#cpt syverson

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Pt. 3: Drivin’ you crazy...

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: Sy tells his story and you tell yours. And all of that pent up feeling has to go somewhere, right?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Mentions of teenage pregnancy, cheating, deception, divorce, breakups., self-destructive behaviors, fighting, promiscuity, mentally abusive relationships, miscarriage. Army life. Old automobiles, a 20 year high school reunion, a drive-in, red meat and french fries, dirty talk, voice kink, mentions of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), grown ppl getting NASTY in the back of a car, graphic depictions of sex acts.

Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N:  This is the third installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my cold dead writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

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Previous part

—--

You let Sy’s arm go and settled in for the ride once you got to State Route 405. The window was down and you were making waves in the wind, just like you used to do all those years ago. 

Sy looked over at you and felt something that he couldn’t name at that moment, and the feeling intensified when you reached up and pulled your hair out of the chignon, letting it go wild in the wind. 

He didn’t know he made a sound in his throat as he admired how you looked in the moonlight. You looked back over at him, hair whipping around your face; gorgeous.

“What?”

He realized that he was grateful that you agreed to come with him at all. He said something instead of what he was feeling.

“You hungry?”

You looked out to the highway and smiled at the road.

“Looks like you already know the answer to that.”

Sy nodded at you, a slight smile on his lips. He felt the familiar rhythm of you two falling back in sync. Didn’t seem like two decades at all. 

“Just checking.”

After a comfortably silent ten minute ride, you pulled up at Cardin’s Drive-Thru, an institution in your town. You grinned at Sy.

“The world is your oyster, order anything you want.”

He waved his hand toward the menu on his side of the car and you giggled at the familiar phrase. You scooted closer to him on the bench seat. 

“Sorry. I wear glasses now. Didn’t bring them.”

Sy didn’t know why the image of you in glasses got him hard. You glanced at him as you leaned over him to look at the menu to see if it had changed. He took in your breasts as you gave him a view of your cleavage as you leaned over his lap. Lord, give him strength.

“No worries at all, Buttercup.”

His voice was gruff and you felt his breath on your face as you closed your eyes and took a whiff of burgers and fries and Sy.

Sy was practicing all of his restraint as you stayed close to him to look at the menu.

“I want…”

That voice did something to Sy, and he had to shift in his seat. You and that damn cute look of curiosity didn’t help the situation in his pants either. 

“I want… a Smokey Burger and a chocolate shake please!” 

You were as happy as a clam.

“Y’know. I’ve had dreams about Cardin’s burgers, especially since I stopped eating red meat two years ago. But you know what, tonight seems to be all about “Fuck It!” 

Sy raised his eyebrow at you.

“You just ordered a burger with double patties and bacon.”

“Yep,” You popped the p. “I know.” 

You grinned at him and he shook his head.

“Still living dangerously, I see.”

You raised your chin.

“I’m still living,” you replied.

An understanding passed between you.

“Amen.”

Sy stretched his long arm out of the window to press the button and order, and you were staring at his forearms again. Don’t be such a slut, you thought.

“Yes, we need a Smokey Burger, a chocolate shake, a Huge Burger, no onions, and an extra large Frenchy fries, with a large Dr. Enuf.”

He smirked at you after the order was confirmed.

“It’s a given that you would come for my Frenchy fries.”

Sy gave you a short history about the ownership of the legendary drive-in, and how the new owners were long time residents who vowed to restore its former glory, including the world famous Frenchy fries.

“Well, Cardin’s fries are legendary, but I have to be careful. ‘M not the same size I used to be.”

You smoothed your dress down as much as you could while seated. Sy followed the path of your hands on your body and licked his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look damn good to me.”

Sy arched his eyebrow at you and you laughed nervously.

“I’m dead serious. You look even better than I remember, Buttercup. You were always so pretty.”

You were quiet as you looked into his eyes. He was being sincere.

“Sy, that’s sweet.”

He moved toward you, getting into your space. You couldn’t breathe, and your primal brain was kicking in.

“If you only knew what thoughts I’m thinkin, Buttercup. You wouldn’t call me, “sweet.”

 His eyes ran over your body posessively. 

“You are still the finest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You were locked in, ready to ask him what he was thinking and let him ruin your life all over again. You parted your lips to lick them and speak when you heard the metal of the drive-in tray connect with the open window behind Sy and your focus shifted as Sy moved away.

“Got your food here!”

Sy ran his hand through his short curls. He looked annoyed. At the interruption, his hair, maybe both?

“Haven’t had my hair this long in a while. Growing it out.”

You reached out and arranged an errant curl.

“Looks good on you, Sy.”

He just grinned and then turned to get the food. 

Once the food was in the car and paid for, he asked, “Wanna take this up to the Lookout?”

You looked at him skeptically.

“Only so we can tailgate and talk and stretch our legs. And look at the view.”

He smiled that rogueish smile at you. Some things never change, you thought with a smile. You sipped your shake, which was still really too thick to drink, and nodded.

“What the hell. You only live once, right?”

“Ya damn right, Buttercup.”

— 

You sat eating Sy’s Frenchy fries under the star light as country music played and Sy looked at you thoughtfully, Beyonce playing in the background.

Il tuo fedel

Sospira ognor

Cessa, crudel

Tanto rigor

Ooh

Ooh

“You ready?”

You hopped off the liftgate and stood in front of him, prepared to hear his story.

“Let’s go.”

Sy took a deep breath as you waited and listened. 

“Well, the fact is, you told me so.”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me if I was sure that the baby was mine. Then I got mad and that made things worse. And that was the last time you spoke to me.”

“Yeah.”

“And after you broke up with me, rightly so in that situation, I decided to be there for my family. Becca and I got married at the courthouse before the baby came, and I enlisted in order to have an income and health insurance for the baby.”

Your heart clenched.

“I shipped out right after little Jeremiah was born.”

There was a wistful smile on Sy’s face that warmed your heart.

“Becca stayed with her parents while I was on tour, and for two years we were apart. It was hard bein’ away, and Becca and I didn’t have the best relationship, but I was set to make it work for our kid, ya’ know?”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less, Sy.”

He looked at you long and hard.

“Becca broke the news to me when I came back. The baby was Jeremy’s, but he didn’t want to accept responsibility at the time, and she knew I would.”

“What?”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Jeremy Atkins. Your best friend Jeremy?”

“Unhhunh.”

Sy looked as hurt as if it just happened.

“I am so sorry Sy.”

“It was a helluva blow. And I was so angry. At myself for believing the lie, you know? For getting attached to the idea of being a parent.”

Your heart broke for Sy. You moved closer to him.

“I was so self destructive. Got into fights with everyone at every bar within a 50 mile radius. Then, I went right back to Afghanistan, acting as if each one was a suicide mission.”

Sy’s voice lowered.

“Came home in another two years and screwed up the courage to ask Bubbles about you. She told me you were engaged to…”

“Scott. Yeah…”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, but Sy lifted your chin with his fingers, causing you to look him in the eyes.

“And you know what? Thinking that you were happy calmed me down a little. I was proud of you for getting your degree and moving on, so I decided to do the same. Went to college, mostly on line, and then Officer’s Training School, joined Special Forces. Went back to the front and became a leader. Immersed myself in the cause while keeping perspective of my role in it. But a couple of years ago I got injured,”

He saw the look on your face.

“It’s my back. I’m mostly fine. But it allowed me to retire early.”

Sy looked around at the view, the twinkling lights of the town.

“I started a business with a partner, and I volunteered to be the offensive line coach for the high school in my spare time. I even got to coach Jeremiah his senior year. He’s turned out to be a good kid.”

He looked at you, and time seemed to melt away. He was the same Sy you fell in love with 20 years ago. But with so much more wisdom. 

“I live a good life, Buttercup. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

You moved to sit beside him again on the tailgate. You were silent as you tried to think of what to say.

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m sorry this happened to you. I forgive you for what I held against you. Sy? D’you forgive me?”

You needed his answer like air.

“Nothing to forgive, Buttercup. Like I said. I can’t complain about my life.”

You looked up at Sy who was looking up at the stars with a wry smile on his face. You looked up, too. He looked back down at your profile.

“What about you? How has your life been?”

You took a deep breath, contemplating that question and the stars. You decided to tell him everything. Well, almost everything.

“I was angry too, Sy. You know that. Angry that all my well laid plans were turned to dust in a moment. When I went to college across the state, I decided to stop caring so much. So, I fucked everyone in sight.”

Sy winced. You chuckled.

“I calmed down in a couple of years and met Scott. He seemed so steady? He was in law school, and his father was a partner in a big firm. He said that I didn’t have to finish my degree; I could just go home with him to New York City, have a couple of babies and be a society wife. Seemed like a good idea, so I did. I left just two semesters shy of having my degree in architecture.” 

You shook your head at your gullibility.

“My mom was elated, thinking I’d hit the jackpot.”

You got up again and started pacing, hands wrapped around yourself as you thought back to that time in your life.

“It was not good. Two miscarriages, 3 mistresses, and 8 years later, I finally found the courage to leave with Carla when she came to visit. I vowed never to go back to that headspace again.”

Sy stood up then, fists closed at his side and his jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know. I asked about you, but neither Bubbles nor Blossom told me that. I would have come for you, Buttercup.”

You smiled at him. 

“They knew better than to say a word to you. Seven years ago I didn’t want anyone to know. And I didn’t need rescuing. I rescued myself.”  

You smiled again and Sy just wanted to hold you.

“Went back to school and finished my degree. Lived life on my own terms.”

You looked him in the eye again.

“So yeah, I guess I have a pretty good life, too.”

“I’m glad, Buttercup.”

Sy sat down again and your eyes moved down the length of him. Why did brown dress shoes get you so hot? You had a problem.

“You sharing this good life with anyone?”

Sy’s voice made you nervous all of a sudden. You looked at your hands.

“Not at the moment, no. I’m single.”

Sy seemed to let out a breath. 

“Me, too, been single ever since I retired.”

You didn’t know what to say. 

“Oh.”

Sy stood up and walked in front of you. You were still looking at his shoes.

“Ya know, I’ve only felt like I’ve been in love once, no. Twice in my life.”

“Hmmm.”

You were afraid of this conversation and you couldn’t fully participate. 

“Please look at me Buttercup.”

You did as he asked. His eyes were burning right through you.

“The first time I felt that was 20 years ago, with you. And the second…”

Sy moved toward you and took your hands in his.

“Hell, we’ve wasted enough time, Buttercup. The truth is,when I saw you tonight I realized that I’m still in love with you now.”

—-

The wind was knocked out of you. How were you supposed to respond?

“Sy, I- I can’t survive another hurt. My heart is in pieces.”

“I know, Buttercup. But I promised you that I will love you until the day I die. I meant that shit. I still mean it.”

He moved closer, and he slotted himself between your thighs. His hands went to your hips and he pulled you close.

“Won’t you let me make it up to you? These last 20 years?”

You continued to look into his eyes as you considered his request. You put your hands on his chest as you made your decision.

“No, Sy. I can’t let you do that.”

He looked hurt and his eyes were cast down as his cheeks dusted pink. He thought he blew it. Then you spoke again.

“The past is the past. It’s done. We can try and work on today. And tomorrow. One day at a time. I’d like to try with you.”

Sy’s brow furrowed, but his face softened as he realized what you were saying. He gave you a soft smile.

“Fair enough, Buttercup. Let’s work on today. And tomorrow. I’ll give you some time.”

You thought about how Sy was always a gentleman with you, never pushing you to do anything you didn’t want to do, always putting your needs first. Well, you needed him now.

Your hands were fisting his shirt now, pulling apart so that you could see his dog tags against his chest hair, and that image sent you feral. You pulled him toward you. Sy sucked in a breath as you left a soft kiss on his lips, his beard tickling your cheeks. He seemed frozen as you pulled away. 

“Mmmhm.”

Sy grunted in his throat and his hands came up to your waist. His cock was swelling and he felt on the edge of control. 

“I wanna kiss you again, Buttercup. And not in a ‘sweet’ way.”

“Do it, Sy. We’re grown now.” 

You were breathless at the emotion and lust in his voice. 

Sy moved his hand to the back of your neck and you shivered as he carded his fingers at the back of your scalp, tugging on your curls to make you look up at him.

“‘M not sure you are ready for all that I want, Buttercup.”

And his mouth descended on yours, his thumb came around and ticked your jaw open for him to invade your senses with himself. He kissed you like he owned you, and his hands ended up on both sides of your head as you moaned your way through the kiss. He pulled away, looked at your lips, then went back in to kiss you again.

“Ya got my mind runnin’ baby. Those lips. Fuck. I’m down bad.”

Sy’s cock was hard and aching, and his hands were on your body: those thighs, that ass as he pulled you closer to him. Then he stopped and leaned away, searching your face. Your eyes were dilated and those lips were parted.

Holy fuck, was he a goner.

You whimpered and pulled him closer, your hands going to his ass as he kissed you again. He was laughing at you as he pulled away this time.

“Look who’s getting spicy no-”

Sy stopped talking when you ripped his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. You were disappointed when you saw the tank he was wearing underneath.

“Sorry Sy. I ruined your shirt. I don’t know what came over me.”

You looked up at him under your lashes and he couldn’t tell if you were being facetious or not. You toyed with his dog tags, imagining them waving in your face as... Shit. What were you doing?

Sy stepped back and pulled the shirt off, and pulled the tank out of his pants, then came back to you immediately, hands moving up your thighs, pushing your short dress up even further.

“I know what came over you. Same thing’s that’s been possessing me for years, Buttercup.”

Sy leaned down to capture your eyes and you were stuck. You were locked in on him as he proceeded to destroy your sou.

“You’ve been drivin’ me crazy for years, running around my mind as I did a lot of things. Thought of you when I was training, eating, doing things around the house. When I was in-country and alone in my tent at night. When I…”

Sy stopped and licked his lips as his hands reached the tops of your thighs, long fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. You squirmed in his grip.

“Shit, Buttercup, do you ever think of me when you touch yourself?”

You were mute, mouth open to breathe, and Sy knew you were in the zone. 

“Cause I sure as hell do. Do you know how often I’ve imagined you wrapped around me when it was just my hand?”

Sy whispered it in your ear, but pulled back to see your reaction, which was wide-eyed lust. You licked your lips and nodded, ready to hear more. 

“Time and space is nothin’ to fight this powerful magic that is the thought of you, Darlin’. I imagine you, imagining me while you touch your pretty little pussy, circling your little clit with your delicious wetness. I dream of you getting off because of me, just like I cum so fucking hard just thinking of you. Every time.”

Sy watched your eyes close and your chest heave as you tried to regulate. He continued with his seduction.

“...But I know it’s nothing like the real thing.”

Your own fingers ventured below his undershirt, finding thick abdominal muscles there, and a dense happy trail. His stomach clenched in response to your touch.

“Mmmm. Can I touch you too, Buttercup? Are these panties soaked? Can I check to make sure?”

You were nodding as your hands went up his pecs, grabbing them, your fingers ghosting over his nipples. Sy moved his hands at a glacial pace it seemed, because you wanted him instantly where you needed him most. 

He found your sodden center over the gusset of your panties and you pressed into his light touch. He groaned as he started rubbing up and down your clothed seam and pressing the now sticky material into you. You leaned forward and started licking and sucking the veins that popped up on his neck. He moaned.

‘You got me so far gone, baby. I wanna…’’

He grabbed the side of your panties and you whimpered with need.

“Just say the word, and I’ll stop. But right now I can’t help myself. Need to feel you, touch you, taste you.”

“Don’t stop, Sy. Been waiting so long.”

Sy put his forehead against yours, breath huffing in time with yours. You again asked for what you wanted.

“Sy. I need you. Need to feel y-”

Your words caught in your throat as Sy pulled your panties to the side and sunk his fingers into your wetness. The obscene slosh of you made Sy pulse in his pants. He trailed up and down your cut, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“Why?” 

He looked up at you as if you had wounded him, blue eyes blazing.

“Why are you so fucking…so fucking wet? How do you expect for me t-to f-f fuck! T’ function when…?”

The stutter did you in.

“‘S’all you, Sy. Got wet when I first saw you t’night…”

Sy pulled his fingers out and tasted them, moaning, then growling, and then took a hold of your waist and practically threw you in the back of the truck. He leaned over the gate, pulled your thighs apart, then tore your panties off, causing you to squeal.

“You’re so fucking pretty. Gotta taste you, Buttercup. Can’t believe it’ll be my first time.”

“Go for it.”

You winked and smiled at him, but the look was wiped from your face as he dove into your crease, tongue licking a rude stripe from the bottom to the top of you. You put your hand over your mouth as you moaned.

Sy looked up at you, offended.

“Don’t keep your sounds from me, baby. Need to hear the real thing instead of my imagination.”

He went back to work kissing your clit, then sucking it into his mouth with increasing intensity. The slight burn from his beard was delicious. You got a grip of his hair as he manhandled your thighs, keeping you in place as you writhed and arched beneath him. He moaned against you while talking to your pussy. 

“So fucking good for me.” 

“Taste like a jar o’ spicy honey...”

“Hmmm. Beard’s all soaked now. That’s my girl.”

“Gettin’ even wetter for me, that’s what I like. Gimme.”

“I love this pretty little pussy.”

His proclamations were punctuated by kisses, licks, and sucks and finally, he pushed one thick finger into you as you called his name. The cunilingus, penetration, and praise had you teetering on the precipice.

“Syyyyyy!”

“That’s it. Let me hear you. Damn, you’re so fucking hot and so godamn tight. Dream about giving you my cock, but I don’t know if you can take it…”

He knew he had you as he leaned back down to suck your clit like taffy candy again. You watched him and moaned. Then he added another finger. You stiffened. Then he crooked his fingers, telling you to come to him, and you did. And all over his face.

Sy took off his tank and wiped his face with it, then unbuckled his pants and fisted his cock, crawling in the back of the truck with you.

“Don’t have any condoms, just let me… just let me rub one out…so fucking hard for you Buttercup.”

Sy was so far gone, his mind was mush.

“C’mere, Baby…”

You reached for him as he shuffled near you on his knees and started stroking, admiring the large mushroom cap of his cock glistening from pre-cum in the starlight. You fell in love with the way his length curved into the curls on his abs, and the way his breath hitched as your hand tried to close around him. You pressed your nose into his belly to inhale his scent, careful not to stop what your hand was doing. 

It was your turn to pleasure him.

“I do think about you, Sy. I imagine deep throating you while you play in my pussy. Makes me cum so hard against my little bullet.”

You pressed a kiss near his belly button as his cock jerked in your hand and his abs clenched. His hand went to your hair. You could tell that he wanted to move your mouth to his dick, but that he was holding back. You lifted your hand, jacking him faster as you kissed his balls, which were so tight against him.

“Wan’ you to cum all over my stomach, my tits…”

Sy groped your chest, searching for and then twisting your taught nipple when he found it. He was outright panting as you talked him through it.

“.... my ass, my lips, Sy…”

His groan was louder now and his knees were shaking as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, pausing, to purse your lips and gloss them in the clear fluid at his tip. You gazed up at him as you stuck your tongue out and kitten licked him.

“Truth is, I’m a slut for you. Fuck my face Sy,”

“Shhhhhitttttttt….!”

Sy grabbed your head and used your mouth while you concentrating on taking his thick length and breathing. 

“You’re a slut, hunh? My slut?”

You nodded as best you could, only to have your eyes roll as he pushed down your throat.

“Dream about swallowing my cum? D’ya? Like a good girl?”

“Ummhnnghhh!”

There were tears rolling down your face and saliva dripping down your chin.

“So fucking pretty swallowing my cock. Fuck….here it… fucking… comes….. Fuckkkk!”

Sy roared as his dick pulsed cum directly down your throat and you received it, letting your jaw go slack. Sy groaned as he pulled out and stroked the last of his spend on your outstretched tongue.

“So fucking nasty, Buttercup, who woulda thought?”

He beamed at you as you showed him his handiwork. He closed your mouth and you swallowed before he pulled you in for a filthy kiss. He cleaned your face with his tank top, straightened your clothes and his, and then pulled you to him.

“That was…”

You were hoarse, and you laughed. Sy laughed with you.

“That was hot.”

“Yeah. It was great.”

“I love you, Buttercup.”

There was silence on your end. You shivered as you thought about what was holding you back.

Sy didn’t want any awkwardness. He kept it moving.

“It’s getting chilly out.” 

He climbed out of the back of the truck and picked up his shirt, flicking any dust off of it and put it on you. Then, he put his tank top back on.

“Sy! That’s… Dirty.”

You blushed as you thought of your fluids all over it.

Sy lifted it and smelled it, then grinned back up at you.

“Yeah, smells like your pussy. Don’t think I’ll ever wash it.”

“Jacob Syverson!”

You swatted at his chest.

“Don’t act all shy on me now, not after what we just did, Buttercup.” 

He lead you back around to the passenger seat again and buckled you in. You bit your lip wondering what came next. Was this really happening? 

In a few minutes you were back at your car. The parking lot was empty except for your rental. Sy jumped out and opened your door. When you were back in your car, he leaned through the window and kissed your lips. 

“You’re here until Monday, yeah?”

It was Friday night. There was a weekend of activities for the reunion planned.

“Yeah. I’ll be at the cookout tomorrow, and church and brunch on Sunday. And I have a job interview Monday morning.”

Sy raised his eyebrow at that last bit, but didn’t ask for an explanation.

“Can I see you tomorrow night? Dinner?”

“Okay.”

Why were you so breathless?

Sy was anxious at letting you go.

“I’ll follow you to your air bnb. Just to make sure everything’s safe.”

You smirked at him. 

“Alright.”

Sy followed you to your old neighborhood, which now seemed to be gentrified, got out and checked out the house. Then, you walked him back to the front door. He leaned on the door frame and towered above you.

“G’night, Buttercup."

He licked those sinful lips of his.

"Sweet dreams.”

He leaned down and kissed you and then straightened up, eyes on you hungrily. He was driving you crazy, looking like a sex god. You thought about the amount of time you had left and you made a decision. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the house.

“Get your fine ass in here, Sy. I’m not done with you tonight.”

----

If you like it, hit reblog!

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[dungeonpuppykai]

|| Triumph Of The Beast ||

Description: Captain Syverson learnt that the only way to have her was to ask her hand in marriage. So he did just that. And she was all his now, both to hold and to possess.

Pairing: Soft-Dark!Captain Syverson | Sheikha!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Captain Syverson. This is a mature story with dark undertones so kindly browse at your own discretion. Please note that this piece is only a work of fiction that in no way aims to reinforce or propose any stereotypes to any ethnicity or race. Minors do not interact. 

Warning(s): Soft-Dark!Syverson, he is lowkey messed up, smut with plot (I am sorry), possessive behavior, his obsession with her chastity, naive!reader, size kink, biting (it's Henry and his canines ffs), boob play, manhandling, power imbalance, arranged marriage, fingering, handjob, dirty talk, m!dom, f!sub, he's a man, misogyny, age gap (reader is 20's, Sy is early 40's fight me), he's lowkey intimidating, slight spanking, allusion to bondage, manipulation, slow burn-ish, maybe more dialogue than necessary, p-in-v penetration, corruption kink, no use of 'Y/n'. 

Note: Her father is not the mean Sheikh from the movie lmfao. Reader doesn't even have to be Iraqi, just Eastern that you can TOTALLY imagine yourself as because it's a frickin' story for God's sake! Ps, This blocked me so hard mid-write I nearly abandoned it lmfao, I need a break! 

.

Captain Syverson had always thought the notion of the first touch buzz to be foolish. To quote him in his own words, the electric touch that people claimed their beloved aroused within them was nothing more than a steaming pile of horseshit. 

Until now. 

As his thick and coarse battle hardened hands cupped the side of the tender face of his dear wife, the Captain's thumb darted out to quickly glide across the perfect arch of her cheekbone before it moved down to the bow of her lips, his body combusting into a thousand flames of raw desire. 

Her skin was so tender he feared it may come off if he pressed on it too hard. The structure of her body that adorned her traditional wedding attire seemed so fragile in this moment next to him and in his big old bed that the thought of ever manhandling a thing as delicate as her terrified him. The contrast of her usually confident and intelligent countenance was striking in quality to the humility with which she now offered her submission to him. 

His suspicions against his body and strength increased by the passing minute; he felt petrified to even breathe too easily near her. The fear that it may damage her in some way haunted him and filled his lungs with dread. It was not that she was the most petite thing that he had ever seen or she held resemblance to an adolescent in terms of size or any of that weird shit, no. 

It was instead the way in which her head bowed in just the perfect way so it indicated respect and submission; not so high that it would seem that she was trying to deny him his station but not so low that it became off-putting. It was an acknowledgement to his power in their dynamic; an agreement of a lifetime. 

The man could swear he was going crazy. 

There was simply no way he was going to make it through the night with his sanity intact. 

It was just the effect she had on him. 

If there was anyone to blame it was her. 

Because even though he wanted to hide this girl so safely in his arms for the rest of his days that not even a harsh breeze would be allowed to touch her, the erratic way in which his boiling blood sizzled its way through his veins, The Captain wanted nothing more than to just turn her around, press her breathtaking face into the mattress and take her over and over until she was swell with his litter. 

Or press his bigger body against hers and take her deep and raw until her mind gave up on consciousness  

Perhaps place her between his own legs and feel her mouth around him until his seed spilled from her nose. 

Maybe make her mount him and slap her ass that he just knew would be perfect over and over to keep her going even when she didn't want to. 

The possibilities were endless from where Syverson was standing. 

And he was determined to try his hand at all of them, and more. 

His eyebrows furrowed just a little when she awkwardly pecked his lips for the fifth time in a straight row and refused to give him more, cringing away when he attempted to deepen the kiss. The girl that giggled and covered her mouth on which her red lipstick had already smudged was a dead leaf echo of the confident and liberal sheikha -prized daughter of the sheikh supreme- that critically watched the foreign Captain everytime he was around with her bright and vigilant brown eyes so full of scrutiny that it made him, a grown man, blush. It wasn't his fault, really. Her eyes had the most attractive gleam of intelligence to them and the black khol that lined them only accentuated their beauty more. 

She had always been so elegant Syverson knew he was a goner the first time his eyes had been granted the pleasure of looking at her. Sat aside her father basking in her confidence, silk scarf draped around her head and body in the most perfect way, a form he could only describe as agreeable always clad in decent clothes, fingers adorning rings with colorful stones and modesty dripping off of every single mannerism of hers. 

How could a man not look twice?

And then not consider looking away utterly blasphemous on account of being unappreciative of such godly beauty?

"I- I do not know how to…" Her accent turned his gears just right. "K- Kiss, Captain" oh. 

Of course. 

Blood rushed to his cock that hadn't throbbed like this in a long time. That was, if it ever had. 

And then his sweet, chaste wife just had to call him Captain.

Fuck. 

He was going to tear her apart. 

And she had no idea.

The obedient daughter, who was never afraid to voice her thoughts and outsmart every man who dared stand against her with inadequate knowledge of the debate at hand, had happily bowed down to her father's wish that she marry the charming and noble Captain -to them a warrior who was not afraid to fight for his country; a man truly admirable- after said Captain had asked for her hand in marriage when he had realized that that was the only way to have her. 

Mind, body, soul… heart. 

Sure, it had taken Syverson and his rather daft attempts at impressing her some quick-witted answers and astute responses by a rather critical her to realize it.

But she was his bride now.

And that was all that mattered. 

"Well, ain't that just dandy?" Syverson realizes just how heavy his breathing really is when his words come out gravelly and almost forced. She is unable to hold his eyes for very long so she stares at his chest instead, a most remarkable coy smile across her lips. The fact that she looks every other man with a taught unaffected sternness but has blushed everytime their eyes have met after the wedding just drives him all the more insane. 

Her dark eyebrows furrow as she lightly tilts her head to the side. He has noticed that she has some trouble understanding his dialect. So he caresses her cheek again, this time in a reassuring manner;

"I know you'll figure it out soon. You're a clever lil' thing, ain'tcha?" She looks up just long enough to nod with a meeting of their eyes. 

"Yes, Captain" god, even her way of speaking has softened.

The knowledge that he was the only man in this whole wide world whom she treated like this made him want to worship her with his love and devotion in every way possible. 

Because The Captain was naturally a very possessive man who did not appreciate ran through goods.  

"Alright now, just trust your husband and sit back like a good lil' bride, alright?" It was taking him all of his focus to not just push her back and have his depraved ways with her all night long.

"Y- Yes, Captain." 

"Atta girl," before he leaned back in and brushed his lips against hers just long enough to whisper, "now hush and don'tcha try to keep them pretty lips shut on me" he felt her going breathless against him when his mouth fit against the slot of her parted one perfectly; as though it had been created just for him. 

She did her best to keep up with as much obedience as her modesty would allow her to muster but the sensation of his mouth against hers, the scratch of his coarse beard across her delicate skin, the wetness of his tongue that took its time swiping against her bottom lip and the way that he didn't have to break the kiss to know that she had extended her had in his direction to take a hold of him to deal with the intensity of it all, the sheer desperation with which he reached out his fingers and clutched hers in an affectionate way that also had a territorial tinge to it was all too much for her to handle.

An unfamiliar thrill that she had been a stranger to until this moment began to patter through her bloodstream. Her heart pounded, her sweat glands soaked, her face burnt and her stomach fluttered. 

"Captain" was all she was allowed to whisper in the two second interval the man allowed them to recover their breathing. 

"Well, I'll be damned, darlin'" Syverson husked through rushed kisses as he hurriedly helped her lay down with her attire still intact, both too desperate to strip her and wanting to take her as she was, for tonight she looked the most stunning he had ever seen her. "You're so dang pretty I can't even fathom stayin' off ya now that you're mine" a hush of cold breath rushed past her flush lips as her thick eyebrows drooped upwards in reaction to him dipping his face in the curve of her neck.

"I am all yours to do with whatever you please, my C- Captain" her soft hands flew to grab at his shirt as the foreign sensation of a man's body against her skin sent an electric bolt down her spine. 

His body was heavy above hers as he groaned at her response and grinded his bulge against her covered sex, peppering kisses all over her skin. "God damn, baby. Your mama sure raised you up right, didn't she?" A loud squeak resonated in the air when the new husband simply could not hold back his passion anymore and bit down on the inviting flesh of her shoulder, letting out a stomach churning moan at her taste and squeezing her sides as the smell of her fragrance oils hit his nose. 

"Fuck, baby" it took him all of his willpower and the promise that he could go back for more only easier to part from her. "I can't–" sitting up to kneel over her, Syverson pulled his shirt over his head before tossing it somewhere in the room. "I can't hold back no more" as he leaned back down and placed one hand beside her head to keep himself from suffocating her, the way she looked up at him with wonder, timidity, need, sent a pang of pain to his cock. "Talk to me, darlin'" he gathered her wrists in one hand before placing them above her head, now reaching for the clothed bump on her chest. "You feelin' anything?" A soundless breath left her and she shuddered in such a way that her boobs trembled feverishly. 

"S- Strange… a- and… oh my God!" She had to shut her eyes and turn her head to the side when he suddenly manhandled one of her breasts out of the deep neckline of her wedding night dress. Her hands rushed to cover her chest by instinct but her husband's authoritative swat was much quicker and stronger. 

Syverson chuckled at the defensive gasp she let out, a crazed darkness floating in his eyes as he pinnned her feverish hands out of his way, coarse palm now feeling up her other breast that was freed as he spoke. "Ain't no God 'round these parts tonight, baby. Just me…" His lips enveloped hers in a right and hungry kiss. "'N you" the way she nervously gulped when he pulled back to stare into her eyes only added to the fire in his body. "Say, baby" he trailed gentle kisses down her chin, along her throat and then down to the fluffy cushions of soft flesh dotted with flush, erect nipples in the middle. A surprised cry jutted out of her mouth and her fingernails tried to claw at his hand that confined them above her when he pressed one wet kiss on each nub. "Ain't this just somethin' else?" 

The girl had no idea what possessed her to say what she did, but her hips moved faster than her brain could catch on and her lips worked before reticence could hinder her communication. "I- It is, Captain. T- Thank you" of course she had felt arousal before. Of course she had been wet before. Some of those times she had a certain handsome American Captain to thank for, not that she would ever willingly admit it. But she had never known how to relieve herself of it other than a cold shower. 

Her mother had warned her that not every feeling that transpires in one in times of idleness should be chased and she had listened.

But this was not solitary boredom, this was not a devilish lure, her mother wasn't here and it was her wedding night with a man she was slowly becoming sure she would be able to call her dear husband one day. 

If her husband was kind enough to be considerate about what made her feel what she could only identify as exciting, she deemed it a stupidity to refuse the treatment. 

"Aw, baby" Syverson's hands only part from her breasts so his mouth can greedily latch onto them, his bearded lips pressing all over them before his hand nearly snatches her skirts out of his way since the layers seem to be never ending. "To think that I ain't even begun with ya and you're already thankin' me like a sweet little lady" now his mouth traveled to her stomach and the only word he had for its appearance was perfect. A shudder set in her shoulders when his beard scratched her navel before his teeth softly nibbled away on her skin. 

"W- Would you like me to get up and t- take my clothes off, dear?" God damn.

He really had hit the fucking jackpot. 

"Hold on now, darlin'" he husked as his fingers caressed her nubs, his hot mouth littering its kisses over her skin further down south. "I wanna take you like this first" the readied rise in the middle of her shoulder blades smoothed out and she settled back into the mattress again wordlessly. "Well now, are you gonna be good and keep them arms up high like a good lil' thing or am I gonna have to tie 'em up?" A drawn out moan sounded from deep within her throat when his chin deliberately brushed against her clothed sex, coarse fingers twirling her nipple between them.

Syverson felt an unconscious clench in the muscles of her thighs upon his words finally registering in her clouded mind. "N- No, I- I'll be good, husband. I promise." 

"Atta girl" he praised in a satisfied tone before letting go of her wrists. 

It was after that that his hands roamed free and wild all over her form. The Captain kissed, sucked, nibbled, pinched, groped, licked and bit all to his desire, the growing moans of his bride only encouraging him further. 

"God damn, if these ain't the sweetest damn legs I've ever seen" Syverson licked away the thread of spit that previously connected his mouth to her now bruised hiphone that he had successfully marked as his territory. The fact that no man had ever seen them and the plan that he made to never let anyone do so either was making his ears hot. His sides were becoming sore with need like he was the virgin. 

"And this– fuck, c'mere" he couldn't hold it back anymore. The Captain had always been an ass man and the fact that he was yet to see his wife's backside was making him mad now. Her yelp morphed into a confused giggle when he bundled her ankles in one of his rough hands, having already rid her of her panties, and easily raised both her legs up until her lower half dangling by his hold on her. "Hmmm, I just knew you had a perfect lil' rump stashed in there" his free hand felt her soft cheeks up before he traced his index finger down her crack, cursing at the way they clenched in defense. Then his depravity got the best of him and he wound his hand back and gave a handful of strong blows to her poor behind that started blushing in an instant. 

"Oh– ouch!" Her next nervous giggle made him raise an eyebrow as he divided an ankle between each hand and parted her legs to look down at her. 

"Think this is funny, do you?" The girl quickly stopped herself nervously. "You know who that's for?" He didn't even mind the giggles, if anything they were rather endearing to him. But the timidity in her eyes was way too sweet for him to pass up. She shook her head no. "Bad little girls who make fun of their fellas, that's who." It was the cock hardening way in which her bottom lip wobbled sensitively that dried his throat. 

A young woman once so strong, all commanding and authorative now exposed in such a submissive manner and completely at his mercy. 

"S- Sorry, dear" he hummed, reaching for the mound between her legs to roughly feel her pussy up in blunt gropes. 

"You can consider those as payback for all them times you thought you could get slick with me in front of my boys just 'cause you were the Sheikh's daughter" her eyes widened and she blushed harder than before. 

"I- I–"

"Yes, you" though Syverson's words were crisp, his kiss on her nether lips was tender and perhaps that was the sole reason why she didn't tear up from being reprimanded when she was so vulnerable and hypersensitive like this. "Thought I'd just forget all that brattin' of yours?" 

She had to hurriedly sit up for that one and reach for his hands affectionately. "Oh, no" the pure care in her eyes made his melting heart feel as though it had risen into the sky. "It was only that you were not my husband back then, dear," she tried to make him understand, aware that there were cultural differences that needed overcoming, "mother said good girls owe it to their husbands to treat every other man with a serious attitude and indifference!" 

She was breaking his fucking heart. 

It was officially official. 

Abel Ford Syverson was in love. 

Soul crushing, earth shattering, sky tearing love. 

With a woman who was not only intelligent and gorgeous way past his league but one that respected herself with an unwavering devotion towards her spouse. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" He exclaimed with faux surprise that she did not catch up on, much to his expectation. "So that's what it was all about?" Of course he knew. 

He just liked her to say it.

It boosted his depraved ego just right. 

She apologetically nodded with sincerity. "I swear, my heart." The translation of the endearment caused for his blood to pump through his ears only harder. 

Syverson gave her a small smile before sighing a little. "Well, you see, darlin', it did still hurt my feelings a tad" her eyebrows furrowed in regret so he added just to rub it in that much more; "got me a bit of pride to keep up, y'know?" 

Now she pouted. "I am sorry, love…" Before a bulb went off in her head and she jumped a little to express her excitement, the action causing her naked boobs to jiggle. "Is there a way I can make it up to you?" There. 

"Why, of course!" Fuck, he sounded more eager than a middle schooler. "You gonna have to show that you can make a good little wife" her cheeks flushed as she bit her bottom lip in embarrassment. He continued, aware she was as clueless as a virgin.

Because she was one. 

Syverson loved the thought.

He wished there was a way to preserve it -her- all as it was.  

"Anything you want, my dear" she replied sincerely as she earnestly pressed his hand that she held to her chest. 

The man swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat as his eyes flickered down to where their fingers were intertwined; the valley of her perfect breasts. 

"Good girl" his voice came out much deeper than usual. "Go on 'n' take it out, then" the bride's eyebrows raised to express her confusion as she tilted her head to the side. 

His dick whimpered and spilled a thick drop.

"U- Um…"

Syverson was getting impatient. "That means my pants, darlin'." He chuckled to lighten the effect of the edge that his tone had held. "I mean, can't exactly make love to ya with 'em on, now can I?" Something pulled taught in her chest and she went to avoid his eyes out of embarrassment. 

"Oh… yes" she was breathless as she reached for his fly, face angled downwards. 

"Yeah…?" He drew it out on purpose teasingly, dipping his own head earthwards to try and meet her gaze cockily. "Yeah, yeah?" The man kept going unrelentlessly until she had no choice but to respond. 

"Y- Yes…" Her nervous fingers slipped over the button of his pants many times but she managed to free him at last. 

"Go on ahead now, sugar" he coaxed sweetly, tone in stark contrast to his intentions. "Take it out and let them pretty lil' hands get a feel" her legs instinctively tried to close due to the shame she felt but her husband's huge body hindered her attempt to somehow cover herself. "Well?"

Her eyes darted up to him from where her fingers gingerly rested against the waistband of his boxers and Syverson suspected that she was about to decline because of the way her mouth moved to let out some phantom words. But when he raised a questioning eyebrow in response, she seemed as though it had reminded her of her place against him and she quickly dipped her digits inside the undergarment to reach for his thumping cock. 

The first feel of her fingertips connecting with his hard skin was… indescribable. It was as though time ceased, stilling everything else with it and he was enveloped into a cocoon of pure sensation. She was everywhere and inside. Her heat filled him to the brim. Each brush of her delicate skin against his rougher one felt like the stroke of the flesh of an outworldly nymph. Shivers of ecstacy cascaded down his lower back and he was floating already. 

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin at the unfamiliar feeling, the moan that he let out along a whispered praise pulling her back in the moment and away from her recoil. The bride's mind reminded her of her duty to her husband and she used her other hand to hold his clothes away so she could uncover his impaler. 

"Just like that, darlin'. Just like that" one of his hands went to tangle in her hair. "Go on and rub it for me, baby. You're doin' real good" his free hand reached for her own sex that had secreted its natural moisture in reaction to the sensations she was being subjected to. He groaned at the feeling of her warm pussy and squished his finger through her plump nether lips. "Tell me what you see" her own body was getting feverish by the second, hips and cunt trying to shrink in on themselves due to how violating his sense tingling touch was.

"I- It's…" She raked her mind for an appropriate answer. But it was all too much for her to handle; the pressure to impress her new husband, touching him the way he wanted properly, obeying him, submitting to his handling and then dealing with his intense gaze. "V- Very pretty, husband. Thank you" so she played it the safest she knew. 

And the girl could swear she felt him twitch in her palm at that, a pang of pain rising in her wrist as she awkwardly pumped him in a vertical manner. 

"Pretty, huh?" A cunning grin spread across his handsome features as he slipped one finger deep within her folds and being the retired playboy that he was, the Captain easily found her pure entrance. "'N' what about the size?" He could not help but moan at the feeling of her balmy walls clinging to his finger. "Ever seen anythin' like it?" Her thighs quivered as his thumb glided over her folds. 

"N- No, husband" she answered timidly, afraid to bruise his pride with an inappropriate or unsatisfactory answer that may pose a threat to her chasteness.

"That's right" now he began to speed up his intrusion of her insides. "'Cause you're all mine, ain'tcha?"  She quickly nodded, letting out a whine as her eyebrows furrowed at the ache his twisting of one of her nipples caused. "Now tell me," he leaned forward to reach for one of her nubs with his teeth, "did ya ever think you'd land yourself a fella with a cock this big?" He spoke through a mouthful before sinking down on her tender boobs, the tips of his sharp canines digging into the soft cushions of her flesh. 

"N- No…" The girl was gasping as she struggled to keep up with his leaking and twitching cock. "T- Thank you, dear!" She added for good measure despite how overwhelmed she was becoming. 

"Tell me, baby" the man loved how his naive wife's features scrunched in discomfort but she still sped up her fist that was wrapped around his cock because he prompted her to, hoisting himself further up next to capture her lips against his. "Do you think yourself lucky that you get to have this here cock all to yourself for the rest of your days?" He could not help but fuck into her hand at the sight of the spit string dangling by a corner of her bottom lip as it connected to the wad of spit that she had just released on his cock after being ordered to do so. He felt her cringe at the feeling of her fingers touching her own saliva as she spread it over his cock. But her resolve to obey him did not falter even once regardless of how shy or uneasy she felt.

And that was how Syverson knew he had found himself his perfect little homemaker.

"I- I do, husband" her voice nearly broke. "Thank you so much" the fact that all of this was visibly strange and even uncomfortable to her because she was not familiar with any of this… 

The Captain could swear that alone was enough to finish him off.

She was his sacred lamb; a temple undefiled. 

Nobody's leftovers; whole in every sense for the beast to take. 

What could he say? Colonel Syverson's prized son always won, no matter what. 

There was a brighter way of looking at his promiscuous dating history that was in stark contrast to his wife's nonexistent one; it could easily be considered as his physical sacrifice in order to realize and reach his full potential as a man for his future lady's well being as well as pleasure. 

A lady that he had found at last. 

"Say it" his command was heavy and the rough skin of his finger was like gravel against the buttery tissue of her slick walls. "Say that you're the luckiest lil' bride for landin' yourself the best damn dick you could have ever hoped for" she began to subconsciously move her thumb out of sync with the rest of her digits to swipe it over his tip each time her hand rose to his apex and he couldn't believe just how close he was already. 

The Captain was usually a man of stamina and endurance.

But then again it was impossible for the beast to resist his tempting lamb for very long, wasn't it?

"I- I am the luckiest…" She licked her parched lips needily. "L- Little bride for l- landing myself the best d- dick…" Embarrassment burnt her cheeks but pleasing him was more important a priority to her. "T- That I could've ever hoped for…"

He deeply moaned in satisfaction. "My good girl" a quick peck was given to the tip of her nose. "Now tell me, baby. How ya feelin'?" As if on cue, she clenched around his finger with a moan.  

Fuck, Syverson had never really preferred a clueless woman until now.

He could literally demand whatever he wanted from her and she would believe him out of her naivety. 

His perfect pretzel Princess that he could twist into whatever shape that he pleased. 

Or make her do as he desired, for that matter. 

With no one, not even his wife herself, to question him or his ways.

He loved the thought. 

"... S- Strange… P- Pain… but– hnnn!" Her back arched as she suddenly writhed, nearly going white at the feeling of getting her special spot getting tickled for the first time. It was an ability her husband took a lot of pride in; the  renown that he had held in college for being able to find gspots with his fingers alone. 

"Feels real good too, don't it?" The Captain snickered heavily as he began to rock his hips into her hand, feeling himself nearing the brink. 

"Mmh!" She did her best to respond despite the sensory overload, groaning softly when he forces her band of muscles to expand further by adding another finger to her pussy and repeatedly jabbing her sensitive nerves with their blunt tips, the sound of his skin fucking in and out of her liquids getting louder by the minute. "W- Weird… but…" A drop of sweat trickled down the side of her face as she gasped, eyes widening when her spine jolted at a particular wave of pleasure. "M- More, please." 

In the blink of an eye, Syverson had pushed her on her back before crawling up her body like a predator. Before her body could process his fingers leaving her into an orgasm denial, his eager cock was pushing into her. The pained moan that escaped her as her body twisted under his was muffled by his mouth clamping over hers. The Captain grunted as his cock struggled to push its way inside her virgin entrance despite the preparation that he had done. The girl's bottom lip pulled away from the rest of her mouth due to the way he bit down on it to withstand the overwhelming pleasure that sparked everywhere within him.  

"Your wish is my command, my darlin' sheikha." 

Syverson found himself praying for the first time to any god, deity or entity that may be listening; to freeze time right here in this very moment and never set it free again.

For he could stay like this for eternities and beyond; buried inside his dear wife and protectively enveloped in her loving arms that had never held another like she did him and never would whilst she moaned below him in a pained ecstasy, clenching and nearly knocking out as she experienced her first ever orgasm.

.

Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated <3

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[viking-raider]

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson smut #syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #Syverson/You #Syverson/Reader #Sand Castle #Fluff #Angst #Sy's Therapy Barn #Sy's Therapy Barn *Fic*

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Friendly Fire

Author’s Note: Hello, again! I’d like to thank everyone who liked, commented, and shared my first little project. The love it received was overwhelming for a newbie to the fanfic scene, and I’m so grateful for the input and encouragement. This story takes place in the same timeline as my first installation, so if you haven’t had a chance to read Homeward Bound yet, you can find it here. Don’t worry, though! There won’t be a specific timeline to follow. The idea is to give little glimpses into an established relationship, so you’re not missing anything (yet!). We started with a reunion, so it only seems fair to take it back to where it all began. I can’t wait for everyone to meet the new woman in Sy’s life. Happy reading!  Summary: Last night, Syverson met the love of his life. If only he could remember it. Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC  Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol consumption and weapons, adult language, and (almost) implied smut. Sy is his own warning. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

“Oh, fuck me,” Sy groaned to himself. He threw a heavy arm over his face and sighed, doing his best to block out the sun as it creeped in through the blinds, but resistance was futile. Stupidly optimistic birds chirped their early morning songs, each shrill call rattling around in his skull like an angry swarm of wasps, wild and pissed off. His body felt heavy, his joints ached, and his stomach churned. “I’m gettin’ too old fer this shit.” 

Sy could handle a little hangover. He’d done it before, and Lord know’s he’d do it again. In truth, he’d been burning the candle at both ends since he’d made it home. Sy hadn’t taken a leave since his first year in the military. His reasoning? 30 days go by too quick, no use in getting comfortable somewhere just to pack up and ship out again. This time though, he’d decided that he’d earned a bit of a break. That, and his mama was threatening to cut him out of the will if he didn’t show his face at least once this year. Not that he’d get much, of course; that wasn’t the principle of her empty threats. He knew it just as well as she did. She was starting to get up there in age, and time waits for no one. Especially not for Clayton Syverson. 

Groaning softly, he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, heavy limbs moving a little slower than usual this morning. He stretched and yawned, balling up a fist to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes. A thought crossed his mind as he worked to get those old bones moving again and he stopped dead in his tracks, hand still over his left eye and mouth still agape. “Wait…how the fuck did I make it home?”

Sy took stock of the room around him. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of place. Everything was just as he’d left it. The tops of the dresser and chest of drawers were bare, as was the nightstand. The laundry basket that sat atop the trunk at the foot of the bed was still there, filled with neatly rolled t-shirts, socks, and skivvies. The only things that seemed to be out of sorts were his bed (since he hadn’t had the chance to make it yet), and his jeans that laid crumpled on the floor at his feet. “Weird,” he mused, and pushed himself to stand. Padding off to the bathroom for that blissful first piss of the day, he lifted the seat on the commode to relieve himself. Hold on. Lift the toilet seat? He hadn’t had to do that since he left home, nearly a decade ago. 

“What the fuck is goin’ on, now?” Must’ve been a visit from the toilet seat fairy, since he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had stepped foot into this old house. Sy could feel the hair on the back of his neck start to prickle up as he washed his hands. When his eyes found his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he had to talk himself down again. 

“Get a grip, dickhead. No one broke in just ta’ use the can.” Wandering back out to the bedroom, he’d almost made it out into the hallway, when he’d heard it. One more step, and he might’ve missed it. The soft creak of old floorboards below gave him another moment of pause. Sy held his breath as he listened intently for a moment, almost willing the house to groan again under the shift of weight. Nothing. A rush of wind left his chest as he sighed and shook his head. He swore himself off of corn liquor, never again, and took the stairs two at a time on his way down to raid the fridge for something to eat. “Hmm…somethin’ smells good. Is that–”  Bacon. That ain’t no toilet fairy down there. Someone’s here.

Soft, tranquil humming echoed down the hall. Whoever it was seemed to like Fleetwood Mac, as they aimlessly flipped slice after slice of pork products into his skillet. A loud pop of grease made him, and the intruder, flinch. “Oww! Shit!” Then the tap squeaked, followed by the sound of rushing water, and Sy thanked God that he hadn’t had time to fix it yet. Good. He knew this old farmhouse like the back of his hand, so he knew exactly where the stranger would be standing when he'd walk in. They’d have their back to him, and he’d have the upper hand. Reaching blindly into the armoire to his right, he drew the revolver from the false bottom of the drawer and peaked around the corner of the doorframe. His thumb hovered over the hammer, ready to cock it, when what he saw gave him pause. Who he saw, was more like it. 

“I know you.” The words came tumbling out before he could stop them. Her head snapped up from the sink as she turned towards the sound of his voice. She was just as startled as he was. 

“Well, I sure hoped you would.” 

Turning off the tap and reaching for a towel to dab at her scalded hand, she leaned against the counter like she owned the place. Her hair spilled down her shoulders and back in effortless, mahogany waves. The shirt she wore was stolen, and wrinkled from sleep. The logo was faded yet unmistakable, and the hem fell to about the middle of her sunkissed thigh. Why was she wearing his Skynard shirt? She watched as his eyes grew wide with realization, and it made her laugh. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy,” the intruder smirked, and lifted up the shirt to reveal a pair of cut off levis beneath it. “You sure tried like hell, but…nothing happened. How’s the head?” 

Visions of last night’s bonfire flashed through his mind. It felt like flipping through a stack of polaroids. Everything was blurry, all soft and fuzzy at the corners. One minute, he was leaning against the tailgate of his truck, nursing a beer and watching as his friends acted a’fool. The next, Johnny was passing around a quart of his homemade moonshine and calling him a pussy for trying to turn it down.  Damnit, Johnny. Sy recalled that the eyes that stared him down from across the room now were the same ones that gleamed at him in the warmth of the flames that flickered between them the night before. If only he could remember how they got there. 

As if to read his mind, she nodded as she spoke, returning to the stove just in time to salvage the last of the bacon. “You, uh…you went a little hard with that paint thinner Johnny had. I just wanted to make sure you made it home alright. Hope that’s okay.”  Sy licked his lips slowly as he processed what she was trying to say, then gave a short nod. He removed his finger from the trigger and tucked the gun away again as smoothly as possible. He didn’t want to spook her. She made him breakfast, after all. 

“Right. Thank ya, Miss.” Deeming it safe again, he crossed the threshold into the kitchen and watched as she turned off the flame beneath the cast iron on the stovetop. He felt out of place, like he should be doing something to help, so he crossed the room to grab the orange juice from the fridge. 

“Merrin,” she finished for him, then reiterated. “I’m Merrin. And you’re…Sy? That's what they call you, right?” For the first time all day, Sy cracked a crooked smile her way and pulled down two clean glasses from the cabinet beside the sink. 

“Yes ma’am, but my mama named me Clay.” 

“Clay. Got it.”

Breakfast was served, and the two strangers sat down to eat it. Merrin filled him in on what he missed from the night before. Johnny bet Sarah that she couldn’t shotgun a beer faster than he could. He lost. Petey and Melissa snuck off to the woods to skinny dip in the creek and came back with poison oak in some pretty intimate places. Roscoe passed out in the grass, and Luke and James had to carry him back to the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Saturday night in rural Texas. He asked about her, where she came from and what she was doing in his neck of the woods. She told him how she’d moved to town about six months ago, how she’d bought that cute little split level on the corner of Oak and Adams street. All Sy heard, though, was that he could’ve been sitting here with her six months ago. Maybe he outta come home more often.

–

“So,” he started, rinsing the suds from the face of his plate as he stood at the sink. They’d demolished that stack of bacon and eggs and were working to clean up after themselves. “How’d you end up in my shirt?”

Merrin smirked as she dried a glass and tucked it away again. “You don’t remember?” She was all too pleased to share this story. Sy laughed a deep, hearty chuckle that rattled loudly in his broad chest and shook his head. 

“Well…” she teased. “We’d been staring at each other most of the night. I’d been waiting for you to introduce yourself, but after a while, I just thought I must’a looked funny or somethin’.” 

“Mhm…” he hummed, his eyes never once leaving hers. He’d had a cup of coffee and a handful of Advil with his toast, so things were a little clearer now. He remembered watching her from afar as she chatted and giggled with her friends. He remembered thinking he’d want to remember the way she looked when she smiled his way. How he wanted to remember the way the light danced in her eyes when she laughed. She continued before he could ask her to carry on.

“When you finally got the courage to make a move, you decided that I looked a little thirsty. You grabbed me a beer, crossed the yard, tripped over a tree limb, and…poured it down my back.”

Sy winced. Surely she must be joking. One look at the smile on her face told him that she wasn’t, and he groaned. “Well shit, sugar. I’m real sorry. At least let me–”

“It’s already in the dryer. Don’t worry, big guy. You can pay me back when you take me out to dinner Friday night.” She gave a playful pat to his chest and grinned, brushing by him on her way to clear the rest of the table. Sy turned to follow her, his eyes grazing over the curve of her backside as she bent down to grab a napkin from the floor. He smiled, stacked the plate into the strainer and tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. 

“Sounds like a plan, darlin’.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fluff #captain syverson fic #syverson #henry cavill characters #syverson fluff #syverson smut #cpt syverson

[ellethespaceunicorn]

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Title: There Is A Light That Never Goes Out 

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Syverson x Female!Reader 

Word Count: 951

Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU. 

Warnings: apocalypse AU, accidental pregnancy, language

A/N: A submission for @the-slumberparty BINGO challenge. My bingo squares include beach day, family friend, accidental pregnancy, and apocalypse. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.  

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics 

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me 

My Masterlist  

As you sit just past where the water rushes on the beach, you can feel the mist of the water on your face. Sea salt is in the air, and you relish the smell. You can remember coming to the coast with your family as a child. 

Of course, that was before the world decided to end. Before you had to change your entire way of life in the blink of an eye.  

Now, moments like this are but a distant memory. Your shoes are off. Your toes are buried in the sand. Saliferous wind from the ocean is blowing through your hair. Next to you is a duffel bag full of essentials, at least what you could grab on short notice.  

Escaping the compound turns out to be a bit trickier than you had hoped. But with a close friend at the guard station, you sneak by and out of the gates without a second glance. You make it out of town before dawn, watching the sun rise over the water. 

By now, you know that your superior officer will be conducting roll calls and noticing your absence. You did not care enough to go back, but you wish your brain would stop letting you worry about what was going through their brains. 

‘Is she alive?’ For now, yes. 

‘Did she go alone?’ Technically, no. 

The distant sound of tires on gravel does not surprise you. Neither does the noise of the rusty truck door opening and closing. The softness of sand being kicked up by big boots creeps up to the side of you. You do not have to look up to know who is next to you, but you do anyway. 

The dusty old camouflage pants with thigh holster and sweaty brown plain t-shirt gave him away in an instant, but your eyes continue higher. His unruly beard covers his irked expression, his mouth set to one side as he chews his inner cheek. You’ve known him long enough that he chews his cheek whenever he gets upset. 

He looks down into your eyes and you watch as they wander across your form. 

“Your brothers are worried sick about ya. I told ‘em I would come to look for ya,” He sits down in the sand next to you, “Runnin’ ain’t gonna fix our little problem.” 

“Our problem, Sy? First, it is not our problem. Second, it is not a problem. It is a baby. And this baby wasn’t exactly planned, I understand that. But I don’t expect you to do anything. We can get by on our own.” Your voice breaks and you hate that your eyes are blurry with unshed tears. 

“I wasn’t callin’ the baby a problem. And if ya think I’m lettin’ ya raise this little hellion on yer own, yer outta yer damn mind. Now, yer brothers are my best friends in this whole damn world. And yes, they’d kill my ass if they knew I got you pregnant. But they’d resurrect me and kill me again if they knew I’d let ya off on yer own. Shit, I’d kill my ass too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it does nothing to stop the fat tears that escape when you blink your eyes. The shuddering breath you take is enough to have Sy scooting closer to you and bringing you into his arms. 

“Don’t cry, Sweetness. We’ll figure this out. Together,” He kisses your forehead and snakes a hand down to your stomach, “Let’s give ‘em a chance, alright? Make a better world for ‘em and all that nonsense. I can’t fathom losing both of ya, let alone either of ya.” 

“We should have been more careful—” 

“Well, we weren’t bein’ careful. And now, we got a kid on the way. So what? Every time we face a little trouble, you gonna run?” He wipes away your tears, looking into your eyes again. 

“I’m really scared, Sy. What are we going to do?” The tremble in your voice has Sy holding you tight. 

“Well, to start, we tell yer brothers about the baby. Then, whaddya say we go over to the doctor, have everything looked at? Make sure he’s growing fine and everything.” 

You laugh, not able to hold your amusement. “He? You already know it’s going to be a boy?” 

“Well, ya know my folks had five boys. Yer parents had two before they had ya. Odds are it’s gonna be a boy, Sweetness.” 

“I’m a little shocked. What changed your mind about everything? You were not this verbal when I told you yesterday.”  

He bites his lip, looking out at the sea before answering. “I guess I was too scared to admit how I felt about ya. And then, outta nowhere, you give me the best gift in the world, and I didn’t know how to handle it,” He takes a shaky breath, then continues, “I’m sorry I waited ‘til now to say it, Sweetness. I love ya. I love ya, so damn much. And nothing would make me happier than to raise this little one with ya.” 

You climb into Sy’s lap, holding his face in your hands, and resting your forehead against his. “I love you too, Sy.” You lean in and slot your mouth against his. You allow him to take the lead as his hand tangles in your hair. 

Pulling back, you smile at each other. Nothing needs to be said. You turn in Sy’s lap and watch as the waves crash in and out. You have each other and you have this baby. With a love that burns bright like yours, neither Hell nor high water would be able to snuff it out. 

A/N: Title taken from There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths. It seemed perfect for this story. 

**Tag List** 

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @peyton-warren @raccoon-eyed-rebel @geralts-yenn @rebelangel1102

#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x ofc #cpt syverson #syverson x reader #syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #syverson x you #syverson smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill x you #apocalypse au

[mrmiyagislittletrees]

Never what now?? Not only have I watched this movie many times but I have consumed copious (and possibly unhealthy) amounts of fan fiction featuring this character. Go home Collider.com, you're drunk.

#captain syverson #cpt syverson #sand castle #henry cavill

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Fifteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Fifteen Summary: Marshall agonises while Lori takes matters into her own hands.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Fifteen Warnings: slight angst, mild violence, smut, p in v sex,

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

Been a while since I wrote a sex scene with a character other than Sy! I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Fourteen Part Sixteen

Marshall

Lori sedately followed me as I led her to her room. 

I was in no hurry, on the contrary, I would have liked to walk with her for a while, hold her hand and do some of the usual stuff you do with a girl you like. But that's not how this was going to go, not in this situation, so I folded my arms across my chest and kept my pace to match hers.

“Did you get everything you needed with Mike?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said softly, “the packages should be at the post office tomorrow.”

“I'll send Mike to pick them up in the afternoon.”

Her brows furrowed, but she nodded.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I told Mike I was going to hang out with him tomorrow afternoon. But it's not like I'm going anywhere for a while, there will be plenty of afternoons.”

“No. You and Mike can do your thing. I will go and pick them up myself.”

“You will?”

“Sure. You seem to enjoy his company. You smile a lot with him.”

She lowered her eyes and grinned.

“See? Thinking about him makes you smile,” I chuckled. Her face dropped a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but then shook her head, “I was thinking… Have you heard from Sy?.”

“No.” Her frown deepened. “Are you worried about him?”

She shrugged. 

“Do you miss him?”

She shrugged again, but with a forced carelessness that made it obvious that she was.

“I’m sure he misses you too.”

We stopped outside the door to her room. She made no move to open her door so I waited, leaning against the wall while she appeared to be thinking.

“What I said to you this morning,” she started, “what I accused you of, it was wrong of me.”

I shook my head. “Your reaction was completely understandable. We were out of line. And considering where you come from, it makes sense that you might see it the way you do.”

She raised her head and her normally steel blue eyes had taken on a dark smokey hue that sent a bolt of energy tingling through my nerves.

“I don’t see it that way anymore anymore,” she said, huskily.

For a moment I let myself entertain the fantasy that I could spend the night with her again without the mellowing effects of weed to kill my most feral instincts. Heat flooded my skin as I remembered the weight of her body against mine, the sweet citrus like smell of her hair, and the softness of her thigh. I didn’t think there was a snowman’s chance in hell that I could sleep next to her sober and not shred her clothes to pieces to get a taste of the silky hidden skin between her legs. 

I clenched my jaw as I shut that line of thought down fast. I hadn’t changed my mind from earlier; as far as I was concerned, I was no longer a party to the pact. However, I was not made of stone and I knew my resolution could only withstand so much temptation before it crumbled, so I turned towards my door. Then her hand came to rest on my bicep, her gentle touch halted my escape and my back went ramrod straight.

“Spend the night with me?” she asked, her tone so softly pleading that it took my breath away.

“I can’t,” I said, forcing the words out before I had a chance to say something else.

She withdrew her hand quickly, as if my reply had burned her.

The look on her face made me sick to my stomach. The rejection and confusion marring her dollishly pretty features was almost as bad as the accusatory look of betrayal she had given me that morning.

“You don’t want this,” I explained. “What you said this morning, you were wrong, but you were also right. What my Brothers and I did, what we agreed to, we had no right.”

“You said it was my choice.”

“We did, but we put you in an uncomfortable situation you didn’t deserve and one you don’t want, not really.”

“Oh and this situation,” she moved her hand back and forth between us before placing them on her hips, “is less uncomfortable? Rejection is what I deserve then?”

“Lori,” I said, forcing myself to keep a lid on the frustration that began to boil in my guts, “Do you deliberately misinterpret everything I say, or are you just childishly stubborn on purpose?”

Her jaw dropped and she rounded on me, poking her finger into the centre of my chest, forcing me to take backward steps until my back hit the wall.

“You’re a manipulative prick. All of you are. Was this the plan the whole time then? Playing with my feelings, deceiving me into agreeing to your ridiculous pact and then telling me it was a joke?”

“Lori–”

She pushed me then, her palms bouncing hard off my shoulders, and although it didn’t hurt, it was bloody annoying. I grabbed her hands, turning her in my arms until they crossed over her torso and her back pressed against my chest.

“Let me go,” she yelled while she struggled, pulling and yanking on my arms.

“Calm down,” I growled into her ear, trying desperately not to harden up as she twisted like a kitten trying to get free. 

“I’m not your plaything,” she hissed, “You’re supposed to be protecting me or have you forgotten what you’re being paid for?”

“And that’s exactly why I said no. Do you think I don’t want you? Do you not notice how when you’re in the room I can’t look away?”

She stopped fighting, her body was still tense, but she wasn’t thrashing. I dropped my head into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, my lips brushing against her tender flesh.

“Every inch of me wants you, wants to be inside you,” I mumbled as I my will began slipping through my fingers like sand. 

I released her and ran my hands over her body, until they rested against the burning hot skin of her belly where her tank top had ridden up in the struggle. Her hand covered mine and she didn’t stop me as I slid them under the thin fabric. I rumbled out a groan as the soft weight of her breasts filled my hand, and her hard little nipple teased my palm.

“You’re a constant, tormenting, burn in my chest. Right here,” I placed our hands over her heart, “I ache for you.”

She whined weakly, her body melted against mine as she turned her head towards me.

My lips were on hers before I could think. She was soft, warm, and so perfectly lush that my whole body shuddered and I groaned into her mouth. Without stopping the kiss I grasped her waist, guided us blindly to her door, and fumbled with the handle.

Lifting my lips from hers long enough to turn her, I took her to the bed and laid her on her back before capturing her mouth again. Her thighs fell apart beneath me and I spread my legs to make her widen them until I was grinding my trapped and throbbing cock against her heat. She gasped into my kiss and I didn’t hesitate to slip my tongue into the plush warmth of her mouth. I groaned at the taste of her as she kissed me back and sunk her fingers into my beard, nails scratching gently at my cheeks and jaw. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice told me to stop, that I shouldn’t take her like this. I lifted my head, trying to swallow my most violent basic instincts while I struggled to find the words I needed to stop this from going any further but my body was too raw and my mind was skirting too close to the edge of reason. Then I felt her move beneath me, her hips rocking, lifting up to meet mine and a greedy feral urge overtook any rational thought. 

Fuck it. I was hardly on track for sainthood anyway.

I growled, it's the only way I can describe the animalistic groan I released as pulled her tank over her head. Catching both of her slight wrists, I held them above her head in one hand while the other pulled her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cycled her long lush legs to help me peel her flushed body out of the skin tight clothes.

Below a small short patch of hair, her delicate smooth slit was glistening. As if time had decided to stand still, her legs lazily fell open and she blossomed before me, revealing with painstaking slowness her dewy centre. My cock jerked at the sight, desperate to plunge into that soft and sleek slit.

My fingertip circled her nipple, once, twice, three times, my head pounding as I watched the already pebbled skin grow tighter. She mewled as I took her little pink bud into my mouth; her hips rolled and her arms pulled against my hand while her head fell onto the bed with a long throaty moan. God, that sound made my already throbbing cock so fucking hard, I felt like I could fuck through a brick wall.

“Shh,” I soothed and slipped two fingers into her mouth. Her eager lips wrapped around them and her tongue slid over the pads while she sucked. With a rumble in my throat, I replaced my fingers with my tongue and she reciprocated, hungrily drawing me into her mouth with a torrid pull.

I ghosted my wet fingers over her slit, parting her, making her open for me. Fuck, she felt nice; delicate, small, warm, slick, swollen… just so fucking nice.

Barely able to control the primal part of my brain that screamed at me to completely ruin all that sweet softness, I flipped her onto her chest and lifted her hips until she was on her knees. Her cry of shock hardly slowed me as I clawed at my jeans and lowered them just enough.

“I want to take you like this,” I mumbled as I leaned over her and ran my hand from her hips, down the concave of her waist, and over her ribs until I cupped her breast. My cock nudged against her core and I felt her sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my God,” she whined.

Gathering her thick braid in my fist, I kissed her just below her hairline before turning her head towards mine. She was the perfect picture of a woman lush with arousal; eyes heavy lidded, cheeks rosy, her mouth parted as she panted in shallow breaths.

“Yes,” she whimpered, bobbing her head and chasing my lips.

I let her catch me and she kissed me hard, moaning softly as my tongue met hers. I pulled away but her teeth sank into my lower lip making me hiss and my hips jack. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“We’ll go slow next time,” I rasped, rising to my knees and I sunk into her molten velvet heat.

“Fuck,” we both groaned as our bodies met.

I stilled, the thrill of being inside her almost too much as she shuddered around me. I swept my hand down her spine to the back of her neck. Her skin was so smooth, supple, and even in this position, with my cock balls deep within her quivering core, she still had that seductive allure of feminine purity that I wanted to take apart piece by painstaking piece.

What the fuck was I doing?

“Shit,” I muttered and started to pull out, “I’m sorry.”

Her hand shot back, grabbing hold of me and sliding down my still clothed arm until her hand held mine.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

All I could feel was the pounding of my heart, from my fingertips to my toes, to my cock. She squeezed my hand while she lifted her head, determination radiating from her fierce, stormy grey eyes. 

Then she moved.

Only a small twitch of her hips, but oh God, the tight, silky, slick friction was heaven. The hold she had on my hand grew tighter and she rocked again as a breathy moan floated from her throat.

“Fuck, Lori…” my voice trailed off as she continued the shallow erotic rotations of her hips and arching flex of her spine.

My lust overrode the last of my hesitations and I began countering her movements, rapidly dialling up the intensity until our bodies were crashing against each other. My fingers were digging into her hips while hers were clutching at the covers, our eyes were locked in a feverish hold, neither one of us able to look away.

“Come here,” I groaned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her up until her back rested against my chest. My hands moved all over her, mapping out every soft curve. 

She stretched, raising her arms to reach for me, turning my head and searching for my lips. Her kiss surged through my body, every muscle straining, the growing tension inside me had me heading for a release that was bearing down on me like a freight train.

I held her tight, one arm around her chest, my fingers mauling at her breast while the other skimmed over her taut, quivering belly going lower and lower until I brushed her clit. Her hips bucked as she cried into my mouth, and her pussy clamped down so hard on my cock, I almost lost it then and there.

Muscling her into place, I kept her still while I fucked her and worked her clit. She was trembling and her hands floundered, searching for purchase to steady herself as she got closer to the edge. I gathered her wrists in my hand and held them to her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“I know, Lori, I know. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” I whispered into her neck, the skin so hot and humid that it made my lips tingle.

“Marshall… Oh my God…” 

“Let go, Lori. I need to feel you.” 

I lifted my head and found her striking, heavy lidded eyes. She was flushed, skin reddened and shiny, panting and gasping, she was more breathtaking than ever.

“Look so beautiful.”

Her eyes widened then squeezed closed as her whole body grew taut and she let out a groaning curse. 

“Fuck, Lori. Just like that.”

Her body rolled as if she were fighting me off again. I moved with her, keeping my fingers where they needed to be, fighting my own release as hers milked and pulled hard on my cock. It was a futile fight. Just as her body went lax and her head lulled against my shoulder, a hot euphoric pulse worked its way through my body.

Gripping Lori tighter, I pulled her closer to me while I pumped up into her, everything focussed on chasing my impending high. The throbbing rush crashed over me in long heady waves, each tide surging through me into her, filling her up until I had nothing left and fell onto my heels, taking her with me.

The sudden silence of the room was jarring; the only sound came from us catching our breath. Still buried deep within her core, my arms were wrapped around her with one hand cupping the firm flesh of her breast and she rested her weight on my thighs. I was sweating through my shirt, my belt buckle cut painfully into calf, and my boots - I still had my fucking boots on - dug awkwardly into my ankles, but I dared not move. I endured the discomfort to avoid the inevitable crash back to reality. Maybe if I stayed still and held her long enough, I could ward off the impending shame and perhaps Lori wouldn’t come to her senses and regret what we had done.

The dead air stretched on and on. Neither of us spoke or moved and the longer it continued, the more I feared I had catastrophically fucked up. 

Then Lori’s hands covered mine and she laced her slim fingers between my thick ones. With some hesitation I rubbed my thumbs over her skin and kissed her shoulder. 

“Say something,” she whispered.

I kissed her some more, trailing my kisses up along the ridge of her shoulders to her neck.

“Something,” I muttered.

Lori shook her head with a snicker and leaned back into me, turning her head until she could look me in the eyes. She was smiling, her face beautifully blushing and glowing, errant tendrils of her voluminous hair stuck to her slightly dampened skin. I brushed the stray locks back, tucking them into her braid as best I could.

Sighing, I shifted and Lori got off my lap, and I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to unlace my boots. I felt her hands brush over the small of my back and she lifted my shirt to place a kiss against my spine.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” I told her, placing both boots neatly on the floor and dropping my jeans beside them.

“Neither did I,” she said, raising my shirt higher until I had no choice but to lift my arms and let her pull it over my head and drop it on the floor next to my jeans.

“Lori,” I said, rotating my body and capturing her cheeks in my hands, staring resolutely into her tempestuous blue eyes, “I don’t regret it.”

Mimicking my position, she raised her hands to my cheeks and replied just as assiduously, “Neither do I.”

From deep within my gut, a warm surge of relief flooded my nervous system, making my spine feel like jelly. Expelling a held breath, I snaked an arm around her back and guided her back to the bed. Climbing on top of her, I covered her with my body and hummed at the feel of her skin against mine.

“This time,” I told her, “we’ll go slow.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #syverson #syverson x ofc #cpt syverson #captain sy #august walker fanfiction #august walker #august walker fic #august walker x ofc #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fic #geralt x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia fanfiction #mike (hellraiser) #mike hellraiser #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) fic

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 22

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: Past Sexual Harassment, Past Physical Violence, Masturbation (M)

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Day 204

Leah filled an entire shopping cart with vegetables, cheese, chips and all the fixings for a massive taco feast. That was, everything except the meat. For that, they stopped at a butcher shop on the way back. Sy hadn’t expected for things to still be so domestic after his conversation with Leah over breakfast but he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Sy was sure he’d misheard Leah when she told the man she needed six flank steaks but, as it turned out, it was no mistake. The small army Leah had referred to was not much of an exaggeration. Apparently, they were expecting up to thirty people which was about half the population of Warhorse.

It was a good thing they had taken Caleb’s car instead of his rental. They wouldn’t have been able to fit the multiple cases of beer, wine, juice and soda in addition to the groceries. It was also simpler to leave anything not perishable in the car rather than hull it in and out of the house.

By lunch time, they had finished their assigned task, the flank steaks had been put in the fridge to marinate and the two of them were back cuddling on the couch after eating a few sandwiches.

To Leah’s surprise, in addition to loving fantasy books, Sy was a bit of a history buff. He found a show about some famous British king and, though Leah had never heard of it, the leading men were pretty to look at so she was willing to give it a shot.

After the first episode, Leah began to feel restless. The show was interesting and, let’s be honest, the money shot twenty minutes in didn’t hurt at all, but she just felt like they should have been doing something… more.

“I guess this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting when you flew out here to see me.”

Sy looked down at Leah over her shoulder but with her back to his chest and her gaze stubbornly fixed forward, he couldn’t read her expression.

“What do you mean?” he asked, tightening the arm he had wrapped around her waist while sliding his other hand over her stomach.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her head against his shoulder. “It feels like in the movies the people who get two weeks of romance before they have to go their separate ways spend them having all these big adventures or fucking like rabbits and we’re just sitting at home watching the X-rated version of British history.”

“To be fair, if we’d had X-rated history in school I might have actually learned something.”

Sy’s attempt to lighten the mood didn’t do much good. Leah still chewed the inside of her cheek like it was an olympic sport.

He pulled Leah up onto his lap, stroking his thumb over the outside of her abused cheek.

“Babygirl, when our two weeks are over, we don’t go our separate ways, we go back to Warhorse.” Sy pressed a kiss to her temple, threading his fingers through her hair. “We don’t need adventures while we’re home because we get enough life-threatening missions while we’re away.” The tip of his nose brushed the shell of her ear as he moved to kiss the side of her neck. “And you don’t need to compare us to a Nicholas Sparks movie as fitting as it might seem.”

Busted. She hadn’t expected for him to know what she was referring to but clearly he was well versed in cheesy military romances.

“It’s a book too,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” Sy smirked against her skin, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Well if it’s a book then we should be following it step by step. Although that Dear John letter might not have the same effect if you hand it to me on base.”

Leah shook her head, slipping from his grasp and moving to stand away with her arms crossed over her chest. “We won’t physically be apart but we won’t be together either. We can’t be so what are we supposed to do then? Am I supposed to sneak into your room after lights out and sneak back before anybody wakes up? Do we go back to how things were before we left?”

Sy pulled her back to him, flipping Leah onto her back and slotting himself between her legs so she wouldn’t be tempted to run again. Okay, maybe she hadn’t run so much as pulled away but he wasn’t letting it happen again. “I wish I had an answer to that, darlin’.” He moved a stray piece of hair out of her face, gazing down at her in such a way that she already knew what he would say next. And for once, it didn’t scare her. “I just know that I love you and that I’m not ready to let ya go.”

“Yeah?” she asked, in barely a whisper.

“Yeah…” He’d never said those words to a woman before and he was suddenly worried he’d spoken too soon.

Thankfully, the cutest little shy smile pulled at Leah’s lips. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, leading Leah to playfully slap his shoulder.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Leah felt more than heard Sy’s appreciative rumble. “Yes ma’am,” he growled before sealing his lips over hers.

Her hands snuck up his shirt, exploring the vast expanse of his back. Pinned under his comforting weight, there was no space left between them but she still tried to pull him closer by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Ignore that,” Sy mumbled when his erection pressed against her covered core. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m gonna anyway.”

By some twisted coincidence, breathless moans coming from the television pulled their attention away from each other and over to the screen where the King was being generously served by a woman on her knees.

Sy broke away from Leah’s hold, reaching for the remote and switching the show off. As he dropped back onto the couch, he took a deep breath, grateful for the moment of reprieve before he blew his load in his pants. Before they could get back to what they were doing, footsteps coming from the upper floor alerted them to the time.

“Shit, I need to get the car loaded. Caleb’s gonna be fussing with his hair until the last possible second so he won’t think to do it himself.”

“I should uh… I should go shower.”

Not wanting to draw attention to the little situation he would obviously be dealing with while he was in there, Leah simply nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sy looked up towards where Leah stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Wear something warm and pull out some stuff for overnight. I’ll put it in a bag for later.”

Intrigued, the Captain made his way upstairs to get his clothes. As he walked by the half-open bathroom door, he saw Caleb bent over the counter as he styled his hair, wearing only a towel. With a smile on his face, Sy riffled through his duffle, tossing some clothes on the bed and taking his nicest jeans and henley to change into after his shower.

As he stepped under the spray in the small first floor shower, Sy was still at half-mast. As soon as he replayed the moment where Leah told him she loved him, he was back to granite. He put a hand on the wall and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, giving it a squeeze. There was no time to draw things out, he just needed a clear head for the rest of the night.

Leah might have thought he shut off the show to avoid making her uncomfortable but the truth was that he shut it off to stop picturing Leah on her knees for him. He would wrap that hair he loved so much around his fist and use it to move her head over his shaft.

The water rolled down his back as his muscle clenched with every stroke up and down his length. Sy released a shaky breath when his thumb slid over his tip just right. He slowly repeated the motion a few more times, causing his ass to clench as his hips bucked forward of their own accord.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling forward.

Closing his eyes, Sy envisioned Leah’s tongue darting out to taste the beads of precum dripping from his slit. Then her lips would wrap around the head and she would sink down the length of his dick, going further and further each time. Her small hand would work the bottom half of his shaft and when she would be done making him nice and wet, she would take her hand away and sink down until he hit the back of her throat.

Before he even realized he was close, Sy was shooting his load onto the shower wall. A shiver ran down his entire body as a choked moan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit.”

Though his chest was still heaving, Sy couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He quickly rinsed the shower wall and used the available bottle of body wash to clean himself and his beard.

Sy stepped out of the bathroom just as a voice sounded from the second floor.

“Leah, come on we gotta go!” Caleb ran down the stairs with his hair perfectly styled but his shirt not yet fully buttoned. “Where the hell did I put my wallet?”

“Your wallet is with your keys on the table. The car is loaded and the electric cooler is plugged in for the cold stuff. We’ll meet you there.”

That made Caleb freeze halfway through putting his shoes on. “The fuck you are.” He marched back towards the kitchen where Leah sat at the table. “Look, I know you weren’t legal yet but we made a deal when you got that death machine and we agreed you’d never drive it after drinking ever no matter how little and especially not at night.”

Sy didn’t appreciate the raised voice and was tempted to intervene but he knew better than to get in between fighting siblings or to fight Leah’s battle for her. Leah, however, didn’t at all seem phased by her brother’s outburst, crossing her arms and waiting for him to finish his rant.

“Do you have any idea how many motorcycle accidents we get in the ER and what kind of damage the riders get? Broken bones, concussions, road rash… that’s the injuries the lucky ones get. The unlucky ones go straight to the morgue.” 

“Are you done?” she asked, standing and walking around the table.

Caleb looked taken aback by his sister’s calm tone. 

“Sy has a rental car which he can use to drive us but I was thinking we could take the long way there with my bike and stay at the cabin tonight.”

“Oh.” Caleb let out a relieved sigh, wiping a hand down his face. He hadn’t automatically assumed she would be staying the night since the cabin only had one bedroom and they normally just made the half hour drive back so they could each sleep in their own beds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that.” He pulled Leah into a hug, muttering an ‘I love you’ into her hair.

If Sy had to venture a guess, he would say that their open affection came from the unexpected loss of their dad. Caleb was obviously terrified something might happen to Leah as well. And who could blame him considering the things he witnessed every day working in a hospital emergency room?

“Do you ride?” Leah asked once she saw Caleb off.

Sy nodded. “I got my bike license before I got my car license.”

“So… What do you think about riding up together?”

With a sigh, he caught Leah by the hips, pulling her closer. She responded by clasping her hands around Sy’s neck.

“Darlin’, I’m willin’ to put my male pride aside for a lot of things ‘cause I know you’re tough as hell and independent to a fault but I draw the line at ridin’ bitch.”

He was expecting some kind of snappy retort at his choice of words but Leah just smirked.

“Who said you’d be the one ridin’ bitch?”

Now that sounded like an amazing idea. Leah’s bike didn’t have anything for a passenger to hold onto so she would be forced to wrap her arms around him if she wanted to stay in her seat.

“Well if you’re offerin’ so nicely.”

After Leah found her spare helmet and set up a GPS on the front of her bike, they packed their change of clothes in a backpack and set off for the evening. It didn’t take long to realize why Leah had suggested the ride. The fall colors were gorgeous along the open road. As a bonus, Leah’s body was pressed flush against his back, her legs framing his and her gloved hands fisted in his old leather jacket.

Sy was almost disappointed when Leah pointed out the dirt path that led off through the trees. 

“Finally,” Caleb said as they walked in. He was halfway through the back door, holding a stack of what looked like four by fours in his arms. “L I need you to cut up the vegetables while me and Lachlan finish setting up the yard. Camden will be here soon with the stereo equipment.”

Out in the yard, Caleb’s friend was raking the leaves, while Caleb began attaching what Sy now knew to be legs to a table top.

“There isn’t much room in here so we take the legs off the tables when we store them. It also makes them easier to bring in and out of the cabin.”

Leah had obviously realized what he was looking at while she began pulling the vegetables out of the grocery bags.

“Why not just use folding tables?” he asked, taking everything over to the sink to be washed.

“Folding tables are expensive for what they are. Plus they’re often really narrow so my dad custom built three different tables that were the same size and could be attached together with brackets. With a power drill, it doesn’t take much longer to set up.”

Leah was almost done chopping the peppers and onions when the next person arrived, letting himself in.

The man gave a general greeting to the guys who’d come back inside to wash their hands before dropping his bags and moving to stand behind Leah. He put both hands over Leah’s ears and turned to Caleb.

“Why is Leah in the kitchen?” he stage whispered.

Caleb laughed, waving off the man’s concern. “Relax, she’s getting the vegetables ready. No cooking involved, only her scary knife skills.”

“Oh, well that’s fine.” He removed his hands and set them on her shoulders instead. “Hey Killer, welcome home.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before unpacking his supplies.

“Fuck you, I’m not that bad a cook,” she said, shooting a glare at the older man.

“Says the girl who managed to make a salad inedible.”

“You mix up the sugar and the salt one time…” she grumbled under her breath, looking back towards the cutting board.

Sy couldn’t help but smile at the adorable way she was pouting.

“Why does everyone call you Killer?” he asked, both genuinely curious and wanting to draw the attention away from Leah’s apparently lacking culinary skills.

A blush crept up Leah’s cheeks as she expertly sliced onions into long, even strips.

“It’s not everyone, just the guys who were around while I was in my freshman year of high school.”

“That doesn’t answer his question though,” Lachlan pointed out.

When Leah remained silent, Camden took over.

“One day, while me and our friend Niki were studying at his house, he got a call from Leah’s school asking him to come in because they couldn’t reach Caleb. When we get there, the principal calls Niki in and starts telling him how Leah was getting suspended because she attacked another student. The guy starts going on about how they will have to involve social workers if we can’t keep Leah in line and says that she needs a strong hand to keep her emotional outbursts in check. So Niki pulls me and Leah in and asks what caused the altercation. Turns out, the principal’s son had been calling Leah ‘doll’ despite her telling him numerous times to stop.”

“That’s when Niki asked if I was the only one being punished for what happened which was a stupid question seeing as they knew exactly who his son was and they knew for a fact that he could get away with murder.”

Camden hummed in agreement. “I was pre-law at the time so I gave him some speech about sexual harassment being a gateway to rape and that by not addressing the harassment he was condoning it and fostering a hostile study environment. It spooked him enough that he agreed to drop her suspension. Anyway once we left the school Niki made a comment about how Leah had every right to go Chucky on his punk ass. Killer kind of stuck after that.”

Never in a million years would Sy have guessed that Leah’s nickname would come from ‘killer doll’. In a way, it was kind of brilliant that they would use it as a way to praise her for sticking up for herself.

He remembered how Leah had said she’d isolated herself after their dad had died and realized it was probably a result of that asshole principal threatening to involve social services instead of admitting his own son had done something wrong.

“I’d never seen Niki so angry before,” Caleb chimed in. “When I got home from my midterm he looked about ready to hunt the kid down himself.”

“Still would have been better than Gage being the one to do it.”

“Fuck,” Caleb shook his head, clearly in agreement with Lachlan’s comment, “dad would have brought him back just to kill him all over again.”

When the three men stepped out to unload the stereo equipment, Sy slipped in behind Leah, putting his hands on her hips. “Is it all pet names that make you go serial killer or just ‘doll’?”

Leah looked outside, making sure Caleb was still out of earshot before she set the knife down and turned to face Sy.

“I lost my shit that day because he told me that if I wanted guys to notice me I should be a good little doll and only open my mouth when I wanted someone to stick something in it. I didn’t want any of them to worry more than necessary so I never told them.”

“Jesus,” he pulled Leah closer as if wanting to shield her from the memory, “I think that just ruined the word doll for me.”

He rested his forehead against Leah’s, taking a deep breath. 

“That’s okay, I like ‘darling’ better anyway. Or baby girl, that was nice too.”

Chapter 23

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfic

[cardierreh15]

I just love, love, LOVE — how everyone literally gave Captain Syverson a first name and somehow, all these Syversons seem to have a different personality 💞

#i just think it’s neat #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #Henry Cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #cpt syverson #cardi’s rant time

[viking-raider]

This is some Syverson energy! He'd so know how to open his belt with one hand.

It also itches that Muse I got a year ago, where Sy is a Lumberjack, (the family business), after he gets out of the Army, and falls in love with Reader, who's an Environmentalist, protesting at the site Sy is felling trees.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #captain syverson #cpt syverson #Lumberjack #bradley.thor - Instagram

[athenepromachos]

Sy in black tie ♥️♥️♥️♥️

#henry cavill #sy #captain syverson #cpt syverson #syverson #black tie #sy in black tie #suited and booted #smooth like chocolate #yum yum #nom nom #syverson bde #cavill bde #🍌🦑🍌🦑🍌🦑🍌🦑🍌🦑🍌🦑

[navybrat817]

Something In The Water AU dream cast: Bucky Barnes, Steve Kemp, Nomad! Steve Rogers, and Captain Syverson 💕💕💕 Can’t wait to read it!!

I'm glad you're excited for the AU, lovely!

Bucky and Steve are both in the AU and are still very close friends, but Bucky is actually going to share his reader with William Miller and Steve will have his own reader. Steve Kemp may possibly show up in the AU, but I'm still figuring out where exactly he fits in.

Captain Sy, huh? He could fit in with this AU.

To be clear, these men are all obsessive, off their rockers, will do what they need to do to keep their girls. Our poor readers.

Love and thanks! ❤️

#navybrat answers #there's something in the water au #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain syverson #cpt syverson #nicestgirlonline #sending love ❤️ #asks are always appreciated

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Help??

I need help deciding who is the big bad wolf...because I have an idea.

OR

It's for a future one-shot (please God let it be a one-shot).

Please consider reblogging to help this get as many votes as possible!

#henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall #henry cavill fanfic #captain syverson #cpt syverson #syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x reader #syverson fanfiction #syverson x ofc #syverson x you #syverson x reader #syverson smut #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall smut #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic

[dungeonpuppykai]

Some Sy tonight?

#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson smut #captain syverson imagine #syverson x reader #captain syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson smut #captain syverson x y/n #captain syverson x you

[sillyrabbit81]

Heart Of The Matter

Summary: A few weeks after you and Sy break up, you show up on his doorstep determined to win him back.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 8k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, couples fighting, smut, some angry sexual contact, slight praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation (male), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, some fluff at the end.

Authors Note: This took a lot longer to write than I had anticipated. I've had a rough week in my personal life and truely, the angst and the making up of this ended up being pretty therapeutic.

As always I need to thank my amazing mates and readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed and @nashibirne , your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated.

Edited by me, there will be errors

Thanks to the Anon who sent in this prompt, I hope you enjoy it.

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Looking in the rear vision mirror, you rub your sweaty hands on your jeans before running them over your hair, checking that it’s still in place. It’s dark, you can barely see and the streetlights are not sufficient to check your makeup, but you try to look anyway. You’re also stalling.

“Fuck it.”

Steeling yourself, you draw on every last bit of courage you have and get out of your car. You close the door as quietly as you can manage, and wince as you lock the doors and the headlights flash.

You pull your v-neck down over your hips then stick your hand in your bra and reposition your tits. Your shake your head and ask yourself for the millionth time, What the fuck are you doing? 

You should have worn something else, something a bit less provocative because you know he’s going to know exactly what you’re trying to do.

Drawing in a deep calming breath, you straighten your shoulders and walk to the door you haven’t knocked on in three weeks. You start confident, but with each step your will seems to wane and by the time you climb the few stairs to his porch, your knees are trembling and your hands are shaking.

The moment your foot hits the timbre decking the porch light comes on and you are momentarily blinded.

Fuck. 

You had forgotten about the sensor light.

You’re frozen in place, unsure whether to keep going or run back to the car. As you agonise over your decision, a dog lets out a low growl and you gasp.

Shit. 

“Shhh, Aika,” you take the remaining steps to the door and whisper, “It’s only me, girl.”

Her growl turns into a playful bark, and you can see in your mind's eye the way she’s probably sitting with her tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Aika! Hush,” you say a little louder, but she ignores you and barks again, then you can hear her scratch at the door. 

Fuck. 

You aren’t ready.

If Sy wasn’t already aware that there was someone on his porch, there is no doubt he knows now; there’s no way he didn’t hear Aika barking. Losing all courage you turn and run down the porch steps like a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime, pulling your keys from your bag, praying you don’t trip in the dark.

You don’t make it far when you hear your name.

Shit.

You close your eyes, grit your teeth, plaster a smile on your face and turn around.

Immediately you want to close your eyes again and you thank every God you have ever heard of that Sy was too far away to hear the whine that forced its unwelcomed way up your throat. Wearing only light blue jeans, they weren’t even done up, he fills the doorway with his bulk and stands like Adonis with his bare chest puffed out and his arms crossed.

You avert your eyes as you climb the steps again, concentrating on Aika. She’s sitting just like you thought she’d be, tail wagging and everything. She makes you smile, you had missed her, and as if your smile is a sign, she bolts through Sy’s legs. You giggle, as she stands at the top of the porch steps and you reach out to give her a pat.

“Aika,” Sy calls sternly.

For a second Aika seems torn, looking from you to Sy, then back to you. He grimaces then purses his lips to make a kissing noise and calls her back. Aika takes one more look at you before she runs back into the house between Sy’s legs.

Biting your lip you finally raise your eyes to look at him. The look he gives you makes your guts churn. He doesn’t appear pleased to see you, not one bit. 

You feel like such an idiot.

You clear your throat to greet him, but he speaks first.

“Sugar,” he says in a husky voice, somehow managing to make your old pet name feel like an insult in his mouth, “What do you want?”

“I…” you flounder, licking your lips as you try to collect yourself, “I thought…” 

You try to find the words to explain what you’re feeling, but the eyes that flatly stare back at you aren’t giving you any sign that he wants to hear anything you have to say. His tongue runs over his teeth and he sighs.

Jesus.

He couldn’t make his annoyance any plainer if he tried.

“I just…” you try again. God, this is hard. “Can I come in?” 

You start to climb the steps, but he raises his eyebrows at you and you stop short. He keeps staring at you in a way that makes you feel like he’s looking into your soul, like Anubis weighing your heart after death, deciding whether or not to gobble you up.

He looks at you for so long, you think he is going to say no, then abruptly and without a word, he stands back from the doorway and sweeps his arm out in invitation.

Your throat tightens as you climb the stairs. You keep your eyes on the ground as you walk past him and try not to make a sound as your nose picks up the scent of his spicey soap. You catch a whiff of his woodsy beard oil; it was the same one you had given him for his birthday and then you smile. Maybe it isn’t hopeless after all.

He closes the door behind you and you stand awkwardly in the entryway, still unable to really look at him. His fingers briefly brush your skin as he lifts your bag off your shoulder and hangs it by the door. It was a familiar gesture, one he’d done a hundred times, but this time it made you gulp.

“Want a drink or anythin’?'' he asks. Even while annoyed he is polite, a good host. His mother would be proud.

“Maybe a glass of water,” you say, softly, raising your eyes to find him looking intently at you. 

Sy’s tongue slides swiftly over his bottom lip before he pulls it into his mouth and gives you that hard stare again as if he’s trying to read a deeper meaning to your words. 

“Water,” he repeats as he half smiles and you wonder what he finds amusing. He lifts his chin, using it to point to the couch. “Go on, I’ll bring it out.”

Aika is sitting on her blanket, her ears lift as you enter the room. As soon as you sit, she pads over, popping her head on your knee like she used to. You scratch behind her ear, grinning as you watch her tail swish and her hind leg tremble with pleasure.

“Miss you too girl,” you murmur softly. 

Sy comes in with a glass of water and a beer, and he places the water on the coffee table. He looks at the sofa, then over at a single seater and you see his mind working, deciding if he should sit next to you or across the room. He snaps his fingers and points to the blanket and Aika pads away, giving Sy room to sit next to you and he opens his beer. Although you sigh with relief, the crack of the can seems abnormally loud in the awkward silence between you and your anxiety rises until you feel like your heart is going to burst from your chest.

“So,” you say, “how have you been?”

He looks at you a long time before he exhales roughly through his nose and shakes his head. 

“Busy,” he says, waving an arm around the room and for the first time you notice the moving boxes. 

“Right.” 

It’s not that you forgot he is moving, it’s the reason you had the argument in the first place, but you were more focussed on other things. 

“When are you leaving?”

“In a week,” he says.

“Not long then.”

“Nope,” Sy says, popping the ‘p’ as he says it. He moves his head side to side as if arguing with himself and his annoyance returns. “I can’t do this,” Sy puts his beer on the table, “Just cut the bullshit, Sugar and tell me what you want. Why are you here?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammer, unable to hide your nervousness from him any longer.

“You don’t know,” he says each word slowly, drawing them out. His eyes run over your body and he leans in closer. “I think you know exactly why you’re here.”

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

“What else,” he asks in a throaty tone that makes your mouth feel dry.

He drops his gaze to your low cut top and he bites his lip. He raises a finger and traces the edge of the fabric, his warm pad leaving your skin feeling scorched to the bone. You feel like you're barely breathing, but you can see how quickly your chest rises and falls beneath his touch.

“I don’t want us to not be on friendly terms.”

“You wanna be friends?” He shakes his head and smirks, his drawling voice is low and as slow as pouring honey as he continues, “You sure about that? Cause from where I’m sittin’ you look like you want somethin’ else.”

“I… I wanted to…”

Sy leans in so close to you, you can smell the beer on his breath. You draw your thighs together as your body thrums. Being so close to him like this is intoxicating and the worst thing is, he knows how he makes you feel; you’ve never been able to hide the effect he has on you when he unleashes the full extent of his potent sexuality. He puts his hand on your neck and his thumb caresses the shell of your ear before he tugs softly on your earlobe.

“You wanna hook up ‘fore I go? Have ourselves one last farewell fuck. Are you here for that?”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, if it wasn’t part of the plan to get him back. You had definitely dressed to get him thinking about it. But you also aren’t planning on it being the last time.

“I still love you, Sy,” you whisper because you can’t catch enough breath to say it any louder.

“Un-fuckin’-beliveable,” Sy says coarsly. He straightens, removes his hand and leans back into the corner of the couch. He’s no longer crowding you and you finally feel like you can breathe again. “It’s too late for that, Sugar.”

“I said I was sorry, Sy. I—”

“Sorry ain’t gonna fix what's happenin’ here, darlin’,” he interrupts with a thin mouth and a shrug, “I still gotta move, ain’t got no choice. You refused to come with me, so that’s it. This is as far as we go.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice. You just sprang it on me.”

“I told you it was a possibility when we started datin’. I told you how it works.”

“But you wanted an answer then and there. You didn’t care that I’d have to see if I could get another job first or find another apartment.”

“I told ya I’d take care of you. I don’t live on base, you could live with me. Take your time finding work if you wanted…” Sy rubs his palm over his head before running it over his face and beard. “Darlin’, I don’t wanna go over all this again. There’s no point.”

“But I…”

“I don’t hate ya, baby,” Sy says, giving you a heartbreakingly spiritless smile, “I wanted to but I can’t. So if that's what you needed to know, well now you know.” Sy stands and adds, “And if that's all, I gotta get to bed.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Things haven’t changed. I’m still bein’ transferred and you’re still not willin’ to come with me so what's the—”

You stand, folding your arms angrily across your chest, and talk over him, “You’re not giving me a chance to explain.”

“To explain or to dig the knife in just that little bit further,” Sy’s jaw clenches as he turns away from you and he slams his mouth shut as though he has more to say and is biting back the words.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” your voice cracks and frustrated tears sting your eyes, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

The tone of your voice makes Sy turn back to you. His eyes are wide and his brows are pinched and raised. 

“I don’t want us to be over,” you sniff, trying to get control of yourself, “I don’t want to lose you, but you’re asking me to give up everything I’ve worked for without even considering giving anything up yourself.”

Sy’s hands cover your cheeks and he wipes the tears from your eyes. “I tried to tell you, I gotta go where they say when they say it. I told you,” his voice lowers and he softens his expression as he rests his forehead against yours, “that I wasn’t the right man for you.”

“But you are, Sy,” you whisper, “You’re everything I could hope for.”

“But here we are. You’re cryin’ and my heart is breaking cause I can’t do a thing about it.”

“You’re worth crying for.” 

You tentatively rest your hands on his waist. His skin is so warm and so firm that your hands itch too feel the texture of the rest of him. His hands press into your cheeks tilting your head until your noses rub against each other’s.

“I ain’t,” he insists softly.

Your mouths are so close that you breathe in his words and they burn your lungs like acid. How could he think that? How can he not see how much he is worth? And you realise in that moment he doesn’t think he’s worth it because you never showed him he was.

You didn’t choose him.

You wanted to, you still want to. There has to be a way around this. This can’t be the end.

His beard brushes your chin as your arms wrap around his back and letting out a sob, you close your eyes.

“Shh baby,” Sy soothes. His lips brush yours as lightly as a feather while he speaks, “Shh, It’s alright, it’ll be ok, you’ll be ok.” 

His lips are stroking yours, not quite kissing you, but you can feel his silky flesh skimming over yours. He mumbles his reassurances as his hand moves to cradle your neck and his other presses against your back drawing you closer and though your bodies meet, he draws you closer still as if he wants to pull you inside himself, fusing you together until you can no longer be torn apart.

Then abruptly, he loosens his grip and lifts his head. 

“You should go,” he says. He reaches behind his back and removes your arms.

“Why?” you ask, confused by his sudden change in attitude.

He picks up your drink and his beer and you follow him as he goes into the kitchen.

“Why?” you ask again.

“Cause it won’t change anythin’,” Sy says, emptying your glass and pouring out his beer into the sink.

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying desperately to hold back your tears, “It hurts Sy, it hurts so much.”

“I know, baby,” he says in a rough voice.

“Can’t we forget Sy? Can’t we forget and have one more night together?”

“It doesn’t have to be our last night, you could still come with me,” he turns to you and takes you in his arms again, “I still want you to.”

You feel stricken, sick to your stomach, “I–”

“Don’t say it again,” he interrupts, raising his fingertips to your lips, “I can’t hear it again.” 

His fingers trail over your lower lip, dragging it down before he reaches your chin and lifts it until you’re looking at his heated blue eyes. His gaze is firmly locked on your mouth and his lips part as he breathing becomes laboured.

“One more night, you’re mine?”

You could drown in his voice, it is so deep and seductive. He seems to tower over you, making you feel vulnerable, but you aren’t scared of the feeling. You’re far too eager to care.

Desperate you nod, “However you want me Sy,” 

He looks torn, reluctant but also hungry. He bites his lips and closes his eyes. His hands slide down your shoulders, his touch achingly gentle and though you’re too scared to breathe, in case he stops touching you, you raise yours to his chest, relishing the feel of his coarse curls beneath your fingers. 

With a frustrated growl Sy reaches for your neck, his huge hand covers your throat as he backs you against the counter, his hips pressing against you. 

His kiss is bruising, punishing as you crash against the counter with a thud, his hands are at your pants and he tears at your button and zip. With viscous impatience he drags your panties and jeans down your thighs. You kick off your sneakers, unwilling to stop kissing him even as his fingers claw into your hips. He lifts you to the counter and strips you of your remaining clothes.

His hand grips your jaw as he steps between your legs. His fingers dig almost painfully into your cheeks as he makes you look at him. Your eyes widen, as he spits on his hand and he opens you up, finding your heat instantly. 

Your eyes slide close and you sigh with relief as he fills you with a finger. Your repose is brief though because he shakes the hand holding your jaw.

“Look at me,” he snarls, “Don’t close your eyes, you look at me.”

You nod as he slides in another finger, and he kisses you with his eyes open.  

“This one is mine. You give me this one more time,” his voice lowers and a dangerous edge creeps in as he adds, “Cause the next time you do this, I ain’t gonna see it,” he kisses you and it's softer, but still not gentle, and he whispers, “It ain’t gonna be ‘cause of me.”

His eyes are glacial fury as he fucks you with his fingers. His look is a stark contrast to the heated reverence that you’re used to seeing. You raise your hand to his cheek, wanting to melt his gaze, wanting to see the warmth he used to have for you. With an aggravated growl, he jerks his head away from your touch.

You flinch, he’s never done that before. His eyes widen and he lets you go. His eyes travel down your body and he follows the path with his hand. Your body quivers, so caught up in the heat of the moment that you don’t care if he hurts you.

You almost want him to.

“Fuck,” he says through gritted teeth. He picks your shirt up and throws it at you. “I can’t, I’m too fuckin’ angry.”

“I don’t care,” you beg, “I’ll take you like this, I’ll take you angry, I’ll—”

“No,” he says, turning his back on you, “Get dressed.”

“You still want me.” 

“No shit.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“This ain’t us, this isn’t what we were. This isn’t…” he shakes his head, his voice is low, emotive, “this isn’t how I love you.”

“Then just talk to me, figure this out with me, please?”

“Put your clothes on.”

Shame fills you. You’re pushing yourself on a man who may be attracted to you, but sure as hell doesn’t want to be with you. Your pride can only stand so much. You take a deep breath, it rattles through your tight throat, but you lift your chin. You tried, you don’t know what more you could do, so you dress as quickly as possible while your whole body trembles trying to hold in your frustration and misery. You can’t look at him as you pull your pants on, but you feel his gaze like you would feel the heat of a bonfire. 

As soon as you slip your shoes on, you start to walk to the door, your pace quickening with each step until you’re practically jogging by the time you’re on the porch. Hot tears are running down your cheeks and you know it’s over.

Even as you’re running across his yard to your car, you’re pulling your keys from your bag. You hear the Sy’s front door bang shut and he calls your name, but you aren’t going back. You have too much pride.

Sy always teases you about being slow, how you’d lose your keys in your bag or how you take twice as long as him to be settled in the car, messing with the radio before putting your seatbelt on. Not this time though. You start to laugh through your tears as you put your car in drive and peel off just as Sy reaches the sidewalk.

You can see his figure in the rearview mirror, mostly in shadow, you can’t make out his features. But you can see his hands are on his head as he slows to a walk and he watches you drive away.

As empty headed as a zombie you crawl into bed a few hours later. You cried on the way home, cried in the shower, cried as you tried to watch a movie to get your mind off Sy, cried as you tried to read. Eventually, you had no more tears, no more energy to focus on negative thoughts and you made it into bed.

Just as your brain gets foggy and the swirling visions of dreams start to overtake you, the shrill of your phone hauls you from your slumber.

In the darkness you reach for the receiver by the bed and numbly mumble a greeting.

“Okay, talk.”

“Sy!” you cry in shock.

It takes you a few beats to make sense of his words. Your mind is suddenly clear, but for the life of you, you don’t know what to say.

When you had gone to his house, you had so many ideas of what to say, but the whole evening had not gone as you had planned. Now, you have no idea where to begin or if he even really wants to hear what you had to say.

But he’s calling you, reaching out to you, asking you to talk. Maybe he isn’t ready to let go either.

“I don’t think you moving means we have to end things,” you start.

There’s a pause, long and deathly quiet.

“Go on,” he says, finally.

“We could treat it like a deployment,” you continue, “We’ve done that before.”

“It’s different,” Sy says dismissively.

“I don’t see why,” you counter.

“‘Cause you can’t come with me when I’m deployed, there’s no choice. You chose not to come with me, that's the difference.”

“Not forever. I didn’t say that. Just for now.”

There’s another long pause before he speaks. “What are you saying?”

“I've only been at this job for twelve months, it's not enough time to really get the experience I need,” you explain, “If I stay for another year, I’ll be able to apply for more jobs. I should be able to get a job near you much easier and without starting from the bottom again.”

“A year?” Sy asks, drily.  “A year?”

“Sy that's nothing in the scheme of things.”

“We had plans,” Sy states without any explanation, but you don’t need any. You know what plans he had; white picket fences, a yard, marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. 

Here it is, the modern woman's question; what's more important, kids, or a career? 

“We did,” you say, carefully, trying to keep your cool, but you feel a ball of frustration growing in your gut, “We also talked about solidifying my career before we went down that road.”

Sy chuckles bitterly, “I see. We’re back to this, we’re always back to this.”

You want what Sy wants, but not with the urgency he seems to want them. You’d be lying to yourself if this isn’t the real reason for your split. This is the crux of why the schism is so deep, of why he refuses to even listen to you when you say you aren’t going to drop everything and move with him.

“You know I…” you shake your head, “I never wanted to have kids, never wanted to get married. That was always what you wanted–-”

“With you,” Sy interrupts, “I wanted that with you… want that with you.”

“And I want that with you,” you say.

“So what’s the fucking problem, Sugar? Just come with me.”

“I want something for myself first, Sy!” The ball of frustration in your gut bursts. “I want to accomplish something for myself before I give it all up for you!”

“See that's the problem. It shouldn’t be for me or for you, it's for us,” Sy growls. “You never think of us. You only ever think in terms of you or me, never for us.”

“That's not true!”

“No?” Sy argues, “Name one thing that's ours, huh? After all these years, what's ours? We don’t even own a plant together for fuck’s sake. Be honest with yourself, you were never committed to this. We were convenient, easy until it wasn’t, cause you ain’t ever had to actually do anythin’.”

“What did you do Sy?”

“Fuckin’ everythin’,” he says, “I put you first with everythin’, you think it was easy for me?”

“Oh you mean you stopped screwing around? Jesus, Sy, you didn’t cheat on me, so that makes you a saint? That’s the bare fucking minimum!”

“You’re fuckin’ joking, right? I changed my career. I made plans, all my plans, around us,” Sy’s voice gets louder, louder than even the last time you fought. “I went Officer for you for fuck’s sake–”

“You went Officer for yourself,” you retort.

“I did it for us, for the money, so we didn’t have to go through this shit, worryin’ about you workin’.”

“Don’t lie to me, Sy. You did it for your ego!”

“Bullshit!” Sy bellowed.

You suck in a breath. He’s never yelled at you before. Ever.

His silence is eerie. 

“Sugar, I… You’re wrong,” Sy says softly now, “You’re so wrong.”

You thought your tears were done, but your chin wobbles and your eyes sting. “I’m going to hang up.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya.” Sy’s voice sounds hoarse, it’s so low you can barely make out the words.

You don’t say anything, you just hum, hoping he takes it as acceptance of his apology.

“I’ll quit,” he says quickly, desperately, “I’ll quit. I’ll do somethin’ else.”

“I can’t let you do that,” you say, trying and failing to keep your voice from wavering, “You’ll end up resenting me. Like I will end up resenting you if I go with you.”

“Why did ya have to come over?” Sy asks, his voice is muffled, so quiet it's like he’s on the other side of the world. Right now, he may as well be. “Why did ya… It don’t matter.”

You want to ask him what he was going to say, but he’s right. It doesn’t matter. 

Sometimes… sometimes there’s no solution.

“It really isn’t going to work for us, is it, Sy?”

“Sugar… God damn. I want it to. So fuckin’ much.”

You sniff softly, wiping at your tears. You’re exhausted, so fucking tired, you can’t keep doing this.

“I’m going to go,” you mumble, your eyes closing as you lay back into the pillows.

“I don’t wanna hang up, Baby.”

You laugh, it's short and you smother it immediately with your hand. You can almost see what Sy’s face would be like in your mind's eye, how he’d draw his brows together and tilt his head, a half smile on his face as he asks…

“What’s got you tickled, Sugar?”

“I just remembered when we first started dating and you’d stay on the phone…” You’re still smiling, but your eyes water and you can’t finish.

Sy hums, you can hear his amusement in his tone. “Wanna stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”

You do. So much. But…

“Please?” you ask.

He hums again, this time it's not as strong, as if the noise got caught in his throat. You hear movement, Sy’s breath gets a little louder for a few minutes before falling into a soft slow rhythm. You think he must have gotten into bed but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to ask.

You fight sleep for as long as you can. You know you don’t last long because it seems like as soon as you close your eyes you open them again and the cordless phone is laying by your side and emitting a long steady obnoxious tone.

Sy’s gone.

You wake before your alarm goes off. You never do that on weekends. You try to roll over and go back to sleep. You just close your eyes when you hear the doorbell.

You think about ignoring it and pull the covers up over your head. Who on earth would be at your door at 6.30am on a Saturday?

No it couldn’t be.

You sit bolt upright and throw the covers back. You don’t even bother putting on a robe and you run to the door.

You pause with your hand on the doorknob and swallow hard. Pulling yourself together as best you can, you peek through the peephole.

Oh my God. It’s him.

With a yelp you throw the door open, your eyes wide as you see him standing there. Your mouth works trying to say something, but you can’t make the words form.

“A year,” he says, simply, “I can wait a year.”

“Sy…”

“Baby…”

Then his arms are around you, drawing you close, his mouth crushing yours so hard you’re sure they’re going to be tender tomorrow, but you don’t care.

Sy lifts his head, walking you back into your apartment, closing the door behind him with his foot. He holds you close while he raises a hand to smooth down your bed hair, his eyes searching your face, caressing your cheeks, your lips, your brows.

The more he touches you, the more his eyes seem to soften. Whatever intimacy, whatever connection had been lost is coming back. You lift your hand to his cheek, needing to touch him, needing to feel his warmth again. He covers your hand with his as he turns his head and breathes deeply, closing his shining, stormy blue eyes while he kisses your palm. He stays there his lips pressed against your skin, until he releases a long ragged breath.

“Love you so much,” he mumbles quietly, as if talking to himself, “I was such an ass thinking I could let you go.”

Happy tears well in your eyes, he wipes them away as quickly as they fall. “Me too, me too.”

“I want you,” he stresses, “I get so greedy and impatient cause I want all of you. But that's on me. It’s wrong of me.”

“I’ve made you wait a long time, Sy,” you say apologetically.

“You’re worth it. I don’t want any of that other stuff unless it's with you.”

Knowing you don’t have the words to tell him how you feel, you let your actions speak and pull on his shirt, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him softly, slowly, wanting to take your time rebuilding the connection. Although you’d been apart only a few weeks, there has been a shift and you need to ground yourself in each other again.

When you pull away, Sy takes your hand and leads you towards the couch, “I guess we ought to talk about how this is all gonna work.”

Of course Sy wants to work out the logistics immediately, but you have other things on your mind. You shake your head and smirk.

“Later,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and lifting your face to his. 

His nose nudges playfully at yours and you giggle a little as you nudge him back. You close your eyes and press your lips against his. Sy hums, returning your kiss immediately, though he holds back. He lets you take the lead, lets you deepen the kiss when you’re ready, lets you take his hand and lead him to your bed.

Your heart thumps hard in your chest as you lay on your head on the pillows and you can’t stop your thighs from cinching together as Sy crawls up the bed, kicking his shoes off as he goes. He lays on top of you, leaning on his elbows and smirks.

“Are we making up, baby?” Sy asks in a roguishly husky voice. 

“You wanna talk first?” you ask in reply, raising an eyebrow.

Sy slowly shakes his head, his eyes darkening as he grins wolfishly. You had planned to take it slow, to kiss, to reconnect, but deep seeded need takes over and in a rush of tangled and frantic hands, you tear at Sy’s pants while he tears at yours, as if you were racing each other.

Beating him to your goal you lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around his cock bringing it half erect out of his barely lowered jeans. His huge body shudders at your touch and he gives up trying to get into your pants as if he's lost all coordination. He drops his head into your neck with a ragged breath and wrapping his arms around you he rolls you both onto your side. 

You close your eyes, feeling him pulse and grow while he puts a hand on your neck and lifts your chin. His breath is hot as he moves his mouth roughly over you, feasting almost viciously on the delicate skin under your jaw as he rocks his hips, fucking your hand.

“Baby,” he growls in your ear before he bites your neck. You gasp and he groans, “Fuck, you touch me so good. Get me so fuckin’ hard.”

“I love touching you,” you murmur, “Love feeling you get hard in my hand.”

He pulls your head down until your foreheads touch and you breathe each other's air. “Wanna fuck ya so bad,” Sy’s voice is thick and deep, “Wanna taste ya. Want all of you.”

Almost frustrated he lifts your hand off him and holds it above your head. Sy’s body presses against yours until you're on your back then he moves between your legs, his size making you spread your legs to accommodate him.

He moves to his knees, hurriedly undressing before he tugs at your shirt and then your pyjama pants, making you raise your legs high before they drop to the mattress again.

He pauses and looks you over, biting on his lip as he shakes his head slowly. You begin to tremble in anticipation, but your eyes are as busy as his, looking from his broad shoulders and perfectly furry chest, to his cock standing unashamedly tall against his stomach. 

“Sy,” you whine softly, silently begging for him to touch you.

He raises his head, his eyes seem to be pleading too as his hand presses against your slit. You inhale sharply as his fingers slide easily over you. You're well and truly wet and ready for him and your core tightens, desperately milking at nothing.

“Please,” you purr weakly.

“You don’t gotta beg baby,” Sy assures you in a dulcet tone, “Just missed looking at ya, is all.” He leans over you, holding his weight on an outstretched arm. “Gonna miss lookin’ at you,” he adds with regret in his voice.

“It’s not going to be easy for me either,” you tell him solemnly. 

The edges of Sy’s lips raise in a small smile. He lowers himself onto his elbow and strokes your hair.

“I know, Sugar. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” you shrug, not sure how to form the thought rolling around in your head, “that I’m not different… That I want—”

“Stop,” Sy interrupts sternly, “You wouldn’t be you if you were different. I wouldn’t love ya so much if you weren’t you.” He kisses your lips and murmurs, “I love your ambition,” he kisses your neck, “I love that you fight for what ya want,” he kisses the tops of your breasts, “I love that you don’t need me,” he kisses your belly, raising his eyes as he says, “and I love that you want me.”

You press your lips together as your throat seems to close up and your eyes sting.

“Sy…” you whisper because you don’t want to cry and ruin the moment. You reach down and run your hand over the velvety hair on his head, as he kisses your hip. “I do want you, so much.”

His eyes are heated as his finger slips inside you. You roll your hips on his fingers and his eyes narrow as he watches you move in a way that makes you feel like a Goddess, like he's never seen anything more enthralling.

“God baby,” he growls, “wanna fucking watch you do this forever.” And for a while he does.

Languidly, he pumps his fingers inside you, laying his head on your thigh he kisses your exposed core, his tongue lightly coaxing your clit from beneath its hood. It's lazy, teasing, seductive and sighing you lay back into the pillows, drowning in the gentle yet overwhelming sensations he brings you. Slowly he builds you to your peak, your thighs tremble as your muscles tighten and scream for release.

“Please Sy,” you beg and he hums in soft acknowledgement. 

“Don’t wanna stop,” he murmurs.

You lift yourself to your elbows and look down at him. He’s laying on his side, languorously stroking his cock as he licks you. You watch him for a while, aware he’s watching you, your body heats, you're burning up and you teeter on the edge.

“Jesus, Sy,” you mumble, “I love watching you do that… make me crazy.”

“Best fuckin’ pussy,” he growls against you, “makes me so fuckin’ hard.”

He groans and lets go of himself, wrapping his arms around your thighs and buries his face deeper into you. Spiralling out of control your hips rock against him, trying to make him go faster, your desperation overtaking every thought and all you can think of is release.

“Sy I’m, I’m… Oh fuck…” 

He hums, voice reverberates in his throat and you feel its vibrations on your clit. He reaches between his legs again, but he’s not jerking off, he’s squeezing the head of his rock hard cock, trying to stop himself from coming. God, he drives you wild.

You cry out as you lose control, your mind blank as you ride out the rolling waves of torrid ecstasy. You’re boneless, weak as Sy climbs over you, pushing inside you as your core is still contracting, the sudden fullness bringing another wave of hot pleasure.

You can barely wrap your arms around him, but you need to. You need to hold him, you need to feel him, his warm skin, his corded muscles, his strength, his desire, his love.

He seems to want to be close to you too, holding you tight beneath him, an arm under your lower back, the other around your shoulders. He moves slowly, barely rolling his hips, the motion a subtle and torturous rocking.

Part of you wants more, you want to feel him for days, but this, this is sublime and rare. It's the way he has you when he knows he’s leaving, when he wants it to last, when he wants you to know not just his lust, but also his love. 

His mouth finds yours, his kiss is soft too, agonisingly teasing. He sucks on your bottom lip, his teeth applying gentle pressure and you arch into him, the torment of his tender touch becomes almost unbearable in its perfection. 

Your caress matches his, light and easy until you can take it no more and your nails dig into his back as you clutch at him, wanting him closer though it’s impossible. You touch him everywhere you can reach, his sculpted shoulders and arms, the roughened skin of his sun tanned neck, the soft bristles of his hair.

As your fingers trace his brows, he lifts his head above yours, the intensity of his eyes takes your breath away as he kisses your hand. The look on his face changes, his eyelids get heavy and his jaw clenches as he drops his head into your neck.

You chase his mouth with yours, his breath is torrid, heavy and laced with quiet groans. His arm leaves your back and he strokes your hair, touching you with such sweet and tender care, your chest tightens and your heart aches.

His thumb wipes under your eye, you didn’t even realise you had started to cry.

“Don’t think about it, Sugar,” Sy murmurs as he moves to kiss your cheek, “Just think about here and now.”

“I almost lost you, I’m so… We’re okay aren’t we?” you whisper, because it doesn’t seem right to say it any louder.

“Hush. I’ve got you now and we’re good. I’m here. You’re here. Just be with me.”

He holds you close and rolls onto his back and sits up. Your mind spins, his strength always surprises you in the best way possible.

Sy’s looking up at you now, grinning wickedly he playfully jerks inside you. You giggle and squirm, but your breath catches he lifts his hips and slides in deeper.

“God, Sy,” you murmur, encircling his neck with your arms.

His hands move up and down your sides, he watches the path of his touch before they settle on your hips and he looks at you. 

“Take me, baby,” he urges, his thumbs rubbing softly against your skin. “I’m all yours.”

You cup his cheeks, letting your fingers sink into his beard, as you rise slowly and dip.

“So good, baby,” he groans, sliding his hands around your ass, lifting you as you rise up, “So fuckin’ good.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

He exhales roughly and puts a hand to your nape and pulls your mouth to his, “I know,” he growls. “And I fuckin’ love you.”

His kiss is lingering, his touch careful, considerate and every caress restrained and deliberate. His hands move over your back in delicate sweeps and across your chest with subtle pressure as he cups the weight of your breasts gently. His mouth is soft and gentle against your tight buds.

You want more, but Sy keeps it slow, so taking matters into your own hands you lean back a bit, resting your hands on his thighs so he hits that spot deep within you. Immediately you feel hotter, your skin burning and your head lull’s back because all you can concentrate on is keeping yourself upright as you grind against him.

“Jesus, baby,” Sy groans, “Fuck me, look at you…”

You lift your heavy head and Sy’s eyes are waiting. Your heart skips a beat at his look, before pounding even harder in your chest. You’ve never felt more beautiful than at this moment.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his thumb to his lips, giving it a quick swipe of his tongue. He groans, as he covers your clit, and you feel his touch surge up your spine like lightning.

Losing yourself in the fierceness of his stormy blue eyes you grind against him, climbing once again to your peak. Sweat breaks out across your forehead and chest but it doesn’t bother him as he leans forward licking and suckling at your breasts, muttering soft praises and encouragement.

“That’s it. That’s what I want,” he whispers, “Feelin’ so good.”

He supports your lower back with a large, powerful hand as you lose control as your thighs shake and your arms grow weak. 

“Sy…” 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he assures you, “Let go for me.”

His thumb moves faster and presses slightly harder to help you along. Despite how good it feels it almost throws you off-course. He knows you so well, knows exactly how to touch you to get you to fall over the edge and for a moment you’re right back in despair, thinking about how you almost lost him. It's not only that he knows what you like that makes him special, it's that he cares enough to find out, to file that information away, and to use it when you need it.

God, you love him for that; for putting you first in everything, not just when he makes love to you. That's what he’s doing, right now, loving you and putting you first, like he always has.

Your heart feels like it's going to burst as you sob out his name and the euphoric heat of your peak rolls through your body.

As your body cools and Sy clutches you to his chest, you keep asking yourself one question; How are you going to spend a year without him?

Sy is dripping with sweat as he brings in the moving boxes from your car with Aika padding along behind him, his white undershirt is damp and clinging temptingly to his body. Your heart starts to race but you remind yourself that finally, after twelve months apart, and seeing each other only a dozen times, this time there will be no goodbye. You can wait until tonight before you run your fingers through the thick curls on his chest and gently tease his nipple with a scrape of your teeth and a lick while he shivers and pretends not to like it.

“Last one. More books,” he grunts, breaking you from your daydream. He leans down to give you a quick peck as he walks past. “Gonna open a goddamn library.”

He’s smiling though. You don’t think anything could dampen his mood today. You are moving in together and in three months you’ll be married and three months after that…

“You okay?” he asks, brows a little furrowed. “Been a long day. Why don’t ya lay down and have an afternoon nap, huh? Unpackin’ can wait a while.”

“I’m not suddenly made of glass, Sy,” you say smiling, watching him place the last box on the ground and straightening.

He smirks and steps in closer to you, wrapping his humid arms around you. “I know. But you’ve been tired and nauseous and—”

“And I don’t feel tired or nauseous anymore.” You slide your hands under his shirt, feeling your way up his body with a grin.

“Oh really?”

You nod slowly, biting your lip and lazily swaying your hips against Sy. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and grabs your ass pulling you closer, rolling his hips in return.

“Woman,” he groans, “These pregnancy hormones are gonna be the death of me.”

You shrug and try to smother your grin as you say, “I can think of worse ways to go.”

Sy’s grin grows larger as he leans down to cover your mouth with his, “I can’t think of any better way to go.”

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[peyton-warren]

Blinded by the Fog Chapter 9

Characters: Reader, Captain Syverson Pairings: Reader x Syverson, Jake Jensen x Reader Word count: 3686 Type: angst and fluff Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. You will need tissues according to my beta. Guilt, self-depreciation, self-doubt, loss of spouse and found family, swearing, adorably adorablness and sickeningly sweet Sy. Summary: Reader and Sy have their first official date.

Author's Note: So many people to thank for this one. Thank you to @ellethespaceunicorn for the beta and for helping me through some rough spots in this. Thank you to @adulting-sucks for her continued support and betaing. Thank you to @sarahdonald87 and @geralts-yenn for listening to me whine about this chapter their support.

Ask Box: Open

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Chapter 8 The following night you put your car into park next to Sy’s truck in his driveway a few minutes before you were scheduled to arrive for your first official date.  You nervously looked at yourself in the mirror, looking for imperfections for the thousandth time even though Aaran Syverson had already seen you at one of the lowest moments in your entire life just a few short weeks ago and still wanted to see you tonight.  

Flipping your visor back in place, you reached for the handle of the door, reminding yourself and the nervous butterflies that this was your idea.  Last night after you had assured Madre that you had made it home safe and sound, Sy and you talked more about apprehensions you both had and what you both wanted moving forward.  And it was quickly but delicately decided you would try actually dating.  That alone made you feel like a teen again, filled with excitement about seeing Sy in a more intimate way and also supplied you with dread at attempting to date in a town that seemed to be overstocked with people who knew about your recent loss.  You knew it was absurd to assume everyone who might see the two of you out together would think you were the world’s worst widow, but your brain would not let that possibility go.  Sy’s compromise was to have your first official date at his house the following night, he would cook for you. This plan seemed simple enough. The perfect combination of everyone’s wishes. But you couldn’t help the nerves now that it was here as you approached his front door, fidgeting with the skirt of your new dress for the millionth time.  

The new dress..... The one you had run off over an hour away to purchase this morning, deeming everything in your closet to be too tied to your husband, unable to shake the feeling you were cheating on Jake by agreeing to see Sy.  If you had new clothes, clothes your husband had never seen, never touched, it would make this semi-okay in your brain.  And speaking of never touched, you also took it upon yourself to buy yourself new lingerie.  You blushed hotly at the thought of the pastel purple set you were currently wearing under your dress.  You weren’t entirely sure you were ready to sleep with Aaran yet, but if it came up - excuse the pun- you were certain new undergarments should eliminate a portion of your hesitation.  

As you reached the door, you raised your hand to knock, only to have it opened before your knuckles could touch the painted surface.  You jumped, squeaked, and nearly dropped one of your gifts in your hands as you hid the second one behind your back with a rustle.  “Oh hi!” you tried to sound casual and normal as you looked up at your host leaned against his door.  And as your eyes flowed over him from toe to head, all rational thought disappeared from your brain, and you are fairly certain you need a bib.  

Dressed in jeans and dark blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and barefoot, Aaran exuded comfort and confidence all in one, something you wished you could say you felt at the same time. Your eyes landed on his sparkling blue ones as he finished his own perusal of you, making you flush as his eyes crinkle in the corner as his smile widened.   

“You look lovely,” he assured you, gesturing for you to step over the threshold by opening the door wider and stepping back with a nod.

Flustered, your eyes flitted around to find a safe place to land that was not on Sy as you entered his home. “Oh, I brought you these,” you stuttered, holding the hand not behind your back to offer him the six-pack of his favorite beer.  As his fingers brushed yours in the handle, you gasped, and looked up at him, his eyes trained on your face, the look both adoring and curious. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice comforting and alluring, and seeming to flow over you in a way that it had not just a few days ago, seeming to almost coat your soul.  

Self-consciously, your hand dropped from the handle, choosing to grip the side of your skirt.  “You’re welcome.  Oh and you look nice too,” you admitted, your voice just this side of stuttering.  You suddenly felt very silly about your second gift for Sy, realizing what you thought might be a fun and playful gesture might not come across that way.  You felt self conscious and awkward as he waited expectantly for your final reveal.  

On your way to his house when you stopped to grab the beer, you stood by the display filled with bouquets of flowers, partly thinking it would be a cute idea, that he would likely do the same if he showed up at your house to pick you up for a real first date instead of this hiding away game you were forcing the two of you to play because of your own insecurities about being recently widowed.  You had stood before the display trying to pick out the perfect bunch.  You wondered if Sy even had a favorite flower.  And if he did what would it be.  Are there any flowers Texas was known for?   And you realized quickly you didn’t know much about Texas or the man you were joining for dinner.  

“I have to get back to cooking,” Sy said softly, breaking you from your thoughts.  “Make yourself comfortable.  Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.  “A beer?” He raised the bottles in his hand with a soft smile, before wandering toward the kitchen at a slow pace, half watching you.  

“Water is great and I know where it is,” you insisted.  

“Nonsense,” he insisted, popping the beers in the fridge and pausing at the stove to stir something.  “Let me get it for you, grab a seat.” 

You entered his kitchen to be greeted by familiar lovely smells. “Oh my god, is that-“ you paused, smelling again, craning your neck to look at the stove from the doorway.  

Sy’s face broke into a broader smile from the sink  “It is.  I remembered how much you liked it when I made it for you a few weeks ago,” he stated, settling a glass of water near the stools at the breakfast bar.  

Your smile matched his as you watched him turn back to the stove.  “It smells as amazing as I remember. Can I do anything to help?”  

Sy glanced over his shoulder at you, a calming looking on his face.  “You can sit there and tell me about your day,” he insisted.  

You glanced at the stools and then recognized you still held your other hand behind your back.  “Hey before I do that, do you have a vase?” The eyebrow of meow appeared again and coasted high on his forehead.  “A vase?” he asked questionably, still looking at you from over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you responded, blushing.

He dropped the spoon to the stove top and nodded, licking his thumb and forefinger.  You couldn’t stop yourself from focusing on his tongue and lips as he made a soft, subtle smacking noise.  “I do,” he admitted, heading towards you, noting the look on your face with a small smirk.  You stood frozen in place as he got within an arm's reach, all the while his eyes were trained on yours.  At the last moment before he would have bumped into you, he sidestepped, brushing his arm against the one you had tucked behind your back, a half-attempt to look at what you had hidden, as if he didn’t have a clue after your one question.  “But there’s a problem,” he softly admitted, as you turned, keeping your front facing him while bending your body back to keep his last gift out of his view.  He walked into a small room off of the kitchen that you had not ventured into during your last visit, and you followed through the open folded french doors.  On the other side was a small but well appointed dining room, and in the middle of it sat a beautifully set table, including a vase in the center filled with simple daisies with a few peace roses speckled throughout them, complementary greens in between and flowing from a glass vase.  

You let out a small gasp, with a soft smile.  “Those are lovely,” you admitted, mentally comparing them to the grocery store tulips behind your back.  

“We can find a glass for the ones you are hiding.” Sy teased, making you awkwardly offer them to him.  “They are lovely too,” he told you, taking them from you, before kissing your cheek.  “You are so sweet to bring them.” 

With your skin tingling from his affections, you shrugged.  “They are just-” 

With a gentle look over his shoulder, Sy cut you off.  “The first flowers anyone ever gave me,” he amended.  “And I love them, thank you.”

Following him back into the kitchen, you watched as he grabbed a tall pint glass from the cupboard before glancing at the stove.  “Could you do the honors?” he asked, gesturing to the flowers he had laid on the counter by the sink.  “I need to finish dinner.”

“Oh of course of course!”   You slipped your shrug off, draping it over a chair as you moved quickly to the sink as he headed to the stove.  “I need a sharp knife,” you stated after looking at the bottom of the stems realizing they were dry and likely not getting any water.  

Sy didn’t move from his spot but gave you directions to find a knife to your liking.  The kitchen filled with comfortable silence along with the soft music coming from somewhere, you finally realized Sy had music playing throughout the house since you stepped foot into the house.  You usually were the same though lately you had forgone music in your everyday life because every song seemed to remind you of Jake or another Loser.  Soon you found yourself moving to Stone Free, humming along with the Hendrix song as you trimmed the ends of the flowers, placing them in the glass filled with water one by one.  If you weren’t mistaken, you might have caught Sy watching you from the stove as he filled bowls and plates with your meal.  

As you put the last bloom into the glass, the song changed and your face lit up.  “I haven’t heard this song in ages,” you lamented as Mick Jagger began singing about being free to do what he wants, any old time.   Setting the makeshift vase and its contents on the counter closer to the stove, you sang softly with Jagger as you turned to look at Sy only to find him right next to you. With a growing grin on his face, he reached for you, and pulled you into his arms, one winding around your back.  Biting your lip you looked up at him while you slid your hand into his.  With very little effort, Sy carefully danced you between the counter and the center island of his kitchen.  Eyes always on yours, he led you into the open space of the foyer, making your smile widen as you followed his lead through the house.  

'Cause I'm free

To do what I want

Any old time

Sy spun you, extending his arm for you to step out away from him before drawing you back in, pulling your body flush to his.  With a smirk, he leaned you over, dipping you as the song ended, making your face burst with a smile and a blush.  He held you there for a second,  your chests slightly pressed together, your breathing heavier than normal, staring in each other's eyes.  After a moment’s pause, Sy opened his mouth. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he admitted softly.  

Without a second thought, you simply nodded. “Then I think you should,” you barely whispered, your heart all but bursting from your chest as Sy leaned in to kiss you.  You eagerly met his lips as he pulled you into a standing positions, his hands now sitting on your spine, holding you close to him as one of your hands threaded itself through the hairs on the back of his neck, a couple of the fingers on the other hand gently gripping at the front of his shirt, sliding around one of the buttons.  Standing on your tiptoes, your lips melded with his.  At first the kiss was gentle and sweet but as Sy’s lips parted, and his tongue stroked across your lower lip, the temperature shifted.  All thought disappeared from your brain, the world disappeared, all concerns about the impropriety of this flew out the window as your tongues stroked over each other and your breathing increased.  Sy’s hand slid up your back to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck, your fingers almost matching in pressure as your kiss continued to escalate, getting lost in each other until you heard an annoying buzzer sound from the kitchen.  

Sy pressed his forehead to yours after pulling his mouth away, but made no move to detangle himself from you.  “Dinner’s gonna get cold,” he admitted.  

Your eyes stayed closed as you shrugged, not wanting to move.  “What’s ‘dinner’?”

He guffawed before kissing your nose.  “God you are adorable.”  Your grin widened as you blinked your eyes open, looking at him as he slowly released you.  Not letting go of your hand, he led you back into the kitchen.  “Can I help get this to the table?” you asked. 

Within a few minutes, the two of you were seated at the table.  This was far from the first meal you had shared, but looking around the table you couldn't help but feel a bit flushed and giddy at the measures Sy had taken for this first date.  The butterflies were still fluttering in your stomach but they had settled some as you began to eat, chatting about your day, about work, about your lives.  All these things were not new topics for the two of you to share, but it felt different, more open, more sincere.  

After dinner, Sy filled your wine glass with water and a pretty slice of lemon before leading you out into his backyard.  There was a cute little setting around a fire pit, a smattering of chairs, and benches, and the pit looked like it was ready to be sparked to life with just a single match.  Overhead were Edison bulbs strung through the trees, giving the faintest of lights.   

You followed him down the slate path, bare feet feeling the residual warmth the stones still held from the disappeared sun. As you settled into the settee, Sy made quick work with the fire, as you had predicted and joined you.   Without a second thought you curled into him, pressing yourself to his side, your head landing on his chest, your hand on his ribs.  At first he extended his arms outward, almost surprised by your actions, but he quickly recovered, draping one arm over your back and shoulder, curling his hand over your upper arm.  His other arm came to rest on his thigh, while he pressed his cheek to the top of your head.   “This ok?” You asked after a moment.  

Sy chuckled. “More than ok, hun.  More than.”  He squeezed you tighter against him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”   

You gently shrugged, eyes focused on the dancing flames in front of you.  “I don’t know.  Because you’ve been sending me different messages.” You felt your cheeks heat up.  “One second you are looking at me like I’m the only woman on the planet, and the next you are pouring me a glass of water so I’m sober enough to go home.”   

“First of all, tonight you are the only woman on the planet as far as I’m concerned,” he admitted into your hair.  “Secondly,” he paused as he wrapped his other arm around you, holding you firmer to him. “You are going home tonight.”  His arms tightened as you stiffened against him, your hand landing on his chest to push  away from him, as if he just insulted you by making decisions for you.  “This is our first date,” he reminded you.  “It wouldn’t be proper or right for anything else to happen except a lovely kiss goodnight at my door.”

Your brain warred for a few moments. Both touched and annoyed at his thoughts. “But what if I wanted more?” you ask even though you honestly didn’t know if you wanted more than what he was extending to you tonight.  You’d be a liar if you hadn’t thought about what sex with Sy would be like. But you also knew you were terrified at taking that next step with him.  In your mind, that direction was a huge step towards getting over Jake.  And you weren’t sure you wanted to get over him yet.  You weren’t ready to assign him to your past, put him on a shelf. He was, is, forever will be part of you.  

You felt Sy kiss the top of your head, followed by a scruffy peck on your forehead.  His hand cupped you under the chin, turning you to look up at him.  He skimmed his hand over your cheek, catching tears on his thumb, tears you didn’t even know you had cried.  “Because this,” he held up his damp digit.  “Tells me you are just as scared as I am by the next step.”

Your eyes fly from his hand to meet his blue eyes in the shadows cast by the fire light, confused and a little stung by his words.  “You are scared of sleeping with me?” 

Sy sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts.  He tightened his hold on you, his hand landing on your cheek again.  “Yes and no,” he admitted, his eyes slowly opening.  You could see so much swirling in there, wishing you could read them.  “I am partly scared I will wind up just being the man who helps you get over the heartbreak of losing Jake.  That I’m the one who’s gonna put you back together only for you to find someone else when you are whole again.” His words stung hard, piercing through your heart.   

“I am not asking you to put me back together,” you assert, pulling back from him.  You fully extract yourself from him.  “I can do that on my own.  I thought this was something more than just that.” Abruptly you stood, making to move around him, intent on grabbing your things and going.  You didn’t need his pity date.  

“Sugar no,” he expressed, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you back.  He turned on the seat to face you, his legs on either side of you as you stood, arms crossed, staring at the house, not at him.  “This is more than that.  So much more than that,” he assured you, dropping his arm from your waist.  His hand reaches for your arm, gently tugging it from your chest, sliding his hand up your forearm to twine your fingers with his.  After a few silent moments, he sighed.  “I’m just scared,” he admitted.  “Very scared. Of losing you mostly.  You are the best thing to happen to me. Your pain and your struggles only highlight how incredible you are.  I’m scared you are going to get through the pain of losing Jake, and realize I was just something to hold onto so you didn’t lose yourself while you were healing.” You turned to look at him as his voice cracked. “That I was a mistake.”

Tears in his eyes were your undoing, the hurt you felt disappeared. Cupping his cheek, you stepped forward.  “Never a mistake, Sy,” you assured him.  “Never.”  He wrapped his arms around your waist and hips and drew you close to him. He pressed his face to your belly as your hand landed on his head.  “You have been my light, my guiding light as I work through all this. No matter how this works out between us, I will never think of you as a mistake.”  

The two of you stayed like that for an untold amount of time, your hand flowing over his shaved head. His face stuffed into your belly, your thighs pressed to his chest as you stared into the stars beyond the tree limbs surrounding you.  Sy felt right in a way that even Jake never did.  

With guilt you looked up into the sky, hoping Jake could forgive you for that.  You loved him, still loved him so so much. But what you had found with Sy was different, more supportive, more mature, more fulfilling.  You felt more tears fall from your eyes as you stared at the stars, remembering the first time you saw the milky way was with Jake, remembering that your first time for a lot of things was with Jake, remembering there was going to be no more first times with Jake.  

Unexpectedly and surprisingly, Sy drew you into his lap, settling back on the sofa.  Your knees landed on the cushion on either side of his hips as you allowed yourself to be manhandled into his embrace.  You both buried your faces into each other's neck. It was only then that you realized you were crying, nay sobbing.  You clung to Sy as rough as he clung to you, the two of you riding this emotional roller coaster together but separate.  But most importantly together.  Together you could weather whatever was thrown at you.  With him at your side, you could face your fears of the unknown, of the changes that you were going to meet.  You knew you could do it alone but you also knew you didn’t have to as long as he was around.  

Authors Note 2: The first time reader saw the milky way with Jake can be seen here.

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