myloveforhenrycavill - Tumblr blog

myloveforhenrycavill · 2 years

Note

I heard this song called Wishful Drinking by Ingrid Andress and Sam Hunt. It seems like such a Sy/Reader song, so I wanted to show you! It might be a good prompt if you're interested, but I really just wanted to share. Have a great day!

Summary: You and Sy contemplate your broken relationship.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 3.1k

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), Implied sex, implied oral sex, almost masturbation, recreational drinking.

Authors Note: Ok, so I’ve been unwell (Bronchitis) and really struggled to write all week until the last two days. This is probably not my best work, but I missed writing and had to do something. Thanks to @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for beta reading.

Thanks for the prompt, Anon. I’ve never heard that song before (I assume it’s a country song???) but I listened to it a couple of times and a story grew from it, so thank you very much. I hope you like what I’ve done with it.

Edited by myself, there will be errors.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Masterlist

Wishful Drinking

You know Caroline is giving you side eye as you pour another glass of wine.

“Don’t judge me,” you say.

Caroline raises her hands in surrender. “I ain’t,” she says. You don’t believe her, but you let it go. “You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head. “Just take his shit and go, will you?” You realised how harsh that sounds as soon as the words are out of your mouth. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“Have you talked to him?” Caroline asks, waving away your apology. You shake your head again. “Look, I know he can be…”

“Stubborn?” you interrupt. Caroline nods. “This is more than stubborn. He’s never sent you to pick his stuff up before. He’s never been gone this long before.”

Caroline picks up the bag of Sy’s clothes and stands up. You get up to walk her out, but she shakes her head. “I’ll show myself out.” She pulls you into a hug and gives you a squeeze, it almost breaks you, everyone in Sy’s family seems to hug like that. She steps back and gives you a sympathetic smile. “Take care of yourself, ok? And call him, please?”

“You just want him out of your house,” you joke in a voice that quivers more than you would like it to.

“My brothers never been easy to live with, I don’t know how you did it so long.” Caroline laughs. “You’re a saint.”

You chuckle but your hearts not in it. You follow Caroline to the door despite her telling you not to and wave goodbye before locking up.

Flopping on the lounge with a shaky sigh you refill your glass of wine and turn on the tv, scrolling along until you find the romantic comedy section. Fuck it, you’re going to think about Sy and cry anyway, may as well make a night of it.

You settle in for the meet-cute, already feeling the tears well in your eyes. The couple’s meeting isn’t too dissimilar to how you and Sy met. You had met at a party at Caroline’s house and the attraction was instant. Sy had played it cool though, subtly hinting at his interest throughout the night. You however couldn’t play it cool, becoming a bumbling idiot every time he spoke to you. As people started to leave, Sy had offered to drive you home. You had accepted only because he was Caroline’s brother and she had encouraged you to let him. He had been a perfect gentleman, even as he walked you to your door.

“Thanks for the lift, Sy,” you said. It felt like that awkward time at the end of a date when you don’t know exactly how the other person is feeling about how it went, not sure of expectations.

Sy had smiled and moving slowly, as if he were reaching out to a skittish pony, he put a hand on your cheek. His touch felt like fire, his hand was so warm against your skin and its heat seemed to travel straight through your body, making you burn up.

“I wanna see you again,” he said. “Would you like that?” It was strange, despite the question it didn’t feel like he was asking.

You bite your lip as you considered. It wasn’t that you were going to say no, you just didn’t want him to think you were too eager. Eventually you nodded.

Sy’s smile grew, showing you his teeth and you notice the dimples in his cheeks, almost hidden by his beard. “Friday night.” Again, his tone struck you, like he wasn’t asking you, yet somehow it didn’t feel creepy.

“Yeah, uh, pick me up here at seven?” You hated how nervous you sounded, but you found him so attractive you couldn’t help it.

Nodding Sy agreed and his free hand moved to cup your other cheek. “I wanna kiss ya before I go.”

Licking your lips, you nodded again. God, you couldn’t have spoken in that moment even if you wanted to, shit, you could barely breathe. Sy moved in, his eyes on yours until you closed them at the last moment before his lips met yours. His kiss was light, almost a tease, and he hummed as you kissed him back. Your hands went to his wrists, you could feel the tension in them, as if he was holding himself back.

Then he pulled away, not much, just enough to let you breathe again. “Friday. Here. Seven.” Sy confirmed. You nodded and he kissed your forehead. “Night, baby.”

He took a few steps away and like a gentleman, waited until you were safe inside and had shut the door before he left.

Wiping a few tears from your eyes, you fill your glass again. Your relationship had started well, moving slowly, lots of dates that ended with making out at the front door before they eventually moved to your couch. Sy always left before things went too far, it was almost frustrating, like a slow burn romance novel. But it was sweet, you liked that he didn’t push too hard.

About three months in, you had moved from your couch to your bedroom. He had made you feel like you were offering him the most precious thing. The first time you opened your legs for him and he saw you, it was like he was in awe, almost reverent, as he lowered his head into you. He took his time, savouring the moment, like he wasn’t sure you would ever let him in again. Yet he controlled everything, not taking what he needed until he was sure you were satisfied. Three times.

You don’t understand how it went from that to this. No one could touch you the way he did and not mean it, you had thought. You still think that. Maybe it is the alcohol talking but surely, it can’t be over. The connection you two have is too strong.

Getting tipsy by the halfway point of the movie, the couple were going through the required miscommunication that was a pre-requisite to every romcom ever made. It makes you wonder if that is what’s happening to you and Sy now. You’re just going through the rough patch that all couples go through before you reunite, maybe at another party, maybe you’ll be behind him in the line at the store, maybe he’ll knock on your door.

You know it’s the alcohol. Your breakup was final, he was gone. But the hope you have is still there, after all, he hasn’t really moved on yet. Half his stuff is still here, and he hasn’t found a place of his own yet. Maybe there’s still a chance for you and Sy, you have to believe it’s possible, your heart won’t take it if it’s not.

“’S open,” Sy says. He nods as Caroline opens the door and lifts a bag in the air. “Thanks, just drop in next to the door.”

Caroline looks Sy up and down, raising an eyebrow in judgement. Sy looks down at himself, laying on the bed, half-dressed, a half-drunk six pack on the mattress next to a half-eaten pizza. Feeling nicely buzzed Sy chuckles and thinks it’s appropriate since he feels like half a man.

“You look like shit,” Caroline says bluntly.

“Well fuck you very much, little sister.” Sy gives her a terrible wink. “I know I can always rely on family to support me.”

“You could call her you know,” she says.

Sy clenches his jaw and turns his attention back to the game playing on the lap top lying on his chest. “She don’t wanna hear from me.” When Caroline doesn’t reply Sy looks at her. “Does she?” He hated the hopeful tone in his voice. “Did she say somethin’?”

“Just that you’re stubborn,” Caroline replies, her lips curl into a smirk. “She ain’t wrong.”

“She can’t talk, she’s a goddamn mule,” Sy shakes his head.

“She ain’t the one livin’ on pizza and beer in her sisters guest room though, is she?”

“I’ll leave soon, don’t worry.”

“We both know why you ain’t left yet, you still think she’s gonna ask you back,”

“It ain’t my fault she…”

“Does it matter?” Caroline says. “Does it matter whose fault it is if you’re both goddamn miserable?”

“She’s miserable?” Sy doesn’t like hearing that you aren’t happy, that’s not what he wants for you, but there is a part of him that’s glad, hopeful that maybe you miss him as much as he misses you.

“Just call her,” Caroline says before leaving and closing the door.

Sy tries to concentrate on the game, but he can’t. With every drink he takes he gets drawn deeper and deeper into the memories he has of you. He remembers the way your eyes lit up when he came back from his last tour and he told you he was retiring. The way you cried tears of relief when he told you he’d never leave you again, the way your little arms held him so tight. The way you clawed at him when you made love that night, the way you didn’t stop kissing him, touching him, the way you clung to him even in your sleep. It had to mean something. That had been real, surely, you couldn’t have faked that. He couldn’t believe you could turn off that feeling as quickly as it seemed like you had.

Try as he might, Sy can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop feeling your touch in his mind. Pushing the laptop off and closing it, his hand slips into his sweats and he groans. Fuck, he wants you so bad, wants to feel you touch him for real, see your smile as he walks into the room, fuck, he just wants to know you feel even half of what he feels for you.

Forcing his hand out he grabs his beer and thinks. Caroline said you were miserable, maybe you do still feel something for him. Maybe you’re as messed up as he is. His phone is in his hand and scrolling for your number even before he realises what he’s doing. Fuck, he ain’t gonna drunk dial you. No goddamn way. Fuck that. He ain’t gonna crawl back to you.

Sy gets up as he downs the last of the beer. He pulls out his jeans and clean shirt before he goes to the bathroom, maybe a cold shower will set him right. When he gets out, he has a look in the mirror and thinks his neck could do with a shave. His beard is ok, it’s a little messy but she likes it like that.

“Shit,” Sy curses himself. You’re fucking thinking about going to her place ain’t ya? He was too. He’d had enough, he misses you.

Just as the couple start to make up, your doorbell rings. For a moment your heart fills with hope but you look at your half empty bottle of wine and realise it’s just wishful thinking. Your tipsy, but not drunk, not drunk enough by half to really believe Sy could be at the door.

“Coming,” you call as you wrap your blanket around your shoulders as if it’s a shawl. You’re tempted to take your glass of wine with you, but you leave it. You look dishevelled enough as it is.

As you walk down the hall, you bump your hip against a doorknob, and you hiss. “Fuck,” you cry. You must be drunker than you thought.

“Sugar?”

Ok… very drunk, now you’re hearing voices. And not just any voices, Sy’s voice.

“I’m fucking wasted,” you mutter as you open the door. “Holy Fuck, Sy!” You weren’t hearing things. Sy is standing at the door and… God fucking damn, he looks good. Why is he all dressed up? He’s wearing his good jeans? Did he go out tonight? Maybe on a date? Caroline didn’t mention that he was dating.

“Hey, Sugar,” he drawls in his rough baritone.

Oh shit, he’s drunk too, his accent is so thick when he’s been drinking and only people who know him well would pick up the slight slur in his words. Wait, did he drive here? Looking past him, you don’t see any sign of his truck and you know he didn’t take his bike, that was still in your garage.

“How’d you get here?”

“Uber,” he says with a shrug.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, immediately kicking yourself. “I mean, if you want those clothes, Caroline already…”

“I know,” Sy interrupts. “That’s uh, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh,” you say, softly. “Why are you here?”

“I wanna come in.” You humph, but before you can complain about his choice of words, he surprises you. “Please, baby. Can I come in?”

“Fine,” you say. “I suppose you technically still live here.” You amble your way down the hall back to your couch, careful to avoid the abusive doorknob. “Watch out for that doorknob, it’s a bastard.”

“Did ya hurt yourself?”

“The doorknob and I had an argument and I lost.” You plop on the couch, bringing the glass and wine with you, giving yourself another top up. You sure as hell need it, whatever he was here for you don’t believe it’s a good reason. Was he just looking for a drunken hook up? Did his date not go as planned? Sy just stands in the middle of the room, staring at you as you take a big gulp of wine. You stare back at him; you can’t get over his clothes. “You’re all dressed up.”

Sy looks at his clothes like he has no idea what he’s wearing. The white t-shirt under his red flannel was thin enough for you to make out the hair on his chest and you force yourself to look away. Fuck, why did he have to be so hot?

“Did you go out tonight?” you prompt, mentally preparing yourself for the answer.

Sy shakes his head and finally sits down on the other end of the couch. “I was just at Caroline’s and watchin’ the game.”

“That explains why you’re drunk, but not why you’re dressed like that.”

“What do ya want me to say, Sugar?” Sy seems annoyed. He catches your eye, and despite being tipsy, you realise he’s not annoyed. He’s nervous, maybe embarrassed too. “I wanted to come see ya that’s all. Didn’t wanna show up in the sweats I’ve been wearin’ for three days.” You wrinkle your nose in disgust and Sy laughs. “Exactly.”

You see Sy relax, he sits back in the couch, his body turns towards you and resting his arm along the back of the cushions. You take another gulp of your drink, Sy watches you, which makes you want to drink more, but Sy suddenly leans forward and takes the glass from your hand.

“Hey!”

“You’re gonna be sick if you have much more,” Sy says.

“So?” You groan internally at how petulant you sound. Sy just gives you a look, the look that says, ‘you better think twice before you act’. You hate that it still works on you, and you hate the way blood rushes between your legs. “Why are you here, Sy?”

Sy’s look softens as he places the glass on the coffee table and puts his arm back over the back of the couch. His arm is long enough that his fingers can reach your neck and he starts to caress your skin softly. “I was thinkin’ about ya.”

You bite your cheek, just enough so it hurts, and you know you’re awake and haven’t passed out in some sort of romcom nightmare. As much as you want to believe Sy is here to try and make up, you don’t think you can.

“I’m not going to quit my job Sy.”

“I know,” he says, simply. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“That’s the point Sy,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm. You don’t want to fight again. “You didn’t ask. You never do. You flat out told me to quit, or you’d walk. After years of me dealing with you being gone for months at a time, it was really fucking unfair of you.”

Well, there goes staying calm. You brace yourself for a fight, but Sy doesn’t bite. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps caressing you, a little harder now, his finger and thumb digging deeper into your muscles you thought would be relaxed by the amount of alcohol you had to drink.

“I know it was.” Sy admits. “I was bein’ selfish. I missed you.”

“So, your solution was to break up with me, so you could miss me more?” You ask with a smirk.

“It wasn’t exactly a well thought out plan,” Sy chuckles.

“I spoke to my boss,” you say. Sy raises his eyebrows. “He’s taking me off the night shifts, just mornings and afternoons now.”

“You did that for me?” Sy asks in a low tone.

You nod. “It’ll be less money, but you’re making more now so we should be ok.”

“Come ‘ere, baby,” Sy puts his arms out and you move closer to him. He wraps his arms around you, bringing your head to his chest. He leans back into the couch, kicking his shoes off and bringing his feet up. Sy strokes your hair a bit and lifts the back of your shirt, his hand goes to your bare hip and his thumb rubs over your bone. Laying a soft kiss against your forehead he asks in a husky, low tone, “Are we good, baby?”

Lifting your head, you look at him, his eyes locking on yours. His brows draw together, and his hand moves to your cheek. You look at him a long time, trying to gage his sincerity. Is it even realistic to think this won’t happen again? You don’t want to keep doing this, keep breaking up and getting back together.

“I ain’t good without you,” Sy murmurs.

You reach out to him, putting your hand on his neck and pull him towards you. Closing your eyes, your lips meet his and you kiss him gently. Sy’s arms tighten around you as he kisses you back, but he keeps his lips soft. He’s holding himself back. You almost tell him not to, to just take you to bed, but you don’t.

“Will you stay tonight?” you whisper.

“You want me to?” Sy asks, mirroring your soft tone. You nod and he seems to let out a breath he was holding. “Then course I will.”

Smiling slightly, you lower your head back down onto Sy’s chest. You hear his hum rumble in his chest before he rolls onto his side, tucking your head under his chin. He strokes your hair as you reach the arm you’re not lying on under his shirt and lay it in the middle of his warm, woolly chest. Sy hums again, kissing the top of your head and you close your eyes, letting the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers lull you to sleep.

507 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

273 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Some cartoons of the boys while I have a minute

150 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Pop

Title: Pop

Pairing: Syverson x OFC (could also be a reader insert)

Rating: T

Summary: Very, very fluffy. Almost indecently so.

Warnings: language, nudity mentioned, pregnancy, birth, slight daddy kink if you squint a little?

“Oh my God! Fuck you!” She squealed her head snapping to look over her shoulder, wide eyes fixed on his equally surprised blue gaze, confetti still dancing to the ground around them.

“Uhh… surprise?”

“Theodore Leslie Syverson, I swear to god if you just made my goddman water break.” She ranted, staring down at the pool of liquid at her feet, schooling her expression to remain fearful and angry, making sure the empty water balloon was hidden within her tiny hand, the other full one tucked out of his view.

Keep reading

104 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Shades of Green

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

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

Words: 6.6k

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

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

Shades of green

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh no, oh, fuck, no!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I...yeah, I am.”

“Hot date?” His smirk slanted.

“Actually, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I bet,” he scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

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

Sy’s eyes were still glued to the screen.

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

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

“Bobbie? Little Bobbie McPee?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do we keep the laundry detergent again?”

“Did we run out of Mayo?”

“Is the iRobot broken again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Umm, Robert, I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Bobbie.”

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

'To hell with him!'

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

“Logan,” He cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He is pissed?!’

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

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

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

“Logan, what the actual fuck?!”

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

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

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

“Oh please, sugarbutt….”

“Don’t call me sugarbutt!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What makes you think I don’t?”

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

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

“Syver….”

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

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

You wanted to drown in it.

He wanted to drown in you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Please!’

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

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

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

Sy granted it without you having to beg.

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

If only his mouth was this eloquent...

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

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

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

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

“I need you inside me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

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

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

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

“I never thought that…oh my god...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to come, oh god.”

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

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

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

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

‘Fuck…fuck fuck!’

What have you done?

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

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

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

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

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

“Towel… towel…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

You flinched at his question, trembling even more.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extra credits:

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I don't own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

2K notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Note

Rabbit!!!!

I've been having a few nightmares recently :(

Could I please have a fic where Sy comforts the reader after she wakes crying or almost from a particulally bad nightmare?

Summary: Sy comforts you after a nightmare

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 550

Warnings: Fluff pretty much (It’s all I’ve got in me today.)

Authors note: Thanks for the prompt, Anon. I know its short, but I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for doing what you guys do. I appreciate you both.

I’m sick today (Hopefully just a cold), so my editing may be worse than normal. There will be errors.

Masterlist

Wake Me

You wake with a strangled gasp in your throat. You can’t breathe a moment, your eyes feel sticky, like they’re glued shut from the tears that had fallen in your sleep. You blink them away, but more come, and when you finally draw air into your lungs again, it’s shallow, rapid, and not enough.

“Darlin’,” Sy’s warm, throaty voice echoes in the darkness. His hand is on your belly, and you grab at it, needing to feel it’s warmth, needing to know you’re awake and safe.

It was just a dream.

“Baby?” Sy speaks again, you hear the concern in his voice. You turn your head in his direction, he’s close enough that even in the dark you see his brows drawn close together in worry. “You were crying.”

You still can’t speak.

“Nightmare?”

You nod.

“Can you tell me about it?”

You shake your head. He moves his hand to your cheek, shifting closer until you feel the heat of his body against your arm.

“Can you try?”

“It was… I was…” Huh? It right there, happening, but now, the dream is gone but the sense of dread and pain remain. “I don’t remember…” you tell Sy.

“But you still feel it.”

“Yeah.” You roll on your side, facing him. Tears still rolling down your cheeks. You feel a little ashamed, a grown woman crying over a dream that you don’t even remember. But the fear, the pain, they still grip your heart, and your chest feels tight.

Sy’s vast, heavy arms curl around you, his warmth consumes you, makes you feel safe. With a sob, you let your tears flow, burying your head into the soft, thick curls on his chest. Your arms wrap around him too, he is so big, his body so strong, and yet he’s so cuddly. There’s a softness about him that always brings you comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m being stupid.”

“Nah, Baby,” Sy says. “You cry all you want to. I don’t mind one bit.” Sy rubs your back with the heel of his palm, long, slow, firm circles, the contact is soothing. He hums gentle, soft assurances. “I’ve got you baby, you’re ok. Just breathe.”

Soon you stop crying, but you don’t stop clinging to Sy and he makes no move to push you away. You feel his hand move from your back and he rolls over to look at the time.

“It’s only forty-five mins ‘til we gotta get up,” Sy says. “Wanna go back to sleep? Or we could get up and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

“Sorry, Sy,” you say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No baby, I want you to.” Sy lifts your chin, so you look at him. “Serious now. You wake me up anytime you need me. Promise?”

You nod, but he shakes his head.

“You gotta say it, baby,” Sy says. A small grin forms on his lips. “Say, I promise to wake you up if I’m scared, worried, or horny. ‘Specially that last one.”

You laugh. It’s not a big laugh, you’re not all the way good yet, but it’s a start. “I promise.”

“Ok,” Sy gives you a fleeting kiss on your lips before he guides your head back to his chest and rests his chin on you. He gives you a squeeze then pats your ass. “Alright, sugar. Up ya get. I’ll do the eggs you do the coffee.”

661 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Photo

137 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

How long does he has these shorts? 👀

Thank God he finally has new MuscleTech shorts. Much better 😂

498 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Note

What would our Sy be like the day he comes back from deployment? 🥺

Summary: Syverson returns from a long deployment to reunite with his woman.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader (No description of ethnicity or body type)

Word counts: 1k

Warnings: +18, fluff to smut. Oral sex - female receiving, outdoor vaginal sex, unprotected sex, risky creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

A/N: Not beta’d, was in a slight fluffy mood today. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

Home Sweet Home

12 hours, 12 freaking hours - that’s how long it takes to journey back from blazing arid terror. Home, a place that is the arms of the beautiful woman he left behind in exchange for the unforgiving desert.

A bargain worthy of nought.

Drumming his fingers upon his thigh, the Captain sits quietly at the backseat of the taxi, adjusting his hat here and there and wondering how long your hair must be by now. His is definitely longer since you’ve last seen him, a curly nest of golden-brown, the tips burnt days of labouring in the sun.

His beard has lengthened as well, only by a slight, though amid a wilderness of dark frizzle, a dust of silver hair appeared as if out of nowhere.

‘That’s right, old man, you ain’t gettin’ any younger,’ he muses and steps out of the cab.

‘You are older now than what your dad ever been...’

It’s not a beautiful day by any means; steel-coloured clouds hunker above the house, casting shadows upon the large man, who stands at the front door holding a large bag and one hand in the pocket of his trousers, toying with a small box between his index and his thumb.

“Darlin’?”

He calls your name once, yet you are nowhere to be seen, so the Captain ventures through the house toward the backyard. Tiny raindrops tapper on the brim of his hat, whilst the wind is frigid on his cheeks - it’s not a beautiful day, yet there you are in a white summer dress and sandals, tending the fully grown peach tree Syverson planted aeons ago.

Taking a moment, he lingers upon the spectacle of his woman all shrouded in sheathes of white, the fabric so bright it’s almost blinding. This could be forever - you and him.

If only you’ll say yes.

The winds blow again, making the skirt of your dress float over your rear and expose a hint of your ample ass. It’s been too long. His fingers now squeeze the tiny box in his pocket in a sense of unease, his lungs squeezing air faster than possible and in his groin, a sudden pang of arousal stirs. Quiet as a man trained in combat, he slips the bag off his shoulder and begins to creep near, hopeful that you’ll remain preoccupied until the moment he is close enough to seize you in his arms.

As very much anticipated, you shriek with surprise, which only makes the large man chortle, making your fright turn into annoyance the moment you realise it’s your Sy. Quickly he turns you and backs you against the bark, his icy glare leaving shards inside your heart.

“Sy!” You utter overwhelmed, your gaze already blurry with tears. News scars crest his tanned face and his beard is sporting new shades of grey but the bitter-sweet look in his eyes hasn't changed a bit. Impassioned, his mouth finds yours in a devouring kiss that is all bristle and chaff, his strong hands squeeze at your hips, leaving bruises for sure before he falls to his knees and makes tatters of your panties.

“Wait!”

“Never,” he proclaims, and not holding his breath for one-second dives his face between your thighs.

Leaning against the tree, you squirm your hips into the rhythm of his skilful tongue, your fingers prying into the peeling bark while you ride Sy’s scruffy face hard in search of your pleasure. His bearded chin tickles the invigorated skin of your cunt while he fucks you with his mouth and what you fight to hold back for a moment longer bursts from in a violent ecstasy.

Not giving you a moment to climb down from delirium, he jumps back to his feet and lifts you in his arms. Your heart sinks at the click of his belt buckle being undone, briefly making you fret the moment of penetration and when his thick cock splits you open you whine in pain, still you wrap yourself around him, thighs squeezing hard, and let him fuck you right there for all the neighbours to see.

“I’m off the pill,” you warn between moans, “oh fuck, oh god, don’t stop.”

Sy’s groans soar through the garden, entwining with a deep rumble of thunder that shatters the sky and cascades you with rain. Feral and hopeless you shove against one another, vigorously colliding until you can’t tell where you begin and where Sy ends. Heat spills from between your thighs, the burning tendrils of the fire draw through you again and you come once more, sensing his cock swelling painfully thick between your clenching walls.

“Fuck, I’m going to come!” he gasps and slamming into you one last time, buries himself deep in your heat and grants you with the explosion of his hot, bountiful surge. Starlings sing in the depths of your belly as if you can already feel his seed planted within you.

Down on the ground, ripe peaches have fallen from the tree as a result of your vigorous gyrate; they are riddled with droplets of rain, peering back at you while Sy lowers you down to the ground and sweetly kisses your forehead before tucking his spent cock back in his trousers. Surrounded by the succulent leaves of the peach tree, you take a deeper breath, aware of the guilt and shame that follows with the stupid risk you both just took.

“We made a mess…” Your breath still quivers as you reach to cup your womanhood, sensing the sticky fluid at your aching, pulsating lips.

Sy offers you a faint grin and then without saying another word, falls down to his knees.

“Then we better make it right.” He plants a sweet kiss at your pelvic bone and then presses his chin to your belly while staring at you with the eyes of a lost child.

“Darlin’...” he begs, reaching his hand to his pocket to find the little box he guarded for 12 months through fire and lead.

“Will you marry me?”

2K notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Photo

Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia | The Witcher, Season 2.

583 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

A Wedding! A Wedding!

Syverson x Fem!Reader

vignette: Six months after Syverson surprised Y/N in NYC, the two have a forced reunion as they both attend Layla and Aiden's wedding.

words: 2,800+

masterlist

Syverson pulled at his collar for probably the hundredth time that day.

'This stupid, fuckin’ monkey suit,’ he thought to himself. He would take wearing pounds of military gear over a suit, tie, and dress shoes.

In just a bit, Aiden and Layla would be married.

Syverson was indifferent to weddings. He didn’t hate them, but he also didn’t exactly look forward to them. It was nice to see old friends and family. But it would be nicer to do so in a more casual and comfortable environment.

The weekend had already been crazy.

And Syverson was in a foul mood the whole week leading up to it.

If he allowed himself to self reflect on his own emotions, Sy would’ve recognized that it was the anxiety leading up to seeing Y/N for the first time since he showed up on her stoop in New York.

The reality was that he should’ve seen her the night before at the rehearsal dinner.

But there was an emergency at Sy’s farm. And it took so long to handle and fix that Sy had no choice but to text Aiden and Layla explaining that he wouldn’t make the rehearsal dinner later and apologized profusely.

“You’re alright. I think you know how to walk down an aisle,” Aiden had responded.

Then Sy had seen the three little dots, telling him that Aiden was sending another text.

“And heads up… Ain't got a clue what you know 'bout weddings, but the Best Man and Maid of Honor walk with each other.”

Sy sighed. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Y/N was Layla’s Maid of Honor.

“Fuck,” Sy had mumbled as he read Aiden’s second text message.

But he just replied with, “Yup. I know.”

Sy hoped he could see Y/N before they had to walk down the aisle with each other. But she was running all over the place and doing the dozens of duties Maids of Honor had.

Instead of gathering before the ceremony, Y/N had been with Aiden and Layla as they did their “first look” photo-session in private.

It had been six months since Syverson and Y/N had seen each other.

The two of them didn’t really text and they definitely didn’t call one another. It seemed like they both had a shared understanding that keeping in touch would just make them miss each other more, keep the wound of heartbreak open, and leave no room for them to actually move on.

Layla hated traditional weddings, so hers was unlike any Syverson had been to before.

Instead of having the ceremony in a church, they were in a heavy forested area. Flowers and pebbles made up the aisle. And a giant tree was used as their altar. Various styles of vintage, wooden chairs were the seats for all the guests, and it didn’t matter what side anyone sat on.

One of Aiden’s cousins was marrying them instead of a priest.

And there was a single piano player stationed to the side of the tree to play their processional – and other music for the ceremony.

All the bridesmaids were wearing different textures, cuts, and fabrics. But Sy was observant enough to realize there was a consistent color scheme throughout the whole wedding – beyond just the women’s dresses.

Aiden suddenly appeared and Sy could tell the man had just been crying. Seeing Layla must've turned the man into an emotional mess. All the groomsman pretended not to notice.

Sy leaned close to his best friend and muttered, “You gon’ make a run for it?”

It did exactly what he intended: Aiden let out a surprised laugh.

“Not a fuckin’ chance, man."

“Then get your ass up there,” Sy shoved Aiden in the direction of the altar.

And just as Sy was trying to loosening his tie a bit…

He saw her.

Y/N was rushing behind Layla, holding her flowers and fixing her hair – overall, just making sure she looked her most beautiful.

The two were behind a thick tree, protecting them from the wandering and curious eyes of the guests.

Layla’s father was patiently waiting for Y/N to finish helping his daughter.

And Syverson was staring at Y/N, unable to rip his eyes away.

Of course she looked fucking beautiful. He knew there was never a chance she’d look like anything else.

Y/N was wearing a forest green thin strapped dress, with a high slit that Sy couldn’t look away from. With every movement or soft breeze, it gave a peak of her leg.

Syverson read Y/N’s lips as she asked Layla, “You good? You OK?”

Layla gave a watery smile and nodded before pulling her cousin into a bone-crushing hug.

Y/N smiled and said her goodbye as the music started.

Sy and her would be the last to walk up the aisle to the altar. And it gave them a moment alone as the other bridesmaids and grooms walked up before them.

On the way over to the group, Y/N’s steps faltered as soon as she spotted Sy.

To her credit, she recovered quickly and looked at the ground the rest of the walk to him.

And for the first time in a six months, Sy felt like he could breathe again. His chest didn’t feel tight anymore. His shoulders didn’t seem to have extra weight on them. There was a new lightness to him.

Y/N only raised her gaze to him once she was at his side.

“Hi,” she told him shyly.

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Please don’t let me trip over this stupid dress,” Y/N whispered and sort of laughed, trying to lighten the tension a bit.

“Ain’t got any faith in me, huh?” He teased right back.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to meet his and everything around them seemed to disappear.

But the moment slipped away as they remembered that they had a job to do and an audience watching them.

Syverson bent his left arm and offered it to her when it was their turn. He made sure to walk slow enough that Y/N wouldn’t struggle with the long dress and high heels.

The closeness messed with both of them.

Y/N felt the warmth of Syverson’s body and didn’t realize how much she’d missed it. He had always been her personal furnace – despite not needing one in the Texas heat. She also noticed how cleaned up his beard looked. It was still thick, but shorter and neater. Clearly he’d trimmed it for the wedding. She never expected to ever see Ethan Syverson in a suit, but damn should he wear them more often.

Syverson could smell Y/N’s perfume perfectly, and was happy to find that she hadn’t changed it up since they parted ways. The scent alone brought him right back to their past moments alone – the same moments he’d found himself thinking about constantly these past months. Her makeup was heavier than usual, enhancing her beauty, but also giving her an edge that was different than her everyday look. Her nails were longer and all done. And Sy hated that his next thought was imagining what they would feel like scraping down his back during the throes of passion.

When they reached the altar, Syverson realized he didn’t want to let Y/N go so soon. He knew there wouldn’t be another chance to touch her, even just as innocently as this.

Y/N gave him a parting glance before moving to the other side of the altar to await Layla’s entrance.

It took all of Syverson’s strength to stop staring at Y/N and join everyone else in watching Layla walk down the aisle with her father.

The ceremony only lasted 20 or so minutes. Layla and Aiden had written their own vows, and Aiden’s cousin wrote a very personalized and thoughtful speech about the couple. Almost everyone was in tears by the end.

Y/N glanced up at Syverson just before the couple kissed, and found that he remained stoic as usual. The two of them seemed to be the only two that had kept their emotions intact.

As the couple left, the wedding party slowly followed after them.

Syverson offered his arm once again, even though it wasn’t expected and the other groomsmen didn’t do it.

As soon as they were past the guests, Y/N pulled away.

“I gotta go help Layla,” she muttered before racing after the bride.

Close family of the couple and the bridal party lingered behind to take staged photos. And the rest of the guests went to the cocktail hour.

Y/N made sure Layla’s makeup was good and her dress laid correctly.

The time Sy got close to her again was when the photographer shuffled the bridal party around to take photos of them all together.

And as soon as the photos were done, Y/N disappeared once again. This time to say hello to what Sy assumed was the rest of her extended family.

——

The wedding was more fun than Syverson had anticipated. He realized a live band made the energy less cringey than a cheap DJ who didn’t know how to read the room. Leave it to Layla to throw a wedding that Syverson liked.

If Y/N was avoiding him, she was doing a very good job of making it seem accidental. Syverson was able to distract himself with old friends he hadn’t seen in awhile. But his gaze seemed to always fall back on Y/N when she was near.

Ethan Syverson did not dance. Ever.

So he posted up near the bar instead, not having an issue with drinking alone while the rest of his friends made fools of themselves on the dance floor.

It was towards the end of the night and Sy was waiting on another drink, when he felt someone’s presence beside him.

“You must be Ethan Syverson,” a female voice said.

He raised an eyebrow as he turned to face them.

“Yes, ma’am. But I don’t believe we know each other,” his accent drawled out.

She smiled at him. “No, we don’t. But you fit Y/N’s description so perfectly: tall and broad. Thick beard. The strong and silent type."

That was when Syverson noticed how familiar the woman felt to him. Her y/e/c eyes were the same color as the ones that haunted him. And her smile was confident, yet mischievous – just like hers. Their body type was similar, as well.

“You must be Y/N’s mother,” Syverson said with a side smirk.

How had he not thought about Y/N’s immediate family being here? She was Layla’s cousin after all.

Y/N’s mother looked just like her. Making Syverson realize how beautiful Y/N would still be a few decades from now.

“I am,” she confirmed his guess. “Please, call me Meredith."

Syverson offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She chuckled as she shook it. “Oof. No wonder she fell for you. That girl isn’t used to those southern manners.”

Sy chuckled politely.

But her words echoed in his mind over and over again. “Fell for you”? She told her mom about him? About their relationship?

Syverson got his drink from the bartender and Meredith placed her own order.

From the way she posted up at the bar, it was clear to Sy that she wasn’t planning on leaving him alone quite yet.

When she got her drink, she turned to him. “You know, I would love to hear your side of the story…”

Syverson's gaze narrowed and he shifted his weight. “My side?”

“My baby girl has a bad habit of being rather pessimistic. She talked about you like it was the end of the world.”

He rubbed his beard anxiously. “I would rather not misspeak, ma’am.”

She smiled at his response. “Figured you’d say something like that.”

“How is she doing?” He blurted out.

Sy had made a promise to himself never to ask Layla about Y/N. But sometimes he’d slip when he had too many drinks with the boys and would slyly mention it to Aiden. But Sy knew he was never getting the full report from the man.

“Well, she’s heartbroken,” Meredith immediately answered, as if it were obvious.

Sy froze, not expecting such brutal honesty.

“Y/N knew she lost a good thing – maybe the best thing,” Meredith sighed sadly. It was clear a mother had taken on her daughter’s sorrow. "And she’s been rather miserable ever since.”

He quickly started saying, “I didn’t…”

But stopped himself from blurting out the wrong thing.

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t the one who ended it. I wanted to…”

Syverson cleared his throat again.

Why was he saying all of this to her of all people?

“I wanted to try and make things work,” he finally confirmed quietly.

Meredith gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his forearm. “I know you did, sweetheart. I know.”

Syverson’s gaze slowly moved to the dance floor and halted on Y/N, who was dancing with Layla.

The two of them were being absolutely ridiculous with their moves, not giving a damn if anyone around them was giving them weird looks or staring.

Meredith followed his eye line.

Taking a deep breath, she asked, “I know it’s not my place. But could I ask you one last thing?”

Syverson nodded, but still watched Y/N.

“Do you love her?”

He quickly looked at Meredith, surprised by her confidence to ask him such a thing, especially after only knowing each other for a few minutes.

Sy stared into her eyes, asking himself if he should be honest or lie.

Was self preservation even an option anymore?

He took in a deep breath and shifted his eight before he finally gave her a stiff nod.

He didn’t trust himself with words to answer such a question.

Meredith gave him another sympathetic look. “I thought so, honey.”

“Got any advice?” Syverson asked with a laugh.

Maybe he seemed pathetic being so open and honest with Y/N’s mother. But he realized that he just really didn’t care.

He was just…tired.

Meredith smiled and nodded. “Ask her to dance. Make it a slow one.”

Then she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It was nice to finally meet you, Ethan. I hope we see each other again.”

And with that, she gave him a wink and left.

The woman had incredible timing, because the music switched from a rock anthem to a song clearly made for slow dancing.

Sy tossed back his drink.

Thankfully it wasn’t his first and he had liquid courage running through his veins.

He watched as Y/N tried to make a subtle escape from the dance floor.

But she must’ve sensed someone watching her, because she lifted her head and their eyes instantly met.

Y/N froze at the edge of the dance floor.

“Would you dance with me, darlin’?” He asked her.

She swallowed heavily before nodding to him.

“I didn’t think you danced,” she mumbled as he pulled her closer and started swaying to the music.

“I don’t.”

Y/N’s expression turned confused.

“Ya keep leavin' the dance floor every time there’s a slow song,” he pointed out.

She shrugged. “Because there’s no one I want to dance with.”

He tilted his head. “But here you are.”

She laughed lightly, but didn’t elaborate on his observation.

They danced quietly.

“You ain’t one to be quiet," he second after a bit. "What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answered too quickly.

Y/N’s eyes scrunched closed for a second.

“I mean…” She took in a shallow breath. It was obvious her mind was racing about what she should reveal.

“It’s hard being around you," Y/N confessed.

Syverson was silent for a few seconds.

“It ain’t any different for me,” he finally admitted.

Y/N seemed surprised by his honesty for some reason.

For the rest of the song, the two of them remained silent.

Y/N even allowed herself to place her head on Syverson’s chest as they swayed.

Just this once, she ignored her fight or flight instincts and just let herself do what her heart was begging for.

When the song finally ended, it took Y/N a few seconds to realize it.

And Syverson made no efforts to move her.

Y/N eventually pulled away and took a few quick steps back from me.

She opened to her say something.

But what should she even say?

Sy gave her with sympathy. “We ain’t gotta say anythin’, darlin’.”

Then he stepped forward slowly, gently cupped the right side of her face, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

But instead of pulling away, he moved his lips to her ear and whispered, “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

Y/N’s face dropped at the compliment.

“Go on,” he nodded behind her. “Layla’s lookin’ for you.”

But Y/N couldn’t seem to move – or even breathe.

Layla suddenly grabbed Y/N by the shoulder, snapping her out of her daze.

Sy backed away, watching Y/N get pulled into a conversation with the bride.

A few moments later, when Y/N turned back around to see where Syverson had just been standing, he was nowhere to be found.

And she didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

––––––––––––

Let me know what you liked! please please please.

520 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

shitpost tag list:

@littlefreya @luna-aestas @thelastsock @constip8merm8 @mary-ann84 @henrythickcavill @jolly-polly @captainsy-cookiemonster @indigosaurus @devterra @fuckoffbard @artandotherdelights @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @wondersofdreaming @meb79mydragonateyourunicorn @inlovewithhisblueeyes @summersong69 @chamomilebottom @iloveyouyen @foodieforthoughts @fishcustardandclintbarton @omgkatinka @hell1129-blog @nashibirne @blavikennbutcher @summersong69 @sciapod @when-in-doubt-eat-pizza @wanderinglunarnights @walkingfashion @luclittlepond @lunedelorient @nuggsmum @viking-raider @taylorinthetardis @brandycranby @worshipping-skarsgard @its--fandom--darling @eldarwen333 @oh-for-fic-sake-recblog @tarajen @tellingyouastory @blakerogue @sarcastic-coffeedrinker @littleone65

503 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Little Black Dress

Characters: Syverson x you, Sy x reader (no mention of hair colour, skin colour, eye colour) I do mention curves, because all bodies have curves.

Summary: Your brother was Sy’s friend and colleague before he died. Sy pretends he’s protecting you while he’s actually jealous.

Warnings: mention of sibling death (no specifics), swearing, oral sex (fem receiving)

Important: I do not own the character Syverson/Sy. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. Not proof read.

This isn’t my best work, but I’m trying to get back into writing after several months of not being able to produce a single word. Bear with me, please. 🌙

Keep reading

396 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

That Mouth Tho...

Henry Cavill, Jersey RFC 22015 Siam Cup interview

Last one of these, I promise. Not the last of 2015 Henry tho... The look is too damn good.

181 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Surprise Guest

Syverson x Fem!Reader

vignette: Y/N just couldn't leave Texas without seeing Sy one last time.

words: 2,300+

a/n: thank you @just-chirpin for basically being my interior design assistant. lol.

masterlist

The morning after Layla and Aiden’s wedding...

Y/N pulled up to the giant farmhouse and all her bravery fled from her body and mind.

She threw the rental car in park, but her hands still gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles lost their color.

Aika was sitting on the front pork.

She barked at Y/N’s car, clearly on high alert.

To the dog, she was just another intruder.

“What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?” Y/N whispered to herself as her eyes raced around the giant property.

A inner voice finally spoke to her, ‘Don’t be a fucking coward.’

And with that, she threw the car door open and stepped on the driveway.

As soon as Aika spotted Y/N and caught her scent, the barking stopped and the dog sprinted to her old friend.

Y/N laughed as the German Shephard almost tackled her to the ground.

“Hi. Hi. Yes. Hello. I’ve missed you, too.” Y/N kneeled down to appease the dog.

And Aika took that as an invitation to give her endless kisses.

Y/N laughed as she tried to lightly push her away. “OK. OK. OK.”

Then she looked up at the front door of the house, and was surprised that all of Aika’s barking hadn’t alerted Syveron and brought him to the porch.

Y/N stood up and looked around.

“Where’s your dad at? Huh?” She asked the dog.

Aika turned her head to the side.

But she seemed to immediately understand, because she barked and started running in the direction of the barn.

When Y/N didn’t start to follow, Aika barked at her, ran back, circled around Y/N, and then headed back toward the barn again.

Y/N laughed and followed after the dog, who would pause and make sure she was following every few yards.

When they were just a few yards away from the entrance of the barn, Aika started barking nonstop.

“Goddamnit, Aika! I swear… if you have another dead squirrel in tha’ damn mouth of yours…” Syverson growled from somewhere inside that Y/N couldn’t see.

The next second, he begrudgingly came charging outside of the barn.

But Syverson stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Y/N.

However, he recovered quickly and controlled any reaction to her presence. And he started walking slower towards them.

“Thought you’d be back in New York by now…” Syverson muttered as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Y/N shrugged. “My flight’s not until until tomorrow afternoon.”

Sy nodded as he crossed his arms.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” Y/N shifted nervously. “Layla mentioned something about the reno finally being finished,” she thumbed behind her at the house. “Just thought…I don’t know…that I could see it.”

Sy watched her for a moment, reading the situation.

They both knew the house wasn’t really what she was here to see.

He gave her a half smirk. “You ain’t ever botherin’ me, darlin’.”

“You’re working though. Clearly.” Y/N started walking backwards. “I shouldn’t have just shown up like this.”

“Y/N,” Sy said her name so firmly that it froze her in place.

There was that military authority. It revealed itself so rarely.

Syverson walked closer to her. “Relax," he requested.

Y/N’s shoulders did as he commanded, even if for just a few seconds.

Sy looked her up and down.

Y/N’s face felt hot as she realized she was wearing an oversized flannel that she’d stolen from Syverson. She had worn it so much since leaving that she had started to forget that it originally belonged to him.

Sadly, it had lost his scent not long after moving back to NYC.

“You look mighty cute,” Sy said with a smirk, knowing that she was embarrassed to be wearing his clothing in front of her by complete accident.

She scoffed, “Oh, shut it. You going to show me your house or not?”

Sy chuckled and nodded. “Well, come on then. Ain’t got all day.”

But when it came to Y/N, he did have all day.

Sy brought them back around the front to start with the main entry way.

Y/N’s eyes widened when she saw the first of the renovations.

Layla truly had a gift. She'd clearly respected the history of the home and all the details that could never be truly recreated in a modern home. The woodwork was raw, but absolutely beautiful.

And the colors they chose only brightened the once dark home.

There were knickknacks around that clearly had been in the family for decades, and Layla knew exactly how to stage them.

“Pops claims his great grandpa made this miniature ship,” Sy pointed out. “It was hidin’ in the attic, collectin’ dust. Layla just about lost her damn mind when she found it.”

Next, he took her into the living room. It was even brighter – thanks to all the windows – and welcoming.

The fireplace was beautiful, but Y/N’s northern self was struggling to think of a time when Texas was ever cold enough to light a fire.

The room surprisingly didn’t feel like only a man lived there, especially with all the candles and accent pieces through the giant room. Sy also managed to still fit in a giant couch for him to spread out on, and still keeping enough room for plenty of guests to fit, too.

“You light all these candles every night?” Y/N teased him.

But it was clear none of the wicks had even been touched yet.

“Think you know the answer to that,” he replied with his arms crossed.

Sy then brought her to a small library. It had been covered up every time she visited, making her oblivious to its very existence.

Y/N had never seen actually Sy read before. But he also always woke up before her, and she could somehow perfectly imagine him reading the newspaper or something with his morning coffee – all while she was still fast asleep.

The library was darker than the rest of the home, but very cozy – just like libraries should be.

Y/N couldn’t stop herself from imagining sitting on the velvet couch with a favorite book. Maybe even Aika would be sleeping at her feet.

She started walking through the room, her index finger tracing across the shelves of the bookcase. No dust in sight.

Sy leaned in the doorway, watching her with his arms crossed.

“Reading anything good?” She asked, fully expecting him to tell her no.

Before Syverson could answer, Y/N noticed a book on the coffee table near the sofa. And from the way it was placed, she could tell it was currently being read, and not just there for display. There was an even a bookmark placed 3/4 of the way through.

Y/N swore her heart had leapt into her throat as she read the cover: Men Who Hate Women.

It was the book she was reading the day they met.

Sy had caught her noticing it too, immediately seeing the shift in her body.

Y/N looked up at him, waiting for an answer to a question she never actually asked.

“Thought I give it a read,” was all he said with a shrug.

If Sy was embarrassed from getting caught, he did a good job of hiding it.

“And are you liking it?” Y/N tried to sound casual and only half interested.

A sound escaped his throat, close enough to be called a growl. “Makes me wanna punch a bunch a men, that’s for damn sure.”

Y/N giggled. “I appreciate you giving it a shot.”

Sy didn’t know how to handle the way she was looking at him, so he chose to avoid it.

"Come on,” he nudged behind him. “Let me show you the kitchen.”

The kitchen looked exactly like the plans Layla had showed Y/N when she had been started to brainstorm ideas for the redesigning Syverson’s whole house.

He looked around the room as if inspecting it.

“I always think ‘bout what you said,” Sy hummed.

Y/N tilted her head. “What I said?”

He nodded. “About kitchens.”

Y/N's body stilled for a moment when she realized what he was talking about.

He remembered that?

They had only looked at the first floor. But somehow the enthusiasm for the tour had suddenly subsided for both of them.

And therefore, they could no longer hide behind the distraction.

Sy saw Y/N’s nervousness slowly seep out.

“I talked to my mom this morning,” she mumbled.

But her eyes couldn’t look at him, only staring at the floor.

“Mhmm,” Syverson hummed casually, even though he knew exactly what she must have told her daughter.

“Said you told her that you love me.”

“I did,” he confirmed.

The quick honesty made Y/N’s gaze shoot up from the floor to meet his.

But Syverson didn’t back down. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” she exhaled. Even the single word was shaky. “It actually makes all of this less uncomfortable when I tell you…”

Sy took a step closer, getting into her space. “Tell me what?”

Y/N swallowed, buying herself some time to find the courage.

Then she looked into his blue eyes. “When I tell you that I love you, too.”

Without missing a beat, Sy responded by crashing his lips onto hers.

Y/N lightly moaned into the kiss, not expecting such a reaction from him. In fact, she had half expected him to tell her to get out and leave him alone for good.

Their closeness was somehow not close enough for Sy.

And he backed her up until her butt hit the kitchen counter. With hardly any effort, Sy gripped her waist and lifted Y/N, placing her on top of it.

Y/N made her intentions clear and started undoing Sy’s belt buckle.

She froze when he suddenly held her wrist in place, preventing her from ripping the piece of leather out of the loops of his jeans.

She looked up at him in fear, thinking Sy was about to reject her and it was just delayed response to the wild situation.

But Syverson smirked at her before saying, “You still ain’t even seen the master bedroom, darlin’.”

She gave him a relieved smile.

But wasn’t expecting Syverson to throw her over his shoulder.

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

And the sound brought something out of him: Joy? Playfulness? The first wave of relief he’d felt since she’d left?

Sy smacked her bottom.

“Ethan Syverson!” She scolded.

And just like, they were back to how they used to be and it was like no time had passed.

——

Y/N traced the shadows underneath Syverson's eyes.

Was he having trouble sleeping?

When she had been in Texas, it seemed like Syverson was able to operate on four hours of sleep and still be perfectly fine.

So, he must really be struggling if his body was started to show signs of exhaustion.

“I think you need some sleep,” Y/N pointed out gently.

“Don’t wanna,” he sighed.

“Why not?”

Sy looked at her for a moment before admitting, “‘Cause I ain’t about to give ya the chance to sneak off.”

That was fair, but it still hurt.

“Well, I’m not going to do that,” she promised.

But Sy didn’t seem fully convinced.

So he simply pulled her body closer.

And Y/N rest her head on his bare chest.

Sy was already a space heater, but when they were both naked, he felt even warmer.

They settled in quietness. Both of them were now tiptoeing around each other in a post-sex haze, scared to ruin the glow of it all.

“Why do you have an office?” Y/N suddenly asked him. “I didn’t think you’d need one…”

When Sy had thrown her over his shoulder, she had caught a glimpse of it at the top of the stairs. She swore before the renovations it had been another guest bedroom. But it seemed to be set up as an office space now.

Sy's breathing got quiet at the question, and Y/N felt his body tense.

She didn’t think it was a controversial question. She had just been curious.

But his reaction made her sit up to look at him.

It was hard imagining him needing one. All of his work was hands on and physical.

In fact, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever even seen Sy even write before or sit in front of a laptop. Did he even have a computer?

“I didn’t have a lot of thoughts on the house. I damn well drove Layla crazy,” Syverson muttered, his eyes staring out at nothing.

He took in a deep breath. “When all of it was finally done, you were gone. An’ one night, I just looked around at everythin’.”

Y/N watched him hesitate. What was he trying to figure out if he should say or not?

“And I realized I was–” He cleared his throat and scratched his beard. “Guess I was jus’ imaginin’ you here.”

Syverson finally met her gaze. “The office was for you, I guess.”

Y/N’s heart felt like it dropped to her stomach as she processed what he was telling her.

Sy hadn’t been building his home. He had been building their home.

And he hadn’t even realized it.

“We can’t leave each other again,” Y/N whispered, surprising herself with how it just escaped her without even thinking.

She buried her face into his neck, hiding from her confession.

Sy calmed her by weaving his fingers in her hair and massaging the back of her neck along with his combing.

“WelI, it’s good we agree," he muttered softly. "‘Cause I wasn’t plannin’ on lettin’ ya go another time.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Really?”

This woman… Sy thought. When would she stop being surprised that’d he do just about anything for her?

He nodded.

“It’s just…" She frowned. "I’m not ready to leave New York. Not yet.”

“I never told ya that ya had to give it up,” he clarified.

Y/N just nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Damn right I’m sure.”

She gave Sy a shy smile.

But Y/N seemed to be slowly shrinking into her own mind, getting drawn in my her chaotic thoughts and struggling to stay with him in the present.

“Darlin’?” He asked gently as he cupped her cheek.

“Hmm?” She sounded distant even though they were basically on top of each other, still naked.

“We’re gon’ figure it out, alright? And we don’t gotta solve it this instant. But we will. I promise ya.”

A closed smile slowly formed on her lips.

“Alright?” Sy urged.

She nodded. “Alright.”

––––––––

Let me know if you liked it. Also open to writing more vignettes – even if they take place before this certain one.

615 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Coming Home Syverson x OFC by Cavillanche

Summary: Syverson is home from the war. When his housing plans fall through, he moves in with Kara. She’s a friend of friend, and a war widow.

Chapter 4 Word Count: ~1,000

——————————————

Kara slammed the door and threw her bag onto the bedroom floor. Coming home early should be something to look forward to, but when it was at the expense of a life, it wasn't worth it. She'd rather be back at the hospital.

She showered before she left work, but now she showered again, and still found traces of blood as she scrubbed her arms. Not surprising since she was practically up to her elbows in the man's intestines.

She scrubbed herself raw, then lay down on the couch and turned the television on. The tears in her eyes blurred the images until the faces ran together, and she shut it off. She wished Sy was home.

—

"Kara?"

Her eyes fluttered open and Sy smiled. Was she dreaming?"

"What are you doing home?" he asked. "I thought you worked late tonight?"

Kara sat up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"They sent me home."

"Why?" Sy sat next to her.

"We lost an accident victim today. I didn't take it too well. So, they sent me home."

Sy put an arm around her and pulled her into his side. She lay her head on his shoulder.

"I tried to stay, but one of the doctors saw I was kind of lost in my head. It all happened so fast. Even the doctor was kind of shaken by it. It was so bad."

"I'm sorry." He held her there for a while. "You've been sleeping since you got home?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Hungry?"

"Not really."

"Hey."

Kara looked up when he didn't say anything else.

"What do you need?" he asked.

Kara let her gaze roam over his face, to the thick hair that had slowly grown in over the last couple of months since he'd stopped shaving it, then she stared into eyes. "Just this."

He slipped his shoes off, then sunk deeper into the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table and pulled Kara closer until she fell asleep again.

—

Syverson woke to the scent of Kara's strawberry shampoo tickling his nose, and a growling stomach. He barely remembered lying down with Kara still asleep in his arms. They lay facing each other, Kara's back against the back of the couch, Sy with his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her head lay against his chest.

He had to get up. He wasn't comfortable teetering on the edge of the couch, big as he was. And having her in his arms was almost torture. He wanted to wake her up with a kiss. Instead, he slipped his arm from beneath her.

She stirred. "Sy?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"What's wrong?"

"I have to get up."

She slowly opened her eyes, then propped herself up while Syverson stood.

"Did I fall asleep on you?"

"Little bit." He smirked.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"You didn't eat or shower, did you?"

"It's all right. I'll do it now."

"Let me fix you something."

Sy protested as he followed her to the kitchen, but she pulled out leftovers to warm.

"I didn't eat, either," she said. "We missed our dinner."

"I'll shower first." He smiled.

—

"I'm really glad to have you here," Kara said. "I mean, as a roommate you're practically perfect. Clean, quiet, handy."

"Except for The Incident."

Kara laughed. "Well, you learned to close the door, so we're good." The smile slipped from her lips. "But you're more than a roommate, you know?"

Sy stopped mid-bite and looked up at her.

"I've never had a roommate I felt so close to," she said. "We're friends, right?"

Syverson nodded. "Absolutely."

"And I wanted to thank you for tonight. It was a really bad day, and I haven't had someone here to console me like that, since…"

"Travis?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Kara wiped a tear from her eye. "I'll clean up. You have to be in earlier than I do."

She took her dishes to the sink and ran water in them. She turned around to go back for Sy's, but he was standing there. So close that she ran into him.

"Sorry." She tried to move back, but he held her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

He brushed his thumb over her cheek, then pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was almost chaste. Soft, but quick. When she opened her eyes he was staring back at her.

"I wanna be more than friends," he said.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Sometimes I kinda get the feeling… maybe you do, too."

Kara closed her eyes and nodded. "I do."

The words were barely a whisper, but Sy's lips were back on hers. She raked her fingers lightly through his beard, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Sy's hands slid down her back and over her rear before he pulled out of the kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he said.

"Me, too."

Sy held her face in both hands, brushing his thumbs over her lips and cheeks.

"I sold Vivian's ring last month."

Kara stared into his eyes. She knew the weight of that. Her hands instinctively touched where she'd worn her and Travis's wedding rings around her neck.

"I put Travis's away last week."

"You did?"

Sy brushed back the hair at her temple, and she nodded.

He gripped her hips, then slid his fingers up under the hem of her shirt. He played along the waistband of her pants until she shivered, then he kissed her again.

"Wanna take it slow?"

She nodded, barely breathing.

"Dinner tomorrow?"

"I have to work late."

Sy smiled. "I'll wait."

"Will you?"

She stared up into his eyes, silently asking for time. There were still so many feelings she had to sort through.

He brushed his fingers through her hair.

"As long as it takes, sugar."

THE END

------------------------

@the-jer-bear @a-little-counter-esperanto @lilliannaansalla @myloveforhenrycavill @coloraturadiva @ispeakforthebooks @thebookishone @pretty-toxic-revolver @kmuir1 @eldarwen333 @marytudorbrandon @kinkylulu @thereisa8ella @creepyvillain @sausagefest1996 @greensleeves888 @kingliam2019 @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @supermamabear123 @pkab @enchantedbytomandhenry @amberangel112 @its-the-quenchiest-stuff

131 notes · View notes

myloveforhenrycavill · 3 years

Text

Second Chances - Chapter 3

SYVERSON X EVE (OFC)

Slow burn, enemies to lovers.

I will do my best to leave Eve undescripted, so you can imagine her the way you most like. There will be no mentions of race or body shape.

Masterpost

Summary: with the war between them seemingly over, Eve and Sy set the foundations of what could be a potentially good friendship. However, Eve soon finds out bits of Sy's past she was clueless about, and that they have more in common than she initially thought.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings: mentions of grief and loss. I'd say it's a bit angst at some point. There's also fluff.

Author’s note: the idea of this fic came because of this post from @blavikennbutcher (thanks girl). The first chapter was prompted and heavily inspired by it. The rest of the story will be what results from that beginning.

Special mention to @nuggsmum who has to deal with me way too much lately 😂😂😂 Thanks for your patience❤️

All these sweets and food in general were brought to you by my PMS.

Tag list note: there are several tags that won’t work, I’m sorry.

Tag list: @jolly-polly @kebabgirl67 @themanfromu @endofalldays01 @greensleeves888 @starstruckkittyangel @luclittlepond @agniavateira @thelastsock @myloveforhenrycavill @eldarwen333 @everleigh44 @libbymouse @needmorereading @marytudorbrandon @amberangel112 @cynic-spirit @cherry-gemz @enchantedbytomandhenry @wheretheriversrunintothesea @coloraturadiva @melisssaa @a-little-counter-esperanto @liecastillo @identity2212 @pkab @omgkatinka @sugarpenchant @m07belzen @littleone65 @tessathunder @bitchynicole @mzchievous-blog @joaniepencil @summersong69 @ohbarracuda @littlefreya

Chapter 3 - It's the Great Pumpkin, Eve Colt

October

It takes Sy another week to finally find the piece for my Volkswagen, but when he finally does, I feel so happy I almost jump on him out of pure joy. I don't do it, though. We're not that close. Yet. It’s something we’ve been working on lately.

Between waiting for the piece to arrive and the time that takes him to install it properly, which is not much, another two weeks go by. Enough time to get used to my new job, to finish organizing my new home, more or less, and to meet my friends at The Grill for lunch or dinner, depending on the day, with Texan Mechanic joining us for a beer or two if he happens to find us there when he comes by. So it's past the middle of October when I finally get my car back, and my daily routine of spending an hour at the garage with Sy before going to work, of bringing him something I cooked that morning for breakfast and eating it together, now seems like it's about to end.

And it sort of feels sad.

"It shouldn't give you any trouble for a long time" he says when he gives me my keys back. "If it does, just call me, any day. Even on Sundays."

"Is your mechanic's ego at risk or something?" I joke, playing with the keychain in my hand. It feels so good to have it back.

"You said it" Sy responds. Usually, his answer would be followed by that cheeky smile, but that doesn’t seem to be the case today. The truth is, his good mood has been contagious for the last weeks, yes, but today even he feels a bit off. "By the way, I have something for you."

I frown in confusion as he leans down to search between some boxes he has there. I see him rummaging until he finally grabs a big glass jar and hands it to me. When I can have a closer look, I notice it's filled to the top with lots of acorns, and that takes a new smile from me.

"Are these…"

"All and every single one I took out of the car" Sy says. He puts his hands inside the pockets of his trousers as he talks. “Idunno. In case you wanted to burn them in front of the squirrels to teach them who’s in charge.”

“Yeah, no, that probably would end terribly for me” I respond, still looking at the jar. “But they look good in there, I’ll find a place for them. Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

There’s a moment of silence in which none of us knows what to say or do, but I don’t want to leave yet, and he doesn’t seem to want to go back to work, so the moment keeps being delayed. It’s absurd, because it's not like we’re not going to see each other anymore. The town is not that big.

“Well uh…” Sy is the one breaking the silence finally, though still hesitant. “I guess I’ll see you at The Grill some night.”

“Yeah. See you there” I respond.

That should be it. I lean over my car to place the jar with acorns as well as my purse on the copilot seat, and I’m about to get inside myself, but it just… It doesn’t feel right. So I turn to Sy one more time, who is already starting to pick up his tools and starting to put them in the box.

“Hey, Sy” I call him. “Feli, Emmett and I are going to the Autumn Market this Saturday. If you’re not too tired from work, and you would like to come with us…”

“Sure” he responds almost immediately, not even letting me finish the sentence. “Yes. Why not. Just tell me an hour and I’ll be there.”

I smile and nod. Then, this time, I do have to go. I get inside my beloved Beetle and, after almost a whole month, I turn on the engine. It sounds great. Like it has always done. I wave at Sy as I drive out of the garage, knowing that, at least, this weekend I’ll see him once more.

I decide to place the acorns in my room, on top of the dresser, next to the Beetle miniature. A new memory of another adventure that brought me a new friend. It fits well with the yellow elephant, and also…

The wooden bracelet.

At this point of October, the whole town knows that I’m back. The part that knew me from before, at least. Some parents from the babies of the day care are old classmates, and they always ask me for fun meals for the kids this Halloween I’m more than glad to give them. Several people have asked me throughout the month if I’m going to participate in the pie contest from the Autumn Market, or if I’m going to give some special recipes for thanksgiving in my cooking classes when we hit November. The answer to the first one always is no, and to the second one, a big maybe. I’ll probably have to prepare something thematic, of course, but it has to be something that can be done in time with the short schedule we have.

Everyone has been so nice to me, it feels ridiculous to think I could be doing better in the city. It’s the big lie I’ve told myself since the day I left town. That I could do better there, when there’s no place like home.

Saturday comes. Not quick, not slow, just comes. Like time, life just keeps going. As it’s usual now at this time of the year, the weather is cold, and invites to wear thick coats and warm sweaters. I’m wearing one of my favorites today, a mustard one with very long sleeves that has always made me feel it’s completely autumn. On top, I’m wearing my dark grey coat, so warm and cozy that it’s ideal for days like this.

I haven’t seen Sy at The Grill the past few days, and since I haven’t visited the garage either, it feels weird when a day goes by and he isn't in it. That routine was something I started to like. He has turned out to be a more interesting person than I gave him credit for when I first met him. I’m excited to see him out of work for a change.

I park my Beetle at the lot near the designed area for the market. Already waiting for me at the entrance, Feli and Emmett stand very close, hands inside the pockets of their coats to protect them from the cold. I wave at them as I walk, disappointed that Sy isn't here yet.

He's just late, calm down.

Why does it worry me that much if he comes or not anyway? I can see him any other day.

"Hey Eve! Finally" Feli exclaims when I get there. "You're the last one to arrive."

"The last one? What about Sy? He's even more late than me."

"He arrived five minutes ago and went inside to get us some pumpkin spice before Sophie runs out of it" Emmett explains.

Oh.

"Well, that makes all of us then" I say, trying to hide the huge relief that supposes to me. "Shall we?"

We enter the market, usually an empty field for the rest of the year, except for special events. Straw bales are everywhere, some of them with pumpkins on top to follow with the decorations. White lights hang from the wooden poles creating the different corridors that form the market, as well as different banners with the name of the town, and some handmade signs for each table with the name of the business. A wooden fence limits the yard with some goats, chickens, donkeys and even a cow or two, where most of the kids are now, looking at the animals. One of the goats seems very interested in the grilled corn one of the kids is holding, and I can already guess how that is going to end. Way beyond the limits, Donney's pumpkin patch is open to the public.

It's practically the same as how I remembered it.

"There's Sy" Emmett says as he spots Acorn Hunter through the crowd, already coming to us with a cardboard container with four takeaway cups.

It’s so weird to see him now outside his work environment, he feels like a whole different person. Except that it’s him, with those fierce eyes and that cocky smile. Somehow, Syverson also fits in a town like this.

"Careful, ladies, I'm hot" he jokes when he arrives, probably too loud and making people turn and stare. "Hey, Beetle Lady, you finally arrived. Took you a lifetime" he then offers us the cups and each of us takes one.

"It's only been like five minutes, don't be dramatic" I respond before taking a sip from mine. It's warm, which with this weather it's more than welcome, and, as Feli and Emmett said before, it's delicious. It has nothing to do with the ones served in the city.

"Felt like a lifetime" he insisted.

"Where do you guys want to start?" Feli asked.

We end up taking a look at the different tables and stands around the area. Feli and I spend a while at the scented candles one, while the two Y chromosomes take a look at one that shows handmade wooden animals. I decide to purchase two cinnamon and pumpkin scented candles, and also another two with pine and forest scents. I'm glad I picked the big purse for today. After that we make a stop at Old Harvey's, to see the scrap sculptures.

"I tried to prepare your cookies at home for Betsy" he tells me.

"Did they turn out better than they did in class?" I ask, remembering the fiasco.

"Nope" Harvey says, oddly proud. "Even worse, I'd say. Betsy said that if I was trying to kill her I better try with a knife or something less painful."

It shouldn't make me laugh the way it does, but I can't help it.

“I’d like to join those classes only to see you set the whole building on fire, Harvey” Syverson says, appearing closer to me than I was expecting.

“Look who’s talking! You’re probably worse than me!”

“If that was the case, I would have starved to death many years ago.”

I look at Sy, who clearly doesn’t look like someone who’s about to die of famine. I still haven’t figured out if he knows how to cook or not. I remember our weekend at the cabin, when he ate that terrible rice because “it was already cooked” and when he also stole my bacon when I wasn’t paying attention. The dude looked very happy eating the cookies and every breakfast I brought to him during the last month. Does he get to eat homemade meals? Does he know how to properly cook them or is it just that he loves eating?

Syverson turns to me, catching me blatantly staring.

“Tell him even I would cook better than him” he says, apparently oblivious.

It gives me the chance to recover.

“I don’t know, haven’t seen you cooking yet” I respond.

“Hah! I bet it would be you the one that set the building on fire, Syverson.”

“Well, Harvey, don’t say it too loud. You were pretty close the other day.”

“I knew it!”

We walk away and stop to get some waffles from Sophie, because the whole conversation ended up making us hungry. I notice how Sy orders his with double chocolate syrup.

He does have a sweet tooth, doesn’t he?

After a walk around the few tables we had left as we eat our sweet price, we end up seeing the mini farm, where I see a couple of the parents from the babies I take care of at work. I take it as a good sign that the kids are happy to see me. I notice how Feli looks at the babies every time I get stopped, and I know very well how she feels about it. She always dreamed of being a mom. Someday, she will be, I have no doubt.

Finally, we enter Donney's Pick Your Own Pumpkin. Back when I lived here, every year we used to get a couple of pumpkins each and decorate them for Halloween, and an extra more so my mom could make some dessert. This year, the plan is to regain that tradition again, but with me doing the dessert instead. We will buy the pumpkins today and carve them next Saturday. The four of us, yes, Sy included, will spend the afternoon at my place, and after a nice dinner we’ll head to the Halloween party at The Grill. I’m remembering why Autumn was my favorite part of the year.

Donney’s pumpkin patch is massive, and full of pumpkins from all sizes and shapes. There are some tall ones, another chonky ones, some others so big a couple of kids would fit inside, and others so small they fit in the palm of my hand. The field, by this time of the season, has a wide range of orange shades, making it more magical.

“I’m gonna get the cart” Emmett says, starting to walk towards the barn.

“Honey wait, let’s start over there” Feli follows him close.

That leaves us, Sy and me, alone. I look at him, and he shrugs.

“Wanna start over there?” he asks, pointing to another direction with his head.

“Sure.”

We take a path that leads to another section of the patch, calmly looking around. Not too far, we see Feli going a bit crazy when it comes to pick her pumpkin, and Emmett following her close with the cart, with a face that speaks by itself.

"He knows he's gonna be there for a while" I mention, an amused smile coming out.

"We can pick them up here next week" Sy responds.

"And she will still have not picked her pumpkins."

That thought makes both of us chuckle as we continue our path. It's amazing how different it is now being in his company, compared to how it was when we met back in February. How much I know about his body language, or how his line of thought works. Now I know that smile I always thought was cocky is just the way he usually smiles, and that he is polite and respectful, when people are with him, of course. It’s incredible how much damage a bad first impression can do.

He still could be a bear hunter though.

“Did you do something special in your hometown?” I ask, after the silence is getting too long.

“Not at this level, but we did have something” he responds. “Was it like this in the city?”

“Not at all. I missed this so much.”

I squat in front of a pile of tiny baby pumpkins, so small and cute I can’t help myself. They’re the size of an orange, but shorter. I pick a couple with different shapes to put them on my kitchen table as long as they last. When I get on my feet again, I find Syverson observing me with curiosity.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing" he shrugs. "People usually go for bigger ones, you know?"

"Ok Mr. Bigger Is Better, lead the way then. But size doesn’t matter, only how you use it."

I let him decide where he wants to go, and I follow closely. I find it amusing how he seems very interested in pumpkins. Like, very interested. As if he's in some sort of competition. Then, I remember who he is in friends with.

"Did you bet something with Emmett?"

"Why do you ask?"

He doesn't even look at me. Sy just leans to inspect a relatively big pumpkin placed on top of a straw bale.

"Nobody is that invested in pumpkins" I reply, smiling when he lifts it up and sort of tests its weight. "What's the bet about?"

"The biggest one we can carry" he says.

"He went for a cart."

"I'm counting on that. If his is bigger and he's using the cart, I'll tell him to try to lift it up and hold it for thirty seconds" Sy leaves the pumpkin in place, not very satisfied with it, as he chuckles, apparently very pleased with himself. "There's no way he can win."

"You have it all planned" I respond, quite amused with his determination.

"Yeah" then, he looks at me for the first time since we started the pumpkin hunt. "If I get one big enough, will you help me to turn it into a lantern?"

He looks so invested, I can't help but smile.

"Only if you win the bet" I answer. “My help comes with a price, Cowboy.”

"That's another reason to win then."

"What's the other one?"

“The loser pays the winner's drinks at the party."” Pumpkin Hunter moves to another one and starts to inspect it as well, but leaves it almost immediately, not satisfied with that one. “I can share them with you if we team up.”

“Weren’t we teamed up already?”

Syverson smiles at me, one of those warm, friendly smiles that I misunderstood so much at the beginning. His competitive spirit is truly contagious. Maybe the fact that I’m also a bit competitive might help. We move forward, trying to locate bigger pumpkins. On the way, we find a couple that could be possible candidates, but Sy seems convinced we can find bigger ones.

“I can’t even lift this one, are you sure you want to go for a bigger one?” I ask, squatting in front of a pumpkin the size of a cooked turkey, if not bigger, after a terrible, pathetic and failed attempt of trying to lift it.

“Bigger” he responds, determined.

Sy helps me to get on my feet again, removing the straw that got stuck to my clothes. His big hand gently shakes the remains as he still holds me close with the other one, and I wait patiently until he is done. With his body this close to mine, I can feel his warmth, the same warmth that kept me protected from cold that night so long ago. Is he truly like this all year round?

It makes me remember…

“Oh, Sy, by the way, before I forget again” I say, turning around as I rummage through my purse. “I remembered some days ago I had this, and I believe it’s yours.”

I pull out the wooden bracelet and offer it to him.

His eyes widen when he sees the wooden piece on my palm. His expression, until now cheerful and playful, darkens, as if the weight of the dark brown pearls was heavy and was sinking in his stomach. I frown slightly at the sudden change. Did I do something wrong again, after all this time? But Sy finally lifts a hand and takes the bracelet, holding it carefully as he looks at it with a new weight over his shoulders, the pumpkin competition now apparently forgotten.

“You found it” he mutters, his gaze still fixed on the object, now looking smaller in his hands. “I thought I lost it.”

“I… woke up with it in my hand” I explain, not sure about what is happening right now. “After that night in the cabin, you know, the cold one. I wanted to give it back to you back then, but I forgot, and it came home with me” he keeps looking at it with a strange devotion mixed with pain I can’t decipher. I still can’t tell if I did wrong or not. “I’m sorry it took me this long to give it back.”

His eyes finally find me, but they don’t shine as much. No, they do, but in a completely different way than they've done until now. Then, to my complete surprise, he pulls me in for a hug. An unexpected strong, warm, and long hug that makes me forget where we are and what we’re doing for just a second. It’s like being back in the cabin again, being held between his arms and forgetting about the cold. His scent is strong, like leather and some kind of citric fruit. It feels good.

If I had known this felt so good I would have done it sooner.

Still unsure, I end up wrapping my arms around him as well, and he tightens the embrace, making it a bit hard for me to breathe.

“Sy…” I finally whisper when the hug is getting too long to be normal. “What is it?”

There must be something else than the bracelet for this sudden hug. It takes him a minute to gather his strength back and pull back, finally breaking the contact between us. The cold hits again, bringing me sort of back to reality. Sy, however, still looks like he’s got a punch in the stomach.

“Did I do something wrong again?” I ask, still worried because of how much this has affected him.

“No, no” Sy responds, taking finally a step back. He looks down again at the bracelet, playing with it between his fingers. “This… This belonged to my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend?

“You never mentioned a girlfriend” I reply. There’s something that makes my stomach twist in a knot, because why wouldn’t he tell me he has a girlfriend? Or why not bring his girlfriend with us today?

A girlfriend, in fact, would have been something great to mention in the span of a month, actually.

“She… died” he announces. “Last December, she had a car accident and… didn’t survive.”

Oh.

“Oh” yeah, oh, indeed. “Sy, I’m… I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry? Eve, can’t you say anything else?

“It’s ok, you didn’t know” the man looks at the bracelet one more time before putting it inside his pocket, taking a deep breath that I know quite well how much it costs him.

Because I’ve taken a lot of those before.

“How was she?” I ask. It’s a risky move, because it can either do him well, or sink him in misery. For me, talking about my mother was like having her back with me, because every memory came back more vividly.

I can only hope it has the same effect on him.

Syverson bits his lower lip, like he’s meditating his answer. Then, he shakes his head as a gesture to keep walking, hands in his pockets, a slower path than we were having before. I follow, thinking that he will just ignore the question, but when he acknowledges I’m right next to him, he starts talking again.

“She was… pure joy” he finally says. His voice now is lower, as if he just passed down a tough sip of whiskey. “I liked that about her. She always had a smile on her face. And she was… Caring. She cared about everyone.”

It looks like it’s working for now. His voice is slowly regaining its strength with every word.

“What was her name?”

“Sarah” Sy responds. “Sarah Scott” the name actually rings a bell, and he must see it in my face, because he starts to describe her. “Red haired, curly hair, full of freckles. This tall. She sounded like a lil piggy when she laughed.”

Then something makes a click inside me, connecting a face to the name.

“Oh, I knew her!” I exclaim in realization. “She was like a year or two older than me. Feli and I always saw her at the school playground with her friends. She even helped us when one of the mean girls was making our lives impossible.”

Now I feel even worse, the knot in my stomach growing bigger. From what I remember from Sarah, she was such a good person. Knowing just now that she’s no longer with us…

When I look at Sy now, he has a nostalgic smile.

“That was how she was. Caring and protective” Sy looks down at the ground as his face darkens. “Until that drunk bastard crashed against her.”

No time for goodbyes, nor preparation. One day she was there, and the next second, she wasn’t.

Poor Sy, it must have been a hell for him.

Now it makes more sense why he asked me so much about how I dealt with my mom’s mourning back when we were just starting to get along. For Sy, it hasn’t even been a year yet. He still must be…

Wait a minute.

Did he say December?

I grab his arm and I make it stop and turn towards me, the man suddenly confused about my urgency.

“Sy!” I exclaim.

“What?”

“Back in the cabin! You were… Were you…”

He slowly understands what I’m not able to ask out loud, and he nods, confirming my fears that I have, indeed, been more of an asshole to him than I initially thought.

“Three months. Emmett invited me so I could get some fresh air” he explains.

It all makes sense now. His gloomy mood during our afternoon together, his reaction seeing the bloody mess of the kitchen, how he suddenly grew silent after I said he wasn’t very romantic, how angry he got the next morning, probably because he couldn’t find the bracelet.

Well, you’re not who I was expecting to spend my weekend with either.

He was expecting to spend it with her.

I feel worse than shit right now.

“Why nobody told me?” Is the only thing that comes to my mouth. He shrugs.

“I asked them not to. Who am I to ruin someone else’s weekend” Sy responds. “Though it got ruined anyway, didn’t it?”

“But I was so rude to you! Sy, I’m…”

“Eve, it’s ok. Don’t worry about it” he cuts me right there, placing both hands on my arms. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants to leave the topic alone, or because he doesn’t want to make me feel worse. “That weekend wasn’t going to be easy for me in any possible way, just less shitty than usual. At least you were the only one who didn’t treat me like I was about to break. And… I don’t know, I liked that.”

I look him in the eye, sinking in that gaze so deep and blue it takes me some effort to come back to be myself. I can tell he’s being honest. Which sort of hurts as well. It doesn’t change the fact that I was a bitch to him.

“I’m still sorry” I say, more calm this time. “For everything.”

“I’m sure you are” this time, he smiles. It’s still a sad smile, but not as gloomy as his previous ones. “But don’t torture yourself with it. It was after knowing you that weekend when I saw I couldn’t continue being the pool of misery I was. That I had to come back to life again. I think I started to recover because of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was like a good slap on the face” his smile grows warmer, and it’s now when I feel a bit better. “And you were right, talking about it… It hurts, but also helps. Even more if it’s with someone who has gone through something similar.”

I can now smile back at him. Even if it’s only a little.

“Whenever you feel you need it, just give me a call. No matter the hour.”

I know how these things work. It doesn’t matter if it’s been a year, two, or ten. When it hits you… It hits hard.

“I’m taking your word” he promises.

With that new deal and a new step in our growing friendship, we start again our walk through the pumpkin field, though this time, in silence. As a way to attempt to distract him, I start looking for big and carriable pumpkins once more, but Sy seems to be simply following the flow. It hasn’t been an easy conversation to have for him, I’m sure. But that’s how the wound starts to hurt less.

“What do you think about this one?” I ask after some minutes, when I find one slightly bigger than the one I couldn’t even start to lift before.

“Mmmh?”

“The pumpkin. For the bet.”

Sy stares at the one I’m standing next to, but I can tell he’s not as interested as he was before.

What a way to ruin the poor man’s evening, Eve, well done.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’m in the right mood” he finally says.

“You were so invested ten minutes ago! Come on” I insist. I can’t leave this mess without, at least, making him feel a bit better. “Are you gonna give up like that? You said there was no way Emmett could win. And I think you’re right. Have you seen his arms? They’re like spaghetti. Nothing compared to yours.”

I see how he’s slowly starting to smile again. Then, Sy takes a couple of steps forward and squats to grab the pumpkin properly. He lifts it with no issue, wrapping both of his arms around it, and we start our way back to the barn.

We’re the last ones arriving. Smiling proudly with a couple of pumpkins in his cart, Emmett sees us approaching with an excess of confidence that fades when he sees the size of the pumpkin Syverson is carrying. It’s, quite obviously, way bigger than the ones he managed to find. It doesn’t take much for Sy to be proclaimed the champion, which seems to cheer him up a little.

The four of us pay for all of the pumpkins and we finally call the day done. We decide to leave them all at my house so they don’t have to carry them around next week, but at the parking lot, Sy seems to have gone back to his gloomy mood of before, something I can only understand.

“Do you mind if I don’t come? I’d rather… Just go home.”

He says it only to me, because the other two are right now putting their pumpkins inside Emmett’s car and aren’t listening. I nod, understanding.

“Don’t worry about it” I say. I know the feeling, the need of being alone, of not wanting anyone else worrying. It would be hypocritical on my part to not understand. “But don’t forget to bring the pumpkin next week. We agreed to make the lantern together, remember?”

With a new smile, warm and sad at the same time, Syverson nods. I’m well aware of how he’s going to spend the following hours, but also understand that he needs some time to himself. We say goodbye and both of us part ways to go to our respective cars.

“Hey Eve” Sy calls me. I turn around, finding him standing some steps away from me. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime.”

It was the least I could do after ruining his afternoon.

For a moment, our eyes seem to be trapped in each other’s gaze, like wanting to say something else that words just weren’t able to. But the moment, like it’s in their nature, passes. Sy breaks eye contact, and barely a second later, I turn around again, and we both continue our ways. The sun is almost set, dying the sky of orange and purple shades as it slowly fades to black. I get into my car and let go a deep, frustrated sigh, resting my head against the seat.

“Sarah Scott…” I mutter. The knot of my stomach is still there. “Damn.”

She was only a couple of years older than me. It’s not fair.

I turn on the engine and I start driving back home.

We get Emmett and Feli’s pumpkins inside and we decide to have an improvised dinner ordering some pizza. Since their mood seems to still be good, I decide to not bring up the topic about Sarah and Sy, so I try to have some fun with my friends as much as I can. It sort of works for a while. But when they’re finally gone, I’ve done the dishes and I’m finally in bed, everything comes back again, like a haunting. I can’t help but relive each moment I spent with Sy in the cabin, unaware of what he was going through. Of course everything has much more sense now that I know the truth.

Even the moment when he came to shield me from the cold and I woke up with him hugging me so tight and his face hidden in my neck.

It wasn’t me who he was hugging.

I don’t know the exact moment when I fall asleep, but it’s five am when my phone starts ringing, waking me up from my not very restful slumber. I stretch my arm, trying to find it on the bedside table without even looking, growling like a wounded animal. It’s too late, or early, it’s too fucking dark yet for phone calls. However, when I open one of my eyes and see “Manic Mechanic” on the screen, I answer it immediately.

“Hi?” I mumble, my brain not fully functioning yet.

“Morning” Sy’s low voice replies on the other side of the phone. “Were you aw-Well of course you weren’t awake. It’s fucking early. I’m sorry.”

He still doesn’t sound like the usual Sy I’ve met during this past month. It’s obvious, even through the phone.

“What is it, Sy?” I ask, still more asleep than awake at this moment, making a huge effort to keep myself conscious.

“I…” he makes a brief pause, and for a moment I think he has hung up, or that I’ve fallen asleep without realizing, but then, I hear a big sigh, and he continues. “You said I could phone, no matter the hour.”

“Yes, I did” I yawn trying to not make any noise. “Wanna talk, then?”

“Please.”

I wait for him to start then, but there’s only silence during the following minute. At some point, again, I think he has hung up, or that there’s some signal problem, because it’s been a long while without him saying a word.

But I can hear his breathing.

“Sy?”

“Yeah” he says immediately. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I… I don’t know where to start.”

Thankfully for him, I do.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not anymore.”

Good. He can drive then.

“Wanna drop by? I’ll make some coffee, and pancakes. We can have breakfast.”

There’s a brief pause.

“You sure?” he asks.

“I’m sending you my address.”

Ten minutes later, I’m downstairs, still in my pajamas and a big, hairy, light grey robe, and my clearly-not-a-morning-person hair. Coffee is nearly done and its scent soon invades all the main floor, when I hear some knocks on the door.

Big Bearded Lumberjack is there when I open it.

“Mornin” he says, hands inside the pockets of his coat, and biting his lower lip in nervousness.

“Hi.”

“Your house is blue.”

“Thank you.”

I move to the side, inviting him in, and then I close the door. Still with his hands in his pockets, Syverson takes a few steps, making the wooden floor squeak under his weight, looking around him with curiosity. I lead him to the kitchen, where the coffee is finally ready. I pour it in a couple of mugs while my guest removes his jacket, leaves it on the back of one of the chairs and takes a seat. I take the chair at the corner, next to him, placing both coffees on the dark wood table. For a brief moment, there’s only silence as we look at our drinks and take the first sip. The warmth and the scent of mine it’s finally managing to wake me up. Just a little, though. It’s still five am, there’s no coffee able to change that.

“You look like a zombie” Sy breaks the silence, making me glance at him. “No offense tho. I mean. I’m sorry for waking you up so early.”

“You don’t look any better” I respond. He’s still wearing the same clothes of the day before, and though it’s not strong, I get a faint alcohol scent coming from him.

“You’re pure charm in the morning.”

“Oh, look who’s talking.”

The second sip of coffee works better. I feel more myself, more in the living realm. Next to me, Sy stares at his cup, his fingers absently tapping the porcelain surface. Our eyes meet again and he bits his lower lip. Another of those anxious ticks he seems to have.

“Thanks” he says.

“Anytime” I respond. “If you give me two minutes, I’ll start with the pancakes.”

“Oh you were serious about it.”

“I’m always serious when it’s about pancakes.”

When I decide I’m finally more awake than asleep, more or less, I move to the counter and start to fetch the bowl and the ingredients for the pancakes. I hear some heavy steps, and when I look, Sy is leaning against the counter next to me.

“You still don’t know how to start?” I ask, starting to blend the mix. Sy shakes his head no, a bit awkward. “How much did you drink last night?”

Before answering, Sy shrugs.

“I don’t know. A lot. Not enough. It’s confusing” he says, scratching his neck as he speaks. “How did you know that?”

I look at him arching an eyebrow, and he nods, understanding instantly.

“Did you sleep?”

“Didn’t even try” crossing his huge arms over his chest, Sy looks at his feet. “It’s… It’s too noisy. In my head.”

His expression says all I need to know. He’s slowly sinking again in his own misery. I turn on the stove, place the pan on the fire, and I turn towards Sy, determined to not let that happen.

“Can you pass me that spatula over there?” I ask, pointing at it very vaguely.

With slow, tired moves, Sy walks towards the direction I said. He takes a look around, not seeing it at all, and then turns, interrogant.

“Where?”

“Right over there” I respond, pretending to be busy with the blend.

He looks again, but doesn’t find it. Then he moves and searches between several kitchen tools inside an old recycled can, but none of them is a spatula. I can sense his frustration growing.

“Do you find it or not Sy? I need it” I insist, which only pisses him off more.

“I don’t fucking see it, woman. It’s not where you said it was” he responds.

“Oh come on, it’s right there!”

“I told you I don’t…” he starts to open the drawers until he finally finds it. Then, he walks back to me, spatula in hand and annoyed face, until he sees my amused expression. He looks at the spatula in his hand, and I can notice how realization is slowly kicking in. When he hands it to me, his frustration and anger seems to be gone. “I see what you did.”

“It’s not the noise inside your head what doesn’t let you sleep, Sy” I take the spatula and I start pouring the pancake mix on the pan. “It’s silence.”

Sy seems to think about what I just said during the time it takes me to cook. He helps me with the plates once I’m done, so we go back to the table, with the remains of our coffees, and we start to eat. After the first bite, Sy’s expression seems to soften, and he eats like he’s been starving for a whole week. I feel a bit proud of it.

“I swear to god, your food is the absolute best” he says. Or I think he says at least, because his mouth is still full when he speaks.

“You do love eating, don’t you?” I respond, smiling.

“I do” Sy takes a sip from his coffee to finish swallowing the last bite of pancakes he just took. “Don’t know how to cook shit tho.”

“How have you survived this long then?” I chuckle.

“Mostly microwaved food” he answers. “I travelled a lot, so I also used to eat out quite often, mostly at shitholes. When I settled down here… Well” he makes a pause, looking at the remains of his pancakes on his plate. “Sarah was the cook from the two of us.”

Silence sets in the kitchen once again as Syverson’s gaze gets lost on the food. I give him the time he needs to bring up the conversation again. With these matters, it’s as important to listen as it is to give the proper space. So I wait, until Sy seems to come back to earth again, and looks at me, a bit ashamed.

“Sorry. It’s like taking a step back after all the progress I made during the past months” he explains.

“Don’t be. It’s something normal.”

“It’s…” he sighs, then puts his hand inside one of his pockets, taking out the wooden bracelet I gave him yesterday. “I don’t know. When I lost it I was… Well, I was lost myself too. It was my connection to her, and I lost it. But shortly after, I started to move forward. I was better. And now this thing is back and…”

Sy grows silent again, his eyes fixed on the wooden spheres of the bracelet. There’s love and sorrow in that gaze, a pain I understand too well. I place my hand over his, and our fingers intertwine and also tangle with the amulet.

“It’s not the bracelet, Sy” I say. My eyes are fixed on his expression, but his don’t move from our hands, where they are still lost. “Sooner or later, you would have found something. One of her sweaters. A book. Her shopping list. And this wave you’re feeling now, it would have appeared anyway.”

Sy finally looks at me.

“Does it ever go away at all?”

“I would like to tell you that yes, it does” I respond. “But it’s been more than a decade for me, and I still can’t enter my parents’ room.”

This time, it’s me who needs a minute. Maybe it’s the early hour, that I have slept only three hours, or simply what I’ve just told Sy, that the pain comes in waves, but I feel how my eyes tear up a little, and I need to take a deep breath to be able to hold myself together. His fingers tighten around mine ever so slightly, and when I look at him, he’s already staring at me, noticing that I, too, am having my moment here.

“Sorry. I didn’t come here to make you cry.”

“You didn’t make me cry yet” I respond, quickly recovering after that moment of weakness. “And I better don’t. We don’t want your mama coming all the way from Texas to smack your ass, do we?”

It makes him smile first, and then, we both cuckle. It’s only for a brief moment, but I feel how laughter makes both of us feel slightly better.

“I wish it would just disappear” Sy finally says, staring at our hands again, where the bracelet is. “I thought I couldn’t live without it, but now… I don’t want it anywhere near me. But I can’t just... throw it away either.”

“Then don’t” I respond, gently caressing his knuckles with my thumb. “One day, when you feel ready, let it go in the best way you see fit. Maybe a tribute to her, something that serves you as a way to move forward as well.”

Slowly and still looking at the object that rests between our hands, Sy nods. Feeling like I’ve managed to do something here, I finally let go of his hand. Syverson closes his fingers around the bracelet and puts it back in his pocket. It makes me think about the times I so desperately wanted someone who understood how deep my pain was, someone who wasn’t at the same stage as I was, like my dad, but someone who had already gone through it all and helped me to understand that the world wasn’t breaking. That this, like seasons, like time, like everything in life, this would also pass.

If I can be that someone for him, then I will be.

The faint orange light from dawn starts to come through the kitchen’s windows. The day is finally beginning, though it already did for me, and never finished for Sy. He seems to have noticed as well how late, or early, it is.

“You don’t want to go home yet, do you?” I guess only by seeing his face.

Sy shakes his head no.

“The silence is… too much now” he admits. “Won’t let me sleep, as you said.”

“Then stay for as long as you want. I didn’t have a plan for today anyway” I offer, giving him a gentle smile. “Let me take a shower and we’ll find a way to fight the silence.”

He seems to hesitate, but finally nods. I squeeze his arm before I walk out of the room.

A shower helps to finally wake me up completely. I wasn’t aware of how cold my body was after getting out of bed, and warm water feels like a blessing. After blow drying my hair and dressing up with something comfortable, I go back downstairs only to not find Sy in the kitchen. However, everything we used for breakfast has been cleaned out.

Maybe he changed his mind and decided to go home.

For some reason, that feels disappointing.

Some noises coming from the living room prove me wrong. When I head there, I find Sy kneeling in front of the just lit fireplace.

“Well, this feels familiar” I say. When Sy turns towards me, I smile at him. “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs.

“It felt fair.”

I kneel next to him and I warm my hands a little. The chimney hasn’t been used in more than a decade, and, somehow, it feels more special now. It reminds me of the good times I spent here as a kid. I can almost taste the marshmallows, the cinnamon, the hot cocoa.

It takes me a bit to realize Sy is staring at me.

“What?”

“You were smiling” he responds.

“I’m always smiling” I reply.

“Not like that.”

I don’t know if it’s because of the proximity to the fire, or the way he says the last sentence, or the fact that none of us is able to break eye contact, but I feel how I’m blushing intensely. It’s me who finally ends up looking away, getting on my feet as I extend my hand to him.

“Come on” I say.

Though he doesn’t need it, Sy uses my hand as a support and I feel his weight pulling me down as he stands up.

He’s fucking strong.

And he’s so different from all the men I’ve ever known.

“I told you I don’t know shit about cooking.”

We’re back in the kitchen, and I’m rummaging around my cupboards in search of the molds I use for pies. I remember perfectly having a couple not too big somewhere.

“That’s the point, I’m going to teach you” I reply, finally finding the ones I was looking for and taking them out.

“It’s gonna taste horrible.”

“First of all, you don’t know that. You haven’t tried yet” I say, placing the molds on the counter and starting now to look for the flour. “And secondly, we don’t care about the taste. It’s about keeping you busy. Remember?”

The lack of trust is evident in Sy, but I’m not sure if it’s in the process or in his own abilities. Either it’s one or the other, that’s going to change today. I check the state of the fruits that remain in the bowl. There are several apples in good condition. I show the bowl to Sy.

"Enough for the both of us. Let's start with the filling."

I decide to use the method I use in my afternoon adult classes and have him mimic all my steps. We divide the apples and work together, but separately. I notice that, after being some minutes into it, Sy looks very focused. He carefully listens to everything I say, and then tries to apply what I did to his own ingredients. Of course, I wait for him and I adapt my pace to his. Whenever he needs a bit of guidance, I'm more than happy to keep him on track, but I mostly leave him on his own. He's doing better than he thinks.

"I believe I put too much sugar" he says when we put everything in separate pans to cook, looking at his with a bit of concern.

"Then it will be sweeter, don't worry."

When the filling is ready, we start with the dough while it cools down. Same process as before, Big Sugar Cook follows my steps even more closely than before. This time, he needs a bit more help, because his dough seems to be too liquid than it should.

"It happens sometimes" I try to calm him down before he gets frustrated. "Just add more flour. A bit more than that. Try now. Let’s see if that’s enough."

It takes us three attempts to fix it, but when it finally has the consistency it should, Sy even looks proud.

When the time comes to put the dough in the mold, however, visible differences start to appear. It's something inevitable though. I have years of practice, and this is Sy's first try. My dough looks quite cute and round at the edges, fitting perfectly inside the mold, and Sy's… Well. Let's say, it fits in the mold. But at this point, he doesn't get frustrated. He even laughs at it, which I take as a good sign.

I see him enjoying something, which was the whole point of this.

When both pies are finally in the oven, we decide to take a small break and have our second coffee of the morning. This time the kitchen is filled by the weak light of a cloudy morning of Autumn, and the warmth of the oven working for us.

"You did it good to be your first time" I say with a tired smile after being awake for so many hours.

"Just wait until we have the first bite" he responds. "If we don't run straight to the bathroom, I'll consider it a success."

"You might surprise yourself" I insist. "Maybe you'll quit from fixing cars and start your own pie business."

"Rick's Terrible Pies, the perfect cure for constipation" he jokes.

Did he just say…

“Rick?” I ask, my curiosity now definitely piqued. “Is that your name?”

Until now, I’ve only heard people referring to him as Sy, or Syverson. Rick is new. Refreshing. Exciting. Rick, somehow, suits him.

“Yeah” he nods, distractedly tapping the wooden surface of the table. “Richard Joseph Syverson, darlin’. Rick for the family. Sy for the rest.”

“Why?”

Sy shrugs, fidgeting with his fingers, his eyes fixed at some point of the table.

“Idunno. It feels more personal when someone calls you by your name, if that makes sense. Very few people know my name outside of my family” the man explains, lowering his voice.

“I can keep calling you Sy and pretend I don’t know, if you want” I suggest. I really don’t mind, as long as he feels comfortable.

A small smile comes to his lips, and he finally raises his gaze towards me.

“You can use it if you want” Sy finally says. “I’ve touched way more personal topics with you already, don’t you think?”

He’s not wrong.

“I’ll save it for the special occasions” I decide, satisfied when I see his smile growing.

“Like when I piss you off?”

“Nah. I’ll use your full name for those.”

“I’ve told you too much.”

When pies are ready, we take them out and let them cool down. And while we wait, we prepare lunch. I decide to go easy this time and I prepare some mac and cheese while Sy simply observes and helps me from time to time. Our morning has end up being so busy, Big Softie seems to have gone back to being himself. Sort of. There’s still a bit of sadness and exhaustion in him, but his mood has notably improved.

So when we finish lunch, we decide to try the pies for dessert.

“I’d try yours. Mine looks like cat vomit” Sy says when we’re staring at both.

The truth is, having one next to the other, there’s one that obviously looks better. But Sy’s doesn’t look that bad though. Just a little… Let’s say odd.

“You ate a full plate of wine-washed rice and now you don’t wanna try this? We’re going to try yours” I resolve, sinking the knife in his to cut two slices. “You didn’t go this far to not eat it now.”

I’m pretty sure that, despite its aspect, his is good as well. I’ve watched him during the whole process. He just needs a small boost to his confidence.

“I know about cars, not about pies. This is a bad idea.”

“And I know about teaching, Sy, and you’re a good student” I insist, placing one slice on his plate. “Trust me, ok?”

His eyes look at me in a way I never get used to see in him. As if there’s something I said that resonated in him. But instead of saying anything, he just takes his plate and sits at the table, waiting for me to join him. I take my portion, telling myself I possibly imagined that, and I also take my seat.

Doubtful, Syverson looks at me. I sink my fork in my slice of pie and I take it to my mouth without hesitation. I open my eyes wide in surprise.

It’s fucking delicious.

“Oh no” he mutters. Apparently, Sy totally misunderstands my expression.

“Try it” I say, still chewing, but with a satisfied smile on my lips.

“Well, you had the guts, I’m not going to be any less” he responds, taking a fork full of pie to his mouth.

My smile grows when I see the surprise on his face as he keeps chewing. Sy frowns and looks at the counter, where the two pies are, and looks at me again.

“Are you sure this isn’t yours?” he asks, making me chuckle.

“It’s yours, Sy. I promise” I respond as he takes another bite. “I told you you’re a good student.”

I see how he finishes his plate and serves himself some more in the time I’m still finishing my portion. I can’t blame him. The pie might look like a kindergarten project, but it’s sweet, there’s the cinnamon, the apple and the dough have the correct texture… It has everything a pie should have.

“It’s a shame your job schedule doesn’t let you join my classes” I comment when he finally seems full after a third slice.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea tho” Sy responds. “Here it felt easier, idunno.”

“Do you want to come here every now and then? I could teach you some more dishes.”

He seems to like the idea. We agree the next one to be next sunday, so we can use the leftovers of the pumpkins that we’ll empty the previous day. As I see him now, proudly taking a pic of what remains of his pie to send it to his mom, I see a completely different man from the one that knocked my door some hours ago. He even smiles, like, a truthful, honest smile, which is saying a lot.

“Rick’s Not So Terrible Pies could be a thing now, you know?” I say, smiling fondly when he puts his phone down.

“I think I’ll stick to cars” he responds. “Who’s gonna rescue you from squirrels if I quit?”

After Sy has taken a look to the chimney, we decide we deserve a very nice rest, so I prepare the sofa and we crash there, ready to dig into the first movie we find on TV. There’s one that has just started. From Dusk Till Dawn, which I don’t believe I have seen at all.

“How can you not have seen it?!” Sy seems scandalized by my confession. “It’s like the fucking greatest movie ever!”

“Well excuse me for not spending my life watching every single movie on earth, Jesus” I protest.

“We’re watching it, give me the remote.”

With one of his broad arms over my shoulders, Sy makes himself comfortable on the couch opening his legs and sliding a bit down the seat. I do the same in the spot next to him, resting my head on his shoulder and finding warmth under his embrace, putting my legs on the couch as well. It feels good, after such a long period alone in the house, to finally have some company for a whole day. A long and tiring day, but in the end, a good one.

“Is that George Clooney?” I ask when I see the guy’s first appearance. It is, indeed, George Clooney, but it’s odd that I didn’t get a reply from Sy.

It doesn’t take me long to find out why.

His breathing is now slow, steady, his chest rising and descending the same way. We’re not even five minutes into the movie, and he has already fallen asleep. And I can’t help but smile. He really needed it.

“Get some rest, Beardy Baker” I mutter, gently patting his chest.

It’s not even a couple of minutes later when I fall asleep too.

267 notes · View notes