croissantsareeverything - Tumblr blog

croissantsareeverything · 5 days ago

Text

I………what?….this……I mean……..

Like it’s………

Oof.

I….

What?!…

Eyes That See (part twenty-three)

Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself. Eyes That See Part 23 Summary: It’s the morning after your fight with Justine. After staying the night at Sy’s, you wake up in a much better mood and end up finding something out about yourself. Relationship: Syverson x Reader Words: 5k Tags: Smut with an capital S, but like in a romantic ETS way (dry-humping, fingering, female ejaculation)

You come to consciousness the next morning as if drifting afloat the ocean on a raft, warm and floaty. Judging by how warm the room is, Sy must’ve fed the fireplace overnight instead of letting it die out, and you’re grateful.

You’re also grateful that Sy’s still next to you. Normally, he can’t help but leave the bed whenever he wakes up for the day, but more and more lately, he’s begun to stay in bed with you under the blankets instead. When that happens, it's coveted and special.

Sy’s typical early-morning position is spooning you from behind, but when you wake up this time, the winter sun just barely beginning to dully peek through the sides of the window curtains, he’s on his back instead. You find yourself laid halfway across him. Your hand's draped over his chest, right leg lifted over his thigh, and your head's laying half on his shoulder and half on a balled-up pillow underneath his arm. You're pretty sure you may be drooling on him.

The remnants of Sy’s body wash on his skin, the scent of his sheets, the soothing up and down sensation of his breathing–everything rolls over you like waves. You’re consumed in pure safety. Afloat with it. Basking in it.

Last night was yet another time you’d come running to Sy with yet another one of your issues, crying and frustrated after your argument with Justine, and still, there’d been no real annoyance from him. The extent of his frustration had to do with you continuing to take more blame in the entire situation than he feels like you should, and it’s just evident: he’s truly in your corner. He’s entirely in your corner.

He really loves you.

And you really fucking love him.

Everything’s just so comfortable right now–your body, Sy’s body, the fireplace, this room, this bed, your dreamless, empty, floaty brain–that you aren’t even aware that you haven't been just riding some sort of imaginary wave within your thoughts this whole time; you’ve actually been truly moving your body in waves.

When Sy speaks to signal he's awake, his voice is croaky. “You humpin’ my leg, darlin’?”

Instantly, you freeze as if being electrocuted. What the fuck.

You’d been mindlessly grinding yourself against Sy’s thigh.

Quickly, you open your eyes. Forcing yourself to lift your head and embarrassingly look at Sy with a face that must look groggy and guilty as hell, you prepare to apologize and disentangle yourself, but he stops you with a strong hand on your waist.

“Stay here,” he lets out with a rasp.

Hesitantly, you drop your head to rest on Sy’s shoulder again, moving it more to his bicep so you can hide your face in the crook of his arm, but your body’s still tense. Sy lowers his hand from your waist to cup your asscheek at the crease on the top of your leg.

“So I take it you’re feelin’ better after last night.”

Against his skin, you just nod. Purposefully, you keep your body still and appropriately-placed.

“C’mere,” he chuckles, pulling your ass inwards until your underwear-covered core presses directly against his thigh again. “Stop hidin’.”

You let out a half-groan, half-whine. “Sy…”

He lowers his voice to a more suggestive tone. “I liked it.”

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you press your hips forward again, and the same pleasure from before comes back and spreads from inside your undies to your stomach to your chest to your brain and everywhere else. It felt good–feels good–but you can’t continue, though. You just can’t. Sy’s full attention now is almost too much, too–you don’t know the word.

Now that you’re fully awake and know he is, too, you have to falter.

You don’t know why you’re so confident about your feelings for one another but still so shy about sex sometimes. You want to keep going, you do, you’d love it, and you’re sure he would, too, but it’d make feel you so vulnerable, and borderline humiliated, and–and you’d–but–Sy would never say anything but nice things, you know, so maybe it’s okay if you–

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sy eventually breaks you from your thoughts, and you find yourself instantly on your back with Sy draped over you this time. He looks down at you with something like fondness in his sleep-puffy eyes.

His left leg is still directly in between both of your legs, and he firmly presses it downwards to give you what you couldn’t find in you to give yourself a second ago. Once he starts actually moving his leg, your clit feels like fucking pop-rocks exploding, like too much concentrated in too small an area, definitely too much for you to have just woken up a few minutes ago. God, his thigh alone is big enough to–

You hold back a moan.

When Sy says, “Baby, it’s okay,” you shakily let out the breath you’ve been holding in.

When he says, “Can feel you’re wet,” you close your eyes.

When he says, “You’re perfect,” you turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes even more shut.

Then–nothing. Sy stops. He takes his leg away.

You blink and blearily look up at him, legs splayed open under the covers, pussy throbbing. In the dark room, you’re able to tell his eyes are dark, but still, they remain somewhat soft. You offer him a small smile.

Sy’s fingers trail to the top of your underwear and pause there until you lift your hips off the mattress, and then, with your help, he slides them down your legs. Clearly getting a look at you before pulling the blanket back over your legs, Sy then starts running his hand in a circular pattern over your stomach.

He spends long moments caressing your stomach and breasts under your sleep shirt, and you find yourself starting to feel afloat on the ocean again, spurred on by a steady stream of deep whispered words Sy keeps letting out. Stuff about how smooth your skin is, and how good you feel, and how good you smell, and everything you'd found yourself internally thinking about him moments ago. Then momentary silence.

“D’you think I talk too much?” he quietly asks out of nowhere, and you just give him another smile before actually meeting his eyes, expecting him to wink at you because you know he can have a dirty mouth.

He doesn’t, though. From his expression alone, you can tell he’s for some reason being genuine.

You shake your head. “I think you–I think my brain is–it’s too much sometimes, and you help me stay, like…you help me stay in the moment. And not…overthink things. Or worry.” You clear your throat. “So no. I don't think you talk too much. I…I like it.”

You know it’s too early to be rambling so much, but Sy’s eyes simply travel around your face while he looks at you. Eventually, he reaches up to move some hair out of your face. “Good,” he finally settles with.

With your knees still pointing opposite ways under the blanket, it’s easy for Sy after that to glide his hand down your body before cupping your entire pussy in his palm. The wide middle part of his hand makes contact with your touch-starved clit just as his fingertips find a pool of wetness below. You gasp.

“Fuckin’ A.” Sy props himself up on his forearm and looks down at you. “Hadju some good dreams or what?”

“No,” you mutter while your face heats up. “I’m…I dunno. Shut up. I’m ovulating.” There’s a defensiveness there that’s not necessary or sincere whatsoever. You end up smirking in slight residual embarrassment and also slight humor at the way Sy’s continuing to stare at your face with his eyebrows lifted.

The smirk doesn’t last long. Under his gaze, you feel so small, and so desired–and you love it–but you still can’t explain how the weight of his attention is too much sometimes and you just have to close your eyes.

Soon, there’s actual pressure at your slick hole, and Sy just barely dips a finger inside you. Going no further, he pauses. “Still good?”

You open your eyes and nod fast, and while Sy slips his index finger as deep inside your pussy as it’ll go, you don’t take your eyes off one another. You’d lean up and kiss him if it weren’t for your own morning breath.

But he probably wouldn’t care about that, anyway. And you don’t need to kiss. Not really. The way you’re both looking at one another like an invisible string is connected between your noses, like reverie, like this is something more than just early-morning fooling around...that’s enough. Enough for you to close your eyes again after a minute.

This is something only for each other, something no one else will ever get to know. Only he gets to have you like this. Only you get to have him.

Just one finger is thick enough for you to feel full, but when Sy adds his middle finger, too, you’re honestly stretched enough that you don’t think you could take another. Keeping his hand flat on your mound in a way that makes it impossible not to grind up against, he then starts to slowly pump both of his fingers in and out of you.

While continuing the steady in and out slide, Sy lowers his mouth to your neck. You feel him moan against your skin like he’s the one getting pleasure from this, and when he picks up speed, there’s a noise to it that you can hear even over the layer of the blanket covering you. Even over the sporadic crackling of the fire.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sy chuckles against your neck, and you know it’s because he’s learned that you cuss in bed more than you ever would any other place.

Like this isn’t lighting you the fuck up right now, raging morning hormones and hot-as-shit boyfriend and arousal so evident it’s noisy. If this blanket weren’t offering you modesty, you really don’t know if you’d be able to hold this brazen position at all under the intensity of Sy’s focus.

But–Yes, you could. Sy would get you there. He’d talk you through it. He’d make you feel sexy. All of the times you’ve been intimate together have been boundary-pushing for you in mindblowingly stellar ways. All of them.

And it’s then that you come to your senses and reach down towards the hardness you’ve been gradually feeling poke you to give him the same attention he’s giving you.

Sy barely even lets you trail a finger along his erection before lifting his head and moving your hand away. He makes a low noise. “Let me focus, baby.”

“What, you can’t focus if I–”

Without malice, Sy moves your hand away again. Your head falls back on the pillow while you relax your arms and give in to his hidden and rhythmic movements under the blanket. When Sy moves his slickly-drenched fingers up and down your slit, it’s easy to imagine that you’re probably wet all over now, thighs and asshole and all. It definitely feels wet. It definitely sounds wet.

You squeeze your eyes again and let your mouth partly drop open.

With your legs so widely open for him, Sy easily finds your clit and presses the tips of his wet fingers on top of the hood. His mouth starts kissing the pulse-point of your neck while he starts making wet tight circles there, and with a gasp, you jolt your hips upwards.

Again, you blindly reach downwards to try to tug at Sy’s cock, and this time you’re able to wrap your entire hand around his shaft over top of his boxers. That only rewards you with the cessation of all of his movements–no more kisses over your neck, no more circles over your clit. You whine.

“I can’t focus if you do that,” he moves your hand away and tells you again. “Not how I want.”

“How’s that?” you practically slur. “The way you want?”

“Mm. Like this,” he utters, lowering his fingers to your entrance again, but this time with different ones: his middle and ring finger, it feels like. You’re pretty sure those are his index and pinkie fingers you feel pressed against the backs of your legs.

When Sy’s fingers start moving inside you again, the frantic speed takes you aback: it’s so sudden and so strong that you gasp and grip the sheets underneath you in a tight ball. Sy barely even moves his hand after that, keeping his fingers inside as far as they can go, curved up so the pads of them keep touching a spot within you that instantly has your legs quivering. His hand still moves, though, like he’s vibrating it to match how you were inadvertently moving while waking up this morning, and–your lower belly feels like a fucking balloon of pressure starting to expand.

It only builds. In the past, you’d considered getting fingered as a precursor to intercourse. Sy’s treating it like the main event, his sole desire. His focus is with it. God, his hand is big.

And it’s fucking good. Your hips keep bolting upwards so you can ride his fingers any way you can, in turn giving your clit contact with his palm, and the speed of everything lights up every single one of your nerve cells down there. Fuck.

You’re not aware how much you’re moaning until something Sy whispers in your ear breaks through all the frantic feel-good static in your head. “--lay here’n be good, that’s all you gotta do, just lay here’n be good for me, just letch’yourself feel good for me.”

Those words coupled with the way you can feel Sy start to rut against your hip do something weird to you, like they have some sort of control over your actual body or something, because directly after you hear them, the bottom of your stomach feels like it’s convulsing. That pressure that’s been building and building this entire time feels ready to burst open and explode.

“Oh, my fucking God,” you let out in a shaky voice. That almost-bursting sensation is right there, right there, almost about to happen–like a pending orgasm but something else, too.

You’re able to place what the familiar sensation is, and it’s not just an orgasm. And in the middle of so much pleasure building up that you’re literally about to come all over Sy’s hand, this can’t be happening right now. It can’t. You can’t.

You’re about to pee.

Sy’s teeth are latched on your neck, directly overtop where the marks he’d recently given you have literally just started to go away. You’ve got to raise your hand to hit his head. You can’t fucking speak.

His fingers keep the same rapid movements, though, and now he’s using so much strength that you can’t even undulate your hips upwards anymore. Insistently, they move, fingertips still pressing upwards against what feels like your bladder. Everything still feels so fucking good, and you’re still being way too fucking loud, but shit–you fucking drank before bed last night, and even though you didn’t even feel like using the bathroom when you woke up a few minutes ago, you definitely feel like it now, and you’d be fucking mortified if you fucking peed on his hand during a time like this.

“That’s gonna–” You thrash your head to the side. “Sy, stop, that’s gonna–Stop!”

While simultaneously stilling his hand on instant, Sy detaches his mouth from your neck and looks at you with big and worried eyes.

Your legs quiver like you have no muscle tone. “Sy, I–”

“You alright?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in humiliation. “That’s gonna make me pee,” you urgently whisper. “You’ve gotta–”

Something changes in Sy’s expression when you dare to peek at him again. “No, it’s not,” he says, and there’s a strange confidence there. Like he would know how full your bladder is.

You lay there with your chest heaving from how fast your heart’s been beating. “Yes, it is.”

“That ain’t–Then just let it out,” he utters with words sounding just as slurred as yours. He brings his mouth down to your neck again and sucks a patch of skin into his mouth in such a way your pussy tightens around his soaked fingers.

“Oh, shit… What? Pee?”

Sy pauses for a heavy moment. “If it happens, it happens,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t gettin’ out this bed.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you mutter directly after Sy’s fingers start relentlessly fucking into you again–or, fucking in you again. The same pressure from before comes right back lit anew–the outward sparkling sensitivity of your clit against Sy’s palm, the inside… the inside everything. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

You can’t believe this. You can’t believe you’re in this situation right now. You can’t believe you’re going to fucking pee in Sy’s bed while you come and Sy’s not going to even care. On his fucking hand, too. The man has no scruples with bodily fluids, though, and especially no scruples with anything when it comes to you, so you guess it tracks. You remind yourself that he’s dirty, and he loves you, and– “What’d I tell you, huh? Just lay here’n be good, honey,” he grunts against your neck, darkly-sweet.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. You feel like you have no control at all right now, that Sy’s got everything handled, that this is what he wants. Just you like this.

“That gets you goin’ so much,” he murmurs. “Bein’ good for me.”

“I…” You can’t reply.

“Just let go, baby. I wantchu to.”

You drop your hand from your mouth to grasp the bedsheets again. From the force of your body essentially being drilled, the blanket has moved enough that you can see Sy’s forearm now.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, teeth clenched together while you breathe out frantic puffs of air. Keeping your right leg bent, you raise it and plant your foot into the mattress to get some sort of grounding against the welcome onslaught. “Yeah, okay. Fuck.”

Within seconds, you’re moaning near-incessantly again, staring down at the cords of muscle in Sy’s forearm while his hand vibrates so quickly inside you that it’s like he’s a part of your body itself. Your legs impossibly shake even more while the squelching sounds from earlier continue, and it’s then that you can’t just fight it anymore. Sy said to just let go. Sy said if it happens, it happens. Sy said let it happen.

Throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes so tightly shut that your ears ring, you start feeling that same distinct sensation from earlier, like Sy’s fucking targeting a spot in your pussy that throbs. It’s not uncomfortable, though; it’s just pressure. Massive pressure. It builds, and it builds, and you cry out, and you cry out some more, and within mere seconds, without you hiding from it any longer, a surge overcomes you so powerful that your body simply locks up.

You entirely white out. With a growing orgasm so strongly that you can’t speak besides breathing out “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” you realize from your jumping hips that Sy’s fingers aren’t in you anymore. They’re pushing the blanket down as far as possible, then they’re back on your clit, and you just can’t control anything anymore. You’re gonna–

You feel the liquid embarrassingly gush out right as you start to come with a high-pitched drawn-out noise you don’t recognize, and the shame will have to wait until later because everything feels too good. When Sy slides his fingers back into your leaking pussy, a bit more liquid up top is forced out from his still-rapidly moving hand, like you don’t have enough to be embarrassed about. But you feel so fucking good.

And Sy would never say anything bad about what you’ve just done. He just wanted you to lay here and be good, and to let go, and you listened, and you feel so, so, so, so good.

Fuck, the covers are still moving from–fuck, Sy won’t stop fingering you even though you’ve clearly just come your brains out, like he’s wanting you to keep going, but you just–you can’t. You feel deflated, like all your muscles and all your organs have been taut and tense and now can finally relax.

Sy doesn’t stop moving until you reach down and shakily hold his wrist. “Okay, okay,” you let out through an odd whimper. “I’m good. Fuck. Good God. Oh, my God, okay, I’m done, Sy, oh, my God, please, I’m done.”

You can’t sit up, but you feel like you should. Everything underneath your ass is soaked. Somewhere along the way, you’ve raised your left leg off the mattress, and your knees are knocked together almost trembling. Your breath comes in quick heaves.

You look over at Sy just in time to see him licking his fingers, and there’s a small trail of clear pee sliding down his forearm. That brings you to your senses quickly. “Sy, oh, my God, what the fuck.”

“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my entire life, Y/N,” he says with a surprisingly clear voice–not sounding grossed out at all. Also, strangely not even sounded aroused anymore even though you’ve probably been moaning out your release loud enough and long enough to give him blue balls.

The sun is a little brighter through the edges of the window curtains, casting small slivers of light on your lower stomach and below. You stretch out your shaky legs. You’re going to have to change all of the sheets. You’re gonna have to—shit, you can’t even think. You don’t know what you’re gonna have to do. You’re gonna have to do a lot. Everything is so wet.

…And Sy didn’t care. He liked it. He…It got on his hand. He didn’t even drop the “g” from the word “fucking” like he always does. He enunciated. He used your government name.

You can’t look at him at all when you ask, “You got, like, some sort of pee fetish I didn’t know about or something?”

It’s…it’s not like you’re one to judge. You’re the one that fucking let loose in the middle of having an orgasm, not even able to hold your bladder for just a few more minutes. It felt so good that you couldn’t even describe it if you wanted to, though, and that’s what you hold onto while still coming down from everything. That’s what’s keeping embarrassment from washing over you.

Sy’s face still looks so turned on, though, eyes dark and intense, mouth-breathing quickly. “Baby, that–” He pushes himself up on his hand. “You still think that was piss?”

You make a face at his word choice. “Gross, Sy.”

He lowers his hand to splay his fingers out atop your lower belly. “Baby, you–” He looks down the bed. “Look at all that,” he whispers.

Squirming, you begin feeling hot again, and not in the best way. You attempt to roll over to face the window, but Sy won’t let you.

“Baby. You squirted,” he says, waiting until your eyes finally meet his. You feel so tiny with him looming over you like this. “You fuckin’ squirted for like a minute straight.” He lifts his left hand in the air and turns it slightly. “All over…You just kept–”

You can’t hear anymore. “But–I–”

When Sy looks downwards towards your hip, your eyes trail there, too. On your skin without you even noticing, and also on the mattress, are splotches of what is clearly semen. Speechless, you suck in a puff of air.

Sy swallows and looks back at your face. “I–” He chuckles at himself a little. “I couldn’t even hold out, you were so fuckin’ hot just now. That…”

You sit up on your elbows. “But–Sy, that wasn’t…” You just keep blankly blinking.

“You ain’t ever done that before,” he muses to himself like he’s figuring something out. “I fuckin’ was the first one?”

You’re starting to come back to reality more and more with every passing second. And the embarrassment is starting to build in your chest, pressing down.

“Sy, I–I don’t know what all you’re talking about,” you say in almost a childishly quiet voice, “but no, I’ve never peed over anyone’s hand while having an orgasm.” You swallow at your own bluntness.

Sy grins at you. “You squirted.”

“But Sy, it–”

“Look, you wanna smell it?” he interrupts. “It ain’t pee. I’m tellin’ you that.”

You close your eyes and fight back an incredulous smile. This freaking man.

Slowly, you lower yourself back down until you’re entirely horizontal again. Your eyes flicker from the ceiling to to the wall to Sy’s face, still looking down at you like you’re–like you’re some kind of porn star.

“So it wasn’t pee,” you let out.

He shakes his head and continues to grin.

“Well, I mean–You were goin’ like a freakin’ jack-rabbit down there, Sy–I couldn’t help–Where’d that even come from?”

“You were makin’ noises I ain’t ever heard before,” he responds while laying himself down beside you and putting his head on the pillow you’re using. “Just kept goin’ ‘til I could see how loud I could getcha.”

At his smile, you bite your lip. “Pretty loud.”

“You’re the one who woke up humpin’ my leg, darlin’, so I ain’t too sure what you expected.”

You turn onto your left side, not minding how messy Sy’s tacky cum feels against your skin as you do. Hell, the little globs of his release are nothing compared to…an entire drenched bed.

“You’re not ever gonna let this go, are you?” you ask.

He shakes his head and kisses you. “Hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in my life,” he repeats.

Sy puts his hand on your hip and rubs his thumb back and forth while both of you lay quietly, mutually coming down from your highs.

“I feel so much better now that I know it wasn’t pee,” you whisper after a while. “I just kept thinking…I mean, I know you wouldn’t’ve been mean about it or anything, but still.”

When Sy notices you beginning to shiver, he reaches out and pulls the blanket up where you’d apparently kicked it all the way down to the footboard. He finds a dry spot before covering it lazily over both of you. It’s a sweet action he takes while retaining a somewhat smug expression.

“Have you ever done that to someone before?” you eventually ask, unsure if you even want to know the answer.

Sy just shakes his head.

Oh.

“Then how’d you–how were you so sure, then? When I said what I thought it was gonna be. And you were all–” you lower your voice to something deep and twangy– “‘You ain’t leavin’ this bed.’”

He smirks at your impression. “Had a feelin’.”

You roll your eyes. “You had a feelin’.”

“Literally, I had a feelin’,” he maintains. “I could feel it. It was like your body was tryna push out my hand. Then it did.”

Again, you momentarily can’t look at him.

The smugness leaves Sy’s face entirely. “Baby, I’m fuckin’ serious. If you couldn’t tell. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I mean that.”

You give a small nod. “‘Cause you say what you mean, and you–”

“Mean what I say,” Sy finishes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, ignoring Sy’s little “aht” noise, “I don’t mean to be so…weird about it. I think I’m still in shock.”

“I am, too,” he admits.

You can’t believe you… You can’t even say the word. Maybe you’ll get there one day.

Even though the both of you really need to get out of bed by now, you remain where you are: next to each other and more comfortable than you’ve been in a long time. The fact that your embarrassment only lasted for a fraction of moments is extremely telling.

You want to marry this man.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" he asks after quite a long silence, but he says it so quietly it's like the tiniest of murmurs, like a sentence spoken rather than a question.

You smile against his chest. "My mind floated away for a minute."

"Where to?"

"Someplace nice."

Sy holds you a bit tighter.

“Actually, I’ve kinda been wonderin’ somethin’.”

A deep, rumbly noise vibrates from Sy’s throat–an acknowledgement, an inquiry. He probably thinks you’re still ruminating over the fact that you–that all that stuff gushed out of you earlier. But you aren’t.

Your thoughts have traveled all over the place, and they’ve always ended back to the present moment: both of you holding each other on the bed that, together, you first had sex. Then all of the moments after that…and then all of the future moments yet to come…

You know you can trust Sy. You trust him implicitly. You know this.

It's other people you don't trust.

So…if someone were to ever get his phone, for instance, it'd be your worst–worst–nightmare. You can already picture him taking a picture of the bedsheets.

Your voice is a whisper. "What do you do with the pictures you take of me?"

Instead of immediately answering, Sy pushes himself up on an elbow. He must be wondering why you're asking.

"Or the ones that I send you?" you add. “Like, the–the private ones.”

“Well.” He reaches out and taps on your chin to get you to lift your gaze. "I look at 'em.”

You're quiet.

"...Unless a certain person asks me to delete 'em," he offers, and you can hear the confusion lacing his statement.

"Oh, that–I wasn’t gettin’ at that,” you admit, smiling. “It’s just..I just wouldn't want anyone else to see anything.”

Sy’s expression gets sternly serious. “Y/N, I would never–”

“I know, I know,” you’re quick to interrupt. “But if someone else saw by accident. Like if you gave your phone to one of your nephews to play a game or something.”

"Not possible,” he answers. “They're locked.”

"The phone?”

“The pictures.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“In a hidden folder,” he goes on, and your eyebrows only get closer to each other, confusing him. “What?”

"How is it that the man who’s practically technologically illiterate–”

Sy lifts his hand to cover your mouth, and you start to cackle.

“Woman, take that back.”

You shake your head as your eyes crinkle from your hidden smile. “Can’t even talk on the phone and take a picture at the same time–” you say all muffed and incomprehensible. “Had to teach you myself.”

When he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth, you stick your tongue out and lick his palm until he finally backs off.

You’re expecting more banter, maybe tickling, maybe an “Alright, darlin’, best get up now,” but there’s none of that. Sy keeps his hand in midair and stares at it.

Staring at you while he does so, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it from top to bottom, right over the smear of your own saliva. Right over…Right over where you’d squirted all over.

You squeeze your eyes shut while your heart starts to loudly thump in your chest.

101 notes · View notes

croissantsareeverything · 7 days ago

Text

I FUCKING LOVE IT! FUCK YES!!!!

Ooft the emotional bits hit close to home. I know those feelings.

And Sy’s MOUTH. 🥵

Thanks JC. Everything you share is like being gifted treasure.

the staircase fic (part two)

the staircase fic (part 2 of 2) part one found here

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Summary: After you and Sy both spill out your hearts, you make up. On the floor.

Words: 8.6k

tags: miscommunications, domestic arguments, hurt/comfort, p-in-v intercourse

Flat on your back on the staircase, your dejected expression remains entirely unchanged as you stare up at your fiancé.

Sy’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock. “I am happy for you. ‘Course I am," he utters. His voice lowers as he deeply implores next, “Hear me when I say that.”

“Yeah,” you impassively mutter, and you know your voice is unconvincing. You’ve gone from frustrated to angry to hurt to…empty.

Here's what Sy’s just not getting: These thoughts you’re having and these words you’re saying and this emotional state you’re currently finding yourself in…They're not just from this one evening. It’s not like his behavior during this one party has stirred all this up.

While he’s probably thinking you're reacting solely from this one event tonight, in the background, there have been a lot of things–little things, seemingly insignificant things–building up doubt in your mind for a long time now. Miniscule-weighing crumbs of Sy’s disinterest that, put together, have actual mass.

The recent lack of interest in wedding planning. The withholding of compliments. The disinterest in your coworkers. Separately, these individual things may not be much, but put together, they all make a heavy statement. Put together, they equate to a diminishing interest in you.

Maybe tonight was an unspoken plea on your part for him to prove you wrong. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a petition. You don't know. Whatever it was, he failed it.

In growing discomfort, Sy murmurs, “C’mon, Y/N…I…” but, evidently struggling for the right thing to actually say, his words fall short.

Your unpleasant ones take their place. “Sometimes I just don’t feel that way,” you admit in a whisper, looking away.

With disbelief coating each word, Sy slowly tries to clarify your point. “That…I ain’t happy for you?”

Heavily, you shrug, and then you close your eyes, mentally telling yourself not to cry. You remind yourself that you’re not sad here; you’re mad.

“Y/N…”

Mental images pass through your head of how your friend Jen's husband acted tonight. How he'd been working late but still had showed up for his wife's birthday party. How he'd stuck by Jen's side for a majority of the night to celebrate with her. How he seemed just fine conversing with all her coworkers. …How he'd seemed to even actually enjoy it.

Jen had a partner tonight. You were alone.

Worse than that, you were alone without even being alone.

Straightening his legs out and digging his heavy boots into the carpet to plant himself there, Sy lays entirely horizontally–diagonally, actually, but as flat as possible on a set of stairs–and rests his left elbow on the spot next to your shoulder. This gives him the ability to cradle your face with his right hand.

“Y/N, I’m happier’n shit for you,” Sy reassures, and it would almost sound funny, but you’re trying to keep yourself from crying, so all it does is make you want to tear up even more.

Here he is, finally saying the words you’ve longed to hear, and they aren’t even cheering you up. You’re still just so embarrassed by everything, so hurt, so–mad. You’re mad, you tell yourself again.

“I am," he insists at your silence, almost shaking you a little bit with his right hand. "You went to school for a long damn time. You worked your ass off. You deserve it.”

Nodding, you compose yourself a little bit, but your eyes noticeably burn when you finally open them again. “But you don’t like it,” you tell him.

“Don’t like what?”

You frown. “My job.”

Sy frowns back. “When'd I ever say that?”

Offering him a flat look, you reply, “I’m not dumb. You might not dislike my actual job, but you dislike the people I work with.”

Conceding, Sy tilts his head to the side a bit. "I…might not care for some'a 'em."

“Obviously,” you mutter, wishing you could just get up and stop having this conversation.

Sy's still laying on top of you, though.

“And…that’s what’s got you upset?” he asks, eyebrows almost touching one another with how severely they’re pushed together in a mixture of concern and confusion. “That I…don’t like your coworkers?”

You look to the side again, and Sy taps your chin to get you to look back at him. “Hey.”

Knowing you sound like a whining child, you turn your eyes back to his and reply, "I just want you to.”

"Okay…" Sy says, perplexed. Treading carefully, his voice is slow when he says, "So next time I'll get to know ‘em. I just promised you that."

You nod, and that’s when a thin pool of water begins to rim your eyes. Sy just watches you with his mouth dropped open.

He can’t take it when you cry. Never has been able to.

But you’re not even crying right now, and you aren’t going to start crying. You’re upset, yeah, but you’re–you have to remind yourself you’re frustrated, and you’re–you’re pissed off.

After being an antisocial ass all night, Sy had talked to you by the front door earlier on like you were a child, you remind yourself. He’d grabbed you by the ankle to keep you from fleeing up the stairs, and now he’s got you pinned on them, and–you’re mad here. All night, he acted like a dick.

Still, your eyes won’t stop burning, and Sy won’t stop staring into them.

“Y/N, why would me not carin’ for the people you work with upset you this much?” he asks while you dab at the corner of one of your eyes with a knuckle. “I…Help me out here.”

Taking another deep breath, you mutter, “It’s more than just you not likin’ the people I work with.”

“So what is it?”

You blink a few times trying to formulate the right words, but you know however you answer that it won’t make sense to him. That, or it'll cause an actual fight. It'll offend him.

“Y/N,” Sy whispers reverently. “Talk to me here. I can’t fix shit if I don’t understand.”

You're not gathering any hint of angry annoyance whatsoever from Sy's tone like you've anticipated; there's just genuine confusion in its place. Compared to just a few moments ago when he stormed into the home tense and fighting-mad, this is entirely opposite now. Now he's asking you to talk it out. Now he's all-but-begging for you to explain your thoughts to him.

You know why there's a sudden shift: Sy hates it when you cry.

You definitely aren’t using tears as a form of manipulation here, but damn if it’s working.

While your heart begins to wildly thump, you contemplate what to even say. As much as you want to run away from all of this shit right now and pretend it never even happened, you can’t. You’re flat on your back in the middle of the staircase with Sy's insistent weight covering you, and you know you won’t be getting up until this is settled.

Even though he’s quite literally pinning you, you suppose you do need to get it out, you guess. The shit you tell yourself sometimes. The negative stories you make up when you don't hear anything positive from Sy.

You don’t hear much from Sy at all.

Taking one final heavy breath in, you shakily let out your hot air.

“If you’re not interested in my coworkers," you begin in the quietest voice possible, "then that’s just a few steps away from you not bein’ interested in me.”

As the air between your faces turns deafeningly silent, Sy waits for you to say more. Judging by his face, he’s already not piecing together what you’re saying. He truly doesn't understand.

“They're important to me, and you don't care," you say. "You literally don’t give a shit. And even more than that, you, like, actively dislike them. So…I know how this stuff goes."

"And how’s that?”

You sigh. “C’mon, Sy.”

“Baby,” he insists, “I really don’t get what you’re tryin’ to say here. What d’you mean, ‘you know how this stuff goes’?”

"Eventually there'll be more things I’m invited to,” you explain. “More work things, or maybe just–maybe just things for fun. It’s bound to happen. There’ll be someone else’s birthday, or someone else’s promotion, or someone else’s retirement…I’ll get invited to join people for drinks after work or something.”

“Right…And…”

Feeling like you’re crazy, you sigh. “And since you don't like any of ‘em, you won't ever go. So I’ll go alone. And they’ll ask where you are, and I’ll make something up about the military. And…that’d be that. But I’d still wish that you’d go with me when you were able to. While you’d start wishin’ I didn’t go at all. That I didn’t even work where I worked.” Your breath hitches. “While you’d start thinkin’ that somehow I’ve changed.”

Sy’s mouth slightly opens. Before he can speak, you take the tiniest break before going on again.

“But you’ll keep it to yourself at first. Until one day you get tired of bein' around me altogether.”

Sy’s lips remain parted. “You’re sayin' that because I don’t like some'a your coworkers,” he reiterates, sounding stunned, “I’m gonna get tired of you."

You look to the side.

Well. You did try to make Sy jealous earlier tonight, and he did nothing. Nothing. Nothing to suggest you were a couple. Nothing to hint at the fact that you're his fiancée.

And even besides all that, you dressed up nicely tonight for the first time in forever, and he still hasn’t even commented on it. Not once.

You shrug. “I’m–Well, if I’m bein’ honest, Sy, I kinda feel like you’re already gettin’ tired of me,” you admit, making your tone as soft as possible to outweigh your bluntness.

"I–" Sy spends a long, long moment just staring down at you. He still looks like he's been sucker-punched. “Y/N…”

“So…Yeah.” You clear your throat. “The more you get tired of me, then it's just a matter of time before you find someone else that you like better, especially during deployments. And then you'll–And then you'll just be done with me,” you finally finish, voice croaky and almost incomprehensible, and there’s a long and heavy pause.

Then: “What?”

While Sy incredulously stares at you, you stare back almost apologetically, your eyebrows turned upwards. “It’s a natural progression of events,” you murmur.

"A natural progression of events,” he slowly repeats in his heavy accent.

"...Yeah."

You’re not going to really start crying. You're not. Your eyes are just wet.

“‘Cause then you’ll decide…"

Like his pupils have been expanding, his eyes look dark, and they move all around your face before they focus right back on your own glistening ones. "Decide what?"

"That you don't love me anymore,” you mumble, and you try to shift a little to the side to get some cooler air to take in.

As you do, Sy’s face goes through a series of changes, shifting from confusion to deeper confusion to utter disbelief. He takes your chin in his hand and guides you to look directly at him, but his mouth remains dropped open.

"I--I didn't–" Sy's desperate face finally morphs into resolve. "Y/N, that won’t ever happen. That won't ever, ever happen."

Sliding his hand up from your chin, Sy cradles your jaw so he can brush over the apple of your cheek with his thumb. You’ve felt his touch be gentle like this, but now it’s stronger, more depserate. "I love you more’n…I love you more’n anything on this earth.”

In reply, you just minutely nod so the movement of your head won’t rattle your tearborne eyes. Finally he’s saying something, you think.

“You hear that?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

Still holding your face, Sy goes on, “Hear that?”

You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, feeling some relief that your deceiving thoughts aren’t true, after all, but still–this is the first time Sy’s said he’s loved you in a long time. It’s more than he's offered to you at all in a long time. A long, long time.

It somehow does little to quell the emotions that’ve been embodening you. How Sy’s been behaving tonight…How he’s been behaving for quite some time now… It’s–It’s really–

It’s made you mad, you remind yourself again, clenching your jaw as Sy cradles it. It’s made you feel mad and vindictive and passive-aggressive and a slew of other angry emotions, and–and–

It’s hurt. More than anything, it’s hurt. This anger you keep trying to go back to is simply a covering, a facade, and you know that with certainty. You’re hurt. And something like that doesn’t just go away.

“Hey,” Sy murmurs. “Look at me.”

Still not saying anything, you slowly bring your red eyes back to Sy’s, and there’s a moroseness you see within his that you feel you’re helplessly mirroring.

“You…You gotta know that,” Sy says, retaining the little desperate edge to his tone.

The moment you look away again, Sy’s face falls.

You feel guilty, but he has to realize how he’s been acting recently. He has to hear how it’s affected you. In a handful of ways, he’s made you feel ignored. Unspecial. Sure, he loves you, but does he care?

“I do, Sy, but I just…”

While you take a deep breath then let it out slowly, Sy seems at a strange loss for words.

“It’s just…” You sigh. “I just wanna feel like you do. I want you to–I want you to be–”

Your sentence trails off, and, hating the way you sound, you want to groan at yourself. Your eyes won’t stop watering up. No matter how rapidly you keep blinking to dry them up, no matter how many times you keep wiping at the sides of them, no matter how strong your resolve is to not cry right now, it’s not working. None of it is. Something about being on the damn staircase like this in such a compromising position is fucking up your ability to emotionally regulate.

Roughly, you cough, and then all at once, the deep and sudden dejection you’ve been trying to hold inside cracks open. It forcefully slams into your body. Suddenly, you're sad.

You’re able to croak out, “I just want you…to…care,” but you can't say anything more than that because then your eyes start truly burning, and then they start filling with water, and then the water starts falling down your face, and then–fuck. You're crying.

Sy quickly but gently shakes one of your arms. “Hey…Baby. I–I care," he mumbles. "C’mon, now…”

Almost to hide, you finally just close your eyes entirely, and it makes it feel like thick, warm water is stagnantly pooling in the divots of your eye sockets.

“Hey,” Sy whispers again, softly shaking your arm again, and there’s an edge of desperation lacing his voice. “Hey, hey, hey.”

You don't speak or open your eyes, but you start taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. God dammit. You’re being so fucking stupid right now.

But you feel how you feel.

“Dar–Hey, shh," Sy tries again. "Shh.”

Almost in distress, his fingers move across your cheeks to wipe off the moisture there. “I said I’d–Y/N, of course I care about you. I…I asked you to marry me.”

You whine through your crying, feeling helpless and ridiculous. Just–there seems to be no getting through to him. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Sy presses his lips together and changes tactics instantly.

“Sit up.” Sy pushes his upper body off of you quicker than you can expect, moving himself entirely to the side. “Sit up with me.”

When Sy’s body weight is gone, you’re left in a strange-looking position, knees spread and body cold. You accept the hand that he holds out in offering to assist you up, and since you’re technically already sitting on a step, you just have to close your legs and raise your upper body. In no time, Sy’s wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in close to his side.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and you look up at him curiously, your back slightly aching. “Just c’mere.”

Your body tenses with not only the discomfort of having laid on the stairs for so long but also the lingering stiffness of your emotions. When you’re directly next to Sy, you’re still tightly wound-up that your shoulders are almost to your ears.

He starts running his hand up and down your bare arm. “Relax,” he says in a deep whisper.

While his hand wrapped around you continues to soothe you, he reaches out his other hand to cradle your head into his chest, and you find it harder to fight his instructions. He smells good. He smells safe.

Because he’s so fond of it, he always wears this particular button-up shirt whenever you go out somewhere, and when you press your face into it more, the familiarity of it soothes you. The fabric is thin all over and almost faded under the armpits, and the collar’s perpetually wrinkly. And you love it.

Finally relaxing some, your muscles droop, but tears still leak from your eyes.

Sy heaves in a lungful of air, the breath expanding his entire chest. “I–I don’t–”

He leaves the rest of his sentence unfinished and instead brings his hand over your hair. Over and over again like it’s actually soothing himself, he smoothes his hand over your hair while you both just collect your breathing together.

It's not until several moments later when your eyes wander back to his own that he speaks again.

“I–I fucked up tonight,” he murmurs. “I did. I know I did. But…it sounds like I been fuckin’ up a lot.”

You can only sniff.

“And I’m gonna fix that,” he vows. “‘Cause this right here? Watchin' you cryin’? ‘Cause’a me? I can’t take it."

Nodding, you wipe your eyes. “It’s only bad like this ‘cause I’ve been keepin’ it inside so long.”

“That’s what–” Sighing, Sy cuts himself off. “It shouldn’t’ve gotten to this point.”

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t try to tell you before. You’re sorta stubborn, Sy,” you say deadpan, and he grunts.

“I’ll talk next time,” Sy promises for the tenth time, and you despondently frown. “I’ll talk to every fuckin’ person, Y/N.”

You sigh a little.

“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Sy tells you.

“I know,” you say before swallowing thickly. “It’s just–I don't want you doin' somethin' just ‘cause I want you to,” you tell him. “I want you to want to."

Slowly, Sy nods, and you can tell he’s taking you seriously, but there’s something within him he appears to be keeping inside. He looks away with his jaw firmly set and momentarily stares at the wall.

“And I know what you’re gonna say,” you murmur while wiping your eyes. “You’re gonna say that I just wanted you to suck up to everyone tonight. But that’s not true. Seriously. I honestly wouldn’t've even cared if you did show your ass to everyone.”

Sy’s eyes dart back to your face, jumping from feature to feature. “...Did I just hear you right?”

You nod. “Any version of you is better than no version at all, Sy. That’s what I’m sayin’. I just–" You sigh. "I don't even know.”

Nodding, he’s quiet, and you feel like your point is finally starting to get across to him. “I only sat down in the first place for you to…do your thing. You work with 'em. Already know 'em. Didn't wanna ruin anything.”

“But I was talkin’ to another man and, like, showin’ off and stuff right in front of you,” you go on. “Like, for a good majority of the night.”

Sy’s eyes turn sharper. “I knew you were tryin’ to get attention,” he tells you. “Just didn’t know why. That’s exactly why we're in this position now.”

You keep a tiny frown on your face. He knew you were trying to get his attention, yet he still did nothing. “But why didn’t you do something?” you whisper.

“Wh–?” Sy begins to retaliate with something but then stops himself. “‘Cause I didn't wanna ruin shit for you,” he repeats.

You’re still not satisfied, and it shows.

“Listen, if you’da done that shit somewhere else, we woulda settled it right away. Woulda been havin' this here discussion up in that restaurant and not on a fuckin’ staircase.”

You wipe the tip of your nose. “We can literally get up off the stairs at any time.”

“But,” Sy ignores you to say, “‘causin’ a scene with your supervisor in the room and about thirty other witnesses you gotta see on Monday mornin’ prob’ly wouldn’ta been the best first impression. So I kept my distance. While you were thinkin’ all’a this mess about me not wantin’ to be with you anymore, I was just try’na behave.”

“But–It wasn’t just Preston, though, Sy. You didn’t care about talkin’ to anyone at all tonight,” you tell him. "You didn’t do anything. It was like you–you didn’t–”

"I get it," he mutters. “I get it. I was comin’ across like a dick.”

You don't know what to say. You're still holding onto the hurt from earlier, but his words are beginning to help.

He seems to struggle with finding any more words after that, though. And you get it. He doesn’t talk like this. He doesn’t talk like this ever.

It takes several moments of silence filled with your hitched breathing before Sy prepares to say anything else, and whatever he’s about to let out, you can tell he feels vulnerable about it. He begins rubbing his neck to signal his discomfort.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Y/N," he starts, initially looking away and then finally meeting your eyes again. "I fuckin’ mean that. A helluva lot smarter’n me.” Sy clears his throat before continuing, “You deserve your job a hundred percent. Hell, you deserve your boss’s job. An’ I know I prob’ly don’t…I know I don't show it enough, or say it enough, but…I'm happy for you. I am. Seriously. And I’m proud of you.”

Trying not to start crying all over again, you rapidly blink a few times.

"And I love you," Sy seriously vows for the second time tonight. "I love you so much I can’t even–there ain't even enough words to explain it. If you–” Sy shortly coughs. "Don't doubt that. If your mind ever starts wanderin'...Just–Don't let it. Don’t ever doubt that I love you."

Sy’s thumb brushes across your cheekbone once more, and all you can think to say back is, “I love you, too.”

“Then why d’you look so damn sad when you’re sayin’ it?” he whispers.

“‘Cause I still don’t understand–” You clear your throat. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

He looks confused. “I’m an open book to you, Y/N. What don’tchu understand?”

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t wanna start a pissin’ contest with all the men there tonight?” you ask. “I only really talked to Preston. That’s just one man. I mean, besides my boss that I talked to for just a second because he was so drunk…”

Sy rubs his beard. He’s quiet while he gets his answer together in his head, and it takes quite some time for him to do it. He stops himself at least twice, opening his mouth and then snapping it shut again.

“I know I haven’t gotten to know ‘em that much,” is what he finally says when he’s decided which words to speak. “Yet. I know that. But…You got eyes just the same as me, Y/N.”

“...What does that even mean?”

He sighs. “You gotta admit that tonight was just a big excuse for everyone to show off their money.”

Your face slowly twists in confusion. “I didn’t think anyone there was showin’ off,” you murmur, and Sy challengingly lifts his eyebrows. “Really. That’s just how they are. They’re actually pretty cool people once you get to know them. I mean, most of them, at least.”

“Y/N, all the men were wearin’ Rolexes,” Sy comments. “Fuckin’ Rolexes. And their shoes alone prob’ly cost more than this entire outfit did.”

Pausing, you’re taken aback at tonight's turn of events. The pressing frustration you’ve had this evening has been due to Sy not talking enough, and now here he is, talking, but talking in a way he never, ever does. Always unapologetically himself, Sy never compares himself to other people. The walking epitome of his DILLIGAF t-shirt, the man exudes confidence. “Fuck what other people think” could be his catchphrase. …Now he’s bringing up what the other people at the party tonight were wearing. Of all things.

“I guess I just don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the cuffs of Sy’s shirt where you know he’s wearing his chunky black watch that you love so much.

“Well, I’m sure you paid attention to how your boss covered the entire dinners–and drinks–of close to three dozen people, yeah?” Sy asks.

“Well, yeah…And that was really crazy,” you admit, but you quickly remind him, “but everyone’s gonna pay him back for the food. Jen said he does it because he has some special credit card and it helps him with rewards or somethin’, I dunno.”

Sy grunts, retaining the somewhat skeptical look on his face.

“I know that it’s kinda like a different world. It was like that at first for me, too. They’re… They’re rich people,” you awkwardly chuckle. “With the salaries they all make, that’s just…how it is. But seriously, none of them are snobby or anything. And none of them were lookin’ at you like you were some sorta redneck, either, Sy. They seriously weren’t.”

Sy supplies you with a short nod, and you can see through it instantly.

“Babe, they weren’t,” you repeat.

“Yeah, well.” He rubs his neck again. “I’ll get me a three-piece suit for next time so I won’t stick out as much,” he mumbles.

"Huh?”

From where he’s just looked off to the side, Sy looks you straight in the eye again. “Toldja I’m gonna be goin’ to more of your work stuff with you. I mean that. You got my word.”

“Yeah, but–Sy, you dont have to–I don't want you to get a new suit,” you tell him. “I don’t want you to–I don’t want you to do any of that. I just want you to be yourself. I don’t care what you wear.”

Suddenly, Sy gets stoic, almost as withdrawn as he was earlier. It only serves to fire you up again.

“And tonight I wanted to introduce you to the people I work with not just so you could meet them, but so that they could meet you. Not some fake version of you puttin' on some act. Wearin’ a suit. Wearin' a Rolex. Drinkin' nasty wine you hate just as much as I do." You shrug. "Just you. Exactly as you are."

Sy briefly hangs his head for a second, putting one of his hands on the back of his scalp. He exhales audibly before lifting his head again, and when you meet his eyes, yours widen with worry.

Sy just–he doesn't fucking act like this. Not ever. While you continue looking up at him to try to interpret what’s really going on in his head now, he says something next that you’re not expecting.

"You know I’m always gonna provide for you,” he states. "That's what I'm gonna do."

You nod slowly. “...I know.”

“An’ you can rely on me to provide for you no matter how–no matter what,” he goes on, and again, you nod.

“Yeah, Sy,” you answer. “I know.”

There’s a resoluteness in his words that doesn’t necessarily match the concern on his face, and you just don’t understand his expression right now.

“And same for me,” you fill the silence. “I’ll provide, too. That’s why I…It’s give-and-take, Sy. You don’t have to be all macho all of a sudden. I work, you work. We both bring somethin’ to the table. We’re a partnership.”

Hardly ever seeing any chinks in his armor, you’re sincerely taken aback.

"Sy, I…What's the matter?"

Heavily, he sighs. “I ain’t ever gonna touch the kinda money those people make, Y/N,” he finally makes his point, voice impossibly low.

“It’s–”

“Not in my lifetime," he interrupts. "Not even close.”

This status thing is something that really matters to him. It's something he’s truly insecure about, you're beginning to understand. Something he’s so insecure about that he doesn’t even know how to actually express it.

In the military, there’s no way to really distinguish between who has money and who doesn’t–at least not out in the field. There’s rank. There’s rank earned from hard work and length of service, and that’s how everyone earns their respect. They respect the rank, not an outward display of wealth. Even at the nice military balls you’ve gone to, there weren’t thousand-dollar suits and expensive watches to be seen; there were uniforms and pendants and medallions.

Of course, there were nice dresses and expensive jewelry and all types of things that had you yourself feeling inferior, so…you know the feeling.

“You make excellent money as it is,” you immediately retort, and he just scoffs. "You do," you maintain.

“Let’s say that’s true,” Sy quietly replies, "which it ain't–"

“And even if you didn’t,” you interrupt him as soon as you realize he's about to say something negative, “what difference would it make at all? That kinda stuff isn’t important to me, Sy. I’d love you regardless.”

“Y/N–”

You repeat yourself: "Regardless."

Slowly, Sy's tongue slips out, and he wets both of his lips together while he nods at you. His silence continues, though, and this time, unlike earlier when it was he who knew that there was something going on with you that you weren’t sharing, this time, there’s something he’s not sharing. You just don’t know what it is.

“There’s…I don’t…Are you…Are you upset that I might make more money than you do one day or something?”

“Hell, no,” Sy replies right away. “You go out and earn all the money you want to. Go all the way to the top. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“So what’s wrong?” you whisper, and Sy heaves a sigh.

Almost incomprehensibly, almost as if he doesn’t even want to even speak, he mumbles, “Just wouldn’t ever wantchu to start thinkin’ someone else could offer more.”

Sincerely hoping he's kidding, your mouth drops.

Leaning over and tightly holding onto Sy’s arms, you kiss him. Deep and meaningfully, you kiss him, straining your neck from it. “Sy, seriously. That won’t ever happen,” you repeat his words back to him. “Never.”

After kissing Sy once more, just as long and just as meaningfully, you then briefly rest your head onto his shoulder. “You could be flat-broke, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else but you,” you tell him. “I’d think you were the best man in the world. No matter what. I mean that.”

Sy chuckles. “I don’t ever plan on goin’ flat-broke,” he says with a tiny smirk, “but that’s good to know.”

Finally, you smile a little, too.

“Now, before your mind goes runnin’ off somewhere,” he murmurs, “you know I don’t think you’d really be goin’ off lookin’ for shinier things, alright? I…”

As he trails off, you meet his eyes to let him know you understand what he’s saying. “...Just needed to hear me say it out loud,” you softly finish for him.

Sy makes a little noise like, “Mm.”

“Sometimes I need to hear you say things out loud, too."

"I hear you loud and clear,” he tells you. "I'll do better. I won’t be such an asshole next time, alright?”

“At least not for no reason,” you reply, smiling something soft that lingers for a few seconds before flattening out in concern. "Hey. You still look like something's wrong."

He looks sullen. “Well. I made you cry.”

Your eyes are still a little sore, but you’re genuinely glad you talked things out. "But then you made it better."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Apology accepted?”

“Yeah.” Not able to hold it in anymore, you actually grin. “I guess you’re forgiven.”

“Now, I ain’t tellin’ you to pull any’a that shit’chu did tonight again,” he tells you, “but I get it, alright? I get it. I'm ownin’ that.”

“Thanks, Sy,” you whisper, and he promptly kisses you again.

Finally, he's initiating a kiss, touching his lips to yours with a tenderness that only comes after arguing. As you naturally tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you realize you haven’t apologized yourself.

You break your lips away from Sy’s with a smack. “I’m…I’m sorry, too. For actin’ up tonight.”

Sy grunts, but he seems to let it go quickly based on the playful way he taps the end of your nose. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

“We good now?” he confirms, and you happily nod while he taps your forehead next. “Ain’t got nothin’ left brewin’ up in here?”

With a big tight-lipped smile, you shake your head. “I said everything I needed to say.”

“You sure?”

“I mean, I might be able to think of a few more things to throw out there while we're at it,” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow. “Might as well let it all out while we’re here," he says. "Lay it on me.”

You begin playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Left your beard hair in the bathroom sink this mornin’.”

“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” he reassures quietly, smoothing a hand over your stomach while he leans in to steal another kiss. It goes on without a break for several seconds, and by the time you disconnect your lips, you find yourself laying back on the stairs again, Sy hovering atop you.

"There's dried up mud from your boots on the kitchen floor,” you utter with your lips moving against Sy’s, and he slides his mouth away from yours to place a kiss on your cheek next.

“I’ll have it scrubbed clean,” he murmurs while making his way to your neck, kissing there and almost making you break out in goosebumps from the sensation of his beard. “With a toothbrush.”

His hand glides up to cup one of your breasts while you go on, “You’ve got me laid out on the stairs, and I’m probably gonna be injured in some way when I get up,” you go on, and at that, Sy doesn’t have a reply; he just nips at your neck.

“And then you let an unwed intern talk to me all night with no sort of intervention.”

Unimpressed, Sy lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. “I can easily still getchu ‘cross my lap right here, right now.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re not spanking me,” you tell him, trying not to laugh, and the side of Sy’s mouth curves upwards, too.

“Says who?” he challenges.

You smile. “Says me.”

Mischeviously, Sy looks to the side. “I could.”

“Not on the stairs,” you challenge right back, accepting another ever-wettening kiss.

Sy takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it while sucking. He lets it go with a wet pop. “I’d make it work.”

“Mmhm,” you mumble unconvincingly against his mouth when it covers yours again. You give one another slower and detached kisses next: one, two, three, your lips smacking.

“Keepin’ me laid out on the steps like this isn’t uncomfortable at all.”

While your heart rate speeds up, Sy begins running his thumb along the plumpness of your bottom lip. It’s tantilizing for a moment, but just because you can, you lean forward and gently bite his thumb, playfully squinting your eyes at him a little.

“Lookatchu. Keep complainin' 'bout it but ain't even tryin' to get up.”

“It’s all this charm you got,” you mutter after Sy’s thumb pops out of your mouth.

Sy grunts. “I like you like this," he says, pushing up your dress until it's bunched at your waist. As your back slightly arches, your chest quickly heaves. “We can stay just like this. Have us some make-up sex right like this.”

You turn your head to the side. “Oh, is that what we’re gonna do?”

“Mm.” While kissing the offered skin of your neck again, Sy trails his hand up and down your upper thigh.

“You sure know how to spoil a woman.” You bite your lip through a smile.

"Sure as shit workin’ on it,” Sy tells you, and your smile drops a bit when he switches from sweet to dirty: “I’ll spoil you so much, both your legs’ll be wet by the time I’m done.”

Not able to deny how his words and actions are already causing your pussy to tingle, you swallow. “So much romance, I can’t handle it.”

“That’s what you wanted, though,” he lowers his voice and says directly into your ear. “Playin’ games even though you got a rock on your hand ‘cause you wanted me to let everyone know you’re mine.”

Sy's hand inches higher, playing with the sides of your panties, and, unable to help it, you quietly whimper. As your eyes slip closed, you succumb to the combined feeling of Sy's hand possessively touching your leg and his mouth wetly kissing your throat.

“Gets you goin’, don’t it?” Sy asks after placing a quick bite on the skin of your neck. “Me remindin’ you who you belong to.”

At the attention you’ve been all-but-begging for tonight and are finally receiving, another small, soft noise escapes your lips. Still– “I’m not property.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’d you wear this dress for tonight?” Sy asks. His voice loses its menacing tone and gets lower. “Those people at the party or me?”

“Mm." You straighten out your heavy head and open up your equally-heavy eyes. "What happens if I say both?”

Sy presses his lips together and tightens his jaw, and you smirk while lifting your hands to his cheeks. As you cradle his face like that, Sy takes a handful of your hair in his free hand and similarly cradles the back of your head. “Who’d you wear this dress for?”

You look to the side and bare your neck again. “You.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Yeah, y'did,” Sy mutters. “And you didn’t know how to say it, so you stood next to my sister’s fuckin’ ex-boyfriend and touched his fuckin’ arm, right where I could see.”

You groan. “Don’t talk about him when you’re tryin’ to seduce me, Sy.”

“I can say whatever the hell I want,” he tells you as his mouth trails up your neck, and your pussy outrightly clenches. “Can’t I?”

“Sy, I’m seriously gonna be so sore tomorrow if we don’t move,” you whine.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be sore,” Sy whispers before biting your earlobe.

You squeeze his shoulder even as you can’t help but laugh. “Syyy.”

“Alright,” he deeply chuckles into your ear, but he still doesn’t get off your body. "C'mon."

It’s seriously ridiculous how slowly you two make it up the stairs together–you pushing yourself backwards up each step like a crab, Sy simultaneously doing a precarious bear-crawl on the sides of your body. You both won’t stop kissing long enough to stand upright, though, and when you get to the top step, you still don’t. You simply push yourself backwards onto the hallway rug and lay yourself out entirely.

It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the living room down below, and for about to be having spontaneous sex in the middle of your hallway floor, you find the ambiance nice. Crooking your index finger to gesture for Sy to join you, you bite your bottom lip and bend one of your legs up at the knee.

“Here?” Sy asks, and you nod.

On his knees before you, Sy slides his hands up and down your bare legs, almost worshipfully slowly, feeling the soft smoothness again and again. He undoes his belt with no real urgency after that and opens his jeans until the denim is loosely bunched in front of his thighs, and while watching him, you slide off your underwear.

You spread open your legs and pull your knees back a little, and Sy spends long moments just staring down at you. With his two forefingers pressed together, he reaches out and glides his hand directly to where you glisten, and his fingers dip into the dampness he finds there. After bringing his fingertips to his mouth to taste, he reaches back out to slide his fingers up and down your slit while keeping his eyes trained on yours. The intimacy makes you squirm atop the hallway rug.

Straightening your legs momentarily, you urge Sy forward with your feet on the back of his legs. After he falls down with a hand by your face for leverage, together you both push his pants and boxers down until they’re entirely off, then he finally lowers his torso to align with yours. Instantly, you feel his dick twitch against your leg.

He pushes hair away from your face. “I love you.”

“I love you back,” you whisper, smiling for a second, but when Sy leans down and kisses you, your mouth goes slack.

Sy keeps his mouth attached to yours while finding your wrists and lifting both of your hands above your head, and with you laying on the bare floor with his bare cock pressing against your bare core and his calloused hands pinning down your manicured ones, you really do feel at his mercy. Like he could roll you over as roughly as he wanted to and smack your ass until the indentation of his handprint showed up. Like he could do whatever he wanted. Like you're his.

You feel Sy’s knuckles brush along the inside of your thigh as he takes hold of himself and lines up with no other preamble, and the second he comes into contact with your pussy, he groans. When his cock dips inside, it’s familiar and perfect and everything you've needed and missed. Overwhelmed already, you heave in shallow lungfuls of air.

Sy slowly sinks all the way in, and all the frustrated tension in your body leaves the second he bottoms out. In its place is a different kind of tension, something exciting, something anticipatory–the heaviness of preparing to chase fulfillment together.

He was slow to bury himself to the hilt, but the first thrust he gives you is not gentle. It's firm and it's hard, hard enough to cast you back against the hallway wall, but when he continues moving, he's slow. Slow yet firm in some sort of tender yet masculine re-claiming, it takes long moments for your brain to even realize what your body's taking.

“Fuck,” you whimper, your voice echoing in the large open area around you. “Oh, fuck.”

After minutes of never changing his pace, Sy stops thrusting to shallowly circle his hips instead. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.”

You instantly listen, and he finally lets go of your wrists to rest his forearms next to your arms. Under his weight, you’re delightfully smothered.

Amidst Sy’s focused face, a small smile forms as he looks down at you wolfishly. Now simply grinding against you, he pulls down the front of your dress, exposing your breasts–boob tape and all.

“What’s all this shit,” Sy mutters under his breath, and he moves a hand as if preparing to rip the adhesives off.

“Sy, don’t you dare,” you hiss, finally moving your arms to stop him.

As you’re caught up between pleasure and horror and humor, you quickly take off the tape that helped with your cleavage all night. Immediately after freeing yourself, Sy’s quick with touching you all over, paying excess attention to your nipples until they’re hard and over-sensitive. His mouth stays near-constantly pressed to yours.

There’s an exact angle Sy figures out after that, one that gets you to not care how loud you’re becoming: With his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up just right, he relentlessly begins to slam inside you again. Little noises get punched out of you every other second while you grab onto his shoulders. You can't even move. All you can literally do is take it.

Sy's breathing loudly against your mouth when he says, “Look at me.”

You do as he requests.

“Who’s fuckin’ you?”

Feeling hot all over, you gasp and then close your eyes. Sy gratefully lets you have your moment to hide from the intensity of everything, and he lowers his face to the side of yours.

“Tell me who’s fuckin’ you,” he whispers directly into your ear.

“You,” you let out, finishing it in a moan. Your mouth won’t close. Sy just keeps rutting into you without ever pausing for a break. He’s so fucking vocal, saying whatever comes to his mind and moaning right there along with you. It’s easy to get lost in. It’s Sy.

He moves to look at your face again. “Who’s the only one that gets to?”

“You,” you open your eyes and rush out. “You forever.”

“‘Cause I love you,” he utters, words so sweet in contrast to how his body’s moving.

You hold onto his shoulders while staring up at him, slack-eyed and hazy. You both speak to each other with gasps and moans, and hearing Sy moan admist his grunting and groaning—fuck.

You extend your neck to offer your mouth to Sy again, and instantly he slots his mouth to yours, giving you his full tongue. Your hands move to his beard while you make out almost desperately. When it breaks, you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his cheek, then his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him as close as possible. The heels of your feet dig into his ass cheeks.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, and slack-jawed, you nod. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

Together, you chase more and more, and you try not to think about how you won’t have this for much longer–you won’t be able to be together like this once he goes overseas again. You won’t get to feel him inside you. You won’t get to feel him kissing you, or sleeping next to you, or leaving traces of himself around the house–beard hair in the sink, boot-mud on the floor, crumbs on the counters. He’ll be gone.

You push all of that out of your head. He’s here right now, giving you everything. You’d told him just minutes ago that you need to feel like he cares. He’s giving you all of that and more.

“You close, baby?”

Jerkily, you nod, but you still can’t talk. There’s just the wet, slippery sound of your pussy as Sy continues to thrust in and out, everything a mix of freneticism and tenderness. The best you can, you flex your ass and erratically grind upwards, and you forcefully grasp Sy's skin to let him know you're about to come. He can probably feel it, too--your walls feel like they're vibrating.

You cry out when the feeling builds then crests then peaks, squeezing Sy’s sweaty neck as hard as you suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and you have no idea what noises you make after that because then Sy gets frantic and then he gets loud and then he buries his face in your neck and then he shoots off inside you.

You’re left with a rapidly-beating heart, sweat all over, and a sore back. You feel Sy’s matching sweat and quick heartbeat when he collapses on top of you, panting.

“Good God,” you breathlessly get out when you can finally speak. “Fuck, Sy. Good way of showing you're sorry.”

You feel it as he chuckles. “Don't wantchu to ever doubt how I feel anymore. Ever.”

Staring at the ceiling, you run your fingers across his fuzzy just-barely-there hair. He pushes himself up just enough to look at you fully, and he presses his lips to yours gently. He doesn't say it, but you feel it anyway. I love you. You’re loved. You bask in it.

“Knees got fuckin’ rug-burn,” he mutters, and you make a sympathetic face.

“Worth it, though?”

He squeezes one of your tits. “Fuck yeah.”

The two of you look a sight–Sy naked from the waist-down, you with a dress bunched up at your waist and pulled down below your breasts. And you wouldn't ever imagine being with anybody else, imperfections and all.

“Let’s go to the courthouse, Sy,” you whisper, and that's when he pushes himself up with one arm.

He knows what you’re referring to, but still, he asks, “What?”

“Let’s go to the courthouse,” you repeat, very aware of his cock still inside you starting to soften. “Next week. Let’s go.”

“Baby. Your folks’ll fuckin’ kill me.”

“Fuck what other people think,” you say through a smile, and Sy easily returns it. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you, too,” Sy quietly replies, and what number is that? How many times has he said it so far? “So fuckin’ much. Makes my chest hurt sometimes.”

“Mm. Tell me more.”

Sy’s mouth turns upwards at the sides. “Tell you more’a what?” he asks, and you almost giggle. “Whatcha wanna hear more of?”

“That you love me.”

“I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, darlin’.” He straightens his face out and looks down at you seriously. “You bein’ for real? ‘Bout the courthouse?”

You nod. “Let’s do it. Before you head out again. Let's write up our vows, go down there, and get married.”

Sy looks comtemplative. “I already been workin’ on ‘em,” he says. “The vows.”

“What, really?” you sit up on your elbows and ask.

“Mmhm.”

You bite your lip. “That's hot.”

Sy slides out of you but makes no other effort to move. It’s quiet for a while after that, and you both really need to get off the hard floor, but there’s this moment between you that you don’t want to end yet. The afterglow of a highly emotional night.

"Missed your opportunity to spank me just now," you eventually break the silence while stretching, and Sy laughs.

"Mm. Didn't have to."

“Not when we’re both bein’ healthy, mature adults who actually talk things out, huh?"

“Now, you got a good point there,” Sy replies.

You want the fight to be entirely behind you. “So, uh. Next time, I promise I’ll tell you what’s wrong instead of bein’ petty,” you murmur.

Sy kisses your chin. “And next time I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”

You smile. “You sure you wouldn’t just rather stay home if there’s a next time?”

Sy lifts both of his eyebrows. “Don'tchu rope me into sayin’ somethin’ that’s gonna lead to me sleepin’ on the couch, now.”

For what feels like the tenth time tonight, you roll your eyes, but it’s good-natured now. Simply because you can, you reach your arm downward and smack your hand onto the back of his bare ass–hard. After letting out a noise that leaves you laughing uncontrollably, Sy narrows his eyes.

"Alright," he warns. "Get up an' go into the bedroom. Now."

You narrow your eyes right back. "Or else what?"

84 notes · View notes