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littlefreya · 22 days

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Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet.

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god.

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer.

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read.

The other - “something to make you think of me.”

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin.

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs.

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath.

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?”

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip.

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games.

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body.

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand.

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out.

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside.

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release.

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to…

It was his fantasy, after all.

“FUCK!!!”

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck.

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo.

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!”

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded.

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment.

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed.

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.”

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.”

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking.

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud.

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #sand castle

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henrycavilledits · 7 months

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HENRY CAVILL as Cpt. Syverson in Sand Castle (2017)

#hcavilledit #henrycavilledit #filmedit #netflixedit #henry cavill #captain syverson #sand castle #gif #ksusha

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zuccnini · 1 month

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Waddle Dee Sand castle

#kirby #waddle dee #sand castle #fanart #traditional art #watercolor #painting #art #ink #my art #artists on tumblr #illustration

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martha-oi · 5 months

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#captain syverson #sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #sy vibes #syverson #captain syverson vibes #syverson vibes #big boy sy #sy inspo

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 22 days

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Follow You Anywhere 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: dululand is my native country.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay on your side. Tense and painfully awake. Aika’s sleeping form heaps in a shadow on the floor as you feel the body behind you breathing. Hot gusts, in, out, against the nape of your neck. A light dusting that feels like a furnace’s blast.

You keep your back to Sy as you stare at the door. It’s been at least an hour since you laid down. He inched closer and closer, but gave up as you found yourself teetering on the edge.

A snort makes you wince. You brace the side of the mattress as your eyes round. The rocky rumble continues, mellow to long calm exhales. He’s snoring. He’s asleep.

You don’t move immediately. You wait it out until the noise is raucous. Even if you had any temptation to stay, you couldn't sleep through his thunderous blare. You hold your breath and slowly sit up, watching the slumbering canine on the floor.

Aika raises her head as you rise but doesn’t move further. You slip to the edge of the bed and ease down until your feet touch the rug. You stand and she puts her head down, her collar jingling noisily. You swivel to look over your shoulder. Sy sleeps with his hand on the empty space of the bed, his other arm curled under his head.

You back away, careful to tiptoe around Aika. As you get to the door, she remains as she is and so does her owner. You slip into the front room and let out your breath. You turn to face the darkness. You’re not going far. Maybe the dog senses that.

You pull a pillow against the arm of the couch and nestle atop the cushions. You can’t close your eyes. You’re too anxious. You just lay there staring at the shadows of your apartment.

Your eyelids droop little by little. Fatigue mutes your fear and your body slackens atop the couch. The noise of occasional traffic and the street drift in and lull you. You let your mind go black and descend into a shallow sleep.

You give a start as you feel yourself falling. Your head snaps up and your eyes flutter open as you squeak. You’re not falling, you’re being lifted. You blink as you look up at the silhouette of Sy’s thick beard and his body heat seeps into you.

“Huh,” you let out the confused hiccup as you squirm against him.

“What’re ya doin’ out here, sweetie?” He growls as he carries you back into the bedroom.

“I... couldn’t sleep.”

He grumbles, the only acknowledgement of your excuse. He takes you to the bed, lowering you with him as he settles on the mattress again. Aika’s on her side, sleeping and unaware. He puts you on your side and pushes his body flush to yours as he wraps his arm around your middle. He holds you close, nuzzling your crown as he sighs.

“Mmm, isn’t that better?” He purrs, “I never been so calm as I am with you, sug.”

You gulp and make yourself nod. His words come off more like a threat a suggestion that he isn’t always this calm. You've seen him toe that line, how he’s always just barely restrained. How long can that last?

“You’re so warm and cozy,” he rocks you slightly, “night, night, sweetie. Get some sleep.”

You utter a ‘good night’ in return if only to assure him of your compliance. You’re brief respite only underlines his incessant clinginess. He always has to be near, always has to know what you’re up to. You suspect that isn’t new to him, not that it matters how long he’s been watching. Days, weeks, or months, it can’t undo the present.

You close your eyes as they sting. You won’t fall back asleep, not in his arms. You’ll just lay there and wait for the few inches of freedom you get with the sunrise. It’s all you can do.

🧸

As the morning shines in, your head pounds and your body aches. You’ve been locked in Sy’s arms all night, still as you can be. You don’t want to risk waking him again. When he’s asleep, you don’t need to worry about what he might do.

Aika rouses first. She licks her paw until she’s bored then starts a restless tip tapping by the door. You figure she needs to go out but you don’t move. The click of her pclws finally disturbs the snoring behind your ear.

“Aika, give me a minute,” Sy rolls away and yawns. “Swear that dog is better than any alarm clock.”

He sits up, hunching over as he rubs his eyes. You glance at him over your shoulder as he jostles the bed. He gets up and searches out a tee shirt, pulling it on above his dark gym shorts. He tidies the stray shanks jutting out from his bear and smiles as he meets your gaze. You quickly look away.

“I’ll take her around real quick. Why don’t you get some coffee going?” He suggests.

You fall onto your back and push yourself up. You fold your arms as you make yourself look at him. You feel fractured. You’re about to break.

“Sure,” you answer with a smile.

“Good girl,” he winks and snaps his fingers at Aika.

The dog prances out ahead of him and you watch him follow. You don’t stand until you hear the front door. You rush out and find the apartment empty, heart racing as your eyes scour the place. Your keys have gone with him. The fleeting idea of locking him out fizzles away.

You pause and search for your phone. You don’t know where it went. He must’ve taken it. You return to the bedroom and grab a hoodie out of your dress. You pull it on over your pajamas and scurry back to the front door. You step into your slip-ons and slowly turn the door handle.

You inch the door inward and peek into the hall. You can’t do this anymore. You won’t play along. You should’ve done this yesterday. You chalk it up to shock. You were too surprised to think clearly but this is your chance.

You creep out into the hall and down to the door diagonal from your own. You knock, realising it might be a bit too early. You wait, swaying as you check over your shoulders. If he comes back and catches you...

You knock again as no answer comes. You try not to let the panic down you as it swells higher and higher. Finally, Blair answers the door and you look at her frantically.

“Please let me in,” you plead.

“Um, is everything okay?” She asks.

You don’t know her very well. You spoke a few times in the laundry room and exchanged tight-lipped smiles in the hallway. She looks as scared as you feel.

“Please,” you peer down the hall again, “there’s no time.”

“Alright, uh...” she backs up, “come in. Sorry, I--” she pauses to stifle a yawn, “had a late night.”

You enter her apartment and wring your hands. She closes the door and you exhale. You face her and bounce on your toe nervously.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early, but... can I borrow your phone?” You ask.

“Sure, but what’s going on? Are you alright?”

You consider her question. You frown, “I don’t know.”

Her eyes gleam with worry and she nods. She shuffles past you and disappears into the next room. You go back to the door and twist the lock. You peer out the peep hole but can’t quite see your own door.

“Here,” Blair comes back and you spin around.

“Thanks, uh... I... just need to make a call,” you reach for the phone and look down at the screen. It's an old flip phone.

You don’t know if they’ll listen but you have to try. At least then you can say you did. You dial and put the phone to your ear.

“Emergency services, what’s your emergency?” The operator greets flatly.

“Hi, uh...” you glance up at Blair, “there’s an intruder in my apartment.”

He jaw drops and you give an awkward expression.

“Ma’am, are you in the apartment?” The voice on the other end asks.

“No, um, no, I’m at my neighbour’s but this man... he uh, he’s been following me and now he’s in my apartment. He’s been there all night and I asked him to leave but he won’t.”

“Alright, ma’am, I understand, I’ll dispatch and officer to your location. Please do not return to your apartment.”

You give your address at their request and hang up. You hand Blair her phone back and she takes it with a tremble. She clutches it to her chest.

“There’s someone in your apartment?” She asks, her voice brittle.

You nod and look around. Her place sure is cluttered. It smells like cinnamon and old paper. Books on books, shelves crammed with figurines, and boxes in stacks. It’s not dirty, just really full.

“Yeah, well, he’s coming back,” you say as you chew your thumb and turn back to the door. Once more you go to look through the peep hole.

You stay there, watching, waiting. You see Aika first. She’s off leash. She sits outside the door as Sy catches up and lets himself in. The door shuts behind him and you hold your breath. A few minutes past, what feels like years, and the door opens again.

He hollers your name and his voice shakes you through the door. You clap your hand over your mouth and keep your eye through the lens. He paces towards you then back the other way. He continues to call your name. He marches back into the apartment and slams the door behind him.

“Who is he?” Blair startles you as she stands shoulder to shoulder with you.

You back up and look at her, “I don’t know.”

“How... how does he know your name?”

You shake your head and whisper, “he found me. Online. I don’t know what to do. He just... won’t leave me alone and I can’t get him to leave.”

Her mouth opens, “oh? Wow that’s... scary.”

You nod vehemently. It’s terrifying.

“I never... I never had a man do that. Follow me... they don’t really talk to me,” she says. “I’m happy they don’t.”

Your heart knots and you move away from the door, “it’s okay if I stay until the police show up? They told me to.”

“Uh, sure, if you don’t mind...” she trails off and looks around at all her things.

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Do you want some green tea? My head hurts.”

🧸

The pounding on the door alerts you to the cops just outside, but they’re not at Blair’s door. They’re knocking at your apartment. You go to look through the hole as your neighbour nurses her second cup of tea. You watch one cop’s shoulder, the only part of them you can see.

The door opens but you can't see much.

“Hello, sir, we got a phone call,” one officer declares, “do you live here?”

“Yes,” Sy answers without hesitation, “I just moved in with my girlfriend.”

“Right,” the other officer says, “and where is she?”

Sy huffs, “I was just about to call. I took the dog out and when I came back, she was gone. I’m hoping she just went for some coffee but she left her phone.”

“Mmm,” one of the cops hums. “You serve?”

“How’d you know?”

“Old man’s a vet,” the other man says, “can spot them a mile away. How long ya been back?”

“A month,” Sy answers, “yeah, came home to my sweetheart and now... I’m terrified. What if something happened? Why didn’t I lock the door?”

You hear a slap and silence, “sir, please.”

“Sorry, I just, I'm so stupid.”

One of the officers sighs and there’s another deep heave. A uniformed man moves into your view and knocks on the door, shifting it in the frame. You back up and collide with something. Blair stands right behind you, silent. You look back at her as her brow furrows between concern and confusion.

“PD! Hello, we got a call from this location. Open up.”

Blair gives a hopeless grimace, “we’re gonna get in trouble.”

You cringe. “I’m sorry.”

You go to the door and unlock it. You put your head down sheepishly and open it, “hello?”

“Hello ma’am, are you the one who called?”

You peek back at Blair again. You can’t drag her into this.

“Yeah, officer, it was me,” you face him and push your shoulders back, “that man... that man doesn’t live with me. He came into my apartment and he refuses to leave. I don’t even know him--”

“Officer, that’s a lie. You can come in and check, all my stuff is here. My dog,” Sy drawls.

“Sir,” the other officer quiets him down.

The one before you crosses his arm and returns his attention to you, “isn’t nice lying on a man, especially a soldier. Whatever you’re mad about, doesn’t give you the right to call us down here. That’s obstruction.”

“I’m not lying,” you pout. “Please, sir--”

“So if I go in that apartment and look around, I won’t find his stuff in there, hm? Just yours?”

You stagger as if you’ve been struck. Is this part of his plan? Is that why he was so eager to get his stuff inside?

“He brought it with him but I swear, I never saw him before yesterday--”

“So this man, you wrote to him while he was over in the shit and now he’s back you’re playing victim? Is that right?” The officer growls, “take advantage of a man protecting his country, get some attention, and now you’re tryna throw him out? I should book you right now.”

“Officer,” Sy steps forward, “please, don’t do that. She’s just... she’s upset, you know? I promised her some things and I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

“That doesn’t give her the right,” the second officer grits.

“I know, I know, but I can sort this out. You don’t need to scare her anymore,” Sy runs his hand over his close-shaved head, “she’s my woman, I can’t let you do that.”

The officer in front of you scoffs, “good man,” he sneers in your direction, “get your head on straight and don’t be calling for your little tiffs again.”

You stand there, gutless. That was your last resort. Really, your only. You look back at Blair one last time before you go out into the hall. You turn back and meet Sy’s gaze as you walk towards him, the officers glaring at you. You don’t care about them so much as you’re scared of what he’ll do when they leave.

**I like Blair haha. I kinda made myself want to explore that character more so let me know if you’d like to see her as a reader character and I might pair her up with her own crazy guy.**

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #follow your anywhere #series #sand castle

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flinigan · 7 months

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Ruins

#pixel art #pixel #art #pixel graphics #birds #bird art #aseprite #seagull #beach #sand castle #flinigan

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geminijade · 6 months

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Soldier Boy 🥵🔥

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loganbcrnes · 8 months

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Captain Syverson & August Walker in the viking era (part 1?)

ok i just love a good old viking headcanon. I cannot stop imagining a bunch of my favourite characters in the viking era, totally feral and just fucking all the time sjdjsjd.

Henrys characters fit perfect for this era with their gruff beefy look. also this turned out kinda soft??? anyways enjoy!!

might do a part 2 if anyone is interested, just let me know! readers body type and ethnicity isnt described.

No warning, but mentions of smut, everything is consensual even though it may not seem it lol.

Captain Syverson

Sy grew up on a farm with his mother and father. he'd definitely be of Norwegian heritage. a farm boy at heart, grew up to be a fierce warrior after his parents were killed. Everyone feared The Captain, rumors spread like wildfire, to the point people thought he was sent from the Gods, or that he was a warrior god himself. he'd sail the seas around the world raiding, pillaging and trading. but deep down he was a romantic at heart and a traditional man. He longed for devoted love, a love he saw in his parents. He waited for a long time before he would finally meet you. because deep down, he wanted to go back to the farm, live a peaceful life as a husband to his wife and a father to his children.

eventually he would meet you, a woman who was taken from her home to be a slave to a king in Sweden. As he was pillaging the town to kill the king, he saw you in a farm house, a man was trying to assault you. Sy struck his sword through the man and he fell to the ground. You was wearing a light blue long-sleeved top with a brown skirt, but oh you were so beautiful. It was love at first sight even when the reader punched Sy in the face and ran away from the town into the forest. Sy knew from there that the reader was to be his wife.

Half the time Sy was feral, it was the only thing that could get him through the raids. He could let his inner beast come through. A couple of days later, trying to find you, he saw you washing yourself by a waterfall. He hid behind a big rock so he could watch you. He watched as you were drying your hair off, your body sun-kissed by the summer sun. He felt his cock harden as he looked your ass and breasts, so plumb and his for the taking.

As he came into view, you gasped as you saw him. He looked at you up and down, taking in your nakedness. Your breasts hardened at the cool wind blowing, but also because of the giant man staring at you. Your pussy on display, he wanted to taste you so bad.

Before you know it he has you pinned down, you let out a startled scream as he nuzzled his face into your neck, smelling your sweet scent. You knew this was wrong, you did not know this man, but something about it felt good. He was huge, while his hands were rough, touching you everywhere, even your most private areas which you blushed and looked away. His touch was still soft.

"W-what do you want from me?" You asked, unsure what to do. "Need you" Sy mumbled into your neck. "Please" You hear him whisper. Next thing you know you are being pounded into the dirt. You moan and scream to the point you are afraid someone will hear, his balls slap against your ass with each thrust. His broad thick hairy body wraps around your body. His pubic hair rubbing against your clit. You were so aroused that it didn't even hurt when he slid in, taking your virginity and filling you up with his seed. Oh there was a lot of seed, to the point you thought this was unusual. But you did not care, you were so far gone and the sexiest man was above you fucking and breeding you to the halt.

August Walker

August Walker, known as the king of Denmark to the people, was a Noble and commanding king, but harsh and silent. He was dominating, successfully winning every raid and war. other kings and queens were afraid of him. no one dared to disobey him. Many wandered if this man was even capable of love, because all they saw was a murderous man who got what he wanted every time.

He grew up with a cruel father, who would beat him and his mother after coming home drunk every night. After he killed his own father, August looked after his mother when she grew sick. Ever since her death he has always been alone.

Until one day.

In the middle of a raid, August all bloodied from the killing, saw a woman fighting off men as young girls and boys were standing behind her terrified. The woman was striking, and fierce. Never holding down even though he could see the exhaustion on your face and body. Oh your body. He could not see your curves due to the armor, but he knew you were beautiful, that made his cock harden.

after a successful raid, sitting at the high table in front of his warriors and civilians alike, they celebrated. you face appeared and he couldn't take his eyes off of you. Never has he felt this way before, he couldn't quite put his finger on what he was feeling, lust?, romance? maybe both? who knows. Only thing he knew certain off was that he wanted you in his bed that night. Upon meeting him, you were stubborn. You heard the rumors about this man. He fucked anything that moved and he killed anyone that pissed him off. Your attitude shocked him as no one treated him in such a manner, but it just made him want you more. You both did not leave the bedroom for 3 days. August lay awake as you cuddled him from the side. He looked at you, thinking of a life he could have with you, but for the type of man he is, he did not think he deserved such a life. But over time you proved him otherwise, with your stubborn nature, you brought four daughters and a son to the world who were equally stubborn. Now he cannot picture a life without the six of you. promising himself he will be a better father than what his own father was.

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mary-ann84 · 2 months

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Oldie but goodie

@littlefreya @viking-raider @sciapod @shellyshellshell @captainsy-cookiemonster @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @nuggsmum @angryschnauzer @thelastsock @sillyrabbit81

#henry cavill #captain syverson #the witcher #walter marshall #august walker #sand castle #geralt of rivia

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389 · 4 months

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SAND CASTLE PEOPLE James Gardner-Pickett

#art #nature #sand #beach #photography #ocean #sand castle #people #james gardner pickett #u

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viking-raider · 10 months

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Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

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