•°.Martha.°•

✨️25• In love with Sy•yes it's military green✨️

[martha-oi]

•°. Captain Syverson Inspo .°• Hand Kink .•°

•°. Inspired By My Posts .°•

•°. Written by me .°• Silent alarm

•°. Favorite Fics .°•

•°Favorite Headcanons - Alphabets - Drabble.°•

•°. Random thirst .°•

•°. My iconic birthday cake .°•

[livesinfantasyland]

Just when I thought he’d peaked...he got hotter!

More Gifs

[freakytikigifs]

Henry Cavill as Gus March-Phillipps MINISTRY OF UNGENTLEMANLY WARFARE

[martha-oi]

[martha-oi]

Happy Syday

[cwtenko]

Dry humping on his stupid fat bulge would fix me probably

[angryschnauzer]

[martha-oi]

[littlefreya]

Shades of Green

Summary: On the paper, Syverson made for the perfect roommate, mostly due to the fact he was never home and even though he was hotter than hell you doubted anything could ever happen between you. Until one night changes everything...

Pairing: Captain Syverson x female reader (no description of body type or ethnicity)

Words: 6.6k

Warnings: +18, fluff, romance and graphic smut. Jealousy, roommates to lovers, angry sex, vaginal fingering, dirty language, breeding kink, risky creampie, hyperspermia, bodily fluids, machoism.

A/N: This is dedicated to my lovely @wolvesandhoundshowltogether a very belated gift, long-anticipated 🖤. It's been a while since I last wrote an actual story so excuse me now hiding from the world in anxiety. Many thanks to my dear friend @agniavateira for beta'ing.

Shades of green

Two years have passed since you moved into the cosy little apartment in the bowels of the city centre - a humble sun-showered pad with a small terrace where you nourished timid house plants back to life.

Indeed, it was a rare find for a reasonable price. The fact that you had to share it with a boorish military grunt didn’t bother you even by the slightest.

Quite the contrary, Captain Logan Syverson was the ideal flatmate; due to long deployments, he was hardly ever at home. Once returned from active duty, he tended to keep the place clean, fixed whatever broke, and made the kitchen drift of the most delicious aromas.

The only real problem that arose from sharing a flat with the Captain was that despite the buzzcut, scars, and bristly ‘roadkill’ that decorated his jawline, he was otherworldly attractive. Sporting the body of a viking warlord and the confidence of a well-endowed man, Syverson was the type of handsome that made grown men stop on their heels and stare and for teenage girls to cover their mouths in a muffle of shy giggles.

Silly little you were anything but immune to his spell, of course. One glimpse of his sapphire-lustred eyes brought fervid heat to your cheeks, and your knees turned into cotton.

However, the relationship between the two of you remained lukewarm, on terms of nothing other than flatmates. Syverson was a man of a few words and grunts, who mostly kept to himself and spent the nights at the local neighbourhood pub where he would drink with his buddies until the moon itself fell asleep.

Admittedly, you preferred to keep a healthy distance, knowing very well that a man like Syverson would never fall for a woman such as yourself. The ladies Sy brought home were nothing like the timid ocean breeze you were, he only ever bothered speaking to you when it was time to discuss whose turn it was to do the next round of grocery shopping.

October snuck right beneath the nose, carrying amber-tinted leaves on its chill wind along with Captain, who was now back from Iraq for a much longer leave and strolled around the house like a bored house cat in search of trouble.

The more you kept bumping into him around the pad, the thicker the air felt in your apartment despite the temperatures outside dropping lower with each day.

“Whatever,” you sighed, brushing your hair in front of the shower mirror and more so, hoping to brush away any thoughts of Sy as you prepared for your date. It has been years since you've been on one of those.

The man you were supposed to meet, Robert, nagged you for aeons and a day until eventually, you caved in and accepted his courtship. Truth be told, you had scant interest in actually seeing him tonight but a part of you hoped that this would help in making you feel less pathetic for crushing over your roommate who never gave a fuck.

Fumes seeped around you as you stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a short towel. With your thoughts as hazy as the mist that engulfed the corridor, you made way toward the bedroom when something hard and sturdy blocked your path, causing you to bounce back with a breathless shriek.

‘Oh no, oh, fuck, no!’

“Careful there, spitfire, you’ll hurt yourself.”

The low, gravelly drawl of his voice sent a spiralling tingle to your pebbled nipples: fully erect, they brushed against the wet cloth barely guarding your virtue as if crying for the attention of that burly bull of a man.

Gawking, Sy stood before you, sipping from a bottle of beer, blocking the corridor in ways that offered no escape.

Instantly, your hand tightened on the towel around your chest, assuming that for whatever reason, the Captain was in a mood to vex you, though it wasn’t just mischief that gleamed upon his pale sapphires—but a feral, shameless intent. Unapologetic, his eyes trailed down your half-naked figure, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Headin’ out tonight, roomie?” Sy questioned with another sip while his eyes stabbed at your chest.

Knuckles stiff around the edge of the towel, you cleared your throat in a failed attempt to prevent your voice from trembling.

“I...yeah, I am.”

“Hot date?” His smirk slanted.

“Actually, yeah.”

Sy remained stoic, tiny specks of foam graced his bushy beard and with the flick of his tongue, he licked his lips and suckled them dry. “Pity,” he grumbled, baritone dropping smoothly low, “thought maybe we can decorate the livin’ room together, ya know?… for Halloween. But I guess I’ll make the webs... by myself.”

Your belly sank and fluttered with the unease one has when shamefully exhilarated by something forbidden, yet not a single twitch appeared below the Captain’s frigid stare, which did nothing but furthermore vex your seething mind.

Embarrassed and bemused, you hoped to hell he didn’t mean what you thought he meant. A small frown formed on your brow; if this was a provocation of some sort, you didn’t have time for it. Harrumphing, you shrugged, almost making the towel slip off your chest, much to Syverson’s silent delight.

“Not much into decorating tonight,” you spat coldly and shot him a sardonic grin.

“Yeah, I bet,” he scoffed.

An awkward stillness crept into the narrow space between you. Gingerly, his glare lingered, the sapphire-coloured shine sparkling as it trailed the little beads of water that loosely hung from your hair and glided down your skin. For a brief moment, he grazed his sharp fangs upon his bottom lip but then shrugged and turned back toward the living room.

Never in your life have you sighed with such intense relief.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your heart was threatening to crush through your bones and escape your ribcage. Typically, the Captain had a certain effect on you - a quiver in your belly, a kiss of heat to crest your cheek. But in that very moment, you couldn’t stop the throbbing in your chest and all of a sudden you were a teenager - pitifully infatuated with the hottest guy in school, heart-singing and every glimpse his sapphires offered filled you with the hope that maybe he liked you too.

Though you had Syverson figured out a long, long while ago, knowing very well he was like one of these boys — sick for attention with no real intention.

“Fuck these guys,” you muttered under your breath as you slipped in the tight little red dress you purchased especially for your date.

The thought that Sy might find you attractive wearing it struck your mind nonetheless; but quickly, you stuffed any notion of him to a dusty nook in the back of your brain and finished prepping for your date.

Sy was still sprawled on the sofa once you emerged from your room; lounging about, watching some dumb horror movie on Netflix while a bottle of cold beer sat loose in his fist. There was no ignoring the weird atmosphere that unfurled through the apartment. The air tensed with every click your heels made upon the cheap parquet flooring, each step soaking you with an unexplained sense of guilt as if going on this date was an act of infidelity.

Sending a brief glimpse at the burly man, you felt an urge to say something but realised you had no reason to make excuses to Sy. Instead, you reached for your black sequin purse and just as your hand touched the door handle...

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

The thunder of his voice shot right through your nerves. Clenching your teeth, you bit back your ire and turned to stare at him.

Sy’s eyes were still glued to the screen.

“Robert, from accounting in my firm, but you don’t know him…”

“Robert… accounting,” Sy repeated the name, the gears in his brain twisting and turning when suddenly, he let out a loud snort and burst into a peal of roaring laughter. Throwing his head over his shoulder, he finally offered you a gander, his joyful eyes briefly running up and down the curves of your body.

“Bobbie? Little Bobbie McPee?”

“Robert McBride,” you corrected with a sulk, your fingers anxiously toying with the metal handle. Had you the nerve, you would have smacked that irritating smile right off his big. stupid. face.

Shaking his head, Sy suddenly shot himself from the sofa, his imposing body flexing beneath the worn black t-shirt that looked as if it was about to surrender and rip under the size of his bulging muscles. Any tendril of rage that wove in your gut briskly dissolved, replaced with a prickling chill that crept between your bones and held you paralysed.

Wide-eyed, you watched Syverson as he sauntered forward, your head chaotic with an onslaught of rapid irrational thoughts.

‘Why the hell is he coming closer? Is he going to...’

“We went to high school together,” he retorted and paused mere inches away from you, entrapping you between the white wooden door and his impossibly large frame. His breath blew hot on your face, while the scent of his spicy beard oil, beer and virile musk caged you in hazy mindlessness.

Suddenly you were weak, your knees shaking at the glint of his sapphire gaze. Up and down he scrutinised you, the tip of his serpentine tongue darting at his upper lip in what seemed like a taunt.

“Well,” he drawled, taking a small pause as he examined your dress, “tell little Bobbie: Logan Syverson says hi.”

You meant to reply with a snide remark, but the flare sparking his eyes had you speechless. Once the words returned to your mind, Sy already turned his back and made his way to the living room while chuckling to himself.

To say that your hatred toward Captain Logan F. Syverson burnt with the fury of thousand blazing suns would have been an understatement. Every passing minute you spent thinking about him during your date made you seeth. Not that Robert was anything other than an atrociously dull human being, but everything would have been peachy if you could stop imagining that the man in front of you was Syverson instead.

‘Motherf…’ you fumed, wondering what did you ever do to Sy to have him mess with your head like that.

Nothing! You did nothing to win such treatment. The provoking, the blunt mockery—Syverson knew exactly what he was doing dancing around you, exhuming his big-dick-energy to toy with you the way a cat toys with a helpless little mouse.

Even when you attempted to give Robert a grain of respect and concentrate on the tedious conversation he was leading, Sy found new ways to bother you by sending an onslaught of random text messages:

“Where do we keep the laundry detergent again?”

“Did we run out of Mayo?”

“Is the iRobot broken again?”

“Do you know if KFC is still open this time of the evening?”

“Why are you looking for detergents?! You have three t-shirts you cycle between! No, no and no, Google it!”

Having zero intentions of seeing Robert again, you decided to finish the night early.

Frail as he might have been, at least by comparison to beastly Syverson, he still insisted on walking you all the way back to your front door which you kindly agreed to.

No matter how ‘safe’ people declared this neighbourhood, walking alone in the dark wasn’t a worthy risk.

“So this is me...” You forced a grin at the lean man, politely trying to hint that there would never be a second date.

A hint that went obliviously unnoticed. Offering you a hazy gaze, he provided what you think he believed to be a seductive smile. His hand then reached to your wrist, and with a light squeeze, opened his mouth. “I had the loveliest evening.”

Hardly able to mask your disdainful flinching, you tried to pull free from his grip.

“Umm, Robert, I…”

Ignoring the apparent awkwardness and your lack of participation, he gingerly began caressing your hand. “Is this it or?...”

“Or?...” You drew more firmly, your back pressing into the door.

“Or maybe you can invite me in? Just to talk.”

“Ah no…” you started saying, but the words died on your tongue as Robert leaned closer in an attempt to steal an undesired kiss.

A loud whoosh reverberated through the dim corridor as the door behind you suddenly flung open, nearly sending you down to the floor.

“Hey, Bobbie.”

Shirtless and covered by a sheer layer of sweat, Sy stood at the door, one arm casually hanging over the door frame, making his bicep appear far more pumped than usual. You hated him still, yet at that very moment, relief struck you, along with the misty lure of Syverson’s musky scent that roped around you like dark silken knots.

'To hell with him!'

Seeing the beast of the man demonstrating his physical assets, Robert’s hand immediately withdrew.

“Logan,” He cleared his throat.

“It’s Captain Syverson,” Sy corrected before flashing you a quick glare. Why did he make you feel like you were in some trouble again? You frowned.

“We were just having a small chat,” Robert explained, to which Sy replied with a sardonic stare and briefly chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I heard. The lady doesn’t want you in.”

Despite the bewilderment written all over your face, Syverson kept a fierce, warning glare at the other man and tilted his head in a gesture for you to get inside the house.

Almost instantly, you folded your tail between your legs and, with a clenched jaw, snuck below his spread-out arm straight into the apartment.

“Night,” Sy spat and slammed the door shut before Robert had a chance to react.

The walls still trembled with the might of Syverson’s brutal manoeuvre; the little tremors made their way into your bones and stabbed at your muscles until your entire body visibly shook. Sy turned to you with barely veiled anger sparking his blue eyes.

At that point, the heat in your blood peaked to new records.

‘He is pissed?!’

There were so many things you wanted to say to your barbaric jarhead of a roommate right now, none of which would lead to any positive consequences. Swallowing a frustrated growl, you stormed into the kitchen and threw the fridge open in the purpose of occupying one of Sy’s cold bottles of beer - hardly a worthy payment to his obnoxious behaviour, but at least, in that very moment, it held you from a furious outburst.

Right on your steps, Sy followed, silent as he blocked the entire space of the kitchen’s arched pathway. His massive arms rose to fold across his bare chest, his lips smacking together at the sight of you uncorking the bottle before drenching your throat.

All it took was one glance at him, and your anger surged again.

“Logan, what the actual fuck?!”

Sy’s face fell into a frown, appearing just as vexed, if not more.

“Thank you for getting rid of that Schmock, Big Sy,” He answered in a dull falsetto in an attempt to mimic your voice the way a child would taunt.

Instinctively, you rolled your eyes at him, taking another large sip. “I don’t know what has gotten into you tonight, but this is the last time you meddle with my affairs and ruin my dates.”

“Oh please, sugarbutt….”

“Don’t call me sugarbutt!”

“Sweetlin’,” Sy corrected with a sneer and stretched his shoulder even wider, his breadth dwarfing everything within the kitchen, including yourself.

“You are bein’ all ungrateful; that’s what you are. Both you and I here know you weren’t about to sleep with Bobbie McPee. That man is way below your league, and I didn’t like how he was nagging you to let him in, so I went ahead and did you a solid because I believe in a woman’s right to say no, and that guy was downright coercing you.”

Sy did his best to appear calm and indifferent, but his eyes were almost erratic in their scrutiny, promenading across your frame back and forth, like a wild animal preparing for a hunt. The same energy infected you as well; the more you tried to contain yourself, your chest heaved - as if it was a game to play or a competition.

“So you are a feminist now 'big Sy?'” You began to mock, “I saw the skanks you brought over here before and heard the shit that comes out of their mouths.” Pausing, you lifted one arm across the fridge's door and squirmed your hips theatrically.

“How did that go? ‘Ah, yes, yes, yes! Captain, sir, give me that big fat cock, yes, use my body like a fuck hole', are you sure those ladies are not paid actresses? If you know what I mean...”

Beneath his thick beard, his jaw clenched. Unfolding one arm, Syerson pointed a warning finger at you. “First thing first, those were some lovely ladies you speak of, so show ‘em some respect, sugarbutt, and keep that internalised misogyny bullshit out of our apartment. Secondly…”

A wild gust of wind wafted over you with Syverson’s abrupt agile movement, who, in less than a second, stood an inch away from your face, rudely reminding you that this humanoid beast was not a simple man but a trained, glorified military warrior.

It took everything in your power to remain steady on both feet and keep that quivering moan locked deep in your chest. Gaze shredding, he peered down on you, his nostrils flaring with every loud and sharp inhale.

“You’d scream the same thing had I given you my cock…” his voice dropped dangerously low, overtaken by a lustful taunt.

Your eyes flicked to his mouth in time to see his lips part open, making scorching fire rise your throat. Absentmindedly, you slammed the bottle onto the counter, the beer unable to cool nor quench your thirst anymore.

“At least I was always kind to your ‘ladies’ and never got in their way to get your cock!” you snarled.

Sy watched the foam climb up the bottle’s neck, his eyes narrowing as if you violated some military code. Chewing on his lips for a lingering moment, he rummaged in his head for a response, but all that came from him was an irritated mumble, “Too bad, babe, I wish you had...’

Your chest fell, uncertain if the words you heard were correct, you tilted your head and asked sternly, “What did you say?”

Sy’s lips stretched into a thin line, providing no answer, though his gaze now felt like sharp shards of ice.

“What did you say???” you asked again, more urgently this time. “Answer me!”

A frustrated growl boomed between the country-printed kitchen tiles, followed by the sharp gasp that escaped you the moment his hands snapped around your forearm and hauled you so close that his furred chest nearly brushed against your breasts with each puff.

But nothing made your heart sink more than the fierceness of his direct stare.

“I said: I wish you had. At least then I’d know you felt something for me.”

Whether it was the heat of his palms or the scent of sweat that got you light-headed, you couldn't tell, all you knew is that the words fled from your mouth like sneaky little mice.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Eyeing your mouth, he considered his next steps, the chaotic war inside his head evident through fine cracks of emerald that embellished his blue gaze. One by one, the creases deepened, shattering his iron will, proving that even the strongest of men couldn’t stand in the face of the woman he wanted most.

In a completely lost battle, his hand cradled your jaw.

“Syver….”

The rest of his name was muffled by the passionate kiss that claimed you. With his fingers pressed into your cheeks, he forced your lips to unwrap for an ardent exploration; just like honey, golden and sweet, his silky serpent pervaded your maw and imbuing you with bliss. His growls of prolonged desire delved into your chest until you felt fire ignited within its dark pit, and the blazes spilt molten-hot into your veins.

If this was a joke, a game, or a dream, you hoped to never find out; in unveiled desperation, your arms wrapped around his thick neck and hung onto him, wary that he would change his mind. But Sy had no intentions of doing so; amid the symphony of ecstatic groans, his arms brought you to crash into his broad, hairy chest. Soon the coat of sweat that clung to his skin slapped against your body, defiling the red fabric of your dress and sticking on the bare parts of your flesh.

You wanted to drown in it.

He wanted to drown in you.

Reluctantly though, Sy broke the kiss, halting for a brief gasp of fresh air; the rounded tip of his nose bumped against yours while his mouth ghosted warmly upon your swollen lips.

“Yeah?” he asked amid his laboured breath, desperately seeking sincerity in your bewildered glance, “do you want this, darlin’? Do you want me?”

Unable to speak coherently, you nodded in response, which won you a soft squeeze around the chin. Directing you to stare into his gleaming sapphires, he demanded again, now pressing his wide, muscle-hard thigh between your legs, and dangerously close to your groin.

“Say it, tell me what you want me to do,” Sy urged by pushing his leg higher, the fabric of his jeans brushing over your panties.

Drawn by natural wills, you undulated your hips and shamefully started to ride his thigh whimpering, astonished at the paradox of relief and further yearning swept over your engorged core.

You were stranded south of heaven, helpless, desperate for friction—you needed it, harder, faster, more.

‘Please!’

“I want you!” you managed a pitiful mewl and gave him an equally vulnerable glance, “I want you, Sy, I need you to take me like the animal that you are.”

Per your demand, his kiss was even rougher than before; violent and possessive, he bruised your lips and chin, the sounds emitting from his throat barely human. Feral in his entirety, his kiss and his touch made you feel the air in your lungs replaced with fire.

Unceremoniously, his hands smacked across your rear, fingers squeezing your cheeks in raspy frustration as if his own wanton brought pain. There was a time when you found this treatment degrading—now it made your desperate little slit crave attention.

Sy granted it without you having to beg.

Wandering below your dress, his curious fingers scoured the wet path that tainted the silk of your panties; though you saw him as a savage, his touch was shockingly tender: that of a man well-taught in the secret whims of a woman.

If only his mouth was this eloquent...

“My God, you’re a wet little thing, aren’t you, babygirl?” Slow and sensual, he outlined your entrance, spreading dampness across your petals, pressing into the hollow that twitched for his touch.

“You want ‘big Sy’ inside you, darlin’?” Sy’s lips curled into a triumphant grin, his fingertips provoking the edge of your panty line in featherlike strokes, inching close but not close enough.

“I’d gladly give you all of me, darlin’ but I don’t think you can take it just yet. I think it’s been ages since you took a proper dick in that tight little hole of yours,” his digit lightly shoved into the hot dent in your panties, “I better be a gentleman and stretch you for me so it won’t hurt too much.”

Never in your life had you felt such a needful desire to connect with another person. Your skin seared both from his touch or the lack thereof once his hands slid from one spot to the other. In your despair, you whined and writhed and crashed your body against the wall of his chest.

“I need you inside me.”

Not denying your request, his finger slipped below your panties merely to further taunt and bring you across the edge of your patience. Gingerly, he stroked between your petals, relishing in the dew that dripped all over his knuckle before sliding into your heat.

Too afraid that the nosey neighbour next door will hear the ruckus, you slapped a hand across your mouth and muffled the loud moans that tore from your throat; but Sy had none of your silence. Pushing another finger, he slowly began to pump your drenched cove: in and out, deeper, harder —every tidal sink he made into you pushed you further down a phantasmic spiral.

“Tsk, tsk,” he ticked his tongue, “I want those cries, darlin’, better not deny me of them now, or I’ll find ways to make you scream so loud, Mrs Parker will call the police…”

With that, he brushed a thumb over your clit and curled his digits within your depth, causing your muscles to shudder around his thick fingers. Another smile of arrogant victory cascaded brightly on his eyes, ravelling in the sweet symphony that spurred from your mouth, of the way you danced for him, faster and faster in search of the elysian fields.

Incoherent and irrational, you truly believed the pleasure would kill you.

“Look at you,” Sy gave a hoarse whisper and leaned in to nibble at the shell of your ear. Urgently, you pushed against his hand, trying to steal what was rightfully yours—control—though it was an absurdity for every shift you made against one another only made you lose the grasp over your wits.

“I can feel you getting wetter and tighter, darlin’, and we hardly even began, which makes me wonder…” he paused, preserving you in his glare as if you were a rare sight, “did anyone make you come around his fingers before?”

With whatever scant remnants of wit, you shook your head. Your vulturous slit choked around the girth of his fingers, suckling them until it felt as if there’s no more space within you to fill, and all it took was one slippery strike to throw you across the edge. Snapping your palms at his broad shoulder, you held tight and screamed for all the demons and devils to hear your ascension.

Tears of pleasure beaded your lashes, lightly obscuring your sight, the image of Sy standing before now tad blurry. And yet, you could see how his fingers dove into his mouth.

He licked them one by one, tasting your sugary dew, savouring the taste with vocal approval before he suckled his lips and murmured, “tasty little peach, aren’t you?”

Still trembling from your climax, you bit your lip in response and offered a tender stare, suddenly reduced to a vulnerable little thing. At the same time, Sy took harbour between your wobbly legs, massaging a sore erection with a ravenous storm in his glare.

It’s been so long since someone looked at you that way. Or maybe, you figured, no one looked at you like this before—as if you were desert, a meal for a famished man.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

Sy gave a questioning look and knelt between your legs. His hands smoothed upon your knees, gathering sweat in their ascension to your thighs.

“I… oh...” you tried to speak, but words were too tough as the pillowy tips of his fingers left trails of fire across your flesh.

“Words, darlin’, I won’t give you what you want if you don’t say it properly…” A wide, cocky smirk painted his face, beaming at you from below, almost distracting you from the fact that this massive man was peeling your silky panties away and breathing against your cunt.

“I never thought that…oh my god...”

Sy’s bearded kiss teased your inner thigh, the sense of his thick beard brought tingles and burns, while higher and higher, his mouth climbed, licking, tasting, driving you insane.

“You thought that what, darlin’? Hmm?” He kissed across your other thigh, his fist wrapping around the flimsy strap of your panties that now rested around your knees.

“I thought guys like you don’t like girls like me…”

“Oh, darlin’...” He chuckled softly, but then his fist made a sudden snap and tore your panties away.

You hardly had a moment to jolt, let alone realise what the Captain was doing and he already raked your ass into his grip and swept you off the counter. A strong, firm hand carried you in a wild whirlpool and then—thud!—your ass smacked on the dinner table with such might that the pans hanging from the cupboard rattled in shock.

“Don’t really care about guys like me, darlin’. Truth is I wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” Sy breathed, squeezing your rear with one hand while the other urgently fumbled with his belt. Every muscle in your body twitched at the metallic echo of his buckle snapping, your gaze swiftly dropped to his groin, and your spine stiffened with a feverish chill.

His chest puffed as he fisted his cock, sheer pride adorning his face. His thumb was rolling back and forth over the glistening crown, smearing the opaline drops all over his glistening flesh.

“See how badly I want you?” He offered an arrogant smirk and leaned closer to graze his shaft between your drenched petals. Astonished, you wailed for him, anguished by the way he teased your slit, brushing no more than the edge of his girth against your opening but refraining from going inside.

“I want you too!” you piously whined, absentmindedly digging your nails into his nape.

Low growls escaped his hot mouth, while his breath shuddered, a clear signal that he could also neither stall for another moment. Eagerly, he pressed his lips to your temple and panted, ”Forgive me, babygirl. This round I won’t be the southern gentleman I usually am. I promise I’ll eat that sweet juicy peach until you scream, but not before I’ll pump it full of cream.”

Unable to hold much more, he gripped both your thighs and hauled you toward him with the might of a furious bull shredding through silk.

A crescendo of breathless cries soared within the cosy room, vulgar and rough - the Captain filled you, sparing no moment to let you adjust to his impossible size. Deeper he forced through your cavern until you ached and clung to him with a sharp yelp of disbelief. How could he even fit you?

Astonishment painted both your faces as he began to move, prying your mouths agape in a shared breath. Lost but finally found, you felt whole by this union, by him fulfilling the lonely space within you like a puzzle piece falling into place.

“You are just like I imagined." His voice was almost a desperate howl, his eyes veiled with a dream-like haze of pleasure once he pushed into you again. “You feel so good.”

You wished to respond, to say how long you wanted it too, feeling sad and envious every night you heard him taking another girl. But Syverson pounded the air right out of your lungs with every collision his body made into you.

The only thing that spurred from your open maw was the husky wail that rose higher and louder while your womb dutifully squeezed with the pressure of his intrusion; your narrow canal stretched to further welcome him until you felt you will never belong to another man.

A great part of you was thankful you couldn’t articulate a word, afraid you might say something horribly embarrassing and absurd.

Though words weren’t needed. Sy felt it with every inch of him submerged in you. Thumbs dug deep into your muscles to hold you in place, he drove into you further, taking you in a brutal rhythm, yet not without style.

“Don’t! Don’t stop! Fuck me!” You managed to scream. Mrs Parker surely heard you by now and knew exactly what you were doing, but you were far from caring at that point.

There, in the tepid penumbra of the kitchen, surrounded by the storm of your reverent moans, cries, and lustful sweat, you cared nothing of the consequences as your roommate ploughed you on the old wooden table like the obedient soldier he was with no barrier used to protect you.

All you wanted was the width of that ventured through you, the fiery heat that poured into your pit, and the warmth of his chest and shoulders pressing into your body.

Syverson must have needed it just as much, for he snapped one hand to the cleavage of your dress and with an unmannered tug, forced it down to your torso along with your bra.

Taken by your beauty, his eyes briefly drank in the sight of your body before they returned to meet your glare again. It was at that moment when the thick layer of ice that always covered his stare completely dissolved.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful!” Sy rasped and squeezed your breasts, “And all mine. I want you to be mine, darlin’!”

His words riddled you with wild shivers, a sudden whirlpool of sensations assailing your chest. Devout as sea nymph succumbing to the ocean's might, you fell to your elbows and allowed Syverson to take whatever he needed from you.

“Tell me what you want, darlin’.” You heard him utter.

Shrouded in illogical despair that clouded your mind, you squirmed your hips in fervour to meet his thrusts. All could think of was him unloading inside you, the thought of his seed - hot and fertile in your womb - bringing a sequence of quakes and tremors so intense you erupted with ecstasy.

“Logan,” Your voice broke, body tingling as waves of white-hot pleasure submerged you, “I want you to come, I want you to come inside me!”

All hell broke loose. With your walls still clamped around him, Sy snapped with an onslaught of savage ruts, fucking you with such might that the entire table creaked and scratched the floor; the little fruit bowl that sat in the middle tipped over and crashed on the floor, sending apples and peaches to roll freely on the floor.

Still too tight, too pressured, you wailed. The edge of his cock slammed into your cervix, spawning tendrils of both pain and pleasure to weave together. A little more of this pleasure and you would die, you fretted.

But your fear was undone along with your sweet senses, euphoria flowing hot within your tendons once again.

Bathed by golden bliss, you encompassed Sy, embracing him tightly, both legs, arms and your silken walls that suckled around his thickening cock.

Reduced to nothing but carnal need, Sy let out a peal of hoarse moans. No thoughts ran through his head other than the need to paint your womb with his seed. Unrelenting, he grabbed onto your rear and charged with selfish, ruthless intent.

“I’m going to come, oh god.”

One last powerful slam and he came into you in an abundance; hot and rich it pooled inside you, overflowing until no space remained and the milky elixir seeped out of your seams. Still grounding you, Sy’s pace gradually slowed and his eyes fell to stare at his cock as it throbbed and twitched with the final gush of his cum.

“That was amazing… you were amazing,” he panted and swallowed to wet his parched throat.

A dark glint sparked his gaze as he carefully pulled from between your walls and glanced at the generous pond of white cream that dripped from your gaping hole.

For a brief moment, any trace of civility in him faded, leaving nothing but an unwitted caveman who was undoubtedly proud of his handiwork. Peering down at the mess between your thighs, the blood suddenly rushed to your head and the hairs on the back of your neck bristled.

‘Fuck…fuck fuck!’

What have you done?

To say that dozen different thoughts ran in clattering chaos within your head would have been an understatement - every possible ‘what if?’ scenario tormented you at once, while the possibility that you just let your very active-military-duty-roommate knock you up - was the loudest of them all.

And there he was, still buried inside you, a gentle thrum stirring where the two of you remained connected and you didn’t even know what he was to you right now.

‘Future father of my child?’ You jested bitterly while berating yourself over and over again.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid! so fucking stupid. What if this was just him letting off some steam?'

Licking his upper lip, Sy sharply inhaled. As if to quiet your nerves or comfort you, he planted a chaste kiss on your forehead before departing from your cove with a low growl rumbling on his throat.

“Towel… towel…”

It seemed that his mannerism abruptly returned, or perhaps it was the guilt. Scratching the back of his head, he rummaged about the kitchen while motioning you to stay put.

“Over… over... there,” you motioned toward the checkered towel that hung loosely from the oven’s handle.

Sy reached for it, hastily cleaning his semi-hard shaft before moving to stand between your thighs once more. His eyes grew focused and silent as a drowsy summer lake, while he wiped you clean in the tenderness of a long-time lover.

You couldn’t help but stare, you wished you could share his stillness - raw and already sore, you attempted to loosen your clenching throat and heaving chest, abashed by the hiss of your breath and by the visible quake in your bucking arms.

Whatever remaining energy you have in you waned at every passing second.

“Are you okay?”

You flinched at his question, trembling even more.

Noticing your distress, he placed on hand on your leg and caressed you gently, trying to reassure you with a grin and another chaste kiss on the base of your knee.

“Did I fuck the words right outta’ your brain?”

If you hadn’t felt so guilty, ashamed and incredibly stupid, you would have snorted at his poor joke, instead, you swatted a hand over your forehead and shrugged. “I think so…” you lied.

The fear in your voice was not absent to Syverson, whose face fell to unmistakable dread. Discarding the towel, he chewed onto his inner cheeks in what you could only interpret as his nervous habit. With his warm palm wrapped across your knee, he gave a light squeeze.

“Hey, look at me.”

Blue shimmering kindness met your gaze, attempting to disperse over your anxiety.

“I meant what I said, I…” he halted, swallowing a deep gulp of courage.

You meant to open your mouth and retort when Syverson shook his head and sighed as if this was a scene he had already witnessed numerous times before, “you don’t see me this way, do you?”

Within seconds you realised - behind Syverson’s arrogant facade hid a vulnerable schoolboy, standing in front of the girl and waiting for her to say yes.

“Don’t be an idiot, sugarbutt,” you half-whispered and stroked a hand over his furry cheek.

Though he avoided smiling, a glint of joy lit his eyes. He made a quick attempt in fixing your dress, which felt like someone trying to tape together a broken vase and after a short struggle, finally gave up and with a mumbled apology let you off the table and wrapped his hands around your wrists.

Your once-lovely kitchen had seen better days, though you suspected you looked far worse. No matter how many times you tried to keep your dress together, the red straps of your dress continued to slip down your forearms.

'You owe me a dress, Logan...'

"We will clean up this mess, tomorrow?" Sy suggested, surveying the kitchen with a sigh. His eyes met with the shame that stained the table and you both cleared your throat but said nothing more.

Nearly an hour passed. Spent on the couch you munched on hot popcorn and watched a film you could only describe as the most horrendous piece of cinematic trash ever made. But your heart was hardly in it, anyway. Pressed into his chest, your fingers clutched onto his pectoral, trying to force away from the concern that swam heavily in your gut and on occasion gnawed at it like a pesky little fish.

‘What if? What if? What if?’ Your mind screamed along with the actress in the movie who was running toward her doom.

As if sensing your dread, Sy squeezed his hand around your shoulder and nuzzled your cheek, silencing each one of your doubts and fears, at least until sunrise.

Extra credits:

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I don't own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

[martha-oi]

One of my favorite✨️

[martha-oi]

Heart to Heart

[henrycavilledits]

"Happy First Look for Highlander! This has been quite the journey for me, which I'll tell you all about when the time is right, but it's a special moment to be able to share this. I hope you enjoy." ─ HENRY CAVILL | IG - Jan. 28.2026

[martha-oi]

Yay!⚔️

[just-chirpin]

I've entirely lost motivation and desire to write. Maybe it's just my regular seasonal depression, but I'm taking a break from stuff. And also this site. After I hibernate, maybe I'll be be better in a few months.

[martha-oi]

Same here! I'm sure our spark will be back✨️

[just-chirpin]

Eyes That See (Part 28)

Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.

Eyes That See Part 28 Summary: After an eventful day, you and Sy…go to bed.

Words: 13.5k

TW: smut. oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, body worship, reader’s poorly-hidden praise/creampie kinks (visual)

A/N: ten points if anyone can tell me what Y/N is unspeakingly worried about the second she wakes up before getting breakfast

Holding each other under the spray of the shower, you and Sy slowly start to sway. The movement is soothing but soon changes; Sy’s erection rhythmically slides against your stomach in a way that becomes too evident to be accidental, and the moment turns from soft and romantic to heated and romantic. You glance up at him and watch his expression grow heady, almost like he’s drunk. 

Suddenly, you’re taken back to standing by the car outside your dad’s place where Sy, unable to stop touching and kissing you, made it known just how much he wants you. And hell, you want him. When he bends and places his forehead against yours, you’re overwhelmed by just how much, and you close your eyes.

Silently, almost sacred, both your hands get more exploratory, creating paths over each other’s slick skin, fingers gently gripping what they can. You touch the swell of his muscular ass and then his lower back before sliding your hands up his stomach and chest, ultimately holding onto his shoulders for good. Likewise, he squeezes your ass, too, then trails one hand up your waist before stopping at one of your breasts, cupping and squeezing.

He starts running his thumb over your nipple, and within seconds of your first little shaky and inadvertent sound of contentment, he finally covers your mouth with his. Straightaway, he pours into the kiss so much you feel your knees buckle, and as your hands move to grip the back of his neck, he pulls you in even closer to steady you. 

You pour into the kiss just as much, widening your mouth and meeting his tongue with equal pressure, communicating together. His kisses say he loves you, he’s proud of you, you amaze him every day–Your kisses say you love him, he’s the best man you’ve ever known, you’re so happy to have him in your life. 

Right after your mouths start making sounds together, Sy detaches from you and just stares at your face for a few moments. Almost regretfully, like he’d like to stay like this, he gives you a look before standing up straight and loosening his hold on you. Your arms fall to your sides as you watch him take a step backwards and turn off the water.

Sy opens the shower curtain next, and you’re momentarily upset at the sudden temperature change and loss of body contact, but the look he gives you as he helps you step out onto the bare tile of the bathroom tells you that it’ll all be worth it soon. He’s not going anywhere.

Sy throws a spare towel on the ground for you both to use as a bath-mat, but still, water drips all over the floor. You don’t care. As you both towel yourselves dry, it’s back to the same heaviness as before, that same anticipatory buzzing as there was on the car ride here. It’s that feeling of having an invisible string attached to one another so that where one person goes, so does the other. You also could compare it to a magnet, or a shadow, even. It’s a bond that allows you both to communicate with just your eyes. You’re growing more confident with it all the time.

Amidst all of that, there’s still something off-setting about the sudden brightness of the bathroom compared to the relative dimness behind the shower curtain, though, like you’ve just left a dark movie theater and have stepped outside into too-bright sunshine. With the bathroom door remaining open this entire time, no steam has fogged up the room at all–nor the giant mirror above the long counter–and strangely, you don’t want to be entirely naked right now. And though you know there’s literally no reason whatsoever to feel self-conscious, you wrap your towel across your chest and secure it, anyway. 

That’s when Sy pushes you against the counter with two firm hands on your hips. He kisses you, but it’s soft and it’s short–not a continuation of the long, sensual kisses from a second ago. In the next breath, he coaxes you to turn around to face the mirror, and you follow his unspoken instruction. Putting all your focus on Sy’s reflection, you don’t look at yourself at all.

The feeling of Sy’s hard body standing behind you entirely naked and entirely possessive is one thing; the image of it is something else. One of his bare legs is visible to the side of your towel, the quadricep muscle locked tight and the flattened hair on his upper thigh almost teasing. If he moved just an inch to the side, he’d reveal his dark pubic hair, and another inch to the side…even more. It looks like a photograph.

Sy bends down to gently kiss your shoulder and then the back of your neck. His beard, trimmed and groomed specifically for this trip, is soft and somewhat wet against your skin. “I wanna fuck you in front of a mirror like this some time,” he murmurs, making your eyes go big. “So you can see what I see.”

That sounds like a very difficult idea for you to imagine finding comfort in, but still, you’re automatically nodding, whispering, “Okay.” 

Sy’s fingers twitch atop your thighs. “Yeah?” He presses himself even closer to you, letting you feel how hard he is. “Gonna let me?”

“Would let you do anything,” you breathlessly and honestly answer, and he chuckles. For a brief moment, your eyes meet in the mirror, and he gives you a little smile that you instantly return.

The atmosphere is suddenly tender. “Except you wouldn’t,” he says as he slides a hand around to rest over the terry-cloth covering your stomach. “Not if you didn’t like it.”

You close your eyes and sigh, leaning your head back against his chest. “I always like what you do.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” Even if it takes mental effort to try to not be embarrassed by it. 

Sy’s other hand trails up the side of your stomach, too, and stops at the bottom swell of your breast. 

“But you would tell me if you didn’t,” he confidently coaxes while his head dips to the other side of your neck. Your affirmative response must vibrate from your throat onto his lips because afterwards, he hums appreciatively.

Still, he must want you to speak aloud. He cups your breast and pointedly asks, “Wouldn’tchu?”

“Yeah, Sy,” you practically whisper. “I'd tell you.”

Whereas there was heat and impatience earlier in the evening, now, after the shower, there’s a special type of softness in Sy that he only shows to you and you alone. He purposefully does not remove your towel. He does, however, undo the clasp of your necklace, and he carefully places it on the countertop. 

“Turn back around, sweetheart.”

Feeling under a spell, you listen and look up at him, and while he leans down, you push yourself up on your toes. This kiss is long. Open-mouthed, deep, and indulgent, you get swept away almost instantly and flatten your feet on the bathroom floor. Your center of focus is your mouths moving together, your tongues sharing warmth. To keep yourself from floating away, your hands lightly come to rest on Sy’s lovehandles. 

Within a second, Sy grunts as he hefts you up onto the counter, and you barely have time to hiss at the coldness underneath your thighs before he’s already planting his hands there and pulling you towards him entirely. From the strain of his muscles, you can tell he’s preparing to entirely lift you up, and with a gasp, you quickly lift your arms to lock around his neck. While you’re trying to cross your ankles at his lower back, he’s already walking out of the bathroom.

Your bare pussy makes minor contact with his stomach with every other strong step he takes, and you know he must feel it. His expression gives away nothing as he carefully lays you on the mattress and hovers over you while you lean back and adjust yourself. 

It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it, anyway–a small wince on Sy's face, a consequence of carrying you. You instantly disentangle your legs from around his back and move to the middle of the bed. It gives him space to lay down next to you, and once there, he half-covers your body with his own.

You lift a hand to his neck. “You’ve been walking too much this weekend,” you worry aloud, keeping your voice quiet.

Sy makes a noise of acknowledgement at that, but as usual, doesn’t offer any further comment. You roll onto your left side and gently touch his chest. Sitting up a bit, you firmly push against his skin. “Lay back.”

Sy raises an eyebrow and stares at you until you sigh and roll your eyes. You push yourself up even more and wait for him to move onto his back. “Just roll over,” you chuckle. “Lay back.”

Reluctantly, he listens. “Bossin’ me around already,” he mutters with a glint in his eyes.

After moving to sit up all the way, you carefully lift your right leg over his waist and get situated, putting your knees on the mattress and bending your legs to fit snug against the sides of his stomach. Or–as snug as possible. He’s so wide that you do the best you can. While you tilt and begin to lower your face, Sy holds you at the hips.

Long and slow, you press your lips to Sy’s. “Puttin’ you in your place, I thought it was,” you quietly say into his mouth, ending it by licking his upper lip. 

“Whatever it is,” Sy utters in between another kiss, “feel free to keep doin’ it.”

You smile and settle all of your lower body weight on Sy, no longer just hovering over him. When your pussy makes actual contact with the flat hair on his lower stomach, Sy immediately pulls you in even closer, humming appreciatively. Not being able to help it, you roll your hips backwards a little bit and then forward again, and a little whimper escapes your throat. In a way that has nothing to do with just having showered, you’re wet.

After exchanging even more slow and heated kisses, you sit up all the way. Not breaking eye-contact with Sy, you lift your hands to the top of the towel you’re wearing. Slowly, you take the fabric apart, and just as slowly, you let it fall onto his legs. 

Like he hadn’t just literally showered with you mere minutes ago, Sy’s eyes eagerly take in your nudity, parting his lips while unabashedly settling his gaze on your breasts. The heating unit by the far wall clicks on just then, almost drowning out his quietly-uttered, “God, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” but not quite. You hear it and feel flushed all over. 

This isn't a position you often find yourself in. On top of the blankets and on top of Sy, you’re more exposed than you’d normally be comfortable with, but the only illumination in the room is the dim light of the bathroom, plus Sy’s looking up at you with such blatant desire that an unfamiliar sort of courage blooms inside you. 

It’s not just desire in his eyes, though. It’s that intimate glint reserved just for you, what you recognize now as love. Only he gets to see you like this. This is yours to share with only one another. 

Only you get to see him like this–on his back, the hard lines of his face smoothed out, his serious eyes turned soft, gazing up at you like you're all there is in the room. Even though the weight of his attention is heavy at times, you yearn for it. And even though it’s hard at times to hear his compliments, you melt in his praise. 

Inside, you know that there’s nothing to be nervous about. He loves you. You’re safe with him. He’s proud of you. 

You lean down again and take Sy’s face in both hands, continuing to kiss him as long and as savoring as you want. He enthusiastically responds, and in no time, both of your jaws are opening and closing like waves while sharing wet, rippling kisses. 

Without breaking your mouths apart, Sy touches you. He touches you everywhere–with all parts of his hands. Fully caressing your breasts, thumbing over your nipples, sliding just his fingertips down the delicate skin over your ribcage–that’s how he starts. Then he trails his hands over your thighs, letting you feel the callouses on his palms. Greedily, he slides back up to your breasts, cupping and squeezing where they're occasionally touching his own chest, then he moves to the long plane of your back. Eventually, he lowers his hands again to run along your legs, and ultimately, he lands on his destination–your ass. 

While your faces gently continue to move left and right, you realize you’ve been steadily squirming on Sy, getting the bottom of his happy trail damp. He grips both of your ass cheeks and firmly pulls you in even closer, and it’s evident that your movements haven’t been unnoticed. He’s encouraging them.

Your inner thighs are starting to get sticky, so much it's like you're sitting in oil. It’s dirty, but feeling how wet his lower stomach has gotten because of you has you letting out one of your first obscene noises of the night, directly into Sy’s mouth. You can’t help but to undulate your hips even more against the slick-matted hair there. 

Sy groans and lifts a hand to cup your jaw, fingertips splaying out towards the back of your head. “Feel good?” 

His strong hand suddenly on your face makes it hard for you to even move it, but, panting into his mouth, you answer with a little nod.

“Yeah?” he whispers. The tip of your nose touches his while you nod again.

“Keep goin’, baby,” he quietly urges. “Lemme keep listenin’ to you.”

Closing your eyes, you start moving again, but it’s choppy. With all the attention on this specific thing now, borderline humiliation starts to creep in. It’s like that morning you woke up rubbing yourself over Sy’s thigh, stuck between drowsiness and consciousness, horniness and self-realization. Having it even brought up was enough for you to fully freeze at that moment.

Sy’s voice is ardent when he says your name. In response to the tone of it, your eyes immediately open. 

“Get outta your head with me,” he reminds you in a whisper. “Just keep feelin’ good.”

Giving him another little nod, you watch his face while you start to rut against his stomach again–still slow, but purposefully and pleasurably so–just little circles now. Sy really does seem to enjoy watching and listening to you, so you remind yourself again that even though this could come across as degrading with anyone else, you have no reason to be nervous. You can feel how hard his dick is directly behind your ass. 

Your hands that’ve been holding Sy’s face and neck move down to his chest, and you lightly prop yourself upwards, putting a little more space between your bodies. When the little circles you’re making start feeling really good, you softly whine, “Oh, God.” 

Sy watches all he can between your bodies, eyes darting between your rocking pelvis and your tits directly in front of his face. “There you go,” he murmurs, quiet quiet quiet. “There you go.”

Your voices are almost too faint to hear under regular circumstances, but now, with everything so intimate, it’s only right for everything to be hushed. Every sound you make, though steadily becoming a little dirty-sounding, remains soft. 

After moving his hand to the small of your back, Sy lets out a deep grumbling-sound when he feels the exact rhythm of how you’re rocking and gliding on top of him. You whimper as the near-constant lubrication and pressure on your clit rapidly becomes almost too pleasurable. Sy’s dark eyes lift up to your face in time to see your eyebrows scrunching together, your mouth dropped open.

You’re already close to coming, and you don’t want that yet–just on the off-chance that your body won’t cooperate doing it a second time later on. It’s challenging, but you pointedly stop moving and offer Sy a sheepish look, heavily breathing above him before leaning down for a single kiss. Lowering yourself down his body the next instant, you kiss your way along his hairy chest and stomach, skipping a certain spot when it makes your face heat up. 

Sy turns his head to the side and groans before widening both of his thick legs for you to situate yourself in between. Once there, you rest your head on the very top of his left leg and glance up at him without touching him at all. He reaches down and runs his hand over your hair in a petting motion. You softly smile as you begin to calm down from your earlier peak. 

Lightly, you run a finger along Sy’s cock, now pointing at his belly button and so erect that prominent veins are showing. His fingers tighten on your hair once you reach the slit at the top and begin spreading around his pre-cum with your fingertips.

“You’re really hard,” you flit your eyes upwards and whisper.

He reaches down to grab his dick at the very bottom, holding it upright. “Yeah,” he looks you directly in the eye and murmurs. “I am.”

You reach out and softly touch Sy’s inner thigh next, noticing how pale it is compared to his other weather-darkened skin, how relatively hairless the area is compared to the rest of his legs. Next, you trail your fingers over the velvety skin of his balls, first at the crease and then each one individually. The more inward you focus, the thicker his hair becomes, and you’re lost in the pure masculinity of how it all looks–his cock in his hand, his tight balls underneath, his pubic hair surrounding everything. 

Gradually looking up his body, you take in all the hair atop his stomach and chest, moving your hand to slide upwards until there’s enough to gently grip in your fist, then you glance even higher to study his beard. 

There’s a sensation on your head, and you realize it’s Sy running his hand over your hair again. Finally, you look up at his eyes, but you’re distracted a second later when he slides his thumb along your cheek and rests it on your bottom lip, pushing. 

You close your mouth around his offering, realizing that while you’ve been resting your head on his leg, you’ve begun to drool, almost enough to drip on his thigh. Immediately, with weight in your mouth, your eyes get heavy and slip closed. 

The thumb goes away, and Sy says your name. Then he says baby. You squint open your eyes. 

The room feels as hazy as your mind does when you finally lean inwards and lick Sy’s cock where he’s angling it towards your mouth. Like time right now is heavy and slow. Like there’s no rush for anything at all. Nothing’s urgent, and everything’s just right. Like this is all there is. 

You carefully lap up all the fluid at Sy's cockhead with little swirls of your tongue and listen to the hitches in his breath. After alternating with licking, sucking, and flicking–keeping everything purposefully slow–Sy starts taking in louder lungfuls of air.

When he removes his hand from the base of his cock, it jumps. Your hand instantly takes its place, and when you try to pull upwards, there’s hardly any give. After a few more tortuously slow pulls, you finally shift so that you’re entirely centered between his legs, no longer with your head on his leg.

In this ongoing glow of confidence Sy’s giving you, you look him in the eyes while you begin to lower your mouth again–this time front and center. You feel addicted to all of this right now–to him in your mouth, to the image of him laying like he is, broad and hairy and periodically lifting his head to look down at you only to throw it back on his pillow a second later. Watching Sy start to lose control of himself is one of the best things ever. 

Ultimately, he shoves a few pillows behind his head and sits up a little bit so he can watch everything you’re doing. He places his hand on the back of your head again, and it’s a pleasant weight as you drop your mouth as low as you possibly can before sliding it back up. Slowly, you repeat the action several times until you’ve drooled all over his dick, but even then, you’re not done messing around. You mouth and lick down the sides and back up with no real purpose but to hear Sy’s breathing switch up with every new thing you do.

When you get him entirely in your mouth again, you start using your hand to stroke him in time. Even at your slow pace, Sy doesn’t push on your head or rush you. He remains still, only letting out staccato breaths and short, sporadic grunts. You covet every one of them.

When he finally speaks, it's when you momentarily take your hand off him and lower your mouth as much as you possibly can. When you pull up to the tip again, you just lower your mouth again, starting to slowly bob your head and suck, and Sy lets out a long, quiet, and drawn-out, “Yeaahh.”

To rest your cheeks, you remove your mouth after a while to just jerk him with your hand, but you’re sure to keep everything excruciatingly slow. Witnessing him still heavily gazing down at you, you look directly in his eyes while your hand moves, sticking your tongue out and circling it around the tip of his dick. 

With his first soft-spoken swear of the night, his hand drops from your head down onto the mattress. Again, his vowel sound is lengthened, fricative as he grunts, “Shii-iit.” 

He must like what he sees. Happily, you wiggle a little bit.

When you decide you’ve teased enough, you finally lower your mouth again and instantly give the pressure and speed and suction you know he likes with your mouth, tongue, and hand. You start bobbing your head up and down, jerking him at the same time, and right away, he’s affected, groaning from deep within his chest.

“Fuck, just like that,” he slurs, and the simple praise that he likes what you’re doing lights you up. With his dick in your mouth, you want to smile. You love making him feel good. “Yeah. So fuckin’ good.”

You moan around him instantly. He smells and tastes like clean skin with an underlying layer of salt and arousal, and it makes your head feel even heavier. Your lust-droopy eyes slip closed while you fall into a rhythm that’s quick yet still relatively unpredictable. Moving downwards and upwards, sometimes you repeatedly bob your head. Other times you keep your fist at the top to touch your lips while you suck extra hard and wildly circle your tongue. Mainly, you go by Sy’s breathing and his soft cussing, moaning in satisfaction with the knowledge you’re doing good every time he praises you. You look up at him almost constantly.

Your free hand twitches on Sy’s upper leg when you feel your pussy begin to clench on nothing at all, and you whine when the urge to grind against something returns. Breathing heavily through your nostrils, you shift onto your knees for a second before finally bowing your spine, sticking your ass up in some vain attempt to stop everything inside you from throbbing so much. Just then, Sy’s hips fiercely jump upwards, causing his dick to stab your tonsils.

“Fuck, baby, shit,” he sharply lets out right as you cough, and from his tone, it’s him apologizing.

Sy can always control himself right up until the second he’s about to come. You’ve learned that he’ll only thrust his hips upwards when he’s right on the edge. He’s too considerate otherwise, even going so far as to entirely back out of your mouth if he hears you choking even a little. 

This time you encourage it, reaching underneath to grip his ass-cheek and literally pull him deeper inside your mouth, but with tightly coiled legs and a firm grip on your hair from out of nowhere, everything suddenly stills. Though you try to resist, Sy’s strong when he pulls you off his dick with a loud popping sound, and a long string of saliva trails from your mouth as you look up at him. He swears under his breath, but you can’t hear what he actually says. You just keep looking at him.

“C’mere, darlin’,” he mutters like it’s not the first time he’s said it, nudging your hair. “C’mere.”

He must not want to come yet, either. You climb back up to straddle his waist again, feeling his hands instantly settle on your hips. Heavily breathing, you wipe your hand across your lips, then you fish for more praise. 

“Good?” you ask with a smile, your voice scratchy.

Again, Sy’s hands begin to move everywhere, and they won’t stop. They run up and down your sides, around to your back and then down to your ass, then up your back again only to slide around to your breasts.

“Yeah, baby, so good, perfect,” Sy indulges, even though he’d told you that already. Just massaging your breasts together, he groans, slow and deep. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You want to say No, I’m not, but you remind yourself that to Sy, you are, so you just offer a small smile.

He moves his hands to your hips and pulls. “Get back down here.”

With so many pillows still behind his back, he’s propped up, and it’s easy to move until you’re entirely pressed against his chest. The moment you wrap your hands around his thick neck and press your lips onto his, however, he yanks the pillows away and lays back on the mattress, taking you with him.

After letting out a little gasp and then a little chuckle, you tilt your head to the side and actually kiss Sy, laying your chest  flat against his. Minutely, you simultaneously begin moving your hips in little circles again, just something to ease the ache, and then he starts talking into your mouth.

“Fuck.” Sy’s hands come to rest on your ass, and he squeezes each cheek generously. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Y/N. So pretty.”

With a whine, your eyes close instantly. You’re rubbing your bare cunt across his stomach and you both have the taste of his dick in your mouths, and he’s calling you pretty. 

Behind you, Sy reaches downwards and takes hold of himself. You feel a smear of liquid against your ass-cheek then the slow tell-tale movements of his hand pulling up and down, and it gives you the brief burst of courage you need to brace a hand on his chest to lift your upper body entirely up. 

While Sy’s lazily stroking himself behind you, you push your upper body up and start grinding your hips again, a little more evidently this time since this foreplay apparently has no time-limit and both of you are obviously really fucking into it. It feels like it should be dirty, so dirty–fucking without fucking–but with your eyes trained intently on one another’s, all it feels is right. It feels so good, there's no way it's anything but right. 

A few moments of pleasure later, you slightly lift yourself so you can slide down Sy’s upper thighs. Beckoning him to move his hand off himself, you move even further down his legs until you can look down and see his cock. Carefully, carefully, you lower yourself, cover Sy’s dick with your pussy, and start to slide your wetness upwards from root to tip. 

Sy’s mouth widely drops open, and he strains his neck while looking down, breathing through only his mouth. When his eyes flicker up to your face, it’s like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Fuck, baby,” he lets out, all in one hotly exhaled breath. 

Sy goes back to staring at your gliding pussy lips encasing his dick before briefly looking up at you again. “Watch,” he tells you. “Watch with me.”

You look down for only a second and have to close your eyes.

“Nuh-uh. Watch.”

“Sy.”

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You whine while continuing to move.

He grunts in response. “Look how fuckin’ wet you're makin’ me.”

After you look down again, Sy reaches out for your tits like he’s starved. When he gets both your breasts in his large hands, he moves his thumbs around and around your pebbled nipples, obsessed, and you just can’t take it anymore. You need more. You’ve gotta have more. Everything is–

Sy slightly pinches one of your nipples, and you cry out. “What’s it feel like?”

“Really good,” you whisper quickly, almost feeling frantic. “Really, really good.”

You lean one hand down on Sy’s chest. Reaching down with the other hand, you take hold of his slick cock and angle it straight up. You want him inside you now. 

Your leg muscles clench as you lift up and then impulsively begin sinking down to match up with the tip of Sy, but when you feel his cockhead make contact with your dripping pussy and just barely breach inside, you freeze.

Your face darts up to look at Sy, and you honest-to-God whine. He looks at you momentarily like you’re crazy for stopping, then he taps your leg. “My bag, fuck,” he says almost urgently. “The left.”

You’re frustrated that you can’t just stretch out and reach into Sy’s bag from your current position. You have to climb over him until you’re on the side of the bed, then you have to lean down to unzip the pouch on the left of his gym back. When all you find is a pocket-knife–what the fuck did he pack a pocket-knife for–you then have to unzip the pouch on the right. 

“Dammit, the other left,” you mutter.

You grab a packet from the small box and instantly climb back on top of Sy’s thick thighs. You try to rip open the foil, and even though your hands aren't even slippery or anything, you struggle. “I-Shit, Sy, I can’t–get this–fucking–”

You’re about to give up and just use your teeth to open the package when Sy reaches out to take it from you. “You’re hands’re shakin’,” he murmurs, eyebrows touching.

You look down at your hands and can feel the anticipatory anxiety in them, like they’re full of crawling ants.

“Hey.” Sy waits until you look at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Quickly, you nod. “I just feel really–a lot.”

“You are a lot.”

You smirk. “You're a lot. This is a lot,” you gesture between your bodies and reply. “It’s…always a lot.”

Sy looks you down and back up. “This still okay?” he asks, and God, he–he just knows you so well. Knows how new situations make you nervous even if they’re something you want. “You okay like this?”

You neither shake nor nod your head. You just lean down to kiss him. When your lips break, he says, “I need words.”

You swallow. “Yeah,” you answer, but your voice comes out nervous. You remember the conversation you'd had not even thirty minutes ago in the car, how you and Sy were literally discussing your preference for him being in charge because it makes you feel less nervous knowing you don't have to control everything. 

…But no one’s saying he isn’t in control like this. You were on top of him on the couch that one time–that time you were on your back laying on top of him–so you repeat yourself, a little less shaky, “Yeah. I’m good.”

“And what’re you gonna do if you ain’t feelin’ it?”

You look down and smile a little bit. “Gonna let you know.” 

Sy tears open the condom packet and takes out the slippery latex, instantly looking down as he rolls it on himself. He pinches the end before holding his dick fully upright at the top, and you just stare down at him with your mouth open. God, he’s hot.

“Sy?”

He looks up right away. 

“Just–like, keep talkin’ to me.”

He gives you that sideways little smile, and he reaches out to pull your face down to his. With your lips just millimeters apart, he quietly whispers, “Baby. With you ridin’ my dick, ain’t no way you could shut me up.”

Quickly, you breathe, and you’re so close to him that you can’t even see both his eyes–you have to focus on just one. Sy rests his free hand on your thigh and slightly squeezes, spurring you to lift yourself for him. As if drawn together, you both instantly and innately move to unite–you getting upright again and lifting your hips, Sy holding himself to seek out your heat. Sinking down where you feel his fingers, you match up, and you continue lowering yourself until the head of his cock just barely pops inside you. Once you drop just a tiny bit more, Sy moves his hand away and grasps your other thigh. 

Already feeling a stretch, you lower yourself a tiny bit at a time, soundlessly gasping when you rise back up again. Repeatedly, you do this, and you're rewarded by Sy's heavy breathing and the most lust-filled expression imaginable on his face. 

“Yeah, keep goin’,” he murmurs, dazed and gravelly and giving you all you need to keep going. “You can take it all.”

You lean a hand down onto Sy’s chest and slowly keep working your hips up and down. You know you can take all of him–you know it. The lower you go, though, the more resistance it feels like there is, like you're just not going to be able to get the lower half inside in this position. You let out a whine, and Sy brings one of his hands up to the back of your head, beckoning you to cover his mouth with yours again. 

Once more, you fall forward. Once more, your humid mouths slot together. You’ll never get tired of kissing this man, so you start up with the same fervor you’d shared earlier, tongues going crazy, tasting and exploring his mouth, moaning into it because you love him and he makes you feel good.

Sy starts shallowly pushing upwards to match your careful movements downwards. After a few seconds, he takes hold of your hips, strongly thrusts upwards, and simultaneously pulls your body down. Within a second, you’re speared on his dick, bodies connected as much as physically possible, and both of you sound out as one. 

Your noise is more of a quiet scream than a moan; it’s like Sy’s cock has pushed through a barrier that’s led to an explosion of pleasure on the other side of it. As you let out a shaky whimper at how good everything feels already-not even really moving yet–Sy lets out a deep noise like he’s been injured, like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

You look at his face to witness his features tightly contorted in what looks like pain. His mouth is taut, his teeth clenched. His hands are gripping your hips so firmly that it almost aches. It takes a second, but you're finally able to get out, “Sy–baby–are you all right?”

He lets out a noise almost like a laugh, but again, like everything else going on with him right now, it’s strained. “Fuck, are you?” He finally opens his eyes, and they're heavy-lidded and dark.

“Yeah, it’s–” God, your pussy’s throbbing around Sy, like a heartbeat you feel throughout your entire body. “It’s really good.”

His fingers twitch where they’re digging into your skin. “You feel fuckin’ amazin’.” 

“Sy,” you desperately moan, and for a moment, you feel a little crazy. It’s so fucking much that you feel out of your mind. How is it like this? How is it always like this?

You slot your mouth to Sy’s again right before you start lifting yourself up his shaft, and–oh, that’s a sound you recognize. You’ve never heard Sy make whatever noise that was a second ago, but the ones now–the ones he’s letting out into your mouth–you know. Your lips curve into a smile in the middle of a kiss.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, you watch his face as you lift your hips up again. The look he gives you is almost dark. When his hands travel from your hips to the backs of your legs, cupping your ass, you're half-expecting him to entirely flip you over. 

He doesn’t. Instead, one hand remains grasping one ass cheek while his other starts to travel to the middle. Like it's nothing, he trails an index finger down the tight crease of skin under your tailbone and then lightly over your dry hole. He goes lower until you feel his touch against where you’re stretched around his cock. After cursing between his teeth, he moves that hand to your ass cheek again.

“God, you're so tight.”

“Mmm.”

You try to stay slow, just trying out what feels the best for you and what elicits the most sounds from Sy, little by little getting used to the stretch, body reshaping itself around him.

If his half-moon eyes and slack jaw are any indication, he likes when you ride just the tip of him. He likes when you take all of him inside, too, going almost all the way up and sinking down with your full body weight. He also likes when you don’t move much at all and simply grind and circle your hips against him. You’re so worked up that you do it all.

You don’t mean to, but your mind momentarily drifts somewhere for a second–and you know you shouldn’t be in your head at all right now, but you can’t help it. It’s hard to stop thinking for long enough to actually get into a rhythm of something. You want Sy to tell you what to do.

Sy must clock your nervousness. While putting his hand on the back of your head, he simultaneously leans upwards and pulls you into another heated kiss, seeming to realize that kissing is calming. Without breaking from your mouth, he falls back to the mattress and takes you with him again. Keeping your legs bracketed at the sides of Sy’s stomach, your hands slide upwards to wrap around his neck. Appreciatively, Sy’s own hands run up and down the long lines of your bare back once you’re crouching so close over him that your hair drops onto his face.

“What d’you like the best, like this?” you whisper. “What do you want?” 

“Just make yourself feel good, baby.” Sy smiles as he slides his hands down to your ass. “That’s what I want. I wanna see you do whatchu want.”

Okay. You trust him. You trust him with all parts of you. Now you can actually let go. Those are his directions–just do what you want.

You nod at him. 

“Yeah?” he whispers. “You gonna be good and take whatchu want?”

“Good God,” you utter. Shakily, you press a whisper of a kiss on his lips, then you begin moving again, with rhythm, with purpose, working on chasing pleasure again. Encouragingly, Sy cups your ass cheeks and repeatedly helps lift you up, almost to the point where he’s doing all the work, but mainly just setting the pace before moving his hands to other parts of you.

Only when you get into an addictive rhythm does Sy start fucking his hips up, and after he bends his legs and plants his feet on the mattress, you both gently start to glide and crash together. 

You kiss him again and again and whimper into his mouth–quiet little sounds exiting the back of your throat in time with every quickening breath you let out. “Syyy.”

Soon you start actually moaning instead of whimpering through heavy breaths, and Sy follows, deeply groaning, as well. In two separate octaves, you move in time and share reserved passion. “Mmm, mhmm.”

Even though it’s more for you to coordinate–making out and fucking–instinct takes over. You both massage one another’s tongues with the same rhythm that your bodies are uniting with, and with Sy’s hands touching your ass and your breasts and your legs and your neck, with his groans filling your mouth, your speed gradually increases.

So do your sounds. 

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Sy says encouragingly, deep and low. 

Though you want to, you grow too exerted to continue kissing nonstop. The air between your noses and mouths gets too humid once you both start to sweat, so you push your hands against his chest again to lift your upper body up. Instantly, Sy pushes himself up with his hands on the mattress and, clearly not one to lay still, begins placing open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. 

You hold onto Sy’s shoulders just as he’s taking your breasts in both hands. The angle is different now, and instead of moving up and down on him, you start grinding forward, making his dick press against some sharp spot inside of your pussy while your clit presses against his pubic bone.

“Fu-uck,” you say through a choked-back moan when you feel him start mouthing at your nipples, then groaning against you, then lightly biting. Your face contorts at the sensation of your pussy being stretched, being filled, and, outside of that, you feeling utterly consumed and taken care of and safe and lit up. “Sy, fuck.”

Frantically, you grab the back of Sy’s neck with one hand while continuing to undulate your hips, and when he’s done kissing along your neck, he just stares down at you. 

“God, lookatchu.”

You look down at your bodies carnally grinding together, and to blindly chase everything, you begin rutting forward even faster. “Look at you.”

Everything in the world is focused on the sensations you’re washing yourselves in. Sy feels so good and smells so good and looks so good and sounds so good, encouraging you with his breathy grunts and shallow thrusts and constant whispers of dirty-sweet stuff into the hot air between your faces.

You both breathe heavily and remain otherwise quiet while just watching one another, but when Sy lets out a grunted “fuck,” his lips pursed like he’s concentrating real hard on something, he leans backwards to lay flat on the bed again. You lose some of the pressure on your clit when you become entirely upright, hands no longer on Sy’s shoulders and neck for leverage anymore but down by your legs instead. 

At the new angle, you start to slightly bounce instead of grind, and though you miss how it felt shallowly rubbing your entire pussy against him, it’s made better when Sy takes both of your hands in his and simply holds them while looking up at you and then down where you’re connecting. You clench your leg muscles and start truly riding him, mouth falling open. This is nice, too. This is so nice, too.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” he mumbles, staring all over your body in a daze. “Baby, you got no idea how good you look right now.”

You smile at him–or you try to. It could just be with your eyes. You’re glad Sy likes talking in bed–even if he just does it for your sake. The only difference between tonight and any other night is that whenever he speaks, it’s with a low, hushed whisper, making everything even more personal. 

His hands move to the area around your hips, not touching but just hovering there. He stares at the spot your bodies are joining for a long time before throwing his head to the side then looking back up at your face. He sounds drunk when he lets out, “So lucky t’ have you like this.”

“Sy, oh my God,” you whine, and you say it because you can’t formulate anything else whatsoever to say, but what you mean is–you’re so fucking big, I feel so fucking good, I love you so fucking much.

You’re overwhelmed. This is too much. It’s all so much. It feels amazing, but it feels like you’re out of control. Your mouth is beard-burned and is letting out noises with every breath you take, and you can't even help it any longer–not the sounds themselves nor the volume of them. Your breasts are moving in a way that probably looks weird and your face probably looks screwed up, yet all you can do is just speed up even more. 

“So fuckin’ lucky, baby, God.”

You try to keep yourself from outrightly keening in pleasure. “I'm–”

“You’re beautiful,” Sy utters while his eyes travel all over the place, mainly at your chest. “That’s whatchu are. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your answer is a moan. You and Sy’s noises mix beautifully in symphony, his deep and low grunts and your higher-pitched whines and melodic moans. In between curses, Sy heavily pants. He’s looking at you with such an intense expression, reverent and heated and fucked-out all at once. 

“Fuck, I can’t-” you curse when you feel your legs start tiring out. “Fuck.”

Sy's eyes turn wide, almost concerned. “I’m sorry–fuck, I can’t, Sy,” you tell him, slowing down and slightly wincing as your muscles burn.

“I gotchu,” he says while thrusting up now, matching your pace from a moment ago. You lean forward again and put one hand on the middle of his chest, and almost immediately, he grabs your forearm, having you falling on top of him entirely, tits smushing against his pecs.

“Oh, shit.”

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he says as you lean your body to the left and start kissing and biting and sucking on Sy’s neck. “So good. You got no idea–”

Your forehead falls onto his neck, and you grip at any skin you can find as firmly as you can while you try to move as quickly as possible in rhythm with Sy, this time using your ass muscles to assist instead of your burning quads. You dig your knees into the mattress and rest the tops of your feet on Sy’s legs, and when you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, they close in bliss.

“Oh, fuck.” Fingers digging into your skin, Sy lets out a long grunt when you start moving quickly enough for your skin to slap together. “Oh, shit. ‘M gonna fuckin’ come if you don’t slow down.”

You open your eyes long enough to smile at him, biting your lower lip. That’s what you want. You want it so bad. He always makes you feel so good, and now you’re making him feel good–you’re feeling good together. If possible, you move quicker, practically riding just the tip of his dick at this point, all while keeping your upper body laying on his.

Sy smacks your ass. “Gonna come if you don’t quit,” he warns again, faster than he ever speaks. 

The idea of stopping makes no sense, and despite the aches in your legs that you can still feel even using different muscles, your body just can’t do it. You can’t stop. You want him to come. You tell him so. “I want you to.”

The instant Sy physically grabs your hips to still you, you whine. “Y/N,” he warns through clenched teeth.

When he can, he always wants you to watch you finish first, and you get that’s why he’s being like this. But just because you won’t be coming first obviously doesn’t mean he can’t watch you just a minute later, so you give him bedroom eyes and say, “But it’s what I want, baby, please.”

Sy’s breathing gets more stifled when you start moving with frenetic purpose–bring him to climax, watch it all, feel it all. Because you feel some sort of power right now, and because his dirty talk has somewhat rubbed off on you, you put your mouth close to his ear while your pussy starts to ensconce his dick again. “It’s what I want,” you repeat while panting, “so I can make believe you’re comin’ inside me for real.”

“Fuck,” he lets out sharp and low as if being punched in the gut. “What–You–Y/N–”

Suddenly, you aren’t the one moving anymore; Sy’s holding you so tightly that you can’t. At all. It’s all him now, thrusting upwards so rapidly his balls slap against your asshole. His feet dig into the mattress as he continues fucking you, no momentum lost at all, just full-force thrusting into you while groaning the deepest and most desperate sounds against your throat.

You’ve never felt him move so fast. Even though you’re trying to hold off for at least another minute so you can watch him, you could come like this. The sliding, the wetness, the speed, the deep spot he keeps hitting–“Oh, my God, oh my fucking God, Sy. Ungh! Oh my God.”

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” Sy rushes out in an urgent groan. “And you’re mine.”

“Sy–”

“All mine.”

“Yeah, yes, yes–”

You’re sweaty. You’re breathless. You’re taking an onslaught. If you thought your pussy was loud earlier, now it’s even more obscene, sounding like your ass is being spanked every single second. You clench and squeeze Sy's dick as tight as possible, feeling like you could explode at any time. “Syyy.”

“Gonna come in you, baby, fuck–Y/N, gonna come–”

You continue to take all the pleasure you can from Sy while he goes through some full-body experience, roughly making out, “I'm comin'," before every muscle in his body locks tight.

As he suddenly stops moving, you push yourself up a little to watch his face contort, keelhauled. His expression is ecstasy exemplified.

His fingers loosen from their strong grip on your ass, then all of his muscles follow suit until he’s melted back on the mattress. His head tilts backwards so you can see every ridge of his throat. His damp chest rises and falls with effort, beautifully pink.

Sy laid back sweaty and pussy-drunk is one of the best sights you think you’ve ever seen. Entranced, you watch every single movement he makes–his chest fully expanding and falling again, his arms twitching, the taut cords of muscle in his neck loosening. His controlled face washed in deep relaxation.

You both stay how you are for at least an entire minute, then he blinks open his heavy eyes and glances at you.

“Fuck,” he lets out while turning his face to the side, and you can read into the specific tone of it–it’s disbelief that his orgasm was that strong but frustration that he finished before you did. 

You both breathe loudly for a while, then you experimentally roll your hips forward. When you roll them backwards, his soft cock accidentally slips out of you, and he curses again, slightly grumpy.

“Roll over,” he taps your leg and urges.

Your body is stiff and your brain is sluggish, so he has to tell you twice. “Roll over, Y/N, or I’ll do it myself.”

With shaky legs, you dismount and do as he asks, imagining for a second that if he’d really come inside you, it’d be leaking out onto your thighs right now. 

The moment you’re on your back, Sy immediately sits up and moves in between your legs until he’s directly facing your pussy, breathing it in. You don’t care where the condom even went right now; it’s forgotten. You don’t care that he’s literally sniffing you right now. 

You just made him come his brains out. You’re high just from that. You don’t care about anything else. 

You push yourself backwards on the bed into a more comfortable position and bend your legs at the knees. On his stomach, Sy follows you hungrily. Spreading your pussy lips apart with fingers from both hands, he stares down at you.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, and now that the frenzy from before has died down, you feel a little embarrassed. You can only imagine what you look like right now. Your breathing hitches when Sy starts to fucking blow warm air on your clit.

“You were right on the edge, weren’tchu?” he asks quietly, conversationally. The desperate edge to his voice is gone, replaced by something dirtier. “So close to comin’.”

With a fingernail in between your teeth to keep you from losing it altogether, you nod. “But I wanted to watch you. It was…it was really hot.”

Sy smirks. Then, without warning, he pushes your legs back until your knees are up by your face. You try to keep your feet from touching his shoulders, but it’s hard. After squirming for a bit, Sy ultimately touches one of your ankles to signal it’s okay for you to keep your feet there.

He leans up to kiss you–once, twice–but, with your hands on both sides of his face, you try to draw it out. When you’re both licking into each other’s mouths again, you move your lips and start sucking on his tongue. Sy bites your lower lip after that, and he smiles at you afterwards.

“Next time,” he promises before reaching two fingers down to your entrance. He draws little circles over your wetness then slides his fingers up your slit where all your nerve cells are firing off, all your blood still rushed there. 

In an imitation of how you’d taken your time with him earlier, he just…enjoys you for a while. He touches you all over, again and again, just gentle touches in complete contrast to the frantic motions you’d shared just moments ago. Within minutes, your pussy is slick enough for wetness to trail down your ass crack. 

“Next time, you know you’re comin’ on my dick,” he tells you without breaking eye-contact. “While you’re ridin’ me.”

Sy just barely slides a finger inside you, and you close your eyes with a gasp. “I–I was gonna.”

“I know you were,” he almost coos, removing his finger from your hole to go back to your clit again.

“Not just at the end, but like–” You squeeze your eyes shut.

These past few weeks, Sy’s encouraged you to discuss sex more than ever. And yeah, you sort of had to when the side effects of the anxiety medication you take finally decided to show up, making for a horribly embarrassing conversation about how sometimes you would be entirely ready and just…wouldn’t have the wetness to match it. Or…how afterwards, you wouldn’t be able to…

“I was close, like, when you were sittin’ up,” you quietly admit. “Like…with your hands on the bed. That was…That was good.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You shy away from the heated look for a minute, expecting him to ask, “Well, why didn’t you tell me?” but instead, with a gleam in his eyes, he says, “Me too. That’s why I had to lay back down again.”

To ward off all the awkwardness you’re feeling, you stick out your tongue. Sy obscenely licks it with his own right before pressing two fingers at once into you, and you sound out against his lips. 

“Feels good?”

You nod, but you reach down to cover your clit with all your fingers at once. “Feels the best here.”

“Oh, I bet it does, sweetheart,” he says while moving your hand away from yourself.

Squinting your eyes at him, you almost glower. “Are you teasing me?”

Sy continues to steadily finger you, and his answer is in a kiss: he pushes his entire tongue into your mouth, slides his tongue along the entire length of yours, then reaches the end of it and starts circling and flicking it like he’d do if he were eating you out. 

He does the thing with his tongue a few more times while his fingers continue to fuck into you, and wanting more, you tilt your hips upwards despite you already being angled the way you are. Sy doesn’t give in until you put your hand on the back of his head and breathlessly let out, “Please.”

“Oh, you beg so sweet, don’tchu.”

You're too horny to chide him for being like this; you simply nod with wide-eyes, and Sy lets out some groaning sound. Scooting down the bed and spreading your pussy lips open with two hands again, Sy just stares at you with his mouth dropped open, and you’re gonna die if he keeps this up. You weren’t this mean to him all.

But then he goes and says, “So sweet,” and then, “So good,” and if only he asked you to, you’d probably stay just like you currently are, frozen without moving for days, wanting only to be good for him. Wanting only for him to voice that you are. 

Finally, finally, Sy presses his hot mouth onto your clit, licking over where you’re still pulsing, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Oh, fuck,” you harshly whisper. You’re so sensitive your legs instantly start to shake. 

When you look down, you see Sy’s face slowly moving side to side, and then you feel him gently sucking. Almost involuntarily, your hips jump up against his tongue, against where he’s directly targeting that one spot that’s throbbing and aching, and then you start to grind against his mouth. It’s then he chooses to slide his fingers back inside you, pistoning them rhythmically, and–

“Oh,” you whimper. “Oh, that feels good. Sy, that feels really, really good.” 

Your breathing gets heavier, louder, more urgent. It’s–It’s a lot. It’s a fucking lot. Your fingers twitch on top of Sy’s head, and you momentarily wish he had more hair for you to pull. He keeps groaning against your skin while his mouth makes smacking noises, and the vibrations from that along with everything else he’s doing–

“Sy, you’re gonna make me–SyI’mgonnacome,” you moan, the last word louder than the rest of your urgently spoken warning. 

Horrifically, Sy pulls his face back and stills his fingers. “No, you’re not,” he states.

“Yes,” you breathe out while tilting your hips up again in vain, “I am.”

Sy goes back in. When he starts flicking his tongue, your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your toes curl against his shoulders. “You’re gonna wait,” he mumbles against you. Then he kisses there, wide and sloppy, slurping before sucking, using so much tongue you can hear it.

“Syyy–fuck.”

“You can do that,” he pulls his face up again and says, almost sweetly. He takes his fingers out of your pussy and briefly sticks them in his mouth. After he slides them out, he murmurs, “You can wait a li’l longer for me.”

“God,” you moan, voice high-pitched while your hips start to twitch again. Sy firmly presses your hips down to the mattress. “But I don’t want to.”

“You can wait,” Sy repeats himself.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head while staring down at him in desperation. You could come from him running his beard on you at this point. He’s being cruel by leaving you right on the edge only to keep taking it away. Repeatedly. 

Sy’s calm when he glances up at you. “You're gonna be good and wait. Just like you did on my dick.”

Your legs quiver until your knees knock together. When you meet his gaze in the dark room, he gives you a knowing look–he’d said the word. Good. Damn him, but you want to be good. You always just want to be good. 

“Then you need to stop,” you urgently get out.

“Okay, baby,” he says, leaning back a little before pressing two fingers inside you at once. He slowly sinks them in and then out again, and the glide is perfect. “Just this, then.”

His fingers are great, but you begin to squirm. You want something back on your clit, too. It actually has its own heartbeat now. Not able to hold it back, you whine again.

“Shh. You got to play with me. Now it’s my turn.” He gives you a gentle smile and even a wink. “Maybe you can make my arm all wet again.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Sy takes out his index and middle fingers and goes back to fingering you with his middle and ring finger. “Here we go,” he mutters to himself, moving a little to get a better angle. “This is whatchu like.”

He fingers you a little faster than before, alternating between delving in and out of your pussy and then just staying buried inside and vibrating his fingers somehow. You put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming.

“Please,” you let out, muffled behind your hand.

His index finger and pinky are splayed out, angling downwards towards your ass. His thumb is jutting upwards, begging to be used, and if he were to just–drop it, then you could fucking–

“Hm?”

“Please,” you repeat yourself, but your voice is still imperceptible.

He kisses the inside of your leg. “Please what, baby?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck. “Please–” you say, wanting him to just read your mind. “More.”

Sy’s fingers start to move urgently, squelching now. “Faster?” he asks.

He knows what the fuck he’s doing. You slide a hand down your stomach and then lower, touching your aching clit to get relief, but Sy moves it away instantly.

You honest-to-God pout. “You’re bein’ mean,” you whine. “Are you doin’ this because you wanted me to come first and I didn’t?”

“Doin’ what?” Sy asks against your folds. “I’m just tryin’ to make you feel good, baby.”

“Well, it hurts.”

Sy is quiet, apparently waiting until you look down and make eye contact with him, and when you do, your eyes are pained, your face scrunched up. His fingers are still jutting in and out of you. 

“What hurts?” He lowers his mouth to your clit and keeps his eyes on yours as he finally starts to lick there again. “This where it hurts?”

You frantically nod and watch as he does it again. It’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect. You hum. His fingers are touching some spot inside you that feels connected to your clit or something, like it’s just one giant interconnected pleasure spot.

“Am I makin’ it better?” he asks, and you don’t care that he’s being cocky; you instantly nod. 

Your hands move to the backs of your bent knees and stay there while Sy’s mouth and his fingers expertly work in tandem, just building everything that was already overflowing earlier higher and higher and higher. With every frantic glide of his fingers, it’s more, and with every forceful thrust of them, it’s more, and with every curve of his fingertips against the spongy parts of your upper walls, it’s more. 

“Oh, God, Sy, it’s so fuckin’ good.” As you pant, each exhale is a whiny moan.

“This’s why you didn’t come first,” Sy backs away and quietly muses, sucking your clit lazily in between sentences.

“Huh?”

“Needed me to touch you here, hm?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and writhe your head to the side.

“That it?” he asks. 

You thought you’d be getting what you wanted. You thought he was done with taking the breaks to talk and be mean. “I don’t–Sy, I don’t–”

Sy lowers his mouth again. Each lapping brush of his  tongue to your clit adds even more to the already insanely-high sensations, making everything topple over since it’s so much, and it’s so out of your control that you have no option but to succumb to it. You’re gonna come. You’re so close. If he’d just–

“When you ride me again, you’re gonna have to lean back and not forward, ain’tchu?”

You don’t know how to even visualize what he’s even saying. You can't make sense of any words, actually. You just keep feeling what he does in between talking to you. His mouth is fucking making smacking sounds as he gets sloppier and sloppier, and you're so so so fucking close. 

“You’ll have to put your feet on the bed, won’tchu,” he goes on. “Hands back on the bed, too. Or my legs.” 

You grow to be louder, making these high-pitched nng sounds that are obscene and out of control. Responding to your noises, Sy just moves his tongue and his fingers even faster. After long moments pass without him talking at all, you’re so fucking glad he’s done teasing you. You’re so close. All your muscles are taut and ready for release to wash over you.

But he’s not done. He slows down his fingers and removes his mouth from you, too. “Then I’ll be able to see you here.”

Sy taps your clit with just his index finger. Your hips jerk upward, and your muscles start quivering. 

“Then I’ll be able to touch you here,” he whispers, circling his finger atop the little nub. “And then I’ll get to watchu come on my cock.” 

You’re so shaky you can’t keep still, but Sy puts his free hand on your stomach to make you. Looking down at him, your eyes twist up like they do when you’re about to cry.

“Please,” you mouth.

“Okay, baby, shh,” he murmurs.

“Please,” you say again, and you’re not above begging like this. “Really?”

“I gotchu,” he promises. “You've been good.”

You look him in the eye and finally see that he’s earnestly done talking to you, done teasing you, so you lay back and just feel, having the telepathic knowledge that everything you’re experiencing right now won’t be taken away anymore, that this is it, that he wants to make and watch you come now, that even though you aren’t coming on his dick, this is just as good–coming into his mouth.

The speed Sy returns to so quickly takes you aback and leaves you breathless. His fingers are practically pistoning, his mouth keeping time. He’s been keeping you on the edge, and now he’s taking you right there and beyond. He’s touching you like he owns you. His free hand stays gently pressing down on your lower stomach. 

You’ve been moaning non-stop this entire time, but as your orgasm actually takes over, you let out a long, quivering, non-stop whine of various pitches. “I’mgonnnacomeI’mgonna comeI’mgonnacome,” you frantically get out, like Sy wouldn’t be able to tell by how tightly you’re clenching his fingers. 

You can feel your pussy squeezing while spasming and somehow getting even more wet, and you can’t stop yourself from pushing your feet against Sy’s shoulders to give you leverage to roll your hips upward. 

“Oh God, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you let out non-stop, gripping the blanket underneath you. “Fuck!”

Sy doesn’t slow down. You moan with each breath.

Rhythmically, you ride it all out, and Sy lets you rub yourself up and down on his tongue and mouth and beard, and everything feels like it lasts forever. It’s not just quick and satisfying; it’s long and all-encompassing. 

Your hips won’t stop thrusting upwards. “Ahh, oh my God, Sy, baby, please–oh my God–fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Of all places to be this loud, it’s a hotel room, but you can’t help yourself. Adding to your cacophony of sounds, Sy groans against you the entire time. Gradually, your noises die down in urgency and in volume when the rubber band of ecstasy snaps, and everything in your body loosens and relaxes in relief and bliss and pulsing, though you won’t stop twitching for some reason. You have to tap Sy’s head several times to get him to back off a little.

Over-stimulated now, you lower your ass to the mattress and notice your legs sporadically shaking. They’re sore, so you stretch them out over Sy’s back. Sy doesn’t move his face from between them at all, but he finally slides his fingers out of you so he can use both hands to run up and down your thighs bracketing his face. Instead of moving up the bed to lay beside you, though, Sy stays right where he is and drops his mouth to tongue at your entrance. 

You’re still so sensitive that your hips jump at that. “Sy,” you weakly get out. You try to squirm backwards, but Sy’s hell-bent on keeping you still now. He holds your legs in place while tasting everything that’s pooled out of you, and you're helpless to move away. 

When he finally lifts his head, you can see his lips glistening even in the dim light of the room, and it should be crass, but it’s not. There’s an eroticism to all of this that shrouds an underlying romanticism. Like as long as it’s you two together, nothing’s bad and everything’s beautiful. 

The position you’ve been in while Sy ate you out was about as dirty as you could possibly get, and despite your filthy moans and back-and-forth teasing, nothing was wrong about any of it. Nothing was wrong about tonight at all. 

You and Sy stare at one another in the semi-darkness, both breathing heavily. You’re not gonna cry after sex or anything, but your orgasm was so insane that you feel like you easily could. 

You want him to hold you.

“God damn.” You let out a giant sigh and keep your face slack and awed. “Fuck.”

Several seconds later, you feel Sy lifting your legs from his shoulders and setting them back down. Surprising you, he leans forward to kiss you, and with a slow intensity, he holds your jaw. He cradles your face so reverently that you feel almost precious for a moment, all the while tasting sweetness on his tongue. 

You brush your fingertips through his chest hair while you start lazily making out, both too sated for the kisses to turn into anything more–just kissing for the sake of it. Your lips are going to hurt tomorrow. 

With you both now laying entirely horizontally, Sy runs his hands all over your body anew. You only stop kissing when you lose all energy to do a single thing. 

“Oh, my God, Sy, I’m dead,” you whisper. “This is my grave.”

Sy looks at you and chuckles, and then you look at him and chuckle, and then–the spell slightly breaks. The heaviness between you both goes away, and the air in the room turns back to normal, cooler. You both stretch and lay beside one another in the afterglow for a while, happy to not do a single thing but cuddle and come down from everything.

Sy kisses the top of your head. His voice is just as quiet as it’s always been when he says, “I love you.”

Sunshine warms your entire body, and you bask in it, nuzzling yourself more into his side. “I love you.”

“I really fuckin’ love you.”

Curiously, you lift your head and look at him, and his expression is normal, but a little on the side of smugness again. You stare at each other for a long time before you smile. “Who wouldn’t?”

That earns you getting tickled, which you have a love/hate relationship with, and you grin. “I really, really love you, too,” you reply, reaching out to pull his chest hair to get him to stop tickling you.

When you start getting cold, rather than go under the blankets, you curl up against Sy and rest your head on his bicep. Looking up at his face, you notice his eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping. You trace the line of his nose with a finger. He’s so handsome. He’s so fucking handsome.

Sy winks one eye open and observes you. “You look happy,” he comments.

“I am.” You lazily smile. “I’d be havin’ a cigarette right now if I smoked.”

Sy grins, all self-satisfied and pleased. His gaze lingers on you.

You place a hand on top of his chest and start playing with the hair dusting it. “Sy, that was…”

You can’t come up with any words, and Sy fills in your silence. He holds out a hand palm-down and makes a wobbly motion with it. “Just so-so, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say without any malice whatsoever.

You think you’re going to remember tonight for the rest of your life. It was that good. But–

“You were evil, by the way,” you’re sure to mention. 

The side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards. “Baby, I live to see how many ‘oh fucks’ I can get outta you.”

You lightly slap his chest and look away, embarrassed. You feel his fingers on your chin within seconds. Expecting him to say something about how you should never feel embarrassed with him, you reluctantly meet his eyes, but when you do, he’s silent. Still, his eyes say it all, anyway: he loves you, and that extends to your bad-mouth in bed.

After you go awhile without talking, just blankly staring at the ceiling, Sy sprawls his entire hand out on top of your stomach. “What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?”

You’ve stopped rolling your eyes when he asks that. You can’t help yourself from burrowing your head into his neck, though. 

“Just…That was really good.”

“It always is with you.”

“It always is with you,” you counter, then tease: “You shoulda taken pictures.”

Sy freezes. You've only ever consented to him taking pictures sometimes. It’s the first time you’ve really initiated talking about the pictures. Without speaking any further, you both just gaze at one another, then go back to quietly cuddling.

Eventually, you and Sy disentangle, and you sit up and turn on the television. Naked, Sy gets up and shamelessly strolls to the bathroom, and he leaves the door open while he pees. You roll your eyes at the noise but still look at him fondly when he walks back into the room, phone now in his hands and soft dick swinging below it. He stands by the bed and keeps looking down at the screen.

He’s fully invested in whatever he’s reading, so you take the time to slide out of bed and get some clothes on. You’re in the middle of getting dressed in loose sleep-pants and a t-shirt when Sy crouches beside his own bag of stuff to dig out a pair of boxers. Even as he reaches out to throw away the used condom that’s laying on the carpet–gross–he’s still intently looking at his phone.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” you ask curiously. “Everything okay?”

After Sy slides on his underwear, he pulls the bedsheets back and gets in bed. You follow suit, and he shows you the screen of his phone after switching on a table lamp.

Your eyes dart around the screen and try to make sense out of the list of multiple websites you’re suddenly looking at. Oh. He’s researching restaurants nearby. “What, you’re hungry?”

He gives you a look. “That food at your dad’s won’t nearly enough for you,” he says, “so I’m gonna pick you up somethin’ else.”

“Oh, babe,” you say, both touched and excited at once. “That’s so sweet.”

Sy’s eyes are just as bright as yours when you look at him. “I like when you say that.”

You just look down. “I really am hungry, actually,” you admit. “I’m glad that I ate so much at my mom’s house, but I really should’ve taken those freakin’ leftovers she offered.”

Still trying to look at his phone and figure out what’s nearby, Sy asks, “What kinda fast-food do they got around here with stuff you can eat?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a couple restaurants nearby.”

Sy makes some noise and then starts getting fully dressed –not for bed, but to go out. 

You squint your eyes at him. “What are you doin’?”

Sy looks at the hotel door. “Gonna getchu food, like I said.”

“We can do delivery so you don’t have to go out.”

“...They got that here?”

You grin. “Yeah, Sy. We’re in town-town,” you remind him.

Sy leans back onto his collection of pillows while you go get your own phone and open the delivery app. 

“Whenever you’re done, lemme know,” he says. “I wanna add somethin’, too.”

Scrolling away, you nod. “‘Kay.”

Wait. If he chooses his food after you do, that means he’ll probably go forward with putting in his debit card information and paying for it all.

“Actually,” you say, giving him your phone, “you choose first. I gotta go to the bathroom to, like…clean up and stuff. I'll pick something when I'm back.”

With a poorly attempted wink, Sy takes your phone. 

In the bathroom, you honestly should probably take another shower because you’ve been sweating, but you wash your face and clean up all other areas you need to while telling yourself you'll just shower in the morning. While taking out your contacts, Sy’s voice calls out through the room. 

“Hey, babe, your momma just texted.”

“What’d she say?” you raise your voice and ask.

“Dunno.”

You stick your head out of the doorframe. “Well, read it,” you chuckle.

A second later, Sy says, “Wants to know if I liked her food.”

You walk out of the bathroom and make your way to the bed. “Who, like you specifically?”

“Yeah.”

You sit down and scoot until you’re next to him again. “Tell her you thought it was horrible.”

Sy reaches out and pushes your arm lightly. “It’s interesting she’s askin’,” he says while handing the phone back to you. “I made sure to tell her everything was good ‘bout three times ‘fore we left.”

“Well, that’s my mom for you,” you mutter. “She’s gonna worry about the same stuff again and again until she hears the same response, like, ten times.”

When you look up from your phone, Sy gives you a look that’s non-judgmental yet knowing. You glance away. 

After replying to your mom, you add food to your delivery order, pay for everything, then click through the television channels for something mindless to turn on.

You and Sy half-sit/half-lay side by side with pillows behind your back while choosing a documentary to watch, and half an hour later, you’re still in the same position–only with boxes of food in your laps. From time to time, Sy takes his plastic fork and puts it up to your mouth to share with you, and you do the same to him. 

Finally full and satiated, you cuddle close to Sy and close your eyes, starting to be lulled to sleep by just matching his breathing. He turns off the bedside lamp but stays awake, and the British narrator’s voice from whatever documentary is playing becomes fainter and fainter when, somewhere in the background, the loud heating unit clicks on. 

As your breathing gets heavy and rhythmic, you know you're probably at risk of drooling on your pillow, so you turn over so your back is against Sy's figure. He rests a loose hand on your hip, and you feel its weight remain constant until you finally drift off to sleep.

-O-

The following morning, you head down to the continental breakfast alone to get good coffee and fruit for yourself and sausage and bacon for Sy. Behind your glasses, your eyes are slanted with sleep, and while still being presentable, you’re wearing loose-fitting and lazy-looking clothes.

Robotically, you wait in the long line and take tiny step after tiny step as people ahead of you go through warming up their bagels and choosing which cereals they want and debating over orange juice or apple juice and just all-around being too damn loud. 

You’re zoning out in line when two lively couples queue up behind you and start talking in one large group, and they’re so loud that you're not able to ignore them at all. Somewhat grumpy, you frown.

“How’d y’all sleep?” the man in the back asks the couple closest to you.

The lady beside the guy–his wife?--just looks at the guy–her husband?--and laughs. You take a small step ahead in line and try not to eavesdrop though it’s pretty much impossible. People that talk this loud in public spaces are basically inviting it.

“What’s so funny?” the man in the back asks.

The guy won’t answer, but the woman offers up, “We got a free show last night.”

The man in back scoops some eggs onto his plate. “What’s that mean?”

“Whoever stayed next door to us,” the guy nearest you mutters as he shuffles up the line, “was so loud I couldn't get to sleep. Could hear them over the TV.”

The man in back says, “Loud like…” but that's all you hear before there's some light laughter. 

“I always tell you to bring a fan or a white noise machine on these trips, Adam,” the lady says.

“Well, sorry, Jessica,” the guy directly behind you replies, “but for some reason I wasn’t expecting this hotel to be filming porn this weekend.”

Staring at the counter, your eyes turn into saucers.

[martha-oi]

😭❤️

[shellyshellshell]

Forever and Always

Attn: Hiiii! So I dunno if anyone remembers this drabble, but I decided to flesh it out and write their story in the spirit of spooky season. It’s been a bit since I’ve written anything so I may be a little rusty lol, but I hope you all enjoy!!!

Word count: 2, 831

Pairing: Vampire Sy x OFC Evelyn James (Evie)

Summary: Sy becomes a vampire and learns how to live with that. Along the way he also finds a way not to be lonely anymore.

Warnings: 18+, murder, vampirism, blood drinking, fem receiving oral, fingering, squirting, p in v sex, biting

It happened without a warning, Sy deep within a war zone. They came in a group, none of the bullets any of his guys sent out killing them. When one finally grabbed hold of Sy he managed to blurt out, “What are you?” “The same as you shall be. A lifetime of suffering for the one that led the sheep to slaughter seems fitting does it not?,” he smiled, sharp canines glinting in the moonlight just before they sank into Sy’s neck.

Sy awoke sometime after, confused and starving. Suddenly flashes of what happened played out in his mind. He looked around at all his men… dead and gone. Every one of them had their throats ripped out. He grasped his own, trying to remember yet things were blurry. The overwhelming hunger felt as if it were tearing him from the inside out.

Just then help arrived. Sy sat in the back of the medical van with his head pounding. Every sound being too loud and overwhelming him. “It’s alright Captain. You’re safe now,” the medic said as he leaned over Sy to adjust things. As he did Sy could hear it, smell it… all the blood rushing through the medic’s carotid. He could feel the hunger rise to the surface and it was as if everything went black. When he finally came to his senses the medic was dead on the floor, the driver having pulled over and exited the vehicle and running after what he saw.

“What…,” Sy murmured before realizing what he’d done. He exited the van and quickly chased the driver down. “Please…,” he begged. “It’s okay. I— I didn’t mean to. Don’t be scared,” Sy told him. “I’m not scared,” the driver said calming down. “You ain’t?,” Sy asked confusedly. “You told me not to be,” he squeaked. “Hop on one foot,” Sy then said, and so the driver did. That was how Sy discovered his compulsive powers.

Though he felt terribly, he curated a story. Those that attacked his team attacked the medic. Now that his hunger was at bay he could think clearly. He decided to stay in the desert, realizing he was now a vampire, he decided he’d only feed on his enemies, then use his compulsion to clean everything up.

Eventually he had to go back to the states though, which made things a bit trickier. He decided to join the police force, being able to get in easily with his previous training and the help of his cousin, Walter, whom he told everything to. At first Walter thought maybe Sy was having some sort of mental break, but when he showed him it was undeniable. “Why’d you think I stayed in the desert so long? I could just feed on the bad guys. I was thinkin’ I could do the same here,” Sy told him.

Being that Walter often times struggled with losing the bad ones, the ones that ate at him day after day, he had no problem handing them over to Sy to take care of. This worked for a good many years before Walter pointed out what wasn’t quite obvious to Sy yet. “You’re not aging. People are going to notice that,” he told his cousin. “I gotta leave then don’t I?,” Sy said sadly. He looked at Walter, the grays peppering his hair and beard, the wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes. How it hadn’t dawned on him before surprised him, and it made him incredibly sad.

Walter’s face mirrored his sadness, the two of them having always been close. Walter helped him find a new place to live, get him settled in a new department, and kept in touch until he passed, which nearly broke Sy. Before Walter was his parents, then Walter, and various other family members. Before it was said and done he was all alone in the world.

He wandered tirelessly from place to place until he was gone from home so long that he was able to return without any suspicion. His family owned a simple farmhouse out on several acres of land. The truth in his return was that he was tired of the fast life. He just wanted to settle down somewhere people wouldn’t bother him. He’d taken his vampirism into consideration and decided he’d either go into a bigger town for feeding or manage to take blood bags from local hospitals.

While he was happy to be home, he was incredibly lonely. In all his years his lifestyle wasn’t particularly sustainable for a relationship, and sure he’d met a few other vampires along the way, none of them were a good fit. So many of them had lost their humanity, and had no regard for human life. Sy hated what he was, but he figured at least he was using this curse to rid the world of evil people. The few vampires he’d met were truly monsters, he could never be that.

One night he decided to go into the city. Usually he could find a few scumbags in alleyways trying to do one nefarious thing or another when he noticed something out of the ordinary. Her hair was a soft brown just falling below her collar bones, half of it pulled back, and the prettiest sage green eyes behind her glasses. She was maybe 5’5”, soft curves accentuating her body. She looked beautiful, creamy skin seeming to glow beneath the streetlights.

“Now what’s a pretty little thing like yourself doin’ out here all alone?,” he cooed. “You’re a vampire?,” she asked. “Wh— what do you know about vampires darlin’?,” he questioned. “I’m looking for one. I have waaay too many books on my tbr to finish in a lifetime. I just need you to turn me,” she told him. “Lemme get this straight you want—,” he started. “Did I stutter? Look if you won’t do it I’ll find—,” she began before Sy cut her off.

“What do I get in return?,” he asked. “What do you want?,” she responded. “Well I am lonely… Would you come stay with me? I got a place that’s secluded. I could help you with the transition, but before we could get all your things… your books, and you could have anything you want darlin’,” he told her. She worried her lip while appraising Sy. “So I’ll get vampirism, time to read my books, and a hot vampire man? Yeah let’s go,” she told him.

“You sure? I don’t even know your name,” Sy chuckled. “I’m Evelyn James, but most people call me Evie, and you?,” she responded. “Eric Syverson, but you can call me Sy. You didn’t answer me though, are you sure?,” he asked again. “I’m sure. Honestly… I’m lonely too. No one seems to get me… and for some reason I feel like I can trust you, and that you’ll take care of me,” she told him. “I promise I will,” he said. She nodded in agreement before letting Sy take her by the hand.

After gathering Evie’s things as promised Sy takes her to his farmhouse. After showing her around the air loomed thick with the unasked question. Evie worried her lip again. Sy can’t help but watch the plushness of it and wonder what it would feel like against his own lips. “I— I think the sooner the better don’t you?,” she then asked. “It’s gonna hurt, but if you want I can make it hurt less,” he told her. “Okay,” she breathed.

He approached her carefully, taking her into his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he held a woman, but he somehow knew this was right. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger before tilting her head up to meet his eye. “Anything you don’t like me doin’ tell me,” he told her. “I will,” she agreed just before his lips met hers. “Mmm,” she hummed against him, setting off something inside of him.

He lifted her up with ease, his added strength making it all too easy before carrying her to the bedroom. He undressed her, tenderly caressing every bit of skin he could with his finger tips, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. He could hear her heart pounding, sense her arousal building. “You can touch me too darlin’,” he told her. Evie let her hands run beneath his shirt, enjoying the feeling of his coarse body hair, before pulling it over his head, then making her way to his pants. When she slid them down his legs her eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re big,” she commented. “I’ll make it feel good, I promise,” he told her softly as he removed her glasses. “Can you see me without those?,” he asked. “Mmhmm,” she murmured while he kneaded her breasts. “Good,” he replied before laying her back on the bed. His mouth roamed from her neck, before laving her nipples and making its way between her legs. “You smell so sweet,” he husked before running his tongue through her folds.

Evie gasped as he slid up to her clit. Her hands tangled into the fitted sheet before Sy took her hands and laced his fingers with hers. “Look at me baby,” he whispered before diving back in. Within moments of their eyes meeting, Evie shattered, orgasm roaring through her quicker than ever. “Sy,” she whimpered as he licked her past her orgasm. “One more,” he mumbled into her pussy before sucking her clit into his mouth.

He then let one of her hands go to slide two fingers into her dripping pussy. “P— please… please,” Evie warbled. Sy worked her clit and gspot harder, making her cry out and gush everywhere. “That’s it,” he praised. Once she calmed down Sy kissed up her body before kissing her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “I want—,” Evie started before Sy ran the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

“That whatcha want darlin’? Definitely what you deserve after bein’ so good for me,” he said as he began easing into her. “Mmmm,” she whined as her walls stretched to accommodate his girth. Once he hit bottom he could feel her legs shaking. “Look at me Evie. You okay?,” he asked, caressing her face. “I’m just so full,” she groaned. Sy smirked above her. “That’s right darlin’. Full of me. You feel me up here?,” he asked, touching her stomach as he began sliding out then back in slowly. “Y—yeah,” she hiccuped.

“That’s right. Now I need you to do somethin’ for me,” he told her. “What?,” she replied, already near delirium from the feeling of his cock touching her everywhere. “Before I go to turn you I need you to cum on my cock twice. You think you can do that?,” he asked. “I dunno,” she admitted. “I need it darlin’. I think you can. Can you try for me?,” he replied. “I’ll try,” she nodded. “Good girl,” he praised before giving her a kiss.

After that he leaned back to watch himself get swallowed up by her tight pussy. “Fuck,” he grunted. He could see himself moving beneath her skin and if it weren’t for the fact his vampirism gave him insane stamina he would’ve came on the spot. “Gonna go a little harder now okay?,” he questioned. “Please,” Evie breathed, grasping her breasts. Sy pushed in deep before pulling out slightly and hammering into her. Nonsensical moans began falling from Evie’s lips as the pressure quickly built between her legs. “That’s— fuck… that’s it baby. Fuckin’ cum all over me,” he encouraged. Just then her back arched off the bed as she gushed everywhere.

He pulled out to smush his face back into her pussy and lap it all up. “Ssssy,” she cried as her legs shook with pleasure. Just as fast he was back atop her, back inside her. “Such a pretty, perfect woman with such a perfect little pussy. All for me. G— gonna make you mine forever,”” he rambled. “Forever,” Evie managed best she could with the way he was fucking her so frantically. “You ready darlin’,” he asked as he felt her tightening up once again. “Yes,” she said just before he sunk his fangs into her neck.

“Ahhhh,” she keened as the pain of his bite and the pleasure of her fourth orgasm of the night took over her senses. She seemed to cum unendingly, and the squeezing and pulsing of her tight pussy pulled Sy right over the edge as he drank her blood. He tensed, cock straining against her tight walls as he emptied his heavy load. He pulled away from her neck, lapping at the bites before reaching down and swiping at her clit. His efforts earning him one more orgasm from Evie, and prolonging his own.

Once he was done, Evie lay there boneless. He brushed the hair from her face, letting his eye meet hers. “Don’t let me hurt anyone,” she said softly before drifting off. “I won’t,” Sy promised to her resting form. He knew the change took some time so lifted Evie in his arms and took her to the bathroom where he cleaned her. He then changed the sheets and dressed her in some of her pajamas, wanting her to be comfortable. In the meantime he gathered supplies then waited.

He wasn’t really sure how fast she’d change. For him it had taken three days, but he’d heard for some people it took less time, others it had taken longer. He waited for the next two days before Evie opened her eyes. “Hey sugar,” he said softly. Evie blinked up at him, vision slowly clearing. “How you feelin’?,” he asked while caressing her face. “I’m hungry,” she said coarsely. “I know baby,” he replied, helping her sit up.

“I— my vision is perfect,” she commented while holding out her hands. “Yeah your senses improve with the change,” Sy told her. She looks over at him and suddenly becomes a bit shy. “What’s wrong darlin’?,” he asked. “This was insane right I— usually I’d never and now you’re stuck with me and—,” she stammered. “I wanted you the moment I saw you darlin’. You’re no burden to me, I promise,” he said.

Evie nodded lightly before grasping at her sore throat. “Here, this’ll make it better,” he said, handing her a bag of blood. She opened it and went from sipping it slowly to gulping it down. “Can I have more?,” she asked, still feeling hungry. “One more, okay? We need to make sure you have enough but not enough to develop a blood lust,” he told her as he handed her another bag. “Yeah I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she replied. “I know. I’m gonna help you,” he assured her.

Over the next few weeks Evie did her best to adjust to the change but everything was so extreme with her senses being elevated. One morning she woke to hammering and before she realized she’d sped towards the sound. She found a bare chested, sweaty Sy in one of the spare rooms, building bookshelves. When he noticed her state he rushed to her. “Evie what’s—,” he got out before she pounced on him. They hadn’t been intimate since their first night together, Sy giving her space to adjust but now…

“It was too loud but now I’m— I want you. You smell so good. I’m aching Sy. Please,” she panted. Of course he obliges, how could he not? His sweet girl needing him so badly. Before it’s over they’re both hot sticky messes on the floor. “I need more,” she whined. “Poor little darlin’. You sure?,” he asked. “More,” she breathed. They didn’t leave the room until well into the night.

Months together quickly turn into a year. Sy’s all but helped her adjust to her new abilities, and manage her hunger. Evie had no desire to feed on an actual person, but between her, Sy, and their compulsive powers, she stayed stocked up on more than enough blood bags. She’d gotten her own little library too once she actually let Sy finish it. Her life was comfortable, and she felt more content than she could ever remember being. One day as she sat reading it dawned on her.

She threw her book down before making her way out into the garage. “Hey baby,” Sy beamed before taking her into his arms. “Sy,” she said softly, looking up at him. “What is it sugar?,” he asked with a furrowed brow. “I love you,” she told him tentatively. He smiled down at her, cupping her face. “You’ve loved me a long time now haven’t you?,” she then asked. “Maybe since we first met,” he admitted. “You’ve given me everything I could’ve ever wanted,” she told him. “It’s only fair seein’ I got the better end of the deal,” he replied. “This really is forever isn’t it?,” she asked, eyes shining up at him. “Forever and always,” he said before kissing her lovingly.

[martha-oi]

Give me one😔❤️

[martha-oi]

Heeeey🫠

I'm alive sorry, coming back soon with good stuff!

[just-chirpin]

Eyes That See (part 26)

Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.

Eyes That See Part 26 Summary: You meet up with some friends at “The Restaurant”, but your friends aren’t the only ones you end up having conversations with; your ex is also there. Sy’s serious about Michael leaving you alone, for good.

Words: 7k

TW: some tense macho stuff between Sy and Michael…some covert narcissism from Michael….that’s about it. Alcohol consumption.

A/N: I know everyone's dying for a full-on brawl, but maybe that'll happen sometime in the future. 😊 This part actually gets really sentimental at the very end.

After exiting the library, Sy drives you back to the hotel where you both immediately close the curtains and get in bed. Under the blankets, you cuddle, and it’s both for your sake and for his; you know his instincts must be screaming to take care of you right now. After hearing the not-so-great memories of your time with Michael, Sy’s acting like he wants to personally make up for your past neglect.

You’ll take it. 

You and Sy share the same pillow as he spoons you from behind, and with his arms wrapped entirely around you, you’re in a fortress. Nothing can be wrong or go wrong because you’re protected, and Sy’s protection is pure safety. Far from controlling, it’s for no other reason but to simply take care of you.

Eventually, your breathing starts to sync. As you both feel the physical effects from the drive this morning and the emotional effects from the conversation held recently, it’s easy to drift unconscious together. You both end up napping for over two hours.

When you wake up, you find yourself on your stomach with Sy practically covering your entire right side. It makes you briefly fantasize about what it’d be like if he were really, really covering you as close as he could get, you laying prone and him entirely on top of you. In the past, that always made you feel claustrophobic–sometimes you couldn’t actually breathe very well which you hated–but now, you know you’d like it. Even if Sy gave you every single pound of his body weight, you know you’d enjoy it. 

You then begin to fantasize about what it’d feel like to be in that position without any layers of clothing separating you, and for a while, as Sy snores quietly behind you, your mind just drifts. 

You’re bad at proposing new stuff and even worse at initiating, so maybe you’ll just have to drop a hint one of these days or something. If you really wanted to, you could back your ass up suggestively until Sy woke up, but despite your vivid daydreams, you actually don’t even feel like messing around right now. Last night was enough to satiate you for a long, long time. 

Last night, Sy held your hands together above your head for the first time while he fucked you deep and slow, yet with a force that drove you up his bed on every thrust. He didn’t whisper many dirty things down to you like usual, but his intensity alone was deafeningly loud. 

He kept almost unbreaking eye-contact like reverence, and the normal smug satisfied expression that’d typically show on his face while giving you pleasure was replaced by something fervent instead, something dominant. Like he was consuming you. 

And with your wrists held together in just one of his hands the whole time, it practically was like he was consuming you. That you were his. That you are his. And you’d never felt so helpless while being so entirely okay with that. 

You haven’t spoken today about that moment because you spoke about it enough in the tender afterglow last night. “I’ve never had anything like this,” Sy admitted, and you just looked up at him and whispered, “Me, either.” “I want this forever,” he said next, and you detected nothing but sincerity. “I do, too. I really, really do, too.”

You get that the intensity and sentimentality from last night was most likely a factor with how the run-in with Michael went earlier today, and definitely a factor with how many big feelings Sy’s expressed since hearing about your experiences with him. Sy’d made you fall apart under him just last night, and then the very next day, he’s finding out about all the times your ex-boyfriend…mistreated you in bed. 

Maybe you should’ve waited ‘til another day to disclose so much, but you just felt like it was time. Raw as everything was, you’re glad you’re not carrying it alone anymore. Sy’s told you before that you don’t have to shoulder heavy things by yourself all the time. Now, you aren’t. Now, you’re lighter.

Sy wakes up when you shift around underneath him to go use the bathroom, and the time after that is lazy in the room as you both lay in bed and fully wake up. While Sy watches the news on TV–just itching to actually do something besides lay around, you can tell–you start getting ready for tonight’s hangout with your friends. You even do something extra with your hair. 

You're just so excited to reunite with people you haven't seen in years and to introduce them to Sy. You put on a little more makeup than you usually do, and afterwards, you and Sy get dressed together and both choose simple things to change into since this is your hometown you’re in, after all: long-sleeved shirts, jeans without holes, and boots–yours high up your calves over your jeans, Sy’s just regular work-boots scrubbed clean. 

Your shirt dips down just below your collarbone so that your new necklace rests directly on your skin and shines resplendently. It really is beautiful. You imagine wearing an actual nice dress with it on and how cool that’d feel to be so dressed up. Still, you look in the mirror and feel pretty. Sy kisses your forehead and says out loud you do.

Sy offers to drive, and with the hotel being a small distance from the restaurant you’re meeting your friends at, you have time to look out the windows and point out all the stuff you see while he follows your directions.

“There’s my old elementary school.”

“Ooh, that was my first job over there. I served snow cones.”

“My grandparents live way back behind those trees. We’ll see them sometime soon, just don't know when. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Justine grew up in that house there.”

At your destination, you text your friend Deseree right as Sy is opening the passenger-side door for you. Inside the restaurant–and you don’t even know if that’s the right word to call this place because it’s a part-bar, part-poolhall, and part restaurant–you try to find her. It takes a few seconds, but eventually you notice Deseree waving at you from a table by the far wall, and you break out into a grin. 

“This way,” you tell Sy.

At the table with Des are a bunch of other old friends from school–Kiesha, Jasmine, and Natalie–and their dates. They’ve pushed two tables together to all sit with one another, and the air is quickly filled with introductions and reunion hugs and chatter. Most of the guys you either know or at least recognize from school. 

As Sy goes around and introduces himself and even shakes everyone’s hands, you find yourself smiling, but it’s dialed down, more like ninety-percent. In the back of your mind, there’s the incessant reminder that Michael’s here, some small anxiety that he’s somehow gonna ruin your night. 

You try to block out that thought and remain mentally strong. You know he’ll be here since he said he would be, and because of that, you know he’s bound to try talking to you, too. Realizing that as an inevitable fact actually helps you relax. 

It’ll be fine, anyway. You’ve got Sy and all of your friends here. 

After hanging your jackets on the backs of two chairs, you and Sy go to the bar to get drinks. Sy opens a tab and orders a beer for himself and something fruity for you, and while waiting, you notice a little bit of lint at the top of Sy’s shirt. You brush it off and briefly look up to notice him looking around scoping out the entire room.

“That him?” Sy quietly asks once he’s people-watched enough to spot your ex.

You follow his line-of-sight and give a little nod. You purposefully don’t look at Michael for more than a split-second, but it’s enough for you to feel his eyes on you, anyway. Ugh. The bartender passes you your drink over the bar the next instant, and you find a napkin to cover the top of the glass before turning around to head back to your friends.

You briefly consider tossing back your drink and asking everyone to go somewhere else even though you’d just arrived, but this is your hometown you’re talking about here; the choices are slim. Each little hole-in-the-wall place has its own reputation, and even in a town this small, it’s not easy for a group of non-regulars to just show up without drawing attention, unfortunately. At least here you comfortably fit in. 

You shift your focus on walking back to the table where everyone is having lively conversation. Your smile becomes more genuine after that, at least. There’s something satisfying to know that Sy and your ex are in the same room and that Sy’s the one with his arm around you. That Sy’s the one that gets to have you in a way that he could never ever come close to.

Taking a seat at the table, you finally take a look at Sy’s face and see that he is most definitely not smiling. You shake your head, almost laughing. “Damn, Sy, if looks could kill right now–”

“Then he’d be dead.”

You frown a little. “Hey,” you lightly say. “Forget about it for now. Let’s just try to have fun.”

He nods as if it’s taking every instinct he has to restrain himself. "I won’t make a scene.”

“Okay.”

“But if he does one fuckin’ thing while we’re here,” he mutters menacingly, “I’m not lettin’ it go. He needs to be held accountable. And I’ve got no problem at all being the one to do it.”

And okay…maybe that excites you a little. You may discretely squirm in your chair.

You have a lot of fun catching up with everyone and you're thrilled when Sy hits it off with one of your friend's husbands, connecting immediately over sports the way that men easily can do. 

…But you still can’t entirely relax. Not even when Sy senses your anxiety and begins kneading the muscle of your shoulder a few times before securely setting his hand there.

It’s just–you know there’s gonna have to be some sort of interaction with Michael tonight. Something. It’s inevitable. To avoid it as much as possible, though, you stick to your table, you go to the bathroom in pairs, you stay aware of your surroundings. You’re able to let loose a little in the warm cocoon of alcohol.

Sy knows an altercation is bound to happen, too, and when everyone moves to circle around a pool table on the other side of the restaurant instead of eating dinner right away, he checks in with you a little more than usual. You can tell he wants to be your guard-dog now considering the occupants in the room, but you want him to have a good time tonight, too.

“If he ends up saying something to me tonight, which he will, I'll be fine,” you tell Sy. “I'll look at you if I need you to step in or whatever.”

Sy nods. You can’t help but internally laugh at how his face looks like he’s preparing for combat.

After two drinks imbibed pretty quickly, your back-to-back bathroom trips can’t continue to be with someone else; you have to pee so frequently that you know it'll get annoying asking someone to go with you every time. You’ll slow it down after this and just let the alcohol you’ve already drank run its course.

Three women are ahead of you in the line that leads to the women’s bathroom, so you lean on the wall as you wait. Immediately next to you is the wall leading to the men’s room, and there’s no one in line. Not one person. 

You sigh, and then you gasp. There next to you suddenly, like a real life whack-a-mole you’d love to smash, appears the shape of Michael.

Of course you’re surprised, but you shouldn’t be. You knew he’d find the opportunity somehow. Knew it. You’re very aware of Sy’s eyes on you, however, so you don’t freak out. Plus–those drinks from earlier. You’re fine. You’re fine. He’s just some person.

Michael opens his arms as if he’s expecting a hug, and you scowl at him. “You come alone?” he asks. 

You scowl even deeper and don’t even give him the benefit of hearing your voice. You cross your arms and remain silent. You fucking know he knows who you came here with. You know he saw you earlier with Sy. 

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he lowers his arms and says, going so far as to pull a pouting face. “C’mon.”

You take a step ahead in line and literally give him the cold shoulder. When you’re finally able to enter the bathroom a few moments after that, you’re grateful for the escape. You take an extra long time washing your hands, and by the time you’re done, you’re in a better mood. You hold open the door to let the next woman waiting in line inside and even cheerfully smile at her.

On your walk back to the pool table, a hand pulls at the crease of your arm. “Actin’ like you don’t even know me.”

You whip around and take a step backwards. “What the fuck is your problem?” you bite. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ooh, there she is,” Michael laughs. “Knew it would come out eventually.”

“Because you–” You ball up your fists and take a deep breath. You’re not going to react. You’re not going to react. He’s testing you. This is what he does. 

Reacting to his bullshit is one of the reasons you got in so many fights in the past. He knows exactly what to say and do to push your buttons. He just–he knows you too well. All because you stupidly opened up to him about every single vulnerable thing there was to possibly open up about. Back when you trusted him. Back when you stood up for him when your friends and family noticed changes in you and urged you to leave him.

"I'd tell you it was good seein' you, but I'd hate to lie," you mutter. "Bye."

As you walk away, you hear, “Bitch.”

You frown, and instantly, it’s like you’re reliving the past. The bad feelings he'd leave you with after every single conversation. The yearning inside to do whatever was necessary to just make it right again, to make him love you again, to apologize so you were forgiven. 

You’re past that, though. You don’t need his approval anymore. He’s nothing.

You walk past the bar and make it back to the pool table in a less chipper mood than you’d left it. Sy's jaw is stiff when you walk up to him.

“Did he grab you just now?”

“Ignored him all I could until he touched me, yeah,” you mumble. “Told him not to, got called a bitch. Pretty on par for him.”

“He has no right to touch you,” Sy says, then as an afterthought, adds, “or call you that.”

You chuckle. “If that’s all it was, then I’ll count myself lucky.”

Sy looks almost pained when he turns to face you again, then his face hardens. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Your mouth gets dry. “You’re in the middle of a game right now,” you point out.

Sy rests his cue stick against the wall. “It can wait.”

You lower your voice. “Please don’t. Not now,” you almost plead. “Maybe later, but–but not now.”

You just want to have a normal fucking time with him without ruining it yet again with bullshit from your past. Sy’s eyes search your face and soften a little at whatever they see. Reminding you of a dog being pulled back on a leash, he unwillingly relents. He takes a sip of the beer he’s been nursing all night and places it on the ledge behind him.

“Hey,” you say to break the tension, “d’you want another beer or are you waitin’ ‘til we eat?”

He shrugs. “I could do with one more, I guess.”

“Cool, I’ll go get it,” you offer, and you give him a look that says, the bar is, like, ten steps away, and he just bothered me a second ago so he’s not gonna bother me again so soon after. 

Sy’s fingers graze your waist as you step away.

You walk up to the center of the bar. Two women who have been sitting on bar-stools all night are to your right, and after they order more drinks for themselves, you order water for yourself and a bottle of beer for Sy. After that, an older gentleman approaches your left side and requests an old fashioned.

While patiently waiting your turn to order, you see blankness on the young bartender’s face immediately. He actually looks nervous. 

“I, uh–I’m not sure I…I think I'll have to look up how to make that.”

This bartender is clearly overwhelmed with three different sets of customers. You lean forward. "It's just two ounces of bourbon, a quarter ounce bitters, some simple syrup, and an orange peel,” you tell him before pointing to the glasses behind him. “Served in that little glass right there. Put ice in it first, then mix it all up and stir.”

"Damn," he laughs. "Wanna step behind here and show us how it’s done?”

You nervously take a step back. If Sy sees you talking too much to a male bartender like this, it'll look like you're flirting.

No, it won't. It's Sy. Sy's secure. You offer the guy a smile and mutter something about how you used to be a bartender. 

The guy makes drinks in the order they were placed, starting with the women’s cocktails on your right. Unfortunately, even though they’ve clearly ordered the same drink, the bartender doesn’t know how to make multiple drinks at the same time, so he does them individually. It takes quite a long time, and it’s not helped by the fact that he must be new. The poor guy has to remake almost every drink twice before they’re right. 

You know how it goes, so you’re definitely not going to complain. You just glance up at the televisions behind the bar and start watching an NFL divisional game between the Steelers and the Ravens while sort of whistling in your head. You continue minding your own business until the women's conversation beside you grabs your attention.

"That man is fuckin' fiiine," the one on the left quietly murmurs right before lifting her finally-finished drink to her mouth. 

The woman beside her makes a short, moaning noise. "He's a whole damn snack is what he is," she comments, and you can’t help but side-eye them to see who they’re talking about. 

Just then, the bartender places two napkins on the bar in front of you and sets down a glass of ice water and a longneck bottle of beer. You pick up both drinks before discretely peeking in the direction that both of the women are shamelessly ogling. That’s when you notice Sy, the only man in their line-of-sight, bending over the pool table to take his shot. Not being able to help it, you chuckle. 

"He really is, isn't he?" you turn your head and ask, flashing a bright smile to both of the women. 

Carrying your drinks away from the bar, you walk directly towards Sy, and when you give him his beer, he leans down to kiss you. You don’t over-exaggerate the kiss or anything. You don’t. 

Sy lifts his eyebrows and one of his arms, and you step in close to his side. "You feelin' alright?" he asks in a low voice. 

“Fine as wine,” you answer.

He laughs and winks at you before motioning his head to the bar. "Tryna get another part-time job?"

"Oh, you heard that?” you ask with a grin. “Yeah, I’m just the best trainer ever, what can I say? Training country-wide.”

“That actually ain’t a bad idea.”

You grin and take a sip of your water. Another game of pool starts up, and Deseree decides that it’s a good idea for everyone to place food orders now so things’ll be ready for all eight of you after the game ends. That takes a little time, but when the guys are occupied again with the new pool game, you and your friends stand by the wall and fall into your usual rhythm–taking pictures, laughing at inside jokes, and catching up.

Back at your table, everyone enjoys dinner while still happily chatting with one another. As they all drink more, they get louder and more outgoing, and eventually the conversation turns to wild stories from years past. There are a few things that you aren’t too proud of that Sy hears about, but he laughs so hard his shoulders shake, so there’s that. 

After you’re done with your sophisticated dinner of chicken and french fries, you get one more drink for yourself--nowhere near your friends’ level of intoxication yet no desire to catch up–to sip on for the rest of your time here. The rest of the evening passes just sitting at the table and easily talking together. Sy continues to shoot the shit with some of your friends, you keep catching up with others, and the mood is…happy. 

Eventually, once everyone’s plates have long since been cleared from the table, your buzz tapers off into more of a relaxed state of mind. As the night drags on, though, you find yourself actually getting too mellow. Even though you’d taken a nap earlier on, you yawn so largely you have to cover your mouth with your hand.

Sy looks over you and doesn’t say a word. You simply nod at him. You’ve been here almost four hours.

“Well, think we’re gonna get, y’all,” Sy says before he stands up and puts on his jacket. Afterward, he shakes everyone’s hands again, the perfect asshole, and you offer everyone hugs. 

Deseree actually reaches out to hold your hands after you hug. She may be drunk, but she seems genuine when she says, “It’s so nice to have you home again. I miss you. We all miss you. You look so good. Your boyfriend is so hot. You look so good together.”

“Wow, like, six compliments at once,” you respond with a grin. “You’re gonna make my head so big.”

She giggles and squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Not, like, in a bitchy way, but you look so much better than the last time I saw you. Like, healthier. You look really happy.”

You divert your eyes for a second.

“I didn’t say that stuff in a bad way!” she’s sure to point out. “It wasn’t like I was sayin’ you looked like shit before or anything.”

“Oh, I know,” you reassure with a little smile. “Thanks. Really. So…I’ll be in touch whenever I’m back in town?”

“Yes, of course!” she replies enthusiastically, and your smile widens to take up half your face. “And if I’m ever in the A-T-L, I’ll hit you up, too.”

“Jeez, you’re drunk,” you murmur, and she cackles. She tries to do some hand-symbol with both of her hands, but she fails. You grin at her attempts, anyway.

You’re still smiling when you gesture to Sy that you’re making one last restroom trip, and you’re still smiling on your way to the–ugh, ridiculously long–bathroom line.

“Y/N, hey,” a voice says not even five seconds later, and it’s twinged with something that sounds like gentleness. After experiencing what true gentleness is, it sounds all wrong.  

You had honestly forgotten all about Michael until now. 

“Uggggggghhhh,” you dramatically groan. “Whyyyy.”

“It ain’t too late, you know,” he comments, and the moment he takes a step forward, you take a step backwards, pulling your jacket around your body closer. Gross. 

“I’m aware,” you curtly say, looking up at the clock between the bathroom doors. “Don’t make fun of me for leaving early.”

“No, I mean, it ain’t too late for us.”

You squint your eyes at him. “What’re you even sayin’?”

Looking to the side for a moment, Michael shrugs. When he looks back at you, his eyes pull downwards like a wounded animal. “I’ve missed you. I’ve really fucking missed you. I was thinkin’, you could move back. We could…pick things back up where we left ‘em. You know. Try again.” He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, coming across almost sheepish. “I’ve been studying to get my insurance license for a while now, and I’m gonna take the test soon. When I pass, I’ll be good to go out there and sell to anyone. I’ll have all my own clients.”

He looks so…innocent. So charming. A perfect mixture of flirtatiousness and persuasive eyes and heavy cologne. A salesman. Now a prospective insurance salesman.

You scowl. “I should slap you,” you say, and Michael’s expression turns into utter shock. 

"Look, Y/N, I know I fucked up, but if you hadn't blocked my number and moved to fuckin' bum-fuck I-don’t-fuckin’-know-where–” 

“I didn’t block your number, dumbass, I had to get an entirely new phone because you could track my old one since it was on your plan. Like you used to do when we lived together. And don’t turn this around and say ‘if you hadnt done this, if you’d only done that,’" you seethe. “Not when you’ve done so much fucking damage to me that I need professional fucking help.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he asks, his voice lilting in offended confusion. “I didn’t–Damage, Y/N? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Damage,” he repeats condescendingly. “The hell kinda damage?”

You won’t interact anymore, not when you’ve already said more than you wanted to. You won’t re-live this. You won’t. You turn to walk away from the bathrooms. You’ll go piss on the side of the road on the way to the hotel if you have to.

Michael instantly reaches out. Wrapping his entire hand around your arm and squeezing, it’s like you can feel his bare fingers on your skin even through your jacket. 

“What kinda damage?” he repeats, shaking you. “I never laid my hands on you.”

You fight fruitlessly to get out of his grip. “You are right now, you dick.” You slap Michael’s knuckles as hard as you can. “Let me go.”

Sy’s gonna come. He’s gotta come. He knows that Michael’s here, of course, so he’s already on high-alert, and you know he’s bound to be watching. …From somewhere. You turn and look around and just can’t locate him right off the bat.

Michael sighs and drops his hand. “I’m not hittin’ you, Jesus,” he mutters. “You can’t just say somethin’ like that and then not say anything else.”

You told yourself you wouldn’t interact, but that has you whipping around in anger. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Mike. You left me,” you hiss, moving away from the bathroom queue entirely. “Do I need to remind you? You left me.”

“And I tried comin’ back–I texted you a thousand times–only to find that you weren’t even in the same fuckin’ state anymore,” he retaliates, and then his voice gets quieter and almost tender. “I had so much goin’ on back then, Y/N, and I had to take some time--I just needed some time to just be by myself, and I went to a doctor and everything. But then you just–weren't around anymore. You didn’t text me back. You deleted all your socials. Changed the locks on the apartment.”

You take another step back from him and blink. “Okay, this is guilt-tripping,” you mutter to yourself. This is why you used to feel blameworthy all the time. This is him making you feel like you need to apologize for something. 

But you’ve done nothing wrong. 

Yet again, you take another step away--only to freeze when you hear a familiar voice so unfamiliarly caustic and so not-Sy that you momentarily blanch.

“Why’d I have a feelin’ this is where I’d fuckin’ find you?” Sy asks with a voice you can only describe as venomous. “Like a leech, I swear. The fuckin’ balls.”

“I do have fuckin’ balls,” Michael says while straightening himself and practically puffing out his chest. 

Sy huffs in disinterest. “Good for you. Want a medal or just some measurin’ tape?”

Michael’s quiet for a minute as he stares at Sy. You recognize from the expression on his face that he’s holding a grudge about Sy accusing him of having no balls on two separate occasions now. “Fuck you, man, I'm just talkin’ here. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Sy mutters out his reply. “And that’s more than you deserve.”

Michael’s face turns cocky with sarcasm. “Okay, ‘cause that makes sense.” He levels you with a look. “Might be big and buff, but he's just a stupid jock, huh?”

Sy steps closer to Michael. “Fuckin’ try me.”

From behind Sy you frown, and though you’ve been steadily backing away from this hyper-masculine showdown that's gone from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, now you take several steps forward to stick up for Sy. 

Blatantly, your arm brushes against Sy’s as you make eye contact with Michael. “Don’tchu ever talk about him like that,” you threaten. “Ever.”

“I was just talking to you, Y/N,” Michael says. The tone he’s using alludes to innocence, alludes to you blowing this situation out of proportion. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Okay,” you look away and mumble to yourself. “And that’s gaslighting. That’s–that’s when he would make me question my version of reality. ‘Cause…he wasn’t just trying to talk.”

You slowly look up at Sy, and there’s pride on his face when he looks down at you. “Good job,” he mouths.

Due to how quietly you’re speaking compared to the liveliness of the restaurant around you, Michael misses your exchange with Sy. He repeats himself.

“You don’t need your huge military-lookin’ boyfriend to come in and protect you from me or something,” he says, wiggling his fingers in the air as if saying ‘oooh, I’m so scary’. “All I was doin’ was talking to you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “You were literally tryin’ to convince me to give you a second chance.”

“Do what now?” Sy sharply asks. 

In front of you, Michael rolls his eyes. “Those weren’t even my words.”

“After you called her a bitch earlier? Got it.” Sy’s voice hardens. “Guess you really do think that everyone around you is stupider than you.” 

Sy takes another step forward, just enough to be considered invasive. “Now fuck off and leave her the fuck alone. Not just tonight. For good.”

Sy doesn’t need to spell out the “or else” part. The delivery of his words alone speak to how serious he’s being. 

God…Next to Sy, Michael’s size, his looks–hell, even his voice…He’s nothing close to intimidating. Yet you remember when, to you, he was. You remember feeling insignificant next to him. 

“Fine. You know what, man–you win,” Michael says, raising both of his hands and moving a slight bit backwards. “Hope you’re real fuckin’ happy with her. Hope you have fun listenin’ to her freak-outs and puttin’ up with her mood swings, playin’ therapist twenty-four seven–hope it’s real nice for you.”

Audibly, Sy inhales, and he’s as tense as you’ve ever seen him. Not even that time when Liana’s ex-husband made a surprise unwanted visit to MawMaw’s. Not even when you were dealing with all that bullshit with Cole.

“Well, I hope a lotta things, too,” Sy very slowly and very carefully replies. He takes another step forward to invade Michael’s space again. 

In order to try to dry up your suddenly burning eyes, you swallow and focus very intently on the dinged-up hardwood floor under your boots. How is it that those kinds of words still hurt so badly?

“Like what?” Michael challenges. 

“That you’d get shot and fuckin’ die, for one,” Sy darkly answers, “but for your sake, that you know how to face someone who can see right through all your fuckin’ bullshit.” His voice changes entirely when he turns his head around to look at you. “Go an’ wait out in the car, baby.”

Looking up, you take a terse breath. “Maybe we should just go, Sy.”

His eyes are dead-serious. “Wait in the car,” he repeats. 

Your eyes briefly flicker to Michael and then back to Sy. You know Sy won’t do anything stupid… You also know there’s no way he’d get injured himself… Still, your worry is evident.

Sy steps closer to you, then directly next to you so you can take in his familiar and comforting scent. “Just for a minute,” he says into the shell of your ear. “Swear I won’t make a scene.”

You feel the tickle of his beard on your ear even as he backs away. He reaches into his coat pocket and places the key to the car into the palm of your hand.

You stare at one another for a few moments, then you nod, turn around, and begin walking away.

At the restaurant’s entrance, Kiesha and Jasmine are standing waiting for you. Gratefully, you make your way to them, and together you step out into the cold air. They take seats on concrete parking blocks and light up cigarettes while you start Sy’s car and turn the heat up full-blast. Shutting the door to let it warm up, you lean against the vehicle and begin biting your fingernails.  

Your friends are silent, but they keep glancing up at you. They’re being great support to you right now by not leaving you alone, even if it’s with the added bonus of getting their nicotine fix, but you know they’re curious. It’s not often that this sort of drama happens. And it’s not often that drama follows you.

You just hope everything’s okay. You hope Sy just wanted some man-to-man words with Michael when you’d be out of earshot. You can only imagine how much turmoil he’s got inside him all twisting around at once–anger, disgust, loathing. God, you just hope Michael doesn’t provoke Sy into actually throwing punches, though, because that’s something Michael totally would do. You know from experience that there’s only so much a person can take before retaliating.

“I’m texting Des to give me a play-by-play,” Kiesha says while looking down at her cell phone. “So far they’re just havin’ a stare-down.”

“Oh, lord,” you mutter. When your fingernails can’t be bitten anymore, you gnaw at the skin on the sides of your fingers.

“Okay, she says now their noses are almost touchin’,” Kiesha says next before placing her cigarette between her lips and pecking at her phone with her thumbs.

Fuuuck. Sy doesn’t know anyone here. No one would be able to stand up for his integrity if the law got called over some stupid bar fight. And knowing Michael, he’d be able to skew things in his favor by being a local. And by being a kiss-ass. 

“Okay, Des moved closer to the bathroom line to try to listen. All she heard was your boyfriend saying ‘one fuckin’ time’ to Michael.”

You focus on your breathing and the front door of the restaurant. It's fucking freezing, but you don't want to go inside the car yet. You just want everything to be alright. It’s hard to calmly breathe with your teeth chattering, though, and that’s when you realize you’ve gotten spoiled to shit with Georgia weather. Even while sharing the same mountain-chain, the air in Georgia just doesn’t seem to get to this level of frigidness.

Stomping your boots on the ground to try to warm up your legs, you look over at your friends. They’re almost done smoking. 

“Nothin’ else yet,” Kiesha updates. “Des says your boyfriend’s talkin’ so low she can’t hear anything, and she can’t read his lips, either.”

That means Sy’s lips are tightly pressed together. That means his jaw is tense. 

“He’s still real close to Michael…got his finger in his face…” Kiesha puts out her cigarette and then laughs while looking at the next text that comes through. She stands up. “Okay, so your boyfriend may or may not have threatened to have Michael blown up.”

“Blown up?” Jasmine laughs beside her while accepting help from Kiesha to stand up. 

You start running your hands up and down your arms. “Better than…alternative methods of dying, I guess,” you mutter, then you get close to Kiesha and Jasmine and lift up your arms to give them last hugs. “Go on inside, y’all, it’s freezin’ out here.”

“You go inside,” Kiesha gestures to the car you’re learning on with a plume of smoke coming out its exhaust. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply. “I just wanna see him when he comes out.”

“We’ll text you if anything crazy happens,” Kiesha promises before going back inside.

You stand there alone, continuing to stomp on the ground for warmth, worrying about everything, feeling guilty about everything. Sy would never be in this position if you just hadn’t gotten involved with Michael in the first place. Or if you’d just left him when his true colors started coming out. 

It wasn’t that easy then, though, and you try to internally talk to yourself like Sy would. Some people are just shitty. It wasn’t your fault. I want to take care of you. The phrases become a little mantra in your head. You aren’t an imposition. You aren’t a burden. I mean what I say and I say what I mean.

When the door to the restaurant opens, your head instantly darts upwards. Sy steps outside a second later, and though he does look murderous, he doesn’t look outwardly different. There isn’t, like, any blood on his hands or face. His nose is straight and normal. You let out a shaky breath and realize your hands are fucking shaking.

When Sy recognizes you waiting for him, his eyes lose their tightness, and he approaches you with an urgency, face scrunching together in open worry.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby,” he instantly soothes you, and that’s when you realize you’re full-on shivering. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

You nod. Your lips currently won't open for you to speak. 

“Everything's okay,” he lowers his voice and tells you, staying close but not touching. “You're with me. You're safe. You’re always safe with me.”

Again, you nod. “I’m not having an anxiety attack,” you promise. “I’m just c-cold.”

Sy takes a hold of one of your icy hands and immediately walks you to the passenger door. Sitting down inside the car is like entering a sauna; it’s almost on the verge of actually being too hot. You take off your jacket before buckling your seatbelt, and then you reach out and hold your hands in front of a heat vent. 

“Why didn’t you wait in here?” Sy asks from the driver’s seat with no judgment, just concern.

“I–I just wanted to see your face as fast as possible, I guess,” you answer. “To k-know you’re okay.”

Sy puts his seatbelt on. “I’m okay,” he says.

Continuing to thaw out in front of the heater, you chance asking, “So, uh. What happened?”

“We had some words. Then I left.”

You swallow. “That’s all?”

“Toldju I wasn’t gonna make a scene,” he reminds you as he begins reversing the car, and you let out a giant breath. 

“You did,” you say. “But…you’re angry.”

“I am.” Sy smoothly moves the gear stick to “D”. “And I can control my emotions because I’m a man.”

With a small smile, you begin to relax. “So, like, how’d it go? I’m dyin’ to know what you actually said, but I know you won’t tell me.”

“Not word-for-word, no,” Sy agrees, “but a good summary would be…If he ever touches you, talks to you, or tries to contact you in any way either directly or through someone else, that it’s in his best interest to learn how to fight ‘cause I’ll rip him a new fucking asshole.”

“Oooh,” you let out. You’re not one for violence, but that sounded so confidently threatening that you’re internally giddy with how Michael must’ve looked after hearing that. Maybe that’s when Sy put his finger in his face and said “one fuckin’ time”--maybe Sy was saying that to drive home his point about not contating you ever. You hope Michael peed his pants.

Sy turns onto the main road. “And I might’ve mentioned some guys I know who handle high-grade military explosives across the country, and that he should never be too careful about the people he meets while ‘selling insurance’.”

You look over at Sy with admiration and deference. You reckon he’d put a hit out on Michael if you only said the word. 

“Thanks, babe.”

His eyes dart over to you when you say that, then he reaches across the center console for your hand and lifts it up to his mouth to kiss. 

God, he never stops being so fucking sweet. He’s such a man, and he’s always so fucking sweet to you. And to think, without Michael in your past, you wouldn’t be bringing so much luggage into his life. It could've been easy like this from the beginning.

“I just–I hate him so much,” you mumble.

“I know,” he mumbles back.

Quickly, to keep tears at bay, you nod. Two minutes later, Sy pulls up to a gas station so you can go inside and use the bathroom.

In bed later that night after faces are washed and teeth are brushed, you and Sy lay facing one another–both of you with one arm tucked underneath the pillow you’re each laying on and the other arm on the sheets between each other. You have a brief run-down of the night’s events and how both of you thought everything went, but you know you’ll talk more about that kind of stuff tomorrow. The main thing in the forefront of your minds right now is the…other situation. 

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper into the air between your faces. 

Sy’s tracing the skin around your hairline, just little soft brushes of his finger. “Don’t gotta thank me.”

“I want to,” you reply. “You didn’t have to do all that just for me.”

A little puff of air leaves Sy’s nostrils, and he pulls his hand back. “There is no just, Y/N. You’re everything. And I'd do anything for you, you know that."

You can’t look at him anymore, but you scoot a little bit closer to him and find his hand under the blanket. Holding it, you remain quiet. Hearing things like that are still so hard for you, but your heart feels full to bursting.

Sy checks in after your silence goes on. “You good?”

You nod, and soon, you’re able to look back at his face. “I’m just so fucking in love with you,” you whisper, chuckling afterwards. 

His eyes search your face. It almost looks like admiring.

“It’s crazy, ain’t it?” he asks, and the expression on his face alone shows you that he’s reciprocating everything you’re saying. His eyes only look this specific way when they’re looking at you. Eyes that don't just look at you, but see you.

“We’re, like…We’re each other’s person,” you comment with a little smile. You’re my person.”

“You’re my girl,” he says.

You blink when he just keeps staring at you. “What, you’re gonna make me say somethin' different?” you ask, and he cockily nods. “You can’t just be my person?”

Sy reaches out and places his hand on your hip. “I don’t wanna just be your person.”

It gets quiet again, and the two of you just watch each other’s faces for a bit, touching under the sheets.

Eventually, Sy breaks the silence. “You’re my girl,” he whispers.

You briefly look away, and your face gets hot while you make yourself look right back at him. “And you’re my man,” you reply, cheesy enough that you almost want to groan afterwards, but Sy grins in the adoringly handsome way that shows all his teeth, so it’s worth it.

“Fuckin’ right I am. And you just let me worry about that stuff that happened earlier from now on,” he says, pulling you in close. “‘Cause you don’t got to anymore.”

[just-chirpin]

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[shewriteswhenthewordscome]

August Walker x unnamed female

Word count: 610

Warnings: mild dub-con/somnophilia (not that August cares)

I have no beta, so there are probably mistakes.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bali… maybe the Seychelles… The salient point is I was on a private beach: naked, sitting on a towel-covered beach chair, watching the sunset as the temperature dropped. There was a breeze that hit me just right; I was already half-hard and leaking, and the balmy air felt like a feather-light stroke from a soft hand, fuck. It felt so good, fully engorging untouched…

August Walker rarely has sexually-charged dreams. In his sleep-drenched mind he’s having difficulty searching his thoughts. What time is it? I took off my wa- goddammit… she knows my nipples are sensitive. Lick it, come on… Yes, yes, the teeth… No wonder I was dreaming of getting hard - Shit, she’s tickling just above my cock… Touch it. No? She's taking her time. One thing he was sure of: he’d gone to bed alone. Letting herself in while I’m sleeping to - what? Get me all hot and bothered, then leave me to finish myself off? Or suck me until she chokes on my cum? She did say riding my cock always ends with a squeal and a squirt… Fuck! 

Walker feels his balls drawn into her warm, wet mouth. She’s positioned herself so that she could tweak a nipple and lave him with her viciously seductive tongue at the same time. Between licks, she nibbles at the loose skin. The fingers of her free hand gently rub along his perineum, dancing around his hole but none go in. August dares a peek and finds his cock curving, he’s so turned on. I’d need lube to jerk off. There’s no give- he hisses, as she finally pushes into him, searching for his prostate. 

He reaches over, flipping the bedside lamp on at the lowest setting; he wants to see her face while she tortures him. She grins up at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes as she finds her prize. August moans, bearing down on her finger, hoping it silently communicates that he wants more. When she wiggles in a second finger, his hips begin a gentle canting against her fingers. Nothing like a prostate massage… She swirls her tongue around his sack while gently sucking, pressing against his prostate as his thrusts pick up. When she feels his balls tighten, she swaps her hand for her mouth; simultaneously pulling his sack and sucking the head of his cock to aid his release. Motherfucker, her timing is perfect.

August wants to tangle his fingers in her hair, holding her head steady while he fucks her mouth, but he knows better. She won’t be led. He hates giving up control, but it’s worth it for moments like this. She sinks down on him, then draws up with deep suction. His hips buck and she twists the fingers still inside him. He tenses, grunting as the first jet suddenly streams down her throat. He grunts with every thick spurt, reveling in her continued sucking and fucking. 

He thinks he’s spent and assumes she wants reciprocity, but not this woman. Instead, she resumes her ministrations on his sack. What was beginning to soften a second ago hardened again. Satisfied with her work, she releases him and flashes that gorgeous smile he only sees when they’re undressed. Swinging a leg over him, she reaches for his cock, which dribbles as her ass comes into full view, and runs the head along her seam. When the tip of his prick is glistening, she guides in his length until he’s fully seated. I guess I’ll just lie here and enjoy. Her hips start rocking and she forgets he’s there. Walker could care less; it feels fucking amazing. And all I had to do was give her a key…

Tags: @beck07990 @kebabgirl67 @sillyrabbit81 @eldarwen333 @identity2212 @peachyvulpixie @nuggsmum @angryschnauzer @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @captainsy-cookiemonster @littlefreya @ellethespaceunicorn @gearhead66 @est1887 @bourbonwithice @caplanreblogsfics @mollymal @mrsevans90

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts of it and claiming it as your own or feeding it to AI*

[martha-oi]

[shewriteswhenthewordscome]

Good scream?

[martha-oi]

YES!

[shewriteswhenthewordscome]

August Walker x unnamed female

Word count: 610

Warnings: mild dub-con/somnophilia (not that August cares)

I have no beta, so there are probably mistakes.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bali… maybe the Seychelles… The salient point is I was on a private beach: naked, sitting on a towel-covered beach chair, watching the sunset as the temperature dropped. There was a breeze that hit me just right; I was already half-hard and leaking, and the balmy air felt like a feather-light stroke from a soft hand, fuck. It felt so good, fully engorging untouched…

August Walker rarely has sexually-charged dreams. In his sleep-drenched mind he’s having difficulty searching his thoughts. What time is it? I took off my wa- goddammit… she knows my nipples are sensitive. Lick it, come on… Yes, yes, the teeth… No wonder I was dreaming of getting hard - Shit, she’s tickling just above my cock… Touch it. No? She's taking her time. One thing he was sure of: he’d gone to bed alone. Letting herself in while I’m sleeping to - what? Get me all hot and bothered, then leave me to finish myself off? Or suck me until she chokes on my cum? She did say riding my cock always ends with a squeal and a squirt… Fuck! 

Walker feels his balls drawn into her warm, wet mouth. She’s positioned herself so that she could tweak a nipple and lave him with her viciously seductive tongue at the same time. Between licks, she nibbles at the loose skin. The fingers of her free hand gently rub along his perineum, dancing around his hole but none go in. August dares a peek and finds his cock curving, he’s so turned on. I’d need lube to jerk off. There’s no give- he hisses, as she finally pushes into him, searching for his prostate. 

He reaches over, flipping the bedside lamp on at the lowest setting; he wants to see her face while she tortures him. She grins up at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes as she finds her prize. August moans, bearing down on her finger, hoping it silently communicates that he wants more. When she wiggles in a second finger, his hips begin a gentle canting against her fingers. Nothing like a prostate massage… She swirls her tongue around his sack while gently sucking, pressing against his prostate as his thrusts pick up. When she feels his balls tighten, she swaps her hand for her mouth; simultaneously pulling his sack and sucking the head of his cock to aid his release. Motherfucker, her timing is perfect.

August wants to tangle his fingers in her hair, holding her head steady while he fucks her mouth, but he knows better. She won’t be led. He hates giving up control, but it’s worth it for moments like this. She sinks down on him, then draws up with deep suction. His hips buck and she twists the fingers still inside him. He tenses, grunting as the first jet suddenly streams down her throat. He grunts with every thick spurt, reveling in her continued sucking and fucking. 

He thinks he’s spent and assumes she wants reciprocity, but not this woman. Instead, she resumes her ministrations on his sack. What was beginning to soften a second ago hardened again. Satisfied with her work, she releases him and flashes that gorgeous smile he only sees when they’re undressed. Swinging a leg over him, she reaches for his cock, which dribbles as her ass comes into full view, and runs the head along her seam. When the tip of his prick is glistening, she guides in his length until he’s fully seated. I guess I’ll just lie here and enjoy. Her hips start rocking and she forgets he’s there. Walker could care less; it feels fucking amazing. And all I had to do was give her a key…

Tags: @beck07990 @kebabgirl67 @sillyrabbit81 @eldarwen333 @identity2212 @peachyvulpixie @nuggsmum @angryschnauzer @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @captainsy-cookiemonster @littlefreya @ellethespaceunicorn @gearhead66 @est1887 @bourbonwithice @caplanreblogsfics @mollymal @mrsevans90

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts of it and claiming it as your own or feeding it to AI*

[martha-oi]

[just-chirpin]

Eyes That See (part twenty-four)

Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.

Eyes That See Part 24 Summary: The second-half of December passes in a blur of gift-buying, gift-wrapping, and packing for your upcoming move. When Christmas Day arrives, things finally slow down, and you truly relax with Sy.

tw: Christmas, I guess, but nothing religious

Words: 7k

Chattanooga turns out to be a fun day-trip. There, you and Sy find a short trail in the mountains that ends in a large waterfall, and you spend a long time sitting next to each other on a giant log, just looking at it. Sy carves your initials into the bark of the log with his pocket knife and doesn’t even roll his eyes when you take about a dozen pictures of you both grinning with the pretty scenery behind you. One photo is even good enough to frame.

Afterwards, you go to a restaurant for lunch and then stroll around downtown together, bundled in coats. You try to get as many souvenirs and gifts as you can to mark off lingering people you still need to buy for, and you can’t help but get Justine’s kids a few more gifts, too. Sy shows off his consideration as well as his impressive upper-arm strength by carrying around multiple shopping bags for you for literal hours.

Oh–and there's also the fact that, despite your protests, he pays for literally everything you choose, too. 

When you get back to town, Sy stops at a Dollar General for you to load up on wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. Despite your day-long refusals against him paying for everything, he pays for your supplies in cash just as you’re trying to swipe your debit card. When you reach out to snatch the money out of his hand before he can give it to the cashier, he just raises his arm so you can’t reach. 

Almost affectionately, you roll your eyes while he takes his receipt and collects three tightly-crammed yellow bags in just one hand. “Ain’t my fault you’re short,” he says on the way outside.

“I am not short,” you trail behind him and argue. You pull out the tubes of wrapping paper he’s got secured underneath his left arm. “Ain’t my fault you’re a giant.”

“Giant, huh?”

You hit the wrapping paper against his arm. “Giant pain in the ass.”

“Aw, baby, you’re so sweet to me.”

Inside the truck, you get serious. “You didn’t have to pay for literally every single thing today, Sy,” you mutter. “Those weren’t even your gifts to buy.”

“It was nothing,” he starts the truck and easily says, and with that, he dismisses the topic entirely.

Your evening is spent in front of the living room fireplace wrapping presents while Sy puts the few items he’s bought for his family into gift bags he tapes shut. Every time he pushes a finished bag to the side, you side-eye him.

“What?” he asks, and you just shake your head, holding back a smirk.

“You should be one of those holiday-wrappers they got at the mall,” you remark. “All this skill…gone to waste.”

“Oh, yeah?”

With your tongue slightly poking out between your lips, you nod.

“We can’t all be as great as you,” he replies, and at that, your face loses some of its glee. You still feel so awkward when he says things like that. Internally, though, you eat it up. Even while you have to look away until your ears stop burning, your insides still feel like jumping frogs. 

For whatever reason, Sy doles out more praise practically all night–in the living room, how good all your finished presents look; in the kitchen, how good the dinner you made was; upstairs in bed, how good you are doing that thing with your tongue.

______________________

Someone unexpected rings Justine's doorbell on a random night the following week. Even though Sy’s grandma lives right across the street, you’ve gotten used to visiting her and not the other way around, so when you open the door to see her carrying a bag full of presents, your eyes widen.

You take the bag from her and welcome her inside. “Michael’s sleeping and the other kids are taking baths,” you say while quickly unloading the bag of gifts near the Christmas tree, “but I’ll let them know you dropped stuff off. Ooh, they’re gonna be so thrilled. Thank you so, so much.”

“One’s for you, too,” she explains. 

The last present you dig out has your name on it. "Aw, Miss Donna, you didn't have to."

"Oh, don'tchu worry about it, honey, I wanted to.” After you stand back up with a small present for her in your hand, you walk back to the front door and give her a quick, tight hug. “Liana taught me how to shop online on this website called Amazon. It’s so fast, even out here in the sticks! You ever heard of it?"

You smile. "Here and there, yeah."

She lightly taps your arm. "You mockin' an old lady?"

"Ehh, I might be mockin' someone, but she's not an old lady," you reply with a wink.

"Oh, listen to you. You and Sy are perfect for each other." 

You bite your lip. “Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you murmur. “So, hey. I got you something, too.”

As you hold out a tiny wrapped box in offering, her face lights up. She puts a hand over her chest. “Y/N, I’m as tickled as a speckled pup.”

You can’t help laughing at that strange comparison, and you shake the box a little bit. “Well, take it.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t’ve given this to me early,” she reaches out for the gift and chides, but it sounds more towards herself. “I’m plumb awful at bein’ patient. I can never wait ‘til Christmas Day.”

“No one’s sayin’ you have to.”

Her lip sticks out of the side of her mouth in consideration. “Okay, well, here goes.” She instantly starts unwrapping the box like the decision wasn’t hard to make at all.

There’s a weird anxiety you always get at watching people open gifts that you'd chosen in front of you. You almost wished she’d just taken it back to her house to open, but it’s nice to know she’s excited, as least. 

Your face drops a little when she simply stares inside the box without saying anything. When her silence goes on too long, you explain the gift. “Um. It’s a Walker, Texas Ranger badge.”

“I know what it is,” she murmurs. “I was just admirin’.”

Gratefully, you smile. “So…you like it?”

“Y/N,” she finally looks up, “I’m gonna wear it every night.”

Your smile turns to a grin. “Please do, and let me know how long it takes Sy to comment on it.”

“Absolutely, hon. There’s a new sheriff in town, boys,” she says in a funny voice while going outside again. On the porch, you hug once more, and in her embrace, she even rocks you side-to-side a little. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re so welcome. Go enjoy Chuck Norris now.”

“While wearin’ my new badge,” she adds. 

You watch her cross the street with the internal amusement that Sy’s family is really starting to feel like your family. Hell, you and his sisters have your own group chat now. 

Your train of thought immediately turns to your actual family. In just a few weeks, you and Sy are driving up to Virginia. It’ll be his first time meeting your parents, your grandparents, and some other relatives, and you’re anxious. You're also trying your very hardest to stop being anxious. 

You’re not worried about if your family’s gonna like Sy; you honestly don’t care, plus you know they will. You’re concerned if he’ll like them. Or, well–not like them, but…judge you somehow as being an extension of them. You’re worried that he’ll see too much and then… You stop yourself from going any further than that. 

While things aren’t technically dysfunctional back home, your family is…complicated. Your dad’s version of a warm welcome is a long stare and maybe a head-nod. On the other hand, your mom is the opposite–too talkative, too worried about being a good host, too high-strung at times. Your maternal grandparents are mostly fine other than having health problems, but your dad’s parents are just plain awkward. You’re prematurely embarrassed just imagining how things are going to go. 

You sincerely hope Sy doesn’t think of you differently after learning where and how you were brought up. 

After finally closing the front door instead of standing outside in the cold without a jacket, you make your way down the hall to check on the kids. 

_________________

The hustle and bustle of the holiday season comes full-force, and suddenly, Christmas Eve is upon you. That evening, Justine lets the kids open one present each before going to bed to await the big event the next day, and the gifts they choose are from you. You relish in their excitement as they tear into wrapping paper, their gasps as they see what they’ve gotten, and their smiles and hugs afterwards. 

It’s the last time you’ll have the chance to have all this. It’s bittersweet.

You drive to Sy’s place afterwards, pushing down lingering guilt of not being at Justine’s in the morning to see the kids open everything else. As special as they are to you, you aren’t their mother. Justine deserves those memories. It’s time for you to make new ones.

Christmas morning with Sy is like a fucking Hallmark movie, but instead of some wholesome image of you both wearing matching pajamas when you come downstairs, you’re in one of his big t-shirts with just boy-shorts underneath and big, fuzzy socks, and he’s half-naked in only his boxers. They’re festively covered in candy canes.

In the kitchen, you stand side-by-side with sleep-slanted eyes while going about preparing breakfast together. You begin brewing coffee and pre-heating the oven while Sy cooks up a bunch of turkey sausage in a skillet. After that’s done, he cracks some eggs in the same pan, and you start warming up water and milk in a pot. While waiting for the liquid to boil, you place a tray of gluten-free biscuits into the oven.

It’s easy to concentrate on cooking until Sy slowly moves behind you. Wrapping his big arms around your waist until his hands are splayed out atop your stomach, he squeezes you and quickly makes it hard to move. It grows even harder when he starts kissing your neck and distracting you even more.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he quietly says.

As always when he speaks into your ear, chills break out along your arms. “Merry Christmas, yourself.”

His stubble tickles your skin as he begins kissing the other side of your neck. You don’t even pretend to be annoyed as you tilt your head to the side and murmur, “You’re gonna make me burn the biscuits."

He hums. “Ain’t possible.”

You chuckle while reaching out for a box next to the stove. “Well, the grits need to go in now, and I gotta actually focus on stirrin’ so I don’t mess up, so keep it together.”

“Mm. Yes, ma’am.”

Turning around slightly, you tilt your face up with your lips pursed, and Sy immediately kisses you. When he backs away, you softly smile at one another. You finish up the grits while Sy starts frying potatoes, and by the time everything’s done, you have a giant spread of entirely too much food for just two people.

You bring your plates and coffee cups to the living room, deciding to eat while sitting on the couch. When you were little, you always used to listen to holiday music while eating breakfast on Christmas Day, but because you and Sy are both sort of tired of listening to it by now, he starts a fire and turns on the TV instead. He flicks through a few channels before settling on a movie that’s already halfway done.

“We gotta getchu a streaming service up in here,” you mutter around a bite of food. “Man, I missed out on a perfect gift. Maybe next year.”

Sy looks over at you while taking a sip of coffee. His eyes meaningfully bore into yours, and you hope he’s thinking the same thing you are. There’s gonna be a next Christmas, too. And one after that, and after that, and after that. 

You find a nearby throw and cover your legs with it, but it’s thin and not substantial enough at all to keep you warm. The fireplace is nice and hot in front of you, at least.

“How are you even shirtless right now, Sy?”

“Chest hair’s good insulation,” he replies, and you can tell as he’s chewing his food that he’s fighting back a stupid grin.

You smirk. “Ah.”

You end up eating entirely too much, and you don’t care. It means that laying back on the couch with a blanket on your lap and Sy’s arm around your shoulders feels even more luxurious. Normally when you lounge around like this, there’s something inside you protesting, a feeling of I’ve got stuff to do I can’t take a break I can’t be lazy, but not right now. Right now, you’re with your boyfriend, and right now it’s Christmas, and right now not even your upcoming Virginia trip worries are going to spoil anything.

Eventually, Sy suggests exchanging gifts, and even though your literal most recent thought was about not letting anything spoil your relaxation, the present thing admittedly gets you a little nervous. You seriously don’t know why you’re so weird about opening gifts in front of people and watching other people open yours, only that it's a lot of expectation, you guess. A lot of room for disappointment from the other person.

You both agreed to keep it simple, though, so your nerves settle a bit as you walk to the tiny Christmas tree and gather your wrapped presents for Sy. He does the same for you, and you both make a small pile in front of your individual places on the couch. You hope he likes what you've picked out.

You appreciate how non-showy Sy is about everything. It's actually funny to you that he can't wrap for shit and has placed every single thing in various-sized gift bags, all taped shut instead of stuffed with tissue paper. One bag is ridiculously large, the next is small, and the last is tiny.

You have three gifts for him, too, all covered with sleek maroon paper and white ribbons and bows. You want him to go first and tell him so, and you know from his tiny smirk that he sort of already knows what the first small present will be before opening it. 

You’re not sure if it was purely casual last month when he mentioned he needed a new wallet, or if it was a hint, but either way, he’d said it, so you’d gotten one. He grins while he pulls out a nice leather wallet that you got help from Johnny in picking out.

“Just what I needed.”

“Yeah, well. If you’re gonna insist on payin’ for everything when we go places,” you say while briefly looking away and shrugging, “you gotta at least upgrade.”

“True,” he replies. “Thanks, baby.”

“Um. There’s somethin’ inside, too,” you nervously say. 

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Not money,” you’re quick to explain when he pulls out a light-green rectangle of paper in the shape of a dollar bill. 

On the paper is a handwritten list of things you love about him. You were probably feeling way too sentimental when you came up with the idea to put the paper in his wallet in the first place, but it’s too late to go back now. You really hope it doesn’t come across as cheesy as you’re suddenly thinking it will. 

While Sy starts reading, you feel like you’re sitting next to him naked, so emotionally vulnerable your heart starts to quicken. This being the very first gift…it’s heavy.

Why I Love You You make me feel safe. You make me feel special. You always support me.  You give the best hugs. You make me happier than anyone I know. You always tell me the truth even when it’s not comfortable. You smell really good. You look at me differently than you look at everyone else. You know the real me.  You don’t disappear when I’m struggling. You support me. Your jokes are stupid and funny and stupidly funny. I’m in love with you. You’re the best person I know.

When Sy’s done reading, he carefully tucks the paper back into the wallet. As usual when silence goes on too long, you feel the need to fill it with explanations. 

“Um, I didn’t have a whole lot of actual money to spend for gifts, and at that time I didn’t know that you’d be buyin’ so much for me up in Tennessee,” you ramble. “I was tryin’ to come up with something that was, like, special…I hope you don’t think it’s stupid. It’s just–you know I have a hard time sayin’ stuff out loud, so I…I wanted to tell you.”

Sy turns to face you, his eyes warm yet a little confused. “Why would I ever think a gift from you would be stupid?”

You shrug. “‘Cause it’s sappy,” you quietly reply.

“It’s a gift from you.” Sy reaches out to touch your chin, and he gently beckons you to look at him without breaking eye-contact while he says, “I love you so much, baby. You’re so good to me. Thank you.”

Your face heats up after accepting a long, sweet kiss. Internally, you still feel naked, but warmth gradually begins to spread through you again. You’re so good to me is something he’s begun saying more frequently, and you don’t know if he even realizes how hearing those words makes your stomach flip every single time.

“I’d need a bigger piece of paper in order to do the same for you,” he comments when he moves to carefully place the wallet on the table next to the couch.

It takes a second to figure out his meaning, but then–Shit, now he’s thinking you hadn't put down enough things. “I could’ve written more, actually, but I ran out of room. I wrote too big. It’s not like–” You sigh at yourself. “I just mean that I could’ve kept goin’ on.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sy grins as he spreads out an arm on the back of the couch. “What else would you have put on there?

You peek at him, all your awkwardness leaving. He’s just playing around with you. “What, you want an ego-boost first thing in the mornin’?”

“Maybe.”  

“Oh, you’re serious,” you say after a beat. “Well…You’re good at practically everything you do. You’re a good mechanic. You fix stuff around the house and outside, and you’re a good cook, too. You’re really hardworking. You’re driven. You’re a good driver and you don’t freak me out when I ride with you. You’re a good brother, and a good uncle, and you’re good to your grandma. You’re a good friend. And good with animals. You’re a good leader. You’re thoughtful. You always take time to, like, listen to me without interrupting. You’re protective but not scary. You always make me feel safe,” you go on, staring at the fireplace and missing the amusement on Sy’s face. “Oh, I already said that one. Um, you’re really considerate. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. But obviously I’d still love you if you were like, not handsome. I’d love you no matter what. Uhh…You and I like the same music. You, uh. You’re good when we’re, like–you’re a good kisser.”

You stop talking and glance over at Sy to see him totally eating this up. “That enough for you?”

“Mm... But just a good kisser?” Sy asks with a roguish expression.

“And maybe a few other things, too. Oh, my God, it’s literally so early right now,” you reply with a fake eye-roll. “Take the compliments I already gave.”

He smiles and then turns serious again. Like, really serious. “You're so good to me,” he repeats, and you take in a quick breath while your heart feels swollen ten times too large inside your chest. “Thank you.”

It was just a wallet and a piece of paper. 

“You’re welcome,” you look down and reply with hot ears, watching as he lowers his arm from the back of the couch and places his hand on your leg. His thumb starts brushing little circles atop the tattered blanket covering your lap. 

He clears his throat. “Makin’ you feel safe and happy is literally all I ever want. So even though I don’t agree that I’m good at everything I do, I’m glad I can at least do that right.” 

Still looking at your lap, you smile.

“Mainly I’m just glad that I smell good,” he adds, lightening the heavy mood. 

“Ha, ha.”

You reach out to take a sip of your coffee while Sy pushes the largest of the three bags towards you. Instead of sliding across the hardwood floor easily, it’s slow by whatever’s weighing it down. Since the bag is covered in about thirty pieces of tape from left to right, instead of picking it up to open it, you just lean over and rip apart all the tape. Without meaning to, you loudly gasp when something inside is revealed.

“Well, I wasn’t expectin’ that reaction,” Sy tilts his head and quietly mutters in surprise.

You quickly push off the blanket that’s currently on your lap and replace it with the one inside the bag. It’s cream-colored and thick, yet it’s soft in a way that makes you unable to stop touching it. “This is so, so, so smooth.” You lift it up to your cheek and nuzzle it for a moment. “Oh, my gosh, it’s so soft.”

Sy watches you in amusement until you settle down with the blanket tucked snugly around you. 

“Thank you, Sy,” you tell him sincerely. “I’m keeping it right here on this couch.”

He scratches the side of his nose. “There’s somethin’ else, too.”

“I figured,” you reply. “This bag looks like it weighs a hundred pounds.”

When you reach into the bottom of the bag and pull out the large item with two hands, you grunt. Only after you manage to get it on your lap do you realize what it is. Sy had gotten you another blanket, but it’s packaged, and it’s big, and it’s heavy. It’s weighted. 

“They’re supposed to help with anxiety, plus my room gets cold ‘til I get central heat,” he says nonchalantly. “Not that you have to keep it here if you don’t wanna.”

You stare down at the plastic packaging on your lap, fighting the urge to unzip the top and pull out the blanket entirely. You’ve heard of these before. Never before have you even considered one for yourself, though. That would be too obvious. 

...Obvious to who, though? It’d be in your bedroom, where you sleep alone. No one else would know but yourself. 

You’re starting to realize that compared to other people, you’re probably the worst judge of yourself there is, not the others. As early as possible, you take any shame that you can unto yourself as some sort of way to stay in control before others can do it first.

God, but it’s just–nobody ever really talks about your anxiety like just a regular thing you go through besides Sy. Nobody likes even mentioning it. It’s always been this thing you’ve had to fix about yourself, something that’s taboo, even, because it's not just simply “worrying” about things here and there–it's panic attacks and racing thoughts and entirely illogical behavior at times.

But Sy’s never had a problem with it–even when you made up that he’d have a future problem with it–and here’s a gift not only bringing attention to your struggles, but doing it in a way that makes you feel normal. You’d gotten him a wallet for practical reasons, and he’d gotten you a blanket for practical reasons, too. It’s as simple as that.

“I love it. Thank you,” you murmur. The “very much” comes afterwards, subdued.

After putting the plastic-wrapped blanket on the floor, you’re not expecting to be hit with so many emotions. They slam at you all at once like a steam jet to the chest, knocking you metaphorically backwards, and within a second, your eyes start to burn. It’s enough liquid for you to have to wipe away, but luckily it’s no more than that. 

Sy’s hand is back on your leg, squeezing. “Oh–Hey, now, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“You didn’t,” you say while wiping your eyes one more time. “Well, I mean, you kinda did, but it’s okay. I’m happy.”

You both make eye contact and offer small smiles to one another. He seems to read into what’s going through your head right now, or at least it seems that he does, because he gives your leg another gentle squeeze and even leans back in to peck your mouth with his. 

You sniff, and then you’re back to normal, genuinely smiling in front of his close face. “Your turn.”

Sy reaches out for the next present, another relatively small one wrapped in curly ribbon that he has to tear with two hands to break. When he slowly pulls back the wrapping paper, it exposes the All Dogs Go to Heaven picture-frame you’d bought him. In it is a photo of him and Aika that MawMaw found and gave you.

Sy must've not seen this picture in a long, long time. He puts the frame on the small table next to the couch and silently stares at the photo for a long time. A much younger version of himself is crouched down next to the German Shepherd. Just from the image, it’s evident how close they were. Aika has her tongue out, almost looking like she's smiling, and with all his military gear on, Sy looks serious, but the side of his mouth is tilted just enough for him to appear content.

“There was somethin’ else that was supposed to be sitting on top of the frame,” you say after a long, quiet minute. “Maybe it’s still in the paper.”

Sy reaches inside the discarded paper and finds the next little thing you got him–a tiny Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a dog-tag. On the back is a pawprint. 

Sy looks down at the ornament and doesn’t say anything, but you have a feeling that maybe it’s just because he can't. As he puts it on the table next to the picture frame, he audibly swallows like he’s got a lump in his throat. Finally, he looks at you and nods, and you understand that that’s his way of thanking you.

Well. That went well, you think. 

You bend over and pick up the next bag for you, one of the small ones. You carefully rip the tape up top then reach inside to pull out what looks like a rolled-up t-shirt. Unfurling it and fanning it open, you lay it on your lap, and your jaw drops open of its own accord when you see what’s on it. 

You wear a lot of band t-shirts. Sy probably doesn’t remember anymore, but you were wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt on the first night you met. It was actually the topic of one of the very first conversations you ever had with one another. Well, one of the first real conversations, at least. 

Anyway, you stare down at this Led Zeppelin shirt–black with a red ZOSO design in the middle–and you’re unable to close your mouth.

“What’re you lookin’ at it like that for?” Sy almost laughs at you.

You shake your head. “Nothin’. I love it! Seriously. I love it. You know I'm gonna wear this. Just–You should open your next one now.”

The next and last gift you’d gotten Sy doesn’t have any fancy ribbons on it, just a simple bow he removes before tearing back the paper. Next, he opens the actual box you’d placed the gift inside, and there, folded neatly underneath tissue paper, is a black t-shirt with a red design in the middle.

Sy looks over at you and then back down at the shirt. “You’re fuckin’ jokin’.”

You start to laugh. “I swear, I had no clue.”

He lifts up the exact same shirt that he’d gotten you, only in a larger size. “The same damn one,” he states. “The same damn one. Really, Y/N?”

Uncontrollably laughing, you lean against his bare arm.

“I think that's about as good a sign as there ever was,” he says. 

“For what?” you say through your laughter.

Sy lifts his arm and lets you in closer to him. “That I'm yours and you're mine,” he answers like it’s obvious.

“Yeah.” You get yourself under control and just grin while wrapping an arm around Sy’s middle. “You could always put it on now, you know,” you suggest. “Unless you’d like to keep showin’ off like this.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I ain't showin’ anything off but a dad-bod.”

“Oh, be quiet–that's so not true,” you sit up fuller and say, swiping your arm across his stomach as you move. “It’s sexy.”

Sy keeps his arm draped around your shoulders. Looking up at him to see him now looking down at you, there’s heat in his eyes, and you return it, seeing how far you can take this right now. You really like this couch. Lots of fun stuff has happened on this couch. 

Ultimately, Sy clears his throat. That means later.

“Last one,” Sy points out as he moves back his arm to let you reach down for it. 

Your next gift is a necklace so pretty you gasp when you flip open the box it’s in. The chain is white gold, and it holds a pendant in the shape of a teardrop. Diamonds are encrusted on the outer edge of the teardrop, and a beautiful gem is nestled in the center. The jewels glimmer as you simply look down, and when you’re not able to hold your hands that steady anymore, more diamonds catch light and sparkle. 

“Sy, this is gorgeous,” you utter, gingerly touching the necklace. You don’t know much about jewelry, but the diamonds look very, very bright. “It looks expensive.”

“So?” he asks rhetorically, then clears his throat after you gently swat his arm. “I mean, it absolutely wasn’t.”

“It’s my birthstone in the middle,” you whisper.

“I know.”

Of course he knows. “Thanks so much,” you gratefully say, closing the box and placing it to the side. In full contentment, your smile doesn’t leave your face. “This was…This is so nice. This was a nice Christmas.”

Mirroring your contentment, Sy’s eyes shine when you look over at him, almost–almost–as bright as your new necklace. “You like everything?”

Grinning so widely your cheeks hurt, you nod and hug your new blanket to your chest. “Yeah. I really do, Sy. Thanks so much again.” Belatedly, you quickly glance at him to ask, “Was everything okay for you? I know it really wasn’t a lot –”

Sy interrupts you with a quiet little snort. “Christmas ain’t about stuff.”

You think back to what Sy had said on Thanksgiving Day, about how you can’t place a value on spending time with family and friends and loved ones; it’s irreplaceable, too important to assign a price to.

“This was perfect,” he says, and he means it. Because he says what he means and means what he says. The couch dips a little with his weight as he shifts a little closer. Before placing his lips on yours, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You get caught up kissing one another with no real purpose besides comfort. When you finally separate, you stare at one another for a while. You’re so fucking in love that you feel like you’re on top of a Ferris wheel.

“I was half afraid you were gonna get me a new car or something,” you admit.

Sy doesn’t reply, but he casually reaches out to the side table, opens the front drawer of it, and pulls something out. Wordlessly, he moves an item so small it fits in the palm of his hand onto the blanket covering your legs. When you notice what it is, you look up just in time to see him raise his other hand, signaling for you not to protest just yet.

“Sy.”

“Hear me out,” he says. “There are safer options for you to drive.”

You scratch your neck. “But…an entire car?”

“An entire car. The key here is just for show,” he says before lifting it up and putting it back in the drawer. “I haven’t bought anything yet. You obviously get to pick.”

Your eyes begin darting around a little bit while you try to process what he’s said. “I–” You swallow and finally look up. “That’s a lot, Sy. You already got me this beautiful necklace, and I–that’s–I could never get you a gift like that.”

“Listen, it ain’t about evenin’ a scoreboard,” he says with the serious-brows he gets when he won’t budge on a topic. “You already give me more than I could ask for on a daily basis.”

You close your eyes. Here you thought you were being so good at accepting the necklace without feeling awkward about it. Now this. What do I give you on a daily basis that’s equivalent to a car, you want to ask.

“Baby,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes and look over at him again. “You said that one thing you love about me is I make you feel safe. Right?”

You don't have to even think before answering. “Always.”

“So think of it as a way I can keep doin’ that. I can buy somethin’, and that somethin’ will be keeping you safe, so it’d be like me continuin’ to keep you safe myself.”

You're fully aware that Sy is trying to talk you into accepting this grandiose and excessive idea, but it doesn’t feel like the classic manipulation from your past. Your ex would try to coerce you into things for insincere reasons. He’d say something about how he just wants to know your location all the time so he knows you’re safe, or how he just wants you home instead of going out so he’ll know you’re safe. 

Sy, on the other hand, is proposing getting you a reliable vehicle. For…the purpose of a vehicle. So you can drive from one place to another without the risk of breaking down. That’s all. There’s no underlying sinister purpose. 

Slowly, you nod. “Okay.”

His eyebrows jump. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you quietly answer, amused at how happy Sy looks. “I can imagine bein’ worried if you were out drivin’ the car I do, so…yeah. I get it. I wouldn’t want you worryin’ about me drivin’ it, either.”

For long moments, Sy just sits there looking extremely pleased. “Hey,” he beckons, and you look up again. “You deserve it, you know.”

You let out a breath. “Tryin’ to think I do,” you mutter.

He winks. “Progress, then.”

Still not putting on a shirt, Sy pulls the level on the side of the couch to make it recline backwards. He relaxes on the couch while you get up to find your phone and pour both of you fresh coffee. When you come back to the couch, you lay out on it long-ways, resting your head on Sy's large thigh like a pillow. You cover yourself with your new blanket, get comfy with the feel of Sy's fingers on your hair, and start sending texts to everyone you know. On television, A Christmas Story has just started. 

You send texts to your family members first and then Sy’s, then you move on to a few friends and co-workers. Obviously, Amelia’s first. 

Your text is simple–“Merry Christmas” with a bunch of exclamation points and happy-looking emojis, and you’re surprised when she immediately texts you back with an even more enthusiastic “MERRY CHRISTMAS” and even more emojis. Directly following the text is a picture. 

You gasp and almost drop your phone onto your face. “Oh, my fucking God.”

Sy stiffens quite quickly and quite severely, and you can only grin while keeping yourself from squealing. Your feet flutter underneath the blanket in excitement before you sit up in a flash. As Sy realizes that nothing’s wrong, you pick up your phone and lift it up to show him, displaying the picture Amelia had sent you of her left hand.

“Oh my God, he proposed, Sy!” you exclaim. “Johnny proposed!”

Sy raises his eyebrows a little and sticks out his lower lip in a gesture you interpret to mean, “Huh, imagine that,” and you smack his arm, rolling your eyes afterwards.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“‘Course I knew.” He looks back at the television, but he does offer you a guilty expression first. “He threatened to stomp out my knee if I said anything.” 

Your grin never falters. “He would never.”

“Still, had to honor it. Was hard as hell not to tell you, though.”

You look at your phone again and text Amelia a bunch of exclamation points. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Honest,” Sy insists. “I knew you wouldn’t let it out.”

“No, but I get it. Maybe I would’ve unconsciously behaved in some weird way that would’ve led her to believe something… I get it.”

You’re just so happy for her. She must be having the best morning ever.

Last on your texting list is Justine. Merry Christmas! Hope the kids had a good time making a mess out of the living room this morning lol, which you figure will be misinterpreted, so you then erase it to write: Merry Christmas! Hope the kids had a good morning and liked all their gifts, which you then change again to simply say: Merry Christmas! Hope you and the kids are having a great morning!

In the kitchen, you call your mom while packing up leftovers from breakfast. You’d shipped some stuff to her instead of waiting until after New Year’s to give her presents, and she said that if she’d’ve known you would be doing that, she would’ve shipped your gifts, too.

“Mom, it’s really okay,” you tell her for about the third time.

“But they’re not there on Christmas Day,” she replies. “I assumed we were all gonna wait until you got here.”

“Just a small misunderstanding,” you tell her. “I was just tryin’ to be nice. If you want, just wait until I visit to open what I mailed you, and we can open them all together.”

“I’ve been so busy tryin’ to get everything ready for y’all,” she changes the topic.

“Oh–don’t even sweat it, Momma, it’s okay. We weren’t plannin’ on stayin’ there.”

“Yeah, I know, you told me that, and I wish one day you would, but it’s okay,” she says, and you take a very long breath in and a very long breath out. “Still, it’s a lot of stuff I still have to do around here, and there’s just not enough hours in the day, y’know?”

“Totally,” you reply. 

You chat a bit more, but as usual, it’s mainly just your mother sharing things because she doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to, and it’s Christmas, so of course you indulge. While listening to her, you clean the kitchen with your phone between your ear and shoulder. It’s only when she’s finally done worrying aloud and finally done sharing stories about people you don’t know that she asks about you.

“So, what kind of food does your boyfriend like? I need to make sure I have stuff here that he’ll eat, and I’d like to get him a gift, too. It’d be just awful to open presents around him without havin’ somethin’ for him, too.”

After opening the fridge to place some containers of leftovers inside, you stand there and look around. There’s nothing special that Sy likes or dislikes. The man’ll eat literally anything.

“I’ll give you some ideas here in a bit,” you say after pondering for a few more seconds. “But no worries either way about any of that stuff. He’s a really easy-goin’ person.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait to meet him,” she enthuses.

Feeling like you’re a teenager about to go to your first dance or something, you smile. “I can’t wait, either,” you admit.

“At first I thought you weren’t callin’ home as much ‘cause you were mad at me or somethin’, but it makes sense now. You’ve probably been spendin’ a lot of time with him.”

“Well, there’s been work and school and Justine’s kids, too, but yeah,” you chuckle. “I’m here with him now. We’re spendin’ Christmas together.”

“That’s so great, honey. And you said he’s good to you?” she asks. “Actually good? He’s not like–”

“He’s very good to me,” you interrupt. 

She’s quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she says, then her tone gets more chipper again. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m really happy, too,” you murmur.

“Well, Merry Christmas, sweetie. Thanks for callin’.”

“Merry Christmas!” you chime back. “I’ll text you later on, and I’ll see you real soon.”

“Alright, just don’t forget, okay? I need to make a shoppin’ list.”

“I won’t forget,” you say through an over-exaggerated sigh. “Love you.”

“Love you!”

Done with the kitchen and your one important phone call of the day, you slide your socked feet over the hardwood floors until arriving at the couch again. Sy looks at you with his eyebrows perked up a bit–a way to ask if everything’s good.

You sit down next to him and instantly reach out for your new blanket. “Mom’s excited to meet you.”

He smiles but doesn’t say anything while you cuddle up next to him. With his seat still reclined back, you decide to just lay your head down on his lap again like you’d been doing earlier. “Do we got plans today?” you ask while stretching out your legs on the couch. “Should we go see your family or are they doin’ other things?”

“MawMaw’s doin’ supper if you wanna go,” Sy says. 

“Of course I wanna go,” you instantly answer, shifting around to get your face comfortable on Sy’s leg.

“Li and the boys’ll be there.”

“Ooh, even better,” you say, then: “Fuck, I didn’t get them anything. I got Liana somethin’ but forgot the freakin’ kids.”

Sy gently places his hand on your head. “I gotchu covered.”

You let out a breath of air in relief. “I already gave MawMaw her gift, so then that way everyone’ll all have somethin’ when we get there. I’m glad you have a better memory than me.”

“You’ve had a lot goin’ on recently,” he murmurs. 

You make a noise in the back of your throat. “Yeah. Just a little.”

Sy soothingly continues touching your hair, lulling you into a warm, safe, almost drowsy state of mind. From time to time, his thumb traces the outside of your ear. You find yourself entirely relaxed while watching the end of the movie.

And tonight, you know things’ll still be relaxing and not stressful. You know MawMaw’s gonna have a ton of food cooked, you know that you’ll love catching up with Liana, and you know her kids won’t be hellions. You know that Sy will make corny jokes and eat too much and fall asleep while sitting on the couch. You know that football will be playing on TV.

You’re excited to visit your hometown soon, yeah, but everything about this place–your current spot with Sy, this house you’re in that doesn’t even have many of your possessions in it, this town–all of it just feels like home. Like this is where you belong. 

“So what’dju get MawMaw?” Sy asks sometime later. 

You grin, but he isn’t able to see. “You’ll just have to wait ‘til tonight to see.”

[sportsmusicsoapsmoviesfan]