18++ Account just for reblogging

[mrs-eadig]

Chapter 18 the Cowboy and the Soldier

The journey back to Heartland was strange and slow. The kind of slow that stretched the hours and made the sun seem reluctant to move across the sky. Travelling with a rig and horses didn't make for a fast journey, especially as drivers had to take it in turns for safety, swapping who was behind the wheel every few hours. Then there was the necessary overnight stay, to allow Echo a well earned break from the confines of his trailer. It was the same journey they'd made on the way to the rodeo, but there was something about coming back home that made it seem longer.

Then there was the added addition of an unexpected guest. Samantha had joined the Syverson boys on their way back to Heartland. Her own horse, rig and team were over a hundred miles away, going in the other direction to her parents ranch. After their discovery on the last night of the rodeo, Samantha couldn’t quite believe that Ethan was Sy’s younger brother. Moreover, to discover the ranch Riley had moved to all those months ago was owned by their family was a shock. She would never have put both those things together in a million years. After her farewell night out in Houston, Riley and Samantha had stayed loosely in touch. Their conversations were easy, familiar, the kind that made it feel like no time had passed at all. But, of course it had never come up in conversation that Heartland was ‘Sy’s’ ranch. That was the price they paid when they hadn’t bothered to exchange full names. When the pieces finally clicked into place in Samantha’s mind, shock quickly melted into excitement. She hadn’t expected their paths to cross again, and definitely not like this. But the idea of seeing her old friend filled her with a warm thrill she couldn’t quite hide. However, her decision to travel all that way wasn't fueled by that thought alone. Anyone with eyes could see that.

Samantha and Ethan's ‘instant attraction’ could have been written off as just that, but Sy knew there was more to it. He quickly demanded Ethan give him a good explanation as to why this barrel racer he'd ‘only just met’ was tagging along with them. Ethan's response was quick and candid. He and Samantha had met last Autumn on the rodeo circuit and struck up a connection one night over stale beers and shared stories of close calls in the arena. According to Ethan, that chance encounter turned into weeks of seeing each other at different stops, their schedules always seeming to overlap, until it felt less like coincidence and more like something that was meant to happen.

Sy had been satisfied with his explanation and had agreed to let Samantha come along. On the long journey back he caught glimpses of the two of them in his side mirror whenever the road leveled out. He quickly changed his mind about Samantha coming back with them. Ethan, who would at one time flirt with every woman with a pulse and was usually so composed and steady, had this unmissable softness to him now. Little half‑smiles when Samantha spoke. That subtle tilt of his head when she laughed. And Samantha? She glowed around him. Open, warm, the kind of comfortable that didn’t come from something ‘casual’ or ‘whirlwind’. They were smitten. Absolutely and shamelessly smitten.

Sy never thought he’d use that word to describe his brother, who was famous for keeping things easy and unattached. But there was nothing detached about the way Ethan helped Samantha down from the truck, or the small, private looks they exchanged when they thought no one noticed. It wasn’t dramatic or obvious, it was quiet, but real. Watching them, Sy found himself smiling more than he expected.

Still, he didn’t have long to dwell on the budding romance unfolding in his rearview mirror. His mind stayed locked on the road. His attention on the rig, on Echo, and on the safe return of every ranch hand who’d been part of the trip. The route home would take two full days, including an overnight stay at a small “Bed and Bale” motel. It was a dusty place with a flickering neon sign but clean stalls and warm rooms, which was all anyone needed.

The moment they pulled in that evening, Sy’s phone lit up with bars again. Relief washed over him. The first thing he did, before unloading supplies or checking Echo’s trailer, was step away from the noise of the parking lot and call Riley.

He tried once, twice, and a third time. Each call rang through until her voicemail clicked on. She usually picked up immediately, even if she was busy. The silence closed in a little tighter around him. He tried one more time, lingering on the beep before leaving a steady message.

“Hey, Riley. We made our overnight stop. Just checking in. Call me when you can.”

He ended the call and fired off a text. Nothing heavy, just a simple ‘See you tomorrow.’

Then the error popped up.

Not Delivered.

He frowned and tried again. The same error message came back.

That familiar buzz of worry stirred in his stomach, low and insistent. The night air suddenly felt colder, the neon sign flickering harder in the corner of his vision. Something wasn’t right. He felt it down to his bones.

Heartland was supposed to feel close by now. Instead, it felt impossibly far away.

Riley had forgotten how big the Coleman headquarters felt. It rose out of downtown Billings like a monument to a very specific kind of empire. The building’s exterior was a gleaming mix of dark steel and tinted glass, sharp‑edged and unapologetically modern. There was nothing subtle about it. It was the kind of structure that announced, We struck oil first, and we struck it big.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of leather and polished stone. The floors were deep black marble shot through with veins of gold, a not‑so‑quiet nod to the crude oil that had built the Coleman fortune. Along the far wall stretched a massive bas‑relief mural made entirely of oxidized metal plates, depicting nodding pump jacks and early‑era oil derricks rising out of the Montana plains. Before Chris had joined the family business, he used to joke that the image was their father’s way of reminding everyone—employees included—that the family legacy was unshakeable.

Today, she wasn’t here to be intimidated. Today, she walked through its doors with her shoulders squared, ready to make her case.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floors, the doors sliding open to a space Riley remembered all too well. The seventeenth floor of Coleman headquarters was quieter than the lobby, but no less imposing. The air even smelled expensive. Some mix of cedarwood, paper, and that faint industrial note she could never quite identify, like the ghost of oil lingering in the walls.

The hallway stretched long and straight, lined with floor‑to‑ceiling windows on one side and framed black‑and‑white photographs on the other. Riley slowed her steps without meaning to, drawn toward the images she’d grown up seeing in her father’s study. Coleman men standing knee‑deep in mud beside early drilling rigs. Crews in hard hats grinning at a successful strike. Rows of pump jacks silhouetted against blood‑red Montana sunsets. In one photo, her father was barely older than she was now, sleeves rolled up, face streaked with dirt and pride. The day the Billings field came in, he’d told her once, voice warm with memory. This whole floor was a shrine to the empire and she had walked away from it.

At the end of the hall, was Chris’s office. Riley’s boots clicked softly against the polished concrete as she continued down the corridor, passing the glass‑walled conference rooms where executives in tailored suits sat discussing lord knows what. A few looked up as she passed, some with curious glances, polite smiles, a few with recognition flickering in their eyes. Riley looked completely out of place inside here. Her boots, shirt and worn denim, stood in stark contrast to those around her.

The receptionist greeted her warmly and ushered her toward the office at the end of the hall. It was only a handful of steps, but it felt like crossing some invisible threshold, from the world she’d been born into to the one she had chosen for herself.

“Riley!” Chris pushed back from his desk immediately, rising with his usual boundless energy.

His office was spacious enough to hold a small conference table, a wall‑sized map of nationwide oil holdings, and a panoramic view of the city that made everything below look small and manageable. Just like the empire. Riley stepped inside, feeling the air shift. She smiled at her brother.

“Hi, Chris.”

And the real conversation began.

[mrs-eadig]

Chapter 16 The Cowboy and the Soldier

As always, the Rodeo proved to be the highlight of the season. Competitors from across the country gathered to take part in barrel racing, steer roping, bull riding, and every other adrenaline-fueled event imaginable. The Syverson team set up the horse trailer and wagon in the fields reserved for competitors. Rigs of all sizes imaginable were parked side by side like a miniature city around the edge of the arena. Sy couldn’t think of anything quite like it, although he imagined the densely packed field might resemble New York City in its own way. Not that he had ever been. Once the team was settled, Sy took Ethan to the registration tables and officially booked him into his events. Ethan was most looking forward to barrel racing, that’s what he and Echo had spent all the summer months training for. His injury had been a setback, not just for him but for his four legged friend. The ranch hands gave Echo a workout whilst he was recovering, but even they would admit, when Ethan got in the saddle Echo just moved differently. Ethen hoped the few weeks he was forced to rest wouldn’t ruin their finishing time.

The first couple of days were all about the preliminary rounds, and with hundreds of cowboys vying for a spot in the finals. The arena buzzed with energy. Boots scuffing against dirt, the clang of gates, and the occasional cheer erupting from the stands as riders tried to tame bulls that looked more like fury on four legs. Sy, Ethan, and the ranch hands took the downtime as an excuse to kick back, nursing cold beers while watching bronc riders sail through the air like rag dolls. The smell of fried food drifted from concession stands, mingling with the sharp tang of dust and sweat, and for most folks, it was easy to get swept up in the revelry.

Everyone else seemed to be soaking in the Rodeo spirit, laughing, hollering, and letting the tension of competition melt away. But Sy couldn’t quite surrender to the atmosphere. No matter how many times he tried to focus on the spectacle in front of him, his mind kept circling back to that brochure he’d seen in Riley’s office. It gnawed at him like a burr under the saddle. He knew he shouldn’t have snooped and normally he wouldn’t have. When it came to Riley though, he didn't always listen to reason.

The only person that was suffering because of that quick lapse in judgement was himself. Only he knew what he’d read and despite how angry it had made him, he wasn’t going to reveal the secret to anyone else here. The only person he should be speaking to about it was over 200 miles away. Sure he could have just picked up the phone and called her, but cell service at the Rodeo wasn’t exactly the best and moreover getting a moment on his own to speak to Riley in private wasn’t going to happen. She was back home, and he was stuck here, stewing in silence while the Rodeo roared on around him.

Sy’s mood by the third day of the rodeo was beginning to be noticed by everyone around him. He wasn't sour but he was as close to irritable as anyone could get. It was Ethan that finally called him out on it, whilst they were sharing a rare moment alone in the stalls. It was Ethan’s first preliminary round, and he and Sy were getting Echo ready outside the ring. Ethan was giving his friend a thorough rub down whilst Sy lifted his saddle on with ease and began fumbling around with the straps, chewing the inside of his cheek looking like he had just chewed on a wasp.

“Alright, man, out with it.” Ethan’s voice carried that edge of exasperation he’d been holding back for two days.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Sy didn’t even glance up. His jaw was set tight as he tugged at the saddle straps, the leather creaking under his grip.

“Urgh!” Ethan whinged, dragging the sound out like it might shake an answer loose.

“Don’t make me beat it out of you.”

He yanked off his hat and hooked it over the pommel with a sharp flick, then leaned his weight against Echo’s side. The horse flicked an ear and shot him a sideways glare that said more than words ever could.

Ethan chuckled under his breath. “Even he thinks you’re in a mood.”

Sy ignored him, though his shoulders stiffened. His brother wasn’t renowned for letting things go.

“You’ve been about as pleasant as a cantankerous mule for the past two days. What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Silence stretched between them, thick as the dust hanging in the air. Sy kept working, fingers moving with deliberate precision. When he didn’t answer, Echo decided to intervene. The horse swung his head and delivered a sharp nip to Sy’s arm.

“Alright, alright!” Sy barked, jerking back and rubbing the sore spot.

His scowl deepened as he shot the horse a look.

“You’ve been spendin’ way too much time with him,” he muttered, jerking his chin toward Ethan.

The horse snorted, unimpressed, as if to say he wasn’t the problem here.

“It's just…Riley.” He said finally, his voice sounding defeated.

Ethan raised his eyebrows with misunderstanding.

“You’re goin’ have to be more specific.”

Sy didn’t know what to say. Everything he could think of made him sound foolish, dumb or worse… vulnerable.

“I never told you how I met Riley.” Sy settled on quietly.

Ethan blinked. “Well sure, your first night back.”

“No!” Sy shook his head. “That was the second time.”

Sy walked through the whole tale. The bar, the hotel and waking up the next day feeling sated but instantly heartbroken. Well, maybe he left that particular detail out.

‘Holy shit! So that’s what all the weird tension was when you first came back!” Ethan pointed at him like he’d cracked some ancient code. “It was sexual!”

Sy groaned, “For the love of God, Ethan!”

“You two were actin’ like you were afraid to breathe the same air.”

“God, I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth.” Sy muttered through gritted teeth.

“Fine, fine.” Ethan wiped his eyes, still smirking. “Continue.”

“She told me later, back at the ranch that she was scared.” Sy let out a slow breath.

“Scared of what?”

“Me,” Sy said, voice low. “Or scared of what I’d do. Like change my mind about her, or realize she wasn’t worth stickin’ around for.”

Ethan’s brows knit together. “She said that?”

Sy nodded then shook his head, disagreeing with himself, “She’s been rejected enough times that she expects it now.”

It hadn’t taken him long to piece it all together. Riley figured leaving him first would hurt less than waiting around for him to do it.

Ethan shook his head slowly. “But you weren’t gonna reject her.”

“No,” Sy said firmly. “Hell, I didn’t even want her to leave the room, let alone my life. She ran before I got the chance to tell her.”

“And now you’re worried she’s doin’ it again.” Ethan concluded.

Sy rolled his eyes, he had to tell Ethan what he’d done. What he found. He did so in as few words as possible, the quicker he got it out the better. Like ripping off a bandaid.

“You gotta talk to her, big brother,” Ethan said gently.

“Right now. Your jumpin’ to conclusions, without any evidence.”

Sy raised a skeptic eyebrow.

“Don’t assume she’s runnin’, and don’t make her guess what you want either.”

Sy swallowed. “And what if she is plannin’ to leave?”

“Then you fight for her,” Ethan said simply. “But you can’t fight if you don’t ask.”

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, calling Ethan and Echo to the start gate, ending their conversation.

The brothers reacted instantly. Ethan settled into the saddle and trotted Echo off towards the arena. Sy followed behind them, then dipped under the rail onto the sidelines.

“Call her.” Ethan said with finality as he looped his stetson back onto his head.

Sy nodded with a heavy exhale. Ethan was right.

Sy hooked his hands over the metal bar as if he needed the anchor and watched his brother compete.

Ethan was calm and focused, while Echo danced beneath him, hooves pawing restlessly at the packed dirt. The kid was ready. More than ready. Sy should’ve felt nothing but pride. Instead, something heavy twisted low in his stomach.

When the horn blared, Echo shot forward like a slingshot, dirt spraying out behind him. The crowd roared, voices rising in a wave of excitement, but Sy barely heard it. His mind drifted to a different place entirely. To Riley.

Echo rounded the first barrel with tight precision, Ethan leaning low, guiding him with ease. The stands erupted into applause. Sy’s heartbeat didn’t follow the rhythm of the cheering. It thudded slow and uncertain.

Riley leaving that first morning had gutted him more than he cared to admit. But when she explained why, it had broken him in a whole different way. He hadn’t known someone could smile so bright and still carry that kind of fear in their bones.

Echo and Ethan swung around the second barrel, dust flying in a perfect arc. Sy barely blinked. The buzzer shrilled as Ethan and Echo crossed the finish line in a blur. The timer flashed bright. A damn good run and the stands went wild. Sy swallowed hard, chest swelling with pride and then tightening with fear. He scrubbed a hand over his beard, eyes fixed on Ethan trotting towards the railing. For the first time in a long time, Sy was afraid too. Afraid Riley would run; Afraid he wouldn’t catch her in time; and most of all afraid of losing someone he never wanted to let go of in the first place.

[mrsevans90]

The War Horse Rebellion-22

Biker Syverson x OFC Allie Hilton

Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the War Horse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Allison “Allie” Hilton 

Warnings: Angst, mention of vomiting, positive pregnancy, engagement fluff, some smut but nothing terribly explicit.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+ MATURE CONTENT

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 21:

SY’S POV:

I find myself leaving the shop a bit earlier than normal so that I can run by the store and grab more Gatorade and anything that seems light and easy for an upset stomach to digest. Making my way to the pharmacy section, I quickly scan through the options and can’t seem to find any medicine that sounds right. Standing in front of the pepto bismal, I huff as I know Allie’s been drinking it straight from the bottle even but can’t seem to get any relief. Other times, she seems fine. 

“Need any help, sir?” A young pharmacy technician questions. She must be new… I know Eric was looking to hire a few extra people at the store since he was severely understaffed, but it’s still unusual for me not to know someone in the town.

“Nah.” I gruff out dismissively and she quickly breaks eye contact with me and steps back. Damn, I’m sure to a newbie I sound like a curmudgeonly jerk. Allie would tell me to fix my RBF, or resting bitch face, as she calls it, if she were here. I’ve personally never had a problem with looking mean.

“Actually, you got anything that’ll help with the stomach flu?” I quickly ask and she smiles exuberantly. 

“Oh sure, that’s all going to be right here. Could I ask your symptoms? I might be able to pick out something specific.” She bats her eyelashes, pouts her lips a bit to obviously, and fidgets her hands, adorned with sparkly purple nail polish, in front of her body.

“S’not for me. It’s for my fiancè.” I say without thinking. Why did I just lie about being engaged?

Her eyes quickly glance down as she places a somewhat crestfallen smile on her face.

“She’s had this weird stomach thing that has been lingering for days. Luckily, I’ve been able to avoid catching it but I’m just trying to make her more comfortable until she lets me take her to the doctor. She’s been drinking a lot of water, which is good, but she doesn’t want to eat anything. She will be fine sometimes, and then randomly get really nauseous and puke.”

“Hmm… Does she have a fever?”

“Not that I know of. She has been sleeping a ton though.”

“Well, it sounds like she might have an eating disorder, or-“ 

I scoff loudly. 

“She doesn’t have an eating disorder.” I assert. 

Placing her hands in the air she quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry, just trying to make a mental list of things and that’s what came to mind first.”

“S’alright...Any other theories?” I cross my arms across my chest.

“I mean, strep throat can cause you to vomit, but she would have sore throat and fever. Could she be pregnant?” She asks cautiously and looks like she’s ready to bolt if I respond with anger.

I pause for a moment and contemplate. I don’t have a clue when she last had her period, so that’s not helpful, but I know I saw her take her birth control pill yesterday. I’ve seen her take it almost every day, when we’re together. It’s got to be something else.

“She’s on birth control. She takes it every day.” I reply as I’m still reeling over a potential that I hadn’t truly considered before now.

“Just a thought! Oral contraceptives aren’t completely fail proof. Well, my guess would be gastroparesis, or potentially an issue with her gall bladder. Both would need to be seen by a physician, and nothing over the counter will fix those things. Maybe in the meantime try a different antacid, like Tums or Maalox if pepto isn’t helping.”

Leaning down, I grab a container of Tums and a bottle of Maalox and give the girl, Kate, according to her nametag, a tight-lipped smile out of courtesy. 

“I appreciate your help.” I offer.

“Sorry that I couldn’t do more. I hope your…fiance, feels better soon.” She offers and with a stiff nod, I head to checkout with the electrolytes, crackers, protein bars, and antacids.  

Pharmacy bag in hand, I head inside the house but am surprised that Allie isn’t posted up on the couch. Kicking off my boots, I wonder idly if she’s asleep upstairs. Placing the Gatorade in the fridge, I grab the crackers and a cold bottle of water and go in search of my girl. The bedroom is dark with the exception of my bedside lamp on, and the sunlight filtering in through the edge of the curtain.

Curled up in a lump on the bed, I smirk at how deeply Allie has buried herself in the covers. Placing the water and crackers down on the dresser, I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed with the intention of gently waking her up to check on her. I gently place my hand on what I assume is her covered butt and hip, only to be confused by the softness of the lump that I’m touching. Moving my hand up, I notice that the entire form is unnaturally soft and pliable. Quickly, I grab the edge of the duvet cover and fling it back dramatically, to be confronted with several pillows molded in the shape of a person. No Allie in sight. 

“What the fu—Allie!?” Jumping up in panic, I click on the lamp that sits on her nightstand. Throwing one of the pillows, I see something odd. A small piece of paper with 3 sticks under it.

My eyes are as wide as saucers when I see what’s written in front of me. Two words that I never imagined being written for me. Picking up each stick, I analyze each positive pregnancy test as my heart thunders so loudly in my chest I feel like it’s going to give out. 

“ALLIE” I yell louder than I intended only to be startled by a whispered “Austin”.

Turning around, I see Allie looking so beautiful, yet terrified as she watches me. 

“You’re really pregnant?” I ask obviously as I know the answer but the shock has yet to settle in my mind.

Allie nods as a single tear falls down her cheek. I reach for her and wipe it away as she presses her forehead against my chest. I hope she can’t hear my heart pounding through my chest. I gently kiss the top of her head, before I realize that the moment I’ve been waiting for is now.

Here I was, wracking my brain to coordinate the perfect ‘movie romantic’ moment with champagne and strawberries, in some sort of magical location… but that’s not us and it never has been. 

Gently coaxing her back from my chest, I quickly tell her,

“I need a minute.”

My old knee protests as I bolt down the stairs two at a time to get to the guest bedroom closet. High up on the top shelf, my military gear is still neatly packed in my army issued rucksack. Next to it is the thing I came for.

My army boots.

I stretch and pull them down off the shelf before digging my arm straight into the left boot to retrieve the little box that I’ve had stowed away there. Quickly and silently, I open the box. I’m sure it’s still there, but I need to put eyes on it before I ask her. It’s now or never… I tell myself.

ALLIE POV:

I feel like an absolute fool hiding behind the master bathroom door when I hear Syverson arrive home. How is he going to react? 

The urge to vomit once again creeps up my throat. My mouth fills with saliva and I quickly swallow it in an attempt to keep the nausea at bay. Remind yourself of what Eliza said. He’s going to be happy about this. He will not abandon you. Think positive. 

Syverson’s heavy footsteps climb the stairs and I hear him enter the bedroom. I hear him quietly attempt to wake my fake sleeping figure into consciousness and I physically hold my breath. The covers are flipped and I feel as if I can actually hear him trying to mentally process this news before an urgent call of my name was yelled. 

Without even intending to move, I revealed myself in the bathroom doorway and uttered his name quietly. I can’t keep the tear from falling when he asks in shock for me to confirm that it’s true, as I nod in affirmation.

My heart is pounding heavily when he reaches for me and I bury my face into his chest as I let the tears of relief trail down my cheeks. A barely-there kiss is pressed on my hair, and my shaking fingers find their grip on the edge of Sy’s leather vest. 

He’s not upset, we’re going to be okay. My body sags into his as relief washes over each of my extremities.

Silently, Syverson pulls out of our embrace and appraises my face like he’s unsure, or thinking deeply.

I would never expect what would happen next, when Syverson single handedly splintered my heart into a million pieces.

“I need a minute.” That was all he said in his gruff voice, before literally running away from me.

No! He’s leaving me. He’s leaving us. I fall to my knees as I begin hyperventilating. I can’t catch my breath due to the sobs silently racking my body. 

Oh god! What would Liza say if she were here? I imagine her rubbing my back like she did when I was sick and close my eyes to hear her voice in my head.

“Stop it Allie, he’s in shock. You were upset too when you found out but had time to come around to the idea before telling him. Give him a moment to process. His whole future just got planned in front of his eyes and even though he’s big and tough, he deserves a moment to be scared. He never had a dad, so I’m sure this is just him trying to rationalize how he can be a good father to your child.” I imagine her calming me and it reluctantly works. 

The unbridled tears still pour from my eyes, but I find my breath and focus on the simple task of inhaling and exhaling. Did he leave? I never heard the door shut, or his motorcycle crank and I know I wouldn’t be able to miss the sound of that engine no matter how deeply I was unraveling in my mind.

Sitting uncomfortably on my knees, I wipe my drenched face with my oversized sleeve as I try to compose myself. I’ve heard that undue stress can harm a baby, even this early so I must calm down. 

Suddenly, I hear Austin’s footsteps making his way toward me but I don’t dare move, or look at the door. I focus my gaze on the sun light streaming in from the edge of the curtain that illuminates a portion of the wall in front of me. Calm, I mentally remind myself as Syverson enters the bedroom once more. 

Syverson’s POV:

Upon reentering the bedroom, my hands are somewhat unsteady as the vintage box sits bulkily inside my vest pocket. I begin to ramble as I haven’t exactly prepared the proposal speech that I had intended on giving.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go, bu—” My mouth slaps shut when I see her, sitting on her knees looking absolutely shattered. Her face is red and swollen from crying, and her hands shake as they lay limply on her lap.

Allie’s eyes are focused on the wall to my right, and her chin actually quivers with more unshed tears. My poor girl, she must be absolutely terrified to be pregnant. Could she be having second thoughts about me? Could she be regretting that she’s now stuck raising a baby with some uneducated ex-military biker mechanic? I’ve always known that she deserves better than me, but I couldn’t stop myself from falling for her.

“Sugar.” I walk towards her but she doesn’t even blink.

Crouching down so that I’m directly in her line of sight, I gently reach for her chin that still quivers slightly as she fights the urge to fully release her tears. 

“Darlin’, you’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of that. Is that why you’re upset? Because you’re scared of having a baby?”

She doesn’t respond, so I continue to try and piece together her emotions.

“Or are you scared of having…my… baby?” I whisper as I fear she is regretting procreating with me rather than becoming a mom.

Her eyes flick off of their destination for a moment to meet mine, before returning to the wall behind me. 

“Talk to me.” I beg.

“What is there to say?" Her voice shakes from strain.

"It’s clear that you don’t want this. I didn’t mean to…it was from when I was in the hospital… apparently my birth control was ineffective. I wouldn’t have tried to trap you. I just…was hoping that you would respond better to the news.”

Oh fuck, she thinks I’m mad? “Sugar, I know you wouldn’t try to trap me. I know that.” I attempt to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek and she flinches at the motion. It feels like my heart has sunk to my ass when she did that. 

“I understand it’s a shock. It was pretty damn terrifying to me too, but if you want out, that’s o--”

“Now wait just a damn minute.” I interrupt but she’s not having it.

“No, let me finish!” She demands and the look of gumption in her eye tells me to shut the hell up so I do.

“I intend on keeping this baby, but I won’t hold you accountable. This is my choice. I make enough money to support myself and a child. I know you weren’t sure about having kids, so if you want out, this is your chance. If you decide that you would like to be involved, we can come up with a plan but I just wanted to let you know that I am keeping it.”

“You done?” I ask with bitterness that she would ever think that I could abandon her or my child. That’s the furthest thing that would ever cross my mind. She nods dismissively.

“I am terrified. I’m terrified that you don’t feel secure enough in our relationship to think that I would ever abandon you or our baby in a million years.” I say vulnerably. Her eyes meet mine and we both share a look of hurt on our faces.

“I thought you were leaving me.” She confesses in an almost silent broken whisper , as her eyes glance at the bedroom door and back.

FUCK. My brain finally stops short circuiting and makes the connection that I was missing. Allie thought I was leaving her when I took off to get the ring. Damnit, you’re such a fucking idiot Syverson. I wipe my hand across my face in frustration at my own stupidity. I really fucked up.

“No, sugar. I never ever would have left you. This is a big miscommunication on my part and I’m so sorry.” I apologize genuinely before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“I didn’t plan to do this, this way. I wanted it to be romantic like somethin’ from one of those smutty books you think that I don’t know you read.” I chuckle lightly at the surprise mixed with confusion on her face and continue. 

Leaning up on one knee, I reach for the small box in my chest pocket before removing it.

“I’m not always great with words, and I clearly am an idiot for not explaining that I was just going to get something and come right back to you. All I know is this. I love you. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. You came into my life like a hurricane and changed me for the better in so many ways. I have never felt more complete and fulfilled than I have since I met you. I can’t imagine a day without you by my side. I realized that when I almost lost you.” I tell her with meaning. 

“Earlier, I needed a minute to go and get this from its hiding spot. I know this isn’t the most romantic way to do this, but I just... couldn’t wait another minute.” I say before carefully opening the tiny box to reveal the engagement ring that belonged to my mother. Her eyes widen as she looks down on the vintage ring that has been passed down in my mother’s family for decades.

I open my mouth to speak those four words that are on the tip of my tongue but Allie interrupts me.

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to marry me because I’m pregnant. I know that people talk and especially in the south, that it’s ‘the responsible thing to do’ but… you don’t have to feel like you have to marry me.”

I want to chuckle at her obliviousness but smartly refrain.

“Sugar, I wanted to propose to you on that first date. I couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect, or outta my league than you, but I just knew that I’d eventually fuck up and I’d scare you away. I’ve been planning this for weeks. I’m not asking for any reason other than because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I search her eyes to make sure that she feels my sincerity. 

She covers her mouth gently with one hand as I’m speaking and I hope that’s a good sign.

“So?” I prompt when everything gets quiet and I’m still on one knee and she has yet to speak as the tears still soak her cheeks.

“So, what? You didn’t ask a question…” She hints sarcastically and I realize, like the idiot I am, that I never said the words out loud during all of my rambling. Looking at the floor with a silent chuckle, I hear her soft giggle and want to pull her into my arms but I refrain.

“Allie Hilton, will you marry me?” I ask slowly and clearly as I ignore the ache in my bum knee that has all of my weight on it.

Allie’s tearful face breaks into a beaming smile as she nods and whispers, “Yes”.

My eyes close momentarily in relief as a smile takes over my face before I pull the ring from its box. It's a unique ring with a gold band. The main diamond is in the center and is surrounded by smaller diamonds, almost resembling the shape of a flower.

“This was my mother’s engagement ring…and her mother’s and her mother’s ring. I don’t know much about ring styles, so if it’s not fashionable or what you want, I’d be happy to get you another one.” I offer sincerely.

“Are you fucking kidding me? It’s stunning! I…I’m speechless.” Allie replies as I slide it on her third left finger. Leaning forward, still on her knees, Allie pulls me in for a hurried, frantic kiss that I happily return before I place kisses all over her face.

“I’m sorry that I’m a dipshit and ran out like that. I was trying to find a way to make it romantic, but I just knew I couldn’t last another minute without making you my fiance.” I tell her and she giggles. 

“That was really stupid, babe.” She replies and I hang my head in shame. 

“I’ll make it up to you, anyway you want. We can have a repeat proposal where I do it right and don’t make a mess of things.” I offer.

She pretends to consider for a moment before shaking her head. “We’ve never been anything but messy…it’s what works for us apparently.” Allie smiles. 

“True.” I grunt as I finally pull myself up off of my knee, before offering my hand and pulling Allie up off of the hard floor. 

She smiles excitedly as she admires the ring that adorns her finger as I wrap my arms around her tiny frame. Seeing that ring after so many years tugs at my heart in a good way. It's like my mom is here with us in spirit.

“She would’ve loved you…my ma.” I tell her and she looks at me with so much love mixed with sadness.

“I wish more than anything that I could have met her. I always dreamed of having a loving, genuine mother my entire life. I know I would’ve loved her so much. I do simply for her raising you to be so wonderful.” 

“She always said she couldn’t wait for each of us boys to get married. Said she was desperate for another woman that could put up with our nonsense so that they could commiserate together about all of our shenanigans and too much testosterone.” I chuckle as I begin to tell Allie the memory of my mom standing in the kitchen, flour covering her hair and the entire room from where we had grabbed a handful, before throwing it in the air and screaming ‘SNOW DAY!’. 

“She made us all clean the kitchen from top to bottom that night but God, I’d do anything to hear her laugh at our expense with flour caked into our curly brown hair.”

“How old were you when y’all did that?” Allie asked with amusement.

“Old enough to know better. I think Walt and I were fourteen, and August was sixteen.” I smirk.

“She shook a wooden spoon at us when she said, ‘Just wait. If you each can successfully find a woman that will put up with you long enough to give you children, I’ll get my revenge in the form of karma. I hope you each get three rowdy boys that you have to keep from becoming delinquents. Your wives and I will all have girls’ nights and you boys will be stuck on dad duty while we bond.’ We just rolled our eyes, because wives and kids were the last things on our minds at that point in our lives.” I recount as Allie and I sway slightly from side to side in our embrace.

"Out of the three of us, we all knew Walt would be the first to make that jump; marriage and family. Then it was supposed to be me. I don't think Ma actually ever really imagined August getting married. She always called him a 'free spirit.' That's why she made sure that I got the ring in her will."

“And now you’re getting married and going to be a dad.” Allie looks up at me with a nervous smile.

“I’m going to be a dad and you’re going to be a mom.” I respond with a crooked smile before kissing her forehead.

“I hope that I will be a good dad.” I mutter quietly as I think about growing up without my dad.

“You will be. I know it.” Allie reassures.

“I love you, and I love this baby so much already.” I whisper before I lean down to press my lips to Allie’s. 

“I swear to you, I will give you the family that you have always deserved. You will be an amazing mother and our baby and I am so lucky to have you.” My hands frame each side of her face as I speak to her before pressing her into a kiss that is much more heated than I intended. Allie reciprocates and before I realize it, her shirt is off, and I’m down to my boxers.

“We should” kiss “stop” kiss “hold off until” kiss “we know the baby is safe”. I mutter distractedly as Allie has moved the paper and pregnancy tests off of the bed before I’m on my back and she’s straddling me with hot, heavy kisses that have had my little soldier at attention since her tongue touched mine.

Pulling out of the kiss, Allie perches herself upright with her hands on my pecs and her warm heat, covered only by her tiny panties, directly over my bulge which causes me to grunt from the incredible pressure. I force my eyes off of her perfect breasts when she speaks.

“The baby will be fine. I called Eliza’s OB/GYN and set up a new patient appointment for two weeks from now. That’s the earliest availability that they had for an ultrasound. We’ve had plenty of sex already while I’ve been unknowingly pregnant.” Allie states.

“I just don’t want to hurt you, or her.” I say without thinking.

“Her? You think it’s a girl?” Allie’s eyebrow arches.

“Yeah, I don’t know why. What do you think it is?”

“A boy.” Allie states confidently.

“You seem confident in your prediction.” 

“I mean, it’s a 50/50 either way, but I have a feeling that your mama will make sure that it’s a boy.” She smirks and I smile.

“You’re probably right.” I admit.

“I’m always right. Now, if you’ll hurry up and make love to me because I don’t feel like puking for the first time in days and I want to take advantage of it.”

 “Yes ma’am.” I mock salute at her before she grinds against me again and leans over to rub her bare chest against my hairy one. 

We lay in bed in our post coital bliss as Allie slowly eats the protein bar that I had brought upstairs and sips on the water. We were discussing ordering dinner, while trying to come up with anything that wouldn’t make Allie heave when her phone kept buzzing on the dresser. 

“Oh shit!” Allie says before she sits up quickly and then yells as she clutches her abdomen with a deep breath and her eyes closed tightly.

Immediately, I’m panicking. 

“Sugar, what’s wrong? What hurts?” I jump up, throwing my boxers on and grabbing a clean t-shirt to put on Allie so I can take her to the emergency room.

“I’m okay. No need to worry.” She breathes before acting completely unbothered and I look at her like she’s gone mad.

“We’re going to the emergency room. That’s not normal.” 

“Yes, it is. I did a lot of research online this afternoon. It’s happened a few times this week but I didn’t know what it was. It’s called round ligament pain.”

“What the fuck is that?” I ask grumpily.

“My uterus is stretching, and sudden movements like sitting up quickly, sneezing, coughing, etc, can give you this intense shooting pain in your abdomen. It feels like getting a stitch in your side from running.” She says, casually.

“I don’t know if my adrenaline can handle this pregnancy.” I joke as help Allie put my oversized t-shirt on and she shakes her head with laughter.

“Better do some reading online or you’re going to give yourself a stroke.” Allie pokes fun before I stick my tongue out at her. 

“What made you jump so quick in the first place?” I ask and she remembers. 

“My phone. I swore to Liza that I’d call her as soon as I told you… She’s probably freaking out.” She starts trying to climb out of the bed but I stop her. 

“I’ll bring your phone to you. Lay down.”

“Is this how you’re going to treat me the whole pregnancy? I’m not going to lie, I kinda like the idea of being waited on hand and foot.” She smarts and I shake my head at her.

“Don’t get used to it.” I lie, because we both know I’ll literally become her personal slave if it helps her to rest and grow our baby.

Handing her the cell phone that has been vibrating repeatedly on the dresser for the last twenty minutes, I see that Liza is blowing up her phone. 

“Why did Eliza know that you’re pregnant before I did?” I ask somewhat jokingly, but also somewhat concerned that she was so afraid to tell me.

“She is the reason I found out at all. She brought it up, that my food aversions were similar to her sister’s when she was pregnant. I told her that I couldn’t possibly be pregnant because I’m on birth control but then she reminded me that I had my stomach pumped at the hospital. She went to the store and brought me the pregnancy tests. She was with me when I found out it was positive and then held my hair while I puked, and calmed me down. She’s been…like a real sister to me…especially today.” Allie says and I smile at my self procvlaimed little sister. She’s a tough shell to crack, but Eliza is the most loyal person that I know. The fact that she got on so well with Allie initially made me happy, but since then she’s truly become someone that Allie can trust. That’s huge for someone who has never really had a genuine, loyal friend before in her life.  

ALLIE POV:

Syverson agrees to call in a food order when I finally decided that something sounded good. I suddenly wanted mozzarella sticks, like the fried kind you could get at a restaurant for an appetizer. I wanted those, and oddly enough, really wanted watermelon slices. Syverson just chuckled and said he’d order from as many places as I wanted if I would get some food down. He climbed in the bed beside me before getting out his phone to start his dinner search, while I rested back against my pillow and checked my phone.

Sure enough, Eliza had called three times and sent six text messages. 

God, she’s such a loyal friend. Glancing at the time I see that it’s 7:46pm, and quickly, I decide to text her back.

Deciding to facetime her, I sit up and fluff my hair a bit so it doesn’t look like we just had sex even though it’s probably obvious that we did.

Answering before the second ring, I see Eliza’s normally calm, collected expression is one of worry.

“Oh my god, Al. I’ve been going crazy. What happened?” She hurriedly asks.

“Well, there was a bit of a miscommunication, but it’s okay now.” I reply as I glance at Syverson who has the sense to at least look slightly embarrassed. I continue before Eliza explodes.

“I told him, and he said, “I need a minute” and left. I thought he was leaving me…and the baby but he was actually going to get this.” I say before I hold up my left hand into the screen.

A momentary pause fills the space before Eliza erupts into a full-fledged scream that even has Austin laughing freely.

A moment later, Bananas comes running into the background in panic asking Eliza what’s wrong. The screen then gets blurry as Eliza is jumping up and down before thrusting the phone at Banana’s face.

“What the….NO SHIT!” He blurts with surprise when he sees the sparkly diamonds on the screen.

“He finally did it! Hot damn!” Bananas yells and I can’t help but look over at Austin who can’t help but grin at our friend’s celebration on our behalf. 

“I thought Eliza had seen a bug or something with that horrible screech, but this is so much better!” He adds as Eliza has composed herself enough to smack his shoulder playfully. 

“You knew?” Eliza asked Bananas and he nods like a mischevious child.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She squints her eyes at him in faux anger and he just shrugs.

“Rebel business, baby. Cap woulda killed me if I spilled the beans.” He says and Eliza rolls her eyes.

“Cap, that ring is stunning. It’s so fitting to Allie’s personality too. You did good.” Eliza compliments and I smile with a nose scrunch.

“Even better that it’s been passed down through the women on his mom’s side of the family. It makes it that much more special.” 

“Ahh, that’s so precious!” Eliza gushes while Banana’s is mimicking her like a child in the backgound.

“I can still see you in the reflection of the phone, idiot.” She says without drama before throwing a roll of socks from a laundry pile at him, which he dodges at the last second.

“Do you see the abuse I have to put up with?” He yells and she proceeds to throw another roll of socks at him before turning her attention back to the phone.

“So, did y’all decide to get married before the baby comes or after?” 

“WHAT?” Bananas screams as he runs back up to the phone and Eliza who has wide eyes.

“Are you pregnant?” He asks and I glance at Sy before nodding yes.

“HOLY SHIT! Cap’s gonna be a daddy! I can’t wait to see him carrying a diaper bag!” Banana’s chides and Austin just rolls his eyes. 

“Wait a minute, you knew she was pregnant and didn’t tell me, but gave me shit for not telling you that he was going to propose? How is that fair?” 

“Girl code.” She shrugs with a smug smile before winking at me through the screen.

“Honestly, I don’t know when we’re going to get married. Tonight’s been a whirlwind and we haven’t even had a moment to discuss it.” I answer truthfully before Austin adds on.

“We aren’t getting married because she’s pregnant though. Bananas knows I was trying to come up with a proposal plan in a few weeks. I just couldn’t wait for the perfect moment any longer.” Austin winks at me.

“When is the baby going to make his or her spectacular appearance?” Bananas asks as he lays across the bed with his arm around Liza.

“That, I don’t exactly know. I couldn’t get a doctor’s appointment until a little over two weeks from now, so I don’t know how far along I am. That being said, if you could just keep this to yourselves, at least until we know that the baby is actually in there and has a heartbeat and stuff, I would really appreciate it.” I ask.

“You got it.” Eliza agrees.

“Thank you so much for being there for me, Eliza. I don’t even…I can’t come up with the right words to thank you, but you’re the only genuine friend that I’ve ever had.” I say somewhat shyly.

“Girl, we’re practically sisters now. I’m so grateful that Cap is finally settling down with someone I adore.” She smiles and I beam back at her.

“Cap, I’m so glad you’re my bestie. Remember all of those nights in the desert when we had pillow fights, painted our toenails, and cuddled?” Bananas says in a feminine voice as he pretends to kick his legs in the air to make fun of us.

“Shut up.” Eliza pinches him and he squeals like a girl.

“OW! Hey!” He hollers and she laughs at the sound he made.

“I bet you screamed just like that when you saw a bug over in the desert too.” She snarks.

“You would too! Some of those bugs were the size of my fist.” He defends and we all laugh at him.

After repeating the whole story to them about the miscommunication, followed by Eliza telling Sy he was an absolute idiot for running after I told him my news, we got off the phone due to our dinner arriving. 

Austin made me stay in bed, claiming my eventful afternoon put too much stress on me and the baby. We decided to put on a fun, light-hearted movie while I happily chomped on my a la carte dinner in bed.

Before the movie was finished, Sy and I had both fallen asleep with my head on his chest and one hand lightly on my abdomen.

On our baby.

Chapter 23

A/N: I'm ALIVE. So sorry this one took so long to complete but having my husband off work, kids home, and the holidays, it's been bonkers at my house. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and New Year celebration!

[mrsevans90]

The War Horse Rebellion-21

Biker Syverson x OFC Allie Hilton

Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the War Horse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Allison “Allie” Hilton 

Warnings: Descriptions of sickness, descriptions of vomiting, Spoiler-pregnancy, parent trauma/brainwashing.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+ MATURE CONTENT

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 20:

ALLIE’S POV

I wake to a violent pang of nausea and roll to see that Syverson is already out of bed. Cursing myself for drinking so much last night, I try to get comfortable in bed hoping that sleep will ease the urge to vomit. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Moments later, I’m running to the toilet and dramatically regurgitating all of the alcohol that I thought it was a good idea to consume the night prior. Once finished, I brush my teeth and head back to bed. Austin wakes me up about two hours later holding a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” He mutters and places the coffee on the nightstand.

I groan as the aroma that normally fills me with comfort, becomes distasteful and nauseating due to the hangover that I’m currently nursing. Grunting, I slide further under the covers.

“You okay?” He says as he notices this is not my usual demeanor.

“Hungover.” I mutter and Sy simply grunts.

“Try some coffee and I’ll get some bread to help soak up the alcohol in your stomach.” He suggests but I shake my head.

“No coffee, just water please.” I beg as he stands to leave the room.

“You sure?” Sy asks as he picks up my mug.

“Mhmm. I can’t think about coffee right now.” I say with an err of disgust and he chuckles before taking a sip of it and making his own disgusting face.

“I don’t know how you drink this shit, it’s too sweet.”  He says as he looks at the coffee with a generous pour of my favorite creamer before leaving the bedroom.

When he returns, I drink some water and eventually am able to hold down some plain toast. 

“I didn’t think you were that drunk last night.” He says when I finish.

“Yeah, I think all of the celebrations with Eliza and Banana’s engagement had me excited and drinking more than usual.” I suggest and he nods in agreement. 

“Sorry I’m not much fun today.” I murmur and Sy sweetly kisses my head. 

“How about a lazy day in bed? We can watch movies and just relax?” He suggests and I smile widely. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

We spend the majority of the day, lying in bed and a few hours later I’m feeling much better. Sy even indulges the rare lazy day and naps with me. Maybe a little R&R is exactly what I needed.

That night, surprisingly still tired, I fall asleep halfway through our last movie, Home Alone. Unbeknownst to me, Sy smirks at my sleeping figure before eventually turning out the lights and pulling the covers up on me.

SYVERSON'S POV:

Waking up at 5 am, I’m surprised to see that Allie isn’t next to me. Sitting up and turning on the lamp, I realize she’s in the bathroom. Must’ve gotten up to pee or something. Tossing on some shorts so I can go workout in the garage, I knock on the bathroom door.

“Sugar? Mind if I come in?” I ask, my voice cloaked in sleep.

I wait a moment and there is no answer so I carefully open the bathroom door to find Allie asleep in front of the toilet, her head resting on a rolled-up towel. 

“Darlin’?” I begin to panic and shake her, my mind immediately going back to her being drugged just a mere two months ago. 

Allie squints at the light and groans as she covers her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask with urgency that Allie does not mirror.

“Sick.” She says quietly.

“There’s no way you’re still hungover.” I state and she looks at me like I’m Captain Obvious.

“Must’ve picked up a tummy bug somewhere.” She whispers as I bend and pick her up under her neck and knees.

“No, Sy. I’m gonna get you sick. Stay away.” She feebly attempts to pull away from me but I ignore her as I carry her to the bed. 

“Sugar, I’ve had my tongue in your mouth as recently as last night and then slept all night with you in my arms. Whatever you’ve got, I’m already exposed. I’m not worried about it. Just worried about you.” I say sincerely and she snuggles against me.

Getting the bathroom trashcan, I put it beside the bed and go grab her a water and some pepto bismal, placing it on her nightstand. She’s already immediately fallen back asleep, so I kiss her forehead and head to the garage to work out. When I return, she’s still out cold and I shower and get ready for work since it’s now Monday. Maybe I should call in and stay home with her.

I attempt to discreetly check her forehead for a fever and she begins to stir.

“Didn’t mean to wake you… You need anything?” I offer and she just shakes her head.

“Want me to take the day off so I can be home with you?” I offer and she shakes her head again.

“I’ll be fine. I'm going to text Alyssa and let her know. Think I’m just going to sleep all day. I’m super tired. Head on to work and I’ll call you when I wake up.” Allie directs and I nod before kissing her head.

“I love you.” I tell her before leaving the bed.

“Love you too.” She responds groggily.

The next three days are spent with Allie being sick. Sometimes she feels bad in the mornings, yet other times she’s throwing up in the afternoon. She tells me that she usually feels much better after getting sick, but I’m becoming concerned. We’re on day five of her not wanting to eat and barely sipping on Gatorade and water. I asked her to let me take her to the doctor, but she refused claiming she just didn’t want to deal with anything doctor related since she was in hospital. 

“These viral things just tend to drag on. You know how that is. There is nothing the doctor will do for me other than tell me to push fluids and rest.” She claims. She hasn't ran a fever, but she believes that she has the flu.

Her ‘accident’ still being recent has me worried that something more serious is going on in her body. Could she have liver or kidney issues potentially? Would this be a potential side effect from the drugs that were in her system? Maybe the fluids and medicines that she received in the hospital helped at the time, but without them her body was suffering from side effects that were masked before? Hell, I’m not medically minded at all, but as I work on the engine of an old bronco, I find my mind continuously worrying about her.

Fuck it, if she isn’t better by tomorrow, I’m taking her to the doctor whether she likes it or not. Huffing in determination, I continue to work and hope the hours pass by quickly.

ALLIE’S POV:

It’s the wildest thing, this morning I was feeling much better when I woke up, so I did my bathroom routine, and headed to the kitchen to attempt some breakfast. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but I knew that under no circumstances did I want coffee. The thought of it alone made me gag. Whatever this stomach bug is, needs to hurry up and get out of my system. 

Perusing through the pantry, I decide a banana seems agreeable. Munching on it, I look around for something else that I could pair it with. I had an overwhelming urge to drink orange juice, which was not something I usually did. I figured, maybe my body was just craving some vitamin C and sugar after days of feeling sick. Pouring myself a glass, I continue my search for food when the doorbell rings. Who could that be?

Peering out of the peephole, believe me I learned my lesson not to just blindly open the door; I am surprised to see Eliza looking as stunning as ever on the porch. Opening the door, I smile widely at her and see that she’s holding a brown bag. 

“Hi babe!” She chirps as I wave pitifully, squinting at the sun illuminating the doorway like I’m a mole person who just climbed out from being underground. It’s not far from the truth.

“You should know that I’m still sick”, I say as I step back from her in an attempt to keep from exposing her to whatever plague is running its course through my body.

“I know, that’s why I’ve brought you breakfast! Figured, it’s a beautiful warm day out and some fresh air could do you good!” She tilts her head toward the porch rocking chairs. I smile with pure gratefulness emanating from my body. She’s such a good friend. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to catch this.” I add and Eliza grins behind her sunglasses. 

“I promise to keep a 3-foot distance at all times.” She adds and I giggle.

Following her outside, we set up on the porch rocking chairs and I pull mine away from hers just in case. 

She places down a disposable coffee cup, and I attempt to cover my disgust. Handing me a breakfast croissant, I smile in relief as it actually is more appealing to me than anything has been in days and hum as I take the first bite.

“You are the best friend ever… seriously! This is the first food that I’ve wanted to eat since Saturday.” I admit as Eliza flips her hair off her shoulder and boasts.

“I try! I bet Sy’s a decent nurse… only to you though.” 

Nodding as I swallow my mouthful, I respond. “He’s really been trying and I’m so grateful. I’ve never really had anyone take care of me when I was sick before. My parents never wanted to risk catching an illness that would potentially take them away from their job or social lives, so growing up I would essentially quarantine myself until I was better and only then could I rejoin the family. My mom would have the house keepers disinfect the entire house, focusing on my room. It would smell like Clorox for two months after I had even a slight cold. My meals were placed at the foot of my door like I was in prison.” I giggle at the memory. 

Shaking her head, Eliza thinks about her response before speaking. “I had the opposite and I guess I didn’t realize how lucky I was at the time. I would legitimately lay on my mom for days whenever I was sick. Her presence alone brought me comfort. I can’t imagine not having that as a kid.” Shrugging my shoulders, I steady my breath.

“I don’t think my mother’s presence ever really brought me comfort, so I didn’t mind much.”

We continue to eat and I’m feeling a bit more energized but I force myself to take slow bites in hopes of keeping my food down.

“Did I get the wrong coffee? You haven’t touched it.” Eliza observes.

Shyly and nervous that she will be offended, I decide to answer honestly. 

“No, no! Not at all. This is beyond thoughtful, like I have never had anyone other than Sy do something like this so I am incredibly thankful. It’s just, for some reason, with this illness the thought of coffee makes me want to hurl. I haven’t had any since Saturday morning. It’s so strange! Like, even thinking about the smell makes me want to vomit.” 

Eliza looks at me strangely before speaking, “That’s crazy. It’s almost like a pregnancy aversion.” 

Arching my eyebrow, I urge her to explain.

“My older sister had all of these aversions to certain foods that she typically loved, but only while she was pregnant. She threw up trying to force down a bite of her own birthday cake one year.” She laughs at the memory.

“Huh, that is crazy…I take birth control though, every day at the same time. I’m very consistent.” I inform her, dismissing the thought as soon as it entered my brain.

“Still, lots of babies have been conceived while on birth control. It’s not exactly 100% effective.” Eliza mentions and I set down my breakfast sandwich. 

“Surely not…I mean, I can’t be.” I add.

“When was your last period?” 

“Honestly, I don’t remember…” Horror takes over my features as I consider the possibility as my brain searches frantically to recall my last period. Somehow, the dates seem to all run together. 

“I’ll run to town and buy a test.” Eliza offers and I nod vacantly.

“Okay…thank you.” I manage.

Grabbing her purse, Eliza dashes off of the porch to her car. Remaining on the porch almost motionless, I try my hardest to think back to the last time I used a tampon or even bought some. Why don’t I keep this in an app on my phone?! I chastise myself internally. I’ve never had a pregnancy scare, but I also always used oral contraceptives as well as condoms…until recently. Until Austin Syverson.

Austin and I have been having sex without any protection other than my daily pill. God, I’m such an idiot. What if I’m actually pregnant? Sy isn’t even certain about marriage! I don’t know how he would react to a baby. We haven’t even been together for six months yet. We are just getting on our feet as a couple and this, this could ruin everything. I’ve already brought him so much trouble as it is. Will he think that I planned this? Like I planned to trap him? Will he leave me? No! I trust that he would be there for me and our baby, but that doesn’t mean he would want it. He might resent me for the rest of his life for confining him into a family that he didn’t want. Chewing on the inside of my lip to distract myself from my chaotic thoughts and the nausea that has washed over me, I shakily stand when Eliza returns.

Handing me a white plastic bag with THANK YOU printed in bold letters across it, she gives me a look of concern.

“You okay?” Tears well into my eyes as I shrug a response.

“Do you want me to call Sy? I’m sure he’d come--“ 

“No! No… I don’t want to worry him. There’s still a chance that it could be a false alarm.” I decide and Eliza nods.

“Will you stay?” I ask her and she smiles with concern before pulling me into a hug.

“Of course, I’ll stay. I’m here for you babes.” She speaks against my shoulder as we embrace and I’m so grateful that she’s here.

We head inside and to the master bathroom, completely ignoring the possibility that I’m contagious. Eliza perches on the end of the bed. 

“I got two brands. One is pink and the other is blue and has a digital response. I say take them both so that there’s no confusion.” Eliza pulls the boxes out of the bag, opens them and hands me the pee sticks.

“Is this your first pregnancy scare?” She asks gently and I nod.

“Until Sy, I’ve always used my birth control and condoms. In the back of my mind, I feel like I knew Spencer was the type to cheat and didn’t want to risk an STD exposure.” 

“Smart thinking. That douchebag probably has some now, in prison.” She smirks and it helps just for a moment to distract me from the tension.

“Well, no sense in waiting any longer.” I say before heading into the bathroom.

“I’ll be right here.” Eliza states.

Peeing on the tests is actually more difficult than I had imagined, but I replace the caps and set them down on the bathroom counter before washing my hands and returning to Eliza who starts at timer on her phone. 

Eliza attempts to distract me from the obvious, when my phone starts ringing on the bed.

“It’s Austin. He must be taking a break for lunch.” I tell her and she smiles, urging me to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey Sugar. How’re ya feeling?”

“Hey babe. I’m doing okay right now. You breaking for lunch?”

“Yeah, that and I couldn’t stop worrying about ya. Wanted to check in.” 

“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry! I’m actually here with Eliza. She stopped by to bring me a breakfast sandwich. We ate on the porch and enjoyed the sun.”

“Ah, that’s nice. She’s real thoughtful to do that.”

“I know! It was exactly what I needed too.”

“You were able to eat it and keep it down?” He asks.

“So far.” I reply with hope in my voice.

“Excellent. Well listen, if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m taking ya to the doctor and I don’t want to hear nothing else about it.” He gets authoritative which shouldn’t be such a turn on to me, but it is and he knows it. 

“Syyyy…” I whine and he interrupts.

“You heard me. You’ve been living off of Gatorade and toast. This is me communicating with you; I am worried and would like you to at least be seen by a doctor. Please.” He says and I sigh. 

“Okay, if I’m not better by tomorrow, you can take me to the doctor.” I repeat and dart my eyes to Eliza.

“Thank you.” Syverson croons into the phone, a bit smug because he won so easily.

“I’m going to get back to chatting with ‘Liza, but I hope you enjoy your lunch.”

“Sounds good, Darlin’. Love you.”

“I love you too.” I reply before ending the call and taking a deep breath.

“I’ve never, ever heard Sy so down bad before. He’s like a completely different person with you!” Eliza gushes and I smile. Eliza’s timer goes off, bringing us back to the issue at hand and my smile quickly drops. 

We both stand and make our way to the bathroom where the tests are face down on the counter.

“Ready?” Eliza asks and I force the nausea that threatens to spill out, back down before nodding.

I flip over both of the tests and the answer is clear.

Two parallel pink lines are displayed in the tiny window of the first test. 

The second test, has the word PREGNANT in black letters across the digital screen.

Taking a deep breath as tears fill my eyelids, I turn to the toilet and vomit spectacularly into the bowl. Heaving the contents of my stomach back up, I feel Eliza pulling my hair away from my face and gently rubbing my back. The contact startles me momentarily, but I’m grateful for it as it distracts me briefly from the disgusting act of puking, along with the real reason that I have been so sick.

Flushing the toilet, I turn and sit against the wall while Eliza wets a washcloth and hands it to me. 

Taking it gratefully, I manage to mutter a quiet, “thank you.”

Eliza kicks off her shoes, and sits down on the floor next to me as we process the news in silence.

Eliza doesn’t dare speak, until she hears the soft sniffles from my nose as I try to convince my tears to remain in my eyes. 

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” She reassures as she wraps me in a hug. 

“I know this must be a huge shock, but you’re going to be an incredible mom! And Syverson, God, he was meant to be a dad. He’s looked out for me like a big brother for years so I can’t even begin to imagine how amazing of a father he will be.” 

“How…” sniffle... “How did this happen? I mean, I haven’t missed any birth control pills. I even took them on time when I was in the hospital!” My tears now fall freely down my face and Eliza begins to look pensive.

“Didn’t they pump your stomach while you were in the hospital?”

Realization dawns on me as I think back to the hospital. A very faint memory enters my head. I was trying to get the doctors and nurses to discharge me, and they had me sign different pages of a packet. I was exhausted from being sick, and groggy from not sleeping well, so by the third page I just started signing without really reading them. I vaguely remember the nurse, Kaitlyn I think was her name, mentioning the word contraception. Slapping my palm to my forehead, the tears continue to stream down my face involuntarily.

“This is my fault. I’m such an idiot.” I mutter and Eliza entertwines our fingers together as she holds my hand.

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is though. I didn’t pay much attention to the discharge spiel and then that weekend, I told Sy that we could go without protection.”

“I mean, I think all of us have been there. It could have happened to any of us!”

“At least you know that Bananas wants to marry you. I’ll raise my kids with a boyfriend or a husband who marries me out of pity or some old school sense of moral duty. This isn’t how I planned on having kids, you know? I don’t have a family. My kids won’t have grandparents that sneak them candy and take them to the fair. I don’t even know how to be a mother! It’s not like I was raised by anyone particularly kind or motherly.” I spill the worries without hardly taking a breath, feeling like if I don’t spiral now, I’ll push the thoughts down and explode inconveniently later.

"Austin has never even mentioned kids to me… I never brought it up because things were so new and I didn’t want to scare him away!”

“Take a breath, Allie! I have known Austin Syverson for years, and I know for a fact that he will be over the moon. He may be shocked at first, but he will be so excited to have a baby with you. He’s amazing with kids and I know how much he loves you.” Eliza reassures.

Continuing to chew on my lip as I attempt to calm down, I look at Eliza. 

“If he leaves me, I’ll have nothing. I…don’t think I can do this alone.” I whisper my biggest and most vulnerable fear.

“He will not leave you, and I am 1000% positive that you won’t be alone. You really think me, Annie, and the rest of the crew would allow that? Hell, Bananas will probably be so excited that he’ll try to get into the delivery room!” She jokes lightheartedly and my stomach turns at the thought of having to push a whole ass baby out of my vagina. Especially if it takes after Syverson’s monstrous stature. Eliza chuckles at the face I make before standing and pulling me up off of the bathroom floor. We head into the bedroom and lay side by side on the large king bed.

“How are you going to tell him?” She asks.

“I have no idea.” I answer honestly.

“Okay, when are you going to tell him?” I don’t respond and Eliza turns to look at me. 

“There isn’t a man alive more perceptive than Austin Syverson. He was literally trained to sniff secrets out of people... He may not think like a woman, but if he gets even the smallest feeling that something is off, he will hound you until you fess up. I’m just saying, save yourself the energy of trying to dodge the conversation. It will be better for both of you to face it head on and get it out in the open.”

“What if he wants me to…get rid of it? I…I can’t do that ‘Liza. I know that I’m the least person in the world qualified to be a mom, because I’ve never had a good role model of one and my life has had more drama than most soap operas. I can’t explain it right, but the moment I knew that there was a baby in there, I imagined it. It’s like this protective feeling that overcame me.”

“That’s love, Allie. You love your baby already.” She smiles sincerely. 

“That means you’ll be a good mom, regardless of your family history. You love your child and already want to protect him or her.” Tears fill my eyelids once more as her words sink in.

She’s right. I do love this little baby and will protect it no matter what.

“Syverson will want you to keep it. He told me once years ago, when he was very drunk, that he wished he could have a family of his own.” Eliza shares and I lay back once more with a soft smile taking my features. 

Taking a deep, calming breath, I close my eyes and imagine Austin as a father. I picture him caressing my swollen belly, kissing my forehead in the hospital, his proud smile as he holds up a little chubby baby wrapped in blankets. I picture all three of us, walking down the street with our child perched on his shoulders, giggling happily, as we hold hands. Suddenly, the excitement of all of the possibilities seem to overtake the dread I originally felt. 

So many years of my life, I have been indoctrinated to believe that anyone of our social status that got pregnant out of wedlock was simply a classless floozy who was bound to end up alone, mooching off of their parent’s wealth for the rest of their life. 

“No respectable man would want a woman who already has a child that belongs to someone else. She’s essentially damaged goods now. Nobody wants to be stuck raising a little brat that isn’t even their blood.” I recall my father blathering after rumors that one of the opulent members of the country club, Sarah Robertson, had become pregnant from a one-night stand. I knew that I felt differently, but I had yet to find my voice. My parents were extremely clear that if I were to embarrass them in that manner, they would disown me and I would be financially cut off. My mother preached that you had to satisfy your man’s needs in the bedroom in order to keep him, but under no circumstances should you carelessly get pregnant and keep it before marriage. Mistakes like that were almost always, ‘quietly taken care of.’ There was an order that must be followed in order to maintain our social dignity. I always thought it was extremely vain, but my parent’s vanity was their main personality characteristic so in an attempt to please them, I did exactly what they told me too. 

Until, I didn’t.

Until I chose to step out and make a life for myself that wasn’t given to me. One that I had earned by taking a risk, believing in myself, and working hard. It led me to freedom and independence. It led me to Austin. It led me to this group of dangerous bikers who have become my family. Now, it was going to lead me to motherhood and I will not allow my former shame to affect my future happiness.

I break the silence in the room when I softly utter, “I’m going to be a mom!” Eliza nods with happiness as I smile astonishingly back at her. Tears, now a result of joy, begin to slip down the sides of my face, tickling my skin with their path. Caressing my nonexistent bump, I laugh in relief through the sobs of happiness that we will be our own version of a family.

The shock of this unpredictable news tilts from horror, to excitement. I pray that Eliza's right about Austin, because he’ll be home in four hours and I am going to tell him.

He's going to be a daddy.

We are going to have a baby. Half Austin, Half me.

Now to figure out how to tell him…

Chapter 22

A/N: Me while writing this:

[peternoonewantsthat]

Middle Child

♡ summary: You meet Sy’s family. Lord help you.

♡ Serves as a direct prequel to Y is for Yes.

♡ Captain Syverson x Black OC/Reader

♡ Warnings: boy talk.

-

“Wait,” you suddenly squeaked, grabbing Sy by his arm and him pulling back. He complied, eyebrow inquisitively raised to the short curls drooping on his forehead.

“What?”

Your eyes flicked back and forth from his face to the daunting yellow front door of his childhood home brightly lit by the outdated porch light.

“What if they don’t like me?” you asked under your breath as if Sy’s family on the other side of the door would hear.

“We been through this, shug,” he exhaled.

“I know, baby,” you practically whined. “But still.”

“They’re gonna love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“Well, not yet. But when they get to know you and see what a fucking diamond you are, they’d be country dumb not to like you.”

You pouted, mulling it over as your gaze dropped to the dirt of the walkway.

“Hey, look at me.” Sy’s finger lifted your chin up to meet his adoring stare.

You obeyed, fluttering your lashes and practically melting his insides in the process. You were too fucking cute for words.

“You know I wouldn’t be doing this if I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said. “I wouldn’t take you anywhere I knew you wouldn’t be safe, baby.”

“I know.”

“I know it’s scary and nerve wracking, but I promise everything’s gonna be fine. Easy. You wanna make a good impression and all that but it don’t take much to make a bunch of country folk like you.”

“Yeah, if I was white.”

“That don’t matter none.”

You leveled him with an unimpressed look. “You didn’t tell them.”

“It didn’t come up.”

“So they don’t know?”

“You know my brother’s wife, Lay, is black. You’d think I’d lead you to the lion’s den if my family was a bunch of bigots?”

For lack of an answer he’d understand, you pressed your lips together and stared up at him, analyzing his open body language and sincere gleam in his eyes.

He seemed so sure and confident and you trusted him.

“I just don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You won’t.”

“I really want them to like me.”

“They will.”

“I need them to.”

Sy grinned. “This means everything to me that yer doing this. And you know if they didn’t like you, I’d have to disown myself.”

“Stop that.”

“‘M serious, darling,” he teased, leaning over to peck your cheek and then the side of your downturned lips. “What kinda idiot do I look like choosing them over a sweet girl like you?”

He succeeded in getting a smile out of you despite your worry. His lips finally met yours and you held back deepening the sentiment.

“You just talking shit.”

“No, I mean it.”

“You love your family too much to do that.”

I think I love you more sat on the tip of Sy’s tongue, but he swallowed it with another smile.

“You trust me?” he asked instead.

You thought for a moment, considering the pros and cons. The worst that could happen is they could be racist assholes, you break up with Sy and move back home and date some boring lawyer from your mom’s country club.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Fuck it. Let’s do this.”

Your heart was nestled in your stomach yet beating like a kick drum in your ears the entire time it took Sy to take your hand in his, lead you to the yellow door, knock once and let the two of you in. The immediate aroma of a day’s worth of cooking hits your senses, melting your insides and transporting you back to a time you’ve never experienced. Your family didn’t do dinners like this and yet, it already felt like you’d been here many times before.

“Is that Nicky?” a male voice boomed from the living room a few paces to the right of the front door.

Sy rolled his blue eyes back in feigned annoyance as he entered the next room. You followed close enough to be hidden behind his large frame even if you yourself are quite tall and hard to miss.

There sat on the couch in his Sunday’s best, nursing an ice cold beer fresh out the freezer and watching college football highlights was a man you’d easily mistake for Sy if you hadn’t walked in with him. You blinked a few times to ensure who you’re seeing is correct and then looked up at your own man for further confirmation.

“You lazy ass bastard,” Sy snickered under his breath, snatching the beer straight out his hand, taking a swig for himself and pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re never doing a fucking thing every time I’m over here.”

“Then stop coming over here.”

“Lawn needs to be mowed, paint’s chipping and the roof’s leaking and yer on yer ass as usual.”

“Oh, suck my dick, G.I. Joe,” he laughed, holding his hand out. “Gimme back my beer.”

“Man, shut up and stand like you got some sense,” Sy barked, taking another sip for emphasis. “There’s a lady present.”

“Lady—?” The man uttered, sitting up and looking around Sy at the same time Sy pulled you from your hiding spot into the spotlight.

This close, you’re almost taken aback by the resemblance. The same ocean eyes, upturned nose, thin lips, and boyishly rosy cheeks that you’ve grown so accustomed to are clear as day on somebody else, instantly silencing some of the anxieties rambling around in your brain. His hair was slicked back with gel but his hair was probably just as curly as Sy’s.

“Ah, hell!” the man cheered, jumping up from off the couch and looking you over in the same inquisitive way you were doing him and then pointing. “You the lil’ filly that’s got my brother’s panties in a twist, ain’t you?”

“Where’r your manners? Don’t call her no filly.”

“Y’gonna introduce us?”

“Begrudgingly,” Sy murmured below his breath and gestured towards you, squeezing your hand when he started with your name. “This is my older brother, Derek,” he said, now gesturing a hand out to the other man. He states your name again and Derek tried it out for himself.

“Pretty name,” Derek said, holding a hand out. You went to shake it, but he instead brought yours to his mouth to delicately peck. “Glad to finally meet you.”

“I’m gonna rip your lips straight off your face if you ever do that again,” Sy grunted, cupping your hand and retrieving it from Derek’s for you and exchanging it with the beer.

“Don’t get strict on me, Nicky.”

“Strict nothing, ya disrespectful lil’ shit. Where’s Mama and ‘nem?”

“They’re in the kitchen, moody bitch,” Derek snapped back, waving his brother off as though he were a fly. “That ain’t no way to talk in front of a woman.”

“Don’t talk to me about my woman and go help yours with your baby. When’s the last time you changed a diaper?”

You observed the exchange, minutely entertained at the visual of Sy essentially arguing with himself. They throw harmless digs back and forth with little to no heat or malice in their tones, but you couldn’t help but stand by awkwardly and wait for Sy to snap out of the brotherly loop and introduce you to the remainder of his family.

As if on queue, the shifting sounds of people in an adjacent room filtered through the walls and grew louder the closer they got. Voices arose and you stiffened in anticipation.

“Who the hell is doing all that cussing in my damn house?” an older lady with light brown graying hair done up in large curls called on her way in and promptly stopped in her tracks at the sight of you. Her grumpy expression brightened into something warm, inviting and pleasantly surprised and you couldn’t help returning the smile.

“Hey, Mama!” Sy cheered, turning away from Derek and settling a reassuring hand on your lower back. He wrapped the woman in a tight bear hug and kissed her temple. “Y’got her hair done and you’re lookin’ good.”

“Oh, stop,” she giggled, curious blue eyes never leaving your brown ones as she swatted her son off and stepped towards you. “Hey, darling.”

“Mama,” Sy started, grin widening by the second. “This is my girl…”

The remainder of his sentence faded off into oblivion and your hearing blocked the rest of it out to focus on that last word before your name.

Girl.

He called you his girl.

He never mentioned anything about you being his girl. Well, to you, anyway.

You two hadn’t talked about that. You two never established that and yet, here he was just saying it ever so casually as your insides bursted with barely contained elation.

Oh, you? Well, yes. You’re Sy’s girl because he said so. It didn’t matter what was said or done because at the end of the day, you’re Sy’s girl. It’s not a title you had to beg and plead for; it just is and Sy said it so confidently you almost forget that he didn’t even ask you. He just said it like it was a known fact!

The sky is blue, what goes up must come down and you were Sy’s girlfriend.

His fucking girlfriend.

You’ve never been one of those before.

You continued smiling, giddy and barely containing the urge to cartwheel as Sy introduced you to his mother, Judith “Judy” Josephine Syverson, nee’ Boyd.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” you said and she waves that off with a playful roll of her eyes.

“None of this ma’am stuff, darling. Yer practically family.”

“Y’calling it kinda early, ain’t you, Mama?” Derek interrupted from the coach and Judy glared over your shoulder.

“Wasn’t nobody talking to you,” she said.

“Yeah, mind yers,” Sy chimed in and earned a look of his own. He flinched at the hardness of it and shrugged sheepishly.

“What?”

“Quit instigating,” Judy snapped and nodded towards the front door. “Go on and do something useful instead of sitting in my house cussing like you don’t have the sense God gave a billy goat. I told you that washing machine’s broke, so grab your Daddy’s tools out the shed and make something shake.”

“He’s not doing nothing but watching TV, Mama!” Sy pointed at his brother, instantly turning back into his adolescent self. “Make him do it. I’m entertaining company.”

“Ha ha!” Derek sang, sticking his tongue out to taunt Sy.

“I told you to do it. I can show her around my house and introduce her to everyone just fine,” Judy insisted, pulling you away from Sy with the slightest brush of her hand intertwining with yours. “You don’t mind, d’ya, baby?”

Judy didn’t strike you as the type to take no for an answer so despite your discomfort at being split from the only person you knew in the house, you shook your head.

“Oh, uh, no. Of course not.”

“See?” Judy said, squeezing your hand comfortingly. “Now, gone and git ‘cus dinner’s ready soon.”

“Can I at least say hi to Alayna and Dylan first?” Sy begged. “And what about my nephew?”

“You’ll see them at dinner. Gone,” Judy commanded with finality and Sy begrudgingly headed to the front door.

“I’ll be back, shug,” he said on his way out. “Y’all be nice.”

“Mama, you shoulda whooped him more when he was a baby then he wouldn’t talk back so much,” Derek said, shaking his head in mock disappointment once his brother was outside and out of earshot.

“Shut up, Ricky,” Judy muttered, clearly just as annoyed with her oldest. “Stop teasing him. You know he’s sensitive.”

“Crybaby ass soldier boy.”

Judy’s eyes rolled up again and she patted your hand. “You sure this is what you’re ready for?” she asked quietly.

You giggled, truly enjoying the dynamic amongst them. You were definitely in for a real treat when everybody got together.

“I’ve got something for you, too. I’m not gonna keep begging you to get that lawn under control.”

“C’mon, Mama, we’re about to eat and—” Derek groaned but the older woman cut it off with another pointed stare.

“Don’t make me cuss you out on a Sunday in front of a guest.”

“Uh, fine!” he said, standing again and making a show of displaying his attire. “Guess I’ll just mow the lawn in slacks and a button up in the middle of a Texas spring.”

“Guess you will.” Judy shrugged.

Derek left in the same huff and puff as Sy, leaving his mother unfazed and uncaring. Once Derek was gone, Judy turned to you.

“I think if I’d had little girls, I wouldn’t get as much attitude,” she said, chuckling once and then walking towards the room she came from. You involuntarily follow with your arm looped with hers.

“Well, I’m one of three girls and it’s all pretty much the same,” you told her.

“Oh, are you? Where do you fall?”

“Middle.”

“Like Nicky.”

“Yeah.”

“Something in common already.”

Before you can respond, Judy entered the small kitchen where the source of the house’s aroma was being tended in the oven by a model-esque brown-skinned young lady with her natural curls flowing freely down her back in an apron.

It should be a testament to how anxious you were at the flood of relief that washed over you when you recognized the young woman as Derek’s wife and not some kind of help. The optics weren’t on the Syverson’s side in that regard, and you can only imagine the fear that ran through this woman’s veins when she was first brought home as the lone black woman in a family of white Texans.

For that you saluted her bravery and sacrifice because realistically you couldn’t have done it without the daunting feeling of isolation as the token minority no matter how much you liked Sy.

And you certainly wouldn’t have brought a child into the mix.

“Lay Baby, look who’s finally here,” Judy started and the woman checking the food in the oven spun to see for herself.

The visible shock was evident in Alayna’s face when her eyes landed on you. Even though you’d never met this woman a day in your life, there was an instant yet silent recognition and understanding unsaid by the mouths because looks would always ring louder.

“Hi,” she greeted sweetly, flashing a bright smile that matched every other perfect thing about her. This woman was beautiful beyond words, sharing quite a few notable traits with yourself that go beyond skin color.

The Syverson boys definitely had a type.

“Darling, this is Alayna, my favorite child,” Judy teased with a hand out to the young woman. “She did me the biggest favor and got Rick off my hands.”

Alayna chuckled, shutting the oven and removing the mitts.

Judy gestured to you next. “Lay Baby, this is—”

Your name blurted from Alayna’s mouth in question.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“I knew I wouldn’t forget,” she said. “Nicky talks about you all the time. I feel like I already know you.”

At that, she winked a dark brown eye unseen by Judy. You return the sentiment with a smirk.

“It’s nice to have another girl around here,” Judy continued, moving past you to the stove to check the steaming pots and give them a quick stir. “We were beginning to feel outnumbered, weren’t we, Lay Baby?”

“Sure were,” Alayna agreed, taking a rest at the wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. “I can only imagine that kind of hell while the boys were growing up.”

“I’m still living in it,” Judy complained, adjusting the stove burners, shaking her head in frustration and glancing over at Alayna.. “You’d think after twenty-nine years your husband will stop antagonizing his baby brother, but it’s like a sport with those two.”

You stand where Judy left you in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of your next move. Do you put your purse down and just sit, too? Isn’t that what Southern women do? Sit in the kitchen and gossip over iced tea while the men in the family worked?

The uncertainty must ring loud in the small room because before you can even offer to help cook or ask anything, Judy backed away from the stove and took your arm again.

“C’mon, darling,” she said. “You, too, Lay. We’re gonna find Dylan and Christian, set this table and get to eating.”

“Finally,” Alayna uttered and glanced at the rooster clock above the stove. “It’s ‘bout time I get him a bottle.”

Judy answered the evident question etched in your scrunched in your eyebrows with, “Christian is Ricky and Lay’s son. Barely a few months old and just as cute as a button.”

“And here’s Mommy’s little button now,” Alayna’s voice went up a few octaves the instant the three of you stepped foot on the back porch.

You’re met with another man slowly pacing the expanse of the porch with a soda bottle in one hand, a thick novel in the other and the sleeping infant strapped to his chest. He resembled the other Syverson boys in looks and frame but there was a distinct sweetness in his eyes where Derek’s held mischief and Sy’s held sadness.

“Finally got him to sleep, lil’ fussy thing,” the man told the three of you, doing a double take from his book when he noticed you on the other side of Judy. “Oh. Hi.”

“Darling, this is Dylan, my youngest,” Judy said and rubbed a reassuring hand over your shoulder. “Dyl, honey, this is Nicky’s friend.”

Dylan repeated your name after Judy and a corner of his lips quirked up. “It’s nice meeting you, ma’am. Could I ask you a question, though?”

“Uh, yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing slumming with Nicky’s dumbass?”

You snorted, fighting back a chuckle while Judy’s eyes rolled into hell for the umpteenth time just this afternoon. Albeit rhetorical, you didn’t have a genuine answer for that so you shrugged.

“Guess he caught me at the right time,” you told him.

“God bless whenever that was,” he replied.

“Stop flirting and come help your mama set this table,” Alayna huffed, arms out to receive Christian. Dylan undid the baby and they carefully transferred him over. Judy looped her arms with Dylan’s now and retreated back inside the house.

“My little sweetie,” Alayna cooed and angled him for you to see. “He’s a peach, isn’t he?”

That was an understatement—Christian Syverson was quite literally the most adorable baby you’d ever set your sights on. If you ever needed evidence of cherubs inhabiting earth, the sleeping infant in Alayna’s arms was proof.

Your bottom lip poked out in admiration that anything could be so precious.

“Oh, Alayna, he’s everything.”

“I did my thing, huh?”

“You sure did,” you agreed, leaning in and watching his miniature features twitch and flinch in his sleep. “How old is he?”

“Seven months,” she said and then looked over at you. “You want kids?”

“Oh, uh,” you stuttered, immediately standing back to your full height and looking away to avoid her expectant gaze. “Um. I don’t think I’ve thought about it.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean I love kids, but I guess it never occurred to me. I mean, it has. I’m a woman and I think all of us have at some point though, but it’s never lingered.”

“Of course.” Alayna nodded and pecked Christian’s forehead. “I didn’t think I wanted any until meeting Derek. This little angel was a surprise.”

“A blessing in disguise, I guess.”

“I’ll say. Come sit with me a minute.”

Alayna took a seat with her legs crossed on the wicker sofa, Christian cuddled close in her arms. You joined her and set your purse on the matching wicker table before you.

“You wanna hold him?”

Your incessant staring made it incredibly obvious that yes, if you didn’t get your hands on the little angel, you’d explode. Instead of jumping at the chance, you shook your head and brushed off the offer.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, you just met me and I know moms don’t really like—”

“Yeah, but I asked. And I can tell you really want to,” she said with a friendly grin. “And I like you already. I can tell you’ve got good energy. Go on and take him.”

“You’re sure.”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

And before you could oppose and ask if she’s sure again, she’s handing you her son with all the trust in the world. You immediately take him in your arms, supporting his neck and head as you bring him closer to inspect his tiny face.

“He’s so beautiful,” you repeated.

“He looks like his Daddy, don’t he?”

“Only a little. Same nose on all three of them.”

“Imagine my surprise when Sy brought me home and I saw I got the runt of the litter.” Alayna scoffed, an edge of lighthearted teasing in her tone.

“They all just go by Sy, huh?”

“It’s a thing,” she explained, staring out at the bare backyard in desperate need of mowing. “You just gotta pick your favorite one.”

“Hmm,” you hummed and looked up from Christian to his mother. “How’d you and your Sy meet?”

“Work,” she answered with a fond smile as she recollected. “We worked in the same auto shop. I was just a receptionist working there to pay for school and he was the loudest, most obnoxious, meanest jackass who worked there and I had the biggest fucking crush on him. I hated him but I needed him so bad.”

“Sounds like your everyday enemies to lovers romance novel.”

“Yeah, I eventually warmed up, but I told him he had to tone down the asshole act if he wanted a shot with me. I didn’t think we were going anywhere but I just woke up one day as a Syverson. It happened so quickly. Then I woke up one day and I’m Mommy. Weird, huh?”

“Not if it’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted until I got it. Now I’m right where I need to be,” she said, beaming from ear to ear and caressing Christian’s pink cheek with her index finger. “Didn’t think I could still pursue law school and be a mom all at once, but I’m doing it.”

“That’s good.”

“What about you? What do you wanna do?”

Ain’t that the million dollar question?

“You’re gonna think it’s pathetic.”

“Try me.”

You thought on it another moment, leaving the inquisition hanging in the air for longer than normal. Alayna thankfully caught on and nodded in understanding.

“It’s okay not to know.”

“I’m twenty-one. I feel like I should know.”

“You’ve got years to figure it out. What’re you in school for?”

“I’m majoring in communications but I wouldn’t necessarily call it a passion. It’s something to do. Just something I picked.”

“I get it. I switched majors at least four times before I landed on taking pre-law. It happens, girl.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell the woman you only picked communications as a last resort because your private school in Texas was the furthest place your mother was willing to let you go. You would’ve gone further west but Texas was the trade-off.

“Yeah,” you exhaled instead and diverted your attention back to the baby in your arms.

“You didn’t meet Nicky at school or anything, huh?”

“Oh, no. I go to an all girls university.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed. “He’s a boy, so he kinda skimped on the details of how y’all met.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Even better,” she teased, scooting closer and never breaking eye contact as she waited for the story.

“Uh, well,” you started, shaking your head at your past self. “It was this passed New Year's Eve and my homegirls and I were barhopping. We go to this random hole in the wall and we’re kinda bored. It’s not our scene, mostly old guys in there, not really atmospheric. Kinda gross if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, sounds like someplace Nicky would be.”

“Sy, well, Nicky was at the bar and we got to playing eye tag. I’m not thinking too deep into it, but my friend dared me to just go up to him and kiss him at midnight. I thought she was joking. And she was. Sorta.”

“You didn’t.”

“I wish I could say I didn’t.”

“Oh, my god.”

“So at midnight, my tipsy, dumbass gets up and marches right over and just kisses him,” you finished, internally cringing. “Not just a peck. A kiss kiss. Like full on lip locking. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I would’ve never.”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

“If you hadn’t, you would be here right now.”

“Yeah, but I just wish I did it differently. Or let him come up to me. Or, I don’t know, been normal and just asked his name or something.”

“Doesn’t seem like he minded too much.”

“Yeah, he didn’t.”

“I think that’s kinda sweet.”

“It’s sweet now that we’re dating, but he could’ve reacted way worse.”

“Knowing Nicky how I know him, he wouldn’t’ve.”

“Knowing me like how?”

Behind you, Sy appeared at the door, eyeing the two of you as he wiped grease from his hands with a dish rag. “What y’all girls talking about?”

“You’re so nosey,” Alayna groaned. “Come say hi to your nephew.”

“If my name’s brought up, I’m inclined to know.” Sy stepped out on the porch and his eyebrows quirked up at the sight of you holding Christian. “Lookit you, shug.”

“He’s so cute.” You pouted again, running your fingers along the back of his palm. “I’m obsessed.”

The image did something very foreign to Sy’s insides. While adorable, it triggered the caveman instincts in the back of his brain and he had to force himself to not outright ask if you wanted one of your own.

The subject of having kids hasn’t arisen as it pertained to you, but the naturally maternal fashion in which you hold his nephew was grounds for giving you as many as you wanted. Lord knows he would. He’d give you anything.

“Yeah, it’s easy to get caught up in him,” he said in lieu of his inner monologue. “Lemme hold him.”

“Aht!” Alayna snapped, hand up and directing him towards the door. “Wash them nasty ass hands before you touch my child.”

“A lil’ grease ain’t never hurt nobody,” Sy huffed on his way inside.

Alayna leaned across you to make sure Sy’s out of earshot before whispering, “Nicky would make a great dad.”

You did your best in ignoring the implication and nod. “You think so?”

“Know so.”

“Hmmm.” You glanced off to the side. “Whenever that’ll be.”

“I don’t mean to lay it on so thick.” She repositioned herself closer to you. “I’m just a little shocked he brought somebody home. He’s never really done that since I’ve known him anyway.”

“Surely, he has exes.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t. There was one girl. Uh, so nasty. So rude. Wasn’t good for him but she’d been around since before I met Derek. I don’t count her, though.”

“Why?”

There was something she wasn’t explicitly saying. Whatever her lips didn’t say, her expression did.

“My brother's not a relationship guy,” she informed you. “He talked about you so much that we were practically begging to meet you and see what all the hype was about. Judy told him not to bother showing up if you weren’t going to come with.”

“Really?” Warmth pooled your cheeks. “He talks about me?”

“So much that it’d be annoying if it weren’t so cute.”

“Wow…” you sighed. “I didn’t expect that.”

“The Syversons men are very affectionate, so you’ll get used to it.”

“I can tell,” you replied quietly.

“Yeah, Ricky especially, huh?”

You eyes widened at what you’d said and its implication. You shook your head and reverted your attention to anywhere other than her smirk to cool the heat of your cheeks.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say anything like—”

“Oh, girl, please,” she laughed, easing your nerves instantly. “I know my man. I know he loves a pretty woman and you are just his type.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for nodding. Honestly, how do you respond?

“I know we’re a very forward family.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

Alayna giggled. “I hope I’m not freaking you out.”

“I expected worse. I prefer this over what I expected.”

“And you expected Confederate flags, klan robes in the closet and a cross burning in the yard, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I been there. I was just as terrified as you.”

“How’d you get used to it?”

Alayna shrugged. “Time helps. Lots of vetting. Lots of overthinking. You work through it.”

“Hands’re clean!” Sy’s booming voice announced out of nowhere. “Am I allowed to hold my little guy now?”

“We’re trying to have some girl talk, Nicky.”

“Don’t mind me.” Sy crouched down to retrieve Christian from your arms and cradle him to his chest. “Hey, baby boy. Uncle Nicky missed you.”

Alayna’s question about having kids raced back to the forefront of your mind as you watched your boyfriend cuddle a baby half the size of his forearm with love bursting at the seams of his frame.

He was so careful and nurturing. He was so big and Christian was so small. The little boy probably felt so safe and cared for in such massive arms.

The longer you observed, the more you had to suppress a request to give you a baby of your own. If he was the father, you’d have as many as he wanted.

“You’re so handsome,” he continued. “Such a sweetheart. You get it from your mama, don’t you?”

Alayna grinned. “Stop.”

“Can I get in on girl talk now?”

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you to stay outta women’s business?”

“I figured if my boy Christian can be out here and listen in, so could I.”

“It’s nothing, baby,” you insisted.

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“You were supposed to be fixing the washing machine.”

“I was. It ain’t take long.”

“Judy!” Alayna yelled towards the house. “Come get Nicky! He’s being annoying!”

“Water’s wet!” A male voice, presumably Dylan yelled back followed by, “What, Mama? He is!”

Sy rolled his eyes and smirked. “Alright, fine. You ain’t gotta tell me nothing.”

“Good ‘cus we wasn’t going to,” Alayna scoffed.

“I got ways of making this one talk.” Sy nodded to you and winking (it’s more of a blink — it’s one of the few things he can’t do) on his way back inside the house. “C’mon y’all. Let’s eat.”

Every stereotype you’d ever heard about white people and their food didn’t apply to Judy Syverson.

You weren’t well versed on certain southern foods, but you were ready to get acquainted as soon as you entered the dining room and saw the spread she’d prepared. You washed your hands in the kitchen sink and waited patiently by Sy’s side as everyone found their respective seats at the vast dining room table.

Judy was parked at the head of the table like a queen would on her throne watching her loyal subjects get in line. On one side of the table, Alayna and Derek arranged Christian in his high chair, Dylan plopped at the opposite head, and Sy pulled out your seat next to him.

“Been waiting on this all damn day,” Derek grunted, getting comfortable in his chair.

“Woulda been faster if you got your lazy ass in the kitchen and actually helped,” Dylan said, earning a middle finger for his troubles.

“Y’all know he’s useless anywhere other than under the hood,” Sy added.

“Is it “Pick On Ricky Day” or something in this bitch? I didn’t see either of you cook anything either.”

“Y’all are entirely too old to be fussing like this,” Judy mumbled and then gestured to you. “And in front of our guest.”

“She’s practically family already at this point, Mama,” Derek continued. “Let her get used to it.”

“So, we can scare her off?” Dylan chimed in.

“Can y’all be normal and just say grace so we can eat?” Sy groaned. “We’re hungry, right?”

“Ah, we’re embarrassing him in front of his girlfriend,” Alayna teased, practically singing the last word.

“Shut up, Lay.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“Lord help me.” Judy looked towards the sky for a semblance of patience. “Are y’all done? Who wants to do prayer?”

“I will!” Derek announced, taking Alayna’s hand in his and reaching over to grab his mother’s. “Everybody bow heads. Close your eyes.”

The six of you joined hands while Christian gurgled and made multiple attempts to escape the high chair now that his parents were distracted.

You bowed your head and closed your eyes, only half listening to Derek’s prayer. You were mostly distracted by the dish of candied yams in front of you wafting into your nose to truly pay attention.

In the midst of mentally preparing yourself for what you’re scooping into your plate first, a soft peck is planted on your cheek. Your eyes sprung open to catch Sy pulling back to look you over before kissing your face again.

“Stop,” you mouthed but his lips descended behind your ear.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I promise, baby.”

Sy nodded more to himself than you as a way to self soothe. “Okay,” he mouthed now and checked the table to assure the moment was private. Christian’s attention was focused on the food same as yours.

“Amen!” Derek exclaimed. “Let’s eat.”

“Amen,” the table repeated in unison.

You waited by as the Syverson filled their plates, passing dishes and condiments around with some good-natured fussing and teasing. You were content to sip on your iced tea as they did so to not disrupt their usual flow until Sy leaned in again to whisper in your ear.

“You sure yer okay, baby girl?”

“Yeah. I swear.”

“You not hungry?”

“I am,” you said and scanned the table. “I didn’t wanna be rude or anything. Don’t really know where to… ya know. Yeah. ”

“Yer fine. You gotta be a ruthless asshole to get scraps around here anyway,” he mumbled, kissing your cheek again. “But don’t worry. I’ll make your plate. What do you want?”

“They’re cuddling at the table, Mama,” Derek announced, effectively cutting your requests short. “Make them stop.”

“Would it kill you to mind the business that pays you?” Sy asked, taking your plate and loading it up with everything in sight. “If you wanna make her feel comfortable, try being normal and asking questions. Actually, no, don’t ask her a thing.”

“Testy.” Dylan uttered into his macaroni and cheese.

“And who’d you bring home?” Sy replied, handing you your heavy plate and then finishing his.

“Be nice,” Alayna said, scooping a puree of vegetables into Christian’s slobbering mouth. “You know they’re just being funny.”

“Funny, my ass.”

“Didn’t I tell y’all to stop picking on him?” Judy wondered aloud.

“You’re only being nice ‘cus he has a girlfriend now.” Dylan continued.

“She’s being nice ‘cus he’s the favorite,” Derek corrected him.

“Wrong. Both of you.” Judy pointed her fork at Alyna. “She’s my favorite.”

“Ha ha,” Alayna snorted.

“And by extension, I’m your favorite, too, right?” Derek asked.

“That’s not what she said,” Sy sneered.

“Don’t mind them,” Judy told you quietly. “They’re only showing out ‘cus yer here.”

“They’re not usually like this?”

“Oh, no, they’re worse. This is them being nice.”

“I’m honored.”

Your head shot up at the sharp sound of your name from across the table.

“You mind telling us what you see in Nicky?” Derek asked.

“Shut up, Ricky,” Sy groaned. “All you do is talk.”

“You said I should ask questions to get to know her better, so ‘m asking!”

“You’re gonna ruin her meal.”

“The lady can speak for herself.”

“What was the question again?” you finally spoke up.

“I, as all of us are, was wondering what a nice girl like you sees in our darlin’ Nicky.”

Deep down, you knew Derek was just trying to be funny and goad his little brother. You’re used to it from your own siblings.

Your presumptive quietness is clearly mistaken for sweetness.

“Well, he’s quiet for one,” you answered, instantly prompting an uproar so loud from the Syversons that you swear the wooden floor shook and the neighbors down the road would hear.

“Git his ass!” Dylan whooped triumphantly, clutching his chest and stomping his foot. Alayna and Judy hid their laughter behind their hands. Sy smirked to himself, staring his brother down from across the table in a not so subtle warning to leave you the hell alone.

For a split second, Derek feigned offense but eventually grinned in approval. Touché.

Sy matched the grin. That’s my girl.

The Syversons were anything but shy and you liked how nosey they were to a certain extent. For as much as Sy talked about you he skipped out on certain details, so their curiosity was at its highest point.

They asked you about where you’re from and ooh’d and ahh’d when you said Philly, albeit an affluent neighborhood but Philly nonetheless. Their lack of outright judgment made you comfortable enough to dive into how the streets themselves raised you into the woman you are more than your own parents did. When they inquired about them, you told them your father was a prolific tech mogul and your mother was a former manager at a bank before your dad’s company took off and afforded her the stay at home mom lifestyle. She was home but it’d be a stretch to say she was a mother.

You left that bit out.

You told them about the university you go to, your sisters, and what you plan to do once you graduate. The plan itself was dead on arrival but they didn’t need to know that.

After a long moment of talking, it started to feel like you were just conversing amongst friends instead of your boyfriend’s immediate family. Gone were your inhibitions and fear of saying the wrong thing and in its place a sense of belonging and warmth you hadn’t truly experienced until meeting the man beside you.

There was still a fair load of food leftover by the time everyone finished eating and Judy insisted you take some home. Everyone else had the same idea and began packing up their own helpings as you transferred empty dishes to the kitchen.

“Honey, please,” Judy sighed, hurriedly taking the bowls out of your hands. “Give me that and go relax somewhere. You’re our guest.”

“Yeah, but you cooked so much and—”

“ I woulda done that anyway and cleaned up all the same,” she said, flashing a cheeky grin. “Besides, I ain’t have children for no reason.”

Before you could respond, Judy called out for her sons and they piled into the small kitchen with more empty dishes in hand.

“Gone clean up and be quick about it so y’all can get some dessert,” she instructed sharply and the three of them got to work without another word. With your hand in one of hers and a pie pan in the other, Judy whisked you out of the kitchen.

You glanced back to find Sy already watching and silently asking “Are you okay?” with his eyes. You managed to get a quick nod in before Judy pulled you out of his field of vision into the dining room.

Dylan and Derek caught the tail end of the discreet exchange and met eyes behind Sy’s back.

Oh, he’s for real, Derek said.

Weird, right? Dylan replied.

“So, uh,” Derek started, flicking on the faucet and adjusting the water to lukewarm. “Nicky.”

“Hmm?” Sy grumbled, tying off a trash bag.

“You and this girl,” Derek paused, assessing his baby brother’s reaction before continuing. “It’s serious?”

“Yeah,” he answered and then shot a look over at Derek. “How d’ya mean?”

“You brought her home. That’s a big step.”

“Seemed about time.”

“What’s it been — about five or so months?”

“Something close to it.”

“I like seeing you like this.” Dylan chimed in making room in the fridge for everyone’s leftovers. “All grumpy in love.”

“I ain’t grumpy.”

“He says grumpily.”

“Just seems a little early,” Derek continued. “Took at least nine months before I brought Lay around.”

“I might’ve done that too but y’all kept asking about meeting her.”

“Only cus you wouldn’t shut up about her and with all due respect, Nicky, I see why.” Dylan whistled. “Two words: smoke show.”

“Keep your eyes to yourself.”

“And you said she pursued you?” Derek continued, pointing in the direction you’d gone with Judy and then back at Sy.

“That’s not what I said,” he clarified, grabbing another garbage bag to line the can. “She just approached me first. I did all the pursuing.”

“So she wanted you first?”

“Sorta?” Sy’s eyebrow quirked at the logistics and mentally reviewed the extent of what he was going to tell his brothers before adding, “After that night I’m sure she forgot I even existed and then when I saw her again I just went for it.”

“And that worked?”

Sy gestured outwardly as if to say you see it, don’t you?

“God, so you were just hung up on her until then, huh?”

That was putting it lightly. For a solid three weeks after New Year’s, all he could ever think about was the ethereal beauty in a red dress with enticing eyes, glittering skin and megawatt smile behind strawberry flavored lips that bestowed his with a kiss so electrifying it left his entire body tingling.

He’d wake up and you, your face, your everything were on his mind. As time passed, it felt more like a dream. Like you’d never even existed and Sy was so lonely, touch starved and deprived of affection that he imagined the interaction. Were you really there that night? Did you even exist or were you just the embodiment of every last one of Sy’s desires? Had he seen you or were you a figment of his active imagination? Had his desire to be loved manifested so intensely to the point of hallucination? His senses were obstructed he saw what he wanted to see and his brain filled in all the other details like the cinnamon scent of your skin that night, the comfort in your deep voice, or how the curve of your body fit just right in his hands.

Because logically why would a fucking dime like you be in a place like that bar unless Sy conjured it up in a distracted daydream? Who would even believe such a story anyway? The woman of his dreams just so happened to kiss him at midnight and run off in the night like some Texan Cinderella? Yeah, right.

Unashamed, he did ask around about you and his delusions only deepened when no one knew who you were or who he was even talking about. So much for small town gossip. How many fucking models lived in Crowley? How was it that hard to find you again?

In between the doubts of sanity, he was nearly certain you were real. He had the proof in the sticky residue of your lipgloss, your perfume clinging to his shirt even from the brief moment you were pressed against him, and your name floating around in his head. He’d only ever known of one person with that name, so it’s not like it was at the forefront of his psyche to assign to a random woman in a bar.

The faded memory of New Year’s came back in full technicolor when he saw you again. You were real, you existed and you weren’t a figment of Sy’s imagination. Even without makeup and a red dress to enhance your already showstopping looks, you were the perfect image of everything Sy’s ever wanted. Whoever he pictured when his brain conjured up the woman of his dreams was across the bar with a friend in jeans and a hoodie and he’d be damned if he didn’t seize the moment.

Talking to you was as easy as breathing. Albeit nervous in your presence, it all felt so natural. His pretty mystery possessed as much personality as you did beauty and judging by your school sweatshirt, intelligence and brains.

And you actually seemed into him enough to stick around and get annoyed at having to leave. He’s ultimately grateful the bartender who’s known Sy and his family since forever, Mr. Gill witnessed the exchange and convinced him to stop being a pussy and actually swap numbers before you left.

He was forever grateful he listened.

And by the grace of a god Sy swore abandoned him a long time ago, here you were meeting his family for their weekly Sunday dinners.

“Uh, yeah,” Sy mumbled. “Pretty much.”

“The Nicky I know would’ve forgotten about her after about five minutes and if he was truly that hung up on it, he’d parked his pole for the night in some cocktail waitress who didn’t know any better,” Derek chuckled lightheartedly, pouring soap atop the mountain of dishes. “But I get it. She’s a stunner and I’m sure yer making up for lost time now. It’s probably worth it, huh? ”

Sy placed the lid back on the can and pauses, assessing his brother’s statement.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Like all the time you spent searching for her with the glass slipper,” he answered, shrugging nonchalantly and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You can keep her up after midnight now.”

“The hell’re you talking about?”

Derek leveled his brother with an unimpressed stare. “Nick.”

“He’s talking about fucking,” Dylan interjected and skillfully dodged out of the way when Derek launched a sudsy plastic bowl in his direction.

“I was trying to be tact, you jackass.”

“Oh, when have you ever?” Dylan tossed the bowl back in the sink, splashing the front of Derek’s shirt. “Y’know Nicky’s slow. Sensitive and slow like a turtle with sunburn.”

“Which is why I tried to be polite.”

“I’m still here,” Sy grumbled .

“If I were you, I’d punch his lights out for talking about yer woman like that,” Dylan teased, shutting the fridge and leaning against it. “Damn near telling all yer business.”

“You instigating lil’ shit, he knows I ain’t mean nothing by it.” Derek reached over to playfully slap Sy on the shoulder. “Right?”

“I know.” Sy shrugged now too and then mumbling “Not that there’s anything to tell,” under his breath.

He’d be a fool to think his brothers wouldn’t catch that.

“What?” Derek barked, turning the faucet off.

“What?”

“What’d you just say?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“You lying sack of cow shit, yes, you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You think we deaf?” Dylan bristled.

“Can we let it go?” Sy asked and his attempt to exit the kitchen is thwarted by his brothers blocking the entryway and staring at him with matching smirks of mischief.

“Some’ y’ain’t tellin’ us, baby brother?” Derek asked.

“Move.”

“Tell us and we will.”

“I really don’t wanna have to turn Mama’s kitchen upside down ‘cus y’all are being assholes.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, soldier boy,” Dylan practically sang, clapping a rough hand against Sy’s back and guiding him to a seat at the kitchen table. “We’re gonna use our words.”

“I really don’t wanna talk about this with y’all,” Sy insisted, sitting all the while.

“We’re only your brothers,” Derek said, pulling up a seat across from Sy and folding his arms. “We know it’s something, so you might as well tell us.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Seeing as though it probably involves that girl there in the living room with Mama and you’re acting weirder than a pig at a pork n’ beans dinner, I’d say it is.”

“It’s—” Sy started, searching for the word in the sunflower wallpaper p of his Mama’s kitchen ceiling. “So damn dumb.”

“Tell us and we’ll see for ourselves.”

Sy exhaled a heavy sigh, looking back to his brothers with a compunctious sag in his body language and a far off gleam in his eyes.

“We haven’t… she and I haven’t done…that,” he confessed meekly.

Derek and Dylan exchanged another secret look.

“Done what?” the younger brother asked.

Sy awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, meeting neither of their expectant gazes. “Had sex.”

Their expressions shifted to ones of rightful confusion and Sy blatantly ignored them in favor of watching his hands cupped on the table.

“Oh,” Derek said first, trying his damndest to keep any and all smart comments in upon assessing how bothered Sy was.

“This is stupid,” Sy grumbled and rose to his feet to escape the stretched silence. Dylan caught his arm and yanked him back down with much needed force.

“Quit with the dramatics, Nicky. Just sit and talk to us,” he grunted.

“I don’t got none’ to say!”

“Clearly, some’s eating at you.”

“I just feel a little silly is all.”

“Silly because…?”

“This shouldn’t even be an issue but ‘m making it one.”

“Well, d’ya want to…?” Derek asked cautiously, prepping himself for an incredulous answer and sighing in relief when Sy blinked at him like an idiot for assuming otherwise.

“Of course I do,” he answered, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t. I mean who wouldn’t?”

“Yer a better man than me, I’ll tell you that,” Dylan muttered, earning a pointed glare from the oldest Syverson boy.

“Does she not want to? Is that why?”

“She does,” Sy told them, scoffing in disgust at himself and then lowering his voice. “She gives hints and all. It’s me that’s the problem.”

“But you want to.”

“All the fucking time.”

“But you haven’t.”

“No.”

“Because you’re…?” Dylan prompted.

Sy knew the exact word, but saying it aloud meant coming to terms with a lot of internal turmoil he hadn’t planned to address today of all days. It’s something he hadn’t even expressed to you yet and he pretty much told you everything.

But these were his brothers and best friends. They ultimately may not understand the complexities of sexual trauma he’d endured since becoming active when he was barely a teenager that resulted in his fear of intimacy and connecting to sexual partners, but they’d still listen and reserve judgement.

“I’m scared,” Sy admitted.

“Of?” Derek asked.

“Don’t make fun.”

“We won’t,” Dylan promised.

Sy exhaled, avoiding their looks yet again because tears might spring to his eyes if he actually let someone see his soul so bare.

“I’m scared because I love her without having touched her like that and I know I’m gonna get very weird about her once I do and she’ll see a side of me she won’t like,” he said with all the certainty of science. “I’m scared I’m not gonna ever be ready to take on that kinda emotional toll and I’m gonna disappoint her when we do.”

“Love?” Derek and Dylan repeated simultaneously, their expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.

Sy blinked back at them. “Yeah…?”

“Okay, hold on,” Derek continued, waving a hand forward as if to wipe the slate on the conversation. “We’re gonna get to the other stuff in a second, but let’s wrangle it in, Nick. You said you love her.”

“I’m not speaking English?”

“That’s a big damn step to take.”

“It’s the truth. It’s what I feel.”

“Yeah, we know you feel enough for all of us,” Derek uttered, shaking his head. “It’s only been a few months and you think you love her?”

“That’s all the time I needed to know I do.”

“Y’can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“How well d’ya even know her to be saying you love her?”

“Well enough.”

Derek folded his arms over his chest and sighed loudly. “Be serious with me now, boy,” he said and the echoes of their father bounced off the walls with every word. “Yer telling us that after five months of courting, you love this girl?”

“If you ask me this again, I’m gonna make your head do a jumping jack.”

“It’s a valid question, Nicky,” Dylan joined in, rolling his eyes to the side. “That’s damn crazy.”

“Not really.”

“How d’ya even know for sure and you’re not on a rebound or some’?”

“From who?”

Sy’s brothers didn’t outright answer but instead let the silence fill in the blanks. Sy’s face scrunched in disgust at the implication and he immediately shook his head.

“Jesus, from Mallory? Can y’all be serious?”

“It wasn’t that long ago y’all broke up.”

“It’s been a year and a half since I’ve even thought about her, let any other woman,” Sy explained. “For Christ’s sake, I haven’t fucked anyone either.”

Both men regarded him with suspicion.

“You haven’t fucked anyone since you been home?” Derek inquired in hushed tones.

“No.”

“Alicia?”

“No.”

“Tatiana?”

“No.”

“Amerie?”

“No.”

Dylan squinted at him. “Vivica?”

“Hell no.”

The brothers exchanged another look.

“So, it’s really just been—” Derek started.

“Yes,” Sy answered enthusiastically. “I don’t got no interest in anyone else but that was probably gonna be the case anyway. But now? I really don’t want anyone else but her.”

“Can I be crude?” Dylan asked, lifting a finger in question. “How do you even know that you’re actually head over heels if you’ve never had sex? It’s not everything but it’s a huge factor in deciding that kinda thing, ain’t it?”

“Or,” Derek jumped in. “If you’re not on a rebound, how do you know it’s not ‘cus she’s just new? Are you really feeling what you feel ‘cus it’s real or because you haven’t experienced her before the way you have everyone else? What if when you do what you gotta do, the thrill wears off? Will you still love her then or will she turn into Tatiana or Vivica?”

The framing of that question stung something deeply sensitive within Sy. He was more than aware of his past and he wasn’t happy with it. The fact that his brothers were too seemed to worsen the stinging sensation, leaving him tenser than necessary in his seat. They knew of the Sy that would fuck any woman that looked at him too long — whether she was single, taken, married, young, older. Clearly, he wasn’t strict.

That version of Sy was unimaginably unhappy and searching for a semblance of love in whoever was willing to give it for the night. That Sy would be so envious of the one in Judy’s kitchen right now.

“It’s not that I love her ‘cus we haven’t done that yet,” Sy said. “It’s the fact that we never had to and probably won’t ever have to for me to wanna spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Jesus,” Dylan exhales a long breath. “Yer talking crazy.”

“Look, I know y’all don’t get it but I don’t wanna complicate what we’ve got if we’re doing fine without it. Do I wanna get my shit together and do it like any normal couple would? Yes. Fuckin’ yes. But I’m not at a point where I can be with her that way without—”

Sy stopped himself, turning his head away from his brothers and further avoiding their attentive stares.

He knew what he was saying but articulating it resembled glass getting caught in his throat.

He was not going to sit here and tell his brothers that he’s mentally unfit for the sexual aspects of a relationship because of the ghosts of his past still haunting him whenever he kissed you for too long.

He couldn’t so much as imagine you naked without guilt weighing his shoulders down. He still did it, jerked off all the same, and came with your name on his tongue, but he was truly disgusted with himself in the aftermath. What if you thought he was gross for doing that or wanted nothing to do with him when you found out your sleepy voice over the phone late at night was the aid in many an orgasm? He reverted back to a damn teenager the way a simple look, innocent touch or kiss flustered him and left his dick at attention.

Hiding how big of a pervert he was for you was quickly proving to be impossible the more your relationship flourished.

They weren’t going to understand that he equated sex with abandonment or how he gets so lost in his own pleasure sometimes that an inner demon came to the forefront and turned him into a mess of a man with no emotional regulation.

Would they get it if he told them he was prone to getting so overstimulated with endorphins to the point of crying and losing his head in the middle of the act? Or that he's rarely ever had a partner who can bring him back down to earth without judgment?

And the mere thought of you, the most perfect woman he’s ever met, witnessing him break down like that scared the absolute shit out of him.

“Without what…?” Dylan asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“The fuck’re you talking about don’t worry about it when we’re—” Dylan replied but was swiftly cut off by Derek barking out his name.

“Relax,” he warned. “Nicky’s said all he will say and we can just leave it at that without pushing.”

“He’s not making any sense.”

“I’m not asking y’all to make sense of it,” Sy said, rolling his eyes.

“At least make sense to yourself then.” Dylan grimaced. “You say you’re in love after less than six months and you’re not on rebound from Mallory, who you’ve been with for ten years. Fine. Sounds perfectly normal to me.”

“Sometimes it just happens that way. Quit being a horse’s ass,” Derek mumbled.

“I’m not! I’m saying what yer thinking too.”

“This has nothing to do with Mallory,” Sy told them. At least not directly anyway. “Don’t even put them in the same category.”

“Kinda hard not to when you had this same speech when you started dating her, too.”

“I was fifteen!” Sy exclaimed. “Don’t you think I’d be a little smarter and know what ‘m talking about this time?”

“You said you loved Alicia too and she ain’t been around either.”

“Those girls aren’t her.”

“Knowing how you work, she might end up being them.”

“Dyl, shut up!” Derek shouted and placed a hand on Sy’s chest when he hopped out of his seat to pop Dylan into next Sunday. “And you, sit down. He’s just trying to push your buttons.”

Both men do as their eldest brother told them, grumbling about the other under their breaths with their arms folded. Derek scoffed and shook his head at the two of them.

“You’re grown men,” he reminded them to which Sy pointed an accusing finger at Dylan.

“That little bitch started it!”

Dylan grinned mirthlessly. “You don’t wanna know who’s a little bitch between the two of us.”

“Stop it. Jesus H. Christ, I get less from Christian,” Derek groaned, turning to Dylan first. “I suggest you be nice ‘cus next time he gets up I’m not gon’ stop him from putting a hurtin’ on ya.”

He redirected himself to Sy. “And Nicky, listen. Even if we don’t really get what you mean about you and her, we support you a hundred percent. Don’t we?”

The smart retort resting on the tip of Dylan’s tongue washed down with a gulp when Derek glared at him.

“Yeah, we do,” he uttered. “We just don’t wanna see you hurt again, Nick. That’s all.”

“See!” Derek’s gaze softened when he regarded Sy. “He’s an asshole but he cares. And you shouldn’t take anything a twenty-three year old who ain’t never had a girlfriend tell you nothing about how you should handle yers.”

Dylan wasted no time tossing a random utensil from the sink at Derek, lip poked out in defiance. “I have had a girlfriend, asshole!”

“Kissing booth at the county fair don’t count, peewee!” Derek shot back with a delighted chuckle as he launched the wet serving spatula right back and popped Dylan directly in the stomach. Before Sy could stop it, they began tussling and causing a ruckus as they always did, leaving him to watch and laugh.

“Stop all that hassling and wrassling in my house!” Judy’s voice projected from the other room and it did absolutely nothing to stop the two men from rolling around on the kitchen floor in a discombobulated pile. Sy rose to his feet, shaking his head in disappointment that Derek let Dylan get him in a chokehold that quick.

With Christian propped on her hip and Alayna following close behind, Judy zipped passed Sy to behold her oldest and youngest son.

“No hometraining,” she grumbled, shuffling her way over them to turn on the faucet and direct the hose attached to the sink on the two of them. The men disconnected with shouts of protest and the last thing Sy heard before fully exiting the kitchen was Judy threatening to take her belt off for acting an ass with a guest one room over.

Speaking of…

Sy found you in the living room with the family photo album open to a page of his baby pictures, eyes wide with concern at the commotion.

“Is everything—?” you started to ask, but Sy waved it off and joined you on the coach.

“Pay them no mind,” he insisted, kissing your forehead. “Mama showing you the album?”

“Yeah.” You caressed a finger over a photo of him that Sy distinctly remembered from his first day of middle school. “Look at how cute you were.”

Sy analyzed the husky kid with rosy cheeks, bright eyes and unruly curls. Those jeans were so baggy it’s a wonder he didn’t trip in them. He didn’t have a care in the world.

“Cute, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling down at the child he used to be. “My little fat boy.”

Sy snorted. “I think I was eleven or twelve.”

“You don’t look anything like that anymore.”

“Thank god.”

You glanced over at him. “I mean, he’s still in there somewhere, ain’t he?”

“Life might’ve broke him down, if ‘m honest, shug.”

You pondered that for a brief minute and before you could ask him to elaborate, Judy’s voice broke through again.

“Ugh, god,” Sy groaned, rubbing his temples and then standing to his feet with his hand out. “Alright. We’ve had enough for a Sunday, huh? Let’s go.”

You shut the album and he assisted you off the couch. With a vice grip on your hand, he led you to the kitchen where the floor, Dylan and Derek were soaked and pleading their cases, Judy was pissed and cussing them to high heaven and Alayna watched on in amusement with Christian in her arms.

“It’s his fault! He started it, Mama!” Dylan accused, pointing to Sy as soon as he came into view. “Git him, too!”

“Don’t put me in y’all’s bullshit,” Sy snickered, one hand up in mock defense. “We’re just coming to get our leftovers and dessert and we gotta be outta here.”

“You think you’re too good to stay for dessert?” Derek asked.

“Unlike some of y’all, we actually have places to be on a Monday morning.”

Judy shook her head and directed a finger of disapproval at all three of her sons. “You jackals ain’t getting dessert,” she announced with thin lips.

“I ain’t even do nothing!” Sy exclaimed childishly. “They was the ones fighting! Why I’m getting punished, too?”

“For whining!” Judy told him with finality and pointed that same finger at you and Alayna. “The girls can have dessert. The rest of y’all finish cleaning my kitchen and then it’s bedtime.”

“Bedtime? Yer not serious, Mama,” Dylan whined and cut eyes over at his brothers. “See this is all y’all’s fault.”

-

Despite the fact that Sy, Derek and Dylan were grown men with their own jobs, apartments, a kid and a litany of bills, they did as Judy said and cleaned the kitchen and dining room.

Strict program aside, you snuck away with your slice of apple pie and vanilla ice cream and scooped a spoonful into Sy’s mouth when his brothers weren’t looking.

-

Bedtime ended up being ten o’clock and Judy was still pretty upset with the display her sons put on in your presence. Even if you insisted it was fine, she continued reprimanding them for the rest of the night.

Just when Sy thought he was going to get some reprieve and leave, Judy stopped him in his tracks on the way to the door.

“Yer gonna drive this late?” she wondered aloud, eyeing you carefully and then her son as though he was crazy for even thinking about taking you out on the roads at such a time. “Doesn’t seem that safe, does it?”

“We’ll be fine. It’s only ten.”

“It’s dark,” she reminded him. “I’d feel better if the two of y’all stayed here and left tomorrow morning.”

“Ma, she’s got class early in the morning.”

“Darlin’, you don’t mind, d’ya?” Judy peeked around Sy, smiling sweetly at you. “For my peace of mind, I’d really prefer if you stayed here and you can leave as soon as the rooster sings.”

“Oh, uh, no, I don’t mind,” you said and Sy groaned down at his mother.

“She’s saying that to be nice, Mama. I think we’ve shown enough of the Syverson charm for a day and we really do gotta go.”

Judy squinted up at him in challenge when she took your hand from his and made her way towards the stairs. “C’mon, girl,” she said. “You can sleep in Nicky’s old room. It’s just as I left it.”

Annoyed beyond all reasoning and defeated, Sy followed and only reached the second step before Judy whipped around with a stern expression.

“And where’re you going?” she snapped.

“You said we’re going to bed!”

“You are sleeping on the couch.”

“Ma, I’m twenty-six and yer not gonna let me at least sleep in the same bed as my girl?”

“Under my roof? You’ve been in the sandbox too long.” Judy said, effectively ending the interaction and heading the rest of the way upstairs. “Once I get her settled you can say goodnight and I better see you on that couch.”

After giving you a spare toothbrush, a set of Sy’s old clothes to change into, and a silk scarf to wrap your hair, Judy allowed Sy to say goodnight.

“You know I’ll be just downstairs if you need me,” he whispered against your cheek before kissing your skin and encasing you in his embrace. “Okay?”

“Okay, D,” you giggled, playfully pushing him away when you caught Judy strolling by the open bedroom door. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cus you say the word and we’re outta here and we can go back to my place.”

While that does sound fun and ideal, you truly didn’t mind. You gestured to the cramped space with a teasing smirk.

“Your place over this? Be serious.”

“Yeah, okay, funny girl,” he murmurs, kissing you again. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

Sy lingered for a second, refusing to undo his fingers from around yours even when the presence of his mother loomed just outside in the hallway. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but just settled for another kiss and backing away towards the door.

“Like I said, shug,” he went on. “Right downstairs.”

And with that, Judy tucked you in and assured you had everything you needed before checking on her other children and retiring to bed herself. The once rambunctious Syverson home was hushed to a creaky silence now that its occupants were settled in for bed.

You surveyed the room and pictured the teenage Sy from the family album inhabiting it. Judy must’ve kept it as is when Sy left considering the worn Janet Jackson poster above the bed, the He-Man and Wolverine figurines gracing the window seal, and a box crate of porn magazines hidden poorly under the bed.

Your curiosity was piqued by that last artifact but instead of exploring further, you laughed to yourself and laid back down in his twin bed. The mattress was thin and the box springs were subtly poking their way through, but it was weirdly comfortable. To lay where the man you might be in love with laid before he was that man was more wholesome than you initially thought; it felt like a big hug.

Like he was almost there.

He was closer than you thought.

-

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[mrsevans90]

The War Horse Rebellion-20

Biker Syverson x OFC Allie Hilton

Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the War Horse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Allison “Allie” Hilton 

Warnings: Yelling, drama, cursing, foul language, 18+ only, excessive drinking, explicit sexual descriptions, consensual rough lovemaking, PinV, Fingering, Oral (m/f), shower intercourse,

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+ MATURE CONTENT

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 19

Allie’s POV: 

We spend a blissful afternoon together, and I feel certain that things are on the right track with Austin and I once again so I allow myself to fully relax into his presence. We eventually get ourselves dressed up and head to the bar where all of the Rebels who are stateside are in attendance, with their wives and girlfriends. Corralled in the Rebel’s section of the bar, we are all having an amazing time laughing and catching up. Eliza and Bananas are extra lovey with each other and it makes me so happy for them. I really like Bananas, and Eliza has turned into one of my closest confidants. I’ve known her for such a short time, but feel closer to her than I ever felt with any of the frenemies back in Charlotte.

After about an hour, we are all interrupted from our conversations when Bananas taps on his whiskey glass and says, “I need your attention!” Thinking he was drunk or something, we all share a good-natured chuckle before obliging. 

“Liza, baby, I need to tell you something.” Rolling her eyes at his dramatic playfulness, she turns from where she was talking to me and answers him. 

“Let me guess, you want to ask for something too inappropriate to speak of in mixed company?” She smarts as she steps toward his extended hand and places her dainty palm in his.

“Only if you consider this inappropriate?” From his pocket, Bananas reveals a red ring box and immediately drops to one knee. Eliza gasps in surprise at his actions and honestly, so do I. Not from the proposal but from seeing a serious expression wash over Bananas features. He’s always playful and jovial, yet now he looks like a nervous kid.

“Baby girl, you know I’m downright obsessed with you and I’m so grateful that you put up with me. You’re my best friend and I wanna lock you down for the rest of your life, because one day my good looks might fade and with this ring, you’ll have to stay with me anyway. So, will you marry me?” He asks with a chuckle at the comment about his good looks. Eliza uncharacteristically has silent tears staining the cheeks of her flawless makeup as she stares down at the man before her with so much love. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? YES!” She whispers through tears and before even sliding the ring on her, Bananas jumps up, yelling triumphantly, picking up Eliza and spinning her in circles. When he places her back on her heels, he kisses her passionately and all of the whoops and hollers from the crowd of both rebels and bar attendees are deafening. When they finally break for air, he removes the beautiful diamond ring from the box before placing it at her fingertips and sliding it onto her third finger. 

“I wanted to make the diamond banana shaped but Sy said you’d kill me. He said I better go with square, or round to keep you from saying no.” He announces proudly and I glance to Syverson who’s wearing a shit eating smirk. 

“Thank God, Sy. Someone needs to reel him in.” Eliza giggles as she addresses my boyfriend and her proverbial big brother figure.

“You got a whole lifetime of keeping him in check now, I reckon.” Sy chuckles before raising a whiskey glass to the couple. The other Rebels all quickly join in and wait for Sy to speak. To my surprise, my typically quiet boyfriend stands proudly as he calmly addresses the entire bar with authority.

“Bananas and Eliza are the epitome of true love, loyalty, and the existence of soulmates. We all wish you a long and happy marriage. Cheers!” 

Everyone clinks their glasses together and throws back their drinks as Bananas bends over and dips Eliza into an extravagant kiss. Wiping the happy tear from my cheek, Eliza turns to me and excitedly shows me the gorgeous cushion cut ring on a white gold band. It’s classy and beautiful and set perfectly on her petite hand with bright red manicured nails.

Congratulating her and complimenting the ring, we hug tightly and then I hug Bananas whose energy is palpable as his adrenaline pumps through him. Eliza hugs Syverson and thanks him for his proposal input, before they make their rounds to celebrate with the others. Smiling at the happy couple, I turn to Sy who was already watching me.

“How long have you known?” I ask.

“He’s been planning for a while, but didn’t get the ring until about two weeks ago. That was one of the reasons that I was late getting home last week. Eliza was cleaning the house and he was worried she’d find it. He needed me to keep the ring and help plan. You know he’s chaotic and not logistically minded. Plus, he's shit at keeping secrets.” He replies with a smirk. 

“You had the ring? Where?” I ask inquisitively.

“I’m not revealing my hiding place.” He squints at me and I roll my eyes playfully.

“I’m so happy for them.” I smile once again as I watch the couple beaming with joy behind us. 

“That somethin’ you’d want to do one day? Get married? Or did your last experience put ya off of that forever?” Austin asks me over the rim of his glass of whiskey and my heart jumps.

“If it was my choice, and with the person I loved, then I’d absolutely want to get married. But I don’t think I’d want some sort of spectacle. I’ve been forced into being the center of attention my whole life, so that doesn’t interest me much.” I smile sadly. Syverson just nods before taking another sip of his whiskey.

“What about you?”

“Never thought I was the marriage type to be honest. Seemed like more work than it was worth, but I’m coming around to the idea. Maybe one day.” He says and I feel a pang of disappointment that he didn’t seem fully persuaded but I just nod and pick up my drink and toss it back with a bit more enthusiasm than normal.

After several more rounds of drinks, and hours of laughter, the newly engaged couple took their leave to celebrate on their own. After they left, Sy had informed me that Bananas had transformed their house today while she was working. Several dozen rose pedals and flameless candles covered their home so that he could add the romance part of the night for just them to share. Sy had provided a nice bottle of champagne for the couple and promised to make it clear that they are not to be bothered the rest of the weekend. That was a necessary warning mainly for Dalton and Jared who were notorious for showing up at random times when they got bored. 

I was loving every moment of this tension free time with Sy. It was like the beginning of our relationship again. Tipsy, I was perched in Syverson’s lap with his arm tightly wound around my waist. I could feel him twitch and harden under me as I covertly wiggled every once in a while, like it was accidental. Subtly reaching for my drink so that I’d have to bend over with my ass on him, or twisting to the side to whisper something in his ear where my breasts were at eye level for him. Smiling at a story that Luis was telling, I unconsciously shiver when Sy’s beard brushes against my neck just below my ear. 

“Bout ready to head on home?” He asked in that deep timber that makes me wet with anticipation. Turning toward him, I looked deep into his eyes and nodded slowly. I watched Syverson’s eyes jump from mine to my lips before returning to my gaze as his eyes darkened.

Oh yes! Things really are getting back to normal!  I thought to myself as the eagerness rushed through my body. 

Playfully, I lean over once more to place my drink back on the table and feel his palm clench against my hip, pressing himself as tightly to my ass as possible and grinding just subtly that nobody would notice. Standing, I turn and look down at him still seated. His thick legs still parted with a burgeoning bulge at the apex, tight t-shirt covering his flat torso with the sleeves straining under the extent of his biceps. That mischievous eyebrow arch made it clear that he knew what game I had been playing all evening with him, and he seemingly was enjoying it. Biting my bottom lip in that way that I know he loves, I step closer in between his legs and bend to reach for my bag on the back of the seat behind him. Syverson steadies me with his hands on my hips and I watch his eyes as he looks at mine before dragging them shamelessly down to my ample cleavage. Sy obviously doesn’t care that we’re in public as he stares at my breasts like a teenage boy discovering his first nude magazine, and I’ve never felt more powerful and sexy in my life. Allowing him a good look while I flip my hair over my shoulder, I slowly adjust my top and stand up straight while returning to my innocent act. 

“Ready baby?” I whisper. Lowly, I hear a growl under his breath as he mutters something that I can’t make out due to the noise in the bar. Quick as a flash, he swats one palm on my ass cheek causing me to softly squeal at the abruptness. Standing, Sy discreetly adjusts himself in his denim behind my frame before speaking. 

“We’re heading out.” He announces, followed by boos from mainly Jared and Dalton.

“Oh c’mon Sy! It’s a night to celebrate!” Dalton announces drunkenly. 

“I’ll be celebrating, don’t ya worry.” Sy says arrogantly and that gets the drunk guys hooting and hollering once more as my blush reddens my cheeks. Mike’s behind the bar tonight and we stop by to say our goodbyes while Syverson ensures that Mike will oversee the drunkards making their way home.

“Y’all good? Iron everything out?” Mike asks Sy who wraps my hand tighter in his and nods.

“Yeah, thanks man. I appreciate it.” Sy responds and I smile gratefully.

“How’s your back and ass from those big scary porch stairs?” Mike goads. Syverson rolls his eyes and flips him off as he leads us to the exit while Mike cackles exuberantly in the background at his own joke. 

Drinking in the gentle breeze and calmness as soon as we exit the building, we silently make our way to Austin’s motorcycle. Placing a sweet kiss to my lips, we secure our helmets and are bolting through the night as the streetlights blur and stretch in the background. Once home, I struggle slightly walking from the garage across the gravel driveway as I’m a bit tipsy and wearing some tall heels that Eliza had ordered for me at her boutique. It was fun getting to experiment with my wardrobe in a way that I have never been able to before.

Sy quickly offers his arm and before I can protest, he whips his other arm behind me and carries me up the stairs to the door. I giggle freely at the spontaneity and playfulness that I’ve missed sharing with him. Refusing to put me down, Syverson impressively unlocks the front door while holding me and carries me as he while kicks off his boots, tosses his keys on the bookshelf, and locks the door; only stopping to place me on the kitchen counter once he was done. 

“These shoes are somethin’ else, Sugar, but I know your dogs must be barkin’.” He implies that my feet must be sore and sweetly unclasps and removes my stilettos and places them on the floor. Reaching toward the cabinet, he fills a cup with ice water and hands it to me encouraging me to drink it as he rubs my sore feet. His big hands are incredibly nimble as he kneads my feet and I moan somewhat sexually as he hits a good part.

“Now, Sugar, you can’t be making noises like that if you just want me to rub your feet.”

“What if I want you to do something else?” I flirt and he smirks.

“And what might that be?” The alcohol still remaining in my system allows me to bypass any shyness about asking for what I want. 

“I want you to rip my clothes off, bend me over this counter, and fuck me so hard that I can’t walk after.” I bravely request.

Pausing momentarily, Austin smiles and replies with a gentle and loving caress to my cheek.

“How about we go upstairs and I’ll make love to you.”

My liquid inhibitions cause me to break eye contact and groan which causes Syverson to pause with pure offense.

“Now what did I say to cause that reaction?” He asks.

“Austin, I don’t know why you’re treating me like I’m made of glass. Ever since I was in the hospital, it’s like you’re scared to touch me!” I almost yell at him out of frustration.

“That ain’t true! I’m always touching you.” He defends and I roll my eyes uncharacteristically at him and cross my arms like a petulant child as my legs hang off of the counter.

“Are you unhappy with our sex life?” He asks with a bit of hurt slipping through his controlled mask.

“No..well, not really. I just feel like you’re scared to touch me or like something is off. Don’t get me wrong, I love when you’re slow and intimate and meaningful, but lately I’ve been missing the Syverson that spontaneously grabs me and is a bit rough with me. It’s kind of a turn on when you toss me around.” I admit the last part quietly.

“I.. Sugar, I just don’t want to be like the people who have hurt you before. I don’t want to be rough with ya and accidentally hurt you. I couldn’t bare to see the bruises I left on you after the…accident.” 

“You never had a problem with it before.” I retort and am speechless at Sy’s response.

“That was before I knew what it was like to see you actually hurt. I watched you die, Allie! Damnit! I still watch you die every night while you’re asleep in my arms! I can’t ever stop it in my dreams so excuse me for trying to be delicate with you now that I see how fragile you are!” He screams as he stares at the floor.

My eyes well with tears as I hear the hurt and worry in his voice. 

“You…. You’ve been dreaming of me dead?” I ask quiet as a mouse, but Sy doesn't respond.

"Talk to me." I plead.

“I can’t ever get there in time to stop him. It’s like I’m running in slow motion and when I get there it’s too late.” Sy still refuses to make eye contact with me.

Pulling his arm that’s closest to me, I attempt to pull him towards me. He barely budges initially, but then gives in and walks toward me, resting his head on my shoulder so that I still can’t see his eyes. 

“Baby, you did save me. All of that is just a terrible nightmare and I wish you would’ve told me so that I could be there for you. I’m so sorry.” I allow an errant tear to stream down my face at the thought of Syverson struggling silently.

“Look at me, please.” I beg as I place my palms on each side of his scruff. 

“I love you and I’m here and you did save me. You would never hurt me or let me get hurt. I know that. Do you?”

Austin’s eyes are red rimmed as though they are physically fighting off the tears that threaten to breach his eyelids as he nods.

“Say it.” I demand.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you.” He says.

“And…” I prompt.

“And I did save you in time. I won’t hurt you.”

“One more thing…” I smirk and he actively thinks about what more I could be waiting for. Leaning in his ear, I whisper, “You love me.” 

Smiling he nods and says, “I love ya, Sugar.” Deciding to just let my previous frustration go now that I know the reason behind it, I grab his cheeks once more and speak.

“Just know that I’m not as delicate as you think I am, okay?” I say and kiss him cutely on the nose. He nods and then smirks when I jump off of the counter grabbing my heels.

“Head on upstairs and I’ll lock up.” He tells me and I nod.

Making my way into our bathroom, I decide to hop in the shower. Letting the water warm, I shed my clothes messily in the floor and step under the spray. I’m reaching for the body wash when I feel Austin enter the shower behind me, but I’m not at all expecting his next actions.

A sharp but painless tug to the back of my soaked hair has me startling with a gasp. Turning quickly, I see the most mischievous look in Austin’s eye before he smashes my face to his in a heated and overwhelming kiss. Our tongues fight for control and I quickly concede, allowing him to maneuver my head where he wants it in order to deepen the kiss. My wet body is pressed tightly to his damp skin, where his massive erection presses against my stomach due to our height difference. Syverson’s large palms are on either side of my face as he dominates the kisses that feel downright sinful in the best way. Pulling back for air my eyes search his and he presses a kiss to my forehead before speaking.

“You wanna be tossed around? Wanna be fucked rough and spontaneously?” His voice is so deep it’s like gravel as I melt around his words and nod eagerly.

“Can I trust your gonna tell me if you don’t like somethin’ or if it’s too much?”

“Of course, baby. I know you won’t ever hurt me.” I say with confidence emanating from my voice in hopes that he will feel the pure trust that I have in him.

“Promise?” He grunts as if he’s physically holding himself back.

“I swear.” I mutter and before I can even take a breath, Sy has pushed me against the freezing tile wall and consumed every each of my body with his pressed tightly against it. I chirp in his mouth from the shock of the cold, but also from the anticipation that’s writhing through me. Sy’s right hand slides up my body and grabs the back of my neck under my drenched hair while the left hand harshly kneads my breasts as he ruts his erection against me. I moan into the kiss when his hand leaves my breast and trails down to my soaking wet pussy. He takes his time as he enjoys feeling my body, and presses against my clit just enough for me to squirm before backing off and sliding first one thick finger before the other into my clenching cunt. My leg wraps around the back of his at the intrusion and he begins pumping them in and out while pressing against my sensitive button at different intervals. I feel him scissoring his digits to gently stretch me before sliding in a third and I can’t help the pitiful mewl that escapes me. Embarrassingly, I come so quickly that I don’t even have time to warn him, but he must’ve known due to him whispering “that’s right, sugar. Lemme’ have it-” in my ear just moments prior. My head falls back against the tile as the euphoria of my climax pours through me and Syverson quickly rakes his scruffy beard across my sensitive neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake as he works me through it.

Slowly removing his fingers, I open my eyes to see him towering above me with hunger in his eyes. Reaching down, now that I have feeling in my limbs once more, I reach for his cock and wrap my fist around it, stroking him gently. He allows me to palm him for no more than a few moments before he single-handedly turns my body and presses me against the cold glass on the other side of the shower. The hot water is now beating down my back as my breasts are flush against the clear divider and Sy wipes away the condensation at my face.

“Want you to look at your face when I put my cock in ya.” He growls against my ear and I swear, I involuntarily clench just at his voice and demeanor. Lifting one of my legs higher to give himself room, he practically picks me up as he slides into me. Seeing our somewhat foggy reflection in the mirror is beyond erotic as he has me splayed open and ruts into me from behind. I have to force myself to keep my eyes open as the overwhelming sensation of his girth and length calls me to close them in utter bliss. Picking up his pace, I can’t help but press my cheek against the glass as I focus on how this man can be everywhere all at once. He’s practically holding me in the air due to our height difference while also pressing me against the shower wall and absolutely ravaging me while still placing pressure on my sensitive bundle of nerves. I feel my body begin to crest closer towards my release when he suddenly removes himself and I audibly whimper in disappointment.

Without a word, Sy turns me around to where I am facing him and sets me on the bench that is built into the shower. His cock is eye level with my mouth and I wet my lips in anticipation as I reach for him. Stepping out of my reach, I look at him with confusion before this bear of a man gets down on his knees and pulls me to the edge. Silently, he kisses the insides of my thighs before nipping at them as he makes his way to my drooling juncture. When he finally reaches his destination, his tongue wastes no time as he begins to sloppily make out with my petals before sucking on my clit. His fingers trail up and join his ministrations and when he inserts them, I realize I’m close again. Reaching down, I place my hands on the soft fuzz of his buzz cut as he stares up at me with those cerulean blue eyes that watch me intensely while he pleasures me. My legs are propped on his shoulders as I do my best to remain still even though I can’t help but squirm with desire.

“Baby..Sy.. I’m gonna… come.” I stutter as I hit my peak and release a moan so graphic that I’m grateful we are in private. Once again, Sy carries me through the aftershocks of my euphoria as I begin to regain feeling in my extremities. Syverson stands and I reach for him as I quickly guide him into my mouth. He groans with satisfaction at my unexpected reciprocation, but tries to protest. 

“You’re not calling the shots here.” He pants as I suck him from base to tip. I’m sure I look like a wet rat but he doesn’t seem to mind when I nod and hum around him while fondling his testicles. Pulling back just enough, I whisper, “Fuck my mouth” and return him to my open lips. Austin looks up at the ceiling before biting his fist as he slowly and gently begins gyrating his hips. Reaching for his hands, I place them on my head as I look up at him from beneath my lashes and he continues his gentle ministrations until I force myself down on him until I gag. He quickly retreats, but I grip his hips and do it again. 

“Fuck, darlin’, don’t hurt ya-self” he grunts and although uncomfortable to do, I’m feeling so powerful as this man whines in pleasure. We continue for a few more minutes before he grips my wet hair, gently tugging me off of him.

“But I wanna-“ I protest but he hauls me up on my feet and then lifts me fully off of the floor against him. My legs are wrapped around his waist and my breasts are in his face as inserts himself and begins pumping inside of me. I’ve never felt as full as I do in this position, literally split open on top of him while he supports my entire body weight. Syverson doesn’t waste a moment and simultaneously gropes my ass while sucking on my boobs. I gasp in pleasure as this man roughly thrusts into me and his presence surrounds me from every single angle. 

“Oh fuck, Sy!” I moan and he catches my lips, nipping my plump bottom lip as he does. 

“Ya wanted me to do you dirty and rough, huh?” He growls against my boob as I nod dumbly in agreement.

“Is this what you wanted? What you needed? Me taking you raw and hard against the shower walls?

Lost in pleasure, I nod again but that doesn’t satisfy him.

“I can’t hear ya. I want you to say it.” He demands and I hastily respond.

“God yes, baby! I needed it.” 

“Needed to be my naughty girl, huh?” He smirks as he slams into my wet hole.

“Uh huh! Wanted to be -- your – naughty girl.” I reply between breath taking thrusts.

“Tired of being my good girl?” He grins with a thrust and I shake my head.

“Uh uh” is the only reply I can give as I’m cresting closer and closer towards another orgasm. 

Reaching down, Sy thumbs my clitoris and I clench as I’m right at the edge.

“C’mon Sugar. I know you’re right there.” He slams into me while putting pressure on my spot and within seconds I shatter. My whole body feels like it’s rushing with white hot pleasure as it runs through my veins and to my extremities. I feel myself fall limp while my body clenches in spasms as Sy hits his own climax and shoots his release deep inside of me. I’m just beginning to regain my composure as he becomes spent, and I wrap my arms around his neck helping to support the weight of our position while he basks in our shared indulgence. Sy rests his head on my breasts as I stroke the softness of his buzzcut once more.  

Carefully and exhaustedly, I remove myself from him and place each shaky leg on the ground while leaning against the tile to keep me upright. I reach for the body wash and begin soaping Syverson who allows me this aftercare. After washing his body, I angle him towards the water that is now room temperature at best. Sy greedily returns the favor and begins gently soaping my body with a sly grope or two before washing my hair. I help him condition it since he’s never had hair as long as mine, and when we are thoroughly rinsed we wrap into our fluffy bath towels and dry off. 

Heading into the bedroom, we get under the covers and I admire his godlike physique for a moment before snuggling into him, fully satiated. 

“Feeling better?” His voice echoes under my ear that is pressed against the soft curls of his chest hair.

“Much. You?”

“I’m good. Just wish you would’ve told me this was what you needed.” He replies and I arch my brow before leaning up to lock eyes with him.

“I wish you would’ve told me about the nightmares. That you would’ve let me in rather than pushing me away. I was sure you were over me now that the “chase” was over.” I sigh and Syverson presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“No way, darlin’. I’ll never be over you. I just want to protect you and it just didn’t seem right to be rough with you after everything ya’ been through.”

“You’re the only one who can be rough with me.” I smirk and he cutely waggles his eyebrows at me.

“I think my girl’s getting kinky on me.” He chortles and I decide to buy into the joke.

“Yup, got a whip, blindfold, and handcuffs arriving next week. I can’t wait to tie you up.” Syverson stops laughing as his eyes grow wide as saucers.

“Little darlin’, I’d let you do a lot to me but I’ll be the one tying you up blindfolded.” He says but I giggle at the image of him laid out at my will. Hmm, I might actually like that, but the thought of him tying me up and blindfolding me has me slightly more excited. We banter for a bit more until my yawns become so frequent that I find myself drifting off. Before allowing my sleep to fully take me under, I whisper to Syverson. 

“I’m here, and I’m not going to die. You saved me and you always will.” 

Chapter 21:

A/N:

Sorry this has been a bit slow- this chapter feels a bit lackluster to me, so I apologize! I may edit it some more later but after two days of staring at it, I decided to just go ahead and post it for you all. I can't seem to pinpoint exactly what this chapter is lacking for me, but I hope some of you enjoy. Hope every one of you had a lovely Thanksgiving! I'm thankful you choose to share your time with me! ❤️

[just-chirpin]

NOT THE OP for that latest ask (about Sy pushing Reader too far), but I have been thinking about something like that too! Specifically, the part where Sy is kind of "being mean", essentially teasing her. And Y/N says it's because he came before her. I don't know why, for a second there, I did think, oh maybe she's going to actually cry but it went away super quick. There is also that mention of not being comfortable with tickling and things like that. To be honest, I don't see any other way Sy would "go far" in any way.

Unrelated to this, but there is one scene that I feel like there is SO MUCH to expand on, is the one where they have a date where Sy is dirty cuz he's working in his garage and then Y/N cozies up to him on the couch. It's in a chapter I re-read a lot. Ma'am, will there be any garage sex in future?? 👉👈

hi hello! I'm just here nibbling up any and all feedback and ideas, thank you!!

This is gonna be fun to play with. I'll have to do a one-shot for sure cause it wouldn't fit in the rest of ETS, both the Pushing Too Far and the Garage bit, which I am equally frothing at the mouth over.

Pushing Too Far

I think it would happen like this.

Sy is proud of Y/N and how she's been gradually and steadily opening up in bed (there is a lingerie scene that I've decided to incorporate into ETS whereas I originally planned it to be another one-shot...but it's an example of her growing more and more comfortable). Their sex life is great, they're both more than happy with it, so in love, so horny for each other, and by this point they've done it in just about every position in tons of places, and Sy's gotten rougher at certain times, too (consensually).

Instead of him actually doing something in bed that's "too far", he actually says something, and while he means what he says as praise (which Y/N loves), she interprets it as degrading.

From the time Sy whispers the slur, even prefixing it with "my perfect," and ""my sweet little" and "such a good"--the mood is over. Y/N's body freezes entirely as her mind goes to a bad place. All she knows is Sy called her a whore, or a slut, or whatever else it is that he murmurs, and she doesn't like it, not at all, not at all, she's not that, she doesn't want to be that. And it's maybe ten seconds later that Sy catches her face scrunched up and her eyes getting damp, and not in a good way.

So THAT'S gonna be heartbreaking to read but you bet your ass I'm gonna (eventually) write it.

As for the tickling thing, that's just gonna piss her off one day in the future when she's seriously grumpy and too hormonal to think rationally and simply just tell him to knock it off. All she fucking cares about is just not being touched right now, and she already wriggled away from the first tickle, so FUCKING STOP IT, SY, GOD!

So yeah, that would be a legitimate silent-treatment day for them both because they're both surly and cross with each other. Over tickling. Which Sy has learned is an excellent way of getting her to loosen up sometimes because her body naturally falls into his when he does it, and then he can wrap his arm around her and pull her in close.

(But it would be sickly sweet in bed that night when they both apologize and have pillow talk and Y/N would cry that she's sorry, she's just not been feeling herself lately and maybe she needs to change up her meds because she would *never* snap at Sy like that or cringe at his touch [even if he needed to take the hint earlier and stop the fucking tickling], and then the next day she just gets plain sick and miserable, and then she starts throwing up the day after that, and THEN she misses a period, and THEN!)

Garage Scene

Um. Um. I think you'll just have to wait until I can write this. You've given me so many thots....

In the summertime, in the middle of the day...Y/N wants to bring her hardworking man something cold to drink. But she can't find him out in the back yard, so unless he's in the field clearing out trees with Johnny, she goes to the next most likely place...finds him in the garage. There's a giant industrial sized fan in the back corner that's not doing much to cool down the hot air in the building, and it's loud enough that it also doesn’t give her away when she steps inside and gets her fill of Sy. He's on his back underneath a car, the only visible parts of him being his chest-downwards. Dirty white shirt, dirty blue jeans, the stereotypical mechanic look since his navy blue jumpsuit's in the washer.

THINGS HAPPEN.

[just-chirpin]

the friend fic

the friend fic (part one) As the sister of Sy's best friend, at first you mainly tolerated Sy being around. Until that tolerance turned into a fondness. Until that fondness turned into a hidden crush. Until that crush turned into…something you didn't want to label.

Syverson x Reader, adult characters but with high-school flashbacks

Words: 2.5k

A/N: No warnings yet. Not sure how many parts it'll be, but probably about three or four.

A/N 2: is this me.....writing in past tense???

The Superbowl. The biggest game of the year. The time to overeat, to get drunk, to get loud. All over a bunch of men running back and forth on TV. 

You couldn’t care less about it.

Yet here you were, anyway, wearing an oversized football jersey, eating your third plate of food, donning a neverending grin on your face at the corniest commercials. Sports or not, it was your best friend Katie’s house, surrounded by all your mutual friends, and there, you could be yourself. Best of all, your boyfriend was at his own Superbowl party, so you didn’t feel the need to behave a certain way or anything. You could be one-hundred percent you. No external judgment in sight. 

You didn't dwell on the fact that maybe that wasn't an especially normal thought to have about a boyfriend. 

It was easy not to dwell, anyway, when Sy's been next to you on the couch all evening. He was always so particular about having the seat on the left of the sofa whenever he came over to Katie's because it could recline, so before he even claimed it to start with, you chose the middle seat.  And that's where you've stayed.

It was a safe distance away where only your knees touched from time to time, yeah, but it was still close enough. Comfortable. A comfort you haven't had in a long, long time, it seemed. The comfort of just…being near a person who understood you. The familiarity. 

For as much history you two have had as friends–some good and some admittedly not so good–there was still that comfort there. Always would be, you thought to yourself. 

Anyway, he just got up to walk into the kitchen with your brother, so, naturally, it was obvious what you were going to do. First, you stared at his back for a few minutes, and second, you scooted over to his recently-vacated spot on the couch.

Casually scrolling through your phone while keeping your peripheral vision tuned into the kitchen, you noticed the very second Sy started walking back to the living room, and when you saw movement in front of you, you acted like you ignored it. Even when Sy cleared his throat, you continued ignoring it, eyes glued to your phone.

Sy tapped your foot with his own. “I was sittin’ there,” he finally said when he was directly in front of you.

Still keeping your gaze averted to your phone, you shrugged and asked, “Were you?”

A pause. Trying not to smirk, you glanced up. 

He simply gave you one little look, and your eyes got big while you froze. He wouldn’t dare.

Just as he started to lunge for you, you shrieked and leapt over the back of the couch. It made your phone fly out of your grip, but you didn’t care; you giggled maniacally as Sy tried to catch you. Joke was on him, though. He was too damn stocky to be a match for your agility. You quickly made it out of the entire room before he could even get close. 

Or so you thought. Breathing heavily, Sy caught you in the hallway easily, and after he ran in front of you to block your advancement to the back door, he crouched down and wrapped his arms around your waist. When he stood upright again, it was with your entire body draped over his shoulder. 

As he began marching down the hall like everything was normal, you pounded on his back with closed fists. “Sy!”

“What’s that noise?” Sy calmly asked himself under his breath. 

“Let me down!”

Sy turned quickly to the left, and you almost knocked your head against the wall. “Who is that?”

“It’s me, you asshole!” you hit his back again and called out, almost laughing but not giving him the pleasure to hear it. “Let me down!”

“I thought I heard…” Sy turned again and finished walking down the hall, choosing to go into the dining room instead of the den where all the activity currently was. “Nah.”

“Syverson,” you firmly said while kicking your feet. “Let–me–down!”

“Sounds like someone’s sayin’ my last name, but I can’t…really…hear.”

Upside down, you could tell you were finally about to approach the back door. “Alright, alright, you win,” you told him breathlessly. “That what you wanna hear? You win.”

Sy let you down on flat ground again, and almost smugly, he smiled. “Always do.” 

While all the blood from your head rushed back down your body, you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Dick," you muttered without meaning it at all, and he offered a smile.

After you opened the back door and walked outside to the deck, Sy followed you. “Don’tchu wanna go back in there and see the halftime show?”

“Ah, I don’t care," you said. 

You took a seat on the outdoor loveseat while catching your breath, and Sy stepped closer to you while looking towards your lap for some reason. After a moment that couldn't possibly be hesitation but sure as hell seemed like it, he sat down heavily in front of you. His giant figure made the chair he selected look like it was designed for a child. 

"Your band's playin', though." 

Blankly, you stared at him. 

"That band you saw in high school," he supplied.

"Gonna have to gimme somethin' more than that, Sy…"

While thinking, he waved his hand in front of him. "The--The fuckin'…The one from England. You know. You saw 'em before I–"

You tilted your head to the side. 

"Damn, Y/N," he said incredulously, dropping his hand, "you don't even know who's playin' the Superbowl halftime show?"

Ooh. You knew which band he was talking about now. 

And you knew why he cut himself off, too. He was about to say "you saw 'em before I shipped out". But he didn't. He didn't say that. And the reason why is because he didn't want to touch that subject. Didn't even want to risk bringing it up. 

After all this time, you still haven't talked about the party the night before he and your brother left for Basic Training. Not a word. You've been pretending the night just…didn't happen. It was better that way. 

-O-

In high school, your brother and Sy signed up for the fucking Army together, literally seconds apart, standing side by side in the cafeteria, using the same exact black pen and everything. 

(You've since learned that the military forbids any type of pen that writes in any other color besides standard black.) (You've since learned more about the Army than you've ever thought to be possible, actually.) 

Recruiters visited the school every year, dangling a bunch of promises and perks at seniors with too-few options of collegiate success, and they successfully made their pitch. They roped them all in. They got your brother. They got Sy. 

The pep rally that hosted them encouraged the whole thing, cheering for the students who stood in a line in the middle of the basketball court with their hands clasped together at the smalls of their backs. The new class of recruits.

Before Sy and your brother left town, they'd thrown a party. A big one, a huge one, an epic one. A night that people still talk about an entire decade later. A barn party off the grid from any trouble from the law. 

Over a hundred people were there, about the size of Sy's graduating class. Older than you. Cooler than you.

You'd tried hanging drink-for-drink with them–even did a keg stand or two away from the hovering watch of your brother–and you proceeded to get drunk. You proceeded to get embarrassingly, shit-faced, throw-up-in-the-grass drunk. 

Sy had gotten a new girlfriend. Another one. That's what started the whole thing. Thinking about it now seemed so stupid because you'd never had any chance with him, but still–it hurt. 

It hurt. 

So the party was supposed to be a perfect opportunity to just…let loose. To just forget about the nonexistent chance with Sy. To forget that he and your brother were joining the fucking Army in the first place. 

Sometime between beers five and six, you found a random pair of eyes looking at you from underneath a dirty ballcap, someone you didn't recognize. Someone from another school.

The outfit was the same as all the other guys, though. The same old generic blue-jeans, white t-shirt, and dark pair of boots. A look that screamed "I'm a lifetime sponsor of the FFA". You figured he’d do.

So you drank with him until that turned to laughing with him until that turned to touching until that turned to full-on sloppy kissing until that turned to groping one another without a care who saw.

Sy saw. Sy intervened.

“Christ. What the hell do you think you’re doin’, Y/N?”

Drunkenly, you slurred, “Whassit look like? Makin’ out with…” You giggled and leaned into the guy holding onto you. “What’s your name again?”

Before the guy could even answer, Sy simply pointed at him. “Go fuck off somewhere else,” he brusquely said over all of the loud noises of music and people shout-talking surrounding you, and, after very obviously looking down at Sy’s boots and then up his entire body until his eyes reached the ire of Sy’s eyes, the guy beside you took one large step back and then disappeared entirely from your side. 

With your jaw dropped, you instantly turned to face Sy head-on, squaring your jaw and defiantly lifting your face. You pushed yourself up on your tip-toes to make yourself taller, but within seconds, you lost your balance entirely, falling into the brick-wall of Sy’s body. 

"What tha fuck," you slurred. Why was he so firm. 

Because over the past year he'd gone through a protein bar every single hour of every single day, bulking himself up for this specific day. The day he left. 

Sy caught you at each of your forearms with two firm hands, and you gasped as he stared down at you with a mixture of disappointment and anger. It was an anger you could feel in the very grip of his hands, the fire from his eyes burning into your glossy ones. 

The hard touch passed quickly, turning softer before releasing entirely, and you were drunk enough and confused enough to lean into him again on purpose just to feel it once more. He was leaving tomorrow. 

But then he was crossing his arms, asking, “The fuck, Y/N?” and then you instantly turned mad.

“What d’you mean, ‘the fuck,’ Sy? ‘The fuck, me’?” you retaliated. “‘The fuck’ you! You’re–"

"I'm what?"

"You're–" Leaving tomorrow, you finished your thought despondently. "You're….interruptin’ my night!”

"Your night?" Sy leaned his face down to speak to you through harshly-gritted teeth. 

"I mean…Well, I know it's not my night–I just meant…"

Sy lowers his voice. “He was gropin’ your entire ass in front’a dozens of people.”

“Well, this ain’t church, Sy,” you countered while pushing yourself upwards again, lifting your face so it was within inches of his. “What d’you think people come to parties to do?”

“If that’s the case, then why don’tchu just go an' findju a good tree to hide behind, Y/N?” he asked. “Really go for it.”

After approximately five shock-still seconds, you pulled one of your hands back and slapped Sy's cheek as hard as you could. “You’re a fucking asshole,” you seethed.

He stood silently. 

“Good God,” you heard from your brother nearby, quickly approaching you. "What the fuck, Y/N?"

"Why's no one stickin' up for me here?!" you shrieked, feeling ganged up on. "Why is everything my fault?"

Your brother grabbed your arm and walked you several meters away, out of earshot of Sy. He stared at you in disappointment so heavy you felt it on top of your skin.

“One night,” he said. “Just one night.”

“One night for what?” you repeated, now holding back tears.

“All I asked for was just one fuckin' night. It’s the last night before we’re goin’ out, Y/N.”

"I can’t help your friend is a dick,” you muttered, glaring at Sy in the distance. "He did the exact same thing with his girlfriend."

"How d'you know that?" your brother challenged. "Did you see?"

You rolled your eyes. "Seen it enough times to know."

"Well. That's funny, 'cause she ain't even here."

"Why?" you asked, starting to feel your body sway. "It's y'alls last night in town. Obviously he's--you know."

"He dumped her earlier today."

The world stopped. "Oh. Damn."

"Shit, Y/N," he cursed. "I can't do this kinda shit. Just fuckin' talk to him yourself."

"What does that even mean?" you slurred, starting to hiccup. "Why would I–Why would I talk to him…after he…” 

After suddenly forgetting everything, you felt a shake on your shoulder. “Y/N,” Sy's voice said, then louder and more insistently. “Y/N, open your eyes.”

You squinted one open, and you found yourself laying down for some reason, Sy's face peering down at you. 

“Thought you could keep up with the seniors,” he murmured, just in time for you to gice him the middle finger. 

Immediately, you realized you were laying down in the backseat of a car. Your second realization was the motion of the car causing a queasy feeling to pass through your stomach.

An ill noise emitted out of your throat.

“Oh, shit,” Sy urgently let out. “Fuck–Here–”

You leaned over and threw up on the floor of the car. 

The next afternoon, you woke up in your bed with your head weighing ten-thousand pounds. You didn’t see Sy again for another year. Didn't communicate with him, either. 

-O-

The Thursday after the Superbowl, you found yourself at the usual bar with the usual gang at the usual time: Buffalo Wild Wings; your brother Nick, his girlfriend Lizzie, your best friend Katie, her boyfriend James, and Sy; 6:30pm. 

You'd been staring at your beer glass while everyone around you talked until Sy's voice shook you out of your thoughts. “You really movin’ in with him?”

You ran your finger along the condensation on your glass and wondered how the hell he'd found out already. You certainly didn’t tell Sy you were moving in with your boyfriend, but you knew that these things got around. You had a close friend-group. 

"Guess so," you finally replied. 

“Well, you sound fuckin' pumped.”

Almost laughing at his dry delivery, you shrugged. “He’s got two other roommates.”

“Women?” Sy asked, and you looked at him curiously and shook your head.

“No,” you answered slowly. “They’re guys. Just some friends of his.”

Sy grunted. 

“Yeah,” you agreed with the gruff sentiment. “And if they think I’m gonna be their maid now that I'm movin' in, they’re in for a surprise, ‘cause it ain’t happenin’.”

Barely discernible due to his large beard, Sy's lips curled up a little. You wanted to smile right there along with him, but you didn't. 

You wished he would tell you that you were making a mistake. You wished that he’d convince you not to do it at all.

But your life wasn’t a movie. 

[just-chirpin]

Okay, just in the spirit of riffing, what would have happened in ETS if reader hadn't stopped Sy from leaving in chapter 13? Would he have tried to get her back? Would she have high tailed it out of town by Thanksgiving? What would Amelia have done on Monday?

Did you know that I love angst? Did you? Did you also know I love making alternate endings for things?

I whipped something up real quick... I'm making them suffer.

So.

You almost immediately fall into a depressive episode. That night, you lock yourself in your room and tell everyone you're super sick and probably contagious, and you roll with that excuse the entire weekend. You miss work the next Monday and have to literally drag yourself out of bed the day after that, only for the sake of keeping your job.

Without giving any effort to your appearance, you drive to work and lock yourself in your cubicle. For the rest of the week, you're little-to-no contact with coworkers. Going out into the public for home-visits becomes so dreadful that you almost consider falsifying that you've done them at all. Your only desire is to sit in your car in a random parking lot and stare at the steering wheel.

You sleep a lot.

Your avoidance act doesn't last long once Amelia figures out--not from you but from Johnny--what's been happening. What you've done. And though she tries to get through to you, her encouragement for you to reach back out to Sy falls on deaf ears. You can't do that.

You can't prolong this hurt inside by hearing his voice again. It'd just make it worse. Even texting wouldn't be bearable, you don't imagine, because then that'd bring with it an avalanche of memories--all the times you'd look down at your phone with a stupid smile while messaging each other. All the times he'd send you links to music videos he wanted to share with you. The stupid pictures he'd take for you to share slices of his day with you. The--the other stuff he'd text you late at night.

The memories, short as they may be, cause your eyes to fill up with burning hot tears. He's truly such a good fucking guy. He made you laugh, and he made you feel like you were on his mind, like you were special somehow, and like you were desired.

And you pushed him away.

-O-

Sy's miserable. He gets even less sleep than he usually does and starts looking worn out within days and like shit within a week. A numbness takes over and covers him with an inability to do much, to take pleasure in the stuff he used to enjoy, to live. Instead of throwing himself into action like he normally does, he's uncharacteristically immobile.

Clothes are spread out all over his bedroom floor. Dishes are piled up in his sink, and he begins stacking dirty plates next to it--some still resting on side-tables with various coffee cups and beer cans. The counters are full of random containers of food and crumbs.

To get to sleep, Sy makes himself a strong drink every night. Before it takes him, he puts his phone on his nightstand and stares at it, forcing himself not to reach out and touch it. He can't contact you. He can't contact you because you don't want him to. He has to respect that.

But maybe, just fucking maybe, you'll contact him.

Sy makes excuse after excuse to get out of guy's nights out. After unforgivably missing Johnny's holiday party, though, Johnny comes to Sy's place uninvited and holds a man-to-man intervention.

"C'mon, Cap," he utters from next to him on the couch. "You know how to fight. So fight."

Sy grunts. "She don't want me to fight."

"Ain't too sure about that."

"She don't want me to do anything. She don't want me at all."

Johnny sighs. "Alright, get the fuck up." He abruptly stands up to yanks on Sy's arm, pulling him up easily since Sy's body is so exhausted. "You're comin' with me."

Weak though he is, Sy plants his feet firmly where they are and pushes Johnny away from him. "There ain't no need, alright?"

Mean in a way that Sy would normally feel proud of for teaching him to be, Johnny fixes his face in the most angry-serious-stern face he can muster, steels his jaw, and says between his teeth, "You're coming with me whether you fucking like it or not. If you wanna be a bitch, I'll knock you out and throw you in the back of the car. Be a lot more easy if you just sat in the fuckin' passenger seat." He extends his entire arm to point to the front door. "Now fucking walk."

Sy scowls at Johnny. "Ain't a fuckin' bitch."

"Then FIGHT!"

[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

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.

[just-chirpin]

@purplelove75 @princesssterek @leed-bbg @summersong69 @simply-colourful @kasdeyathebitterwoman @awesomeitis @sillyrabbit81 @foxyjwls007 @thetypewriterimproviser @valerie977 @enchantedbytomandhenry @sasusakubae @littleone65 @consumerism @seedless-vascular @geralts-yenn @n-st-lg-cb-tch @mjrogers91 @bitchy-tacos @thelightnessofthebeing @croissantsareeverything @shecamedowninabubble @sauvage-et-libre @cavillsthighs @to-the-boats @bourbonwithice @write-r-die @bascmve01 @yeoldedumbslut @ms-betsy-fangirl @crispycrimson @pandaxnienke @blondebuttonpenguins @thesaucynomad @bitchynicole @angelmather1 @becks-things @paintlavillered @ignis-writes @buckyscrystalqueen @ohbarracuda @here4thespice @herroyalbubbliness @justreblogginfics  @mrsevans90 @warriormirkwood @secretdream2 @juliaorpll78 

[just-chirpin]

Eyes That See (Part 27)

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 2 Summary: You and Sy spend the day visiting your family. At your dad’s house, something interesting happens, and when you're back in the hotel, Sy comforts you.

Word Count: 17k

Tags: Some Christmas themes, the American stereotype of sharing European ancestry with people, Showering Together, Sy being A Real Good Boy and also a Real Bad Man

A/N: Whenever I've talked about “The Virginia Trip”... in my mind, it has always equated to 2 scenes: the one with Michael, and the one with Y/N's dad. Here we are! A/N 2: In the south, we call a winter hat a “toboggan” (and a sled a sled). Just to clear up confusion.  A/N 3: If there are typos, you know what? At this point, I'll just fix them later.

Despite being able to tell behind your closed eyelids that the room is half-filled with sunlight, it takes you a while to truly wake up the next morning. You’re just so comfortable, surrounded by tons of fluffy pillows and laying underneath a giant duvet that’s so soft you feel like you're cocooned in the clouds. You’re subconsciously scooting yourself closer to Sy when you suddenly realize that he’s not on the side of the bed he usually sleeps on–it’s all backwards–and your eyes pop open. 

To your right, there he is, already awake and quietly watching television with two big pillows shoved behind his neck. As you lift your arms high above your head in an audible stretch, he looks down at you with a fond expression. “Mornin’.”

You return the greeting through a yawn. “Forgot where I was for a second,” you say in a gritty voice, moving closer to him. “Thought we were in bed at home.”

He lifts his arm when you match your body up with his. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhm.” You rest your face on his bare chest. “This is nice, too.”

Trying to be lazy while you can, you close your eyes again. You have plans with your family practically all day, and all related to food: you’re having brunch with your grandparents, then a late lunch at your mom’s house, and last, supper with your dad. Loosely cuddling under the covers, you and Sy are in no rush to get the day started. 

Instead, you drink hotel coffee together, watch TV, and quietly relay last night's events, focusing on the fun times with your friends and not the other Unpleasant Thing that happened. You’re happy that Sy seemed to hit it off with everyone so well, like he literally just fit right in. That’s never happened before, not so naturally. You goad him to share some of the conversations he had with the guys while you were hanging out with the girls, but he’s not very talkative about it, though, and you roll your eyes.

Afterwards, you and Sy kiss for a bit, just sleepy little closed-mouth things that don’t lead anywhere though they probably could. You wouldn’t have a problem with it, at least, even if it’d make you late for brunch. After watching him go all alpha-male last night, you honestly want to hop on his lap to show your gratitude. Or go to your knees. You aren’t picky.

Maybe as a way to decompress from everything that’d happened the night before, you and Sy lay around in bed way longer than usual. Finally, you have to accept that you can’t stay there all day, though, and you drag yourself out from underneath the covers with a groan. While Sy continues watching the news, you shower, then do your hair and makeup, then get dressed. By the time you're almost done, Sy’s just finishing his own shower, yet somehow, you're both entirely ready to head out at the same time. 

By the hotel door, you stop in your tracks. Sy's wearing a nice-fitting pair of dark blue jeans, brown boots, and a sweater that's pushed up to both his elbows. He's holding his large jacket in one hand, showing off his watch on his wrist and cords of muscle along his forearm. Relatively speaking, it’s a nice and casual-looking outfit, but on Sy, it looks like he should be in a magazine ad or something.

Sy lifts an eyebrow. “You alright?”

Slowly, you nod. “You look…really good.”

Sy gives you what you've begun referring to as his Christopher Reeve smile, just a slight uptick at the side of his mouth. “Well, so do you, baby.”

You look down at yourself. You're relatively conservatively dressed in a dark long-sleeved dress and black leggings, but you don't fight the compliment. 

“Necklace looks nice on you,” Sy murmurs next, referring to his Christmas present to you. You reach up and briefly touch it.

He reaches out and fixes the chain where the clasp has fallen from the back to the front, and as you grab your bag and your coat, there’s probably a stupid look on your face. You feel like a real girlfriend. 

Before Sy opens the door, you push yourself up on your tip-toes and give him a kiss–this time, drawing it out since you’ve both brushed your teeth. His eyes show a little confusion at your seemingly random enthusiasm, but he doesn’t speak on it.

Downstairs, you both put toboggans on and bundle up in your coats before heading outside, walking around small crowds of people who sound like home when they talk. Sy decides to take the wheel again and you just give directions, and you’re unable to stop yourself from pointing out more things to him throughout the drive. Where you used to gather to watch fireworks as a child, where you went caroling one time with your first-grade classmates, where your mom got pulled over one time and whisper-yelled at you to put on your seatbelt before the officer came to her window.

“Where're we goin’, anyway?” Sy asks. “Your grandparents’ house?”

“Oh, no, the Cracker Barrel,” you answer. “It's Nanny's favorite. She’s obsessed. Growin’ up, we’d go there on just about every special occasion.”

“Yeah?” Sy offers another one of those small smiles. “MawMaw, too.”

“Now she goes there every single Sunday after church.”

“MawMaw would do that, too, if we had one close enough.”

You hum. “I bet they’d get along real well,” you imagine quietly. 

You spend the rest of the drive mentally picturing your family members in the same room as Sy’s family members. What would they say? How would they act? Would they get along as well as Sy had with your group of friends? You have a feeling they would. Well, everyone except for your dad, at least–but he’s ornery and doesn’t count.

After arriving at the restaurant, Sy finds a parking space and turns off the car, and you give him a tentative smile before getting out. You really hope he’s not internally dreading this. 

Together, you make your way through the chilly parking lot to the front entrance, and a nearby voice calling your name makes you pause. There in a set of rocking chairs sit your grandparents, and you almost gasp. 

“Y’all, it’s freezin’ right now,” you say, almost chiding. “I thought y’all’d be waitin’ inside, not out here.”

Your grandpa gets up first, so you hug him first, and after he helps your grandma stand up, you hug her next. “Nanny, your hands are seriously like ice.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” Your grandma squeezes you through a long hug and then kisses your cheek. “It's so cold the chickens are linin’ up to get in the oven,” she says before giving your grandpa a look, “but your grandfather wanted to sit out here, so.”

“Aw, it ain’t that cold,” your grandpa counters, but their bickering is friendly, so you grin and step back to Sy’s side.

You don’t have to introduce Sy; in moments, he’s introducing himself, giving your grandfather a firm handshake and your grandmother something more light. 

“Well, it’s sure nice to meetcha,” your grandma says, and Sy returns the sentiment before opening the entrance door for everyone while simultaneously taking off his hat.

In the restaurant’s foyer, Nanny gets close to you before Sy is able to step inside. “Well, he’s a right catch,” she whispers to you, and you grin. “How’d you even meet a man like that?”

You want to laugh; the words could easily sound like she’s meanly saying he’s out of your league–which he is–but from her, the question is just funny. You think of the night of the bonfire where you’d almost face-planted into the flames. “Uh…It just sorta…fell in place.”

She takes one of your hands in hers and then covers the top of it with her other hand, softly tapping. You interpret the gesture to be her saying something like I’m happy for you, or–maybe, but hopefully not–don’t mess this up.

Your grandparents are salt-of-the-earth type of people, welcoming and friendly and maybe a little embarrassing–but in a cute way. In true Appalachian style, they honestly speak whatever’s on their mind and have sayings for just about everything, jokes for just about everything, too. Conversation flows easily while you place your orders and wait around for your food to come out, and once it does, everything’s just as natural. 

It’s easy because your grandpa loves talking and telling jokes. Sports and the military are the commonality between him and Sy, so just with that, they bond. Then with your grandma so outwardly curious about Sy–almost to the point of being smitten–she asks question after question after question, keeping any silence sparse. You don’t even get to actually catch up with her about how she’s been recovering from her recent hospital stay or about any of the things going on in your life until you’re outside, prolonging your goodbyes.

“You’re visitin’ your momma after this?” Nanny asks after sharing some of her ongoing medical issues as if discussing the weather.

You nod. “Shame y’all couldn’t make it to her place. We could’ve all just eaten together. Or I guess we could’ve invited her here.”

“Well, I’ve been keepin’ my distance this week,” she evasively says.

“Oh, good grief,” you mutter. “What are y’all arguin’ about now?”

“We’re not arguin’,” your grandma says, and your grandpa makes some sort of face behind her back. “But you know how your mom is. She runs around like a chicken with its head cut off–” again with the chicken analogies– “but it’s just like she’s movin’ around all the time without ever gettin’ anything done.”

“Okay,” you slowly say. Where’s the lie? “...And?”

“That’s it,” your grandma laughs. “I said somethin’ about how she’s gonna stroke out one of these days, and she got upset.”

“Jeez,” you reply. “But you of all people know she’s always been like that, though. Us comin’ to visit right after Christmas probably has her stressin’.” 

“Honey, you got no idea. Stressin’ about the food, stressin’ about the house, stressin’ about what outside her house looks like. I’ve had to hear it for weeks. Now if it was her comin’ over to my house to visit, don’t matter how long it’s been, she’d just have to deal with what it’s like when she got there.”

You frown. “Poor Mom. I just wanted to visit her, not…cause some sorta issue between y’all.”

“If she’d just take her medicine,” your grandma mutters. “But that’s apparently outta the question. It’s either that it makes her stomach hurt, or her head hurt, or she has to take it with food and doesn’t feel like eatin’, on and on.”

You want to comment on how accurate all of those things technically are, but there’d be no point. Your grandma was raised in a different generation, that’s all. She just doesn’t get it. You quickly brush aside the fact that she’d probably judge you, too, for worrying the way you do. 

But she’d say it to your face, at least. There’d be no behind-the-back gossiping. 

“Nanny, she–Be nice. She can’t help it.”

Your grandma’s eyebrows briefly scrunch together in a very worried expression, and she ultimately sighs. “I just want her well. I love her. And I love you, too, honey,” she says before giving you a hug, and then she reaches into her pocket and not-discreetly-at-all slips you a folded up green bill. 

You huff. “Nanny.”

“Merry Christmas,” she just says, ignoring you, then she steps towards Sy and actually hugs him, too. “Now, I’m gonna have me some beautiful great-grandchildren one day, I just know it.”

Your mouth falls open. “Oh, my God, Nanny,” you utter in mortification, but Sy just chuckles, giving her a warm smile. 

“If they get Y/N’s genes,” is his quick reply, and while the area fills with light laughter, your face heats up so much you could probably start sweating, right out here in the cold mountain air. 

“Nice meetin’ you,” your grandpa tells Sy, shaking his hand again, then he turns his attention to you. “Well, doll baby, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “But I didn’t even get to talk to you, I feel.”

“Oh, I’m just a borin’ old man,” he brushes off. “Anything worth knowin’, your Nanny’ll tell you.”

You laugh and reach up your arms to hug him, taking in the old-man cologne he’s worn forever. “You make sure he treats you right or you call me,” he whispers into your ear, inconstruable to anyone else.

When you take a step back, you just look at him and offer a small nod. “Love you, Paw.”

“Love you, doll baby,” he parrots. “Y’all drive safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Sy answers, and he lifts a casual hand to wave goodbye.

And like that, you’re on your way back to the car, comfortably full after a nice warm meal. When you’re alone in the car waiting for the engine to heat up, you look at Sy expectantly. 

“What’dju think?” you ask. “It wasn’t horrible, right?”

He grins. “They’re good people.”

“They got weird at the end there,” you mumble around a fingertip in your mouth. “Or Nanny did, at least. I promise she’s not a mean person or anything. She’s just really blunt.”

Sy shrugs. “I didn’t get the impression she’s mean at all. Sorta reminded me of MawMaw.”

Your muscles relax as you lean back against the seat, but you feel like your shoulders are clenched for some reason. You drop your hand from your mouth and try to lower your arms to loosen up, then you keep just sitting there while waiting for Sy to move the car. Apparently, there must be a look on your face because Sy stalls exiting the parking lot in favor of just staring at you. You turn your head inquisitively.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply right away. 

That answer would satisfy most people, but Sy’s not most people. “What’re you nervous about?”

You shrug. “I really don’t know,” you let out, trying to chuckle at yourself and failing. “I’m keyed up for some reason. Like, my muscles are all tight. And my heart just started thumping. It makes no sense.”

“Wanna go back outside?”

You shake your head. “I’ll breathe through it.”

Sy rolls down your window half-way anyway and patiently waits while you begin taking deep breaths.

“I feel like–I feel like my body thinks something bad is going to happen for some reason.” You bring your thumbnail back up to your lips and begin chewing on the nail. “Does that make sense?”

Sy reaches out and coaxes you to stop biting your nails and he holds your hand with his. “Perfect sense.”

You glance at him dubiously because what you just said did not make sense, and you know it. “Are you just sayin’ that?”

“My job used to literally be waitin’ around for somethin’ bad to happen,” he reminds you. 

“Oh. Right.”

Sy puts his hand on the top of your leg. “Everything’s safe,” he says. 

You take a slow, deep breath. “Yeah,” you agree.

“You’re with me.”

You nod. “I’m with you,” you exhale. “Right.”

“When you’re with me, you’re safe.”

Not caring how childish it may be, you soundlessly repeat that sentence to yourself again, and then again. Everything else dissolves away, because it’s simple: when you’re with Sy, you’re safe. 

You finally feel normality come back like paint being poured on you from above. You shake out your arms a little, take a few more deep breaths, and then–it’s like nothing had even happened. 

“Okay,” you mutter. “I’m good.”

God, you’re so fucking weird. 

Sy squeezes your leg and then moves his hand to the back of your neck where he keeps it for the next few quiet moments. “What do you think was the trigger?”

“I really don’t know,” you honestly say, and you give Sy an almost helpless look. “But I’m okay now.”

He keeps his eyes focused on you, and satisfied with whatever expression’s on your face, he squeezes your neck one last time and then drops his hand to the gear-stick. “Alright.”

As he reverses and looks over his shoulder, he stretches out his right arm along the back of the passenger seat, and you use the opportunity to take in how hot he looks while doing it. Yeah, you’re doing it to keep your mind single-focused on just one thing lest the random panic come back, but in no time, you don’t have to focus on trying to focus. It’s Sy.

When he moves his hand to the gear-stick again, your eyes follow the motion, a little chill running through you at the confident way he puts the car into drive, at the I’m in control of this car vibe that he’s exuding. At the you’re okay ‘cause you’re with me vibe from the ghost of his hand on your neck.

“Y/N,” you hear, and you flick up your eyes to Sy’s. He looks at the road briefly and then back at you.

“You’ve been zonin’ out over there,” he says. “You sure you’re good?”

Your eyes widen for a second, but you smile, almost laughing at yourself. “Totally fine, sorry. Didn’t mean to…be strange. I was just watchin’ you.” Like that didn’t come out weird as shit. 

He comes to a stop-light and lifts an eyebrow. You laugh while rolling up your window.

“Your hands are big, shut up,” you just mutter. “You need to turn left here, by the way.”

He’s got a smug smile on his face as he asks, “Goin’ to your mom’s now?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. We don’t have to get there ‘til, like, two-thirty. I wanna show you a place first.”

“What kinda place?”

You twist your body to face him. “Are you up for a little walk?” you ask. 

-O-

Thirty minutes later, you and Sy find yourselves sitting together on a giant log. The walk is a little longer than just a regular stroll, and there are hills and patches of snow everywhere to deal with, but you find the destination to be worth it. 

The fallen tree trunk, huge enough to even not be decayed by now, is the aftermath of a nasty storm long ago. It rests on a relatively flattened patch of dead grass, and you’d discovered it while hiking one day in high school. That’s when you’d realized that beyond it is the perfect hidden overlook of the mountain ranges nearby–just like those overlooks on the sides of interstate highways where people stop and stand around taking pictures. 

But this view isn’t to be shared. It’s yours. 

The mountains ahead are rolling and expansive, full of dark green pines topped with white snow too stubborn to melt, and all around you are a ton of trees and rocks. Technically, the spot is actually dangerous if you were to walk too far ahead of the log, but that’s another reason you like it: no one else would be stupid enough to spend time here if they didn’t want to slide down the mountain. 

“I used to come out here when I wanted to be alone,” you finally speak up. “This was my spot.”

Sy looks around. “It’s serene.”

“It’s actually really ugly right now,” you admit with a dry chuckle. “Better in the spring and summer. Or fall. Literally any other time but now.”

Sy softly chuckles back but maintains that he likes the view. For a while, you both just sit there, looking around and taking everything in. He keeps his arm wrapped around you, and after you snuggle close to him, you barely talk. With your head resting on his shoulder, you both just…exist together. 

The wind is neither fast nor loud today, so when you feel a quick cold gust of high-pitched air touch your faces and then breeze around to touch the trees around you next, it’s almost like nature’s recognizing your presence in this one particular spot. Like it’s approving that this is now Sy’s spot, too. He's not out of place in your hometown.

Eventually, it’s time to get out of the cold and start actually heading to your mom’s place, though, and you leisurely make your way back to the car while giving Sy a rundown of what to expect from your mom–a lot of outwardly expressed anxiety and sort of neurotic behavior, a lot of talking, but a matching amount of genuine care and thoughtfulness, as well.

As it goes, your mom is already at the front door when Sy pulls up in the driveway, her excitement and nerves evident: she’s smiling, but she keeps smoothing her hands over invisible wrinkles on top of her pants. As you approach the door, though, she holds her arms wide open, and you embrace as long as possible with a bag of presents in one hand. 

Close behind you, Sy takes the bag out of your hand, and you instantly hug your mom strongly, breathing in her familiar scent. “Heyyy, Momma.”

She makes a noise as she rocks you side to side a bit and then steps back. “It’s so good to see you,” she says, then her eyes light up when she looks behind you. “And you must be…Sy, right? That’s what you go by?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers.

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that,” she laughs. “Makes me feel so old.”

Sy’s just holding out his hand when your mom raises both of her arms, her intent obvious, and you take a step aside to let them hug. You meet Sy’s eyes while they briefly embrace, and you smirk a little while raising your eyebrows, giving him a look that says, This is just how she is.

“Come in, come in, get out of the cold, y’all. And don’t look at too much–this place is such a mess,” she says while leading you both into the entirely clean living room. The air smells like lemon cleaner and garlic chicken.

You and Sy take off your jackets, and after you drape one over the loveseat that’s directly to the right of the door, Sy follows suit. Instantly, your mom picks up both coats and opens the closet door directly to your left, and she hangs them up. You’d say something sarcastic to her, but she’d take it as you making fun of her, so you don’t.

“Are you already cookin’?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she answers a little breathlessly as she shuts the closet door, “but I don’t know how good it’s gonna be. I’m tryin’ a new recipe, and you know what they say about that.”

Briefly, you look to the side. “What do they say?”

“Not to try a new recipe when you’re feedin’ people,” she answers like it’s obvious. 

“Oh, just try it out when you’re alone,” you tease, and she nods.

“I’ve gotta check on the chicken real quick,” she says, and she starts walking towards the kitchen. “Excuse me just a second, please. Y’all just make yourselves right at home.”

Sy looks at you. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a mess,” you murmur back, smiling. 

The house is pretty small, just a regular little ranch-style home. Down the hallway leading left, there are a few small bedrooms and one sole bathroom. The living area, dining area, and kitchen are all in one big rectangle shape with a little L-shaped wall separating the kitchen from the main space. Sy is instantly a huge presence in this space.

A console table is to your immediate left, and on the TV, your mom has the Pandora app open playing a Traditional Christmas channel. You smile to yourself as you carry her presents to the little artificial tree she’s kept up beside the dining room table.

“Would y’all like anything to drink?” your mom asks from the kitchen’s doorway. “What can I get y’all? There’re waters in the fridge in here, and I made a pot of coffee earlier, too, if you’d like that.”

“Sure,” you answer, knowing that, despite your lack of thirst, if you were to decline, it’d hurt her feelings. “Coffee’s fine. I can pour it.”

“No–sit, sit,” she says, and then she looks at Sy. “Are you a coffee drinker?”

“Yes–prob’ly too much,” he answers, and you can tell by the little quirk of his mouth that he’s trying to remember not to say ma’am. 

“Oh, tell me about it,” she replies while walking through the living room. “Doesn’t matter the time of day, I’ve got coffee at the ready.”

Your mom starts brushing invisible fibers off the couch’s seats and then again on the perpendicular loveseat. You can tell she’s happy when Sy sits down on the couch, and you take the spot directly beside him. 

“These new pillows look good,” you comment.

“Oh, they’re kinda raggedy now,” she says. “I got them the other year at the after-Christmas sale down the road. You know they still have wrappin’ paper and all types of stuff for less than a dollar? And all sortsa cute decorations, too. Oh, I just miss when you were little. There were all types of crafts for kids at the store the last time I went, like those ornaments you made from clay in second grade. You remember?” 

She walks to the Christmas tree and takes an ornament off, holding it up with a grin. “Isn’t that so cute?” She turns it around. “With the year on the back, look. You had your numbers backwards, but it’s still just so adorable.”

“Talented second-grader,” Sy remarks, and you gently elbow him.

“I can't believe you still have that.”

“‘Course I do,” your mom replies. “I've got totes in the basement full of stuff. Art projects, report cards, all that. Plus about twenty photo albums in the closet over there. You just might catch me gettin’ ‘em out to show Sy.”

You groan. “Oh, please don't.”

As your mom walks off to the kitchen laughing, you lean in closer to Sy and lower your voice. “She seriously drinks about a pot or more to herself every day,” you whisper, trying to explain that her energy right now is a mixture of caffeine and pure anxiety. Not that she’s anxious that you’re here or anything, but anxious that she’s the one who’s hosting. She wants everything to be perfect.

She calls out your nickname, and you look up. “I can never remember what you can and can’t have,” she sticks her head around the corner and says. “No milk, right?”

“Right,” you remind her. 

“I picked up lactose-free milk at the store if you want that?”

You make a guilty face. “Aw, Momma, you didn’t have to go out of your way to buy that,” you tell her. “But it’s not the lactose that I–there’s an actual protein in the milk that I can’t…Anyway, I’m so sorry, but I can’t have that, either.”

“Oh, okay,” she says. “Sy? Is it okay that I keep callin’ you that?”

“Yes,” he answers, his lips pulling together after the word as if he’s about to make the ‘m’ sound. “Sy’s just fine.”

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Black, please.”

“Yuck,” she says good-naturedly. She smiles widely, making you and Sy smile in return. You’ve missed her.

Your mom brings out two cups of coffee at once, and before setting them down, you reach over Sy to get coasters from the side table before she says something. You and Sy thank her at the same time, and though the coffee is still pretty hot, you take a small sip because you know your mom won’t settle down unless you confirm that what she’d prepared for you isn’t outright garbage.

“Too sweet?” she asks. 

“No, it’s great,” you reply honestly, and then she mutters something to herself and goes back into the kitchen. 

When she returns, it’s with a platter of chips, peanuts, crackers, and cheese, all divided into little sections. She sets it out on the coffee table in front of you and then returns with a second platter a few moments later that’s full of fruit. You’re excitedly popping a pineapple chunk in your mouth when you hear some sort of alarm go off in the kitchen. 

Your mom holds up a finger before stepping away. “Ope, one sec.”

She misses the way you heavily sigh. “I’m gonna be right back,” you tell Sy before standing up and walking into the kitchen. 

“What can I help with?” you stand in front of the stove and ask, starting to stir a pot of greens.

“Oh, please, Y/N/N,” she says in a low voice, “I just want y’all to enjoy yourselves.”

“Uh, no,” you instantly reply. “You’ve got, like, five different things goin’ on at once. Did you plan to send us home with leftovers or somethin’?”

“Your boyfriend’s out there alone,” she deflects.

“I think he’ll manage my absence for a few minutes.” You pop your head around the wall and call out to Sy, “You won’t die of loneliness if I help Momma finish up in here for a little bit, will you?”

He smirks, and you smirk back. 

You walk back to the stove. “He said just five minutes ‘cause then he’ll start witherin’ away.”

“Oh, Y/N/N, stop pickin’ on me.”

You’re taller than your mother is, so you step behind her and give her a hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “Stop carryin’ the world on your shoulders,” you let go of her and say, almost bullying your way to be in front of the stove alongside her.

Quietly and efficiently, you both move around each other in the kitchen–opening cabinets to get last-minute add-on spices, pulling stuff out the fridge, draining pots at the sink. When you’re done, you put your hands on your mom’s shoulders and lead her into the living room. 

“Take a seat,” you tell her. “Relax.”

She laughs at your command. “This is my house, Y/N.”

“So, sit down.”

She moves as if about to go back into the kitchen. “Why don’t you give Sy a tour and I’ll get this stuff ready to present at the table?”

“Ready to present?” you ask. “We’ll just stand in front of the stove and pile our plates with whatever we want, it’s fine.”

Stubbornly, she says on her way to the kitchen, “I’ll set the table in a bit.”

You roll your eyes then look at Sy. “Wanna grand tour?”

He stands up with a grunt. “Lead the way, babe.”

On your way down the humble and short hall, you point at the doorways you see and label each room while slowly walking. “This is a small bedroom used as an office…. the bathroom’s here… Another bedroom actually used as a bedroom…and then this–” You open the last door on your right and step inside– “is me.”

Sy enters behind you and starts looking all around, eyes mainly lifted upwards at all the random stuff covering the walls. Mainly, there are posters of various rock bands, and while examining them, he’s quiet, but he’s smiling. 

“Were you expectin’ sparkles and pink?”

His smile turns into a grin. “I know you better than that,” he mutters as he starts walking towards your dresser. Stopping just before the mirror there, he takes in all of the small photos, movie stubs, and random notes you have displayed around its perimeter.

You chuckle. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

“This room hasn’t changed since I was in high school,” you tell him before sitting on your bed, “so it’s basically a time-capsule. Don’t judge.”

Sy sits beside you a moment later, making the mattress dip with his weight, and next, he begins thoroughly observing your blanket and pillows. “I wouldn’t even be able to fit on this thing without my feet hangin’ off the end.”

“Yeah.” You smile. “If we’d’a stayed here instead of the hotel, it would’ve been a tight squeeze at night, huh?”

Sy lewdly wags his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes through a poorly hidden smile. Before going into some crass joke that you know is on the tip of his tongue, Sy reaches out for a thick yearbook on your bookshelf instead.

“Oh, c’mon,” you mumble once he starts thumbing through it.

“I showed you old pictures of me,” he reminds you. 

You huff. “Fine.”

As your school was relatively small, Sy finds your photo fairly easily. “What’s wrong with this?” he turns the book around and says. 

“Oh, God. The hair, the over-plucked eyebrows, the shirt choice?” you say. “All of it combined?”

He grins. “I woulda hit on you so hard.”

“Oh, please. Yeah, right.”

“Say what I mean,” he almost sing-songs. 

Letting Sy into this space feels intimate, almost as intimate as it had when first letting him in your bedroom back in Georgia. It feels like you could reach for an invisible zipper at your throat and start unpeeling your skin to bare your blood and your veins and your organs and bones, with your biggest vulnerability right there front and center: your heart. 

Maybe that’s why you were a little anxious earlier today after parting ways with your grandparents. Maybe you’re so used to boyfriends judging or rejecting your family that it has your nervous system anticipating the pattern to continue or something.

 …And having Sy in your hometown–your place with your people and all your history, embarrassing or not–that’s probably a factor, too. Like maybe, somehow, Virginia Y/N is different than Georgia Y/N, and your subconscious mind is sounding out, He won’t want you when he sees your roots! He won’t love you anymore!

Logically, you talk yourself through those intrusive thoughts like you’ve begun practicing with all the rest. Sy would never do that. There’d be no reason. 

There was a reason Michael rejected your family; you’d just figured it out way too late. He was jealous of them and the time they got with you, and pushing them out of your life by saying they “didn’t deserve you” was a way to manipulate you so he could continue to keep you reliant on just him. 

Now, you almost laugh at that thought. You weren’t reliant on him for anything–financial, emotional, or otherwise–and looking back at how you were back then compared to how you are now… You’re kind of proud of yourself. 

You’ve just got to get your nervous system on track. 

You deeply inhale and then exhale, formally breathing out the bullshit, and by that time, Sy’s already going through an entirely different yearbook. When he stops at a page full of formal-looking photographs, you realize he must be looking at your senior pictures. Wordlessly, you both glance down to find your photo. 

Once you both spot your teenage self, it gets so quiet that it actually becomes loud, and you want Sy to say something. Instead, he keeps looking at your picture. In the distance, your mother calls out, “Come on and get it!” 

Sy closes the heavy book on his lap, and you glance at him almost expressionless. He’s gigantic on this bed of yours, his widely-spread muscular legs only adding to his broadness. After sliding your yearbook back on the bookshelf, Sy–tall and beefy Sy, military-hair and big-bearded Sy–turns to you with soft eyes. He reaches out and brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “You’re pretty.”

Your face does something odd in response, but mostly it just heats up. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

Slowly, you both stand up. Sy places an unnecessary yet appreciated hand on your lower back while you step back out into the hallway, and then in about ten more strides, you get to the dining table. 

Your mom has it set up like Thanksgiving. She’s put the leaf in the middle to elongate it, and she’s covered it with a dark tablecloth. In between the three plates that are set out with silverware carefully placed on cloth napkins, there are several bowls of food with large spoons stuck inside. In the middle of the table is the roasted chicken on a large serving dish.

There’s a little ooh-and-ahhing from you at the presentation of all the delicious-looking food, and you excitedly sit down, almost wiggling in your chair like an excited child. Your mom’s done good; you can eat almost everything she’s cooked. You thank her profusely, and Sy politely does, as well. When you glance at him and notice him practically salivating at the mouth, you soundlessly laugh at him.

Sy slices the chicken and places pieces on your mom's plate, then yours, and lastly his own. Covering your plates with the rest of the food takes some time, but when everything's been salted and peppered and everyone's finally digging in, your mom starts making conversation in between bites. 

She looks at Sy and asks, “So, are you originally from Georgia?”

Sy nods. “Born and raised,” he answers, and if this were you meeting Sy’s mother, you’d probably be so nervous that you’d leave it at that, but Sy’s Sy, so of course he goes on. 

“My entire family’s from Georgia, actually–my momma’s side and my dad’s side. My grandma actually got into genealogy a few years back and traced back our ancestors to modern-day Germany and Denmark, then some Wales, southern England, Scottland.”

“Oh, that’s so fascinating,” she replies. “I've always wanted to get that done. All I know is my side is Scots-Irish, but it’d be neat to really delve into all that, you know? To get the stories these people had.”

You slyly glance underneath the Christmas tree where you have a 23-And-Me kit wrapped up for her, and you smile to yourself. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees, almost mindlessly.

“Oh, you stop,” your mom says through a smile. “So, I imagine you’ve had to move around a lot with the military, right?”

“Right,” he answers. “Especially on active duty, but even then, it was pretty steady, at least. A move maybe once every two years or so. I got lucky to be stationed in Georgia towards the end of my time, then I just headed back to my hometown after that.”

“I really need to go down there and see it for myself,” your mom says. “All this time and I still haven’t gone. Maybe I’ve been waitin’ on Y/N to move back, but I guess that won’t happen now, huh?”

She laughs while Sy smiles, and meanwhile you push down niggling thoughts about how she’s had tons of opportunities to visit you in the past two years if only she’d wanted to. But it’s really not a big deal. She’s being good-natured about it. 

“Think I’ll be stayin’ there for good, Momma,” you confirm. She looks between you and Sy with a soft smile on her face while yours heats up. Under the table, you feel Sy's boot touch your shoe. 

Conversation flows as you continue eating. Your mom is sincerely interested in Sy, and you watch her facial expressions while they talk to guess what she’s thinking of him. Once he makes her laugh–really laugh, her loud and expressive one–then you know he’s in. She loves him already. She’s probably gonna tell him that when you have to leave.

After eating, Sy puts his hands on his stomach and thanks your mom once again. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he looks at her and compliments. “Thanks for all’a this. You’re a great cook.”

You glance at him, and you know he’s not bullshitting. “Never wondered where I got it from?” you ask him, and though it’s obviously meant to be funny, your mom instantly starts chiding herself for not teaching you to cook the way her mom had taught her. 

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before; she likes to take blame for your disinterest in cooking. “Sy likes cookin’, and he’s really good at it,” you explain. “I clean up after. It’s a good arrangement.”

“But still, Y/N/N–”

You interrupt her with a sigh. “I can cook just fine, Mom.”

“We’ve actually been makin’ supper together most nights, here lately,” Sy speaks up. “Breakfast, too.”

Softly smiling at him, you joke, “Just gotta work on my mid-day meals, huh.”

After that, your mom offers dessert and another cup of coffee for each of you. While Sy eats a giant heap of cobbler, you drink some more coffee, and your mother graciously only shares a few stories from your childhood. At some point, you stand up to stretch, and you end up clearing some plates off the table to help your mom out. That causes Sy to quickly finish his food and mirror your actions, and together, you both work efficiently enough that your mom doesn’t have to carry anything to the kitchen.

She still starts washing all the dirty dishes, of course, and you try to butt in the best you can to make her stop. It’s futile, though, so you just grab a dishtowel and dry off what she washes. Meanwhile, Sy scoops leftovers into Tupperware bowls, and you catch his eye and mouth “earning those Mom points” at him. 

Later on, you all open presents in the living room while Christmas music still plays in the background. With every present that is distributed, your mom has some sort of explanation before it’s unwrapped. For Sy, the Amazon gift card is only because she didn’t know what else he’d like, and she’s so sorry that there’s nothing else for him to open.

“I wasn’t even expectin’ anything at all,” Sy graciously deflects. “I’ll definitely be able to use this. Thank you.”

For your first present, your mom has to mention before you open it that she’s still got the receipt in case you want to return it.

“I’m not gonna return it, Momma,” you chuckle without even knowing what’s inside the box. “I’ve literally never returned any gift you’ve ever gotten me my entire life.”

“Well, you never know–”

You interrupt her by tearing the wrapping paper and then carefully opening the box. You look down at a gorgeous shirt and instantly smile. “Aw. This is really nice.”

“‘Cause you said your job has you goin’ to court sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “You remembered.”

You and your mom take turns opening gifts, but you’d gotten her a lot of little things this year, so she has more to go through. “Well, I feel awful that y’all are just sittin’ here watchin’ me open these all alone.”

“Nah, you deserve it,” you tell her, and you’re happy to see her excited expression when opening the DNA ancestry kit and the other little sentimental items you’d gotten her.

Only after cleaning up the wrapping paper on the floor is your mom able to truly relax. Now that she doesn’t feel like she has to wear her Host hat, she finally leans back on the loveseat and starts browsing through different channels. You and Sy take spots at the couch again, and you feel like you could take a nap.

“You're goin’ to see your father after this?” your mom asks. 

“Yeah,” you say with no hint of excitement. “Gonna leave here in, like, thirty, forty minutes. Texted him earlier so we could meet up for dinner.”

“You're goin’ out?”

“He didn't want to,” you reply, and your mom makes a face that says “what's new?” 

You strategically comment on whatever your mom has gotten interested in on TV, and that easily leads to a brand new topic of conversation. She talks, and she talks, and you just watch her.

It's nice to be with her in person to hear her talk instead of just listening through a phone.

-O-

After a prolonged goodbye at your mom’s house that’s full of half-a-dozen hugs and an almost endless amount of thanking one another back and forth, you find yourself behind the wheel of the car. You're the one driving now because going up the mountain your dad lives off makes you a little nauseous if you’re a passenger. Sy says he'll take one for the team this time and just throw up out the window if it happens to him, too.

You don’t talk much on the drive to your dad’s house; your mind is loud enough for both of you. Sy glances at you from time to time, but you don’t give much away. He’s about to meet the most difficult person in your life.

Why did you plan this visit as your last one of the day? Why hadn’t you done it earlier, gotten it out the way first?

You try not to let any negativity consume you as you take winding turn after turn. After the road changes to gravel and finally straightens out a little, you take your last turn–the turn to his long lane. Going down the long, inclined path, you realize there are ruts everywhere, making the car bounce. You cuss under your breath about popping a tire.

“Feel right at home on this road here,” Sy jokes.

“I hate this road,” you grumble. Underneath the trees lay patches of snow that the sun has never touched, and they’re gonna get iced over when the sun goes down.

Sy gives you a little more quiet time before checking in. “You don’t seem too thrilled to be goin’ here.”

Understatement. “Yeah, well. My dad is…complicated.”

“...Meaning?”

You sigh. You haven’t really talked much about your dad with Sy, only that he and your mother divorced after he left her for this woman he dated in high school. Now they’re split up, too, and he lives alone like a hermit on the top of the mountain.

“He’s just not a really welcoming person,” you explain. “Not to me, not to anyone, hardly. He’s antisocial. So, uh. Just please don’t get offended or anything if he kinda comes across like a dick. I really don’t want you to be scared off.”

“Ain’t possible.”

You side-eye him. “I wasn’t jokin’ when I said he’s antisocial,” you comment. “This is about as far out as you can even get in the county. He has no neighbors. He’s happy to just be up here all alone.”

“No pets?”

You shake your head. “Not anymore.”

By the time you get to your dad’s property, the sun has dropped low, filtering through all the trees. You turn off the car and look outside the window. With green moss coating the outside paneling, your father’s trailer appears dirtier than the last time you saw it. You make no move to step out.

“Well, this is it,” you quietly mutter.

Sy puts a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

With a frown, you shrug. After glancing away from the trailer, you can barely look up from the steering wheel.

“You know I ain’t judgin’.”

“It’s okay to, though,” you murmur. “To–judge. You’d be right.”

“Right about what?”

“I don’t know.”

Your dad isn’t a dirty person or anything, but that’s not to say he’s neat. He’s messy, and he says there’s a distinction. Three cars are off to the side, all in random states of disrepair. In front of them is a rusty burn barrel. Your father seems to have no issues living out in the woods alone in what could practically be considered a camper.

After stepping up onto his little stoop, you knock on the thin door and wait for it to open. When it doesn’t, you jiggle the handle and, finding it unlocked, push it open.

“Dad?” you loudly call out, waiting for any type of movement inside. “It’s Y/N!”

You briefly look back at Sy and then take a step forward into the living room.

“Hey, you in here?” you call out again. “Dad!”

Your dad rounds the corner while wiping off his hands on his jeans. “Oh, there you are,” he says.

You slightly smile. “Yeah, we made it.”

Without hugging, you both just look at one another. You step fully inside to get out of the cold, shifting to allow Sy to enter behind you, and once he closes the door, the three of you stand around for a few moments, silent. Your father scratches his arm.

You’re about to introduce Sy when you hesitate, not knowing how he’ll want to be introduced–his first name or just simply “Sy”--but he thankfully takes initiative to handle that on his own.

After reaching out his hand, Sy says his name, and your dad remains still for a moment. “So. You’re with my daughter,” your dad comments.

“Yes, sir. Nice to meetcha,” he replies while dropping his hand to his side, and you almost snicker out loud. Of course Sy’s showing his manners. And your dad is just here…existing. As tall as Sy is yet with none of the muscle mass, they both remain eye-level with each other. 

Well, the moment couldn’t get more awkward, so you begin absentmindedly looking around. In the nearby kitchen, fly-tape hangs from the ceiling above the sink. Lingering in the air is a strange stench, the kind of smell when things haven’t been moved around or aired out enough. The odor of stagnation.

You grit your teeth. Sy’s quiet, probably waiting on a cue from you. You both slide your jackets off and drape them over the nearest piece of furniture you can find, a small table near the door covered already with a bunch of envelopes and pieces of paper. 

“So,” you look at your dad and speak up, “how’s it been goin’?”

“Not bad,” he answers with a shrug. “Not much ever goin’ on ‘round here.”

“Haven’t gotten any work lately or anything?” you ask since he mainly makes his living doing under-the-table odd jobs.

“Nah, not in the winter, no.”

“Ah.”

Your dad won’t keep the conversation going by reflecting any questions back to you, you know. No “How’s work been goin’ for you?” or anything like that. Maybe later on he’ll ask a thing or two about what you’ve been up to in general, but right now he’s clearly being the same antisocial man as he always is. And even though you’d internally hoped that he’d be different upon first meeting your boyfriend, you knew somewhere deep down he wouldn’t be. Your decision to not talk him up to Sy was for the best, you guess. You’ll let Sy make his own opinions.

There’s a couch and a recliner in the corner of the living room area that you’re already standing in, but you don’t make your way there to sit. It’d just be a continuation of awkward silences with only the drone of the television to fill.

“So, uh, what do you think we should do for supper?” you ask. Having something to actually do while being around each other would probably make this whole thing more bearable. 

Your dad goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a tray of raw, seasoned chunks of meat. “I was just gonna throw some steaks on the grill.”

There’s a small pause, and Sy sharply glances at you. You minutely shake your head, telling him not to say anything.

“Need any help?” Sy asks right as you’re interrupting with, “You sure you don’t wanna go out somewhere in town?”

“Well, you already went an’ drove up the mountain,” your dad says.

“Yeah, ‘cause–” You cut yourself off, looking around the kitchen. There’s nothing in the oven or on the stove-top. “What else did you wanna have? With the steak?”

He shrugs and begins heading for the door that’s in the middle of the hallway, the one that opens up to the back side of his property. His little grill is out there. “I’ll see what I got in a minute.”

The second he’s outside, you swear under your breath. “Jesus Christ.”

Sy looks at you. “Think there’s anything in here you can actually eat?”

“It’s fine,” you deflect, and beside you, Sy heavily inhales through his nostrils.

Knowing Sy’s body language very well by now, you get the silent impression that he’s starting to feel over-protective over you, and you hope this night isn’t a fucking disaster because of your father’s bad attitude and apathy. You don’t want it to be a thing. Your dad is just like this. You remember being younger and not having solid plans on what meals you’d be eating on a day-to-day basis, too. It’s fine.

You take a few steps into the kitchen and open some cabinets. There, you find random canned items and a bunch of packets of instant meals. Out of everything, you determine that you can eat corn, baked beans, and oatmeal. You look in the fridge next. It’s sparse in there, as well, mainly full of condiments and beer, but you spot a container of eggs that may look promising. 

“If I make eggs,” you start, “that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have with steak, right?”

“I’d eat it,” Sy says, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’d eat it, or would it taste okay together?”

“Steak and eggs go together, sure,” he reassures, even putting a light hand on the small of your back.

“Okay, and baked beans, too?”

You feel Sy’s thumb begin to gently rub circles on your back. “Think we can rustle up somethin’ edible with that.”

So. Beans and eggs for you; steak, beans, and eggs for the boys. 

You walk to the hallway and open the door to see your dad’s hunched figure barely visible in the weak light of the porch bulb. The sun has entirely set by now, and the sky is a dark blue that you know will quickly turn black. “Hey.”

The grill sharply pops right as your dad straightens up and looks back at you. “While you’re finishin’ that up, I’m gonna heat up some beans and make some fried eggs. That okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

That’s all you need before you’re heading back into the kitchen to grab a skillet and a pot. You know the steaks won't take hardly any time on the grill since your dad likes them pink–“He didn’t even ask how you take your steak,” you mutter to Sy–so you try to cook in a rush so the rest of the food will be ready at the same time. 

After adding seasoning to the beans, Sy helps taste-test, and he holds out a plate for you to lay the finished eggs on, as well. They’re all over-easy, and you put the one whose yolk accidentally spills open onto a separate plate for yourself. By the time everything's ready, your dad’s already at the table with a beer, a knife, and a fork, cutting his steak. Sy takes the seat in front of him. 

In the middle of the table is a large plate with three other steaks piled on top. You put the pot of beans and the plate of fried eggs beside it, take a seat beside Sy, and refrain from immediately standing up to add food to your dad’s plate for him. You aren’t able to refrain from immediately standing up to get something for you and Sy to drink, however, and deciding to not even ask your dad because you know he’ll just answer with a grunt, you grab two unrefrigerated bottles of water from the twelve-pack on the kitchen floor and hand one to Sy before sitting back down. 

“Thanks for grillin’ the steak,” Sy says while stabbing the one on top with a fork and settling it on his plate. Your dad nods his head. “Looks great. Medium rare’s how I cook mine, too.”

Sy puts the other items on his plate only after you’ve served yourself first. On your plate are two over-easy eggs–one flat with spilled yolk–and a small spoonful of baked beans because you’re not about to spend the entire ride back to the hotel filling the car with gas. You start to slowly, slowly eat.

“Sy’s retired from the Army, Dad,” you eventually speak up, fishing for a topic that he’ll cling to. 

“Oh?” he asks. “Yeah, looks the type.”

That gets him and Sy talking for at least a little bit, but your dad unfortunately doesn’t ask many questions, so it’s up to Sy to navigate the conversation by supplying bits of information here and there and asking your dad questions. Man talk comes easy, though, just like it always does. Sports. Hunting. Fishing. 

All-in-all, it’s not the worst dinner conversation, but there’s an underlying awkwardness to it, some sort of simmering tension. The long stretches of silence caused by your dad’s four- or five-worded sentences doesn’t help, nor does the fact that he asks you nothing at all. Even after supplying him with great conversation fodder–your upcoming graduation–there’s nothing more from him than a little noise of interest, another little, “Oh?” and that’s it. No further questions about what date it’ll be so he can plan to come down for it, no inquiries about your dissertation, no nothing. You try not to take anything personally.

Sy eventually catches your eye. Just a tiny, imperceptible lift of his brow–You good?

You give a subtle nod–I’m fine–then you lift an eyebrow, too–are you? 

There’s barely any change in Sy’s face. You imagine that there’s some small bit of movement, though. You hope so, at least. You hope he's not downright suffering right now. 

You hate that this is how the day is going to be ending. If only you'd started with an actual breakfast steak and eggs meal with your father and ended the day at your mom's house… If only you hadn’t been idiotic enough to fill the day with so much… 

You share another private look with Sy and then go back to pushing your food around your plate. While you stab a singular bean on your fork, the air is weird for a second. You look up and catch your father blatantly staring at you and Sy while he's chewing a bite of food, and you reach up to itch your neck. 

“So. What’re y’all’s intentions here, anyway?” he finally asks, and your mouth parts at the tone of his voice. It's not quite disapproving, but…it is. “Considerin’ y'all's ages.”

This is where the pot boils over. You knew the weird tension would reach a head eventually, and for good reason: you know your dad very well. More than being just antisocial, he can be a downright asshole. You warned Sy, at least. 

Still, it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make the upcoming criticism from your dad any easier to hear. 

He'd asked about “y'all's” intentions as if addressing you both together, but he's only looking at Sy. With a tone of incredulity, you warn, “This is your very first time meeting him, Dad.”

“Intentions?” Sy speaks up.

Your dad chews again, then swallows, then belches in a gross way that doesn't make noise and seems to be swallowed. “Mm.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Sy is slow to say. He lifts his eyebrows and continues to speak carefully. “D’you mean why we’re here visitin’?”

Even though Sy’s probably either trying to be cordial or trying to at least fake being cordial, you’re outwardly frustrated. You look at him with thin lips. “He’s just tryin’ to–”

“Why you’re together,” your dad interrupts, and you forcefully stop yourself from rolling your eyes for fear they'll get stuck that way. Sy isn’t even that much older than you are, but you know that’s where your dad’s going with this. That and probably a dozen other things. 

Sy looks towards you right as you’re looking away, but you catch his expression from your peripheral vision, anyway. His jaw is tense.  

Your eyes turn blank before staring at your plate because you know what’s about to happen with this much testosterone in the room. Your dad’s not being respectful; Sy won't accept you being disrespected. Your dad’s not the best parental figure; Sy wants you to be taken care of. 

From your father’s side of it, though, y’all are on his property, and even though the trailer isn't much, it's his. He’s basically daring Sy to say something. He's challenging him.

You close your eyes for a moment. You know that, if it really were to come down to it, Sy will definitely not back down from a challenge. Even if it’s your fucking father. 

“Why we’re together…” Sy puts his arm around the back of your chair before pointedly looking at your dad. “Well, I reckon I’m just lucky.”

Your father outrightly chuckles. 

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” you say, peering up and frowning. Sy discreetly rubs his thumb over your shoulder.

“Oh, hell, Y/N,” he answers before taking another bite of steak. “Y’know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, okay. You were only laughing when he called himself lucky,” you mutter. 

He mumbles something back that you don’t make out, but you know it’s something defensive.

“Whatever, Dad. It just–It just sounded disrespectful,” you quietly say, sighing lightly. “That’s all.”

“Whatchu know about respect, Y/N?” he asks, and it doesn’t sound mean, not even condescending. Maybe that’s what makes you angrier–the forced calm. The conversational tone all of a sudden.

You’re almost positive that he’s referring to you and Sy’s silent discussion he witnessed you having just a few seconds ago with just your eyes. He’s being a dick because he’s probably feeling like you and Sy are judging him, and again, you want to roll your eyes like a teenager. Instead, you huff. “A lot of things.”

“Like?”

Sy moves his hand from the back of your chair and straightens up in his own seat. “Like that respect is somethin’ that’s earned and not given, for one,” he answers on your behalf, leaning a bit forward.

Oh, Jesus. Here we go. 

Your father takes a sip of his beer. “More like that respect for flesh and blood should trump anything else,” he comes back with, looking right at Sy. “That’s biblical.”

Your dad doesn’t even go to church, so what the fuck is his deal right now? Why’s he trying to instigate shit? To establish that he's the dominant one for knowing you longer or something? To show the worst parts of himself from the very start as a way to test him, to try to run him off? To keep just challenging him in some way for fun? What the actual fuck?

Sy smiles down at his plate, and it’s a shit-eating grin, not his genuine one. “Ah, at the end of the day, flesh and blood just means you’re related to someone.”

Your dad wipes the side of his mouth where you see a smirk forming. 

Is this seriously happening right now? What is happening right now?

“Flesh and blood equals family,” is your dad’s retort, “and, makes sense that that's where respect should start.”

“Except flesh and blood ain’t really the same as family,” Sy argues back lightly. “Just the same as respect, I think family’s a word that's gotta be earned.”

Sy doesn’t break eye-contact with your father after speaking, and at that, you slightly drop your mouth. Without saying as much, Sy’s essentially calling your dad a bad parent, not worthy to hold the title of being called family. And while he may not be entirely wrong… This can’t go on. It’ll end horribly. They’re both being ridiculous.

Your dad’s about to respond right when Sy’s about to keep talking, too, and you let out some sort of exasperated groan. 

“Oh, my God, would y’all please just stop?” you forcefully drop your silverware on your plate and pleadingly ask. “Stop. Please. Both of you."

Both Sy and your father look at you with some sort of quiet shock at your out-of-character outburst. 

"Just–stop. You're here havin' some sorta pissin' contest over--over what? Over what?” You look at Sy and then back to your father. “This is so stupid. I love both of you, you're both important to me, and you both don't have to sit here competing with each other about absolute bullshit, okay?”

The men continue to stare at you in surprise as you go on, your voice clear and firm in a way it usually isn’t.

“Whatever the hell problems y’all came up with in your heads about one another, get over it and get over it quick, or else I'm gonna get up and walk right out this dirty ass trailer." 

Frowning, you look between Sy and your dad again. 

“I’m a grown woman, and y’all are both grown adults. So you should put aside your egos and act like it.”

As both Sy and your father continue to look at you unblinkingly, you put your hands on the table. “I’m right here–literally right in front of you both–and I can speak for myself. If you have any questions, Dad, ask me. Ask me instead of murmurin’ all this stuff under your breath like you just did after you disrespectfully laughed when Sy said he’s lucky to be with me.”

Your father takes his time sipping his beer. “Just was wonderin’ why you’re with him, that’s all.”

Unbelievable. Yet another person who can't just be happy for you.

“Well, mostly just the sex, Dad,” you answer straightaway, “but I’m also usin’ him for his military pension.”

Sy makes a half-choking, half-laughing noise in the back of his throat, and you don’t even look at him. “I’m with him because I love him,” you firmly tell your father, never breaking eye-contact with him. “Not that I need to explain my choices to you, anyway, ‘cause you've never given a damn about any of them before. And you definitely haven't cared about who I've dated before. But if you really wanna know, Sy’s a good person, and I love him, and I’m happy. And he's not even that much older than I am! Now, if you could just pretend to be happy for me for the rest of this dinner, that’d be great. Otherwise, like I said, I’m just gonna leave.”

Your dad stares at you until you're done, then he gives you a singular nod, slightly lifting one hand from off the table like he’s accepting what you’ve said.

"And you," you turn to Sy and address. "You don’t have to–Thank you–" you pointedly look at him with soft, grateful eyes– "but you seriously don’t have to stick up for my honor or anything right now. It's…It's just my dad bein' my dad. Please just chill, okay?"

Like your father, Sy curtly nods at you, and under the table, he puts a hand on your leg. His and your father’s eyes don’t move from your face for quite some time, but after they finally glance at one another again, it’s mere moments before they look back down at their plates and begin to silently eat again.

Utensils lightly clank against porcelain for a few moments. Sy makes a deep noise in the back of his throat while he’s chewing to politely indicate he likes the food, but internally, he's probably angry as shit that you’d just embarrassed him like that. 

“How’s your grandma doin’?” your dad breaks the silence.

“She’s okay,” you answer, and then you pick up your fork and begin to eat once more. Your stomach is suddenly hurting, though–Sy's gotta be quietly stewing internally, and you know that when you're alone together after this, you're gonna have an argument regardless of how patient a man he is.

“How’s your mom?” he asks next.

"You live here, Dad, not me," you answer without any bite, happy that most of his alpha machismo has settled and that he’s actually begun to ask you questions now. "You see her more than I do, I'm sure."

Your dad grunts like Sy would. “One thing about this town is everyone knows everyone's business."

"Mm. Momma said she got a phone call the other night from one of her neighbors that saw me comin’ into town."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She told on me for buyin' alcohol at the Citgo."

Your dad laughs.

"It's not funny,” you say through a smile, though honestly, you’re still frustrated with him. And nervous about your upcoming argument with Sy. “It’s nosy as hell. I'm an adult."

“As you have reminded us twice in the past five minutes.”

“Mm,” you just say. You finish the tiny bit of food left on your plate. “What’s with all the cars outside, anyway? I meant to ask.”

“They don’t run,” he answers before taking a sip of beer. “The Honda needs a carburetor. The Ford had the catalytic converter stole’t out it. The other two just got a bunch'a stuff to work on.”

Sy perks up a bit but doesn’t say anything.

“You're just leavin’ ‘em out there to rust?”

Your dad pushes his plate forward. “Eh, I'll get to ‘em eventually.”

“So what are you drivin’, then?”

“The truck.”

You nod but don't say anything else. Your dad's been driving “the truck” since you were young, a blue Toyota that looked nice at one time, but definitely not anymore. The driver’s seat no longer has upholstery; there's just a tattered yellow cushion your dad sits on while driving. The color of one of the doors doesn't match the rest of the vehicle’s paint. Somehow you're not surprised that the truck is still his preferred method of transportation.

After everyone’s done eating, your dad goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and you clean off the table. Sy quietly helps you wash the dishes you’d just dirtied along with whatever else is already in the sink, but when that turns into you scrubbing the counters and then cleaning your dad’s greasy microwave, Sy quietly steps aside. 

And you get it. You know how upset he's gotta be with you. You'd humiliated him in front of your father…the very first time they’d met. 

Well. Your first real argument as a couple was bound to happen sometime. Of course it would happen now, outside your grumpy-ass dad’s trailer.

Sy puts on his jacket and leaves the front part unzipped, and then he takes a few large strides back to you. Standing behind you, he kisses the top of your head for some reason, then he murmurs, “Be right back.”

You don’t get why he’s still acting affectionate. If you stiffen a little bit, you try to hide it.

You take the time to dry the dishes the best you can with the paper towels you see laying out, then you put everything away without much care to where it goes since there’s no organizational system in place that you notice. After that, you find a broom and quickly start sweeping the kitchen floor, then the living room floor, then the floor underneath the kitchen table. 

It’s not much different when you’re done, but it’s somewhat better. If your dad owned any cleaning products whatsoever, it’d even smell nice. Still, using only water and soap is an improvement. After that, you stay busy with throwing away pieces of blatant trash you find laying around until the front door opens again.

When your dad steps inside, he makes a bee-line for the fridge. Sy enters next and shuts the door behind him, then you hear the click and hiss of a can opening.

"You could probably do well with cuttin' back, Dad,” you uselessly say while approaching Sy. You quietly point outside to gesture to Sy that you want to leave soon. After that, you keep your eyes diverted from his.

Sy holds up your coat as you push your arms through the thick sleeves, and you quickly and briefly look up at him in thanks, trying to hide your nerves. “You…have a good chat?” you ask.

Instead of answering, Sy’s lip curves upwards at one side. He'smadatyouhe'smadatyou. In the next instant, your father steps closer to you.

"What for?"

You turn your attention to your father again and do some mental tricks to remember what he’s even referring to. Oh–alcohol. “I dunno, Dad,” you say with a shrug. "Your general health."

“Eh, my liver’s fine.”

Leaving you to talk with your dad alone, Sy points to where the bathroom would be down the hall before heading in that direction. You watch him until he's out of sight. 

“I highly doubt that,” you respond while zipping up your coat.

Your dad moves until he’s standing right beside you. “Even if it ain’t, when I go, it’ll be my time to go.”

“Well,” you look up and comment, “other people might want you around for longer, then, have you ever thought’a that?”

“Who?”

“Maybe me.” You shrug. ”Need someone to walk me down the aisle eventually.”

Your dad reaches out to touch your elbow, and he leaves his hand there for a few seconds before dropping it. His way of showing affection is so weird, but you've accepted it. Maybe this is even his approval of Sy. You can only hope. 

In the background, you hear a toilet flush. If the main spaces of the trailer have been this uncared for, you can only imagine the state of the bathroom that Sy’s currently exiting, and you frown. How freaking embarrassing. Just–all of this. 

“You’ve got to get this place cleaned up better, Dad,” you turn back and softly plead, piling on more stuff to parent him over. “This…It just can’t be good for your health.”

Your father clearly hears what you say and chooses not to respond.

After Sy walks back into the room, he stands in front of your father and holds out his hand. “Thanks again for havin’ us,” he says while they briefly yet firmly shake hands. “It was nice meetin’ you.”

“You, too, son,” your dad replies, and you turn towards the door and make some sort of hidden, shocked face. Son?

“Alright, well.” You briefly look behind you before opening the door and letting in the cold. “I’ll let you know when I’m in town again. Probably not ‘til spring break.”

Your dad nods. “Drive safe.”

That’ll be the only other outward display of care that you’ll get from your father, so you slightly smile. “Yeah. We will. Bye, Dad. Was good seein’ you.”

He uses your nickname when he returns the sentiment.

Outside, it’s now entirely dark, and you hurry down the small set of stairs until you’re back on flat dirt again. You can’t help wrapping your arms around yourself. Fuck. This is gonna be you and Sy’s first fight–real fight. You absolutely dread it. You could cry.

The way you’ve acted tonight, the way you’ve talked… You knew that being around your dad would bring out a different side of you, and you wish you’d exercised way more control over your behavior and word choices. You shouldn’t’ve even come here. 

Maybe that's being dramatic, but you don't care. 

By the car, you stall with the  keys in your hand. You accidentally drop them and have to bend over to pick them up, and when you stand upright again, you notice Sy tossing a tiny piece of gum in his mouth. As he starts chewing it, you just know he’s just continuing exercising his self-control. 

The trip back to the hotel is going to be tense as shit unless you apologize now. You clench your teeth together and turn to face Sy head-on. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Well, that was–” Sy stops in his tracks once you look at him. “Whoa, whoa–hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

"I’m so sorry, Sy," you tell him, touching your temples and sighing like you’ve just spent an entire day at work. "I really, really am.”

Genuine concern paints his handsome face. “What’re you sorry for, baby?”

“For everything I said to you…and for my dad being…my dad. Sorry for this whole entire freaking dinner.” You throw your hands in the air in exasperation. “This entire trip. It's just–Being around him just, like, really triggers me, and I–I'm sorry for–"

You’re interrupted by fingers on your chin gently tilting your face upwards. With minty breath, Sy’s mouth covers yours quicker than you can even anticipate it, and obviously you kiss him back, but you mumble against his lips until he stands upright again.

You touch your lips with two fingers. “Wh–what was that for?”

Crouching down to kiss your forehead next, Sy slides down to your nose and your mouth again, then down to your chin and your neck, even pushing your coat to the side to get more access. He drags his mouth around so much that his beard tickles your skin. The noises he makes are content–little mm, mm, mhmm sounds–and you just stay frozen.

“I don't get why you're doing this,” is the only thing your brain can put together. 

With hot lips, he speaks against your neck, and out of pure instinct, you tilt your head to the side to allow him room to work with. Still, your mouth remains open in confusion. Your arms hang limply by your sides.

“Wh–? How–?” You have to take an actual step back because you don’t understand what the hell's going on. You’re wearing a winter coat, and here he is trying to devour your neck. Outside your dad’s trailer. When he's mad at you.

When you straighten out again, prompting Sy to follow suit, you sniff before asking, “What’re you doin’, Sy?”

Instead of an argument like you were expecting, this is…entirely differently. You were expecting anger, you were expecting embarrassment, some sort of shock at the nerve of you to dare talk to him that way, but this–this is–this is the exact opposite. Sy’s grinning in your face, downright happy. 

His grin gently softens as he moves his hands to your hips. In the glow of the front porch light, his eyes are just as gentle.

“I am so fuckin’ proud’a you, Y/N,” he says, then he literally hefts you up and spins you in a circle. 

You let out a high-pitched noise. "Oh–Good lord, Sy, what?” you squeak, dizzy when you’re back on flat ground again.

“I’m so proud of you,” he repeats.

Leaning backwards against the driver’s side door to get your balance, you ask, “And this is you showin’ your pride?”

Sy just nods through a roguish smile and leans in to deeply kiss you again, muffling your “For what?” 

It's impossible not to give in, but you're confused and you're getting cold, and leaning on this car isn't comfortable at all. “Sy,” you chide, “we’re still at my dad’s.”

When he kisses you again, you indulge in it for a few more moments before lifting your hands to his thick jacket. "Ugh, no, I’m bein’ serious…I need a shower. After how gross it was in there–"

"Aw, was like the barracks I'm used to,” Sy says with a shrug. “Felt like home."

You burst out laughing. It’s quiet shortly after that, though, and you divert your eyes away from Sy and also from the eyesore of your dad’s trailer. “You’re seriously not mad at me?”

In response, you see Sy just shake his head, simple as anything. Happiness bordering on glee covers his face. “No.”

“I mean–but I said…Sy, when I was sayin’ that stuff, I was…I was actually talkin’ to you, too, you know. Earlier. In there. You and my dad.”

“Oh,” Sy instantly says, “I know you were.”

You finally meet his eyes. “And that got you…What, that’s what you’re proud of?”

“Seein’ you stand up for yourself?” he asks. “Knowin’ you’ll put me in my place if I need it? Fuck, yeah, that's what I'm proud of. It means you ain't afraid to speak your mind.”

Sy takes your face in both hands. “You trust me enough to tell me off, to tell me to stop. I…I couldn't be any fuckin’ happier right now.”

You blink a few times. You hadn’t considered it like that before. When you think of it like that, it’s not so bad after all.

Still, it was rude, and you say as much. Sy brushes your apology aside again. 

Guilt is slow to evaporate, but Sy’s kisses help. There’s nothing but eager hunger when he slides one of his hands to the back of your head and starts earnestly making out with you–jaw working, tongue working, face moving from the left to the right to change the angle of the kiss and explore more. 

Feeling small and enveloped, you get carried away at being literally ravished like this, and the inadvertent noises that escape your mouth only spur Sy on. When his hands travel up and down the length of your sides and then down to your ass, however, you have to protest.

Everything feels good, but too good. You have no other option but to stop like you're ripping a bandaid off–fast and all at once. Roughly, you tear your mouth from Sy's, leaving you both panting out condensation into each other's faces.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Sy. I really don’t wanna do this here,” you tell him, yearning for a hot shower and a clean living space and maybe some more clarification on exactly what the fuck is going through Sy's head right now.

“Alright, baby. Alright.” His hands loosen up instantly. “Then c’mon,” he says, reaching to open the car door behind you.

Before Sy is able to, you sit down in the driver’s seat, and he stands outside, protesting. “Hey, I’ll drive. I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I,” you tell him with a smirk before shutting the door on him. 

When he’s in the passenger seat, you start the car and flick on the headlights. Next, you switch the heat to full-blast and just sit there, trying to simultaneously catch your breath and warm your hands. Almost shyly, you look over at Sy. Unabashedly, he grins. 

“So, uh. The woods sorta freak me out at night,” you admit, trying to slow your breathing down to a normal rhythm, “and if I’m not the one drivin’, then I’ll worry way more.”

“Ah.”

“Drivin’ at least keeps my brain occupied so there's less, like, room in there to worry.” You let out a small chuckle, and Sy makes a little noise in return. 

“That’s smart.”

“Known to happen from time to time,” you murmur, trying to joke to make light of the fact that you sound like a broken record all the time, worrying about everything. “Plus, your focus, uh, seems to be on just one thing right now, anyway.”

“Can’t fault me for that,” Sy replies, eyes fully focused on you. You glance at him again, and instead of seeing a cocky grin, there’s a genuine contented smile there–one that tells you that despite his obvious enthusiasm, he’s truly in no rush. He’s just happy.

You don’t know if you’ll ever fully wrap your head around the fact that–entirely sober–he looks at you like you’re the fucking sun and treats you like you’re something both precious and desirable. A momentary smugness of your own washes through you as you remember that you’re the only one he shows this side of himself to–this romantic and sort of soft side. The inside of the car is dark, but you make sure Sy sees you smiling back at him.

Taking a deep breath, you put the car into drive and start slowly crunching along the bumpy dirt lane. Bordering the long path are endless trees, and in them you suddenly see a bunch of raccoons, some sitting and some hanging, all with their huge beady eyes reflecting off your headlights.

“I fucking hate raccoons,” you grumble, evoking an actual laugh from Sy. Normally he just grins and chuckles.

“Well, alright then,” he says, clearly amused.

You look over and smile at him. “What? They’re horrible. When I was little, they used to break into the trash cans and get crap everywhere. And guess who had to clean it up.”

“You poor thing,” he tuts and says with a deep tone, and instantly, like his very voice is being injected straight into your bloodstream, your heart begins to thump.

All his words are a lot. He's a lot. 

Driving with just one hand, you chew on the nails of your free hand. Despite your desire to just have one fucking night without worrying for once, you’re still unable to stop ruminating on the events of the night. Mainly you focus on supper, obviously, but then you start over-analyzing what Sy had said and done just moments ago in the yard, too.

He said he was proud of you. He said he was proud of you for “putting him in his place.” Proud of you. Like, excessively proud. Spin-you-in-the-air proud.

Not having anything to compare this situation to, your mind is reeling. What does that mean? You simultaneously love yet can’t accept praise, and that’s something that you just can’t…what does that even mean?

“You’re thinkin’ real loud over there,” Sy notices.

Quietly, you let out a little puff of air through your nostrils. “When am I not?” 

“I’ll protectchu from those raccoons, baby, don’tchu worry.”

In response to his joke, you only offer a tight-mouthed smile, and you see how Sy tries to tilt his body more towards you. In the small car, it doesn’t make much of a difference, but you feel his heavy attention on you nonetheless.

“Hey,” he says, changing tones. “What’s up?”

You put your right hand on the steering wheel to join your left while you think of how to phrase what you’re thinking. “Okay. So, a few minutes ago.”

Briefly, you glance at Sy and notice his face is focused, eyes serious.

“You said you were…like.” Why’s it hard to even say? “Proud of me.”

“So fuckin’ proud,” Sy corrects.

Your face gets hot just from continuously hearing that word. “But...for what? For putting you in your place?”

“Mmhm.”

“Like. Could you maybe define what exactly that means?”

“I said somethin’ outta line,” he easily answers, “and you stood your ground and told me to stop.”

Your eyes dart around the road to make sure you don’t see any deer in the distance. Sy reads your silence as confusion.

“Tryna buck up on’ your dad within an hour of meetin’ him…Not my best move,” he admits.

“He was tryin’ to buck up on you.”

“At any rate, I made up for it.”

You briefly look at him. “How?”

“We talked outside. We’re good.”

You lower your speed as your dad’s lane finally ends, spilling out onto a public road. It's still just dirt and gravel for now, but it’ll change to asphalt soon. You take the turn carefully; there are patches of snow everywhere, and there’s something like twenty back-to-back curves up ahead that you’ve got to navigate on the rest of the way down the mountain. 

“I’m sure it was riveting,” you comment with a twinge of curiosity. “He’s an excellent conversationalist.”

Sy chuckles. “Still haven’t told me what’s wrong,” he supplies, slipping a hand on your leg for a second. 

“I mean, nothing’s wrong,” you try to explain.

“Do you not believe that I’m proud’a you?” he guesses.

“No, I believe you,” you instantly reply just as he’s finishing with, “‘Cause I don’t throw that word around for nothin’.”

You glance over at Sy to see him still watching you attentively. “I know–I’m just, I dunno…I’m confused, I guess.”

The heater is humming, the tires are crunching along the road, and the radio is almost imperceptibly dull. Sy patiently waits in silence for you to get your words together.

“So, uh. Okay. You don’t have, like…a thing with ‘being put in your place’ or something, do you?” 

You carefully step on the brakes while you take a hair-pin turn, grateful that this road is so curvy you have to really pay attention to it. You’re so embarrassed at this topic that you couldn’t bear to look at Sy’s face right now.

Still, you feel Sy’s eyes on you. “Whatchu mean by that?”

“Like…I dunno, that’s just a…You don’t like to–I mean, it’s totally okay and all, ‘cause, like, we always have good sex, but–You don’t want me to–” you lower your voice– “boss you around or anything, do you? It’s just ‘cause I’m not really sure if–”

Loudly, Sy lets out a laugh. “Oh, now, you know damn well what the answer to that is.”

Relieved, you smile, but then just a second later, you’re rolling your eyes again. He looks and sounds like such a fuckboy right now, laughing like that. You honestly think you’ve rolled your eyes enough times tonight for them to be stuck.

“And you like it, too,” he adds deeply. “Me bein’ in charge.” 

You keep your eyes on the road. Maybe.

“Don’tchu?”

Though you try fighting it back, a smile breaks out across your face. “I don’t–”

“Yes, you do,” Sy supplies confidently. 

You chuckle. “No, that’s not what I was gonna say. I was gonna say that I don’t like to make a whole lotta extra decisions. ‘Cause, like…I do that all the time at work and on campus as it is. So it's nice. To…not have to do that."

“That’s where you can leave the worryin’ to me, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, and you can’t help squirming in your seat. Though you still can’t entirely understand why he’s proud, you take his words at face-value. He'd said it, and he only says what he means. 

“Looks like ice up ahead, babe,” Sy points out, conversation continuing along as if you hadn’t made everything awkward as shit. 

“Oh, gosh,” you mutter before you carefully swerve around a large patch of ice on the road. 

“Shoulda got some chains for these tires,” he mutters to himself.

“Oh, it's not so bad,” you speak up. “I got this.”

Sy glances at you. “Yes, you do.”

The air in the cabin is heavy during the rest of the drive, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s charged heaviness–anticipatory like the moment between thunder and lightning, comforting like sleeping under your new weighted blanket, molten like trying to breathe at the humid forest floor of a jungle. It goes unsaid what’s going to happen later.

Sy’s eyes have lost their earlier wildness and have steadily changed into something more calm. Still, when you pull up to the hotel, you turn off the car and look at him pointedly. “I’m seriously gonna take a shower in, like, two minutes exactly,” you tell him, “so don’t jump me the second we walk in the room.”

All of Sy’s teeth show from the grin he gives you, the crooked one on the side getting your attention immediately. “Now, that ain’t fair.” 

You stick your tongue out at him.

On the way to your hotel room, you and Sy kiss in the corner of the elevator, taking advantage of being alone. Unable to stop smiling, you laugh against his lips at first, but you end up with your face and mouth going entirely lax within a few seconds, your tongues sliding together hungrily. With one of Sy’s hands on your waist and the other leaning on the elevator wall above your head, you feel small and owned and encapsulated–with his mouth, with his scent, with his entire body. 

After stepping out onto your floor, Sy looks both ways to ensure you’re still alone, then goes back to kissing you while you attempt to reach your room. You break away from his lips to get your key-card, and while still steadily continuing to walk, albeit sideways, you accept even more kisses.

“Military self-discipline, my ass,” you mutter under your breath once you arrive at the correct door, and you shriek out a laugh when Sy outrightly smacks your backside.

“Damn, so loud,” Sy mumbles. “Gonna get management called on us.”

You squint your eyes at him. “And whose fault would that be?” 

Sy innocently lifts his hands. You bite your bottom lip through a smile and let yourself in the room.

Inside, you drop your things on a nearby table and go straight to the bathroom to switch on the lights. You keep the door open while you strip out of your coat and the rest of your clothes, and Sy leans against the door-frame and calmly watches you. 

“You weren’t jokin’ about takin’ a shower right away, huh.”

You bend down to turn on the faucet, flipping up the diverter to switch the water to the showerhead next. Feeling somewhat bold, or as bold as possible while nervously playing with your thumbs behind your back, you turn to look directly at Sy. 

Giving him a full-frontal view and an almost-shy expression, you quietly ask, “You gonna join me or what?”

With tenacity, Sy drops his jacket to the floor. “You ain’t gotta ask me twice.”

He reaches over his shoulder for the middle of his sweater and tugs it over his back and head in one motion. Next, he kicks off his boots and undoes his belt, looking ahead at you instead of paying attention to what he’s doing. You take him in, too, eyes flitting over his wide torso and chest the very moment they’re bared. You’ll never get over the sheer breadth of this man.

As Sy pushes his jeans and boxers down together, the metal of his belt clinks in a sound you entirely associate with sex. Immediately, you glance downwards and stare at how filled out his dick’s beginning to get. When he walks into the bathroom, he catches you, and you look up at him through your lashes.

Slowly, Sy approaches you, and he drops a barely-there kiss to your forehead. He takes your hand a few seconds later to unnecessarily help you step into the tub. 

After both of you are inside, you close the curtain and get under the warm water as quickly as you can, avoiding your hair. Sy continues to just watch you. There’s just this–this look he’s got on his face. This subtle smile. The smile he’s been donning since leaving your father’s place that just won’t fully leave, like he’s quietly self-satisfied, but satisfied with you–like he’s truly and sincerely radiating pride.  

“This’s gone entirely to your head,” you try to joke. There’s no preamble prior to saying it, and there’s no explanation afterwards, either. You both know what you’re talking about. 

Sy reaches outside of the shower for a washrag. He hands it to you before securing the curtain again. “It’s no small thing, Y/N,” he says seriously. “You know that, right?”

You look up at him, and the somewhat-smug smile has dropped. He reaches out and finds your forearm, and he lightly wraps his fingers there. “It means you feel safe enough to really speak up, maybe push boundaries some. It means you trust me.”

Just then, a scene pops into your mind from not too long ago: you and Sy on your bed. You, crying yourself dehydrated. Him, holding you while you got it all out. The night you’d both said “I love you” for the first time. The night he'd gotten you roses and cooked dinner for you only for you to have a complete emotional breakdown in front of him. 

He'd said the same stuff back then, too. He'd said he only ever wanted you to just drop your shields around him, to fully trust him. To trust that he wasn't just with you for all the good times, but the bad times, too. And he’d said that communicating with each other was the only way that that kind of trust would come about. Your emotional breakdown was rough, but you’d talked everything out that night. Now look at you.

It had been so hard for you to comprehend at that time that someone would willingly want to go through challenging times with their partner. Since then, though, you’ve held up to your promise to voice not just pleasant things but the unpleasant things, as well, and since then, Sy’s proven time and time again that he won’t overreact, won’t use anything against you. He's shown that he just wants you to feel comfortable enough to share everything–that’s all. No hidden motives. 

“I do trust you,” you say, almost whispering it because it feels sacred. “I really, really do.” 

Still blinking up at him, you watch as obvious adoration and pride returns full-force to his face. His hand moves down your forearm to your hand, and he gently squeezes it before letting it go. 

You zone out for a second while holding the washrag in the direct path of the falling water. “God, I really thought you were gonna be so mad at me. I was expectin’ us to argue. Not…this.”

“You thought I was gonna argue with you?”

You nod before putting a superfluous amount of body wash on the washrag. You’re determined to wash yourself resplendent. “I thought you were just holdin’ it together ‘til we were alone,” you mumble while running the washrag all over your arms, then your chest, then your stomach.

Sy’s eyes lose their earlier mirth, turning downwards at the side. “Y/N…No.”

“I mean, I know I have a lot of deprogramming I still have to work on,” you admit as you reach behind you to wash your neck and back, “but–I just didn’t know what to think. I said out-of-line stuff.”

Sy nods with a frown, a weird mixture of emotions washed over his face. “Your dad said outta line stuff,” he corrects. “You just stood up for yourself–and for me. And I can’t tell you how fuckin’ proud I am.”

You’re so unaccustomed to hearing anybody tell you that they’re proud of you–and so damn repeatedly–that it still sounds foreign to your ears. When your eyes search Sy’s face, again, his happiness is evident. 

The expressions on his face have been all over the place tonight. You love this one the best, the one right now. The smile that makes his eyes crinkle and his mouth widen and his eyes soft.

“You really are proud of me tonight, huh?” you whisper. 

“This whole weekend, actually,” Sy answers with an accent like butter. Akchalee. His voice only turns more seductive when he adds, “So proud of my girl.”

You glance aside. In reaction to hearing him say these things in that deep voice of his, your breathing stutters, and as usual, your heart minutely quickens. You briefly turn around with the guise of washing between your legs, wondering if Sy truly knows the full extent of the impact these simple words have on you. 

“I don’t want you ever to be afraid’a me,” he tells you when you turn around. “Ever. I’m dead serious about that.”

“I know, Sy,” you reply. “I’m not.”

Things have gotten a little intense, so you bend down to wash all the lower parts of your body. When you stand up, you give the washrag to Sy and–with difficulty–switch places in the shower so you can rinse off.

“...But that doesn’t mean that you can’t be mad, you know?” you go on. “I mean, realistically, there’s gonna be some time that you’ll get angry with me. I’m not perfect. We’re...I mean, it sucks, and I really don’t want to, but at some point, eventually we’re actually gonna argue.”

It’s quiet after that, and you’re fully aware you’re starting to ruin the moment Sy’s been building up. Because of course you are.

Sy doesn’t speak until you look at him again, almost like he’s been waiting for you to. “And that’s the entire point I’m tryna make,” he says, smiling. “Even if I am mad about somethin’, or if you’re mad about somethin’, neither of us should have to hold our tongues ‘cause’a some reaction we’re afraid of. The only way to work shit out is through communication. And real communication won’t happen without believin’ you’re gonna feel safe even sayin’ what’s on your mind.”

You take the time to absorb all of that. “Right,” you agree. 

“So you get now why I’m a little fuckin’ happy?” he asks. “Thatchu felt you could say whatchu did?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Sy doesn’t buy it yet. “...But?”

You chuckle. “But I just…I don’t want to ever say wrong things, though,” you look down and mutter. “Like, what if what I said tonight really did make you mad? ‘Cause it was disrespectful?”

Sy lifts your face softly with a finger on your chin. “Then we’d talk,” he replies.

Like the words don’t compute, you stare at him blankly. 

“Baby, it’s me,” he reminds you, and his eyes shadow with something pained, a phantom ache that you’ve picked up on from time to time when you say certain things. 

“I know,” you try to placate, looking away for a second. Of course. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

Sy steps in to hug you, and even though you’re skin-on-skin and can literally feel every part of him, there’s nothing sexual about it. You put your hands on his love-handles before wrapping them around his slick back, and while you keep your hands there, you rest your cheek on his chest. 

“Sorry you always have to deal with the same stuff from me all the time.”

“You’re my favorite thing to deal with,” is his reply, and you huff in amusement against his wet skin. 

You place a kiss on his chest, and it smacks when you back away. “But really. Thanks for always bein’ so patient with me, Sy.”

While you squeeze Sy’s back, you feel a kiss at the top of your head. “I love you,” he murmurs, and in the words, you hear a background of other meanings. You hear loving you ain’t a hardship. You hear well, it ain’t necessarily an effort I have to make. It just is.

And there’s nothing in your mind that’s trying to dispute that anymore. 

[just-chirpin]

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[gummydummy19]

Part 8: picture perfect

Summary: After the housesitting situation...things start to get a little complicated

Content Warnings: I'm putting the slow in slow burn guys... (a little smutty, M masturbation, mentions of boners hehe)

Word count: 2750

A/N: after 4 billions years, here's the next part to the story...this is kinda short and I KNOW its a very slow burn...but im getting there guys I promise, even tho this chapter doesn't quite feel finished, I wanted to post it and get some feedback idk, the next part will probably be more of a holiday fic so I will continue with december.

December 1st 11:34AM

“I can’t believe it's December already”, you exclaimed as you pulled "November 31st" off the calendar that hung in your kitchen.

It was the definition of a slow Sunday. It was almost noon. You had just shoved your first batch of Christmas cookies in the oven. Sy was on the couch with a bowl of Cereal, pretending to read the paper but secretly eyeing the awful Hallmark Christmas movie you put on.

"Scootch", you gently barked at him, as if you weren't gonna end up half in his lap anyway. Sy grumbled but obliged and you indeed ended up with your legs sprawled across his lap and his paper sprawled across your legs. Aika was lying on the ground next to the couch, her usual spot.

"Want a sip?", you asked, holding up your cup of hot cocoa. "Nah, I don't drink any of that sugary stuff, way too sweet."

"Maybe you should, you could use it, Grumpy"

"Are you saying I'm not sweet, Sugar?", he drew up his eyebrow again and you giggled. "Well, a little extra wouldn't hurt, now would it?"

"I got you, don't I? More than enough sweetness for one grumpy old man."

You smiled at that. His eyes had gone back to his paper as he flipped a page. God, he was gorgeous.

"You're not old, Sy." you spoke gently, barely loud enough for him to hear it over the movie playing.

"Just watch the movie, sweetheart", his warm hand slid over your lower leg. It was ridiculous how the smallest, most innocent touch from him could make your entire body feel hot.

You took a sip from your Santa themed mug and you felt...at peace. Something that could only be described as domestic bliss hung in the air. You had a hard time keeping your eyes away from the rugged man sitting next to you. For a second you could picture Sy sitting at the holiday table with your family. You could see him talking about cars with your dad, or carrying your older sister's little girl on his arm...maybe one day even some little ones of your own...Oh, you bet he'd be an amazing father...son in law...husband..

"Sugar? Hey, Sugar?" Sy's voice accompanied with some leg squeezes snapped you out of your thoughts, "Huh?"

"The oven is beeping, Sugar. I think your cookies are done."

"Oh shit, right", you hopped up and made your way to the kitchen, mentally cursing yourself for even daring to think about your roommate like that.

Things with Sy had been.. peculiar. It felt wrong to say weird, cause that sounded negative, and in no way, shape or form would you describe living with him negatively.

When you told Liz about the night at the Kent mansion, she was absolutely ecstatic, until you clarified that nothing had actually happened...

Well...

November 23rd, 8:47 AM

When you first stirred awake, you had difficulty orienting yourself. Until you realised there was a pair of warm, large arms wrapped around you, pressing you against a warm hairy chest, and a hard..OH MY GOD-

Your eyes flew open immediately and you froze. It was wild how the body could go from a state of absolute relaxation and comfort to full high alert in a split second.

You tried your hardest not to move as your mind updated you on where you were and how you got here.

You were at your boss's mansion, house-sitting with your ridiculously attractive roommate for whom you may or may not harbour a massive crush, with whom you may or may not hoped to finally hook up last night.

When you had walked in on Sy fast asleep, part of you was relieved. Nothing had to change, you could just sleep next to him and you'd still be just roommates, maybe at most this would be an official upgrade to "friends", but that was it.

Yet here you were, the morning after your juvenile sleepover, snuggled in his arms with his massive, rock hard cock pressed against your ass.

Sneaking out wasn't an option. He was a military man. The slightest movement would alert him. You weren't ready for the confrontation, nor did you want to embarrass him. Your thoughts raced along with your heartbeat, and before you could come up with your next move, Sy woke up.

You felt his muscles tense and his breath hitch against your neck, your eyes closed instinctively, you tried to relax your body and slow down your breathing.

"Sugar?..." he whispered unsurely, you stayed quiet.

"Fuck...fuck fuck fuck...oh fuck not now...shit", he mumbled curses under his breath, clearly aimed at himself, or at least...a part of himself.

You felt him gently move back, and you had to use all your willpower not to stop him or chase his warmth. Maybe you should have, maybe you should have turned around and grabbed him, kissed him, finally told him how you felt...but you were too scared. Even tho he literally had a sign of his affection pressed against you, you were terrified of getting rejected by him. So you kept still and quiet.

Sy got up from the bed, slowly and silently. Your eyes stayed shut, but you heard him open the door to the bathroom. After that, all you could hear was the sound of the shower, you assumed it was cold.

You set up on the bed, and only a couple minutes later Sy emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"Hi", you greeted him, looking at your phone to avoid having to look him in the eyes (or stare at his chest)

"Hey...did I wake you?", he replied, it was hardly noticeable, but still you could tell he was nervous.

"No, I uh...I just woke up, just now...", you stammered

He suggested you get some breakfast, you asked if he left you any hot water, he replied he only used cold.

November 28th, 09:56 AM - Thanksgiving Day

"Alright, I'm heading out! I'll be back tomorrow night, there's food in the fridge okay?

"Aye aye, captain", Sy replied from the couch, not bothering to look back at you, simply raising his beer.

You sighed, you knew Thanksgiving was a hard time for him. Bad memories. He had been in a foul mood since yesterday.

"Are you sure you don't wanna come? My mom always has too much food anyway"

"Sugar, I don't wanna ruin my own family's Thanksgiving with my brooding, why would I wanna ruin yours? Besides, someone needs to stay with Aika."

"You wouldn't ruin anything Sy, you and Aika would be more than welcome t-"

"I watched my men die last Thanksgiving. I have nothing to add to your celebration."

"Sy I'm-"

"Besides, I have nothing to be thankful for anyway," he cut you off again, his voice dripped with bitterness.

oh

alright.

The place was quiet for just a second before you replied "Got it", and moved to pick up your bag from the ground.

"Sugar..." he wanted to apologise, he didn't mean it how it came out.

You slammed the door shut before he even had the chance to say anything.

The drive to your mother’s place was only 45minutes but it felt like forever, tears prickled in your eyes as your mind went into full overthinking mode. The fact that you had just started your period this morning didn’t help either…

You ended up staying at your mother’s place for two nights instead of one. The next morning you woke up to a text from Sy;

“Hey, Im sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did…can you just let me know you’re okay? Sy.

Sent at 01:09AM”

You replied that you were fine and blamed your delay on the weather and having had too much to drink before finally getting in your car and driving home.

You got back to the apartment a little before noon, Sy was in his room, you could hear his PlayStation playing.

There was a box with a bow on it in the middle of the kitchen counter. Inside was a Polaroid camera with a note; “I'm thankful for you"

Great, now you’re tearing up again…

His door was half open, you knocked before pushing it open completely, polaroid in your hand.

“Hi”

“Hey, you’re home…” he looked up at you, all puppy eyed, immediately taking off his headphones, not caring that his character was getting shot to pieces.

“Yeah…”

“Look…Sugar…I really didn’t mean”

“Where did you get this?”, you asked curiously, holding up the camera.

“Uh…I bought it a couple weeks ago, it was supposed to be your Christmas gift…but I figured I should pull out all the stops”, he chuckled awkwardly.

You smiled at him, unable to help yourself you went up to hug him, and due to his position you found yourself sitting sideways on his lap as you pressed a kiss on his bearded cheek. “Thanks Sy, I love it” you said before wrapping your arms around his neck again and pulling him close. “and I’m thankful for you too” you whispered.

A chill went down his spine and he cleared his throat, “well uh…thanks Sugar”, just as you felt something starting to stir up under your thighs, he swiftly urged you off of him and placed his headphones and controller on his lap.

“Right, uhm, do you need any laundry done…I was just about to do mine” you pointed at his laundry basket

“Im a grown man sug, I can do my own laundry”

“I know that, but if Im doing it anyway…you can do the next load, big guy.”

You grabbed his basket and your camera and darted out the room, making a mental note to throw the panties you currently had on in the laundry too…

December 1st 15:47

“Come on, smile!”, *SNAP*, the camera flashed. After another batch of cookies, hot coco and an awfully good holiday romcom, you decided some fresh air was due. Besides, Sy needed the exercise for his leg and Aika needed to get outside.

“Sy, just one little smile that’s all I ask for” , *SNAP* ofcourse you had to take your brand new Polaroid camera with you. *SNAP*

Sy threw you the most forced smile ever. *SNAP*

"Perfect," you smiled. Aika barked happily, as if she were agreeing with you.

"Calm down, girl, daddy can't walk that fast," you said as she pulled on the leash.

"You can take the leash off, she'll come back when I call. There's no one around anyway," Sy added and took the leash from your hand, unhooking it from her collar. "Go on, girl, let's show mommy our party trick," he winked at you. Only then did it dawn on you that you had not only full-on called Sy "Daddy" out loud, but he referred to you as Aika's Mom...okay, surely it wasn't that deep, but still...you were her owners, both, equally.

Sy picked up a stick and threw it as hard as he could, "Go on Aika fetch!" he yelled out, "My leg might be busted, but I can still throw a stick", he added. "I can see that..." you replied. It seemed like you were referring to how fast and hard he threw the stick, but it was more the way you could see his bicep bulging through his sweater that made you...impressed...

Aika came back in no time, offering Sy the stick back.

"Good girl," he praised and scratched behind her ears.

Yup...your panties were ruined again...

December 6th 17:28

The pictures you took of Sy hung on the fridge. They made you giggle a bit every time you saw them. He looked so cute in his beanie, rough cheeks just a little rosy from the cold, looking all grumpy before finally complying and looking all adorable with his little smile, it made you giggle again.

"What's so funny?" Sy asked, putting his hand on your waist as he squeezed next to you, getting a mug off the shelf.

The proximity made you flustered, ofcourse it did. Even after months of living together, his presence made you nervous. Sometimes it felt like it got worse as time went by, especially after feeling his hard dick against you...twice.

You cleared your throat and moved away from him slightly. "Nothing, just happy with that Polaroid camera," you smiled, "Chinese tonight? I don't feel like cooking," you said, grabbing your keys off the bowl on the kitchen table.

"I could always cook. What are you craving?" he turned to you, holding his steaming cup of coffee, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, that slutty little shirt riding up enough to show that damn happy trail and those arms...god, he could choke you with those arms and you'd say thanks...you Sy, I'm craving you...right here, right now, on the kitchen table...heck, on the floor...I crave you...

"Sugar?"

"Chinese!" you blurred out. "I just really want some...uh...Chinese...you can cook tomorrow."

"Alright, love. Have a good day at work."

You were out the door before you could say anything else stupid...

Work was long and boring, the most interesting part was probably Liz still raving about her Paris trip with Clark, although that was starting to get a little old, and the fact that the concept of TMI doesn't exist to Liz didn't help get your mind out of the gutter...

After work, you rushed home with a steaming bag of delicious Chinese food in your hands. You swung the front door open and called out, "Honey, I'm home!", a little jokey thing you and Sy started doing a while ago. Usually, he responded quite quickly, asking you about your day as the two of you got settled on the couch. Only today, there was no answer. You'd think he was out for a walk, but Aika was circling around you silently begging for head pets, and he rarely went anywhere without Aika.

You took off your shoes, put down the bag of food on the table, and gave Aika a stern look. "Don't touch that, okay, darling?" you said, scratching her head. You made your way down the hall, assuming Sy was in his room playing video games or something.

Well, he was definitely in his room...and definitely playing with something...

The sounds of his deep groans filled your ears with every step you took closer to his door. Heat crept up your cheeks, as if it were following the sound all the way to the tips of your ears. Your mouth fell open a little bit, you socked feet slowly shuffling closer, curious.

"GHhrah, fuck..." he sounded almost in pain, "fuck, just like that, baby"

You stopped dead in your tracks, and all the colour drained from your face. Baby? Oh my god, did he have someone in there? Is this what he got up to when you were at work? Bringing over women? Into the home you shared together?

You knew it wasn't fully justified; you weren't a couple, you were roommates. Just roommates. Just as you started to spiral, his voice cut through the silence in the hallway once more, only this time his groans were followed by a name, YOUR name.

He moaned out your name, sounding desperate and utterly consumed. It sounded so good coming from his lips. He cursed again, calling for no one but you and God.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, and then it was quiet. So quiet you could hear his heavy breaths through the wall. Or was that you?

The realization struck that you were now standing right in front of his door. You had listened to him, doing something very private and very intimate. It was wrong, so wrong. You remembered how embarrassed he looked when he got hard against you, you can't imagine how mortified he would be if you knew you had not only heard him jerk off, you heard him moaning your name while doing it.

You got dragged from your thoughts when you heard him shuffle around behind the door.

shit shit shit you had to get out of here...you tried your best to make your steps as big yet quiet as possible and made your way back to the front door. His bedroom door opened, and you heard the tap run in the bathroom as he washed his hands. You opened the front door again and slammed it shut, as though you had only just walked in.

"H-honey...I'm home!"

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[just-chirpin]

I’m so excited for the next few parts of ETS! You said part 28 will be lots of smut - I don’t want to get greedy and ask for a sneak peak but like…maybe you could share the warnings for the chapter? Like what will we be dealing with here? 🤔😈 Just so my imagination can run wild while you finish up the next chapter

hey! part 27 is something I've been enjoying writing, but definitely part 28, too. No huge warnings, actually. It'll be oral (f/m) and p-in-v sex, cowgirl position---> which is a huge deal for Y/N!

It's around 10k or so right now, so in typical JC style, expect all the regular long-winded detailed writing as usual. Snippet:

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.

You encourage it, reaching over his hip to grip his asscheek, but with tightly-coiled legs and 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 says. You just keep looking at him.

"C’mere, baby,” he mutters, nudging your hair. “C’mere.”

You climb back up to straddle his waist, feeling his hands instantly settle on your hips. Heavily breathing, your lips are parted when you wipe your hand across them. “You good?” you shyly ask.

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 to your ass, then back up your back again only to slide around to your breasts.

Just feeling around your skin, he groans, slow and deep. “You’re so 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 and lean in to kiss him. With pillows behind his back, he’s somewhat propped up, and you move until you’re entirely smushed against his chest.

Wrapping your hands around his thick neck, you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. Minutely, you begin moving your hips in little circles against Sy’s skin again, just something to ease the ache, and then he starts talking into your mouth every time he inhales a small breath.

"Fuck.” Sy’s hands come to rest on your ass, and he squeezes each cheek generously. “You’re so fuckin’ hot. 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 confidence you need to brace a hand on his chest to lift your upper body up. While Sy’s lazily stroking himself behind you, you start grinding your hips again, a little more evidently this time. It feels like it should be dirty, but with your eyes trained intently on one another’s, all it feels is right.

A few moments of pleasure later, you scoot downwards over his thighs and beckon Sy to move his hand from himself. You move further down onto his thighs until you look down and see his cock pointing at his belly button, and carefully, carefully, you cover it with your pussy and start to slide your wetness upwards from root to tip.

Sy stares between your bodies the best he can while breathing through his mouth, then his eyes flicker up to your face like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Fuck, Y/N,” he lets out, all in one hotly exhaled breath.

[croissantsareeverything]

[just-chirpin]

when its all done and posted, I hope you enjoy!

[mrs-eadig]

The Cowboy and the Soldier Chapter 15

Warning: mentions of sex

September had come and gone in what felt like the blink of an eye. The days blurred together as Ethan and the ranch hands threw themselves into preparations for the upcoming rodeo. It was the biggest event of the season, and the energy on the ranch was electric with anticipation. Now that Sy was back for good, he’d made the decision to join his brother at the rodeo. Partly because he loved the thrill of it just as much as anyone else, but more importantly—to keep an eye on Ethan. Someone had to. Ethan had built quite a reputation for himself, both in the arena and out of it.

The rodeo scene was full of admirers, and Ethan had no trouble attracting attention. The “buckle bunnies” flocked to him, and he was more than happy to entertain their interest. While that wasn’t necessarily a problem in itself, Ethan just had a knack for getting tangled up in complicated situations. He wasn’t exactly known for his good judgment when it came to women, and more than once he’d found himself involved with someone who was already spoken for. In truth, Ethan seemed to enjoy the challenge. He didn’t shy away from trouble and often went looking for it. That was exactly why Sy felt the need to tag along. Someone had to make sure Ethan didn’t let his ego—or his impulsiveness—get the better of him.

The morning Sy and Ethan were set to leave for the rodeo, the ranch buzzed with energy and movement. The yard had turned into a whirlwind of organized chaos. Tack and feed were piled high in every direction, waiting to be sorted and loaded onto the trucks. Ranch hands moved swiftly, their routines practiced and efficient, as they prepared Echo and a couple of other seasoned horses for the journey. Saddles were checked and rechecked, bridles polished, and feed bags secured with care.

As Sy sifted through the paperwork and itinerary for the next few days, his brow furrowed. Something was missing. He flipped through the folder again, slower this time, and then it hit him. Ethan’s membership card wasn’t there. He was just about to call out to his brother to ask where it had gone when someone caught his eye. Riley had just stepped out of the ranch house, the screen door creaking behind her as it swung shut. Sy paused, momentarily distracted. A warmth spread through his chest at the sight of her. There was something so natural about Riley coming and going from his home, like she belonged there. It wasn’t forced or awkward, it just felt right.

She jogged down the last few steps of the veranda, her ponytail bouncing behind her, and Sy called out to her. Riley nearly jumped out of her skin, startled by the sudden sound.

“Whoa!” He said quickly, raising his hands in a calming gesture as she startled.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Riley blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Oh, er—yeah. I was just visiting Charlotte,” she replied, her tone a little too casual, a little too quick.

Sy narrowed his eyes slightly. She was stammering, like she was trying to cover something up.

“Oh yeah?” he said, tilting his head.

“How’s is she? Still barkin’ orders from her ‘throne’?”

His voice carried a teasing edge. He knew Charlotte was miserable being confined to her bedroom. Bossing people around was the last shred of control she had left, and she clung to it like a lifeline.

“Be nice,” Riley scolded playfully, giving him a look.

“You’d be the same way if you were stuck in her shoes.”

Sy paused, considering that. Not the idea of being pregnant, but the thought of being forced into bed rest for weeks.

“Nope,” he said finally, shaking his head.

“Four weeks in bed? Where do I sign up!”

Riley laughed, the tension easing slightly.

“So what did the ol’ girl want?” He asked, curiosity creeping back in.

“Oh, just goin’ over plans for next season’s holiday drives,” she replied, her voice light.

It wasn’t a lie. Charlotte and her had been talking about the holiday plans, but Sy could tell Riley was being deliberately vague. Her eyes flicked away for a moment too long, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was hiding something, and Sy knew it. He didn’t press, not yet. But he filed it away, knowing he’d circle back to it eventually.

“Well, I’m glad I found you, we’re all just about ready to leave. I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sy wrapped his arms around Riley, pulling her close until her body was pressed against his. His hands settled instinctively in the curve of her back like they belonged there. Riley felt a flicker of self-consciousness. The yard was bustling with activity: ranch hands and stable boys were everywhere, not to mention Sy’s family were going to and fro from the house. It wasn’t exactly a private moment.

Everyone knew about her and Sy by now and no one had batted an eye. If anything, it felt like they’d all been waiting for it to happen. Still, Riley hadn’t quite adjusted to how openly Sy showed his affection. He didn’t hold back, not even in front of others. And while she didn’t mind it—in fact, she loved that about him—it was unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t used to being loved out loud.

“You gonna’ miss me when I’m gone?” He asked huskily as if they were the only two people there.

Riley tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. She twisted her mouth in mock contemplation, drawing out the moment.

“Well that depends.”

Sy let out a bark of laughter, loud and unfiltered, until Riley quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, her eyes darting toward the nearby ranch hands. He grinned beneath her palm, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay, alright,” he said, pulling her hand away gently.

“Depends on what?”

He planted a chaste kiss to her knuckles before dropping her hand onto his chest.

“Did you leave that shirt I liked?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

Sy knew exactly what Riley was talking about. Since he got home, many of the t-shirts he used to wear in the army had gradually made their way into his everyday ranch wardrobe. There was nothing wrong with them. They were comfortable, durable, and carried memories he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. Riley had commented on one shirt in particular just the other day. It was a red t-shirt his squad had gifted him one Christmas. On the front was a sniper skull graphic, and on the back was the acronym “DILLIGAF.” Sy had burst out laughing when he first got it. His squad had teased him for months, claiming the phrase summed up his attitude perfectly. And honestly, they weren’t wrong.

“I might have.” He purred back.

Of course he had. The moment Riley had mentioned she liked that shirt, despite its frayed edges and the stubborn stains that refused to wash out, Sy had made sure to leave it behind.

“Well,” She pressed, her voice soft but teasing,

“I might just wear that to bed while you’re gone.”

Sy raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the suggestion. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

She stepped a little closer- if that were possible- her eyes locking with his. “It smells like you,” she murmured. “I can keep you close while you’re away.”

Sy's smile grew broader, the glimmer of mischief now shining brightly in his eyes.. “You gonna wear that for me?”

Riley’s smile turned sly, “Nuh uh,” she whispered, leaning in just enough to make his pulse race.

“I’m gonna wear just that while I’m thinkin’ about ya.”

Sy groaned at the wanton image he pictured of Riley in their bed, touching herself. A rush of desire shot straight to his groin and he cursed quietly before pressing his lips against hers. He kissed her passionately and almost dominantly in front of everyone. The ranch hands and stable boys wandering around the yard began whistling and hollering at their little display. Riley could feel her ears tinge pink at the commotion and slipped out of Sy’s grasp, biting her lip suggestively as she walked away.

Sy shook his head in disbelief as she climbed onto one of the ranch’s ATV’s. She turned the engine over and pulled the vehicle around before she passed him.

“You’re in trouble when I get back.” He shouted over the noise of the engine.

“I’m countin’ on it.” She threw back before driving away.

He laughed softly to himself, the sound barely audible over the hum of the evening. Riley Coleman was a little minx. She was clever, unpredictable, and utterly captivating.

Sy was broken from his thoughts by the sound of Ethan shouting his name.

“Yeah, yeah I’m comin’. But you aren’t, little brother!” He scolded lightly.

“What d’ya mean?” Ethan replied with an edge.

“Your PRCA membership is missin’.”

Ethan’s face broke into panic for a second. That membership card was vital for him registering at the rodeo. He began shaking out his pockets and made a quick fumble around the cab of the truck, before a thought struck him.

“Check in the office, I was in there last printin’ out the itinerary. It could be on the desk.”

Sy rolled his eyes and begrudgingly set off in search of Ethan’s missing membership card. He walked through the office towards the desk at the far end, groaning as he took in the mess Ethan had left behind. Papers were scattered everywhere, some crumpled, others half-printed and abandoned mid-task. It was chaos. Riley ran the office like a well-oiled machine. Everything had its place, and everything stayed in its place. Ethan’s approach was… less structured. His version of “filing” looked more like a paper explosion.

Sy began sifting through the clutter, lifting sheets and flipping through half-folded documents. He was trying to be careful, but in the process, he knocked over a short stack of paperwork. Cursing under his breath, he crouched to gather the fallen pages. That’s when he saw it. Peeking out from beneath the pile was a glossy magazine, its cover half-hidden but unmistakably out of place. Sy paused, frowning. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect to find in a ranch office. Feed catalogues or equipment supplies, sure they wouldn't have been out of place in the office. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, curiosity piqued. He wasn’t one to snoop but something about the magazine tugged at his attention. He narrowed his eyes, flipping it open slowly.

Searching for Ethan’s lost membership card was no longer Sy’s priority. His focus had shifted the moment he started flipping through the glossy pages of the magazine. By the fourth page, it was clear it wasn’t just any magazine. It was a professionally designed holiday brochure.

And not just any holiday brochure.

It was for the Coleman Creek Ranch - Montana.

Sy’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the sleek, polished images of a modern-day working ranch. The layout was clean, the photography professional and the descriptions were clearly crafted by a PR team, full of buzzwords like authentic, immersive, and luxurious. It promised visitors a taste of ranch life without sacrificing comfort, a curated experience of the wild wrapped in five-star hospitality.

Sy’s stomach turned as he saw the last page. A full-color photo of Riley, smiling proudly on top of a horse he didn’t recognise. Beneath it was a short blurb:

“Riley Coleman, the eldest daughter of the Coleman clan, envisioned a way to share the Montana life she and her family love with guests from across the country. Her passion for ranching and hospitality led to the creation of the Coleman Creek Ranch Experience.”

Sy’s heart sank as he read the final line. This couldn’t be true. Riley had moved all the way down here and had set herself up as a successful foreman. She won’t be leaving! Sy then replayed the last conversation they had here in this office. She had asked him if he was ready to take over. Now, the truth hit him like a punch to the chest. She hadn’t been worried about competition, she’d been preparing to say goodbye. She was making sure someone would be there to carry on when she left. Sy suddenly felt foolish. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t read between the lines. And now, staring at her smiling face in the brochure, he realized she’d already begun to move on.

It was a ranch hand that brought Sy back to reality when he appeared at the door. He explained Ethan had found the membership they were looking for in his wallet and that the team were ready to leave. Sy nodded, his movements slow, almost reluctant. He gathered the scattered papers and placed them back on the desk, his fingers lingering on the brochure. With a quiet sigh, he slid it back beneath the pile, hiding it where it had clearly been meant to stay out of sight.

[mrs-eadig]

The Cowboy and the Soldier Chapter 14

Life on the ranch carried on as normal for the next few weeks. As the last of the guests waved goodbye to Heartland, the family and ranch hands slipped seamlessly back into their routines. The hum of daily chores returned—horses to be fed, fences to be checked, and fields to be tended. Well, almost everyone got stuck in. Charlotte’s pregnancy had finally caught up with her, and each day seemed to sap a little more of her energy. Her usual determination gave way to the quiet reality that her body needed rest. Eventually, she admitted defeat and put herself on bed rest, reluctantly handing over her duties. With the girls back at school, the house was quieter during the day, which helped. Noah and Emma took turns doting on Charlotte, making sure she had everything she needed as she prepared for the birth.

Ethan, meanwhile, was almost back to ‘fighting fit’. His cast had come off, and he wasted no time getting back in the saddle. Echo responded eagerly, as if the horse had missed their rides just as much. Despite Bryan and Emma’s repeated pleas for him to take it easy, Ethan was determined to push himself. It wasn’t surprising, really—he’d never been one to sit still for long, none of the Syverson’s could.

Now that Sy was permanently back on the ranch, he was proving to be a reliable pair of hands. He mucked out stables without complaint, hauled feed down to the bottom paddock, and tackled any odd job that came his way. Riley couldn’t help but admit that having him around was a godsend. His quiet strength and willingness to help made the days smoother. And having him around at night? That was even better.

Sy and Riley spent every evening together in her cozy cottage at the far end of the estate. Once the original owners’ home when the ranch was first purchased, the cottage had a rustic charm. It was modest compared to the main ranch house, but perfect for one—and now, perfect for two. Sy had practically moved in and he and Riley were making the most of getting to know one another - it was lots of fun!

As the dry, hot days of summer slowly gave way to the crisp air of fall, the ranch began its seasonal shift. The mornings grew cooler and the sun dipped earlier behind the hills. It was a time of transition, and the ranch hands and cowboys knew the rhythm well. They set to work weaning the calves, a task that was always noisy and a little heartbreaking. The bawling of separated mothers and babies echoed across the fields as the bulls were moved away from the sows, and the cattle were gradually herded toward the lower winter pasture. It was hard, physical work—dust kicked up under boots, muscles strained under the weight of feed sacks and fencing gear—but then, life on the ranch was never easy, no matter the season.

For Riley, fall brought a different kind of challenge. She spent most of her days tucked away in her office, surrounded by paperwork, spreadsheets, and supply lists. Preparing the ranch for winter was no small feat. There was winter wheat to be ordered, heartier feed to be sourced for the cattle, and equipment to be checked and repaired before the first frost. Every decision carried weight, and every purchase chipped away at the budget. The fall was always an expensive time of year. The profits from the summer’s holiday cattle drives helped ease the burden, but even so, Riley couldn’t ignore the rising costs. She ran the numbers again and again, trying to stretch every dollar just a little further.

One afternoon as she scratched her head and willed her brain to make sense of the numbers dancing on the screen, her eye spotted the brochure Chris gave her almost two months ago. She pulled it out of the intray and thumbed through the glossy pages slowly, the vibrant images and polished promises striking a chord. She had remarked when she first saw it, that the idea Chris was trying to pitch was everything she and Charlotte were trying to achieve at Heartland. Her heart gave a sad pull as she remembered what her little brother had told her. He wanted her to come ‘home’. Back then home was an idea that was only half formed in her mind. Now? Home at heartland meant something infinitely different.

Riley pushed the idea from her mind as Sy knocked on her office door and strode inside.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” Sy said warmly, his voice rich with quiet affection as he placed a steaming cup of coffee on Riley’s desk.

Before he could notice the flicker of emotion crossing her face, she slid the brochure back beneath the pile of invoices in her tray, hiding it like a secret she wasn’t ready to share.

“You need to take a break from the screen, boss. Don’t want you gettin’ square-eyed,” Sy teased, his voice low and playful, laced with just enough warmth to make her heart skip.

He leant casually against the corner of Riley’s desk and dipped his head, closing the space between them with quiet confidence. His lips brushed hers gently, the kiss was both grounding and electric, like a pause in the chaos of her day.

Riley huffed out a soft laugh, amused by the blatant way Sy was trying to pull her away from her work. His charm was never subtle, and today was no exception. As he leaned back to perch on the edge of her desk, she reached out instinctively, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt. With a gentle tug, she pulled him back toward her, their faces close enough for her breath to mingle with his. This time, the kiss deepened—no longer just a playful distraction. Their lips met with quiet urgency, and as their tongues danced together, something shifted. Sy could feel it. Beneath the warmth of her touch and the softness of her sighs, there was something else—something unspoken. It was uncanny how quickly he could read her.

“What’s goin’ on, boss.” He said affectionately against her lips, his hand coming to rest lightly against her cheek, anchoring her.

“Now that you’re back here for good…” Riley began, her voice tinged with nervous uncertainty. She hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet Sy’s. “Shouldn’t it be you?”

Sy frowned slightly, leaning back on the desk. “What d’ya mean?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

She took a breath, then gestured vaguely around the office. “Boss. Shouldn’t that be you now that you’re back on the ranch full-time?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavier than she’d intended. Sy looked at her, surprised—not just by the suggestion, but by the vulnerability behind it. He mulled over his answer for a beat, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. He didn’t have to think for too long. He knew what his answer was.

“Not a chance,” Sy said, his voice firm but gentle, the kind of tone that left no room for doubt.

“I’m sure that’s what my Pop might’ve wanted once. Me stepping up, taking the reins. But things have changed.”

He looked at Riley, his gaze steady and full of quiet admiration.

“Now he’s got you. This is your ranch, Riley. People look to you, not because they have to, but because they trust you.”

Riley blinked, caught off guard by the conviction in his words. She’d expected hesitation, maybe even a little resistance. But instead, Sy was handing her the truth she hadn’t quite let herself believe.

“This place runs because of you,” he added, softer now. “I’m here to help, always. But you’re the heart of it.”

“Besides—” Sy continued, a playful glint in his eye and a teasing edge to his voice. The corner of his mouth curled into that familiar half-smile that always made Riley’s stomach flip.

He reached out and gently pulled her up from her office chair, guiding her between his spread thighs. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles through the denim of her jeans as he looked up at her with a mix of affection and mischief.

“I kinda like you bossin’ me around,” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken. “It’s kinda sexy.”

Riley rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“Oh yeah?” Riley’s tone matched his; playful and edged with curiosity.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion.

“I’d have thought you army guys would be sick of takin’ orders.”

Her voice dipped lower, adopting a husky drawl that noticeably changed the air between them.

Sy chuckled, the sound low and warm.

“Well, I was a Captain,” he said, his hands sliding around her hips to cover the swell of her backside, pulling her closer.

“I was usually the one givin’ the orders. It’s kinda nice… relinquishing control for once.”

Riley’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into her hairline. She gave him a look that was half amused, half incredulous.

“You could’ve fooled me, cowboy!” Her voice was teasing but laced with challenge.

“That’s not what you were doin’ last night.”

Sy grinned, unabashed.

“Last night was a tactical maneuver,” he said, leaning in just enough to brush his nose against hers.

“And I’d say it was pretty successful.”

They kissed a final time, this time just a quick chaste peck. When Sy tapped Riley on the backside, signalling he was getting up, she yipped in surprise.

Sy gave her a seductive wink in return as he walked back towards the office door.

“See you later, beautiful. Don't let that get cold.”

He pointed towards the coffee he brought, his voice light but serious.

Riley nodded in response and smiled softly at his concern for her wellbeing. As he left the office she sat back down at her desk and rolled her tongue around her mouth, contemplating her next move. She slid Chris's brochure back out from its hiding spot and looked at it with a hard gaze. She grabbed a post it note from the block on her desk and quickly scribbled a number and message on top.

Chris Coleman call him.

[mrs-eadig]

@xxxkatxo @summersong69 @seriouslygoodlookinggents @sugarpenchant @memoriesat30 @oddsnendsfanfics @lady-death14 @omgkatinka @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lumiousmoon @gearhead66 @myloveforhenrycavill @amberangel112 @kebabgirl67 @greensleeves888 @fanfictionaddiction99 @endofalldays01 @enchantedbytomandhenry @funfickgirl22 @kat2112-blog @jadert15 @440mxs-wife @sauvage-et-libre @m07belzen @foxyjwls007 @sillyrabbit81 @kingliam2019 @lysarria @beck07990 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @squeezyvalkyrie

[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.”

[summersong69]

Happy Saturday! Gonna read over coffee. I’m on pacific time so just seeing this! 👏

[mrsevans90]

The War Horse Rebellion-16

Biker Syverson x OFC Allie Hilton

Synopsis: Allie Hilton is on the run. For the first time in her privileged life, she can only rely on her own wits to escape a life she was destined for, but also one that she never wanted. What happens when Allie flees as far as she can before running into a small town that just happened to be governed by a large male motorcycle fleet? Well Allie, meet the War Horse Rebellion. Put on your riding boots, it's going to be a rough ride.

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Allison “Allie” Hilton 

Warnings: Spencer, mentions of k!lling, threats, physical fight, mention of suicid3, someone being drugg3d, curse words, resuscitation, yelling, arguing, drama, hospital, injuries, August, Walter

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 15

Walter POV:

I successfully managed to revive the son of a bitch lying in front of me on the stretcher even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I could feel the pure rage of August’s eyes on me the entire time I was performing CPR. I understood Syverson’s need to drain the life from his eyes, but August just wants cause to kill anyone or anything. That is a bit concerning to me as he is a CIA member with clearance to do certain questionable things.

I had to be the bad guy in this situation and think logically if I wanted August and Austin to avoid lengthy jail time. Spencer’s incredibly rich and powerful family will stop at nothing for justice, and this isn’t going to be one of those things that just goes away. Self-defense trials are tricky and because it was two much larger men against one, I can’t guarantee it would go their way. I couldn’t let that happen to either of my unofficial brothers. Hopefully they’ll forgive me when clearer heads prevail. 

I watch as the nurses and doctors work on treating Spencer’s injuries through the window of the triage room. That’s one thing that being a detective helps with. Hospital staff see the badge on my neck that I had exposed earlier with the Outlaws as a silent reminder to behave, and never question my presence or ask me to leave. I look around and search for Allie or Sy, but don’t see them in this part of the hospital.

I listen as well as I can to the medical chatter on the other side of the glass as they search for abdominal bleeding, confirming that a CT scan will be the best route to go. They are certain that he, at minimum, has a concussion as well as they suspect several broken ribs and a broken jaw that they think plan to confirm with imaging. There's also mention of an obvious orbital fracture to his eye. From this distance, I think I see Spencer’s one good eye blink a few times but it’s hard to be sure with the medical collar around his neck and nurses bustling around.

Once they whisk him off to the CT scan, I go in search of Allie and Syverson. Initially, I had no idea anything was wrong with her, as I was so focused on reviving Spencer to avoid murder charges. It wasn’t until August started screaming about poison that I really doubled my effort to bring the suspect back to life. I have every intention of making sure that when he heals, he goes straight to prison.

After asking a nurse and showing my badge, I was directed to the room where they had Allie. I went to walk in but saw August standing there with his hand on Austin’s shoulder and slowly backed away. I know I’m the bad guy right now and August blowing a gasket at me would only get us both kicked out especially since we are not related to Allie. Finding a random chair in the hallway, I sit and bury my face in my hands. What a nightmare. Things were going so well and now everything is broken. Hearing heavy footsteps, I glance up and see August walk out of the room. He glances at me and sneers with disdain making me feel even worse.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Like you even give a shit.” He spits and I roll my eyes. Always so dramatic.

“I do. I care about her just like I care for you and Austin.” I remind him.

“Is that why you were so concerned about keeping that asshole alive? We really could’ve used your help for Allie instead.” 

“I told you, I’m looking at the bigger picture and trying to avoid murder charges for both of you. Self-defense charges aren’t going to work when you both are bigger than him and clearly had the advantage.”

“Hello, see this badge? It says CIA. I get out of this shit all the time.” He boasts.

“Oh my god! Enough with the CIA bullshit! That won’t get you out of everything, and you’d be an idiot to continue thinking it’s your get out of jail free card. This isn’t some dark web arms dealer, August! This is someone with tons of money and publicity with no criminal record. He will have swarms of people searching for him. This could get you kicked out of the CIA for abuse of power. Syverson could get in serious trouble with the military. How is he going to love her from prison the rest of his life, huh? C’mon August, I know that when you cool down you’ll understand why I made the decision that I did.” I can't help but raise my voice at him.

“You’re supposed to be our brother. You were working against us tonight.” He’s no longer shaking with rage at me, but still mad.

“No, I wasn’t! The more you think about it, the more you will see my perspective… Are you really willing to risk spending the rest of your life in jail for revenge over a woman that isn’t even yours?”

“Yes!” August spits instantly. Realization dawns on me and I wear it clearly across my features.

“Oh no. August, tell me you haven’t.” I beg for him to tell me he hasn’t crossed the line.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” August sneers, defensive as usual.

“You’re falling for her.” I whisper and he avoids eye contact.

“No, I am not. I don’t do the love or relationship thing. You know that.” He tries to convince me but I see through it. 

“I get it.” I mutter and he finally locks eyes with me again. I continue.

“She’s pretty damn easy to fall for. I’ve been doing my best to keep her at a distance all week because she is with Austin. If she wasn’t, I know for a fact I’d be willing to do whatever was needed to give her the world.” I confess shamefully.

August inhales deeply and lets out a sigh. 

“Fuck. At first, I just flirted with her to piss Austin off, but at some point, something started to feel different about her.” He runs his hand through his normally polished hair. 

“What the fuck is happening to me? I’m going soft or something.” He mutters with fists balled tightly and I can’t help but smirk.

“I think all of the doctors working on ole’ Spencer disagree. You beat him to a pulp. They were discussing if he would ever regain sight out of his left eye again and were taking him to CT to see how bad the internal damage was since the external damage was so severe.”

He huffs a small chuckle and I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing at the brutal injuries to another human. Maybe I am a bad person, but if so, Spencer is worse.

“If you ever breathe a word of any of this, I’ll kill you.” He threatens and I smile.

 “Deal. This will all get better once we return to our normal lives. She is Austin’s and will eventually be like a sister to us. Just keep focusing on that. 

August grunts at being told he can’t have something he wants but doesn’t disagree. 

“Did they figure out what he spiked her drink with?” I ask and he shakes his head, balling his fists again.

“They’re testing her blood, and the wine bottle directly. Said they would let me know immediately what answers they could find.” He grimaces.

“Sy said anything yet?” He shakes his head no as we stand apart from each other in the clinical white hallway.

“I’m still pissed at you, so I’m sure he is too.” August says without any real malice in his voice and I nod in understanding.

“Will you let me know what you find out?” I ask.

“Maybe.” He grunts before stalking down the hall and through a set of double doors that are for employees only. I roll my eyes at his drama and lack of boundaries but that’s how he’s always been. He’s always called me a boy scout for following rules and respecting authority. It’s natural that we butt heads about things throughout our lives, but this is the biggest fight we’ve had since we were kids. Deciding to let Sy have some alone time with Allie, I take my seat back in the hallway and wait for any update on Allie or on Spencer.

Syverson POV:

Please wake up, Sugar. Please wake up. I’ll do anything, darlin’. Just show me those beautiful eyes. Please, baby girl.

I keep repeating this plea silently in my head as I sit in the world’s most uncomfortable plastic chair, holding Allie’s hand. My calloused palms somehow feel softer from just the touch of her smooth skin. Shortly after being examined in the triage area, the hospital staff moved Allie to a private hospital room. Allie’s laid in a hospital bed that’s somewhat inclined, and they let me stay here with her while they were waiting on labs to return. She has an oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth and an IV with fluids dripping slowly into the tube that runs under her skin. Her color had already gone back to her usual peachy/pink hue which calmed me immensely, but I was still disturbed that she hadn’t woken up.

The smell of chemical disinfectant almost burns my nose from the excessive use of it here in this small room, but I might be more sensitive to it since my nose is running. I’m sure that I’m a complete mess as my clothes are rumpled and my face swollen from tears leaking out against my will. I haven’t cried since a month or two after my mother’s funeral, but tonight I didn’t even recognize myself. My head is pounding now that the adrenaline has exited my body and I lean over to kiss her hand once more. Pressing her palm against my beard, just like she likes to do, I rest my chin on the mattress and close my eyes to block out the harsh fluorescent bulbs. I haven’t seen Walter since the apartment, but August did come into the room with a nurse. I don’t remember what exactly they were doing but I trust that August has it under control. For once, I’m not trying to boss people around or make decisions. I just want to be with Allie and promise to never let her get hurt again. The migraine pulsing behind my eyes convinces me to close them, and rest my face in such an uncomfortable position over Allie’s hospital bed while focusing on the warmth of her hand against my cheek. 

Gentle nails scratching against my beard lulls me to a state of semi-consciousness that has me recognizing the constant beep, beep, beep, of Allie’s heart on the monitor. Crunched over the edge of the bed, my jeans are digging almost painfully into my belly. I consider sitting up to adjust them when I feel the sensation again. Soft nails wiggling slowly against the coarse hairs along my jaw. I stiffen as my eyes blink against the harsh light before quickly looking at Allie’s face. Crystal blue eyes stare back at my own as she smiles groggily beneath the oxygen mask. Jolting upright, I squeeze her hand against my face and feel my breath quicken.

“Sugar.” I whisper hoarsely with sleep in my voice and watch as she uses her other hand to clumsily pull the oxygen mask away from her face.

“Sy.” She smiles and I lean over and press a gentle kiss to her lips. Remembering how gaunt and pale they looked earlier, I pay close attention to her lips now and feel relief at their pink tint.

“You okay? Anything hurt?” I ask.

“M’okay. My head hurts a little… and my ribs? Like if I try to take a big breath it hurts a lot.” 

Grimacing, I respond. “That’s probably my fault, Darlin’. I uh, did CPR on you when you lost consciousness and the compressions can be hard on the sternum and ribs. I'm sorry. Let’s put this mask back on.” I reach for the oxygen mask and she shakes her head at me. 

“Please, sugar. I want to make sure you’re getting plenty of oxygen.” I nearly beg.

“I will in a minute. I want you to kiss me again.” Smiling more gently than ever before, I place a feather light kiss to her lips. Her other hand, taped and tubed with different cords, reaches up to the back of my head and pulls me in for another harder kiss when I try to retreat.

“Sugar.” I playfully whisper as a warning when she finally releases me. 

“Thank you.” She whispers when I pull the oxygen mask back over her face, watching it fog with each exhale Allie releases.

“I gotta apologize to ya. I shouldn’t have planned that meeting so far away from you. I just knew I didn’t want you near the Outlaws but I shoulda been there with ya.” I stare at my fingers entwined with hers as I apologize and glance to her eyes. 

“You were there, Austin. Don't do this to yourself.” Her voice muffled from the mask.

“I should’ve looked before opening the door but I thought it was Eliza with her hands full and was hurrying to help her.” So that’s how he got in. Where the fuck was August?”

 “Do they know what’s wrong with me?” She interrupts my thought and I shake my head no. 

“Let’s call a nurse to check on ya and see if they found any answers.” Refusing to let go of her hand or leave her side, I press the nurse call button on the bed remote. Glancing to the blinds, I see that the sun is up. I check my watch and see that it’s 11:09 am. 

I look in the doorway and see Walter pacing just outside of her hospital room, when a brunette nurse arrives to check on Allie. Moments later, August and a doctor join the room as well. Walter leans in the doorway silently but I ignore him. August is all business as he instructs the doctor to examine Allie as we watch. 

“Ms. Hilton, I’m Dr. Norman. I’m going to run a few quick vitals and response tests. Please squeeze my fingers. Alright, now please push your feet against my hands. Resist the pressure I’m placing, please. Okay, now follow my finger with your eyes. Excellent. Let me check your pupil reactivity. Perfect. How are you feeling?”

“Um, a little sore and groggy. Do you know what happened?”

“Yes ma’am. We compared labs from your blood and the wine bottle that Mr. Walker brought in and determined that you were drugged with a high dose of Vicodin. However, this was a bit different than typical prescription drugs because we believe it was laced with fentanyl. There is a growing trend of this counterfeit drug being sold on the streets because fentanyl is a highly addictive substance and usually requires very little to feel the addictive effects. Drug dealers typically want to establish an addiction in their buyers to increase consistent sales and cash flow." He pauses momentarily to allow her to process before beginning again. 

"The opioid in Vicodin typically makes people have a feeling of euphoria before becoming extremely drowsy. However, there was a very large amount of vicodin, along with smaller amounts of fentanyl found in your system as well as trace amounts of alcohol, likely from the wine it was combined with. Your baseline lack of drug use, caused you to feel the effects quicker than someone who has built up a tolerance. It’s most likely the reason you lost consciousness so quickly after ingestion and then began to overdose. One of the side effects of this drug is respiratory distress and suppression of the urge to cough or clear your airway. You are very lucky that your partner noticed the color change in your skin and began CPR. I’m not sure you would have been able to oxygenate your organs sufficiently without it until you made it to the hospital.”

I am seething as I listen to what Spencer did to my beautiful girl. I watch as a single tear drop falls from the corner of her eye, down her cheek near her ear before dropping on the scratchy pillow case. Clutching her hand to mine like a lifeline, I gently dry the tear trail with my thumb.

“When you were in the ambulance, the paramedic administered Narcan, which is typically a reversal agent for drug overdoses. They were able to get you on your side when it caused you to vomit, and I think that helped you avoid more of the drugs entering your system. Your blood oxygen and respiratory rate improved on the ride to the hospital, but dipped a bit when you were here which is normal as the hydrocodone in Vicodin is long lasting. We plan to keep you on low flow oxygen at least through the rest of the day and night tonight to ensure your blood oxygenates well, and then we can work on removing it tomorrow morning. If all goes well, there’s a chance we could have you discharged by tomorrow evening. Lastly, the police are here, in the hallway, and would like a statement from you when you’re able. Would you be willing to speak with them now?"

I’m about to protest, in order to give her time to process all of this new information, but she quickly agrees and the doctor steps out of the room to retrieve them. 

Walter now enters the room but stands near the back, along with two local detectives who waste no time as they begin to question Allie. 

“Ms. Hilton, we are working to figure out exactly what took place tonight and we would appreciate any details you could offer us. Could you tell us what happened, starting before Mr. Elliott arrived?”

“I don’t remember everything but I’ll tell you what I do remember. August, my boyfriend’s brother, was hanging out with me because Austin had to… work late. They didn’t want me to be alone since I had just filed the restraining order at the beginning of the week against Spencer. We cooked dinner and then as we were cleaning up, I threw dishwater soap bubbles on August’s hair. He went to the bathroom and I thought my friend Eliza was faintly knocking at the door. She had planned to come over with movies, snacks, and wine. I hurried to get the door and forgot to look out the peephole. I opened it, and was shocked to see him…my ex, who I have a restraining order against. I just, froze. He pushed his way past me and poured a glass of my favorite expensive wine that I used to drink in Charlotte. I shouldn’t have taken it and I didn’t initially. I told him to get out, but he ignored me. I wasn’t thinking straight and he distracted me by informing me that my mom tried to kill herself after I last saw her, and my dad was missing. He said my dad apparently left town and nobody can find him. Spencer said my mother was in a mental health facility in Charlotte and was trying to encourage me to visit her. I guess I took a few sips of the wine as I was processing this news, and then August came out of the bathroom and started fighting him because he knew I was in danger. I saw August try and put him in a chokehold, and but he escaped and swung at August. I stopped watching because I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up, so I crawled to the kitchen floor to get away from the fight, and then I got incredibly sleepy. I remember not being able to focus my eyes. They felt so heavy and then my head felt even heavier. I remember resting my head on my legs.”

Turning toward me, she looks so sad as she continues to speak. “I remember you coming in, and there was loud yelling. You touched my face and that’s the last thing I remember. You above me looking at me strangely. I’m so sorry. I should have checked the peephole. I wasn’t thinking. I was such an idiot and put myself and everyone else at risk.” She apologizes as tears fall freely and I immediately shake my head. 

“No, Sugar. You don’t have a thing to apologize for. You couldn’t have known, baby girl. None of this is on you.”

“Has Spencer ever hurt you before?” The detective questions and I flinch at the intrusion. Turning her tear filled eyes back to him, Allie answers.

“Yes, a couple of times. I left Charlotte because he almost killed me when I refused his marriage proposal. I didn’t call police or go to the hospital though. He’s got powerful connections all over the United States, so I felt that it was best to just…disappear. That’s when I moved to Gruene.” She explains. After answering several more detailed questions, and explaining everything that happened with the missing person’s case, the detectives thanked her for her statement.

“Can I press charges?” She asks before they leave and suddenly Walter speaks. I had forgotten he was back there as he was so stoic and silent.

“Already done. The law doesn’t require you to press charges in this case because he violated a court issued restraining order, as well as entered your dwelling without consent, and assaulted you with the drugs. We can’t charge for attempted murder as we cannot prove what his actual motive was, but assault can be proved without question thanks to the evidence from the hospital. So, Spencer will be charged by the state for violating the restraining order, criminal trespassing, and assault with drugs. Those will result in a prison sentence when he’s convicted and I’ll personally be requesting no bond due to his unlimited resources and ability to run.” Walter explains and I see her smile behind her mask and visibly relax with a small nod. 

“Detectives, I’ve already called a contact at New Braunfels and they have all of the files from Allie’s false missing person’s case ready for your review. I’ll see you both out.” He mutters before Allie speaks.

“Walter? You’re coming back right?” She asks. Who could say no to her?

“Do you want me too?” He responds and she quickly nods. He responds with a single head nod before leading the detectives out of the room. I haven’t said a word to Walter since the parking lot of Brandon’s pub, and can’t really decide how I feel towards him at the moment.

August has been standing sullenly by the window before Allie summons him to her bedside.

“Auggie?” She whispers playfully, looking so tiny in this hospital bed. Her surprising teasing demeanor feels completely out of place with all of the heavy emotions in the room.

“Don’t you dare.” August darkens as he crosses his arms and stares down at her while her smile widens beneath the oxygen mask. 

“Oh c’mon!” She chides as she waves him over to her with the hand that I’m not holding and he smirks just slightly.

“Only because you’re in the hospital, I’ll let that slide just this once. But don’t get any ideas. I’ve hit a woman before.” He replies and I can’t help the small lift to the side of my mouth at her giggle.

“I don’t need to know about all of the fifty shades of gray whipping you get up to in the bedroom.” She retorts and I grimace at the thought. Ew.

Walking to the other side of the bed, he stands beside her and glances at all the machines surrounding her at the head of the bed. The same machines I stared at last night for at least four hours straight while methodically rubbing her hand.

“Don’t you want to hear about the spanking at least?” He whispers and my fist balls up involuntarily. I’m too stressed to deal with him riling me up right now.

Allie giggles and wiggles her hand against my own that is now partially clenched and I relax my hand. 

“I think I’ve seen and heard enough craziness for one night, August.” She says with a wink before getting a serious expression and reaching for his hand. I don’t like it but force myself to sit still. 

“I just wanted to say, thank you so much. I am so grateful that you were willing to fight him and protect me. I’m so sorry that I opened the door. I’ll never forgive myself for being that careless and putting you in that position in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, Allie. To be honest, I wish I would have killed him.” 

“Me too.” I chime in and Allie sighs. 

“I don’t.” She says sternly. August and I both look at each other like, “She’s crazy” before looking at her and I can see the resolve in her face. She means it. 

“If either of you had killed him, his father would stop at nothing to make sure you paid for it. He’s a dirty businessman who has blackmailed and threatened enough formidable people to cause either of you harm.”

August rolls his eyes as I shake my head. Neither of us are even slightly worried about Paul Elliott, but she continues.

“Paul Elliott would have made it his life’s mission to publicly murder either of you. Unfortunately, he has enough social clout and influence that all of the brainless morons with money would have jumped right in to help him vilify you. I would never ever want that. Even more so, if either of you went to jail for me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. So, I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you stopped.”

“We wanted to kill him. More than you’ll ever know. One of us would have if Walter hadn’t of stopped us. If he hadn’t have stopped me. I was so close.” I admit as I picture Spencer’s neck under my clenched palm that’s still holding her delicate hand.

“I’m glad Walter stopped you. He was thinking logically.” Allie twists her hand in mind and looks at me meaningfully.

“I think you each got a few good punches to him which is enough. I wish I had been brave enough to punch him. Just once at least. Instead, I stood there like an absolute fool as he walked into my apartment, my home, like it was his God given right to do so.” She sighs.

“You were in shock, darlin’. Don’t let that get to ya.” I tell her. 

“If I could start tonight all over again, I would have kicked him right in the nuts as soon as that door opened, and then punched him in the face while he was doubled over in agony before slamming the door in his face. He would have never seen it coming from me.” She pictures it in her head and I can’t help but find it so endearing. My god, she looks like an angry but determined little kitten as she imagines standing up for herself and I wish she could have.

“Easy there, Rocky. I’ll let you do that to August if he keeps holding onto my woman’s hand.” I quip and she laughs lightly as August makes a show of lifting her hand a placing a kiss on the back of it. I roll my eyes at him as he winks at my girlfriend. 

Walter returns and August huffs quietly at his arrival. Allie waves him over, somewhat confused my August’s irritation, but nonetheless, he approaches her bedside. I take a deep breath and listen to what my girl is about to say.

“Hi. You okay?” Of course, she’s asking him if he’s okay while she’s in a hospital bed.

The look of confusion washes over his features as he considers her question. “Why are you asking me that when you’re the one who got drugged against her will and overdosed?”

She waves her hand in the air as if it was a common occurrence or not a big deal and he shakes his head at her dismissal.

“I wanted to thank you.” She says seriously while reaching for his hand. I’m getting tired of her holding hands with men other than me but I don’t say it. At least I still have her left one as I gently trace her ring finger that I plan on adding a ring to sooner rather than later.

“What?” Walter responds with confusion.

“I know it wasn’t easy with these two brutes,” she gestures to me and August who huffs louder from across the room, “to think clearly and logically in that situation. They told me that you didn’t let them kill him and I’m so grateful. As much as I want justice against him, I don’t want any of you to get locked up as a result. As vile as he is, Spencer is still someone’s child and I don’t relish anyone losing their life if it can be avoided. I also would never forgive myself if any one of you got in trouble for defending me. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart Walt.” Ever the awkward one with receiving compliments, he nods silently as he squeezes her hand gently. 

“The hardest thing to do and the right thing to do are often one in the same. I will not allow anyone to make you feel bad for making the right decision. I would have done the same thing.”

She adds on and August and I pout like two children sitting in the principal’s office after being scolded.

“To be honest, I think the world would be better without that piece of shit wasting our shared oxygen, but I’ve charged enough people with homicide and sent them to prison in my career to refuse to let it happen to my brothers.” Walter says quietly. 

Understanding his perspective, I stand for the first time since she was wheeled into this room. My back and knees ache and pop as I right myself, before I reach out and offer my hand to Walter. We exchange a meaningful nod, as I whisper a quiet “thank you” for saving me from myself. I don’t relish taking anyone’s life. I’ve had to do it before in the army, and would not have hesitated to strangle Spencer to death, but I don’t want to be that person again. 

“August will come around.” Allie whispers to Walter who gives her a flat smile.

ALLIE’S POV:

I attempted to send everyone home but of course, Sy never left my side. I couldn’t complain really, I felt so much better when he was with me but I know the plastic chair must be uncomfortable for him even though he hasn’t complained once. My ribs and sternum absolutely throb but I won’t allow Austin to punish himself for doing whatever was necessary to save my life, so I try not to wince or mention it.

I finally convinced Sy to take off his belt, and at least recline the contraption this hospital considered to be a companion chair and within moments I heard his soft snoring. Poor thing must be absolutely exhausted. I slept on and off but the automatic blood pressure cuff woke me up more often than I would have liked. I know I was sleeping off the drugs in the beginning because when I did wake, I would be so disoriented and groggy.

At one point, I woke and was so uncomfortable with all of the monitor cords and tube across my face, so I attempted to shift my stiff body around in the hospital bed but was startled to see August brooding over the foot of my bed in the dim light. I jumped before clutching my painful chest in an attempt to keep my bones and muscles from moving anymore.

“Holy shit!” I whispered in an attempt to not wake up Sy who hadn’t moved from his awkward position in the chair.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“August, you’re a giant hulking man standing at my hospital bed in the dark. It was a given.” I muttered and he looked at me sheepishly.

“Why aren’t you at Austin’s sleeping?” 

“Don’t need much sleep.” He muttered and I rolled my eyes. 

“I started looking up the things about your family. Everything he told you was a lie. Your father was in court yesterday conducting law proceedings on a merger of two small companies. Your mother was seen a few days ago at a Charlotte country club playing tennis and then having cocktails. I just wanted you to know that what he said wasn’t true.”

What kind of monster lies about someone’s mother attempting suicide? My god. The same type that drugs you to potentially kill you I guess. I bite my lip and shake my head. I’m such an idiot for even listening to Spencer’s bullshit after knowing what he was capable of. 

“Do you think he was really planning to kill me?” I ask, unsure of whether I wanted to know the answer.

“I’m not sure what his motive was. He was almost successful in killing you, but I’m not sure he was bright enough to know that you would overdose. I can’t help but wonder if he was attempting to kidnap you instead.” August whispers his reply.

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

“You'd be unconscious and easy to lift without a fight. Call it a gut feeling.” Is all he responds with.

I ball my meager fist up in irritation with myself for not only opening the door, but for my gullibility in actually considering what he said to be true. Maybe I really am as dumb as he always said. He would know that I would feel guilty for my parent’s downfall, regardless of their coldness towards me. 

“I wish I could go back in time to when that door opened and slap the shit out of him.” I mutter angrily. August just looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go back to sleep yet.” He demanded. Looking across the room at the old analog clock mounted on the wall, I noticed it was a little after 2 am. What is he doing?

I'm even more suspicious when he returns with a wheelchair and a mischievous mustached smile.

Chapter 17

A/N: I'm BACK! Thank you all for understanding the little break I took with my family! I hope this chapter was worth the wait and I love you all!