.

Did he feel the same way?

Andy chuckled after a moment, the sound bringing a smile back to your face as he held up the papers in his hand. “I realize this is probably a bit outdated since everything is done electronically, but I prefer it this way.”

“I don't think it’s outdated,” you assured him as he handed you the contract, his fingers brushing yours. Would you ever get used to the jolt of electricity you felt at his touch? “It’s less of a chance of it getting leaked.”

Though it was you he worried about, you still wanted to protect his reputation.

“Yes, it is,” he said, smiling to himself when you tucked the papers carefully in your folder. “Estelle is serious, isn’t she? She’ll destroy me if I hurt you?”

“Oh, yeah. She isn’t afraid of anyone,” you said as you shifted slightly on your feet. “But I wouldn't worry about her. I don't expect you to hurt me.”

He had to know that.

Andy took a step closer. “She’s a good person to have on your side,” he commented, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the soft look in his eyes. “And I have no intention of hurting you.”

You carefully considered his words with furrowed brows. “Aren't you supposed to say you promise not to hurt me?”

A sad smile touched his lips. “People make promises and usually do so for the right reasons, but they don't always lead to the desired outcome,” he replied as if he peeled back a small layer of himself that still left you with questions. “Take the weeklong silence, for example. I inadvertently hurt you by not reaching out.”

Your cheeks flamed, almost wishing you hadn't mentioned it. “But we talked about that. You didn't mean anything by it.”

“Yes, we did talk about it and I'm glad you told me how you felt. I still caused doubt in your mind though,” he said, his tone gentle and understanding without breaking eye contact. “So while I do want to promise that I’ll never hurt you, I'd rather promise that I have no intention of ever hurting you. Because I don't.”

It took a moment to recall that Andy was married once years ago. While you weren't sure why things ended, did his divorce give him a new perspective on making and keeping promises? Or was it his time as a lawyer?

Whatever the reason you had to respect him for his outlook.

“I appreciate that and I will hold you to that,” you said, falling in step beside him as you headed for the door.

He raised an eyebrow as he held it open for you to go through, allowing you to catch the scent of his cologne again as you walked past. You almost asked what brand it was just so you could get a bottle and spritz your worn in sweatshirts. “Isn't this the part where you promise you have no intention of hurting me?” He questioned.

“I don't think I have the power to hurt you,” you replied, not looking behind you as you headed toward the elevator. You were positive you didn't have that kind of influence nor did you want to hurt him. “But I promise that I have no intention to do so.”

You froze when he leaned in close, his beard ticking your ear and it took all of your inner strength not to turn your head toward him. “Never underestimate how powerful you are, honey,” he whispered, your breath rushing out of your lungs as he stepped back and gestured to the open elevator doors. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” you replied, your voice more breathy than you intended as you stepped inside. You swore you caught him smiling before he joined you.

“I gave my driver the afternoon off, so you’re stuck with me,” he said, pressing the button for the lowest level before the doors slid shut. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I think I can handle you driving,” you teased, happy that the two of you would be alone for part of the evening.

He chuckled before he went quiet again. The silence was comfortable, the soft dings as you passed each floor the only sound in the space. It gave you a moment to admire the man beside you. With his perfect posture, chin held high, and pristine suit, you tried to picture how he looked when he simply relaxed. No eyes on him. No one expecting anything from him.

Maybe he can show me that side of himself sometime soon.

“You’re staring,” he stated.

You smiled, not at all embarrassed that he caught you without looking your way. “I guess it’s because I’m still trying to figure you out.”

That and he was still one of the most handsome men you had ever seen.

But who was Andy Barber beyond his money? Your hero and your second chance at a better life, but what else? What did he do for fun? What did he want out of life, years from now?

Andy swung his head toward you as the elevator came to a stop. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

You found yourself in his car a few minutes later. The Audi still had that “new car” smell to it, the passenger seat sleek and not at all broken in. There wasn’t a spec of dust on the leather interior. Either he didn’t drive it often or he made sure to keep it in next to perfect condition.

Your mind drifted back to Andy’s earlier statement. What exactly was he trying to figure out? If he meant that he was trying to figure you out, he didn’t have to look too deeply. And if he was still trying to figure himself out, that was normal. Searching for your true self was a lifelong journey. And with your newfound sense of freedom at your fingertips, you’d be able to explore your own passions and visualize your ideal self.

But part of you figuring Andy out was getting to know him.

“Why the diner?” You asked, glancing over at him as he concentrated on the road in front of him. “I mean, why go there for coffee or food when you can go anywhere else?”

Maybe upscale places weren’t his usual style. He took you to the Courthouse and looked at ease there, but maybe the diner was an escape. Something different.

“I didn’t grow up with much, but my mom made it work as best as she could,” he admitted, a wistful note in his voice. “We never went hungry and she got creative with some meals so I wouldn’t get tired of eating the same thing. Things like fast food were considered a treat and diners were fine dining.”

You shifted in your seat as you listened, touched by the unexpected vulnerability. “I’ll bet she looked forward to those moments,” you said.

“She did and so did I,” he smiled over at you. “On the rare nights when she was able to save up and take us to a diner, she got a large breakfast or dinner meal for us to split. Best way to stretch her dollar and make sure neither of us felt hungry after.”

You almost reached over to take his hand, but you didn’t want to overstep. He was giving you a piece of himself by revealing a part of his past. That was more than you could ask for.

“I went to diners in college, too, when I was struggling to make ends meet,” he continued, stroking his beard for a moment. “I guess they kind of stuck with me because they reminded me of happier times. They also serve as a reminder to be thankful for what I have. It’s important to remember who I was then and who I am now.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes as he turned onto the next street, wishing you could thank his mother for raising such an amazing man. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His hand covered yours unexpectedly when your eyes opened. “Thank you for asking.”

You turned your wrist so your palm met his, your stomach flipping as he held it a little tighter. Opening up was never easy, even if Andy made it sound effortless. You felt closer to him after hearing that important piece of his history. Even the crackle of electricity felt different this time. Instead of a jolt, it was like a steady hum.

Maybe that closeness was the reason you didn’t want to let go when he parked his car in front of the diner.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You swallowed as you glanced out the window, the flashing lights from the sign of the beckoning for you to go in. “I just can't believe I'm actually going to quit,” you said, clutching your bag with your other hand. “I mean, I do believe it. I have my resignation letter here and everything.”

“Even when you had that bit of doubt that the contract wouldn't go through, you had your letter ready,” he smiled.

You toyed with the strap of your bag as you tried to hide your smile. “I guess I did.”

Preparation never hurt anyone.

“But if you’d rather hold off until tomorrow, I understand. I can even drive you back here if you want to wait,” he offered.

For a moment, you questioned if you should wait. As you bit your lip to fight your smile more and squeezed Andy’s hand, you made your decision. You signed the contract. You were more than ready.

Most of all, you deserved to start your path to a better future.

“I’m ready,” you assured him, reluctantly releasing his hand before you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Are you going in or did you want to wait here?”

“I’ll grab a coffee while I wait,” he said, stopping you as you reached for your door handle. “Allow me.”

You smiled to yourself as he went around to let you out. “Are you always a gentleman?”

“Not always,” he said without missing a beat, winking as you joined him on the sidewalk.

You licked your lips and gazed into his bright blue eyes. Could he see the want in yours? What would it take to make him lose control?

“I’m looking forward to seeing that side of you, Mr. Barber,” you smiled, brushing past him as he inhaled.

But first things first.

The bell rang as you walked inside and you paused to take it all in. Taking Andy’s earlier story to heart, you wouldn’t allow yourself to forget that this diner was part of your story. It not only led him to you, but also kept you from becoming homeless. It was a blessing.

“Hey,” Casey, one of the veteran servers, nodded to you from behind the counter before she looked over your outfit. She seemed to forget all about you as Andy as he walked in behind you. You didn't blame her. “Hi there. Sit anywhere you’d like.”

Andy put his hand on your lower back before he leaned in, your breath hitching slightly. “Good luck, honey,” he whispered, releasing you as Casey gawked in your direction. “I’ll just have a coffee, please,” he said as he took a seat at the counter.

The usual warmth Andy exuded was down a notch. Still friendly, but different. Or maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to feel special. “Is Sean here?”

“Yep. In the office,” Casey answered, pouring Andy a fresh cup of coffee. “Just got here.”

“I’ll be right back,” you told Andy, feeling his eyes on you as you headed through the employee only doors.

Sean had his head buried in some paperwork as he grumbled to himself. With a deep breath, you knocked on the open door. He didn't speak to you much outside of your shifts and hardly praised you for a job well done, but he wasn't a bad boss. You felt bad disturbing him, but it was now or never.

“Hi. May I come in?” You asked as he looked up.

“Yeah. Don't shut the door though. Lock’s broken,” he said, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. “Didn’t expect to see you today. What are you all dressed up for?”

“Oh, I had a meeting,” you answered, which wasn’t a lie. You did meet with Andy. “That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about.”

“A meeting?” He repeated with a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting.”

Your stomach began to twist in knots. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint your boss, even if he wouldn’t be that for much longer. Being a waitress also wasn’t your dream job, but it helped you when you needed it.

Now you have to help yourself.

“Yes, I am. I’m putting in my two weeks notice,” you said quietly, taking the letter out of your bag and placing it on the desk when he stared impassively. “I found another opportunity and I’m going to take it, but I’m happy to take any shifts I can over the next two weeks to help.”

Sean didn’t speak for a moment as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “Two weeks? No, that's not gonna work. We’re short as it is,” he said, shoving the paper away before he leaned back in his chair. Was he serious? “You're gonna have to make it four weeks and then we'll revisit after that to see if we need you to stay on longer.”

“No. I'm giving you two weeks,” you reiterated, your tone unwavering. You wouldn’t let Sean bully you into staying longer, even as guilt crept up since the place was short-staffed. “That's standard and I can't do more than that. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no. I'm still in charge and you'll give me four weeks. That’s final,” he argued, waving his hand dismissively as you shrank a bit in your chair. “Unless you have anything else to add, I’ll see you next shift.”

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep from shaking. You didn't expect him to react this way. “No, that’s not final. I can't give you four weeks,” you said as calmly as possible, even as you began to feel more uncomfortable. “I would if I could, but I can't. I’m sorry.”

“Can't or won't?” Sean asked, almost making you jump as he raised his voice. “Listen here, you've been a solid employee and I'm not going to lose you in two weeks or four weeks. Do you understand? And if you don't show up you can forget about ever getting a good recommendation from me. Might as well kiss that ‘opportunity’ of yours goodbye.”

Your eyes burned as your mind flashed back to when you were told you were laid off from your previous job, the compassionate tone of your old boss the opposite of the man in front of you. The situations were different, but both made you feel so small. Especially since Sean was essentially threatening your future endeavors. You refused to cry though.

He wouldn’t witness your tears.

You cleared your throat and maintained your resolve. “Two weeks, Sean. That’s it. I said I’m willing to work as many shifts as I can over the next two weeks, but I can't do more than that. I won’t,” you firmly spoke as his eyes widened. “I really don't want to end this on a bad note, please.”

He pushed himself to his feet as he thrust a finger toward your face as if it would somehow make him appear intimidating to tower over you. It wouldn’t sway you. “Listen here, you little-”

“Is everything okay?”

Andy’s voice made both of you jump as you spun in your chair. He stood in the doorway but didn’t look your way. He trained his gaze on your boss, his normally bright eyes narrow and cold.

Your boss must’ve felt malice in that stare since he sat down immediately. “Oh. Mr. Barber,” he said. Did he know him as a regular customer or merely recognize his status? “It’s just an issue with an employee. This doesn’t concern you.”

“There is no issue,” you corrected him.

“Actually, she’s with me, so it does concern me,” Andy spoke as he took a step into the office, staring your boss down with a clenched jaw. The space no longer felt like Sean’s. It was as if Andy owned it along with everything in it. “If you want to raise your voice at someone, I’m right here. You won’t speak to her that way though. Do you understand?”

The deep timbre almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your heart pounding from Andy defending you.

Sean coughed a bit as color filled his cheeks. He should be embarrassed. “I didn’t realize she was with you. I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off.

Your blood simmered. He wouldn’t have raised his voice at you if he knew you were with Andy. Was this a taste of what things were going to be like? How people were going to treat you moving forward?

“Who she’s with shouldn’t matter. Not to mention, your customers and employees could hear you since your door was open,” Andy added, disappointment thickly laced in his voice. “You said she was a solid employee. Why would you speak to her like that?”

Sean’s eyes flickered to you as you waited for an answer. “We’ve been short-staffed and I’ve been stressing over it. That’s no excuse. I'm sorry,” he said to Andy, making your blood go from simmering to boiling. A customer, a powerful man, got the apology, but not you. “Won’t happen again.”

“Maybe remind yourself to be kind to the people who work for you before you raise your voice again. They’re the ones who keep your business running,” Andy said.

With a hang of his head, your boss sighed. “Two weeks, huh?” He asked, the wind completely out of his sails as you nodded. “Okay. Two weeks it is.”

“Thanks,” you whispered before Andy walked over and held out his hand to help you to your feet. Luckily, you didn’t tremble as you took it and gave it a small squeeze. It was nice that he was on your side.

“And one more thing?” Andy added as Sean glanced up. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

You held up your other hand when Sean looked your way and opened his mouth. “No. The only reason you’re going to say you’re sorry is because he’s here,” you stated, looking at Andy momentarily. He responded with an encouraging smile. “And I don’t want an empty apology. You can keep it.”

It was nice that Andy wanted an apology on your behalf, but it wouldn't feel believable.

Sean’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. Up until today, he treated you decently. The pressures of running a business were tough, but he had no reason to take it out on you. At the same time, you felt bad for him.

“But thank you, Sean. You gave me a job when I needed one and I won’t forget that,” you added gently. “I’ll see you next shift.”

“Why don't I meet you outside? I just want one more quick word with your boss,” Andy said as Sean audibly swallowed.

Uh-oh.

“Sure,” you said, the knots in your gut unraveling as you left the two of them alone.

You exhaled as you walked back into the dining area, avoiding the gazes from a few of the customers. Your hand shook as you gave Casey a small wave. At least she didn’t look upset with you.

“Quitting, huh? Lucky duck,” she smiled sadly. “You okay? He had no right speaking to you like that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded, taking another breath. You didn't like anyone raising their voice at you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to dwell on it and didn’t need her to worry. All you could do was make the transition as smooth as possible over the next two weeks. “Didn't expect that kind of reaction. Didn’t expect anyone out here to hear it.”

“Sean’s voice carries and he’s probably just pissed that he’s losing another good one while he’s stuck here,” she guessed, glancing over her shoulder before she added in a whisper, “Oh, and that guy you’re with? He looked furious when he heard him.”

“He did?” You asked, an almost goofy smile appearing on your face.

“Yeah, he did. He had fire in his eyes. Put a bill down, got to his feet, and immediately walked back there. And I wasn’t about to stop him,” she said, her smile widening as she leaned on the counter. “I’d say he’s smitten.”

Your heart skipped a beat. First Estelle, now Casey. Though the latter had no clue about the arrangement. “He’s really something, isn't he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Casey said, straightening up when the employee door swung open.

Andy’s eyes landed on you as he walked through, his eyes soft again as he held out his hand. He also looked pleased with himself. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you said, taking it as you gave Casey a nod. “I’ll see you soon. Hope the rest of your shift is okay.”

“Me, too. See ya,” she said before she went back to assisting other customers.

“You okay?” Andy asked softly as he led you outside.

“I’m fine,” you promised, not wanting him to worry either or get upset. “But what did you say to Sean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he answered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’m sorry if I overstepped by intervening. I just couldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

He easily deflected your question and you decided to let him have that victory for now.

You went in for a hug but kept space for him to breathe. He wrapped his arms tightly around you before you could pull away, your body melting into his. The bustling city around you faded as you focused on the warmth of his firm body. It made you forget all about Sean’s reaction.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, stepping back with a tiny smile. It meant the world that he defended you. “I tried to hold my own.”

“You did. You could've snapped back or walked out, but you didn't. That’s commendable and powerful,” he assured you, his gaze serious. “But I don't care if it’s your boss or a stranger or your best friend, I’m not about to let someone take their frustrations out on you.”

Warmth settled in your chest. You learned something else about Andy today: He truly wouldn't tolerate anyone disrespecting you. He continued to prove that he was a man of his word.

You also experienced firsthand how things worked in his world, how people would bend toward his will. If it was a test, you wouldn’t say you failed since you stood up for yourself. It wouldn’t always be that easy. Whether someone questioned your motives or place with Andy or not, you had to learn to grow a thick skin. Not just for your own benefit, but Andy’s, too.

He needed someone strong by his side.

“Thank you, Andy.”

“And, listen, if you don’t want to work those shifts or if he gives you a hard time-”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. You doubted Sean would make it a hostile work environment, but you could handle it if there were any issues. “But I think I’d like to go home now.”

Andy blinked and gave you a single nod. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Is he disappointed at the thought of me ending the day right now?

You smiled as you tugged him in the direction of his car. “I’d also like you to see my place,” you said, his eyebrows shooting up. It surprised you that you offered, too. “It isn't much, but it’s comfortable. Maybe we can order takeout?”

It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to celebrate, but he shared a piece of himself on the drive over. The least you could do was let him see your apartment. And who knew where the evening would take you?

“Only if you’ll let me pay,” he smiled.

“You're not going to let me pay for anything, are you?” You smiled back.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, opening the car door. “Let's get you home, honey.”

We all need a man like Andy. And what's going to happen at the apartment? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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funfickgirl22 · 5 months

Text

Of Beards and Ranks

Summary: Your man comes home from deployment... different.

Pairing: Syverson x you

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: explicit, shameless beard riding, bodily fluids, orgasm, mentions of sexual intercourse, slight angst

a/n: so @artandotherdelights recently seeked for more beard riding fics. Ma'am, enjoy! || Beta'd by @luna-aestas 🧡 || I do not own Sand Castle or the character. || No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts of it and claiming it as your own.

Please reblog and comment if you like it.

Title: Of Beards and Ranks

Your husband had always been a handsome fella.

It was his perfect jawline and electric blue eyes that first captured your attention. His deep baritone paired with that irresistible southern drawl and deliciously sculpted body just added to the perfection that was your Sy, or Lieutenant Syverson as virtually everyone else called him.

You looked at the man in question, as he was standing at the bar with his friends, all of them in suits although they had already loosened up their attire. Sy had his bow tie hanging, untied on his chest and your lips parted at the sight. You imagined using the silky fabric to tie each other’s wrists, allowing the unbound partner to do as they pleased. Despite being in the middle of a wedding reception, the thought left you breathless and made your thighs clench.

This wedding was the last event you would attend before he would be deployed for close to 10 months. Your heart broke a little every time you reminded yourself of it. You’d never been apart from him for more than two weeks as he served at the local military base.

That night, after arriving home and hastily getting out of your elegant pieces of clothing, you made love to your husband with such fervency and desperation that you wept when your orgasm washed over your body. Even Sy’s eyes were unusually shimmery in the dim light of the bedroom. He didn’t want to leave you for months either.

“I’ll come back to ya, sugar pie,” he promised in a hoarse voice as you cradled his stubbly jaw between your hands, relishing the prickly sensation on your palms, knowing full well that it was something that you’d also miss in his absence.

The next day was the hardest day of your life.

At the military base, you had to say goodbye to your clean-shaven, military gear-clad husband, the handsome Texan stallion. How were you supposed to survive his absence?

You weren't merely saying goodbye to your lover, you were going to be separated from your best friend in the whole world.

“Before you’ll know it, I’ll be back, sugar pie,” he proclaimed, sealing his promise with a soft, romantic kiss before he turned away, picked up his bag and walked away without looking back. This was difficult for him too and you knew he needed to harden up. He was going to a war zone for god’s sake.

The moment his hands let go of yours, a heavy weight settled over your chest, and it never lifted. The first week you attempted to get used to it. You were living your life only half present. Pieces of your heart and mind were continents away, held and guarded by your tough Texan.

He was smart, resilient, focused and a damn good soldier. You were sure he’d push through those months. And damn it, if he could do it in fucking Iraq, than you could too!

The weeks turned into months, and you never quite managed to get used to him being so far away and what's worse, in constant danger. When panic would tighten your stomach and throat, you would calm yourself by looking at photos of him and the two of you.

Video calls weren’t allowed but fortunately, the telephone calls were more predictable than you’d expected. It was his calls you counted as a measure of time instead of the days, weeks or months.

You were talking about your daily life and sweet nothings. He avoided war talk and you were grateful for it. The only question you would dare ask of him about the topic was always the same: “Are you being safe, Sy?” And he always replied the same in his deep drawl, “I’m bein’ safe, sugar pie.”

The only topic he was willing to talk about was his work-out routine. Special forces soldiers did only two things over there: carry out an operation and work out. You would listen to him explain weightlifting terms, talk about the heavier and heavier weights he was lifting, his descriptions of their makeshift gym equipment, and you savoured every syllable that deep baritone murmured in your ears. The sound of his voice was the precious manna that fed your soul while he was away.

His 39th telephone call made you the happiest person in the world. Sy told you he was coming back in three days! You hadn’t seen your husband for almost a year. You were more excited than you were before your wedding but you felt no shame in it.

In fact, you were so excited the night before his arrival that you couldn’t get a minute of sleep.

And then morning arrived.

Now you are trembling from excitement as you’re standing on the scorching hot tarmac at the military base, in the exact spot where you said goodbye to Sy ten infinitely long months ago.

Other excited wives, girlfriends, kids are buzzing around you, getting on your nerves. You look down to check your outfit and assure yourself that you look okay. You are wearing the peach coloured sundress that Sy loves to see on you.

Your heart leaps when the plane appears in your line of sight, you feel dizzy as time seems to drag into eternity. But when you blink your eyes to clear your vision the plane has touched down and is rolling closer and closer.

The military personnel that are supervising the group of civilians you are a part of start speaking, listing the names and ranks of the arriving soldiers. You hear the familiar names of some of Sy’s new friends.

“... and Captain Levi Syverson, Pathfinder Battalion, Sniper Platoon.”

Captain? you gasp in shock.

Sy made captain?!

Tears well in your eyes from the overwhelming pride. It had always been Sy’s dream, and he didn’t tell you! He did stick to the “no work talk” rule during your calls, and somehow his humility made you love him even more fiercely.

One by one, the arriving soldiers appear at the top of the portable aircraft stairs. Not even the screaming, cheering people could tear your eyes from that damn airplane door. You are afraid to blink in case you miss your man appearing.

Suddenly, a huge, meaty shouldered, bearded burly man steps out of the shade of the plane’s interior. He’s wearing… Sy’s hat! And Sy’s red shirt and sunglasses!

What is happening?!

Panic overcomes you and every rational thought flees your mind. You are unable to comprehend the situation, but mercifully, the bearded beast spots you in the small crowd.

He flashes a wide, scruffy grin at you, and the gears in your confused brain start working again.

It’s your husband.

It’s your husband?!

By the time he steps down from the last step and his booted feet hit the tarmac, your lungs feel devoid of any air. An infatuated haze descends on you as your eyes try to take Captain Syverson in.

Ten months ago you said goodbye to a tall, agile stallion. What came back was an enormous bull.

A full-bodied, wild Texan bull.

You are having trouble containing the raw lust that’s gnawing at your core because of the unbearable virility, authority and strength oozing from your man, and are just standing dumbfounded as he approaches you with his masculine swagger.

“At your service ma’am.” Sy’s rumbling voice washes over you as he stops before you and drops his bag on the ground before taking his cap and sunglasses off. It’s as if his voice breaks some dam down inside you.

Tears stream down your face as you jump in his outstretched arms, and Sy lifts you up. You hook your legs around his massive torso and he squeezes your lithe body in a suffocating bear hug.

“Sugar pie,” he murmurs in the crook of your neck, and his new beard tickles the soft skin there. Pressing your face to the side of his neck you take a few deep inhalations and you feel the heavy weight that you carried for 10 months fall off your chest as your senses are flooded with Sy’s comforting presence.

“Sy…” you whisper and tighten your arms around his nape. You want to say so much but can’t.

“Gimme a kiss, little peach,” he squeezes your bottom through your dress as you’re clinging to his body.

Pulling your face back from the crook of his neck you look in his eyes. They are the same sapphire blues you fell in love with, only there are more wrinkles around them on his tanned skin. But that makes him even more attractive in your eyes. And that beard. That glorious, unbearably virile beard… It’s going to be the death of you.

He is irresistible.

You press your eager lips against his and you melt against the minty touch of his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

The sensation of his scruffy beard against your chin and mouth is new but endlessly arousing. Opening your eyes you can't help but gasp again at the sight.

He’s more ruggedly handsome than ever. The sight and the texture of his beard under your fingers awakens something deep and feral in you, and the need to be claimed and owned by him skyrockets in you.

Involuntarily, your hips move in Sy’s arms, and your centre starts seeking the friction it’s been craving for months.

“Easy, sugar pie,” Sy’s baritone rumbles against your lips as his hands tighten around your hips, stopping their undulation. “Let's get home first, ‘kay?”

Putting you down, he picks his bag up, grabs your small hand and you walk to your red truck as you were talking about his flight.

The way home is a hazy blur for you. Sy is driving and he’s quite chatty, but your answers are half-hearted and automatic. Unable to focus on anything but your shamefully overwhelming desire, you try to take deep, calming breaths as Sy observes the new improvements in your neighborhood.

“I see the Hendersons finally put up a fuckin’ fence. ‘Bout damn time,” he grumbles, and you look over at him. His left hand rested on the steering wheel, his right one on his thick thigh.

“You’re bein’ very quiet, sugar pie,” he reaches over to you and places his huge warm palm on your left thigh. Feeling his calloused fingers, you gasp as the contact scorches your tender skin.

“Babe?” Sy glances over at you before you decide you can’t take it anymore. Reaching for his hand you grab it and slide it up under your dress and you press his fingers against the lining of your panties. They are completely soaked through and wet Sy’s digits.

“Fuck,” Sy breathes, blinking several times, having a hard time keeping his gaze on the road. Sitting straight up he slams on the gas pedal and within three minutes you arrive in front of your home. Sy kills the engine and draws back his hand as both of you hastily get out of the truck.

Not caring about his bag, Sy circles the truck and when he reaches you, he grabs your waist and lifts you up. You kiss his mouth passionately as he blindly stumbles to the door. Taking the keys from you he opens it, barges in and kicks the door closed behind him.

“I want you now, Sy,” you manage to breathe out between fervent kisses. You’ve never been this needy and aroused, and it makes Sy even hungrier for you than he already is.

“Shit, sugar pie,” he squeezes out as he kicks his boots off and takes you to the bedroom.

“Put me down, Sy,” you ask him breathlessly as soon as he stops at the foot of the bed. He does as you ask and waits for further instructions. “Lie down,” your next command ignites even more passion in his eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls and you’re getting more and more impatient. As soon as Sy’s back touches the mattress, you climb on him and settle on the impressive hard bulge at his groin. Closing your eyes you exhale with a loud moan, and start undulating your hips, unable to think straight anymore as your drenched, tender panty-clad centre is pressing against his coarse hardness.

As much as Sy enjoys you taking the reins, the raging need in him makes him want to take over. Strong hands grab your hips like iron clamps and make you lift your pelvis.

“Get naked and straddle my beard,” he orders you, licking his mouth. Your jaw drops and your eyes widen but you immediately obey him, already high on anticipation to feel his new beard against your inner thighs. You roll off him to quickly pull your dress off and discard your panties and bra before you move to straddle his face.

His scorching cobalt eyes devour the sight of his woman. The sight he was craving during long dark nights and even longer hellish days in the hostile desert.

“Don’t be shy now, peach,” he provokes you. Turning his face he places scruffy kisses on your sensitive inner thighs while maintaining a burning eye contact. The sensation is extraordinary, and the sight of your bearded bull of a man between your thighs is like nothing you’ve ever seen.

“Time to ride, sugar pie,” Sy drawls as he suddenly grabs your waist and pulls you down onto his mouth. The first contact of your dewy folds against his coarse beard and soft mouth is earth-shattering.

“Oh god!” you moan, and the deep rumble vibrating against your throbbing pussy indicates that Sy is enjoying it as much as you are. Not wasting a moment longer, he plunges his tongue between your folds into your slippery little slit.

Going fully berserk, Sy savagely eats you out, grunting and growling as his hands hold your thighs down, keeping you in place while you squirm from the unbearable pleasure.

Within minutes you are on the brink of ecstasy as Sy is thrusting repeatedly into your sweet cunt before venturing up to your swollen little pearl and sucking on the tasty bundle of nerves. He flexes his jaw and rubs it against your folds, coating his beard with your juices.

“Holy shit,” you’re whining with your head tilted back, rocking your hips over his face, “Sy, I’m close... I’m gonna-”

Pressing his tongue hard and rubbing it against your clit, Sy makes sure that your orgasm is mind-blowing.

Your bliss hits so hard that you can’t make any noise, just stare down at him with wide eyes, gasping for air as your thighs tremble uncontrollably around his head.

Sy just can’t get enough of your sweet nectar. He slowly laps up every drop of your pleasure with deep hums as you ride out your savage climax.

Before you would collapse, Sy’s hands trace up to your waist and roll you over to your back. Pushing himself up on his knees he pulls his T-shirt off, revealing a wide, shockingly muscular torso covered with his delicious fur of chest hair and faded lines of recent scars.

You don’t have time to admire his breathtaking upper body because he unzips his fly and mounts your flushed little body. He deliberately makes you taste yourself on his lips as he plunges his tongue inside your mouth for a hungry kiss, foreshadowing the way his hefty cock will plunge into your soft wet pussy only seconds later.

“So tell me, sugar pie,” he rumbles between kisses, smiling, “do you like the Captain’s beard?”

~*~

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funfickgirl22 · 5 months

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funfickgirl22 · 5 months

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Sorry if this is dumb or something you’ve already talking about, but I’m doing another re-read of Eyes That See and I got to the part in chapter 15 when Liana gets her car stuck in the mud and I’m just curious as to how something like that would play out between Sy and his girl.

I can imagine her being so upset and frustrated and embarrassed as is and then you throw on the fact that she’s worried about bothering him to that. And then when Sy is talking about not hitting the gas continuously and the tires being bald, I could see her freaking out and apologizing a million times. And of course, Sy being Sy, he’d be so sweet about the whole thing, because he’s so sweet about everything with her!

I’m just curious about what your thoughts would be if it were her instead of Liana!

P.S. You’re amazing and incredible and I seriously cannot get enough of your work. I’ve reread this story a million times and it’s become such a huge comfort fic for me. I didn’t realize other people also experienced the world the same way or even remotely similar to the way I do and it’s really so insane and wonderful to see myself and my anxiety accurately represented in a fic! So, thank you so much for being so open and sharing this with us because it seriously means more to me than I could ever express in words! 🖤🖤

1--Please don't ever apologize if you think something is dumb or already asked before!! 100% it wouldn't be dumb, so we can throw that word out entirely 😁 and even it it was something that was already asked before, you KNOW I love interacting about ETS so I'll answer the same questions again and again, I don't care. It helps motivate me to keep writing. (I'm the one who should be apologizing because I haven't finished this draft in forever and you probably thought I forgot about you 😭😭)

2--Endless thanks. Thank you thank you thank you. I can't tell you how awesome this is to me. I'm happy to be able to write something you relate to this way.

I'm also happy to think up of alternate scenes and what-ifs... (Enjoy below!) The way Sy handled the situation with his sister would be very different compared to Y/N because to him, he's shown Liana these things before and obviously the sibling relationship is not at all the same as with Y/N...

Here! Read about it!

God, he's gonna think you're so fucking stupid. Sy, the expert mechanic. You, the dumbass who got her car stuck in the mud.

The mud! On the side of the road! In the middle of nowhere!

The fretting thought that you'll be scrutinized keeps you from calling Sy the second you realize your car is truly fucking stuck, but eventually, after hitting the accelerator so hard you have no other option but to give up, you finally cave and pull out your phone. It's late and it's cold and it's dark, you're on a road you're not familiar with, and you've tried for at least five minutes to get yourself out of this mess with no luck. If you try any longer, your car is going to slide off the road entirely.

Just--You're so close to the road. So close. Literally right next to the fucking pavement, so close you could give your car a giant push and be on the street again.

So...you get out of your vehicle and try to do just that. Obviously, it gets you absolutely nowhere, so after three loud and pointless attempts, you definitely have no choice: Triple A or Sy it is.

And honestly, as embarrassing as this all is, Sy would be downright offended if you called someone besides him for assistance. You momentarily squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath before looking down at your phone and finally clicking on his name.

A picture of his face appears on the screen of your phone, and you stare at him while the call struggles to go through. You end up having to raise your freezing hand into the air and slowly spin around until you finally hear deep vibrations trill through the quiet country air surrounding you to indicate that your phone is dialing out.

"Hey, pretty girl," Sy picks up on the third ring, always offering you a greeting that puts your entire soul at ease, but still, you're nervous while you put the phone to your ear. If you move at all, you could lose the signal you've just acquired.

"Hey," you answer, lungs seeming to deflate as you say it.

"What's up?" he asks, not just conversationally but knowingly, like he can tell from your very first greeting that you're calling him for a reason.

"Oh. Um." You lower your free hand from your mouth so you'll stop chewing your fingernails. "I, uh--What are you doin' right now?"

He answers with another question of his own. "What's goin' on?"

You take a deep breath. "Okay, so you know about the construction right outside town, right?" you jump into your story. You've been practicing it in your head so you won't sound so stupid when you explain what you've done. "Where that landslide from all the rain last week had those giant rocks mess up the road by the Bait and Tackle?"

"Yeah."

"So--right. Anyway...I'm guessin' that somethin' else like that happened today 'cause the road I use to go home actually flooded, and there wasn't any way my car could drive through all the water. But it was fine 'cause I thought that, y'know, since I've lived here for, like, two-plus years, I could just take a backroad and goin' the long way home to avoid where my road was washed out, but...Well, I...I got lost," you pathetically admit.

It's quiet for just a minute.

"And I couldn't use Maps 'cause I wasn't gettin' any reception out here, or else I'd--"

"I understand," Sy interrupts your over-explanation. "Just keep drivin' and tell me the name of the next street you see. I gotchu."

"That's the--" You clear your throat. "See, that's the thing. I'm actually on the side of the road...And, uh. I'm--My car's stuck."

"Stuck how?"

"Um." You pause. "Like, in the mud. From the...From all the rain."

"Didju wreck?"

"No, no, nothin' like that. I just--I'm just stuck."

Sy's voice helps calm you down a bit when he tells you that he's already outside and getting in his truck to come assist, but then you start to feel stupid. Extremely stupid.

Not only are you lacking any basic tools at all to get yourself out of this situation had you needed to do that on your own, you honestly don't even know how to provide basic directions to him to find you.

"Sy, I--I really don't known where I even am right now," you admit, trying not to fret but unable to keep it out of your voice. "I mean...I thought I was on Wildwood 'cause that's the road that circles around town and I thought it'd spit me out down by your way so I could back-track to my house, but the more I kept drivin', the more it felt all wrong, so then I tried to use my phone for directions and couldn't, and then someone was tailgatin' me and flashed their lights at me before speedin' past me all crazy and it freaked me out, so I was scared and I wanted to turn around, but obviously there wasn't anywhere to really do that at, so since there isn't any traffic, like, at all out here, I just turned around like an idiot in the middle of the freakin' road 'cause I was nervous and then I--then I got stuck."

"Your car's in the middle of the road now?"

"No, no, I--Sorry, I'm ramblin' and not makin' sense. No, it's off the road. Close to bein' in the ditch, actually...But it's like half on the road and half...off. It's just one tire that's in the mud, but I can't get it out."

"Just stay put. I'll find you. Put your hazards on if you ain't already."

"They're on," you quietly say, and then you belatedly feel like apologizing. "God, I'm sorry--I'm so sorry you have to deal with this right now."

"Nothin' to be sorry for. I wasn't doin' nothin' but gettin' supper ready."

"Oh, no," you say, about to jump into another slew of apologies, but Sy interrupts you.

"Walk me through the route you went, whatchu remember. You can do that," he encourages.

"Yeah," you agree, calming down. "Yeah, I can do that."

You take another deep breath.

"Okay, I went straight at the Bait and Tackle instead of going left which would've gotten me home. Then after that, I drove past the dump...then I made it to the elementary school...then I took a left there on Wildwood. I'm almost positive it was Wildwood. Then I just...kept going straight the whole time waitin' to see the road your mailbox is on but never did. That's literally it."

Sy is silent for a few seconds, and you're afraid you've lost reception.

You take a few steps towards the side of your car. "...Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, I'm just tryna...Okay, I know where you're at."

"You do? Is it far?"

"Nah. Just the next county over."

"The next county over?" you repeat. "How'd I end up there? How d'you know that?"

He chuckles. "There's a fork in the road on Wildwood. If you don't know to look out for it, you'll miss it. You gotta veer left to stay on it or else it turns into another road leadin' east. That's the road you gotta be on, or else you'd be by my place, and you'd recognize if you were."

You're obviously directionally-challenged. Would you recognize it if you were by Sy's place?

Yeah, you would. He's right.

"Oh," you utter. "Okay."

"I won't be but ten minutes, I bet, dependin' on how far up you are. Matter'a fact..." Sy mutters to himself in what you assume to be his way of giving himself directions, and you picture him using the map in his head to figure out where you are to guide him easier.

"What's the last thing you saw before you tried turnin' around?"

"There's nothin' but trees and mailboxes out here," you mutter. "I think I passed a church, though...A really long wooden fence...I mean, that's really all I saw."

"That ain't bad," he says. "You're just over the county line."

"You probably think I'm a total idiot, don't you?" you eventually whisper.

"Y/N," he warns. "It gets dark early these days. There ain't no stoplights, no streetlights. The road goes on forever."

"And the party never ends," you try to dully joke, quoting a song.

He chuckles. "Just stay on the phone and I'll get to you real soon."

"Thank God," you murmur, because you're cold as shit right now.

Actually, you're freezing, but you're worried that if you sat in your car right now, the extra weight really would make it slide into the ditch, and then what if that makes it so Sy can't actually get it unstuck somehow? What if it needed to be towed then? You don't want to get into all that.

But then by standing by it like you are, you're left shivering, and you're also worried that someone's going to see you and want to stop to try to help. You don't want that, either.

Well, regardless of whether you're inside your car or outside it, someone would probably stop, anyway; your lights are flashing. You'd just have to hope that it'd be a good person.

But you're a lone woman on a fucking dark road, and nothing about this situation is good.

You need to get a new car. That's what the lesson is from all of this. Your car's a piece of shit. At least it offers protection, though: When you see the first pair of headlights approach from the distance, you actually hide behind it.

"I see ya," Sy says, and after swallowing thickly, you relax.

"Oh, my God, thank you so much," you mutter. "That wasn't long at all."

Revealing yourself is pathetically embarrassing while Sy's loud truck slows down to an eventual stop beside you, and you finally end the phone call with him while awkwardly standing off to the side of the road.

Sy gets out of his truck, walks around the front of it, and touches the side of your arm before leaning down to briefly kiss you. Obviously you accept the kiss, but you take a step away from him once he gets a flashlight from the toolbox in his truck-bed and begins to walk to the back of your car. You watch him begin to talk and look to his side before realizing you're not there.

"Hey," he calls out in confusion, and you finally look over at him sheepishly. "Whatchu doin' all the way over there? C'mere."

"Oh," you utter, stepping forward, "do you need some help?"

"Was just gonna show you somethin'."

You wrap your arms around yourself and walk to where Sy is inspecting the muddy back of your vehicle, careful to keep a small distance between your bodies for some reason.

He pauses to assess you toe-to-hair. "You good?"

Quickly, you nod.

"You're avoidin' me."

You look away and shrug. "I just feel stupid."

"Baby--" Sy waits until you look back at him. "Shit happens."

"But I made a stupid decision," you say, rolling your eyes at yourself. "This wouldn't've happened if I didn't..."

Sy crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. He waits until you're looking at him again to speak.

"Alright, listen. Lemme shut that down for you. The road that leads to your house got washed out, so you took a backroad where you lost reception and then ended up missin' a turn that's hard for anyone to see. Then some dickhead drivin' like an asshole made your senses go on alert, and your intuition was tellin' you thatchu were prob'ly goin' the wrong way. I'd say you made all the right decisions, 'specially alone. Now, if we're gonna blame somethin' here, it's these tires you got, not you."

Obviously, the tires aren't to blame if you're the one in charge of the tires, but you nod along, anyway, at least feeling better that Sy's not judging you at all.

Sy opens the passenger-side door of his truck and pulls out a floormat. "Tires need somethin' to stick to," he tells you, walking the mat to your car and situating it behind your left rear tire, the one that's deep in the mud.

"Yeah."

"Less you have mud tires, you won't get nowhere," he advises you, standing up with dirty hands. "Tires'll just keep spinnin'."

"Yeah."

"We really oughta getchu some new tires, but if this ever happens again, try this first. Not a bad idea to keep a few small boards in your trunk, either. The idea is to give the tires some traction."

You nod again while he walks to the front of your car.

"Just gonna go easy on the gas here and see if I can't get 'er back on some ground she can move on. If not, we'll go to Plan B."

"Okay," you say, nodding along and continuing to watch while he sits down in the driver's seat of your car, his large body taking up the entire spot.

You don't know what Plan B is, but you're so fucking grateful he's just been patiently educating you this entire time instead of making you feel worse about it that you don't care. You could say you're sorry a million more times, but you're not compelled to anymore. There's a problem, and he's solving it. That's what he does.

All the time, really, especially with this car of yours, you think, feeling a little guilty, but then he rolls down the window and sticks out his head, distracting you from feeling too bad again.

"You wanna mud-fight later or somethin'?" he asks, and you stare at him blankly.

It's where you're standing. "Oh!" you exclaim before moving away.

In a surprising amount of time, Sy gets your car back on the road, just a little fish-tailing and then bam, good to go. It's a maneuver that at first has you impressed and then has you embarrassed all over again that you hadn't figured it out yourself.

Sy keeps your car idling in front of his truck, both vehicle's lights flashing in the middle of the road. When he steps out of the car with a groan, he acts like that was all in a day's work and hadn't just caused you a mini-panic attack, casually picking up the wet, brown floormat from the ground and tossing it in his truck bed.

Then he turns to you and wipes off his hands onto his jeans. "All good."

"Thanks, Sy," you softly say, and all he does is wave away your comment. "I know that was, like, no big deal to you at all, but you saved my night."

He offers you a sideways smile. "If you call, I'll answer."

It's a simple statement that's borderline cheesy, almost like a business' slogan or something, but it's genuine, so you get lost in his eyes a little.

"Got a loud ringtone for you and everything," he goes on, winking.

Finally, you smile right there along with him--a real smile. "What is it?"

"Wouldn'tchu like to know..."

"Well, yeah," you laugh. "Thats why I asked."

He changes topics. "You ain't really gonna go home after all this, are you?"

His question has intent, and while you'd love to go to his place tonight, you really would,l you frown. "I told Justine that I'd..." You trail off. "Actually, I can just drive over in the mornin' before she goes to work," you decide split-second. "It'll be fine."

In the red shine of his truck's brake lights, Sy's face seems to light up. "Yeah?"

You grin. "Yeah."

"And you ain't had supper yet, right?"

You shake your head.

"Well, follow me home then," he says, reaching out to wipe a muddy finger onto your cheek. "I'm starvin'."

You bring a hand up to your face. "Syy."

"Ah, we can shower at home, too," he teases before tapping the side of your shoe with his boot and taking a step back towards his truck.

The word home hits differently when he says it, like the place somehow belongs to you, too, or something, so you're left standing in the middle of the road for a minute until he snaps you out of it again, gesturing to your car with his head.

"Go on. I'll lead the way so you can follow," he says, and you nod, finally giving a thankful wave and walking to your car.

"Thanks again," you call out, and he nods back.

When you get inside your car, you adjust the seat to be closer to the steering wheel again, grateful for the warm air again. You wait until Sy's truck slowly starts creeping forward to put your car in gear again, and once he can tell that you're behind him with no trouble, he accelerates.

Within a few seconds, you realize that there's strange music playing on the radio, and you glance towards the center console to find that Sy had just changed the channel entirely, putting on some weird opera music.

You squint your eyes and stare at the back of his truck while turning the channel back to your regular classic rock station. That man...

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