Captain Syverson One Shots / Drabbles

Peachy Pink (Fluff)

Pairing: Captain Logan Syverson x Reader

Word count: 602

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some period cramps, mentions of sex, Sy using the term "Sugarbutt", use of peach motifs.

A/N: Not beta'd, take this hobbit to Isengard.

Peachy Pink

The burly Captain was nothing like the men you usually went for; he was coarse and harsh like the desert and carried himself with the elegance of bull. And although Logan F. Syverson was outrageously handsome and hands-down, the best mind-blowing sex you ever had, he was far from being the man you imagined yourself getting involved with.

But within merely a couple of months, you realised there was no quitting a man like Sy. It wasn't how he arrived to pick you up on his heavy Harley or how he ate you out as if you were a five stars dinner. It was the fact that this man, who was the epitome of machismo, didn't mind indulging "girly" activities with you every weekend's afternoon.

"I don't mind watchin' the new Sex and the City movie with ya, sugarbutt," Sy chimed as he landed on the empty spot next to you, making the sofa whine underneath his weight.

You quirked an eyebrow and ogled him oddly while your hands reached to snatch the big bawl of toasty popcorn from his grip.

"As long as I get to spend time with you - I'm a happy man."

"Or maybe you're into seeing Samantha's tits!" You teased playfully and leaned back. Stretching your legs, you placed them on Syverson's thick thighs.

The big man grabbed your feet in an instant. His long fingers weaved between your toes, which quite embarrassingly made you squirm with an unbidden moan to back your predicament.

"Oh," Syverson grinned with triumph, "I made kitten purr. Shall we skip the movie and have our own Sex and the City?"

"Actually, it's bad timing..."

Sy stared at you for a short while before he managed to take the hint. His nimble fingers slid down your foot in a languid motion, and he began pressing his thumb right above your heel.

"A true knight has no fear of stainin' his sword with a bit of blood..." he suggested and bounced his eyebrows naughtily.

You chuckled but then held your lower belly, which instinctively began to cramp as if to remind you that you weren't allowed to have any fun.

"I like that you don't mind," you admitted, "but I am not feeling too hot right now."

His ridged brow immediately softened, offering you a compassionate gaze. Carefully, he placed your foot above his knee and then scanned the coffee table for something and groaned as he failed to find it.

"Hold on, sugarbutt, don't start the movie," he warned and got up from the sofa that almost breathed in relief as he marched away.

"What are you doing?" you asked and watched him disappear into your shower room.

After a short rummaging sound and the low, soft hum of his voice, Sy returned with a tube of nail polish held between his fingers.

Seeing the burly man hold the tiny pastel-coloured bottle with a goofy smirk smeared across his face made you giggle. "What are you doing?" You asked again.

Sy moved back onto the sofa, retrieving your feet to his lap while twisting the nail polish tube open. Then, with the precision of a hawk, he began painting your big toe in a peachy shade of pink.

"Put the movie on then, sweetheart," he commanded softly, dipping the brush inside the bottle to paint your next toenail.

A flutter boomed in your ribcage as you watched his dedication; one by one, the decorated army captain painted each nail, leaning down to blow the polish dry.

You realised then what it was that you found in Sy.

He was everything you ever needed. You just didn't know it until that very moment.