Hold On Is This Like A Series???? Cause If Not I Def Think It Should Be @blakerogue This Is Amazing.

Hold on is this like a series???? Cause if not i def think it should be @blakerogue this is amazing.

Rena decides to take a breath of fresh air on a late February night. Little did she know, she'd finally meet the creature from her childhood tales.

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter x OFC!Rena (written as 'you').

Content warnings: Horror/Thriller, chase, fear, man in agonising pain, mention of breaking bones, description of werewolf transformation. mention of going into shock, overwhelmed senses(?), description of canine behaviour, werewolf hunting(?), higher power manipulation, raw sex (p in v) with a werewolf, werewolf comforting female, manhandling (a little), masochist Walter, orgasm, cream pie, werewolf bite, mention of blood, mention of claw marks on skin, fluffy ending with soft!Walter.

Authors Note: Thank you @wolvesandhoundshowltogether for you support, help, and feedback. This was edited by me, you may find errors. If you do, hush.

*No permission given to repost, rewrite, translate or copy my work or any part of it and claiming it as your own!

If you enjoyed my story, pretty please, reblog, and leave a comment. I’d love to know your thoughts.

BAD MOON RISING

In Polish mythology, Porvata is the God of the woods; he has no idol or image; and manifests throughout the primeval forest...

In folklore, a werewolf is a human with the ability to shape shift into a wolf, either purposely or after being placed under a curse...

...

Twigs and nature’s rogue spikes slashed at your face and arms as you frantically bolted away from the beast at lighting speed. Your legs where a mere blur of black mist flying and weaving through the forest debris. Razor-sharp thorns nipped at your bare ankles, while serpent-like vines attempted to wrap around your feet and hand you to the beast.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a rapid bird trying to escape, yet you didn’t feel the pain it caused you. You couldn’t feel the aching of your cramping muscles as your legs pushed you faster. You couldn’t feel the flames in your lungs, or taste the iron in your dry, panting mouth.

The only thing you could feel, was fear. Not the kind of fear that chilled the fibres in your body into ice, rendering you paralysed. It was the kind of fear that made you flee for your life.

15 minutes earlier

Out for a late night stroll, you hoped to get some fresh air before huddling up on the couch with another angst filled romance novel and a spicy cup of tea. The February evenings where rather nippy, but the trees that made up the forest kept the chilly breeze away. So a long, woollen scarf -in the colours of your appointed Hogwarts house- was all that you needed to keep you toasty.

Happily, you hopped onto an old tree stump, partially covered in moss. Doing a little twirl, you giggled, feeling like a forest fairy. All you needed now was a pair of fern green butterfly wings.

Stepping off the stump, you shoved your hands deep into the pockets of your puffy jacket, and carried on down the path that would soon circle you back home.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently to the songs of nature; the owl hooted his wise tales, the stealthy fox scampered around in the pile of dry leaves, the clever rabbit bounced around avoiding the fox, the graceful trees swept their limbs against their neighbours in the soft breeze up above, and the howling man-

The man?

Your eyes shot open.

A pained yelp snapped your head to the left. The blood drained from your face as you realised you weren’t alone, and someone was hurt. Who else is here? A violent tremor rattled through your body. They may need help. Determination governed your movement, and you began to follow the sickly sound of faint grunts. Veiled by shadows, you prayed to stay unnoticed. Dodging a low branch, you gently tip toed over a mass of fallen twigs. As you brought your head up, your vision met a dark figure. Stopping in your tracks, your fear-stricken, wide eyes took in the sight of the hunched over man.

Dressed in dark attire, he had collapsed to his knees beside a thick tree. His head was tipped down, almost kissing the forest floor as one of his hands gripped firmly at the nest of dark curls cloaking his face. You saw him convulse vehemently before his body stiffened.

The man was big. His shoulders were broad and the thigh visible to you was powerfully thick.

As the clouds parted and full moon illuminated the ground below it, you hunched your body lower to the floor in hopes to stay undetected.

As the silvery light hit his wool-covered, herculean back, you heard the pained grunt as his body rippled with agony. His hand slammed against the bark. The tree he was leaning on screeched in torment as it’s body broke and shattered under the hand of the stranger. The sickly cracks echoed through the forest, while your eyes followed the trail of dark veins tracking up the tree. You felt an icy shiver crawl up your spine.

Your gaze followed the trail of the cracked wood back down to the powerful hand, and you couldn’t help but gasp in terror. Inhumanly sharp, long, black claws had pushed up from beneath the mans nails. They were thick and curved, like the claws on a tiger. A predator.

The mission to stay undetected for as long as possible failed miserably, because even though your gasp was more internal, the large man didn’t miss the slight hitch in a steady breathe (one that he’d mistake for the one of a woodland creature). Abnormally fast, his head snapped in your direction, at a sickly angle. His head was tilted to the side and his neck was bent down. It looked like his head was trying to fuse with his chest. And yet the angle of his skeleton wasn’t the most frightening part. No. What petrified you to your core, were the black, soulless eyes that stared into your soul.

Your body began to tremble and your blood turned ice cold. The blackness filled his entire eye, making it look like you were looking into the deepest, darkest pit of hell.

Your lungs began to burn, you had been holding your breathe for far too long. You tried to breath, but all that came out was a squeak. The man’s body trembled as a beastly snarl erupted from between his teeth. His teeth… Those teeth belonged to a predator, not a man! Sharp points replaced the smooth lines of his teeth. Your body went into shock. Your bones jittered inside your flesh and your started to hyperventilate. While your eyes focused on his teeth, you swore that they got larger and sharper by the second.

As your body threatened to shut down out of pure panic, your eyes caught a glimpse of black lighting strikes crawling up the mans neck. Higher and higher, black coloured his veins, crawled beneath his bushy beard, till they began to cover his flushed cheeks. A violent jolt and the nauseating sound of a broken bone, was all you needed for a kick start.

Slapping the wet leaves beneath you, you threw yourself back under the branch. You scarf caught onto one of the twigs, and in a panicked rush to escape you untwisted it and yanked your head free from its trap.

With a thud, you landed on your rear, your feet pushing you back, further from the man. With a thunderous roar, the man leaped towards you, scrambling at you on all fours, before another snap of bones sent him to the floor with a cry of agony. A cry that sounded human… No, that is not human, you declared.

Pushing yourself up onto your feet, you dashed away from the beast without looking back. You couldn’t risk it.

“AAAAAAHH!!” The final cry turned into a snarl. White smoke puffed from the beasts nose as he panted in exhaustion. Prowling on all four huge, clawed paws, the beasts limbs trembled as his muscles linked back around his previously broken bones. His senses where on overdrive. Every barely auditable rustle sounded like a fog horn to the beasts ears, gentle smells of the primeval forest burned his flared nostrils like fire, and the delicate moonlight blinded his nocturnal eyes like the shine of a thousand suns.

Growling, the beast pawed at his face. Instead of meeting a beard and a soft, dimpled nose, his hand came in contact with a big, hairy snout.

A choked cry left the beasts mouth as he began to understand what had happened. Snarling at his foolishness, his powerful paw slammed to the floor, making a dent in the wet earth bellow.

Rolling his neck, he felt his bones settle in his joints, and he pushed himself up on his hind legs. Standing a few inches taller than he did only a few minutes earlier, the beast focused his senses. Slipping into the skin of the predator, he sniffed at the air. A bitter taste of fear lingered around him. Following his nose, his keen eye inspected the billowing scarf suspended from the branch a few feet ahead of him. He scanned the wool intently as his wolven feet stalked towards it. His head tilted to the side in fascination. Lowering himself down onto all four, his clawed hands gently hit the forest floor. Pushing his body forward, he eagerly sniffed at the scarf, his ears slicked back against his mighty head. A heady scent blinded his mind. The delicate, feminine aroma, paired with the tame cinnamon spice had the beast purring. Shoving his snout further against the soft wool, the beast latched onto your scent. His ears perked up and flicked from left to right, trying to locate your whereabouts. Heavy panting and hammering foot steps caught his attention. There you are. Crawling out from beneath the scarf, the beasts eyes widened. A predatory glint sparkled in his midnight black eyes. With an aroused snarl, the beast bared his pointed teeth, and ran his long tongue over them. Submitting to the hunt, he snapped his jaws at the nippy air and let out a deep bark, before he leaped forward and dashed towards the racing heartbeat and the bitter sweet scent of his prey.

A thunderous roar reverberated through the kingdom of Porvata. Frightened to your very core, you fired a quick glance behind you, in hopes of seeing where the sound came from, because it sounded like it came from everywhere. Your muscles were aching, and the blood rushing through your veins was all you could hear… not the sound of leaping and scampering of a large beast behind you.

He could have so easily caught up with you, so easily took you down, but he held back, he let you run as fast and far as you liked. He was wearing you down. The chase was for more exhilarating for the beast. The adrenaline pumping through your veins sweetened your blood. Making your skin smell so much more fragrant and arousing to him.

You ran until your body could push no more. Your foot slammed into a hefty rock as you tried to leap over it, and you tumbled to floor, wrapping yourself in leaves and twigs as your body rolled across the forest debris.

Scurrying up from the moist earth onto your knees, you looked up. The huge, furry, snarling beast was crouched only a foot or two away from you. “O-oh, g-god,” you stuttered out, your shoulders trembling in now, paralysing fear. The beast, you could have sworn, grinned at your terror. His lips curled up over his pink gums and he bared his canines at you. His tongue flicked out and licked his nose as he grumbled deep in his chest. The fur at his nape bushed up, as did the coat at the base of his spine, where a thick, shaggy tail stood at attention. His claws dug into the earth below him before, slowly, he began to raise himself up. Higher and higher, he stood. His body rolling up with his spine until finally, the beast stood on his hind legs. Tall and proud.

Your mouth fell agape. Your eyes took in the size of the beast. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t mesmerised by the creature. As tall as a bear he was. Below his fur coat, you could see he was covered in thick, powerful muscle. Your core fluttered.

Sniffing at the air, the beasts ears slicked back against his head. His dark eyes scanned you frame, before a low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest. The noise made your thighs tremble and you breath hitch in the back of your throat. What was that? Taking a slow, calculated step towards you, the beast purred loudly at you. A warm tingle rippled through your body, making you feel like you were being covered in runny honey. A sigh left you lips as the weight of your body slumped into your bones. This feels- “Oh,” you moaned out loud, your eyes closing for a split second at the sensation gliding down your spine.

A beastly growl snapped your eyes open. The beast had come closer. And he was still advancing towards you, slowly.

Shaking your head, you attempted to push your mind out of the misty haze it had been trapped in. Pushing down on the earth, you tried lifting your weight up from the ground, but your body failed to listen. As you brought you feet up into a crouch, the gentle breeze caused you to fall back, landing you on your rear. “Ooft,” you huffed drunkenly. Lifting your heavy eyes back up to the beast, your gaze didn’t go higher than his waist. A fine, girthy cock bounced proudly from the curly forest of fur between the beasts hips, as he prowled towards you. You let out a gasp, a spike of fear clawed dully at your chest. “Succumb to him,” the breeze called, as it danced through your locks.

“Succumb…” you repeated, falling down further into the leaves with your back.

The beasts bubbly, deep purr rattled through your core and your head pressed further into the crisp leaves as your spine arched. Your knees parted and lulled to either side of you, waiting to cradle the beast between them.

Bending his knees, the beast dropped onto all four, and crawled towards your awaiting form. Lowering his head, the beast dragged his snout over the curve of your knee, and trailed his nose down your soft thigh. You could feel the warm puffs of air through your jeans, and you hummed in delight. The beasts nose glided over your mound, and he purred into your skin. You felt his chest vibrate with your knee as he snaked further up your body. Grazing his claws up your thighs, following the trail of his nose, he gripped onto the hem of your jeans firmly. His sharp claws ripped into the material concealing your nakedness from him, before with a harsh yank, he ripped open the front of your jeans and ripping the seems down both sides of your inner thighs. Leaving your cunt on full display, which only added to your yearning. Gasping at the savage behaviour, you clenched around nothing, feeling your arousal trickle down onto the forest floor beneath you.

He growled gently, deep in his throat, as your aroma filled his nose, while he climbed up your torso. He planted one big clawed paw next to your head, and the other beside your waist to keep himself elevated. Out of pure instinct your hand came up to grab is thick, hairy wrist, while the other hooked onto his firm waist.

The beast settled his hips between your thighs and ground his hard cock against your sopping slit. You hummed in delight as your spine arched further up, pressing your heaving breasts against his solid, hairy chest. The beast snarled above you, his strong arm wrapped around your back, locking you in place while his other remained in your grasp. Whining, the beast nipped and licked at your exposed neck with him warm, wet tongue. The lewd action made you sigh in the beasts embrace.

“That’s right, my children,” the breeze hummed, “become one.”

You felt the warm bulbous tip of the beast stroke up and down through your dewy folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your mouth fell agape as you waited for the beast to finally sink into your wet cove. The beast panted against your ear and his arm tightened it’s hold on you, before slowly, he pushed forward. Your eyes tightly sealed shut as you gasped at the intrusion. The beast stretched your walls painfully slow while purring into your ear. The pain became a dull thrum as your mind went fuzzy, and all you could feel were the veins and curve of the beasts cock as it dove deeper and deeper into your cunt. A deep moan slipped from your lips as he fully sank into your heat. An animalistic snarl bared his teeth against your neck as your walls clenched around his shaft.

Gripping your waist, the beast pulled his hips back, slowly drawing himself back out of you, and before you could whine at the loss of fullness he provided, the beast thrust back in to the hilt. Your whine became a yelp, and your thighs snapped tightly around his hips. The beast growled, raising himself up onto his knees, his paws gripped either side of your hips. Keeping your hips flushed together, he lifted your hips up into the air as he ground himself into you. Your whole body aside from you head lifted off the forest floor, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt him press firmly against the sensitive spot inside you. Holding you steady, the beast pulled back his hips, before slid back in with a hard, deep thrust. Keeping up that pace, slow and deep, he used the grip he had on you to pull you back and forth onto his shaft till your thighs were trembling around him and you were panting. Lowering your hips back down onto the ground, the beast curled his arms around the back of your waist, and held you tight as he sped up his attack on your weeping cunt. “Ah, AH!” you howled, your hands gripped the beasts back and you dug your kitten claws into his skin. A pained snarl erupted from behind his teeth and his pace turned punishing. Your pants became cries as you felt your body start to writhe with pleasure in the arms of the beast. A white hot sensation bloomed in your feet. Wrapping your fingers in the beast fur, you tugged hard as the feverish tingle crawled up your calves. The beast roared and slammed hard into you. You felt his shaft thicken inside you as the cold heat tingled across your tense thighs. Your spine arched as far as it could and the searing pleasure rippled through your body in waves. White stars exploded in your vision, blinding you as your cried out into the night sky. With one last mighty thrust, the beast sunk himself as deep as he could inside you, and his thick shaft spurted his creamy release into your pulsing walls. The beast roared one last time as he ground into you, his pubic bone pressed against you sensitive clit and you squealed at the over sensitiveness as you trembled with the aftershocks of your rapture.

Your innocent squeak however, quickly turned into a blood-curdling scream, as the beast bent his head and pierced your skin with his razor sharp teeth. He bit the flesh between you neck and shoulder, and sunk his teeth in deep. You could feel the thick, warm trail of your blood running down your shoulder. Fat, hot tears spilled down your temple, as your hand latched around the beast ear and tugged hard. The beast yelped but didn’t let up. You wailed at the pain and your voice turned deep. Inhumanly deep, like you had something stuck in your throat. Snapping your eyes open, your vision was red and a powerful feeling rushed through your veins like you had just been given an electric shock. It made you feel alive. The breeze picked up it strength, and howled in your ears. It almost sounded like a cry.

The beast unlocked his jaw, and let out a fierce roar that shook every tree to it’s core. With a thundering roar of your own… you joined him.

…

Waking up from your slumber, you blinked the blurry sleep out of your eyes. Pressing your face into your pillow, you stretched your legs out, taking the top of the duvet off your shoulder. You hummed happily at the sound of the radio softly playing in the background.

“I see the bad moon a-rising.” Your body sank back into the mattress for another 5 minutes.

“I see trouble on the way.” Your ears picked up a soft rustling a few feet behind you.

“I see earthquakes and lightning.” You would have dismissed the rustling for your cat’s mischief.

“I see bad times today.” But your nose picked up the mouth watering scent of freshly baked bread and soothing rosemary. One you could not ignore.

“Don't go around tonight. Well, it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise.” Turning around to face the cabin, you quickly realised that this bed did not belong to you. A comforting scent of pine and cloves surrounded you like a heavy blanket. Confusion furrowed your eyebrows, as your gaze fell on the broad, naked back of a very tall, bear-looking man. Standing across the room at the kitchen counter, he busied himself with something in front of him. The firm muscle plastered across his shoulders rippled with tension as he moved his arms.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowing.” You pushed you body up, sitting cross legged on the bed as you observed the man. A dark, messy mane of curls covered the top of his head and tickled his nape.

“I know the end is coming soon,” the mans soft, deep rumble hummed along to the radio. A smile tugged at your lips. The manly drawl of his song made your bones feel weak.

“Don't go around tonight,”he sang. He seemed so care-free with you, a stranger in his bed. Your eyes glided down the mans bare back, admiringly. “Well, it's bound to take your life.” His skin was pale. And he was built strong. “There's a bad moon,” your gaze drifted down to the angry red claw marks on the base of his back, and it hit you, “on the rise.” The beast. Your heart stuttered.

The song began to break up and the radio began to crackle. You held your breath. Turning around, the man reached for the antenna and twiddled it till the song came back and the crackling ceased. You took in his feature. He was beautiful. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, just like his beard. His skin was smooth, and as pale as the moon herself… he looked tired. Purple decorated the soft slopes bellow his round eyes.

The soft instrumental sections filled the cabin. The memory rushed back. Your hand reached up to your neck, caressing your skin, you felt no wound, no blood, no pain. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. How? Your movement caught the eye of the shirtless man. He turned his head in your direction. Without a word, his azure eyes scanned your form. You felt a delicate tingle under your skin where his gaze landed. He was calm, and seemed please with his observation.

It all started to make sense. The breeze, the haze, the bite, and this connection.

Grabbing the plate from the counter top, he gingerly made his way toward the bed. You felt strangely at ease in his presence. A complete contrast to how you had felt last night.

Cautiously, the man perched himself on the end of the bed, half expecting you to scurry away. When you didn’t, the corner of his lips twitched into a small smile. He placed the plate in your lap. Cottage cheese and jam was swirled atop two slices of rosemary bread. Your stomach grumbled in acceptance as your mouth watered. “I’m Walter,” he broke the silence. The drone of his voice made you shiver. His wide eyes gazed into your soul, and you could swear you could hear the thump of his heart. It was fast. The deep wrinkles on his forehead that he got from raising his eyebrows at you like a puppy, had you melting into a puddle of adoration. A low rumble rolled off your tongue, surprising Walter as you saw his cheeks flush. He looked a little uncomfortable. He was waiting on your reaction. Probably expecting the worst. You stifled a giggle. “Rena,” you extended your hand out for him to shake. Confusion flashed across his face, and a little uneasily, he clasped his large hand around your much smaller one, and shook it hesitantly. Was he afraid of you? “No. Well, maybe a little,” he spoke bashfully. Wait.

“Trust him,” the light breeze echoed through the cabin while wind hissed outside. That’s when it hit you. The myths, the curse. Oh, Walter...

“Weird circumstances, huh?” you asked, a sheepish smile on your face.

Walter chuckled, and a small smile brightened up his face. Your heart warmed at the sight. “Weird is an understatement,” he huffed, rubbing his hands together nervously. You reached your arm out and held his hand. Looking into his eyes, you gave him a warm smile. We’re in it together now. Walter sighed in relief, his shoulders sagged, releasing the tension they had been holding.

“There's a bad moon on the rise,” whistled the wind.

Hi rabbit could you write a story where Sy and Reader are sick of their friends always being on their backs because they’re both single in their friend group. So they come up with a plan to pretend they’re dating, only this unleashes feelings on both parts. It takes reader awhile to understand why Sy is so into it. Maybe fluffy smut?

Summary: You and Sy keep getting set up with random people and you are both sick of it. You hatch a plan to say you’re dating so your friends leave you alone. Things get awkward when you fall for him, because you know, he doesn’t feel the same way.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 10.4k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, Fake relationship, Sy is a little soft in this one, I think that’s it.

Authors Note: Thanks Anon for the ask. I played around with the fake dating trope in Tropesville, but I like the trope, so I thought I’d do a full fic for it.

This has taken me ages to write!!! I struggled to write while I was sick, but I felt better and still struggled. But, eventually I got there. Thanks to my very supportive friends and Beta readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed. You have been a shining light for me in this hellscape.

Edited by me. There will be errors.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Always Real?

Your eyes scan the party as quickly as you can without making it obvious. You make eye contact with Colin briefly, nodding and smiling politely as he continues to ramble. You’re going to kill Anna.

“Oh, his backswing was phenomenal,” Colin drones. “Best in the game for a time…”

Smile and nod.

Grimacing, you see Anna giggling. You stare daggers at her, and she shrugs. ‘Sorry. I tried,’ she mouths. You’ll get her back for this somehow.

Colin keeps talking about golf. You hate golf, of all the sports in all the world, it had to be the one you like least. And he’s a golf pro. You suppose you can’t be too mad at Anna, she probably didn’t know you don’t like it, the two of you don’t exactly spend a lot of time talking about sport. But still, you asked her so many times to stop trying to set you up. You’re happy being single for now. Yeah, it had been nearly a year since you had a boyfriend, but you weren’t really looking.

That’s the problem when you’re one of the only single people in your friendship group, everyone keeps trying to set you up, well mostly Anna. She does the same to Sy. She tried to hook him up with a girl tonight, but he’s already escaped her. You can see the poor girl now, she looks pretty and friendly, you wonder if Sy didn’t like her or if he rejected her on principal. You look around for him, you haven’t seen him in ages. Did he go home?

“… It was amazing, I’ll have to show you the video…”

“Yeah, maybe…”

Smile and nod.

“It’s on my phone…”

You spot Sy. He grins at you as he walks past and you jerk your head, curling your hand in a ‘come here’ gesture. He tilts his head and looks at you with a shrug and raised eyebrows. ‘Save me!’ you mime, putting your hands together pleading. It isn’t easy hiding the gesture from Colin, but you do.

Instead of coming over, Sy smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, legs shoulder width apart, a relaxed pose, as if he’s settling in for a show. The bastard is going to have fun with this. You scratch your neck with your middle finger and Sy chuckles.

Colin moves in closer, shoving his phone under your nose. He puts it so close you can’t actually see it so have to take step back. He follows taking a step closer and you grab hold of his wrist to lower the phone so you can focus.

“Hey, Sugar,” Sy says. You look at him gratefully. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Um, I don’t know…”

“Ugh, you hate golf,” Sy says looking over your shoulder at the phone.

“Colin here is a golf pro,” you say to Sy.

Sy looks at Colin as if only just noticing him and sticks his hand out. “Oh, hey man. Sy, nice to meetcha.” Colin takes his hand, and they shake. Colin isn’t a small guy, tall, athletic build, and seems pretty strong, but Sy is, well Sy, and you can see the way his arm tenses as he shakes Colin’s hand. Sy turns his attention back to you. “So anyway, Sugar, I gotta talk to you ‘bout somethin’.” He puts his arm around your shoulder and starts leading you away, then stops and turns back to Colin. “Oh, sorry man, was I interruptin’ somethin’?”

Colin looks at you. “Ah, no,” you say. “We were just chatting. I’ll catch you later Colin. It was nice to meet you,” you call as Sy leads you away. As soon as you’re out of earshot you say to Sy, “Thanks, I owe you one.”

“You coulda just walked away,” Sy says.

“I know, but I felt a little sorry for him. It’s not his fault Anna tried to throw us together without even asking.”

Sy hums and looks over his shoulder. “He’ll live,” Sy says dismissively. He keeps his hand on your shoulder as he leads you to the party’s makeshift bar, grabbing a couple of beers and premix drinks. “Wanna hang out in my truck a while? Give Mr Sandtrap some time to get the hint you ain’t comin’ back?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem, Darlin’,” Sy grins. He leads you away from the party and around the front of the house to where the cars are all parked on the lawn. Opening the tray of his truck, he unfurls the blanket he keeps back there and helps you up, your skirt is a little tight to be climbing into trucks unaided.

You both lean against the back window and stare out into the street. Your shoulders are touching, but it’s comfortable, you’ve known Sy for years as part of your extended friendship group. You two aren’t particularly close, you don’t hang out together outside of these kinds of get togethers, but you’ve always gotten along well, even spending a few nights drunkenly talking well into the early morning.

“So, why did you ditch your ‘date’?” you ask Sy.

Sy reaches into his pocket, pulls out a Leatherman and opens your drinks while he answers. “No reason really other than I want them to get the point I’m not interested in datin’. She seemed nice. I felt kind of bad, but I’m sick of that shit.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say. “I mean, if I wanted to date I would.”

“Why dontcha?”

“Why don’t I date?” Sy nods and takes a swig of his beer. “I don’t know. I guess I’m happy being single for now. I’ll date again when I’m ready.” You take a sip your overly sweet drink and ask Sy, “What about you?”

Sy is quiet and stares at his bottle of beer. Then he looks at you, sucking on his bottom lip. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t need to answer when he suddenly speaks. “Last deployment I got a Dear John letter.”

“Sy, I’m sorry. That’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” he says, bitterly, drawing the word out with his drawl. “And since I’m probably gonna be deployed again in three or four months, what’s the point, ya know?”

“So, you’ll wait until you retire?”

“Yeah, this will be my last one, I think.” Sy says. “Then I’ll start datin’ again. Maybe.”

“I think that is a good reason, but some people…”

“Anna,” Sy supplies with a grin.

“Yeah, Anna,” you laugh. “Won’t leave us be. Sometimes I think I should make up some internet boyfriend from Canada or something, so she’ll leave me alone.”

Sy chuckles. “Thought has crossed my mind too. Tell her I have a girlfriend still in Iraq or somethin’. But then you’d think…” Sy pauses and looks at you, staring hard, a strange look on his face.

“What?” you ask. Sy looks at you for so long you start to get paranoid and wipe at your mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

Shaking his head, Sy grins. “Nah, you’re good. I just had a crazy idea.”

“Oh yeah,” you laugh. “Go on, I’m up for crazy.”

“Why don’t we say we’re datin’,” Sy says nonchalantly.

You raise your eyebrows. “That is crazy.”

“Oof! That hurt,” Sy says dramatically, clutching at his heart and leaning back against the window.

“No, I didn’t mean…” you say a little flustered. “Who’d believe it?”

“Why wouldn’t they? We’ve always gotten along.”

“Yeah, but why now? We’ve known each other for ages and never done anything.”

“Maybe I finally got the balls to make a move tonight,” Sy says turning back to you. He leans closer, and you think you’re imagining it, but his voice seems to get low and rough. A ripple of heat washes over you as his flashing blue eyes seem to bore into you. “Maybe seeing that asshole move in on you made me act for once.” Sy sniffs and sits back, the intense moment passes, almost like it never happened. “They’ll buy it.”

They would buy that, you think, it makes sense in a way. You shake your head, are you really considering going along with this stupid idea?

“Ok, say they buy it. How long would we date for?”

Sy thinks a moment. “A month or so, long enough that breakin’ up will hurt and that should make ‘em leave us alone for a while.”

“Who breaks up with who?”

“Hmm, amicable break up, in case we need to date again to keep ‘em off our backs.”

Yeah, it could work. Except… “Wait, but would they believe us if they never see us even hug or kiss?”

Sy grins, wolfishly. “We hug already sometimes, so that won’t be weird. And kissin’ yeah I suppose we should sometimes.”

You give Sy a look and cross your arms.

“What? Would kissin’ me be so bad?” Sy asks.

Would it? No, probably not, you concede. He’s an attractive guy, you like him, as a friend of course. “I suppose we wouldn’t have to make out or anything.” Wait, am I really considering this?

Sy grunts. “No, but it’s got to be a convincing kiss. Ya can’t kiss me like I’m your brother, they’ll never believe that.”

“Maybe I’m not big on public displays of affection,” you argue.

“I am though,” Sy grins. “If I liked you, I’d kiss ya all the time. Wouldn’t matter where I was.”

“So, what, tongue and everything?” you ask Sy. He nods, still smirking. He’s enjoying this. “Ok. But no groping. You can’t touch my breasts or my ass.” Sy pointedly looks at your lap. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you squirm a little. “Or there. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Sy chuckles. “What about being seen together? I suppose we should actually go on a date or two. Everyone will ask about it.”

“I suppose we should,” you sigh.

“Jesus,” Sy groans.

“What?”

“Ya don’t wanna kiss me and ya don’t want to be seen with me. I thought we were friends,” Sy teases.

“It’s not that, it’s… Well effort. Dating means new clothes, doing your hair and makeup and stuff.”

“You’re wearing makeup now and your hair’s done,” Sy points out. “Ya don’t need new clothes. You look nice and I’ve seen ya wear that outfit before.” You pause, Sy noticed that you wore this outfit before. That’s weird. He must have seen the look on your face because for a moment he seems a little uncomfortable. “All I’m sayin’ is ya don’t have to go to too much effort, we already know each other, and I like the way ya look.” You raise an eyebrow. “I mean, if I were datin’ you for real and you suddenly changed how ya normally looked, it’d be weird cause I like you the way you are.”

You sip your drink a little more, the idea is growing on you. “If we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Sure,” Sy agrees.

“Ok. Rule one: Kissing is allowed but not groping.”

Sy nods. “Fair. Rule Two: We’ll go out Friday nights and see each other one night during the week for appearances sake.”

“We’ll take pics to prove it,” you agree. “Rule Three: No talking about the relationship to our frinds, other than superficial stuff. I don’t want you making stuff up about me or telling everyone I’m shit in bed.”

“Ok now I’m offended,” Sy says. “I’m a gentleman and would never kiss and tell.”

“Bullshit Sy!” you laugh, “We’ve all heard the story about what that girl in Vegas wanted you to do to her.”

“Hey, wait now,” Sy says smirking, tying to hold in his laughter. “That was funny, and she wasn’t my girlfriend. I never talk about my girlfriends.”

“Still, I’m making it a rule,” you say firmly.

“Fine. Rule Four: No bad mouthin’ after we break up.”

“I would never!” you protest.

“Bullshit,” Sy says. “We all know about what the ex from Boston wanted you to do to him.”

“Ok, yes,” you say giggling, embarrassed as you remember that story. “But it was very funny.”

“Yeah, it was. So, any other rules?” Sy asks.

“Hmm, I don’t think so.”

“So, we’re agreed, for the next four weeks, you and I are datin’?”

“Fake dating,” you correct.

“That’s what I said,” Sy grins.

“Sure, it was. Starting now?”

“Starting now.” Sy holds up his drink and you hit it with yours.

You and Sy sit awkwardly quiet for a few moments. What are you supposed to do now? “So, how do we let them know we got together?”

“I don’t know.” He looks over his shoulder at the house. “I suppose we could go back, to the party, holdin’ hands or somethin’.”

“And gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes?” you tease and Sy chuckles. “Hmm could work, we really just need Anna to see, then everyone will know.”

“We could dance,” Sy suggests. “Then maybe kiss?”

“You really want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Sy doesn’t deny it. “It is one of the perks of havin’ a girlfriend.”

“Fake girlfriend,” you remind him and yourself, but it doesn’t stop your heart fluttering at the thought of Sy kissing you.

“That’s what I said,” Sy grins. “Finish your drink and we’ll go back.”

Sy helps you out of the truck and closes the tailgate. Still grinning, he puts his arm around you and walks you back to the party. He takes you over to wear a few people are dancing and wraps your arms around his waist. His spicey, leathery smell fills your nose, the fragrance is subtle but masculine and suits him perfectly. Still smiling he moves slowly, too slowly for the music really, but you don’t think he dances too often and is probably the best he can do. He holds you close to him, not too close but near enough that your bodies meet as you gently sway. He looks into your eyes as you move together, he’s a good actor, you can almost believe that he does want to kiss you, for real.

“You sure ya wanna do this?” he asks. He puts his hands on your cheeks as he bends his knees a little so you’re closer in height. Biting your lip you nod, and Sy sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “I’m gonna kiss you now. That ok?”

“Umm,” you quickly scan the room looking for Anna. She’s watching the two of you intently, eyes wide, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. She’s smiling though, and she’s not the only one. There’s a few of your friends watching you, Colin too, but he’s got a scowl on his face. Maybe they will believe it, maybe this crazy idea will work. You lick your lips. “Okay,” you say softly. But as soon as you agree, your heart starts to thunder in your chest.

“You’re nervous,” Sy observes. You nod. “Don’t be, it’s just me, it’s just a kiss.” Licking his lips he waits, but you feel frozen. “Close your eyes, baby,” he murmurs. Your hands tighten, grabbing hold of his shirt, gripping it tight as you close your eyes.

Sy’s lips press gently against yours. For a moment you can’t believe he actually did it, he actually kissed you, then his lips move, softly gliding over your top lip then your bottom lip. You feel it in your knees, and if you weren’t already holding on, you think you would fall. You think Sy must have noticed because one of his hands leaves your neck and snakes around your waist and lays against your back. He draws you closer, your bodies press against each other, as he tries to deepen his kiss and his tongue flicks against your lips. You part them slightly, his arm tightens, and you swear you hear a soft hum.

This is too much, it’s enough, surely, they’ve seen enough. You pull away from Sy and you think he isn’t going to stop, but he does and you’re briefly disappointed. You’re both breathless as you open your eyes and Sy’s thumb rubs over your cheek. God, he has such beautiful eyes, the blue brilliant against the large black pupils and the darker brown part in his left one catches your attention for the first time.

“You ok?” Sy asks, his deep voice is strained as he talks.

“You’re a good kisser,” you breathe.

Sy chuckles. You feel a tension leave his body and he stands up a little straighter, but doesn’t let you go. “Want a drink?” he asks. You nod and your eyes grow wide as he kisses your forehead and says, “Why dontcha grab a seat and I’ll bring you one.”

As Sy walks away your fingers go to your lips, they’re tingling, still feeling warm from his kiss. You don’t want the feeling to fade. If that’s how he fakes a kiss, you wonder what it would feel like if he truly meant to kiss you. As if in a daze you find a pair of empty plastic chairs to sit on while you wait for Sy.

“Holy shit!” Anna comes bounding over to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked Sy? I would have set you two up ages ago.”

You swallow hard and try to order your thoughts. What was the line again? “I didn’t, apparently he did, and he…” you trail off, you can’t remember what you’re supposed to say.

“Oh girl,” Anna gushes. “That must have been a hell of a kiss.” She grabs your shoulder shaking you with excitement. Anyone would think she was the one who just got kissed. “What happened?”

“Uh, we sat in his truck and talked, and then he wanted to dance with me, then he kissed me.” All essentially true, except for the part that it didn’t mean anything.

“Whoa, so he kissed you, huh? Interesting…” Anna muses. You want to ask why it’s interesting, but Sy is coming back. “I’m gonna go, keep me updated!” Then she is gone.

Sy grins as he sits, bringing his chair as close to yours as possible. “Worked huh?” Sy jerks his head in Anna’s direction.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you say, still feeling a little shook up by the kiss.

Sy on the other hand, seems perfectly fine, chilled, and relaxed. You can’t seem to think of anything other than his lips. He makes a bit of small talk for a while, telling you about a book he read and all you can do is stare at him.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah.” You’re not though, you’re really not. You stand up. “I think I want to go home.”

“I’ll drive you,” Sy says, standing. “I’ve only had a couple of beers, I ain’t over the limit.”

“No,” you tell Sy a little too quickly. “You stay and have fun.”

“Can’t do that if ya want this dating thing to work out.”

“Fake dating,” you say automatically. Sy has a point though, but you still want to go home.

“You sure you’re ok?” Sy asks again.

You shrug, then shake your head. “I’m fine, I just…” Never expected to actually feel something when we kissed.

“It’s ok,” Sy says. “I’ll take ya home. You wanna say goodbye?”

“Can we sneak out?”

“Sure thing, Sugar.” Sy smiles and you think he going to kiss you, but instead he puts his arm around your shoulders and leads you to his truck.

You were quiet on the way home at first, but eventually Sy gets you out of your head, talking like normal and you start to think that maybe you overreacted. He’s just a good kisser, the kiss didn’t mean anything more than what it was, a stage kiss, you were acting, pretending, going along with your ruse.

When Sy pulls up at your house, he gets out with you and walks you to your door. “When do you want to see each other again?”

“I thought we said Friday night.”

“We also said midweek,” Sy reminds you. “How does Tuesday work for ya?”

“Well, it’ll be our first date so, we should do something nice.”

“I could take ya to dinner or to a movie?”

“Predictable, but I guess a movie works.”

Sy grins. “I’m not really a grand gesture kind a guy anyway.”

“Me either, I don’t like a big fuss. I always cringe when I see those proposals at a baseball game or something like that. I’d say no on principle alone.”

“Noted.” Sy sighs, “Well, I guess I’ll get.”

“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you move, and you stand there a moment, looking at your feet. “I’m sorry I freaked out earlier.”

“’S alright,” Sy says. He takes a small step closer to you and tucks a finger under your chin, gently lifting it so you look at him. “You know you can call this off at any time, I won’t get angry or nothin’.”

“I know.”

“Ok.” Sy wraps his arms around you giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Night, Sweet Pea.”

“Sweet Pea?” You giggle at the pet name.

“Ah, you like that one huh? Ok, Sweet Pea it is.” Sy lets you go, waving as he goes back to his truck.

You’re nervous about seeing Sy again. You haven’t been able to get that kiss out of your head; you even find yourself daydreaming about it. The way he held you, the way he took control, left you breathless and confused. It’s strange that you never saw Sy as anything other than a friend, not even a close friend and now, you can’t stop thinking about him. You don’t know how you never thought about what it would be like to be with him, but since that kiss, it’s all you can think about.

Thinking back on the years you’ve known him you realise he’s always been sweet to you. Yeah, he teases you occasionally, but he’s always looked out for you, which is why you wanted him to save you from Colin rather than anyone else. You trust him, you like him, you find him attractive, and after that kiss, you realise you want him.

The realisation makes you uncomfortable. You’re not sure this whole fake dating thing is a good idea anymore. You start to think you may develop real feelings for him which will only hurt you when you realise Sy doesn’t feel the same way. Because he mustn’t feel the same, otherwise he would have just asked you out, right?

That’s it then, no more kisses. You shouldn’t have agreed to that, that was crossing a line you weren’t prepared for. You tell yourself that you will talk to Sy tonight about it. No more kissing. Everyone saw you kiss, they don’t need to see it again.

After work on Tuesday, you rush to get ready, not wanting to be late. You try on several dresses, not really satisfied with any of them. Some are too revealing, some are too dressed up and others are too casual. You decide to go for one that’s a little too casual, you don’t want Sy to think that you were trying too hard. You held back with your makeup too, less than what you wore to the party and your hair was already done from work, so you just have tidy it up.

You’re ready with plenty of time to spare, so you find yourself pacing the room. You try to calm yourself by scrolling through social media, but you keep staring at the time, willing the minutes to tick by with increasing anxiety.

The doorbell rings and before you open the door, you take the time to take calming breath. You’re ok, you remind yourself, it’s just Sy. Forget that you haven’t been able to think of anything but him for the past few days. Never mind that you’ve fantasised about more than just kissing him. Disregard all that, you’re just friends pretending to date that’s it. You won’t kiss him. Not again.

Opening the door, you forget all your pep talk as soon you see the growing smile on Sy’s face. Your stomach flips as he snakes his arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. His now familiar scent mixes with the smell of his freshly laundered t-shirt and you press your face into his neck, breathing in his wonderful fragrance.

“You look real nice, Sweet Pea,” Sy drawls sweetly in your ear.

You grin and step back, looking at the ground, avoiding eye contact so Sy won’t see in your eyes how nervous he makes you feel. You shake your head, feeling embarrassed. “Shall we go?” you deflect as you close your door.

“Sure.” Sy puts his arm around your shoulders and walks you to his truck, even opening your door for you. He waits until you’re inside before closing it. You watch him as he walks to the driver’s side and see the big grin on his face, the slight jump in his step. He’s a really good actor you think, anyone would think he’s really your boyfriend and actually looking forward to taking you out.

“So, how’s work?” Sy asks.

You hesitate before you answer. Does Sy really want to know or is he asking to avoid awkward silence while he drives. “It’s ok. How about you?”

“Good. Real good.” Sy glances at you. “How’s work really?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Sy smiles reassuringly.

“You don’t have to pretend to be interested.”

“Who says I’m pretendin’?”

“It’s nothing really. There’s been some downsizing and I have a bad feeling about it,” you admit. Sy nods but doesn’t say anything, so you keep talking. “I shouldn’t have a problem getting a new job, it’s just the stress of the interviews and stuff like that. I hate the whole process.”

“Well it ain’t happened so don’t worry ‘bout it. Focus on what you can control and accept whatcha can’t.”

“Good advice, but easier said than done.”

“I know, baby.” Sy puts his hand on your knee and gives you a gentle squeeze before he puts his hand back on the wheel. “I know.”

After a quick discussion on what movie to see, you agree on seeing a comedy. When you get to the box office to buy your tickets you realise you forgot to make a rule about who pays for your dates. Sy immediately pulls his wallet out and purchases both tickets. You scowl but don’t make a fuss until he hands you the ticket.

“You don’t have to pay for me. Even if this were a real date, I don’t expect you to pay.”

Sy shrugs. “Habit, I guess. I’m takin’ you out so I pay. ‘Sides, I like doin’ it.”

“You like wasting your money?”

“I like spendin’ time with you. This is me thankin’ you for hangin’ out.” He looks directly into your eyes, and you see sincerity there. Sy grins then asks, “Now what can I getcha to eat?”

The rest of the date goes well. The movie is good, both you and Sy laugh a lot. He keeps his hands to himself, and although you know it’s for the best, you’re a little disappointed. You try not to let it show, it is what you want after all.

After the movie, you and Sy take a couple of selfies for you to put on social media to keep up the subterfuge. Sy surprises you though when you take a photo and feel his beard on your cheek, followed by his lips.

“Sy!” you gasp and your hand flies to your cheek.

“What?” he says acting innocent. “Gotta be convincing, right?”

“Yeah. I just wasn’t ready.” Your cheek tingles and you bite your lip as you look at the picture. The picture is good, candid, Sy looks happy and the surprised expression on your face works well.

“We look good together,” Sy says peering over you. He puts his hands on your hips and leans his chin on your shoulder. “You should post that one. Send it to me too.”

“I’ll post it later.” You don’t want him to see how badly your hands are trembling because he’s so close to you. You take a step away, and Sy’s hands fall off your hips. “Should we go?”

You look at Sy and you could have sworn he looks disappointed. But it’s fleeting and he raises his head with a grin. “Let’s go, Sweet Pea.”

Both of you are a little quiet on the way home. You talk a bit about the movie, but both of you seem to have your mind on other things. You keep replaying the night in your head, the subtle looks Sy gave you, the little remarks that could be seen as flirtatious, the stolen kiss and of course, the kiss that started this mess.

When you get home, Sy walks you to your door despite you telling him not to worry. Once again you feel the awkwardness as you stand on your porch. His eyes meet yours, they’re so blue, deep, and open, you feel a little lost. Smiling shyly at Sy, you fish in your bag for your keys. You have to get inside, get away from him, before he sees through your façade.

“I had a good time with you tonight, Sugar,” Sy says lowly as he takes a small step closer to you. You bite your lip as your hand wraps around your keys, and he licks his. He seems to loom over you, he’s so big, you feel like he’s getting closer and closer. He’s just being polite, you tell yourself, stop reading too much into everything.

“I did too, Sy,” you say quickly, turning to the door and putting your key in the lock just as you notice movement from Sy. You turn back to see Sy straightening and running a hand over his short hair. He looks a little on edge, embarrassed almost, and he takes a few steps back. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” he says and gives you a smile that doesn’t seem to be genuine. “So, uh, I’ll pick you up here Friday night?”

“Yeah,” you reply as you open the door.

“Great,” Sy says, and his smile appears real again. Then he nods and steps off the porch as you go inside. You almost shut the door, when you hear him call your name.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to send me that picture, alright?” You nod and wave. “Night Sweet Pea,” Sy waves back and you close the door.

You stand in your hallway a moment, confused. If you didn’t know better, you would think Sy had tried to kiss you, but he wouldn’t do that. Not when no one is around to see him. Would he?

The next few days pass slowly. Although you don’t speak to Sy, he messages you regularly. He’s sweet, at first thanking you for sending him the photos you took together, then asking you what you want to do on Friday. Then his messages are cutely mundane, telling you a joke he heard at work, asking you for a book recommendation, and telling you about a movie he watched that he thinks you would like.

It is frustrating because you still can’t tell if he’s interested in you. Normally, you would talk to Anna about it, but because of the fake dating, you can’t. It doesn’t help that she keeps asking you for details and you keep having to embellish the truth, while trying to remind yourself that Sy isn’t interested in you. You can’t let yourself get carried away, you can’t allow yourself to develop real feelings for him when in three weeks it will be over.

Work was also not helping your situation. Rumours of upcoming layoffs persisted throughout the week. On Thursday, three people were let go and there was talk of more to come. So, when you were called to your managers office on Friday afternoon, you knew what was going to happen.

Devastated, you bought a bottle of wine on the way home, showered, put on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt and curled up in front of the television before calling Sy.

“Hey Sweet Pea,” Sy says. His drawling voice sounds happy and upbeat, and you’re surprised by how comforting it is. You miss him. “I’m hoppin’ in the truck now.”

“You’re early,” you say softly.

“I know, I…” Sy stops. “What’s wrong?” You raise your eyebrows, you didn’t expect him to be able to sense something had happened.

“I don’t really feel like goin’ out tonight.” You take a deep shuddering breath, not wanting to cry on the phone. “I uh… I got fired today.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Sy says, sympathetically. He pauses, as if waiting for you to say something, but you don’t. After a few beats he says, “Do ya want me to come round and we’ll watch a movie or somethin’? Order take out, getcha mind off it?”

“You don’t have to,” you say. “This isn’t a crisis for a fake boyfriend to deal with.”

Sy doesn’t say anything for a moment. He waits for such a long time you ask if he’s still there. “Yeah, I’m here. I uh, still wanna come round though.”

“I suppose Anna will smell a rat if you didn’t come around when she finds out I got fired,” you rationalise.

“Yeah,” Sy says letting out a long sigh. “I’ll see ya soon.”

“Bye,” you say and hang up.

When Sy arrives, he greets you with a big grin and his hands are behind his back, hiding something. He wraps an arm around you and draws you in for a hug. His now familiar scent puts you at ease, as does the sensation of his soft whiskers on your cheek.

“I come bearin’ gifts,” he says a little proudly. His enthusiasm makes you chuff, and he presents you with a bag full of ice-cream. Your eyes widen, there has to be $50 worth of Ben & Jerry’s in there.

“Sy!” you say feeling a little overwhelmed. “Why did you buy so much?” You look at him shaking your head. “Thank you, but wow, it’ll take me months to eat all that.”

Sy just keeps grinning and shrugs, “Not if I help ya. ‘Sides, I wasn’t sure what flavour you liked, so I got picked a few of my favourites.”

“You could have called me and asked me.”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”

Forgetting that you need to keep your feelings hidden, you hug Sy and kiss his cheek. “Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.” Sy hugs you back, holding you tight, like he doesn’t want to let go. You admonish yourself and try to remember that he’s just being nice to you because you’re upset, he’d do that for anyone.

“Anytime, Baby,” Sy murmurs in your ear, his voice makes a heat bloom deep in your gut. His body is pressed tightly against yours, he feels so solid, so firm, but soft, and warm at the same time. You don’t want to let go, but you have to, you have to, or he’ll know.

Clearing your throat, you step away from Sy. “I better put these in the freezer for later.” You go to the kitchen, and he follows. “What do you want for dinner?”

“I figured it might be fun just to eat ice-cream.”

“Oh my God, should we?” you laugh. Sy nods eagerly and licks his lips. “I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

“Pick one and we’ll get started, where are your spoons?”

You and Sy eat nearly three tubs of ice-cream before you tap out and let him finish the rest of the last one. You sit together on your couch watching your comfort movie. You think Sy would hate it, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When your movie finishes, you let him pick the next one and he surprises you by picking Princess Bride.

You glance at Sy with raised eyebrows. He narrows his eyes. “Don’t tell me ya don’t like this movie. I’ll get up and walk out the door right now.”

“No, I love this movie, it’s just that, I’m surprised you do.”

“It’s a classic. You could call it my comfort movie. I used to watch it all the damn time growin’ up. Wore out the VCR and everythin’.”

“The VCR?” you grin. “Damn, you’re old.”

“Hey c’mon now,” Sy frowns pointing his finger at you. Then he laughs putting his arms out wide, gesturing with his hands. “Come ‘ere and watch the damn movie.”

Ignoring the part of you that tells you it’s a bad idea, you let Sy enclose you in his arms and lay your head on his chest. You grab the blanket you keep over your couch and lay it over both of you before you settle in for the movie. You don’t know how far you make it before you fall asleep. The last thing you remember is the Fire Swamp and the next thing you know, Sy is stirring, and you wake up.

“Sorry,” you say a little disorientated. You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“’S alright,” Sy says standing up. “I woulda let ya sleep but I have to go to the bathroom.”

You tell Sy where it is and while he’s gone you fold the blanket over the couch and put away the empty ice-cream tubs and spoons. Sy meets you in the kitchen.

“I suppose I better get goin’,” Sy says.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say with a smile. You don’t want him to go. You want him to hold you all night, you imagine you’d sleep a whole lot better tonight with Sy’s heavy arms around you. “Thanks for tonight. I feel a lot better.” You laugh and add, “Other than feeling sick in the tummy from all that ice-cream.”

Sy laughs and closes the distance between you. “It was fun though.”

“Sorry I fell asleep.”

“Nah,” Sy says. “You must have needed it.”

You walk Sy to the door and he pulls you into a hug. He looks at you, catching your gaze and asks, “When can I see you again?” His voice is low and serious. If you didn’t know better, you would swear he was really asking because he wants to see you, not because of the ruse.

“You busy tomorrow night?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You hold your breath, you shouldn’t have done that. You sound too keen.

But Sy just smiles. “I am now. What do ya want to do?”

“You could come over again and hang out. Maybe eat some more ice-cream, watch some more movies?” You shrug and Sy hums.

“As you wish, Baby.” Sy says and your breath catches. Was he quoting the movie on purpose? He must have seen the confusion on your face because then he winks at you. You burst out laughing because he can’t wink properly, it just looks like an exaggerated blink. He chuckles too and holds you tighter, kissing your forehead before he says goodbye.

You and Sy fall into a routine for the next three weeks. On Tuesday’s he comes to your house, or you go to his house. You met Aika, sweet thing that she is, although she did get a little jealous when you took her spot on the couch. You eat real food but always split a tub of ice-cream for dessert together. Then you watch a movie or two, snuggling together on the couch.

On Friday’s you go on a proper date, dinner & a movie or bowling, and Saturday night you usually go out with friends. You don’t kiss again like you did that first night, but Sy kisses you often, on your cheek, or forehead. Saturdays are the most difficult for you. Because you’re with friends, Sy is particularly handsy, always with an arm possessively around you, either your waist or shoulders and he kisses you frequently.

Being with Sy is so comfortable now, you often forget that it’s make believe. But you are quick to remind yourself it’s not real, remind yourself not to get too attached, all too soon this thing between you and Sy will be over. At least you won’t have to pretend to be upset about the breakup. You wish you had the guts to tell Sy how you feel, but you know Sy now, you know how direct he can be. If he wanted more, wanted to date you for real, you are sure he would tell you. Despite trying desperately to hide it, you couldn’t have kept how you feel from him all these weeks. He must know.

It's not just that you feel more comfortable around Sy now, it’s also that you appreciate him being around. He was amazing while you were looking for a new job. He proofread your resume, suggested some tips for cover letters, and gave you the confidence to apply for jobs you never would have thought you’d be qualified for. He even ran you through interview questions. He didn’t have to do that. You would miss his friendship more than anything. Even if you never made the step from friends to something more, you would be happy just having him in your life.

When the day comes for your final date, you are heartbroken. You and Sy had already sorted out the plan for Friday night; he will take you out, snap some more pics for social media, then finalise the story for your breakup. But it doesn’t work out that way. Sy calls you early Friday morning on his way to work.

“Hey Sweet Pea,” Sy says. You can tell something is off by the tone of his voice.

“You ok Sy?”

“Yeah, Baby. I wanted to wish you luck with your interview.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little gooey inside that he remembered. He’s remembered every interview you’ve had, but he usually just sends you a text. “Thanks, Sy.”

“I know you’ll do great, Sweet Pea.” Sy is quiet for a bit, and when he does talk, he sounds a little hesitant, he hasn’t been like this since that night you watched Princess Bride together. “I was thinkin’ maybe I could come to your place tonight, instead of goin’ out.”

“Yeah, sure.” You smile even as you feel a lump form in your throat. You and Sy really are homebodies, you could be so good together if only he liked you as more than a friend. “That’d be nice.”

“Good,” Sy says, but his voice sounds rougher than usual. “That’s good. I’ll see you tonight then, Sugar.”

“You sure you’re ok, Sy?”

“Yeah, Baby. I… never mind, I’m good. Lookin’ forward to seein’ you that’s all.”

“Me too,” you say, smiling for real despite the tears welling in your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to get through the night without crying.

“Yeah?” Sy asks. It’s odd that he’d need that reassurance.

“Yeah, of course.”

“That’s good. I’ll get goin’ then. See ya later and good luck.”

You hang up, still a little worried about Sy, he doesn’t seem himself. You almost call him back, but you think maybe something is going on that he doesn’t want to share with you. You aren’t his girlfriend, he’s under no obligation to tell you anything that’s happening in his personal life. The thought that he’s worried about something and not telling you does sting though. You may not be dating, but you had thought the two of you were closer now. You had hoped he at least saw you as a friend. You try and push Sy out of your mind, but he just won’t budge. You can’t talk to him now anyway, he will be at work soon and you have no time to dwell on it, you have another interview to get ready for.

That afternoon you can barely sit still. You try a million things to keep calm. You watch tv, read a book, go for a walk, you even pick up the knitting project you had put away in frustration a few weeks ago. Nothing works. You pour a glass of wine and that helps a little, but your leg still bounces with impatience and your mind won’t slow down.

This is it; this will be the last time you two have an excuse to be together. After this, Sy won’t call you, he won’t come over, he won’t hold you and kiss your cheek. Tears come unbidden and without warning, you aren’t even crying really, they just roll down your cheeks. You can’t be crying when Sy arrives, he can’t see you like this. You wash your face and with it comes your make up. You think about reapplying, but what’s the point? You don’t need to impress Sy anymore. You don’t even bother changing out of the skirt and shirt you wore to your interview.

When Sy finally arrives, you take a deep breath and square your shoulders, you can deal with this. You’ll take the heartache and cry when he’s gone, maybe even finish that bottle of wine. Readying your smile, you open the door.

“Hey Sy,” you say in a voice that’s much stronger than you thought it would be.

Sy looks at you strangely, his eyes are dark, his brows are drawn low, and his breath is heavy. Something is wrong, you knew it.

“Sy, what…”

Walking through the door without dropping his gaze, he advances on you, closing the door without looking. You take a step back, why is he looking at you like that?

“Sy are you…”

With a speed you aren’t ready for, you find yourself pressed against Sy, one arm holds you firmly around your waist, the other cups your neck. You gasp, he hasn’t held you like this since that first night.

“Shh,” Sy says, his voice is gravelly, hoarse, like he’s out of breath. “I need to say somethin’, Baby. I need to know…” His eyes roam your face, taking in everything, like he’s searching for answers while you stare at him speechless and confused. “Ah fuck it.”

Sy’s lips meet yours with a crushing force. For a moment you’re too stunned to move. Your mind is reeling. This can’t be real, he’s kissing you like he wants to kiss you. Tentatively, you put your hands on his shoulders, God, they’re so firm, and slide them up to his neck. He moans softly, his hips press against you, and when you kiss him back, you begin to believe this is really happening.

But it’s over too quickly, Sy pulls back and looks ashamed. The tears you held back threaten to flow again. You knew it was too good to be true, Sy made a mistake is all.

“I shouldnta done that. It ain’t fair, I know…” Sy says as he lets you go. He looks at you with hopelessness in his eyes and sighs. “I know we don’t feel the same way about each other.”

“Sy,” you whisper because your voice won’t come out any louder. You feel like you’re drowning, like you can’t get enough air to fill your lungs, your breath is too shallow.

“Fuck,” Sy says, putting an arm out to you, then pulling back quickly. “Look, that never happened, ok? I’m sorry I did that.” He shakes his head and you reach for him, but he steps back. “I’ll just go, ok?”

“You don’t have to,” you say softly. Fuck, this was going worse than you thought it would. “We’ll forget that happened.”

“Baby, I can’t,” Sy says. “I can’t, I…” His jaw tightens and he looks down the hall.

“We don’t have to kiss.” Summoning every bit of your courage, you put your hand to his bearded cheek and turn his face back to yours. “We can just be friends.”

“I can’t...” Sy’s face looks like he’s in pain. You wish you knew how to help him. His hand covers yours and he turns his head and kisses your palm with such tenderness it takes your breath away. Then he lowers your joined hands and sighs. “It ain’t enough for me.”

What’s not enough? Wait, does he? And he thinks you don’t? How could he be so blind? How could you both be so blind?

“I want more,” Sy says. He puts on a fake smile, and you feel sick in the stomach. You need to tell him, you need to or he’ll walk out that door thinking you don’t feel the same way he does. “I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s ok…”

You wrap your arms around Sy’s neck and kiss him firmly. You pull back and see the confused look on his face. Smiling, you kiss him again, softer this time and when you pull again, Sy is smiling too.

“I want more too, Sy.”

“You do?” Sy chuffs, expelling his breath with a chuckle. He leans his head against yours, foreheads and noses touching. “Ya coulda fooled me. You shut me down at every turn.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It don’t matter now,” Sy says. His hand goes to your neck and his thumb traces your jaw. “I wanna kiss ya some more.”

You close your eyes, and you feel Sy’s soft lips on yours. His mouth is open and you part yours too, matching his kisses with your own. His tongue teases your lips, and you open wider for him. He moans as your tongue meets his with a playful flick and he hold you tighter.

Sy overtakes your senses, all you hear are his moans and the sounds of your kisses, all you can feel is his lips and his wandering hands.

“You smell really good,” you murmur.

“Fuck, baby, you smell amazing,” Sy nuzzles into your neck, his beard scratching at your skin as he breaths deeply. “Christ,” he groans, before he lays big, wet kisses on you, sucking on you, his teeth nipping softly. Your hands tighten around his brawny arms before you slip them under his shirt.

Sy steps back, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off before dropping it to the floor. Your eyes widen as his wide chest is revealed, and you close the distance between you. You look at him while you run your hands over his taut belly, your fingers tracing the soft outline of his muscles. Leaning in you kiss him gently, the soft brown hair on his chest tickles your lips, and you smile as his fingers slip into your hair.

Then Sy takes your hand, “C’mon,” he says. “Unless ya wanna keep makin’ out in the hallway.” Shaking your head, you giggle a little and he leads you to the couch.

Biting your lip and deciding to continue being a little bold, you pull him in a different direction. “My bedroom is this way,” you whisper shyly.

Sy’s eyes widen a moment, then he makes a noise in the back of his throat, and he grins. “Lead the way,” he says.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take Sy to your room. You don’t know what to do when you get there so you stand awkwardly looking at your feet. Sy sits on the edge of the bed to take his boots off, and you feel his eyes on you.

“Come ‘ere, Sweet Pea,” he says and you can hear the eagerness in his voice. It makes you smile, and you glance at him. You can’t believe it he’s here, on your bed, shirtless, beckoning you and grinning as you take the few steps to him.

Sy puts his hands on your hips and brings you between his legs. He hums while he runs his hands over your sides, feeling your every curve. He doesn’t stop smiling. You nibble on your bottom lip as he looks up at you and your eyes meet.

“You’re nervous,” he observes. You remember how he said the same thing the first night you kissed, and you nod. “You’re ok, Baby, I’ve got you. We’re gonna do as little or as much as you want, ok?”

“What do you want, Sy?”

“Me?” he chuckles. “Me, I could just kiss ya forever.” He lifts your shirt just a little, revealing the tiniest bit of your belly and he kisses you there. “I wanna kiss ya everywhere.”

Sy lifts your shirt higher, watching your eyes, waiting for you to stop him. But you don’t, you lift your arms above your head, giving him your silent consent to take your shirt off. You reach behind your back and undo your bra as Sy trails his kisses higher, his beard a pleasing juxtaposition to his soft lips. He grins as your bra falls away and his hands cover your breasts, his fingers gently kneading as his lips enclose your tightened bud. Your head lulls as you let a weak moan escape your lips. Sy looks at you as he swaps sides, sucking softly, his eyes are dark, lust filled as his arms wrap around you.

With a playful growl, Sy spins you around and throws you on your bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, crawling up your body with the look of a predator who found wounded prey. His mouth is on your breasts again, climbing higher until his hot breath is on your ear. His hands move over your body, touching you everywhere he can, squeezing, caressing, his short nails gently scraping down your bare thighs.

Your body surges, tingling with excitement as your fingers dig into his back. Sy grinds against you and you feel the rigid length of his cock straining against his pants as his fingers dance over the skin just above your skirt.

Sy’s kisses move down your body, over your breast, over your belly, his teeth scrape over your hip bone. You watch him over your heaving chest and his eyes meet yours as he raises your skirt up your thighs. He kisses your thighs, his beard scratching you softly while his warm tongue laps at your skin. You start to tremble, nerves and anticipation combining to release a rush of adrenaline, and your panting increases.

“Will ya open your legs for me, Baby?” Sy asks, his gravelly voice only heightens your lust.

Reminding yourself to breathe, you tentatively bend your knees and open your legs. Sy’s hands feel rough as they slide down the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His thumbs trace the edges of your panties as your legs hit the mattress. Your body is throbbing, burning with need as Sy curses under his breath.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, roughly.

“I want you, Sy,” you murmur.

“Not good enough, Sweet Pea.” Sy’s chest is heaving almost as fast as yours. “Tell me how you want me, where you want me.”

Swallowing hard, you search for the courage you had earlier. “I… I want your mouth on me,” you stammer.

Sy smirks, but its not mocking, its shameless in his desire, dirty even, and so damn hot. “Tell me where.” You can’t say the words, you try, but you can’t. “Show me then,” he urges as he takes your hand and puts it behind his head. His eyes are hooded, dark, trapping your gaze, as you guide him towards your throbbing core. At the last moment he closes his eyes, and you feel the heat of his mouth on your mound through the thin cotton of your panties.

You both groan and your head falls back onto the mattress. Already wet and needy, your core tightens as it’s emptiness has become unbearable. Sy’s arms wrap around your thighs as he presses his tongue against your panties, and you feel them getting wetter as they stick to your lips and folds. Then he sucks on them pulling you and your panties into his mouth and your back arches as your muscles begin to tighten and shake.

It feels so good, but you want more, need more. “Take them off,” you tell Sy, the urgency in your voice makes his eyes flash with hunger and he instantly grips your panties in his hand, roughly pulling them down your legs. He pushes your thighs apart again then stops, his gaze firmly on your wide-open pussy.

In a moment of panic, you try and close your legs, but his hands hold you firmly open. He growls, his voice is guttural, coming from a place deep within him. Then you feel him, his tongue is rough against your engorged skin, lips soft as he sucks, his beard while coarse, feels surprisingly good, its texture only heightening the overwhelming sensations.

You lean on your elbows to see him, your bunched up skirt blocks your view. His eyes are on you, and you gasp as you see the erotic display. His mouth is covering you, his bearded cheeks hollowing as he works his mouth. He hums and you gasp, you’re so close, you nod frantically at him, silently begging him not to stop. His hand reaches for yours and you lace your fingers between his as you sink to the bed again.

Muscles tightening, core quivering, you feel waves of heat start to wash over your climax overtakes you. You cry out his name over and over as your hips roll, grinding against him, desperate and needy. As your orgasm recedes, Sy doesn’t stop, he groans as he draws it out for as long as he can, until you have to push him away.

“Fuck,” you barely whisper, you’re too breathless.

Sy grins smugly. “Good, huh?”

Any other time, any other man, you’d want to smack that smile off his face, but after how he made you feel, you figure he deserves to be a little proud. You nod stupidly, still too euphoric to speak.

Sy pulls your skirt off then lays behind you, rolling you on your side and lifting your leg over his. Sliding his cock over your wet folds he growls in your ear, “I want you bad, Baby. You want me too?”

“Yes,” you mumble. The feeling of the silky head of his cock against your sensitive skin already starts your climb to another peak.

Taking your hand Sy guides you to his cock, you feel him shudder as you touch him. “Put me inside you.”

You moan at his words, but you waste no time and take him into your aching core. You both sigh with relief as he fills you, your soft walls yield to him, holding him tight. He feels so good, he fits so well, you almost don’t want him to move. He closes your legs, and you hear his ragged breath in your ear as he puts his arm over you. He puts his hand on your cheek, turning your face to his.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Sy says, almost to himself and then his lips are on yours. His kiss is firm, his tongue demanding entry immediately and you don’t deny him. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, reminding you of the pleasure he gave you before he took for himself. He moves, lazily retreating before pushing in with force. He builds slowly, consistently, he groans and grunts into your mouth until he has to pull away, panting, but his eyes stay on your face.

Your body starts to tighten, the pressure builds inside you, and you rock your hips, meeting his every thrust with your own. Gripping the sheets in one hand and Sy’s forearm in the other, you start to moan as you feel yourself pulse around his cock.

Sy jaw is tight as he takes heavy breaths through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna come aintcha?” he puffs out.

“Yeah,” you nod, barely making the word come out as a moan overtakes you and your body shakes with white hot ripples of pleasure. Just before your eyes close you see Sy grin.

“Fuck yeah,” Sy growls, fucking you through your orgasm, harder and faster than before.

As your orgasm fades, you feel Sy’s lips on your back and shoulders as he kisses you down from your high. His rhythm has slowed to a languid speed, long and almost gentle.

“God damn, baby,” Sy mumbles into your mouth between kisses. “Why didn’t we do this sooner? You’re fuckin’ amazin’. You feel so God damn good.”

“I don’t know.” You chuckle faintly. You can’t help it, you feel so blissful.

Sy rolls you on your back and lays over you, his body hovering above you and he rests his weight on one hand while he slides his cock over you. His eyes close as he enters you, humming deeply, his lip curling into a snarl.

“Fuck your pussy is so fuckin’ warm.”

Sy slips his hand under your head and draws you close. You wrap your arms under his, holding onto his thick, corded shoulders and lean into his neck. He doesn’t build up this time, he fucks you hard straight away, your bodies smacking against each other with each thrust.

Sy moves so his head rests on yours. “I wanna look atcha,” he pants. His breathing gets harder, sweat breaks on his forehead. He tries to wipe it off, but you don’t let him, you don’t want to let him go. His movements quicken and then become erratic. “Fuck baby, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah.” You hold him tighter, and he pushes his head against you so hard it almost hurts. “I want you to.”

“Fuck,” Sy groans. He kisses you, he doesn’t move his lips, he just hold them against yours as he throat rumbles. You feel him thicken inside you and he holds himself deep within you, until his orgasm wanes.

Chuckling throatily Sy kisses the top of your head. “I can’t believe we almost didn’t do this,” he says. “I can’t believe I almost letcha go.”

“But you didn’t,” you say smiling back at him. “And now, we’re together. For real now, right?” you ask.

“Baby, it was always real for me.”

Not me having never seen or heard any of this valuable information 😂😂😂😂 I fucking love Tumblr 😂😂 okay but where do y'all find this information?!? Somebody tell me please

So I was reading through some old Lipstick Ally threads regarding Henry and someone was recounting an old story from a hook up with Henry from years ago and apparently he's noisy in the sheets, moans a lot, he's generally very good and described as a "giver", and apparently big, thick and uncut. He likes to ‘experiment’ in sex. He likes to lead and is dominant but in a gentle way. He likes it ‘gentle’ rough. Girl, I need several moments, I don't think I'm going to get anything done today!

Oh god. I need a moment.

I read something like that long ago in an old message board. Someone said that he is REALLY good in oral and gets off from having a woman squirm and make her come hard. And yes it was also mentioned that he is dominant and kinda rough.

I KNEW my theory of him based on all the Tudors sex scenes is correct and that he is HELLA noisy. Fuck yes, that’s the biggest turn on for me.

And gentle rough basically means that good possessive sex when he bottoms out inside you and grinds you.

💦💦💦💦

Oof daddy...

Needle & Sword

Summary: It’s always been the Seamtress and her cat. That is until Geralt, and his faithful mare Roach, walk through the village one Summer’s day on the edge of Autumn. Which is mightier, the Needle or the Sword?

Pairing: Geralt x OFC Márta (@wolvesandhoundshowltogether ) (2nd Person POV descriptions are, I hope, left vague enough that it could be read as reader despite the name use)

Words: ~7K

Warnings: Mild pining, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, passing references and descriptions of wounds and battles, a dick scar (yup!), references to prey/predator vibes, Geralt being a little bit of switch maybe? And copious amounts of eye contact. Also a cat being a cat.

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted anything I know! I kind of lost my motivation to write for a while with work stress and life stress. On top of that, this was just not flowing right for ages and then when I did get inspo, I was too tired from moving house! This was originally a birthday present for the lovely Márta, (so it’s uh been over a year since I had this idea 😬) So fingers crossed it’s actually good because I cannot stare at it any longer… Enjoy!

All pictures taken from either googling or from the Canva database where the header image was made by me!

Masterlist

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The dawning sun shone weakly through the soft clouds, the warmth just noticeable on your skin. Birds sung in the distant treetops and a cockerel crowed gently as you approached the village. The smell of autumn was faint in the air, the edge of a crisp, slightly cooler breeze fluttering around your ankles. You walked down the gentle slope through the centre, narrowly avoiding a deep divot in the soft mud path that directed your journey. You knew there would be a couple more weeks before the weather turned so didn’t hurry to the marketplace just yet. Instead, you beckoned to the white and ginger feline walking alongside you. Shuffling your basket firmly into the crook of your arm, you tapped your shoulder and up Füge went, settling around your neck to stare at passers by, few though they were at this hour.

A few moments later, you finally stepped into the nearby inn, pushing the loud rickety door open with a grimace. You greeted the innkeeper with a smile and a wave as she spoke to a weary traveller. Not wanting to disturb, you settled near the low fire quietly, rubbing your arms to ward off the slight chill. Füge jumped off your shoulder into your lap to be closer to the fire, curling up into a shape reminiscent of a pastry you were hoping to buy later.

For a moment you stared into the crackling flames, lost in thoughts of your preparations for autumn. You’d just started to think about the darning waiting for you at home when you were interrupted from your thoughts by a deep voice that rumbled through your chest like distant thunder.

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up to see a broad man with snow-white hair, like he’d just stepped out of the depths of a winter storm. His eyes on the other hand were a honey tone that spoke of those hours of summer evenings spent in the wheat fields beyond the village. His clothing was a deep midnight black and a little torn in places but neat darns threaded through the clearly well-looked after outfit. His shirt pulled tight around his biceps as his hand clasped the back of the chair and if you thought too hard about the leather trousers hiding in the shadow behind the seat you might just throw yourself into the fire. You cleared your throat, gesturing him into the seat.

”Help yourself. I’m-” You held one hand out to the stranger while the other pet Füge as she purred.

“Oh I know who you are, Seamstress.” He replied easily, “Your cat is hard to miss.”

“She’s a personality that’s for sure!” You chuckled, scratching under the kitty’s chin.

“Geralt of Rivia.” He continued, extending his hand to meet yours. His hand was warm, his grip firm as he regarded you with interest. You swallowed.

“Pleasure to meet the famous White Wolf in person.” You added and smiled after a moment, letting go and turning to the basket by your feet. You pulled out your latest piece of work, quietly threading a crimson thread through a cornflower blue doublet, hoping to distract yourself from your new fireside companion.

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You’d sat in friendly silence for an hour or so while you worked in the empty inn. Geralt had even taken out one of his swords to polish it and it had taken an inhuman amount of focus to ignore the vision of the silver sword balanced across his thighs for as long as you had. But then one fateful moment he leant forward and the fire highlighted the raft of dark chest hair that disappeared past those tiny buttons and…

“Sweet Melitele!” You broke the silence with a quiet curse, sucking your finger to ease the pricking wound and the embarrassment you felt.

Geralt looked up from his task and grunted his condolences for the pain, before returning to his sword. You internally chided yourself for making such a simple mistake. But resolutely focused back on your work, you barely noticed Geralt leave until he returned a short while later, bringing the smell of baked goods with him. You looked up to find him holding out a crescent-shaped pastry. Your stomach flipped a little at the sight, just out of hunger, nothing else of course.

“Mm?” You couldn’t trust yourself to form words just yet.

“Ida told me it was your birthday.” He replied with a non-commital grunt.

Your head snapped to the side to look over at Ida who was nonchalantly wiping down the counter, trying not to catch your eye, a knowing smile hovering at her mouth. You turned back to Geralt, a similar grunt echoing his.

Meanwhile Geralt returned to his place by the fire, gently lifting off Füge who had stolen his seat in the intervening time. Your heart definitely did not skip a beat at his gentle grip on the mischievous feline.

“Well you didn’t have to.” You groused, clearing your throat, but took the package carefully from his hand. “At least share this with me. No arguments. It’s my birthday after all.” You smirked, pulling the pastry in half and offering the other half to him. Silence fell again as you both ate the treat, savouring the taste of the buttery pastry on your tongue. You glanced over at the mysterious witcher to find Geralt wrapping a new leather band around the hilt of his sword, concentration etched into his features as the muscles twitched in his bare forearms. When did he roll up his sleeves!?

He started to untuck his shirt, showing a tantalising glimpse of muscles and some gnarled scars across his abdomen, when he paused. He let his shirt go and turned to rummage in the saddle bags by his feet, tipping out shirts and wrapped bundles in the process. You stared for a moment too long, the image of muscles rippling against the taut black material seared into your mind; a question bubbling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Did you dye all your shirts Geralt? I’ve never seen material so black!”

“No.” Geralt busied himself with his dagger this time, wiping crusty black gunk off the blade with the hem of his now untucked shirt. “Monster Blood.”

“Oh? What monster?” You asked, a little distracted by the continued appearance of skin.

“Many.” His tone was suddenly cold and gruff. “Do not think that I’ll kill them for you to make you some dye Seamstress.”

“No, no. I’d never ask you for such a thing sir.” You hurried to reassure him, a cold chill descending between you, despite the fire.

He simply grunted, continuing to clean his knife. On an impulse, you leant across to capture his hand in yours and still his blade.

“I’ve heard the tales, I know you only kill when necessary.” You squeezed his hand. “Trust that I will not add to that burden.”

He looked up at your touch and any other thoughts you might have had, fell away like autumn leaves. The burnt amber of his eyes bored into yours for a moment longer and you moved closer, catching the scent of cloves and hay before the door to the inn burst open.

You both leapt back in haste. Geralt’s stern features were already focused on the door, automatically flipping the dagger in his hand, ready for anything. You meanwhile, had dropped your sewing onto the floor in surprise and now stood hurriedly, stuffing things in your basket. The raucous noise of people coming into the inn alerting you to the time that had passed in his company.

“Come find me later.” You blurted out, finally gathering up your basket, before clicking your tongue for Füge to follow you. Geralt watched you and the orange bottlebrush tail leave and turned back to the fire with a sigh, picking up his sword to resume cleaning it.

On the other side of the door, out of sight of the morning crowd, you leant against a nearby wall. A shaky breath wheezed from your lungs and your skin tingled where his hands had touched yours. You startled when Füge jumped up, her soft cheek rubbing against yours as she curled around your shoulders with a quiet chirp. You reached up to absentmindedly scratch at her ear.

“Well I’m awake now, that’s for sure. Let’s get to the market.”

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You stood, hands on your hips as you surveyed the small set up in the grass at your feet on the bustling village green. It would do for now but you really could do with a little table. Füge sat in the basket at your side, leisurely licking her paw as she regarded the passers by with the kind of superiority only a cat could possess.

Examples of little swatches of repairs and darns were spread across the russet coloured cloth from the moth eaten, to snags and rips, there was little you couldn’t repair or embellish. You’d even managed to lovingly restore a deep blue horse saddle blanket that had been discarded from a Temerian patrol near your small cottage. You smiled at the tiny dandelions you’d painstakingly sewn around the edge to cover the temerian symbols, it was one of your favourite projects, a forgotten flower for a forgotten garment. You sat down in the grass, the sun lightly warming your skin and set about unpicking the neck of the doublet, repairing the terrible job you’d done this morning in his company.

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After finishing his sword repairs, Geralt had journeyed out to the stables to check on Roach, spending an hour or two washing and brushing the faithful mare until she was almost dozing off in his arms. He laid the clean but almost threadbare horse blanket over the door of the stall as he left, hoping it would be dry enough by the end of the day to saddle Roach back up again.

The sun barely at its peak, Geralt found himself at a loss. He’d not had so much free time in a village for a while. No-one here seemed to mind his presence and simply carried on as if he was any other traveller passing through.

He passed by the bakery on his left, nodding lightly, awkwardly, as the baker waved at the witcher. He’d only meant to stop to gather some basic bread to restore his pack, but they’d been so kind, pressing a few other treats into his hands at the ungodly hour he’d arrived in the village. He was only saved further awkward refusals by spotting the inn owner unlocking the front door and ducked out of the quaint building and hurried across the path to greet her and buy board. A few hours rest was all he had needed and he'd just come back down to inquire with Ida about Witcher contracts when you’d arrived.

You hadn’t seemed like a distant traveller but it was clear you didn’t stay near the village from the large basket on your arm and the well-worn boots on your feet. When Ida had caught Geralt staring, she’d cleared her throat and he turned back a little embarrassed. Ida had chuckled then and explained that you and her were friends and that you repaired the bedding for the inn on a regular basis. It was your birthday today he had learned and when you’d not recoiled in horror but instead smiled at him, he’d been seized with the urge to bring you a gift. Jaskier had always told him that a gift was rarely unwelcome and a perfect way to ingratiate yourself. He had of course heard the grumbling of your stomach and the bakery was only too kind as to oblige with your favourite pastry.

Geralt shook his head to clear his mind of this morning, hearing the noise of market stalls now in full swing before the village green came into view around the corner. He saw you almost instantly. The way your deep red skirt lay out around you in the grass and the easy way you conversed with others at nearby stalls made something in his chest expand a little. Geralt turned away and looked towards the sun for a moment until the feeling passed.

But no matter the reluctance, his feet seemed to follow a path directly to you within moments. He almost made to turn away but you caught sight of his swords in the sunshine out of the corner of your eye and called to him.

“Hello Wolf. Taking in the sights?” You smiled, hand shading your eyes as you looked up at him.

“Something like that.” He murmured, before clearing his throat. “Any notices posted in the village?”

“Maybe. I’ve not checked myself today but they’re usually outside the alderman’s house.”

“Thanks.” Geralt replied, a little absentmindedly as your refurbished blanket caught his eye.

“You like it?” You held it up for a closer look and he nodded, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

“I have a friend who’d find it amusing to find this particular flower on my horse.”

Your heart skipped a very cliche beat as his amused countenance met yours.

“Well then you must take it. It would not be kind to prevent such a wonderful smile from lighting up your friend’s face too.” You felt your cheeks heat as the compliment left your mouth.

“I’m afraid it is too fine of a garment for Witcher’s work. Beautiful though it is.” He bowed his head a little, though his eyes remained on yours for a moment. “Maybe another time.”

Before you could gather up the words to protest, he was gone into the crowds, his sword glinting briefly in the heavy sun. You sighed, flopping back onto the grass. Today was going to be a long day if the disappointment curdling in your stomach was anything to go by.

⚔️🗡⚔️🗡

Geralt moved away at pace, finger and thumb rubbing nervously together as he focused on the feel of his sword calluses smoothing over one another. He would be gone soon and he could put even more distance between himself and you, the woman that made his chest feel tight and heart thud like it did before he took one of the many potions in the holster strapped to his thigh.

He paused as the winding path gave way to a few more houses, one of which had boards nailed to the fence as a rudimentary notice board. There were a few dull beige scraps of paper fixed to the board, curling and faded. Geralt adjusted his swords and stepped aside the soft mud of drying cart tracks to the other side of the path and approached the house.

On closer inspection the notes were mostly minor grievances and lost items, the ink running down the pages or turned dull grey from exposure to the sun. Geralt almost turned away before spotting a neatly scrawled but muddy note in spiky black ink jammed in between the boards. Geralt pulled the dirty piece of parchment from the town board and skimmed the contents. A drowner. Simple enough. He stepped past the board and up the short path to the house beyond. Geralt knocked firmly on the alderman’s door and stepped aside as the wooden door creaked open moments later.

A grizzled old man in a neat and well cared for tunic peeked out into the midday sun with a wrinkly hand shading his eyes. His eyes travelled up the broad frame of the witcher, a curt nod of acknowledgement as the man’s eyes alighted upon the dull grey of the witcher medallion around Geralt’s neck.

“Ah yes, Ida told me a Witcher was in town. Come, let's discuss the terms.”

Geralt ducked under the doorframe and followed the man into the house.

🗡⚔️🗡⚔️

The sun was setting when you finally arrived home, the golden early evening sun searing into your eyes as you gazed across the distant paddocks for a moment. Füge was happily snoozing among your purchases in the basket at your hip but perked up at the sound of the latch. She didn’t move when you put the basket down inside, only peeped at you from over the edge of the wicker, eyes getting a little wider in the fading light.

You leant down to light the fire, stretching as the warmth filled the room. Moving towards the larder, you pulled out some dried fish for the cat and mashed it into a paste with some melted fat from last night's meal. Füge hopped out the basket with a soft meow and circled around your legs as you finished up your task. You chuckled as she tried to get to her dinner with some enthusiasm only to bump into your boot as she stepped directly in your path.

“So much mischief in a little package!” You exclaimed sweetly, as you placed her food down, much to the cat’s excitement.

"If only it was this easy to tell what he wanted." You sighed, thinking of the white haired Witcher and hoping that today's contract was an easy one for the wolf.

You were just tidying away the remains when you heard a soft knock. Your heart leapt into your chest as you stepped towards the door, just knowing in your gut that it was him on the other side of the door and that he'd definitely just heard you speaking to your cat. Stopping briefly, you took a deep breath, adjusted your dress and opened the door.

“Good evening Seamstress.”

Geralt filled the doorframe, the setting sun casting a deep shadow over his face but not enough that you missed the slight smile around the edges of his mouth. You almost forgot to be embarrassed and simply stared a moment at the man. The white was almost gone from his hair at this hour, the sun's rays settling between hair strands to set his whole head on fire with bold strokes of ochre and umber. It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts into an actual sentence.

“Uh hello. Please… call me Márta. Come in dear Witcher.”

Geralt stepped into your home, ducking a little under the frame.

“If I am to call you Márta, then you must call me Geralt. I insist.”

“Can I offer you a seat by my fire then… Geralt?” You asked with a cheeky smile, warming to the man’s presence again quickly.

He nodded and shrugged the swords off his back, placing them carefully by the door and rummaging in his pack. He clearly found what he was looking for as he straightened up and turned back towards you, a leather pouch clenched in his fist.

The silence was palpable, standing a few steps away from each other it seemed as if the world had stopped for a brief moment. And then sped up all at once.

“I-“

“Thank-“

You both began to speak at the same time. Geralt sighed and you smiled, gesturing for him to go ahead.

“Thank you. Roach looks beautiful.”

“She’s a sweet girl and deserves nice things.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to.”

“But I did Geralt. You needed one and I had one. I saw the state of the last saddle blanket.” You raised your eyebrow, eyeing the leather pouch. “I won’t accept coins for it either.”

“What will you accept as payment then Seamstress?” Geralt asked softly, tucking away the coin purse. Your mind definitely went to unsavoury thoughts about the gentle beast standing in your home. Coughing lightly, you were about to quip about how seeing the pair of them happy was enough, when you saw the darns in Geralt's shirt once more.

“Let me work on your shirt.” You blurted out, your cheeks heating rapidly at your boldness.

Now it was Geralt’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I- The colour fascinates me and I want to know what it’s like to craft with.” You explained in a rush, to fill the silence. His silence was telling and you looked away, saddened that you'd managed to upset the man once more.

You saw his sturdy looking black leather boots step into your peripheral vision, rough fingers suddenly gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. You could scarcely breathe as the scent of cloves and hay washed over you once more. His eyes searched yours intently and you were sure he could hear your heart beating harshly against your ribcage.

“Very well” Geralt murmured after a moment, seemingly finding nothing amiss, leaving the ghost of his touch against your cheek and some less than innocent feelings in his wake.

Geralt turned to his pack and dug out another couple of dark shirts, both worse for wear than the one currently stretched tight across his torso.

You took the shirts from him and gasped at the unusual softness, completely different to the texture you had expected from a man who lives from inn to inn - if he’s lucky. Gesturing for Geralt to sit beside you, you took a seat closer to the firelight to see more clearly, the low sun having cast large shadows across your home. Both shirts were full of neat darns and rips, grey and deepest black shades splattered across it. One was fit for nothing better than rags or bandages, Geralt nodded at your running commentary. But the second was reparable… just. Even despite the charred rip across one shoulder.

“Uh..” You hesitated a little, “For damage this severe, you’d uhh… Need to wear it. Makes it easier to make adjustments.”

Your cheeks felt hot again and you looked down at your lap where Füge had arrived and was kneading away at your skirts. If Geralt found the request odd, he didn’t make any suggestions otherwise and you felt his weight rise from the furs beside you. Eyes elsewhere, you missed the slight smirk that appeared on his lips for a fleeting moment. When his voice filled the warm silence a moment later, you could have sworn it was deeper and richer than before.

“Of course.”

It absolutely did not make you clench your thighs together to relieve the building tension. Not at all.

You heard rustling and resolutely looked at your fingers threading through Füge’s fur, not looking at the bare expanse of skin in the corner of your eye. A moment later he was covered once more; well, as covered as someone wearing a ripped shirt could be. You placed Füge on the floor gently and stood, brushing the fur off of your lap. Stepping closer to Geralt, you cleared your throat hesitantly and reached out with slightly shaking hands.

You held the shirt hem gently in one hand, concentrating on the feel of the fabric on your skin and not on the heat radiating from the man wearing it. You felt the texture of every single thread, the slip of the monster blood and slime between the fibres and the permanence of the stains. You felt every true strike of the sword and every missed swing as you held the fabric tighter.

Your other fingers traced the charred fabric along the thick muscles of the Witcher’s shoulder and such was your focus you missed the vibration of his medallion and the sharp inhale as your skin touched his again. Geralt remained still, only the twitch of his finger against his thigh showed that you had any further effect on him.

Under your touch, the fabric began to knit itself together, the char of the burnt fibres falling away like ash to the floor between the pair of you. Buttons pulled back into the fabric, dents in the metal fastenings popped back into place with a faint ping. The fabric began to pale a little and you wobbled, a little unsteady on your feet. This was a very different sensation to the fabric dyes that felt like meadows, mud and animals that you normally encountered. Here it was dark and intense, almost living, creeping into your mind and-

Geralt’s hands grabbed your hip as you swayed, holding you upright with gentle force. His bronze tinted eyes were the last thing you saw before your own slid shut to focus on the task. The tingling started at your fingertips, working its way up your forearms and through your limbs until your whole body sang with the vibrations.

A deep exhale and you pushed with your mind, the colour spreading back out from your fingers like ink across a ledger, writing of his adventures in every splotch of colour.

Geralt had never encountered magic like this. Every hair on his body stood to attention, the magic thrumming along his skin as if he’d dipped into the coolness of a shallow pond on a summer’s day. His focus narrowed down to the vibrations of the wolf medallion nestled against his chest and tension of you clutching his shirt. Your knuckle brushed the edges of gnarled abdomen scar unbeknownst to you and Geralt almost leapt out of your grip, the electric sensation almost overwhelming. He straightened his back quickly, gritted his teeth and resolved not to move much, lest he become unsteady on his feet too.

Devoid of vision, you felt the heat of his skin through the fabric, running only slightly warmer than your average human but magic crackled underneath his skin like a second heat that felt like it could scorch your fingertips. The fire at your back felt intense, droplets of sweat rolling down between your breasts as you held on for just a moment longer. You felt the last stitches fall into place as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you and you lost your grip on him.

Barely coherent for a moment, Geralt caught you before you hit the floor. You opened your eyes to find Geralt leaning over you, his eyes as orange as the flames dancing in your periphery. The dizziness faded quickly, but the crackling, fizzing undercurrent of magic was still singing in your veins. But you’d never been tempted to act upon this residue of magic, not until this unusual man had come into your life.

You reached out to feel the dark grey stubble, rough against your fingertips. The grounding sensation brought you back to your senses a little more even as his hand wrapped around yours, thumb rubbing across your palm as he gently pushed your hand away.

He looked hauntingly beautiful like this, strands of light hair casting shadows across his chiselled face. His pupils were widened with curiosity and something else that you couldn’t quite place until you shifted your leg, a secret smile gracing your lips for a moment.

“If you are not so interested dear Witcher, then by all means leave with my well wishes.” You paused for a moment, looking down between the pair of you. “But something pressed against my thigh would suggest otherwise.”

Geralt growled at the jest, teeth flashing in the cosy darkness of your home. It should have at least made you second guess yourself but the frisson of magic still strong within you had other thoughts. Instead you grinned, grabbing the wolf medallion dangling over you to tug the man down for a kiss.

Geralt’s lips were remarkably soft for the weather his body had to endure and his touch so gentle despite the hardness of his life that you’d felt deep in the fibres of his shirt. Your head spun with the languid kisses he served as his hard body pressed you into the stone floor, all pretence forgotten. Moments passed and you broke for breath, tilting your head back, lungs heaving. The beast of a man took this as an invitation of submission, of need, and grazed his teeth along the slender planes of your throat before biting down at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You gasped, the bright sensation of pain battling for dominance with the lust and magic coursing through you.

His strength was plain in the way he easily rolled you above him moments later, hands moving to your hips to hold you against him tightly. He rocked his pelvis upwards, making you feel every inch of his interest. It must have shown on your face as a raised eyebrow and a gentle sneer quickly followed, exposing the points of his teeth again in a way that ripped the last vestige of patience from your grasp.

You scrabbled at his shirt, pushing it away from his skin and replacing it with your hands for a moment. Your fingertips caressed the scars and gouges, feeling the stitches and repairs of the surface of his skin, knowing that each one must have caused him pain and cost him more with every potion he consumed. The taut muscles layered underneath seemed strong but exposed as they vibrated underneath your touch. Seized by the need to feel him further, you bent your head to place your lips along a pink scar with translucent grey flecks that arrowed downwards, disappearing below the buttons of those leather trousers.

As your kisses reached the waistline where the scar was removed from your sight, his hand seized the nape of your neck, pulling you up into a sudden, almost violent kiss. Your lips clashed with his teeth in a meeting of passion as he sat up, lips still glued to yours as you remained in his lap, legs wrapping around his back.

You tugged at the hem of his shirt again, it getting stuck between the pair of you to some quiet chuckles against your lips. Your heart melted then, to hear joy out of this worn down man’s throat and you struggled harder but with laughter, trying your best to divest him of his clothes, to make him feel that joy again and again.

Eventually you succeeded, the newly mended material seeming to crackle a little as you eased it over his head. Geralt returned the favour quickly, his large hands making short work of your dress, the fabric falling away from your shoulders with only a whisper and only a couple of ripped stitches.

Quickly, his mouth followed the path of his hands, seeking more desperate contact, before coming to rest over a nipple, breath ghosting on the peak. You heard him swear under his breath as it pebbled under his attention before all sense of words were lost and your thoughts melted into the sensation of his lips against your sensitive flesh.

Your hips moved of their own accord, seeking the delicious friction of Geralt’s hardness against the dewy wetness that had long since formed between your thighs. You were so close to succeeding too, lips moving across his bare skin, his scars and his lips in quick succession. Your hands delved between you both to undo one of the last barriers, the laces of his trousers, when Geralt changed his mind.

His hand moved to hold you tighter against him with the strength of a Witcher, leaving no room for your hips to continue their dance and trapping your hands in an illicit crush. You could only meekly wiggle your fingers against the leather. He growled deeply against your bare shoulder then and you felt like prey and predator all at once. Your heart raced like a rabbit caught in a hunt but the urge to bite and claim in return came swiftly behind it until all you could think was need need need.

Want.

But what Geralt wanted, he got. His lips resumed their painstaking pace across the bare skin of your chest, being sure to leave the telltale indents of pleasure his teeth make along the way. All you could do was take the blossoming heat as it washed over you. Only when your chest was painted in a few marks and you were nothing but a puddle of want, was he satisfied. But he merely loosened his grip to seat you on the bench you’d vacated a lifetime ago.

You felt the soft furs against your bare skin and warm hands pushing your thighs back, the fire heating your damp petals enough to make you squirm against the hold. And for a moment he held you there exposed to his gaze, to the warmth. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of his feverish tongue pressing between your folds suddenly, the stubble of his chin rubbing against sensitive flesh and tiny pinpricks of his teeth occasionally making their presence known against your tingling skin.

As with everything you’d seen from this friendly but stoic witcher so far, Geralt took on the task with clear intent and purpose. He seemed to know your every thought before it even struck you. Every stroke of his tongue was intentional, reading the pulse of your core and the scent of your arousal as the markers of your steady, inevitable path to bliss. You were no stranger to pleasure but this? This was like every moment of lustful magic you’d ever experienced, rolled into one.

You shuddered as he stopped for breath, the warm air of his laboured breath gusting over your glistening pussy. But the air that he languidly shared with your body he stole from your lungs once more as he dove back down and resumed his charge of your undoing. A hand, tanned darker by the sun and hard labour, reached up to grasp at your breast. The other stroked deftly at your entrance with the gentleness of a man that knows how to calm even the most skittish of beasts. Your back arched as his strong fingers beckoned you from within your walls.

"F- fuuuck!"

Rolling with sensation, your hands delved in among the silver threads of the Witcher’s head. This particularly strong wave of pleasure rewarded him with a sharp tug to his hair. He growled into the depths of your pussy without hesitation, his eyes flicking up to capture yours for only a moment. But that was enough for you to tumble over the edge into the abyss of pleasure, mouth agape but no words able to leave.

Geralt continued to taste your pleasure as your high abated, standing once he was satisfied and unashamedly wiping his mouth and chin on the back of his hand without breaking your gaze. You shivered a little as Geralt moved from between your thighs, cooler air moving in where the bulk of the Witcher had vacated. He stood in front of the fire once more, his silhouette proving no less tempting in profile.

You bit your lip as Geralt finally divested himself of those trousers, the ones that would surely haunt your dreams from now on. His cock sprang free, deep throbbing red with a thin white scar running from the base to about half way up. As your mouth watered at the idea of your tongue running along those mysterious ridges and wondering what exactly had been there before you to cause such a scar, his calloused thumb swept across the pink head smearing the pre-come across his skin. You could hear the audible sigh of relief from where you lay, torturously close. He turned back towards you and the look in his eyes was enough to have you panting once more. Geralt’s pupils were blown so wide, only a thin golden ring remained and his veins stood out in relief against his forearms, his hand idly stroking along his length.

You slid off the bench to kneel in front of the man, hands reaching out to touch the broad man in desperation. You felt the wiry soft hair of his thighs under your fingertips as you swept over his skin to your target. Up close he was thicker than you expected and felt like soft velvet as you wrapped your hand around his length, eagerly knocking his hand away in the process. He hissed as your tongue darted out to taste a drop of the pearly liquid that proved his interest in your form and your pleasure.

The salty taste of the Witcher’s essence on your tongue made your mouth water and you eagerly settled between his thighs to investigate further. His hands grasped for you but you plunged your mouth down his length, leaving Geralt to swear this time.

“Fuck. Márta!” He all but choked out as your tongue brushed along the underside of his length.

You opened your mouth wider, hands moving to brace yourself against his thighs, bobbing your head faster along his length. Geralt’s hand reached under your chin and lightly against your throat, forcing your eyes to meet his.

You pulled your mouth away from his length to take a breath, a cheeky grin lighting your features as Geralt’s thighs trembled under your hands. You sat back on your heels, tugging the lust-drunk witcher down to your level by your grasp on his length. He crumpled to his knees in front of you, punch drunk on lust. The Witcher was helpless but to follow your lead until he hovered over you, arm braced on the floor by your shoulder. His eyes sought yours to ask that age old unspoken question.

That unreserved yes lingered on the tip of your tongue but you merely nodded as words seemed impossible. You guided him between your thighs, squeezing his length in a moment of cheeky levity. He answered with his own light smile, before brushing your cheek with his thumb.

A moan and a few choice swears left your throat as he breached that final barrier between you. Slowly but surely, you felt the true measure of the witcher with every inch he pressed closer, deeper until you were surrounded by him. Just when you thought he had bottomed out, he shifted, changing the angle of his excruciatingly slow thrust. He pulled away equally slowly and you shivered as he left you empty for a moment that felt like an age. You opened your mouth, a frown etching into your forehead, when Geralt lent forward quickly, spearing you open once more in one deep thrust.

Air left your chest in a rush, your lungs wheezing with the effort of trying to inhale against the feeling of fullness, of him taking up all the space. The sound of skin on skin was loud against the crackling of the fire as his thighs crashed into yours again, splitting your legs impossibly wider, as if he still couldn’t get close enough to you.

His chest pressed against yours, pushing you into the floor just a little harder than before. Surrounded and all consumed by the witcher, you felt the heat build slowly, spreading like syrupy, thick lines of lust along your limbs with every stroke of his length inside you.

His mouth busy leaving marks on your neck too, the dual sensations overwhelming and he fucking knew it. He stoked the embers of your fire with precision and dedication until your entire body was burning but holding you just on the edge of pleasure. You felt every unique ridge of his cock, your core clenching each time his pelvis pressed against yours but it wasn’t enough. Your kiss bruised lips spread into a secret smile that Geralt couldn’t see as you curled your wrist around in a circle, seizing an opportunity to flip the pair of you until you were on top, spread across his thighs and impaled deeply by the witcher. Magic crackled in the small space between you, Geralt's expression hardening a little, until you rocked your hips just so and it faded into an all encompassing lust. Your nails dug into the fur on his chest as you rose and rapidly sunk back down onto his punishing girth, chasing the long held back high. Geralt met you thrust for thrust, his hands gripping your hips in a way you were positive would leave muscle aches for days.

You leant forward, and mirroring Geralt’s actions from earlier; sought out the sensitive skin of the white wolf’s neck with your teeth. The growl that rolled from his chest at the sensation was almost enough to make you come for the second time that night. But not yet, you needed to see the stoic come unravelled like the poor stitching he had inspired this morning.

Geralt’s thrusts became more uncoordinated and sloppy until he ceded control to you entirely. His hands became soft and supportive then, encouraging you to take what you needed from him as you rolled your hips over and over again. You sat up to better hit that spot and locked eyes with Geralt once more. Something about the way he stared into your eyes was always going to be your undoing as, once again, you fell over the edge into pleasure, calling his name. Geralt followed shortly after, his arms pulling you close enough to kiss you earnestly and deeply as he emptied himself into your warmth.

⚔️🗡⚔️🗡

The moon was bright tonight, the light casting a surreal glow over the open fields nearby. The soft whickering to your right appeared to agree with you. You held an apple out to the horse waiting patiently in the small pasture outside your cottage.

"Here you go Roach. Sweet apples for a sweet horse."

You felt Roach’s soft lips brush against your palm as she took the fruit. Only the kindest of men would have such a gentle horse.

You wrapped the blanket around your bare shoulders a little tighter as you stroked Roach’s neck. A few moments passed, nothing but the quiet crunching of Roach to disturb the peaceful night.

“She likes you.” Geralt’s deep voice wafted out from the doorway a little while later. “But I think she’s been spoiled enough today. Come back inside.”

You laughed and turned back towards the bare chested man waiting for you. He leant just inside the door, the moonlight rippling across the planes of his muscled torso, dipping into scars you kissed only hours ago. You clenched at the mere thought.

“And I suppose you think that’s going to convince me?” You retorted, stepping towards Geralt.

“Mmm. Maybe not.” He took a step forward too, meeting you on the doorstep of the cottage. “But this might…”

No further warning was spared as he lifted you into his arms, your hands clutching at the shifting blanket. He strode back into the cottage, kicking the door shut behind him to make sure you were thoroughly convinced. He’d go all night if he had to.

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part One

Summary: An unexpected phone call from a brief fling grows into a new long distance romance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 7.8k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part One Warnings:

Implied masturbation (male), mild discussion of sex, mentions of war, mild angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

So this has been a lengthy saga. I need to thank @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for their wonderful beta reading and guidance. As always they curb my crazier ideas or encourage me to go further and without them I wouldn't have pushed myself to get this done. I also need to thank @radiantheartbeat for her brilliant and ruthless editing. I have enjoyed working with you immensely, my writing definitely needs some tidying up and I thank you for your honesty and openness and for offering to help me out. I cannot thank you enough.

This story ballooned from a small one-shot to a three (maybe four) part series. I was inspired by a non-Sy moment in the movie Sand Castle. The scene where Harper calls home before the big operation always struck a cord with me. My heart ached for him, and was a glimpse into his private life. The scene made me think, would Sy make a phone call like that? Would Sy ask someone he probably shouldn't be for a promise? Anyway, thats what lead me down this crazy path. I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 (Coming soon)

2003

4.30am Iraq

6:30pm USA

The phone rings.

Absent-mindedly, you pick up the cordless phone from the dock and put it between your ear and shoulder to keep your hands free.

“Hello?”

Picking up the wooden spoon, you stir the chicken stir-fry, that’s nearly ready, making sure nothing sticks to the pan as you give the vegetables another minute to cook through.

In your ear the line sounds strange; a digital, robotic hum buzzes in the background, like cicadas on a late summer’s day. Perhaps it’s a long distance call from a college friend, something.

A deep male voice, with a hint of a southern drawl, says your name. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s not sure he has the right number.

“Yeah,” you say, “That’s me.”

The receiver crackles, sounding as though the man must have released a held breath. There’s silence for a few beats. Then a few more; no sound except for the drone of the robot bugs. You sigh, wondering if this was a prank call or a wrong number. But that couldn’t be, this person knew your name. Maybe the call was dropped.

“Hello?” you ask irritably.

You impatiently turn off the gas and get a plate from the cupboard. You’re about to hang up, when you hear the man clear his throat.

“It’s Sy,” he says simply.

Sy? You almost drop both the stir-fry and the phone. You think fast, placing the pan on the stove and taking a seat at the small dining table in your kitchen. Gripping the phone in one hand, you quickly bring the waiting wine glass to your lips with the other, gulping down the dry Pinot Grigio and nearly finishing the glass.

“Syverson?” you ask stupidly.

Why on earth was he calling you? He should be overseas. At least that’s what he had told you two months ago.

“Are you home already?” Then you gasp, your hand covers your mouth. Oh my god. What if he was shot or injured? “Did you get hurt?”

“No… uh — I’m in Iraq.”

Images from the fall of Baghdad came unbidden to your mind. You prefer not to watch the news, but these days it is impossible to avoid. Between the 24-hour news stations, newspapers, magazines, or the homepage where you check your email, it was difficult not to absorb at least some knowledge of what was happening in the Middle East; bombings, firefights, IED attacks, and countless other presumed horrors.

It didn't explain why he was calling you though. The two of you hadn't known each other very well. You were barely even friends, having only seen each other a few times before he left for Iraq. You were undeniably attracted to him. To you, he was the total package: ruggedly good looking with his buzz-cut, chiseled jaw, blue eyes to die for, and a tall, powerful, burly physique. The fact that he was a soldier hadn’t put you off either. Your father was a retired marine, and your brother was currently serving, so you knew enough decent military men to not instantly dismiss Syverson.

“Hello?” Sy says.

Shit.

What do you say? How do you talk to him? Why was he even calling?

The one date he had taken you on was good, the make-out session on your couch at the end of the night had been even better. As far as you were concerned, the date went well and you were sure he would ask you to go on another. Over the next few weeks he had called a handful of times, but when he didn’t ask you out again, you assumed that he wasn’t interested. The last time he called was to tell you he was being deployed. He gave you no promises and you offered none in return, knowing what deployment meant, especially during wartime.

“Sorry,” you say with a short laugh, “I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

“Want me to go?” His voice became gruff and guarded, but his tone softens your demeanor.

“No, not at all. I… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Silence again.

You wrack your brain trying to think of something to say, anything to fill this awkward silence. You don’t know why he’s calling you, but you’re sure he doesn’t get to sit around making overseas calls all the time. You think back to when your father was deployed in the Gulf War, trying to remember what you would talk about. You remember telling him about school, about a new song you heard, you told him boring, everyday things.

You’ve been silent too long and you don’t want the short time he has to be wasted, so you say the first thing that pops into your head, “Hey, remember when we were talking about how I’d never seen Ghostbusters?” You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yeah?” You sit up a little straighter in your chair, he actually sounds interested.

“Well, I watched it a few weeks ago.”

“Ya did?” His voice became lighter, as though he were smiling.

“Yeah, it was on TV,” you say, smiling, “I sort of understand why you had a crush on Sigourney Weaver back in the day.”

“Hell, Sugar, you ought to see her in Alien.” Sy whistles, “She is fine.”

“I saw Alien: Resurrection,” you laugh, “She’s still looking pretty good.”

“She’s great in that, but ya gotta watch Alien. And Aliens as well. Ya can probably give Alien 3 a pass though.”

“Ok, I’ll put those on my list then.” Shit, there goes that topic. You quickly try to think of something else. “Oh my God! Have you heard they’re making an Alien versus Predator movie?”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sy says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t decide if it will be awesome or terrible.”

“It could be awesome. The Xenomorphs will fuck shit up,” Sy says confidently.

“But the Yautja had a Xenomorph skull in the ship at the end of Predator 2, so we know they hunt them.”

From there the conversation between you both simply flows.

You go back and forth, each arguing for your side and gently ribbing the other in jest. The conversation is easy, as comfortable as it had been when you went on that date.

“Yup,” Sy says in an altered tone. It’s short and cold, and noticeably different, you realise instantly that he isn’t talking to you. Your father has a similar tone.

“Give me a minute,” Sy adds in his work voice.

No, not his work voice, that’s his Captain’s voice. Your heart flutters. Christ, that’s hot. The subtle air of authority in his baritone makes your knees weaker than you care to admit.

“I gotta get going, Sugar,” Sy says.

“Yeah, of course.” There is a sinking feeling in your belly, you don’t want him to go yet.

More droning bugs. This silence is short though and not as awkward. Progress.

“I don’t know when I can call ya again,” Sy says apologetically, as if you were expecting this phone call in the first place, let alone more in the future, “I’d like to, when I can — that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure.” You giggle a little, thinking about your conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how you were or anything. Just talked your ear off about a stupid movie.”

Sy hums, “No, Sugar, it was...” you hear him take a deep breath, “it was exactly what I needed.”

You shift in your seat as a feeling of pleasant warmth radiates through you, “Well then, next time, I’ll give you a review of Freddy versus Jason.”

“Hold on, now! Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees? They made a movie ‘bout that?”

“Like I said, next time,” you deliberately tease.

Sy chuckles. It’s a short laugh, more indulgent than amused, but you’ll take it.

“I look forward to it, Sugar. Bye now.”

“Bye, Sy.”

The phone goes silent.

For a while you sit looking at the receiver in your hand with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Was he just bored? Did he try to call other people and they weren’t available? Did this mean he liked you like you had originally thought? Will you have to wait another three months before he reaches out again? Maybe he does this to all the girls, calling them while he’s away to make them feel special so that when he comes home he doesn’t have to work so hard to get with them.

Shaking your head, you admit you can’t possibly know why he called. No amount of guessing or theorising would answer that question. Finishing the wine in your glass, you pour another before finally eating your stir-fry.

It’s a little cold, but you don’t mind.

About two weeks later Sy phones again. You’re in bed, comfortably reading, thinking about letting the call go to the answering machine as you normally would this late at night, but ever since Sy’s phone call, you rarely let the machine take them.

“Hello?” you ask, feeling a little silly when you hear the hopeful note in your voice.

“Hey Sugar,” Sy says, and your mood soars.

“Sy! Oh my God! How are you? What’s been happening? It’s good to hear from you,” you gush.

Sy chuckles, and although you feel a little embarrassed by your obvious excitement, you’re pleased that he seems happy.

“I’m glad I caught ya,” Sy says, “I’ve been curious about this Freddy versus Jason thing. Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.”

“It’s just a movie, Sy,” you laugh, “It’s a good movie, but it’s no Citizen Kane.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ you tell me all about it.”

“Oh,” A warmth spreads over your cheeks at the playful way he emphasises those last few words, making them suggestive and flirtatious. You swallow hard as your words get caught in your throat and manage to rasp out, “Um, ok.”

Over the next couple of months, Sy calls you regularly, usually two or three times a month. The calls aren’t long, ten or fifteen minutes at most, but you look forward to them like a kid looks forward to Christmas. After each call you’re on a high for a day or two, replaying the conversations in your head. When that thrill wears off, you start to think about the next call you'll have with him and the excitement builds anew.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” Sy asks during the fourth or maybe fifth call.

The question seems to come from nowhere, but you’re relieved because maybe he will give you an idea of why he’s been calling you. Is this just friendship? Are you just a person to anchor him to normal life, someone to talk to so he can have a break from whatever it is he’s seeing and doing over there? Or is there the potential for more?

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Sy falls into silence and the robotic hum is back. Although you always do most of the talking, he hasn’t gone this quiet since your first call. Maybe he’s expecting you to say something else.

“Are you?” you ask with trepidation. What if he says yes?

“No, Sugar,” Sy chuffs and you feel a rush through your body as your heart pumps faster, “Now, uh, tell me more about this car you’re thinkin’ of buyin’?”

Months pass by and nothing changes. This thing between the two of you is never discussed and you’re mostly okay with it. Sure, when you think of him your stomach flips and you can’t concentrate, but you enjoy his calls, and you tell yourself that his friendship is enough.

One call seems to change everything. Sy is about to hang up when he asks you a question.

“Hey, before you go, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sure. I can try.”

There’s a beat of silence while you hold your breath.

“Will ya send me a picture of yourself?” Sy asks.

Your eyes widen.

“A picture?” You shift awkwardly on your couch, bringing your knees to your chest, “What kind of picture?” you ask with a shake in your voice.

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” Sy says lightly, “One from your birthday, maybe from a party, or weddin’, or somethin’. I'll take anythin’.”

“Oh,” You let out a giggle of relief, “Oh, I can do that. I thought you meant…” Heat burns your ears, you aren’t going to finish that sentence.

“Thought I meant what?” Sy asks before suddenly barking out a laugh, “Oh, no. No, I didn’t mean a picture like that,” He pauses and while he still sounds amused, his voice lowers, “I wouldn’t say no though.”

“Well, I will say no, to that kind of picture,” you say, still thoroughly embarrassed by your misinterpretation, and a little shocked. It’s the first time he’s really flirted with you.

“Cain’t blame a man for tryin’,” Sy jokes.

“But, I will send you a nice one, if you send me one of yourself too.”

“Deal. Now, ya got a pen handy? I’ll tell you how to get it to me.”

The next day you look through the last couple of rolls of film you developed, and check the images on your new digital camera. There is one photo you like, taken at a game of putt-putt, but it’s casual and you aren’t dressed up. It’s a candid shot, you’re laughing and half looking at the camera while lining up for your putt. You decide to send that one, along with a picture you'll take this weekend when you go out with friends.

On Monday, you place the photos in a box along with the latest edition of Rolling Stone, a book, some pretzels and trail mix, hot sauce, a foam football, and some socks that your brother said all the guys were raving about. You wonder if it is too much, if it’s crossing a line, but your brother assures you that Sy will love it.

Nearing the end of the conversation with your brother, he becomes serious, giving you the third degree, and warning you that those Special Forces guys are a different breed.

“They’re gone six to nine months of the year just for training when they're not deployed. On tour, he could be gone anywhere from six months to two years. They frequently won’t be able to tell you where they’re going. Communication is difficult, coms black outs are common. I don’t know this for sure, but they seem to move more than we did growing up.”

“Are you saying I should stay away?”

“No. I’m just giving you the facts. You have to decide if he’s worth the price you’ll have to pay. Being alone and waiting isn’t easy, you saw how hard it was on Mom.”

He’s right, you know that. But the way your hands start to shake, and the way your mouth goes dry whenever you hear the phone ring, that can’t be ignored.

“We’re just talking,” you retort. “He’s never said he wants more than that anyway.”

“You know I love you. You’re my little sister. But, if you think he’s calling you every week…”

“Sometimes every two weeks,” you correct him.

“Fine, every two weeks,” You can practically see him rolling his eyes, “If you think he’s calling you that often because he wants to be your friend, then you’re a dumbass. He’s interested in you. He’ll ask you out at some stage, you wait and see.”

The call with your brother leaves you in a strange headspace. Part of you wants more from Sy too. Well, a large part of you wants that, but your brother's warning has got you all tied up in knots. Even if Sy does want more than friendship, would you be able to deal with that? Truthfully, you don’t know.

You stare into the shipping box, feeling like it’s missing something. Other than the photos, there’s nothing tangible of you in there, and it feels too impersonal. You think a letter might be nice, you’ll make it short and keep it light, just like your phone calls.

Dear Sy,

Forgive me if I’ve overstepped by sending you some gifts. I know my brother always loves getting packages from home, so I hope you do too. He recommended the socks, and hopefully the recommendation of a Jarhead is okay with you. Haha!

I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ve really been enjoying our phone calls. I was thinking that I could keep writing to you too, if you’d like, and maybe send you some more magazines or snacks. Next time we talk you'll have to give me a few ideas.

I bought two copies of the book I sent you. I thought it might be fun to both read it so we can talk about it together. Maybe that’s silly. I don’t even know how much time you have to read. I don’t even know if you like reading, or if you do, what kind of books you like. But, I’d like to know Sy. I’d like to know those things about you.

Take care.

You sign the letter with just your name, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw it in the box, tape it shut and take it to the Post Office.

When you check the mailbox a week later, you see a small white envelope with your address handwritten in a small, narrow, but neat, script. You quickly turn it over and see that it’s from Sy.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you race to get inside your apartment. With shaky hands you unlock your door, dump your bag on the floor, and try to get comfortable on the couch. You’re too excited, your body tingles with goosebumps, and your fingers tremble.

He touched this, you think, he wrote this for me, this is his handwriting.

You carefully open the envelope, peeling back the flap slowly, watching as the glue pulls away in strings before it snaps apart. Inside is a photograph and what looks like a letter on white paper with faded blue lines.

You pull out the picture first. It’s a headshot and it’s a little blurry, but it still takes your breath away. Sy is wearing a dark brown shirt with a green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s staring into the camera. His brows are drawn together in a serious expression. He looks different to the way you remember him; his face is a little slimmer, and the beard is new. You didn’t think they were allowed to have beards.

All at once you remember the night he took you on that date, and you subconsciously draw your thighs together. Looking at his short hair, you remember how it felt, soft like velvet as you ran your hand over it when you kissed. He was so warm, his skin was almost hot to the touch as your hand had caressed his neck.

You wonder if he’ll have the beard when he comes back. You wonder what his kisses would feel like with the beard. His lips had been smooth and strong. Would his beard prick at your lips? Would it chafe at your skin like a five o’clock shadow, or will its length make it softer? Would its coarseness add a layer of sensory pleasure that you haven't felt before?

Knowing that those kinds of questions will only lead you down a path of distraction, you put the photo down, and take out the letter. You have to read it several times before it starts to sink in.

Sugar,

Sorry about the quality of the photo, I didn't have many options. I got it from one of my team, he took pictures of all of us a few months ago before we left the city. If I don’t look impressed, it’s because I wasn’t. Thought it was a stupid idea, but I’m glad I let him take it cause now I can send it to you myself instead of asking my sister to send you one. Although, if you want a better one, I can ask her.

I want to thank you for talking to me. You didn’t have to, and I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it. Talking to you has been just what I’ve needed. Remind me to tell you about the other girl who’s keeping me sane this tour, she’s a little smaller than you, much hairier, barks when she’s hungry, and answers to the name Aika.

I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been

There’s more I want to say, but I want to say it to you in person. For now, I want you to know that I look forward to speaking to you, just thinking about it makes me smile, and more than once I’ve been caught thinking of you by my guys.

I’ll call you real soon and I look forward to your photo. I’m laughing now, thinking of how cute you must have looked, all embarrassed, when you thought I was asking for a dirty picture. I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think

Thank you,

Sy

By the time Sy calls you again, you must have read his letter a hundred times and looked at his photo twice that amount. You keep both on your nightstand, committing his words and image to memory before you sleep each night, strengthening your recall whenever you think of him.

“I gotta make this quick, Sugar. I ain’t got much time, but I got your package today and had to thank you,” Sy greets you.

“Yeah? You got it? Is it ok that I sent you the other stuff? I wasn’t sure. If you don’t want any of it, you can give it away. I don’t—”

“Hell no, baby! I ain’t givin’ any of it away,” he sounds a little outraged at the suggestion, “I love everythin’ you sent me,” his voice softens and you would give anything to see his face, “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

You smile and you feel your body heat up. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, you would barely be able to look at him.

“Sy…” you murmur. “I, uh, thank you. That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it. It’s the truth.” Sy chuckled. “And you sent me two photos. And all the other things. Not gonna lie, darlin’, I feel a li’l spoiled.”

You laugh, feeling a little uncomfortable. Not because of anything Sy has said, but rather it’s your brother's advice that plays on your mind. You change the subject, first asking him about the book and if he wants to do a read-along. He does. Then you ask if he wants you to send more packages. He does. However, it takes a while for him to admit it, he doesn’t want you to go to any trouble.

“I should be the one buyin’ you things, and givin’ you surprises,” There’s a hint of flippancy in his tone, but not much, “Takin’ you out somewhere nice to eat.”

Oh. Maybe your brother was right.

You laugh it off, “It’s 2003, Sy, women can pay for themselves.”

“I’m serious, Sugar. No woman of mine would be buyin’ me dinner.”

Woman of mine? Did he even realise what he just said? Or was he just speaking in a general sense?

“Well, I’m not trying to pay for dinner. I just want to send you some more magazines and socks.”

“You’re a sweet thing ain’t ya?” Sy says and his words set fire to your cheeks. “You takin’ the time to talk to me is more than enough.”

“What if I send you another picture with each package? I'll—”

“Deal,” Sy interrupts and you giggle.

Sy laughs, it’s a little teasing and you think about the last paragraph of his letter, the part that until now you haven’t wanted to acknowledge. You two have grown comfortable with each other, and a little light flirtation at this point of a relationship is natural, even for friends. You’re both testing the boundaries, seeing what you can get away with, probing for the potential of more. But, even so, you still aren’t sure you want to go there with Sy because there’s too much to unpack, so you redirect and ask him about Aika.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask with faux petulance. Shit. You aren’t supposed to be flirting back.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “She makes me smile almost as much as you do.”

You fall into silence, dropping your head with a grin. Fuck, you do want him to flirt with you. You can hear him breathing, suddenly heavy, and so loud that the robotic buzz is drowned out, and you like that too. When he speaks again, his voice is husky and deep.

“I’ll bet you’re smilin’ right now, ain’t ya, Sugar?”

“Sy…” you say softly. You’re more than just smiling, your body tingles and your heart beats so hard, you can feel it in your toes.

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have to tell me, I can hear it in your voice.” He makes a noise in his throat, like a groan, “I gotta go. I… Things are a li’l crazy ‘round here right now. It may be a while before I can call you again.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “Sy, I…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You shouldn’t say it. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know you aren’t going to be able to stop yourself, because you want him to know. So much for working through how you feel about him later. Your heart already knows, it’s just taken your brain a little while to catch up.

“I think about that night we kissed too,” you whisper, referencing his letter.

He makes that noise again. You wonder if it’s the same noise he made in your ear that night and your spine feels like jelly.

“I gotta go,” Sy says so softly, you barely hear him, “I’ll be thinkin’ about you.”

Before you can say goodbye, the line goes dead.

It takes a while before you feel like you can move. You hold the phone tightly in your grasp, not wanting to let it go, because you fear if you do, you’ll forget the sound of his voice.

It’s over a month since you've heard from Sy. You know he said he was going to be busy, but after the second week of not hearing from him, you begin to doubt. You question everything, you stop reading his letter and looking at his picture. You remind yourself that he is on the other side of the world, and you remind yourself to protect your heart.

By the fifth week you’ve almost convinced yourself that he’s finished with you. You were just a distraction, a way for him to pass the time; a warm female voice to drown out the sounds of the cold men he dealt with daily.

What really messes with your mind is that even if he’s not calling because he doesn’t care about you, you’re incomprehensibly okay with that. You’re okay with it because it means he’s alright, it means he’s safe. He’d be a complete asshole, but he’d be fine. You can’t stand to think about other possible reasons for his silence.

When the phone rings, late on Sunday morning, you’re still in bed catching up on sleep. No longer do you answer the phone with your heart in your throat, indifference is all you can manage. It’s probably just your mother anyway, calling to remind you about meeting her for lunch.

But as soon as you raise the receiver to your ear, you know it’s him. The line crackles with the same robotic humming that you thought you’d never hear again.

“Sy?” you whisper, or at least you try. Your voice sounds strangled, even to your ears.

Blood roars in your head, from anger or relief you can’t tell because you feel both. You open your mouth to tell him you hate him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re glad he’s okay. But you don’t. You slam your mouth shut, you keep it inside, you don’t want to give away too much. It was too painful after last time.

So you wait. As the silence stretches, the strange pulsing static of the line grows intolerable, and you begin to worry. Is this even Sy? Are you hearing things because you desperately want it to be him?

Then he clears his throat, a short cough that sounds wrong. As soon as he speaks you know something isn’t right.

“Hey, baby,” he sounds tired, but not just tired, depressed. Oh my God, what happened?

“Hey, Sy,” you say gently.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, you want him to tell you what happened, but you know he won’t. In all the time you’ve been speaking to him he hasn’t told you a thing, he hadn’t even mentioned Aika until his letter. You don’t take it personally, you knew next to nothing about your father’s or brother’s deployments. Sy may not even be allowed to tell you anything, that’s just the way things are in most military units. Still, after all these weeks, he must be calling you for a reason, you just can't put your finger on why.

“You never call me at this time of day, Sy. Are you okay?” you prompt lightly.

Sy sucks in a breath. It’s been so long since you saw him in person, and you can’t remember what he looks like when he does that. You wish you could remember. You wish for so much.

“I needed to hear your voice, Sugar,” he says softly, and your heart stutters as his reason for calling emerges. He’s speaking so slowly that his accent has become thick, and his voice is so heavy that it flows like syrup into your ear, “It's been too long.”

“You’ve been busy, huh?” you say, surprised at the lack of bitterness in your voice. You can’t bring yourself to be upset any more, not when he sounds so awful.

Sy hums in what could be agreement. He’s quiet for a while and you wait, hoping he’ll say something before you tear your hair out in frustration.

“When I—” Sy starts, then stops, and it takes a few moments for him to speak again, “I think about you, Sugar. A lot. More than I probably have a right to.”

You don’t know what to say. After all this time, are you finally going to have an honest conversation about your relationship? Are you going to talk about where this is going? If it’s going anywhere at all?

“Will ya do somethin’ for me?” He asks.

“Sure,” you say, “If I can.”

“Will ya tell me that you’re waitin’ for me? That you’ll be there when I get home?”

You’re a little taken aback, so you hesitate in answering. You think about the last month, the pain of not hearing from him, and the constant worrying. This is what a relationship with Sy would look like more often than not, irregular communication for months or years at a time. Is that what you want? Was he worth it?

“I won’t hold ya to it,” Sy says, “I just—”

“Sy—”

“Fuck, forget it—”

“Wait—”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“Sy, stop!” you say firmly, “Just stop,” Sy stops talking but he’s still there, you can hear him breathing, “I’m not going to say something like that just because you ask me to.”

“I know, I—”

“Would you let me finish, Sy?”

He grunts, low and guttural, his frustration as evident as yours. You wish you could see him. You wish he could see you. You don’t know if you have the right words to tell him how you feel, but you try.

“I want you to know that if I say something like that it’s because I really mean it. I don’t want you to doubt it, and if I tell you that now, like this, you will.”

The silence from Sy feels heavy, the dead air is thick with unspoken words. Your gut twists as you think of him alone, obviously going through something, and he reaches out to you, only to be rejected. But that’s not what you mean, and you need to let him know that.

“Can I tell you some other things? Some things you’ll know are true.”

“Please,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you that after we speak, I smile for hours, days, weeks,” your voice quivers and you take a deep breath. He doesn’t need your tears. “I think about how you laugh and how wonderful that sound is.”

You wonder what he’s doing in this moment. How is he sitting? Is he laying down? Is his head in his hands? Is he petting Aika? Is he alone? Has he showered? Can he shower? Is he wearing the socks you sent?

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that it’s going to be ok, but you know you can’t. He knows you can’t promise him that. What do you say when you don’t know why he seems to be in so much pain? You don’t know what he could possibly need from you.

The truth. You tell him your truth.

“And I smile because for those moments that we’re talking, I’m not worried about you. I know you’re safe.”

You hear him expel breath into the phone. The speaker crackles and shudders, or is that him? Is he crying? Is he okay? You wish…

“I wish I could see your face when I talk to you. I wonder what it looks like when you say certain words or speak in a certain tone. I’d like to know what you look like when you’re quiet. Like now, I want to see your face so bad.”

“Me too baby,” his gravelly voice is throaty, his drawl is so strong.

“I want to see you when you get home, Sy. I do. I’m not making any promises, but I like you... a lot. I've liked you from the start. You’ve kept me at arm’s length though, and that just isn’t going to work for me.”

“Because I knew I was leaving,” he repeats the excuse he wrote in his letter, but his tone makes you wonder if he's not trying to convince himself more than you.

“When are you comin’ home?” you ask softly.

“Officially, my tour is up in a few weeks,” Sy’s voice is stronger now, more like what you’re used to, “But after what went down…” More silence, “Could be tomorrow, or six months from now.”

Six months. Or tomorrow. Or…

“Keep calling me, Sy. Or write if you can’t call. Do you have email where you are? Send me an email, even if it’s just one line.”

“I will, but I can’t email. There’s no internet at this camp.”

You hear him breathe in, long and deep. Then you hear that noise again, that deep rumble in his throat. Your thighs clench together and your face heats up.

“Sy, what are you doing?” you ask, just above a whisper.

“Right now? Layin’ on my bed. Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

Sy chuffs, “Not what, who.”

“Who are you thinking about then?” you ask innocently, not realising until too late what he means.

“You,” Sy says, and his voice takes on that low husky tone. Your thighs rub against one another, you can’t stop them, “I’m always thinkin’ of you— You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?”

“I don’t know,” you swallow, feeling breathless, “Do I?”

“How ‘bout I tell ya one thing I’m thinkin’ about, then you can tell me if ya wanna hear more.”

You want to know. You want to know if he’s having the same thoughts as you.

“Okay,” you murmur, and restlessness sinks deep into your bones. Your body is so hot, and you already feel the wetness ebbing from your center.

“I’m thinkin’ about that night I took ya out. Thinkin’ about that dress ya had on... God, you were so pretty. All night I wanted to kiss you.” He pauses, and you hear that sharp inahle again, “Then we went to your place and— fuck, baby, you really let me kiss you.”

“I liked that,” you tell him as you sigh, and he makes that noise that keeps driving you wild, “I liked you kissing me.”

“That’s good, baby,” Sy says, “That’s what I want... to make you feel good.”

“You did, Sy.”

“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?

“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”

Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”

He just says it, a little tentatively perhaps, like he’s testing your reaction, but he just admits he’s thought about being intimate with you. And from the way he says it, he’s thought about it often.

“Do you wanna know more, or should I stop?”

You let out a small noise, like a squeak. You hope he knows that means yes.

“Where are you?” he asks. Is that a grin you sense in his voice?

You look around, like you've forgotten your location in this universe. God, he truly makes your brain shut down. He makes you stupid in the best possible way.

“Actually… I haven't gotten out of bed yet.”

“Shit,” Sy groans, drawing the word out.

His reaction makes you bold, and although your heart thunders, you close your eyes, and manage to speak, “I’m still in my t-shirt, the one I wear to bed.”

You hear him swallow, “Anything’ else?”

“Just my panties,” you barely breathe.

“Fuck,” Sy groans again. “You’re makin’ it really tough for me not to grab my cock right now, baby.”

“Oh,” you say on a long exhale, because you feel like you have to say something.

What you really want to say is: do it.

“Why don’t you?” you add quickly, squeezing your eyes shut in mortification.

Sy is quiet, all you hear is his quickening breaths. “Do ya want me to?” he asks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.

“Yes,” you admit. God, you’re shaking, your hands are trembling.

The speaker fills with static as he breathes out. “God dammit, I wanna touch you so bad. You gonna touch yourself too, Sugar?”

Shit. Oh shit. You weren’t expecting that. You’re definitely in the mood, but this is still too new and you’re insecure. You’ll probably end up replaying this moment later and cursing yourself.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Too much?” he says hoarsely, but gently. There’s no anger in his tone.

“I… I feel like I want…,” you don’t know how to explain yourself.

“Tell me, Sugar. It’s ok, tell me what you want.”

“It just feels… strange, to do this on the phone for the first time, instead of together, in person.”

Sy hums mulling it over, “But… you would want that?”

You don’t say anything. What can you say? You’ve just teased the hell out of him and now you feel like an ass.

“How bout we save all that ‘til we see each other again?” Sy suggests.

“I feel bad.”

“Nah,” Sy laughs, “I’ll just wait until ya hang up to finish.”

“Sy!” you exclaim, but you laugh along with him.

You talk for a few more minutes before you tell him that you have to go, “I’m meeting my mom for lunch. I’m already going to be late.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I’ve used every privilege I have as an officer, and some I don’t, to get the phone for this long,” He pauses and becomes serious, “I know what you said earlier, but… will ya do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you start seein’ someone.”

“I’m not going to start seeing anyone, Sy. I’m not sure where this is going with us, but I’m not about to throw it away either.”

Sy calls you more frequently now, usually once a week. There hasn’t been another call like that one, but you feel as though your relationship has changed again. It’s subtle, but tangible.

Sy says things like, “When I get back, we should see that,” or “I’d like to take you there when I get home.”

Tentative promises are made, and restrained flirtations are thrown around. You tell him you think about him, you tell him sometimes you want to see him so bad you ache. He tells you he wants to see you, he wants to kiss you; he hints that he wants you to be his, but the line you established on that earlier call is never crossed.

You both send more packages, more photos, and more letters. Sy sends you a picture with Aika, in it he’s wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a red shirt. He seems bigger than you remember. So broad in the chest. You wish he’d have taken the glasses off though, so you could see his handsome face.

Then the day finally comes, the day when he tells you he’s coming home. At first you can’t process it, like you had accepted that Sy was just a disembodied voice, not something to see, or touch, or smell. Then, as he lays out the process of returning home, you start to believe.

“I’ll really get to see you? In two weeks?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ll be all yours for thirty days. No work, nothin’.”

“What about your family?”

Sy grumbles, but you can tell he’s putting it on, “I suppose I’ll have to go see them for a few days.”

“Yeah, you should,” you say, smiling.

“Will ya come with me?” he asks.

“Sy…” You can’t fault his tenacity, “Let’s see how things are between us first?”

“There ain’t no way we won’t work,” Sy says, “I've never wanted a woman like I want you.”

“That’s only because you’ve had to wait over a year.”

“That ain’t it, baby,” Sy says seriously. Then his voice lowers, getting so gravelly he practically growls, “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ horny... but that ain’t why I want to be with you.”

As it always does when he talks like that, a fire ignites in your gut and radiates through you, heating your blood until you feel hot all over. You can’t imagine how it will feel to have him touch you and talk to you like that. You shiver just thinking about it.

You want to ask him why he wants to be with you, but he diverts the conversation and tells you he has to get you clearance to visit him. Sy lives on base, and he says it’s easier for him to pick you up to bring you to his place.

“Less paperwork,” he explains.

“Don’t you want me to meet you when you arrive?” The party atmosphere of homecoming was one that soldiers usually look forward to. If he doesn’t want you there, maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. As much as I want you to be there,” Sy makes a noise like he’s sucking in air through his teeth, and says amused, “I don’t think you’d wanna meet the guys that way.”

“Yeah ok, good point,” you concede with a laugh. The thought of meeting his group and their families in an atmosphere like that is a bit intimidating.

“We’re plannin’ a barbeque for a couple of weeks after we get home. I’d like to take ya with me, and you can meet the guys then.”

“Sounds like a much more relaxed way to meet them.”

“Good,” Sy says, sounding pleased.

“Shit, I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“What?! Meetin’ the boys? Baby, they love you already.”

Your eyes widen, “You told them about me?”

“I didn’t say anythin’, they just figured somethin’s up. Been a few comments about my mood having improved this deployment, and the packages I’ve been gettin’, and how they wanna meet the girl that keeps makin’ me smile.” Sy chuckles.

Your cheeks burn, but it's a pleasant feeling and you smile widely. You like hearing that he’s happy.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to say, so you steer the conversation back to his homecoming. “Will Aika be coming home with you?”

“Yeah,” Sy says and you can hear the joy in his voice. “She’ll be quarantined for three months though.”

“Oh, that’ll be tough,” you say sympathetically. “You’ll miss her.”

“I will,” Sy agrees. “But I’ll have you.”

God damn him. Four words and he renders you speechless again.

“Baby? Are ya still there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” you scramble, trying to remember what you were talking about. “Oh, yeah. So, if you’re coming to get me anyway, why don’t you just stay with me?” you ask.

“Cause your couch is too small for me to sleep on.”

“My bed’s not too small.”

You hear Sy suck in a breath. “I can just go home at the end of the night. It'll be easier that way. You should still fill out the forms though, so you can visit me when ya want to and—”

“Sy,” you interrupt with a smile. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s nervous.

“Yup,” His lips make a small pop when he says it.

“You don’t want to sleep in my bed?” you ask, playing a little coy.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sy says roughly.

“Me neither.”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” There’s a question in his statement, like he’s unsure that you would want him to touch you.

“I wouldn't want you to,” You hold your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“From the second I see you, all I’m gonna want to do is touch you,” he groans.

A moan leaves your lips as your arousal wells between your legs. “I want that too.”

“And baby... Once I start, I ain't gonna stop,” Sy says.

His voice sounds strained, like he’s struggling to lift something. Then he clears his throat, his voice is back to its normal deep, soothing baritone, and he changes the subject.

“We’ll play it by ear then, Sugar.”

Part 2 (coming soon)

Talk about worth the wait 😥😥😥😥😥😥😥😥😥 JUST ABSOLUTELY AMAZING RABBIT 💙💙💯💯💯 cant even begin to put into words how awesome this is.

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part Three

Summary: Your reunion with Sy is just as passionate you hoped it would be, but things start to become strained when you suspect he isn't being honest with you.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 10.5k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, anal play (f receiving), mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part Three Warnings:

Smut including fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, intimate touching, showering together, dirty talk, slight praise kink, discussion of PTSD, insomnia, illusions to war, angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

Thanks once again to my wonderful friends and beta readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed . Your constant support and friendship means the world to me.

A massive thank you to @radiantheartbeat for editing you have truely lifted my writing and inspired me to be better. It has meant the world to me and I have enjoyed getting to know you through the process as well. Everyone, if you want some more great Henry content, please check out her blog here . You won’t be disappointed.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 Part 4 (Coming Soon)

Sighing contentedly, you put your hand on his still panting chest and run your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. It curls slightly around your fingers, and you like the way your feminine hand looks against his masculine chest. Slowly, his breathing evens out and he takes long, deep breaths.

“I could stay like this all day,” Sy says, wistfully, and you hum to let him know you agree, “But, I should take a shower.”

“I don’t mind if you’re a little sweaty,” You kiss the still humid skin on his neck to prove it, “Your cuddles are nice.”

Sy’s head is tucked deep into your neck, his breath is hot and harsh against your cooling skin. He’s mostly still, but occasionally his lips sweep over your skin so lightly that it could barely be called a kiss. When you hear him exhale with a moan, you quickly realise that he’s not actually kissing you; he’s yawning.

Sitting up straight, you catch him in the act, with his bearded mouth wide and his nose all scrunched up, looking as tired as a Grizzly bear ready to hibernate.

“You’re tired!” you utter, as your fingers dive into his beard. You still can’t tell if you like his facial hair. His ruggedness, an obvious display of machismo, is definitely a turn on and it feels so much better than you thought it would. On the other hand, you miss seeing his perfectly sculpted jaw and his dimpled chin. The beard makes him look older too, and no one except old men wear beards anymore. Maybe he’d look good with a goatee, lots of guys were wearing those recently.

“No, just getting used to the time zones again, that’s all.”

“What time did you get to bed last night?”

“Baby, I’m fine,” Sy insists.

You consider arguing the point. You know how little sleep you got last night, and you assume Sy would have experienced something similar, not to mention the travelling he’d done all day. His eyes are a little red around the edges and he’s blinking a lot. He reminds you of a kid who’s trying to stay up to see Santa Clause, barely able to keep their eyes open, but insistent on not missing out.

“You want to take that shower now, Chewbacca?” you ask, giving Sy’s beard a little tug. You climb off his tree trunk like thighs and collect your discarded clothes.

Sy stands, following you, and grabs hold of your hand with a raised eyebrow, “You don’t like it?” he asks, bringing your hand to his chin and rubbing his whiskers on your palm. It tickles and you squirm. Smirking, he adds, “I didn’t hear any complaints earlier.”

Playfully you jerk your hand away with a giggle, “I’m not used to it is all. Never even kissed a guy with a beard before, let alone…” your face feels like it's on fire and your ears burn, “the other thing.” Now that your blood has cooled, so has your confidence.

Sy keeps smirking as he gives you an amused look and bends to pick up his clothes, “Never been eaten out by a guy with a beard?”

Oh God! A jolt of energy tingles your spine and your core clenches. Shit, just hearing him say those words gets you worked up again.

You shake your head, “Never,” you say softly.

“You liked it though, didn't ya?” Sy’s smirk turns to a full grin, and his cheeks crease into dimples just above his beard. His eyes no longer seem tired, instead they shine with roguish intent, “It’s alright, baby, you can tell me. It’ll be our li’l secret.”

You bite your lip. He is such a flirt, how had he hidden this side of himself all this time? Turning away from him you make your way down the short hallway.

“Of course I liked it,” you say a little shyly, glancing behind you to make sure Sy is following, “You know I did! You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”

“I ain’t gonna deny that, I like hearin’ you say you enjoyed it. ‘Specially in that voice of yours,” Sy’s voice grows raspy, and his register lowers as he speaks. You feel his body behind yours as he wraps an arm around your belly and growls into your ear, “Listenin’ to you moan my name— shit, you could make a man lose his damn mind, ya know that Sugar?”

Lose his mind? If that’s the case, you aren’t going to be far behind. One turn of phrase and he can melt you. It’s been a long time since a man has had that effect on you and the only thing that stops you from being embarrassed is that it’s obvious you have a similar effect on him.

“Give me your clothes,” you say with a warble in your voice.

Sy passes you his bundle and taking his bag from the hallway, you open the door to your room.

“My bedroom,” you tell Sy. His lips seem to grow tight into a line as he sticks his head through the door while you drop his clothes and his bag on the bed.

“You ok?” you ask him as you reenter the hall.

Sy eyes you up and down as he draws his lower lip into his mouth. Whatever the look he had on his face a few seconds ago was gone, replaced by a lusty grin.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says lewdly.

Fuck. It didn't cross your mind that without the bundle of clothes to hide behind you are completely naked. You have a sudden urge to cover up despite it being completely ridiculous, he’s already seen you naked and is about to get into the shower with you. But context is everything, and casually standing naked in the hallway feels different and so much more bold.

Fighting the urge to run and hide, you try to draw out the confidence you had not fifteen minutes earlier, and you stand still for a moment to let him look. He looks at you for a long time, his eyes slowly sliding down your body, as he takes a small step closer to you. For the first time you take in his whole naked form; he is magnificent. To you, he is masculinity manifest; the powerful muscular frame, the sheer size of him, and the hair covering his body that seems to be so perfectly manicured. You can’t stop your gaze from going lower to the thicket of curly hair and the leviathan that lay there, unhidden.

Imitating Sy’s reaction, you bite your lip at the sight of him. He’s not soft, but not entirely hard and he points to the floor. His length isn't much different from when he is hard, but he gets so much thicker. You know, when that moment arrives, he’s going to fill you up and stretch you wide. You think about grabbing his hand and taking him to your bedroom instead of the bathroom, but Sy takes another step closer and rests his hand on your cheek.

“I thought you were shy or something,” Sy says, moving his thumb slowly over the apple of your cheek. You must have looked confused because he continues, “You were reluctant that one time we talked about sex on the phone. I thought you were nervous about it, or really inexperienced.”

“Are you… disappointed?”

“Are you crazy?” Sy says quickly, and you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you know…”

Sy stops mid sentence, his brows draw low, and his tongue works over his teeth as he begins to feel you. His palms rub over your body, occasionally stopping at random spots, squeezing you there, sometimes getting a handful of flesh, sometimes bone. His eyes follow the path of his hands until he sighs with a smile and looks at you.

“You are so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Sy shakes his head, “Remember the night we met?”

You nod, “At The Baron.”

“Yeah. The second you walked in, the whole bar got quiet. It made me—”

Sy’s jaw juts out, and he holds it there a moment as he seems to stare at nothing over your shoulder. You cover his hand with yours and his face relaxes a little as you slide your hand over his forearm. He smiles a little at you, but his eyes still seem distant.

“I remember turnin’ in my chair and watchin’ you, tryin’ to get it straight in my mind what a girl like you would be doin’ in a place like The Baron.”

You laugh and go to the small closet next to the bathroom to pull out a couple of washcloths and a spare towel for Sy.

“Pre-gaming,” you tell him with a grin. He looks surprised and you shrug, “One of my friends is dating the manager, he gives us cheap drinks.”

Sy narrows his eyes, “You ain’t still goin’ there, are you?”

“Sometimes.”

Sy gives you a long, hard look with raised eyebrows, then shakes his head.

“What?”

“It’s a rough bar,” he says, “It ain’t safe.”

You wait for him to tell you not to go there anymore, but he doesn’t, and even though you can tell he wants to, he bites his tongue. There is something reassuring about the way he suggests his displeasure at the thought of you going to that bar, but restrains himself from forbidding your actions. He seems to respect your autonomy and trusts in your ability to make decisions for yourself. These little parts of him that you’re discovering are only serving to increase your attraction to him. You pull on his neck, and give him a quick kiss to let him know you approve.

“Bathroom,” you say, indicating the next door in the hall. Sy points at it and you nod, waiting for him to go in before you follow, using the towels to hide behind, “I met you at The Baron,” you point out, bringing the conversation back to the first night you met as you pass him a washcloth.

Sy grins, his cheeks crease into dimples that peek out from just above his beard. He takes the cloth and draws you into his arms, “And look where we’ve ended up.”

“As if this isn’t where you wanted to be that night.”

“Course it is,” Sy’s voice drops low again, becoming softer and deeper, “Same with every other man there that night. You were otherworldly in that bar, Sugar. As out of place as a thoroughbred ploughin’ a field,'' Sy breathes in a little shakily, as if he’s reliving the moment. His voice is husky when he speaks again, “Then you smiled in my direction… and it was like a punch that knocked the wind out of me. You were so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t breathe.”

Goosebumps break over you as your body warms and your skin stays cool. Had he really thought that? He had never indicated he felt that way before. You think back to your date. He hadn’t been anything like he was today. Yeah, his kisses had been amazing, full of passion and desire but he’d also been very respectful. He barely touched you anywhere below your shoulders, his hands only occasionally wandering to your hip.

“So,” you lick your lips, unsure if you should ask the question that’s plagued you for over a year, “Why didn’t you ask me out again?”

Sy doesn’t answer for a while, not because he’s ignoring you or trying to come up with a lie, he just seems to be thinking, wanting to make sure his words are appropriate. It strikes you suddenly that this must be how he looked when he was quiet on the phone.

“I was given my orders a couple of days after I took you out.”

That isn’t a surprise. You thought he would have been given more notice than the week before, which is when he told you he was leaving.

“I thought,” he smiles briefly, “incorrectly, that if I didn’t see you again, it’d be easier on me. I couldn’t ask ya to wait for me, not after just one date. And a girl like you wasn't gonna be single for long. I figured by the time I got back, you’d be seein’ someone else. Thought if I kept my distance and didn’t start anythin’…”

Sy steps back and runs a hand over his short hair, as if he is signalling he was done speaking. You wait a while to make sure before you speak.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” you say.

Sy looks at you shaking his head, “How on God’s green earth did ya get that idea?”

You shrug, “Look at it from my perspective. You hit on me at the bar. You get my number. You call me the next day, and take me out the following weekend. We had a great time, then we came back here and…well…”

Sy grins, “I thought that was makin’ it clear I was interested.”

“It was,” you say slowly before sighing heavily, “Then you didn't ask me out again, and that pretty much told me I wasn't going to hear from you anymore.”

Sy takes your hand in his, lifting it palm up and kissing it. His nose hovers above your wrist and he inhales deeply through his nose. He growls playfully and nips at your fingers, “God dammit, woman. This perfume of yours, what’s it called? I’m gonna buy you a lifetime supply so you never stop wearin’ it.”

Though he’s obviously trying to distract you, he’s so skillfully charming you can’t help but giggle. “Quit it, Sy!”

Sy gives your finger one more bite before he stops, but he keeps hold of your hand. He’s smiling widely, as broadly and mischievously as a school boy. He’s so attractive, but when he smiles like that, he’s dazzling; it's so stunning you forget what you were talking about before he became playful. Dazed, you turn on the shower one handed, unwilling to let him go and unsure if he would release you anyway.

Despite your small apartment, your shower is spacious, obviously designed for couples and it accommodates you both with ease. However, it turns out you don’t need much space; Sy locks his arms around you, guiding your bodies so each of you has a shoulder under the spray. You lay your heads against each other and for a while that's how you stay, wrapped in each other’s arms, the embrace as warm as the sultry, soothing water.

When you lift your head, Sy has a small smile on his lips and he leans into you, nudging his nose against yours as his beard caresses your skin. Then his lips stroke yours softly and your eyes slide closed as the sensation of his kiss makes you float away.

“I fucked up, baby. I never meant for you to feel like I'd lost interest in you,” he says. It takes you a minute to remember what he is apologising for, “I thought walkin’ away early would keep you from gettin’ hurt too.”

“So why did you call a couple of months later then?”

Sy laughed ruefully, “’Cause I’m an asshole.”

You shake your head at him with a soft chuckle.

“It’s true. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. I thought about ya so much that I couldn’t remember what I used to think about before I met you.”

If that wasn't one of the most romantic things you had ever heard, and he just said it like it was no big deal. There wasn't any emphasis or stressing the point that he was trying to be romantic. He said it like it was a fact, which only increased its impact. You’re stunned into silence, not quite understanding how Sy can be so nonchalant when he makes these little declarations of his affection for you.

Sy doesn’t seem to be expecting a reply and he guides your head to his shoulder again. With a deep, satisfied sigh, you lean into him and wrap your arms around his waist. Slowly he sways with you, a gentle rock back and forth that is just shy of dancing.

“This is nice,” you whisper, making your voice just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the spray echoing through the room. Sy hums in agreement.

“Can I wash you, Sy?” you boldly ask.

Sy has said that you’re responsive, but he really should see himself right now. His lips part as he breathes harder, and a soft flush blooms over his cheeks. Most telling though, is the feel of his cock as it jerks against your belly. He nods slowly in response.

Lathering the washcloth, you start with Sy’s chest, the dark, coarse hair suds up quickly as you sweep the cloth over his body. You wash his neck, his wide, sloped shoulders, and his thick, brawny arms, and then his taut stomach. At first, he is stiff and still, moving only his eyes as he tracks the path of your hand. Then he starts to breathe, deeper and longer, and moves his body beneath your touch, helping you by turning slightly and lifting his arms.

You gesture for him to face the other way and you wash his back, laying a chaste kiss against his spine. He’s smooth to touch and warm against your lips as you kiss between his shoulder blades. He leans into the cloth as you scrub a little harder, and makes a growl of pleasure. His skin is pale on his chest and back while his neck and arms are deeply tanned. You inventory the small scars and his perfect imperfections, trying to commit them to memory. Once again, you’re struck by how phenomenal his body is, how hulking and bullish. He looks so powerful, strong, raw, and so fucking masculine. Though you love the tender way he touches you, part of you wants to know what it would be like to feel his strength, to feel helpless in his arms, to be completely and utterly overpowered by him.

“Hmm, that's good,” Sy hums.

“Yeah?” Pressing your body against his back, you bring the soapy cloth over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah,” Sy confirms throatily.

Wrapping your arms around him, you reach between his legs, “And this?”

“Fuck!” Throwing an arm out against the tiled wall, his hips roll as your cloth covered hand moves over his now fully erect cock. You feel his hand cover yours and he guides your movements over his sex in quick, gestures.

Sy turns around swiftly and takes the cloth from your hand. You don’t understand, he seemed to be enjoying your touch and he was as hard as steel in your hand, but he pulled himself away.

Your confusion is short lived as he lathers the other washcloth and grins at you wolfishly, “My turn.”

Sy waits for you to nod before he turns you, laying his hand flat over your belly he gathers you close as he starts to wash. He leans his chin on your shoulder and watches as his hand moves over your breasts, slippery, but pleasantly rough, and your nipples harden in seconds under his languidly sensual touch.

He kisses your neck, softly and gently, dulcetly humming into your skin. Sy is so hard where he presses into you, just the feel of him makes your core throb maddingly. You ache to move and a near desperation fills you to do so, and soon you find yourself rubbing your body against his cock trying to entice him for more.

“Shh, baby. Easy,” Sy drawls in your ear.

Holy fuck. His voice is so gravelly, so coarse; and the commanding way he stills your movements by placing a firm hand on your hip, it makes you feel boneless, and your knees almost give way. Your fingers clutch at his forearm, gripping tight to hold yourself upright.

“I’m not fuckin’ you in here,” Sy tells you, then chuckles softly as you whine, “We’re just gonna wash.”

At first he is true to his word as he moves the cloth over your arms, shoulders and breasts again. Then he drops all pretence and the washcloth, which makes a splash as it falls to the tiles. His soapy hands are all over you, gliding over your skin as he teases your neck with soft brushes of his lips, his warm breath, and the constant rumble in his throat. Using his foot, he edges your feet apart and washes you gently between your legs. It’s arousing and erotic. Your body burns, but strangely your eyelids grow heavy and you lay your head against Sy’s shoulder. He hums and presses a tender kiss against your temple.

“Good girl,” Sy murmurs into your ear, “Hmm, you’re so soft.”

“You keep saying that.”

“‘Cause I keep thinkin’ it,” Sy says, “Your skin is soft, your lips are soft, your mouth is soft, and dear God your pussy,” he groans, pressing his swollen cock against you, “It's like smooth, wet, hot silk.”

You close your eyes and let your arms fall lazily at your sides, opening your body up completely for Sy, silently inviting him to take his fill. You’re well and truly clean, there’s no soap left but Sy keeps touching you, his hands moving over you with the same easy confidence he’d had earlier. You think he’s going to forget what he said about fucking you as his fingers graze teasingly over your now slick and swollen pussy.

Instead he sighs and wraps his arms around yours, effectively trapping you beneath his arms as his hands cover your breasts. He doesn’t caress you or squeeze you, he just seems content in holding you. Slowly the blazing heat he built up in you reduces to a manageable smoulder. He kisses your neck a few more times, short chaste brushes of his lips before he sighs again.

“We should get out,” Sy grumbles with obvious regret.

You don’t want to get out either, but you don’t stop him as he leaves the shower while you shut off the water. When you turn around he's holding your towel and as you step out of the cubicle he lifts it over your head and places it around your shoulders. He hums and kisses your forehead before wrapping his own towel around his waist.

“Thank you,” you say.

Sy smiles in acknowledgement and follows you to the bedroom. He ogles you as you dry off, his cock is still stiff and you pretend not to notice. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him too. More than seeing him naked, watching him towel off is strangely erotic and intimate.

A sudden longing fills you as you realise that this piece of domesticity could become normal if this thing between you and Sy can last. This yearning, for him to be with you day and night, and for him to be at home with you, it feels like he’s holding your heart on a string and each moment you’re together he tugs you closer and closer.

“Which side do you want to sleep on?” you ask, pulling on your robe. You don’t bother with underwear because you hope you won’t stay dressed long enough to need them. Sy has put on a pair of track pants with a wife beater and he looks at your bed irritably as he gnaws on his bottom lip.

“Huh?” Sy looks at you, his eyes a little wild as they dart around the room then back to the bed. He rubs a hand over his short hair, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Your heart sinks. What the hell happened in the space of a few minutes? “Why not?” you ask tersely.

“Bed’s too small.” His voice is cold and distant.

Scrunching your face up, you look at your bed. It doesn’t look too small to you. Sure, Sy is a big guy, but you had also figured there would be quite a bit of snuggling, and you certainly don’t need a lot of room for that. Besides, aren’t army beds small?

“It’s a queen,” you tell Sy, trying to refute his argument.

He grunts as you come closer, “It’s too soft,” he mumbles and you can barely hear him.

“Sy, if you don't want to spend the night with me, you don't have to make up excuses,” Although you try to bite back your agitation, it carries in your voice and Sy picks it up easily.

“That’s fucking bullshit, Sugar, and you know it,” Sy barks, his harsh tone reflecting your annoyance. He’s never spoken to you like that before and it makes you take a step back. His eyes widen as he realises how he sounded and he tempers his expression, “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I…” he cuts himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Something is wrong. He was allusive earlier when you had asked if he was spending the night, and you recalled that he had a similar attitude on the phone when you talked about sleeping together. At the time, you had thought it was because he wasn’t sure how far you were willing to go with him and he hadn’t wanted to pressure you, but now it all seemed suspect. Surely, he knew that you wanted to have sex at some point tonight, especially if you slept in the same bed; there was far too much sexual tension between you for it not to happen.

“I do wanna stay with you,” Sy says, drawing you into an embrace, “You gotta know I want nothing more in this world than to wake up with you in my arms.”

“Then why are you making such a big issue out of it?”

“It’s nothin’, baby… I’m just…” Sy grins at you, “I’m hungry.”

You aren't sure if you believe him. The smile on his face doesn't quite reach his eyes and it leaves you feeling on edge. There's something he’s not telling you, and the fact that he isn’t being open with you makes you wonder if he’s ever been honest with you at all. You return his smile with a disingenuous one of your own while your mind furiously tries to decide if you should call him out on the suspected insincerity.

You let it go, hoping that you’re just reading too much into things, “Come on then. I’ll cook you dinner.”

In the kitchen, you give Sy a beer and tell him to have a seat while you prepare dinner. He seems more relaxed now as he sits at the island bench watching you with a more genuine half-smile as you gather your utensils. Maybe he really isn't hiding anything. Shaking off your doubts, you concentrate on preparing the meal.

“We could order in if ya want,” Sy says, “I do owe you a few dinners.”

“When was the last time you had a home cooked meal with fresh food?”

“It’s been a while,” Sy admits.

“So, let me cook for you. I cook for myself, it’s not that much more to cook for you too.”

“Okay,” Sy agrees, “The offer is there though, maybe tomorrow night?”

His words make you pause momentarily as you reach for a head of lettuce in the crisper drawer. After the conversation you just had in the bedroom, his plan to see you again tomorrow seems odd. If he doesn’t want to spend the night, but still wants to see you tomorrow, why not just stay?

You continue gathering the ingredients, trying to push away the nagging uncertainties. It isn't much, just a couple of steaks and a salad but Sy’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the two beef ribeyes on the plate. You silently congratulate yourself as he stares at the food and licks his lips. Then you stifle a giggle as you realise that, sometimes, he really does look at you like you’re something to eat. Maybe that should upset you, but it doesn’t. Maybe there isn’t anything to worry about, maybe he just likes sleeping alone.

There are so many unanswered questions in your mind, you’re relieved when they dissipate as you immerse yourself in the meal prep. Sy seems content to watch you, barely making any conversation until you ask him how he likes his steak cooked.

“Medium rare,” he says, “Cooked on the outside, a little bloody in the centre.”

“You’re a man after my own heart,” you agree.

“Yes ma’am,” Sy says with a roguish grin, “Among other things,” He winks at you, well he tries to, but it’s more of an exaggerated blink.

Pressing your lips together, you hold in your laugh, feeling your face heat with the effort.

“You laughin’ at me, darlin’?” Sy asks, playfully.

You shake your head still avoiding looking at him, but he moves his head into your line of sight still wearing the same puckish smirk and you release your laughter with an embarrassing bark.

The moment of light-heartedness breaks the tension between you and you both begin to talk about what foods you like, the conversation flowing as easily as it had on the phone. You feel relieved, in the back of your mind there has always been the worry that perhaps your relationship wouldn’t be the same in person; or worse, that once sex was introduced, the friendly ease you had with each other would disappear. Of course, you are attracted to Sy and it's what made you agree to a date with him all those months ago, but it was your conversations that convinced you there was the potential for more.

Watching Sy eat was a joy unto itself. You had only ever cooked for a couple of men and none of them seemed to eat with the level of gusto he was exhibiting now. You marvel at how he could be so quick but also maintain his manners. It was like he inhaled the food rather than chewed it and he sat back nursing a second beer while you finished eating.

“Want to watch the movie?’ you ask when you are done. You look at Sy and see him staring at you, or rather through you, “Sy?”

“Sorry,” Sy says with a start. He sniffs and seems to give himself a shake, “I was… somewhere else there for a minute.”

“You alright?” you ask and it suddenly dawns on you what his problem could be. The phone calls when he was too quiet, the worry about sleeping, how distracted and far away he looked sometimes, he reminded you a little of your father, “We don't have to, we could watch something else, or we could just talk?” Please talk to me Sy, you want to add, but bite your tongue. If his problem is what you think it is, he’s probably not going to discuss it easily.

“We’ve talked a lot,” Sy says, “About everythin’, and nothin’,” he puts a hand on your face and his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, “How is it we still find things to say?”

You shrug, “There’s still so much that I don't know about you.”

“You know me, Sugar. You may not know all the details, but you know me.”

“Details are important, Sy.”

He grunts and drops his hand. He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, resting an ankle on his knee, “What kind of details are you lookin’ for?”

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. His guard has gone up again, even his eyes are narrowed and full of suspicion.

He nods and frowns slightly, looking at you with raised brows, “Are you talkin’ about my tour?”

Jesus, he’s blunt. You try not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. He does not look impressed, “I mean if something’s weighing on your mind… if something’s bothering you…” You trail off as his eyes darken.

“You don’t wanna know about that shit,” He shakes his head and folds his arms across his broad chest, “I thought you’d understand that… you more than most.”

“Because of my Dad and brother?”

“Yeah. How much do you know about what goes on over there?”

Your throat feels dry and you reach for your wine, gulping it down hard and filling the glass again, “More than you’d think.”

Sy looks surprised, “Your Dad told you stories?”

“He didn’t have to tell us. He used to scream during the night,” you say, keeping your tone low, “One time he actually got me and my brother out of bed and had us in the car before Mom found us and redirected him back to bed. He was asleep with his eyes open. He’d even responded to questions.”

Sy grunts but makes no comment.

“I didn’t know at the time what was going on, but… I know now,” You inhale sharply; just revisiting that night in your mind feels like reliving the trauma, and you can’t imagine how the men in your life lived through the real thing, night after night, “I’m not telling you about my father because I understand what you might be going through, because I don’t, and I know that. I only know that he had to talk about it.”

Sy’s chest starts to heave, and he looks away from you, his jaw juts forward as he runs his tongue over his teeth. His arms drop by his side, and his ankle falls off his knee. You bring your chair closer to his, your knees almost touching. You lay your hand out palm up on his thigh. He stares at it so long that you think about taking it back, but then he sighs and takes it in his.

“What do ya want me to say, Sugar?” He asks, folding both of his hands around yours. They’re so big that just the tips of your fingers peek through.

You move to the edge of the chair to be closer to him. You want to take him in your arms, to hold him and console him. Not just for this moment, but for all of the other times you had heard the need for comfort in his voice and you were unable to provide it.

“Whatever you want to. Just know that you don’t have to hide from me Sy, I don’t scare easily.”

“Come here, baby,” Sy tugs on your hand and you stand, intending to sit on his lap like he seems to like. Instead he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your belly. Immediately, that deep feminine instinct to soothe kicks in and you run your fingers over his soft, short hair.

“Shhh,” the gentle shushing noises seem to also come from that same primal urge. As you stroke his head and tenderly scratch at his neck and back, you wonder if this is another thing Sy thought about: how it would feel to have his woman hold him like this. His woman. Even if you think of yourself with that title, it's never been addressed. Like so much with Sy, you talk and talk, but so much gets left unsaid.

“I can’t sleep,” Sy says, his voice muffled, and you stop breathing, not wanting to do anything to stop his admission, “I haven't slept more than a couple of hours a night for a few weeks now,” He’s quiet for a second or two and you lean back trying to get a look at his face, but he stops you, “I can’t… please… just stay like this for me, baby.”

“Ok, Noah,” you lull.

Sy squeezes you gently, “You’ve never said my name before,” he murmurs.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do like it,” he says, his voice still a little smothered by your robe. Then he takes a deep breath and speaks clearly, “Sometimes I wake in a sweat, kicking at the blankets cause I feel… trapped, I guess.”

“That's why you don’t want to spend the night with me?”

“I haven’t slept with a woman for a long time,” he confesses, and you feel him tense before adding, “I mean I’ve had—”

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt, surprising yourself at how quickly the seed of jealousy bore fruit in your mind.

“I don’t know if I’d lash out at ya, if I’d— I don’t want to hurt you,” Sy finally raises his head and meets your eyes. Your heart skips and you’re barely able to suppress a gasp. He looks awful, and so tired; his eyes are bleary and wild and rimmed with red, “I want to spend the night with you,” he says as he stands up, keeping his arms firmly around you, “God damn, I want to so badly,” He drops his head until your noses meet, “I wanna go to bed with you every night and wake up with your pretty li’l head on my chest every mornin’.”

You smile at the thought, “I want that too, Noah.”

“I just don’t know if I can,” Sy says in a pained voice.

“Has this happened before? The nightmares, I mean?”

“Occasionally,” Sy admits, “But not like this.” He looks above your head and you worry that you’re going to lose his focus, so you hold his face between your hands and direct his gaze back to yours.

“Can we try?” you ask.

Sy frowns, and it seems like time slows as he assesses you before letting out a long breath, “Are you sure?”

“I told you Sy,” you smile a little, “You’re gonna have to do better than that to scare me off.”

Sy chuffs, a small smile appears on his face too, “Ok baby.”

His eyes drop and you sense a swift change in his mood as he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Puzzled, you follow his gaze and notice that your robe has fallen open, revealing the centre of your chest and inner curve of your breasts, down to your navel.

“Sorry,” you mumble, as you take a couple of steps back and fumbling to close the garment.

“Stop.” His words are a command and you drop your hands almost immediately.

Sy closes the short distance between you, stopping before your bodies can meet. His chest starts to expand a little faster, the air whistles through his teeth with each panting breath. With slightly shaky hands, he pulls at the belt and the knot falls apart. He looks at you briefly with narrowed eyes and a slightly open mouth before he looks down at his hands. He grips the lapels and parts the robe at your waist, opening it wide.

The tension slowly leaves his face as he takes you in and his tongue glides over his bottom lip before he draws it into his mouth and bites it. His eyes are everywhere, staring at you greedily, as though he were seeing you for the first time. There’s an open yearning to his wide eyed gaze, a vulnerability he doesn’t try to disguise. He raises his hand to your waist but stops and meets your eyes before he makes contact with you. You don’t dare move, because you fear if he keeps looking at you like he is, your legs won’t be able to hold you.

Heat.

That’s the only word you can think of as his eyes seem to want to burn through yours, and all you want in the world is to go up in flames. He doesn’t drop his gaze as he puts his hands on your waist. He’s gentle, the pads of his fingers making contact first, leading with a tender caress.

Sy hums softly as he slides the robe off of your shoulders before wrapping an arm around you. The energy between you feels like electricity arcing; he draws you in closer until your chest meets his and a jolting spark shoots down your spine, straight to your clit.

Barely suppressing a moan, you put your arms around his shoulders and bring his head into your neck. You can hear and feel his muffled groan as he nuzzles into you and tightens his arms.

“I’m gonna take you to bed,” he rasps as his lips move gently over your skin, “God, I want you. I want all of you.”

“Then take me, Sy,” you whisper because you couldn’t speak any louder if you wanted to, you’re so breathless.

Sy doesn’t wait for a second invitation, keeping an arm around you he walks you to your room. He shepherds you backwards until your legs hit the bed and you let yourself fall onto the mattress with a giggle. Sy pulls his tank off as he climbs onto the bed, smiling as he sits with his back against the headboard and pulls you over him, your legs on either side of his.

The sun is starting to set and brilliant red and orange light seeps through your curtains and hits Sy’s face just right. You stare at him, struck by how handsome he is. His cheekbones are so perfectly highlighted by his beard, and although his skin is marred by scars, it only adds to his rugged perfection.

“What are you lookin’ at, baby?” he asks slowly, drawing your attention to his lips that are stretched into a gentle smile. Now they are perfect. Big enough to suit his face, and so surprisingly soft. Without conscious thought, your thumb sweeps gently over them and he chases it with his teeth, giving you a delicate nip and a kiss.

“Just you,” You keep your voice low too, like any loud noise would break the spell of this moment, “You’re so good looking.”

Sy holds your hand to his lips and kisses your palm, “I could say the same about you, but it wouldn’t do you justice… you’re so much more than ‘good looking’.”

“Sy,” you shake your head, you can feel your cheeks heating, “I–”

He shuts you up with a kiss, lips firm against your mouth. His arms tighten around you and he rolls you over onto your back, “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs emphatically as his hand moves down the side of your body with a tender touch. His hand is hesitant as he sweeps it over your belly, and his voice shakes ever so slightly, “I told you, I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you.”

His fingers trace the curve of your breast, and your nipples tighten as his touch sends a pleasurable shiver down your spine. Sy bites his lip as he watches your reactions.

“I wanna know all the ways I can make you tremble like that. I’m gonna take you every way I know how. I’m gonna make love to you, and I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe. I want you on top of me and under me. I want you on your fuckin’ knees,” he growls, and for a moment you think that’s exactly what he’s going to do. His eyes are wild and hungry, like he’s doing everything he can not to flip you onto your stomach and take you from behind.

Instead he lowers his head to your breasts, taking you into his soft, warm mouth. He peers at you from beneath his brows as he moves to your other breast and his tongue comes out to circle your nipple slowly, his breath cooling the wetness he leaves behind. With a faint moan he draws the tight bud into his mouth, and you gasp as you feel his fingers caressing higher on your inner thigh.

“Open for me baby, let me touch you.”

Your legs part without any thought, it's nearly embarrassing how quickly you obey. But you’re ready for him, so ready, and you want him to know it.

“A little more,” he shifts his weight, giving your legs more room, “That’s it. That’s what I want.”

His fingers keep moving higher, and your thighs quake in anticipation. You drop your head back to the pillow, closing your eyes. God he’s so much, how does he know just what to say, just how to touch you to make you so malleable?

Then he’s on you, his hand is between your legs and the heat of his skin burns your already hot centre.

“Oh God, you’re so wet! So soft and warm,” he moans, burying his head into your chest. Your body surges and your hips move against his palm, “Oh fuck, you’re killin’ me here, baby.”

His teeth sink softly into the flesh of your breast as his finger slips inside you followed swiftly by a second. You hold on to him, gripping his forearm tight, holding him inside you as you rock against his palm, and his mouth moves over your body.

Sy moves behind you, tucking your body in close. Lifting your leg over his and wrapping an arm around your waist, he presses his hardness against your undulating body, grinding and rocking with you. He crushes his mouth against your ear, his beard and lips scratching at your sensitive skin.

“Baby, look at you move, you’re so close ain’t ya? I can feel ya squeezing my fingers. You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ hard.”

You moan, reaching behind you to pull his hips closer to yours. You close your eyes, focussing on the feeling of his fingers, his hot breath on your neck, and his cock rubbing against your ass.

Sy hums, “You like the way my cock feels, don't ya?” Even though you know it's a rhetorical question, you nod emphatically, “Soon as you come, baby, I’m gonna be inside you. God, you’re gonna feel amazing, I’m gonna make it feel so good for you.”

His fingers slide out of your core and press against your clit and your hips buck as you cry out. He growls, the arm around your waist tightens and his teeth sink into your ear. He’s suddenly rough with you, his kiss is full of harsh need, all sucking and biting, and he holds you so tight you can barely breathe. His raw power is so potent, but his touch between your legs is still so gentle where he moves over your clit.

“Sy, I…” you stutter, panting so hard you can’t make the words form.

His arm leaves your waist, fingers sliding up to your cheek to turn your face to his, “Call me Noah, baby,” he kisses you and keeps your face close to his, his voice just a whisper, “I want you to call me Noah.”

You bring your hand to his bearded cheek as you teeter on the edge of your release, “You’re going to make me come, Noah.”

“Good girl. That’s all I want, baby. Do it, come, I want it.”

You close your eyes, so, so close.

“Look at me, I wanna see, I…”

You open your eyes, but barely. You feel intoxicated, so high you could touch the ceiling. Then whatever was holding you up falls away and your body explodes as warmth floods you. Your eyes slide shut again and you can barely hear Sy’s whispered praise.

“That's good, baby. You're so good for me…so beautiful…so fucking perfect,” His kisses move down your neck and across your shoulders as you come back into your body. Still tingling with warmth, your skin feels so sensitive, each brush of his lips stokes the heat in you and you know you must have more of him.

You roll over in his arms and kiss him, letting your hand slide over his head and neck like he enjoys. You thought he’d already be pushing himself into you; he feels so hard and ready. Instead, he moves under your hand like a puppy who wants pats, guiding your touch to where he wants it as he presses his face between your breasts with a groan.

Then, quite suddenly, he pushes you onto your back, rising between your legs until you feel the hardness between his, pressing against your hot center. He’s so heavy above you, but you like it; you want to feel his weight, feel how open you are beneath him as he spreads your legs wide to accommodate his body. He kisses his way back up to your neck, trailing his lips over your throat and jaw.

“Noah,” you murmur, and you squirm beneath him, feeling the length of him slide easily between your slick and swollen slit.

Sy hisses in your ear, then pulls his hips away with a curse.

“Shit, I… do I need a condom?” he asks.

“You’ve been tested, right?” you ask, knowing your brother is tested after every deployment, “And I’m on birth control.”

“Yeah, I have, but I’ll wear one if you want me to.”

“I trust you, Noah,” you tell him sweetly and matter-of-factly.

His brows come together and he looks away, his jaw is hard and you can see the muscles clenching. His chest pumps harder and you feel his already rock-hard cock pulsing against your thigh. He looks at you and lowers himself back down until his weight is on you again, holding his head above yours. His eyes glisten, and you wonder if he is going to cry.

“Are you…”

“Baby, I…” he sighs and leans on his elbows while his fingers stroke your hair, “I’m in so deep with you. You know that right?” Your furrowed brows must have been an answer because he continued, “I’m in so fuckin’ deep, I can barely see the surface.”

Your eyes widen, you’re not stupid, you know what he’s trying to say. Suddenly, your chest becomes tight and tears sting your eyes, “Noah–”

His mouth covers yours, “Don’t say anythin’,” he says into your mouth, “you don't need to, just kiss me.”

And that’s what you do, letting your need for him speak through the hard collision of your lips and the soft insistence of your tongue. Your desire for him is as strong as his is for you. You’re in just as deep as he is and you don’t even try to hide it.

As if of one mind, you each reach a hand between your bodies for his cock. You both let out a short laugh, and instantly you’re nervous again.

“Sorry,” you apologise shily.

Sy shakes his head, “It’s okay. Here,” he takes your hand in his and places it around his length. He moves your hand over him and whispers, “Together.”

You nod and suddenly you’re both serious, eyes locked onto the one another, your breaths coming hard and fast. The silky, soft skin of Sy’s dick slides over your slick folds and your eyes flutter closed with a gasp as his head brushes your clit.

“Look at me baby,” Sy urges and you open your eyes, “Keep lookin’ at me. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

His hand tightens around yours as he guides himself into your core, and you inhale sharply as he slides in, inch by blissful inch. Your eyes widen as you feel the pressure of him sinking into you, and you squeeze his hand as your pussy stretches to welcomely accommodate his girth.

“Oh, fuck,” Sy groans as your bodies meet, lifting your hand off of him and lacing his fingers in yours as he pins your hand against the mattress above your head. He swells within you, filling you, owning you so completely that you don’t know how you ever felt satisfied before him. He kisses your mouth and chin, cheeks and neck, but he still hasn’t moved, his hardness bound within you.

His free hand clutches at your hip like he wants to be deeper than he already is, and his face tightens as he huffs his breaths like a bull, nearly snorting through his flaring nose. Holding his weight on his elbows he moves his free hand to caress your face, he’s so gentle, despite how much he wants you. You feel like he’s holding back, he seems so tense, and you want to tell him to let go and be wild, but— God you want him like this too! His tender touches make your heart skip like the needle jumping on a record. You run your hand up his arm and shoulder and lay it against his fur, watching the billowing of his chest with each panting breath.

“You’re so…” Sy says before slamming his mouth shut and with a low growl, and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is intense, urgent and needful, with no finesse at all. His lips move roughly over yours, opening them, licking and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your lower lip. Then he moves and it feels like satin gliding over your silken walls. You feel him everywhere, like he’s invaded every cell of your being as his body rolls above yours in a powerful, yet gentle rhythm, so different to the way his lips are moving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, so… so… fuck! You’re everything, Sugar. You’re everything.”

You kiss him with an intensity to match his, neither of you are holding back now, you need him so desperately.You tug your hand out from beneath his, grabbing at his back, feeling the way his spine rolls and his muscles ripple as he undulates above you. His skin is searingly hot and you pull on his shoulders, wrapping your legs around him, craving a closer proximity to all of that heat, all of that muscle, and all of that raw power.

“More,” you implore, fingers digging into the hard muscle of his ass, “I need more.”

“Like this,” he growls, his voice rumbling like an engine, deep and throaty. He keeps the same easy flow but pushes into you with a hard grunt.

“God, yes,” you moan as your back arches.

Your body catches his new rhythm and you move together, eyes firmly locked on each other, neither of you can look away. How can it be like this? How can it feel this good when it’s never been like this with anyone else. Suddenly, all of those months of waiting, all of the worry and build up, come crashing down over you. Your vision blurs and you can’t blink fast enough to stop the tears from falling.

“Sugar, I…”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, pulling on his neck until his whole body rests on yours. “Please— please don't stop,” You kiss him hard, begging him with your mouth, demanding more with your hips.

“Shit, baby, I don’t know if I should…” You close your eyes with a shuddering moan, and feel the rough pads of his thumbs wipe at the tears that spill over your temples. Sy groans, and drops his head into your neck, his arms wrap around your back, “It’s okay, you’re good. I'm here, I’ve got you,” he mumbles as his lips gently kiss along the side of your neck.

Sy slides an arm further up your back and cradles the back of your head, while the other lifts your leg, holding it under his arm. Oh God! He moves, pushing so much deeper, and he’s hitting that spot that makes you go wild. Your fingers dig into his neck and back, his skin is slick with sweat and he wipes his face against his arm before he leans over you, pressing his forehead against yours.

You feel the soft pillows of his lips skim over your face, gliding over the planes of your skin as he mumbles your name, so softly you’re not even sure he said it. You open your eyes and you feel him as you’re held by his gaze, you feel his love, his passion, his need. And as he whispers your name again, you feel him so profoundly that it seems as though he has seeped into the marrow of your bones.

You’re close to your peak, and you cry out wordlessly as your body pulls tighter and tighter, “Noah, I’m…” you're so breathless, panting, you can't even say it.

“It's okay baby, let it happen, I want it. Give yourself to me, come on my cock. I wanna feel you, I fuckin’ want it all, give it to me, Sugar,” Sy grunts out his encouragement through hard gritted teeth. His head pushes so hard against yours it almost hurts, but his thumb strokes your cheek softly and his fingers move over your neck.

Your eyes squeeze shut as that welcome and familiar tightening grows in your gut. You know you must be close to shouting, but all you can hear is Sy’s muttered urgings, the slap of your bodies colliding with one another, and the rustle of the pillow beneath your head as Sy pushes you further up the bed with each thrust.

“Christ, look at you, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, so fuckin’ hot,” Sy whispers before his tongue slides over your parted lips, “Come for me, baby. God, I wanna feel you.”

You kiss him, clumsy and desperate, clutching him closer and tighter, not letting go until you crest your peak and fall into your orgasm. Waves of pleasure make your whole body contract and release, you can feel your core tighten around him, feel him as he keeps fucking you through your climax and the little, shivering aftershocks that ripple through you as he hits that spot again and again.

He doesn't stop, doesn’t slow down, if anything, he’s going harder than before. His arms slide under yours and he grabs your shoulders in his hands using them for leverage. His eyes stay on yours until he can’t hold back anymore and he swears, his lip rising into a snarl before he throws his head back with a deep primal growl. You’re awestruck as his neck fills with tension, rivulets of sweat run down his reddening skin and the muscles tighten, tendons and veins popping as he strains with effort. Your already stretched core is spread wide again and you cry out as you feel him thicken and release into you.

Then he stills, his head drops back to your neck and his hot, panting breath roars in your ear. For a moment, you feel all his weight as he pulls an arm out from behind your back and searches until he finds your hand, slipping his fingers between yours. With a hum you squeeze his hand and using your free arm and both legs you hug him, and Sy chuckles softly.

His laugh makes you grin and his kiss on your neck makes you want to melt for him all over again. “God damn,” he murmurs. You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed and a Cheshire grin has spread across his face. You kiss his lips, and his eyes open, his smile widening until a dimple creases his cheek.

“Yeah,” you say, “God damn.”

For a while you both lay there looking at each other while you catch your breath. Sy’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you bring it to your lips giving it a lingering kiss.

Sy closes his eyes and kisses your cheek. His slowly softening cock falls from your core as he rolls onto his back and you protest with a whine.

“Don't worry, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he says, pulling you into the crook of his arm. You smile and rest your head on his shoulder, your fingers are drawn to his chest hair like there's a magnetic pull. Although wet and matted by sweat and friction, it’s still comforting as your fingers comb through the coarse curls and you close your eyes. Sy yawns, and you imagine his eyes have closed too as his fingers lazily dance up and down over your arm.

Not wanting to imagine it, you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest. Sure enough, his eyes are closed, the muscles in his face seem to be at rest and you stay there, transfixed, watching as he seems to flirt with the edge of consciousness. Soon his fingers stop their caress and his hand falls limply over your arm, presumably asleep.

There’s a part of you that is still disbelieving of his presence here, that you’d actually just had sex. You felt like if you fell asleep now, you would awake to find it had all been a dream. You fight the urge to trace the lines of his features: the straight, but bumpy nose, the strong, prominent brows, the high, chiseled cheekbones, and those soft, plush lips. Instead you rest your head back onto his shoulder and watch him slumber peacefully, enjoying your uninterrupted study of him.

With a rumble in the back of his throat, Sy opens his eyes with a start, eyes wild and rolling in his head before they quickly settle on you. He sniffs as he takes a second to get his bearings then rolls onto his side, pulling you in close with an exaggerated grunt and a squeeze.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off,” his voice is husky and deep with the remnants of sex and sleep.

“Would you just admit that you’re tired, Sy?” you say teasingly.

He chuckles. He’s got you so close to him, tucked in so tight, that his chin hits the top of your head when he speaks, “I am tired, baby.”

“C’mon, get under the blankets with me.”

You can feel him swallow against your forehead, “I’d like to shower first,” he says.

You kiss his still damp chest. “I told you, I don’t mind you being a little sweaty.”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent about 12 months without a proper shower. I’m gonna take one every chance I get,” he reveals and you can hear a grin in his voice.

“That's fair. Want me to come too?”

“It's ok, I’ll be quick.”

“What I should have said is, I want to come too.”

The shower is much quicker this time, Sy washes himself so fast that he was almost done by the time you finished fussing and got in. Through the frosted door, you see him wrap a towel around his waist and leave the bathroom, coming back with a toothbrush. Finishing just as he returns, you towel off and join him at the sink, the two of you brushing your teeth together.

You both keep looking at one another through the mirror, smiling at each other. Sy grins and gently bumps your shoulder with his, you shake your head with a silent chuckle then lean over the sink to spit out your excess paste.

As you straighten and lift your gaze, it's as if you’ve had a vision, deja vu. In that moment, it was as if the two of you had done this a million times before. Standing here together, preparing for bed at the end of the day, like it was your normal, natural, routine. With a sudden clarity, you could see it, your future with him became crystalised, set in stone, and you wanted this to be your life forever.