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Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows. 

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed." 

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look. 

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area. 

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown. 

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight." 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway. 

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands. 

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves. 

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is. 

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt. 

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged. 

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.  

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister…  and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion. 

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got." 

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family." 

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning. 

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.” 

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six. 

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers. 

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s. 

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted. 

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare. 

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well. 

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate. 

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids. 

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning  against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets  seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you. 

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again. 

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you. 

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family. 

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up 

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved. 

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil. 

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six. 

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart. 

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so. 

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.” 

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers. 

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.  You don't want to push the issue. 

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now?  Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat. 

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it. 

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch. 

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand. 

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door. 

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house? 

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up. 

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?”  He must mean Six. 

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men. 

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking. 

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head. 

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage. 

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration. 

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.” 

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire. 

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh. 

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response. 

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment 

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.  

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together. 

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either. 

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.” 

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well. 

“I’m out.” He says, resigned. 

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist. 

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you. 

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.” 

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go. 

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. 

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone.  He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg. 

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room. 

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong. 

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep. 

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face. 

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself. 

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you. 

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I  overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing. 

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…” 

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

 You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example." 

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous. 

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you. 

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later. 

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends. 

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

an erotic poem:

leg so hot

hot hot leg

leg so hot u fry an eg

Wine & Dine (carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

Word Count: 6430ish+

Rating: E

Summary: You own a wine shop across the street from The Bear, and you have struck a deal with Carmen Berzatto that allows people to purchase wine from your shop and enjoy it at The Bear. Over time, your unexpected partnership with the quiet restaurant owner & head chef grows beyond just sharing wine and food.

Warning: slow burn (this happens over months in my mind), language, mutual pining (idiots in love crushing on one another), alcohol, mentions of Mikey’s death, allusions to slight family drama on the readers end, brief jealousy (Carmy is a jealous boi), fluff, flirting & sexual tension, competence kink? (Carmy builds something and reader feels things), kissing, sexual touching 18+, praise, dirty talk (Carmy and his filthy mouth), implied p in v sex

A/N: This is my first-time writing a Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto fic and writing for the Bear Universe. I can’t tell if this will just be a one-time thing, but with Season 3 coming out so soon, the brain-rot is real. This show is immaculate, and Carmen is such a complex character. I originally was going to use this idea and make it a Joel Miller AU fic (my obsession for that fictional man is concerning), but I decided to take a chance at writing for another fandom. I know nothing about the fine dining world / what food pairs well with wine so let’s pretend in this story that what I’m saying makes sense. I want to thank the following people that helped me with understanding tags in the Bear Universe: @nolita-fairytale, @violentdelightsandviolentends, @sunflowersteves and especially @nicksolemnlyswears / @mysingularitybts who convinced me to post this story.

xx

Chicago, Illinois The BEEF is CLOSED. Thank you for your patronage. THE BEAR is COMING.

The first time you met Carmen Berzatto, he was about to have his soft opening of the Bear for Friends and Family night. However, you had watched him and his crew from across the street for months getting the restaurant ready. You recall when a sign for The Beef, the beloved Italian beef sandwich shop had announced its closing, it had genuinely shocked you and a lot of people in the neighborhood.

He walked into your shop nervously and was scanning a bunch of different bottles, focused on the whites.

“How can I assist you sir?” you asked, and up close, you saw that he had piercing blue eyes. Eyes that you could lose yourself in.

“Um, I’m openin’ up the restaurant cross’ the street in a couple of days and uh, I-I’m tryin’ to find a wine that compliments one of our dishes. Right now… somethin’ is just not right,” he quickly rushed out.

“What’s the dish?”

“Seared scallops with an herby fish sauce vinaigrette, the Chardonnay I’m usin’ is just… it’s not hittin’ at all,” he let out a frustrated sigh and gripped his hair tightly in frustration.

“A Chardonnay won’t work, especially if your scallops are seared,” you suggested, starting to walk to locate the bottle that you thought would work better. “Chardonnay is often a go-to for scallops, but it can overpower the delicate flavors. What type of Chardonnay are you using?”

“A 2020 Racines Bentrock Vineyard Chardonnay,” he replied, looking at you with those beautiful eyes.  

“That’s an amazing bottle. But it’s a Chardonnay that is intensely buttery, which is probably what is causing the clash,” You picked up a mineral-driven Sancerre from the Loire Valley of France and handed the bottle to him. “Try this, it’s dry, bright, and acidic. Its minerality and citrus notes will complement the brininess of the scallops without overwhelming them,”

“I didn’t even think about usin’ somethin’ made from Sauvignon Blanc grapes. You don’t think the acidity would cut through the richness of the dish?”

“No, I think it will enhance the flavor, and it will complement the freshness of the scallops and the vinaigrette perfectly. I mean in fairness, I haven’t tried your dish,” you said with a shrug. “So, I guess I’m sort of giving you advice blindly, but I have a good hunch,” you continued with a smile. “So, take the bottle and try it out, and then let me know if it pairs well or if I was a complete idiot with my suggestion,”

You could see him pause for a moment looking down at the bottle; his brow furrowed in contemplation as he considered your recommendation. When he looked back up at you, you realized how distracting his face was and that he was devastatingly handsome. Your eyes were flickering between his eyes and his mouth as you two fell silent. You suddenly felt a huge desire to run your fingers through his luscious locks.

“I trust you…somethin’ tells me y’a know what you’re saying,” he said, sounding hopeful, but a little unsure. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” you informed him.

“Wait what?” he asked with an adorable frown of confusion.

“Consider it a friendly neighborhood present… opening a restaurant isn’t easy,” you assured him.

“Thank you,” he breathed your name looking at your chest, and confusion crossed your face wondering how this handsome stranger knew your name since you had never given it to him during this entire exchange. Then, his finger pointed down at your chest, where your name tag was pinned neatly in place. Realization dawned on you as you felt your cheeks heat, realizing he had been reading your name tag.

He cleared his throat and looked over at you a little sheepishly. “Nice to meet you, um, I’m – uh, my name’s Carmen,”

“Carmen”, you repeated, enjoying the way his name rolled off your tongue.

“Well, um, I have to go… uh, but see you around,” he stammered out and then started walking toward the front door and stepped out. As he crossed the street, he turned around to look at you before entering his restaurant and lifted his hand in a wave that you returned shyly.

“See you around,” you whispered to yourself.

The next day when you opened up the wine shop, you found a note that had been slipped under the door and bent down to pick it up.

You’re a genius.

– Carmen

xx

Through your conversations, you began to develop a mutual respect and admiration for each other's expertise. The Bear had a successful opening and Carmen and his team started bringing you dishes to taste. In the beginning, he would mostly come in with Sydney and then they started bringing Tina and Ebra as well to get their opinions on the wine pairings as well. You also worked with Marcus sometimes to provide wine recommendations for his mouth-watering desserts. Sometimes, even Ritchie would stop by to shoot the shit and pretend he understood what you were saying.

You found yourself eager to recommend wines that you thought would complement The Bear’s dishes, and Carmen and the team started incorporating your suggestions into the menu. Then one day you suggested the idea of allowing customers to purchase wine from your shop and enjoy it at The Bear, letting Carmen know that it would draw more people to both businesses. Customers who may not have visited your shop otherwise now would have a reason to come in, and vice versa for The Bear.

Over the next few weeks, as word spread about the successful wine partnership between your wine shop and The Bear, more and more customers began to visit both establishments. The collaboration proved to be a win-win for both businesses, as customers enjoyed the unique experience of sampling exceptional wines while dining on The Bear’s exquisite dishes.

You noticed a change in Carmen as you spent more alone time with him. He started coming to your shop without the rest of the team bringing you dishes to try, and you felt that he began to open up and show more of his personality. He was quiet, observant, and very focused. There were moments when he struggled to communicate his feelings and emotions, often choosing to stay silent. But as you got to know him better, you realized that he was actually quite thoughtful and deep. He had a unique perspective on things and was eager to learn and grow. Although he may not have been the most outgoing person, his quiet demeanor hid a kind heart and a passionate mind.

You found yourself enjoying conversations with him, as he had a way of making you think and see things in a different light. He had a knack for analyzing situations and offering insightful solutions, showing a level of maturity beyond his years.

“So, I googled you,” you said one day when he brought you over a Spicy Rigatoni Vodka pasta dish he was considering implementing for the menu. Carmen didn’t believe in static menus, he preferred a series of menus that rotated after a specific period with rotating entrees, seasonal dishes, and regional specialties.

"I had no idea you were such a big deal," you said, your eyes wide with admiration. He was so fucking amazing.

"Oh, um, it's nothin’, really," he mumbled, unable to meet your gaze. He blushed as you marveled at his impressive CV, detailing his rise to fame as a culinary prodigy. You could tell he was modest about his achievements, not one to boast about his success.

“So, I guess I have to ask. Why did you come back to Chicago?”

He shuffled his feet, and you could tell he felt slightly uncomfortable with the question. "My brother…” he paused, “Mikey… That was his name. He died and left me the restaurant in his will," he confessed, his voice slightly shaky.

You looked at him with concern, reaching out to touch his hand. "I'm so sorry, Carmy. That must have been really hard for you." You heard his friends and family calling him that, so you decided to try to nickname out since he was sharing something so personal, and you wanted to soothe him somehow. He looked into your eyes with gratitude and vulnerability. Without saying a word, he laced his fingers with yours, intertwining them in a gentle, reassuring grip.

Carmen shrugged, looking down at the table. "Yeah, it’s been tough. I dunno. Sometimes, I just feel so lost, y’a know?" His grip tightened slightly, as if seeking solace in the connection between you both, a silent reassurance that you were there for him in that moment of vulnerability.

You nodded sympathetically, and fell silent, unsure of what to say. You realized that Carmen probably preferred it that way. He probably just wanted to be heard, understood, and supported without the need for empty expressions of sympathy.

As you had expected, he quickly shifted the conversation back to you tasting the food and dropped your hand, and you felt yourself missing his touch immediately. He watched you take a couple of bites of the pasta that he had brought over for you. “So, what do y’a think?” he asked shyly.

You decided to take a few more final bites before replying. It tasted like a symphony of flavors – the heat from the red pepper flakes woke up your senses, while the spicy tomato and creamy vodka sauce soothed and balanced out the spice and added richness to the pasta.

Each bite was a delightful experience that left you wanting more. “Carmy… it’s a gift. What you do… what you have is a gift,” you whispered.

“You really think so?” he asked timidly, staring at you with those crazy blue eyes.

“No,” you said firmly, and you saw his anxiety spike. “I know so,”

His face softened, and you gave him a small smile.

“You’ll need a full-bodied Italian red for this dish, probably a Chianti. A Barolo could work, but I think the Chianti I’m thinking of will be an excellent choice. Let me grab it,” you quickly left the counter to find the Machiavelli Vigna di Fontalle and poured two glasses of wine for you and Carmen.

You both took more bites of the Spicy Rigatoni and brought the glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip and letting the rich flavors wash over the palate. You closed your eyes and took another sip, savoring the complexity of the wine, letting it linger on your taste buds before swallowing. The wine had a bold and complex flavor profile with hints of dark fruits, spices, and earthy notes, making it a great complement to the richness of the pasta. The wine's smooth tannins and balanced acidity helped cut through the sauce's creaminess.

When you opened your eyes, you found that Carmen was gazing into your eyes with a look of pure intensity. It was a look you had never seen him give you before. His gaze seemed to linger, as if he was trying to convey something to you without saying a word.

You liked Carmen. You felt like it was obvious. Could it be possible that he had feelings for you too? Was it all in your head, or was there something more between you that had been simmering beneath the surface all along? He was so hard to read.

“You know… you have a gift too,” he said, pushing his empty plate away. “Your ability to choose the perfect wine to complement any dish is truly… fuckin’ remarkable,”

You rolled your eyes. “Carmy, that’s silly. I’m not making the wine; I’m just simply drinking it, and then making some suggestions,”

His eyes squinted in disapproval. “You know opening night… do y’a know what dish received the most compliments?

You shook your head.

“It was the scallops, everyone who did the suggested wine pairing with that dish said that the wine enhanced the overall dining experience,” he said softly, his lips slowly curving into a small smile.

You felt a warm glow of pride and satisfaction knowing that your passion and knowledge was being appreciated by him, but it was hard for you to accept it. Your father had been so disappointed when you dropped out of Columbia Law School to run away to Europe and drink wine for a living. You were the youngest of 4 children, and all of your siblings were lawyers, including your hard-to-please father. In a way, you were sort of the odd one out in your family.  “Carmy… It’s really not all that impressive,”

“You have a gift too,” he repeated, his eyes staring into yours, as his comment lingered in the air between you two.

xx

One night, you decided that it was time for you to enjoy The Bear's fine dining experience yourself. Ironically, you had never eaten there. Carmy had never asked you or formally invited you to the restaurant since he would bring his menu items over to the shop for you to taste so that you could provide recommended wine pairings. It was restaurant week in Chicago and The Bear was participating in the special 5-course prix fixe celebration. Therefore, you decided to bring your cousin who was visiting his family from New York who was a total foodie and enjoy your Friday night with him.

As you walked into the restaurant, you were immediately greeted by Sugar at the hostess stand who you had met a few times. She complimented you on your dress and you introduced her to your cousin, and it turned out that they knew each other since they attended rival high schools, and they reminisced on some senior week prank gone wrong. They enjoyed a few playful jabs with one another before she escorted you to the table, where you were impressed by the cozy and elegant atmosphere of the restaurant.

You took in the beautifully set tables, the dim lighting, and the soft music playing in the background. Carmen and the team had done such a terrific job with the place, the rave reviews made so much sense. Ritchie noticed you and walked over to say hello, pulled out your chair, and handed you and your cousin the prix-fixe menu. You narrowed your eyes as you observed Ritchie’s unfriendly gaze toward your cousin since it was certainly out of character for him.

Once Ritchie finished his spiel about restaurant week, you both placed drink orders and then he walked away. You could have sworn you heard him mutter ‘fuckin’ jagoff’ under his breath, but maybe you had just been imagining it.

“I talked to your Dad, and he said your parents are going to the south of France this summer,” your cousin said as he placed the white napkin cloth in his lap.

“How interesting, I lived in Bordeaux for 3 years, and he never visited me once,” you muttered bitterly. Your mother and all your siblings had visited you while you lived out there, even some of your extended family, but your father always had an excuse as to why he couldn’t. ‘Work is so crazy baby girl,’ But deep down, you knew it was because he was disappointed.

“How are things with you two?”

“Well, I’m not married to a Harvard Business School graduate who works at a hedge fund, and I don’t have any babies so it could be better,” you responded sarcastically. “But if I’m honest, since I moved back home to Chicago last year and opened up the shop, much better. We had a big Kumbaya moment, he apologized, admitted he went to therapy, and –

“He went to therapy?” Your cousin interrupted.

“Let’s get real, my mother forced him to go, and he probably hated every second of it,” you chuckled, “But yes, he did… apparently,”

“Well let’s fucking cheers to that,” he said and you two grabbed your cocktails that had just been dropped off by Fak.

The clink of your cocktail glasses echoed softly across the room as you smiled at each other.

“I can’t believe you know Carmen Berzatto. Did you know that the last place he worked at in New York credited him for retaining the restaurant's three stars?” your cousin exclaimed.

You didn’t know that. But it didn’t surprise you. Everything Carmen did was nothing short of spectacular.

“What’s he like?” your cousin asked, clearly intrigued.

“He’s kind of an anxious person, so he can come across as awkward, but he’s really incredible,” you answered honestly. “He’s obviously so passionate about food, and he’s so supportive and encouraging of his crew. It’s really sweet,” You ended up confessing to your cousin about your crush on Carmen over the third course, and he grinned at you while you shared your secret like a little schoolgirl during dinner.

“You don’t think he likes you too?” He asked you when you guys got to the final course, before the dessert. It was foie gras stuffed free-range quail.

You sighed deeply. “I feel like this restaurant and his family, which I’m sensing is totally chaotic are just about the only things he has time for in his life, so no, I think he just sees me as a friend,”

You took a small bite of the dish, savoring the explosion of flavors in your mouth. The rich, buttery foie gras complemented the juicy, tender quail perfectly, creating a melt-in-your-mouth sensation. You closed your eyes in pure bliss, and as you continued to eat, you couldn’t help but marvel at the complexity of flavors and textures in each bite. The dish was so delicious, so perfectly balanced, it had to be one of the best things you had ever eaten.

“What the fuck man, this is so fucking good,” a low groan escaped your cousin's lips.

You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan of pleasure. “Oh my god, I know,”

“The best thing I can make is… nothing,” he said with a chuckle. You immediately thought back to a time when he had almost burnt down his house making toaster strudel when you two were younger. You laughed so hard that you didn’t hear that someone had approached the table.

You heard a familiar voice say your name and you looked up and saw that it was Carmen.

The blue in his eyes was as gorgeous as ever, so raw, and intense, and you felt your heart race when you watched his mouth part, tongue peeking out to trace his bottom lip.

“I thought that was you,” Carmen cracked a tiny smile, his gaze slid from your face down to your legs, and you felt every inch of it. You were wearing a little black dress, nothing special, but it was figure-hugging, with a plunging neckline and short hemline that showcased your legs.

You offered a tiny wave when his pretty blue eyes met yours. "Chef, this is absolutely incredible," you gushed pointing at your plate, but couldn’t help but notice that Carmen’s lips were narrowed, and his jaw was tense.

“Thank you,” he replied, his lips formed around the words, but his teeth stayed locked.

“Dude, the food has been amazing tonight. We’re huge fans,” your cousin said.

“Oh really?” Carmen responded, his eyes focused only on you and not acknowledging your cousin who was sitting across from you. He then finally turned to him. “Nice to hear that dude,” His voice had an edge to it, and you hadn’t heard him use it before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Chef, she’s been telling me about this place for months so I’m glad we’re finally checking it out,” your cousin continued, and then winked at you and squeezed your hand across the table.

Carmen blinked, as blankness rolled over his features, and he looked at your cousin with a forced smile.  

You laughed nervously. “Carmy, this is my older cousin, we grew up together. He’s in town for his mom’s birthday. My aunt’s birthday, my mom’s sister, it’s her 60th on Sunday,” you felt silly emphasizing that you two were related but in Carmen’s life, the term ‘Cousin’ was sometimes used for friends.

It was like a flip had switched, and suddenly Carmen reached for your cousin's hand thanking him for coming in tonight, asking him if he was enjoying the experience, and telling him how lucky he was to have you across the street helping The Bear with the wine pairings over the last few months. You were extremely confused but gave Carmen a reassuring smile since you finally felt him begin to relax again. The kitchen was probably crazy tonight, so you could only imagine how he was feeling.

Carmen bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked nervous and vulnerable all of a sudden as well. “By the way, don’t worry about the bill tonight. When y’a guys are done for the night, just let Cousin know,”

“Carmy that’s not necess-,” you started to say.

“I said, the bill will be covered. Compliments from the chef,” his tone was final, and you felt insane for feeling turned on by it. His eyebrows lifted and he gave you this look that clearly meant he wasn’t kidding. So, you decided not to push it.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. But, um, if y’a two want to stay past closin’, the team and I are doin’ surprise birthday shots for Sydney,” Carmen informed you both.

You giggled knowing that Sydney was going to hate all the attention on her. “She’s going to kill you, but yeah, that sounds fun,”

“Trust me it wasn’t my idea,” he muttered, as he bent down to kiss your cheek and quickly whispered in your ear, “Thanks for comin’, you look um, really… really nice,”

You were shocked at the act and struggled to respond, feeling tongue-tied and flustered by his words. But once you saw him walk back into the kitchen, you couldn't help but smile at his words, the corners of your lips turning up involuntarily as you tried to hide your face from your cousin,

“Well, I can tell you that he likes you,” he smirked.

“What? How can you tell?”

“Because until you told him who I was, it looked like he was going to punch me in the face and kick me out of this restaurant,” he said while grinning wildly.

xx

After you had visited the restaurant, you started going there a lot more to taste the menu items in the kitchen. You also noticed a shift in your dynamic with Carmen. You felt as though his touch became more frequent… maybe even intimate. You would feel a gentle hand on your lower back as he guided you through the chaotic kitchen. His hand would brush against your arms as he reached for ingredients or utensils. Sometimes, when you talked, he would reach out to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment before he would pull away. Most recently, you had almost tripped in the kitchen, and he had moved his hands to rest on your shoulders to make sure you were okay, and his fingers caressed your collarbone. You had shivered at his touch, feeling a surge of warmth and longing spread through your body.

The Bear staff was sort of this crazy family, but they made it work somehow. You mostly worked alone in the wine shop and had to depend on yourself for a lot of things. You ran a lean business with only two other employees who were part-time staff. You had an attorney and accountant to help you with beverage alcohol law and accounting, but it wasn’t as though you saw them all the time. In a way, your professional life had always felt a little lonely and The Bear had somehow become a part of your day-to-day, and your feelings for Carmen only grew more and more.

You had started to host weekly wine tastings on Thursdays and had just wrapped up cleaning up the mess from a 10-person party where one of the guys was extremely drunk and kept spilling his wine everywhere when Carmen and Ritchie walked in unexpectedly with a giant delivery box.

“Hey, noticed your name on this box, it was sittin’ in front of the shop next door,” Carmen stated as he dumped it on the counter.

You looked at the box and scowled. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

You had been eagerly awaiting the delivery of a new shipment of wine and had been left without any inventory of this particular Portuguese wine to sell to patrons the day before or the day before that. You were beyond frustrated. This was the third time the shop next door didn’t let you know that a delivery had been mistakenly delivered to them. Now you felt like an asshole, because you had totally bitched out the wine distributor yesterday demanding to know where your delivery was and why you had been left high and dry without any Pico Wine to sell. It was a super unique wine, probably one of the most unique in the world and your rich clientele loved having bottles in their homes. You probably looked batshit crazy explaining this to Carmen and Ritchie.

“Do y’a want me to beat the shit out of em’?” Your eyes grew wide, and your mouth dropped in shock as Ritchie started laughing. “I’m kidding, but do y’a want me to talk to em’ so that they fuckin’ understand?” Ritchie asked as his phone rang. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, looked down, and told you he had to step out since Tiffany was calling him.

You let out a long sigh, and Carmen instantly pulled you in his arms, your face planted firmly against his chest. “You should come to Family tonight, take your mind off this,” he murmured against your skin, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You had never been invited to Family dinner before, it was staff only. “Oh, I know how stressed you guys can get before the dinner rush, I really don’t want to be a bother,”

He scoffed and brushed your hair back once you looked up at him. “You wouldn’t be a bother, please don’t say that,” The look in his eyes was so genuine. “I’m so sorry about your shipment, I know how shitty that can feel,” he said releasing his hold on you and stepping back slightly.

You didn’t want to impose, and you didn’t want Carmen to feel like he had to invite you because you were having a bad day.

“It’s fine, I just need to drink some wine or something to calm down. I guess that’s the perk of this job,” you shrugged.

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, “Tina cooked Poulet Mafé,”

“Carmy,” you moaned, while you saw him smile at your reaction. You had tasted Tina’s Poulet Mafé in the past. It was 100% the ultimate comfort food with thick peanut sauce with chicken, root vegetables, and cabbage served over rice. It was so fucking good.

“Okay, fine, I’ll come,” you conceded, rolling your eyes, looking away, and pretending you were bothered by it.

You felt a finger brush beneath your chin, as he raised your face to look at him, “Good girl,”

You swallowed a heavy breath and felt your panties get impossibly wet.

xx

“How did I not know that you live above the wine shop?” Carmen asked you one day when he was helping you build your new bar cart. At your last party, one of your friends accidentally crashed into it and broke it, so you ordered a new one on Amazon.

“I guess it never came up,” you replied. It was his first time at your apartment and for some reason, you felt a little nervous. It was probably because as he built the new bar cart, his muscles flexed with each movement as he expertly handled the tools. The veins in his arms bulged as he reached for different tools, his hands skillfully maneuvering as he put the cart together piece by piece. You couldn't help but be mesmerized by the intricate designs of his tattoos. He was so… sexy.

As he worked diligently, you found yourself drawn to his competence, "Do you need any help with that?" you asked softly, biting your lip.

He smiled at you. "Nah, I've got it covered, but could y’a hand me that wrench over there?" he called out, gesturing towards the toolbox, and breaking you out of your trance.

You grabbed the wrench and handed it to him, admiring the way his biceps tensed as he tightened the bolt.

As he put the finishing touches on the bar cart, you couldn't help but feel grateful for having Carmen in your life. As he stood back to admire his handiwork, you couldn't resist planting a kiss on his cheek.

You watched him blush as you thanked him and felt your heart flutter at the sight.

“I owe you a fucking cocktail, take a seat on the couch, and make yourself comfortable,” you told him, as you walked into the kitchen. You decided to make some Aviations. They were simple enough to make with gin, maraschino liqueur, crème de violette, and lemon juice. You effortlessly measured out the ingredients and shook the cocktail shaker and then poured the mixed and chilled cocktails into crystal glasses.

You walked back into the living room, handed Carmen his drink, grabbed a seat next to him, and pulled out some coasters.

You watched intently as he took a sip, and you enjoyed the way his eyes lit up with each sip.

“This is so good, so what now….You’re a fuckin’ mixologist?”he teased.

"What can I say, I have my secret talents,”

“You do,” he paused. “Y’a know I googled you too,” he said slowly. “I saw a picture of you with your Advanced Sommelier lapel pin,”

“And?” you replied.

“Why have you never brought up the fact that you are a trained and certified Advanced Sommelier?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrugged.

He rolled his eyes and breathed your name. “That’s literally one of the hardest exams in the hospitality industry,”

“No, the Master Sommelier Exam is the hardest exam,” you quipped.

“So, is that what you wanna do one day?”

“Maybe,” you swallowed thickly, realizing it was something you hadn’t thought about in a long time since moving back to Chicago.

“You should do it,” he softly urged.

You let out a strangled laugh. “I wouldn’t pass,”

“You would, it’s you,” he said, and when you gazed up at him, the intensity of the look in his eyes left no room to doubt that he really believed what he was telling you.

“So, when did you google me?” you deflected, deciding to change the subject, since you never loved to be the center of attention.

“First day I met you,” he replied very quickly.

“What?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

"You were so quick with your response about the scallops," he fumbled with his words. "And when I recrafted the dish and it came out the way it did, I knew that you were special, so I had to look you up,"

You were taken aback by his comment, and he noticed and tried to recover. "I mean, not like special-special, but, you know, talented and stuff," he stumbled over his words.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his flustered state. "So, I'm not special, just talented?" you teased, a playful grin spreading across your face.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he backtracked. "I do think you're special, you're so special. I mean...uh...you're really amazin’ too,"

You chuckled softly, enjoying his discomfort. "It's okay, I know what you're trying to say," you reassured him. "And I think you're pretty amazing too."

As your eyes locked, he grabbed both of your drinks and set them down on your coffee table and then gently reached out to touch your cheek, making your breath catch in your throat. You felt him lower his face and closed your eyes preparing to feel his lips on yours but then he surprised you by pressing a trail of kisses down your neck and over the curve of your shoulder.

You sighed in contentment, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. Each kiss sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you. His touch was gentle yet possessive, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

He slowly brought his lips up to meet yours, “This okay?” he murmured against your lips, his breath strained. You nodded softly. His hand quickly tangled in your hair, and he let out a low groan as he hungrily kissed you, his tongue brushed against your bottom lip before slipping inside your mouth and pushing his tongue against yours. You moaned softly in response, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kissed him back.

"God, I’ve been thinkin’ about this for so long," Carmen whispered breathlessly against your lips, his hands exploring your body eagerly.

“Me too,” You responded by pushing him down further into the cushions of your couch, straddling his lap as you began to grind against him, and felt his cock straining against you underneath his pants.

"Oh, fuck Carmen," you gasped, locking eyes with him as you continued to move against him.

Carmen groaned in response, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You’re so fuckin’ sexy, I fuckin’ love it when you say my name like that," he confessed, as his tongue traced along your collarbone. You liked knowing that he could be your Carmy in public, and your Carmen in private.

You started to pull the straps down on your sundress, but then he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you from going any further. You gave him a questioning glance, his chest heaving as he looked into your eyes with a mixture of longing and fear. “Wait,” he muttered. "I... I…can't...we can't do this," he stammered, his voice filled with regret.

"Why not?" you asked, unable to keep the hurt entirely out of your voice.

"Because I'm afraid it will ruin what we have. You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life. I don't wanna lose that, I can’t lose that," he explained, his words heavy with emotion.

"You won’t,” you stated softly, realizing that you couldn't actually make that promise, and so your fingers hesitantly reached for his face. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched as he struggled to find the right words.

“How can you know that?” he sighed.

“I don’t, but I have a good hunch,” you smiled, repeating the words you had told him the first time you two met.

You felt him connect the dots and he opened his eyes and smiled back at you and moved his hands until his fingers traced the tops of your thighs.

“I just want you… me… us to be sure. This will change everythin’ baby,” he whispered, his blue eyes looked darker somehow.

Baby.

You reached out to gently cup his face, bringing his gaze to meet yours. "Carmy, I want everything to change," you confessed.

The assurance you offered seemed to set Carmen off, he leaned forward and kissed you roughly, pulled you closer, and his hands roamed over your body until you were a tangled mess of limbs, and he was now lying on top of you on your couch.

He slipped his hand under your dress, over your panties and you gasped out in pleasure as his fingers rubbed lazy circles against your clothed cunt.

“Carmen,” you whimpered, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“Gotta do this right baby, wanna take my time… get you all nice n’ ready before you take my cock,”

His words made your mouth pop open. You felt the ache between your legs become stronger because you realized that he was talker and that was your favorite.

“I wanna make you feel good with my fingers and my mouth first,” He murmured.

He lifted your dress to your waist, pushed your panties to the side, and looked down and groaned as he rested his hand directly above your heat. “I want to put my mouth right here on this gorgeous pussy,” he praised.

You moaned, trying to focus on what you could say, but you could barely remember how to breathe.

“Words,” he growled, as he looked at you hungrily, eyes dark and hooded.

“I want this. I want you Carmen, god, I want you so bad,”

“Fuck,” he made a throaty noise. “Good girl,” he hissed as his fingers slowly started to circle around your entrance. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, this for me?”

“It’s all for you, I’m yours,” you whispered, feeling vulnerable suddenly.

His eyes softened. “Oh, fuck baby, I’m yours too,” he said placing a gentle kiss on your lips and slipping his fingers inside of you as he swallowed your moans.

That night you learned that Carmen wasn’t as shy as you thought. In fact, Carmen surprised you by taking charge and confidently leading the way.

xx

“Things are a clusterfuck at the restaurant, it’s gonna be a long night, I don’t think I can come over tonight, or else I’m gonna wake you up at like 2 in the mornin’ baby,” Carmen said when he stopped by during his lunch break with an adorable pout on his face.

“That’s okay, I’ll just hang out with my other boyfriend,” you teased across your shoulder as you stocked up on some new wine inventory.

He walked up behind you. “Not funny,” he growled in your ear, as he playfully spanked your ass. You two hadn’t formally had that conversation, but you assumed you were his girlfriend considering how many times he would call you ‘Mine’ during intimate moments, claiming you as his. And you could tell he liked that you had just referred to him as his boyfriend.

“Carmy, it’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you sighed comfortably as you felt his lips edge down the side of your neck and then stop to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“You’re not mad?” he whispered.

“I promise I’m not mad,” you reassured him, knowing his anxiety sometimes got the best of him and turned around to give him a soft kiss on his lips and were about to pull away but then he gripped your face firmly with his hands and pressed your forehead to his.

You two were still so new, it had only been a couple of weeks since you had slept together the first time, and you hadn’t told The Bear staff yet since you two were trying to live in this bubble for a little longer. Even though, if you were honest, you had a feeling they knew. A recent experience in Carmen’s office may have ended with you being just a little too loud.

But, you were pretty sure about one thing.

You were in love with Carmen Berzatto, and even though he hadn’t said it to you yet. You had a good hunch that he was in love with you too.

xx

I wanted to write Carmy in a way that showed that he is the shy and reserved person we all know, but that once he feels comfortable with someone (that he wants to pursue romantically), he subconsciously becomes affectionate and flirtatious. He may not be the most outwardly expressive person, but with the right person, his once hesitant and cautious demeanor softens, revealing a more confident and outgoing side of him. I hope this version of Carmy resonates with people because to me this is how I would envision him during a crush and entering a healthy relationship <3

Also, I was shell shocked to learn from the world of Google how complicated it is to receive the designation of Master Sommelier. There are only 279 in the entire world, and it really is one of the hardest exams in the world with a pass rate of 3-8%. But, I have faith in our reader achieving this feat one day. She’s a queen!

🥝💚 Reblog + Support Writers + Comment 🥝💚 Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

clo i need to know your thoughts on cal, johnny and benny all falling for the same, sweet local girl! <3 love ya xoxo

suse how could you do this to me :( currently trying not to scream cry and throw up in the coffee shop :( this somehow turned into jealous!danny? dunno how! kinda long, so ya gotta read more xo

benny says your name like it's this sacred thing and danny knows he's in for a treat. the sun grows weary as she dips beneath the tree line, but danny is unyielding; bony forearms braced on the tops of his thighs, microphone edging just a bit closer to his pondering interviewee. benny blows a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, watching as it mingles with the cotton candy clouds and it's hard, danny thinks, to be around benny because everything he does is so damn picturesque. he's filled more than three rolls of film with just benny and yeah, he's gotta be mindful because film isn't cheap and he's broke but there's something about the way benny looks; leather cut laying just so over his shirtless form, white levis baggy from age, speckled with either dirt or blood, he doesn't know, and he's just so cool that it's impossible to resist. danny snaps a quick picture, scolds himself as the ticker tells him he's got four shots left, then turns his chin to watch as benny plucks the near-extinguished cigarette from between his teeth, flicking it into the grass. "what'dya wanna know about her?" "well," danny shifts in the creaky lawnchair, "y'know, i've talked to the guys and they, uh, they say she's the best thing that's happened to the club. girls are sayin' it too, n'not just cus she made you nasty bastards start washing your hands." benny is chuckling, pillowy lips damp from the swipe of his tongue. "so what is it about her?" danny asks then waits and waits and waits as benny sits, per usual, in silence. and, okay, maybe this isn't going as well as danny hoped and now he's scrambling, throwing haphazard sentences around his brain, but then benny is speaking and holy shit he's speaking. danny has never heard him say more than fifteen words but now he's a leaky faucet "she's good - everythin' about her - doesn't have a mean bone in her body, y'know? gave all've us a chance, gave me a chance." benny shakes his head as though he still can't believe it then stops, turning his head at the faint sound of the screendoor closing and there you are in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair pulled back with a crocheted bandana and danny can see it, the whole angelic thing. you pay neither of them any mind, tending instead to the flowers 'round the porch. your little yellow watering can is cute and danny can see the fondness constricting the base of benny's throat. "think m'biased." benny says, turning back to face danny. "but 've said it once and i'll say it till they throw me in the ground: she's heaven sent. an' i hope imma good enough man to see her again when i get where i'm goin'." danny leaves with a rekindled belief in love and hopes that maybe one day he’ll be lucky enough to be loved the way benny is.

it's been three weeks since benny's interview and danny can't help but notice things. he carries this leather notebook around - jotting down names and places and tape numbers - but the page he keeps coming back to is one he scribbled across a few days ago. the thing about benny's girl is that she isn't just benny's girl. he's circled it three times for good measure because benny's girl doesn't just belong to benny - sure, maybe in the ways it matters - but every single soul adores her; lights up when she walks in and it sure is a sight to see fifty or so bikers grinning and stumbling over their own feet for this girl who looks like she couldn't harm a fuckin' fly. if she had a male equivalent danny reckons it would be cal. cal with a personality as warm as fire, who talks to everyone, and cracks jokes, and is unabashedly himself. but cal has a temper and it shows during a run to akron. danny is interviewing zipco when he hears the commotion then suddenly everyone is stampeding toward two swinging figures and he knows this is where he steps back. it's a full-on brawl now and zipco sure as shit wasn't going to stay and yap while there was chaos amuck, so danny plops down, lights a cigarette and waits. "s'guy called her a bitch," cal says and danny almost jumps out of his fuckin' skin. where did the sun go? he scrambles to a sitting position, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and smacking the record button on his cassette recorder. "what?" "some fuckin' prick called her a bitch." cal's got a handful of ice cubes pressed to his busted jaw and because the man knows no personal space a bloody mix has dripped onto danny's pant leg. "her?" danny's not following but the beat up boy tips his head and danny should've known. it's you. of course it's you. "not gonna let nobody talk to her like that. i don't take too kindly for no one talkin' ill to a lady, but 'specially her. s'the most fucked up shit you can do." that's when danny realizes that cal has it too. it's the same look benny had when you came out of the house - that dumb, lovesick gaze - but cal's is laced with longing and danny actually feels bad for him. "she sure is something." he says, testing the waters. he's out of cigarettes so his nimble fingers pluck a handful of grass from beside his boot. "sure is." cal takes a seat, reaching behind danny to grab the jug of strong-smelling alcohol. "never met anyone like 'er. been everywhere; hell to fuckin' Houston, never met a girl like her before." he takes a deep swig, grimaces, then swallows. "benny sure is lucky, ain't he?" danny says, peering under his lashes at the golden-haired boy and he laughs. "we're all lucky. she's the sweetest of the sunflowers, man. she's like the fuckin' sun. least she is to me - to us." poor bastard, danny thinks. poor infatuated bastard.

"where ya gonna be sittin', baby?" "with johnny." "good girl, c'mere gimmie a kiss." danny's at the bar nursing a beer and a hangover and probably a concussion and you know what? this kinda talk doesn't phase him anymore. he's used to it by now; sure he doesn't know the rules, but it's none of his business anyway and in his four months with the club he's learned, above all else, that bikers are fuckin' weird. still danny finds you, watches as benny grabs your chin bringing you up up up onto your tiptoes before planting delicate kisses onto your giggling mouth. "you go see 'em." it's a whisper and danny's not trying to eavesdrop but he finds himself leaning closer. "looks like he needs some cheerin' up." and maybe danny is still invested because he turns, following you as you float over to johnny's table where he's hunched over an intimidating stack of papers. you say something, but your sweet voice is too quiet over the racket and danny cares so he stands, goes over to the pinball machine, but doesn't turn it on. "hi, pretty." johnny reaches over, takes your hand, tugs you closer and you giggle, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and this is different. none of the other guys put their hands on you - just benny, just benny because he's yours and you're his but johnny does it so naturally danny knows he's done it before. "what's goin' on, old man?" your voice drips nothing but affection and johnny smiles around his cigarette and launches into club dues and the upcoming springfield run and the dwindling bail fund and danny starts losing interest; his feet are going numb and there's only so much longer he can stand there pretending to fucking play pinball before someone catches on but then you're on johnny's lap and yeah this never happens. danny has seen benny beat the dog shit out of a guy for even suggesting that you sit next to him but now here you are, balanced on one of johnny's broad thighs, spinning his wedding band around and around his finger and benny sees, fucking smiles at the sight, and drops his head, lining up his next shot at the pool table. danny realizes you're talking and running your hand up and down johnny's arm as you validate his feelings and strategize fundraising plans and promise to bake some of your infamous strawberry shortcake bites. johnny's promised hand lays so delicately upon your cheek danny thinks he may kiss you but thank fuck he doesn't because danny'd surely blow his cover and a load in his pants because, okay, yeah, he gets it. knows now why everyone loves you, has started to catch feelings of his own but he's not johnny or benny and he'll never be able to touch you the way he wants so he guesses he'll join the ranks with cal as just another distant admirer. just another love struck bastard.

Reblog if you support squishy bellies, have a squishy belly, or have the desire to summon satan

Found the room with many rats

Smallest Drop - Part 2

Summary: Seeing as part one went well, I present to you the continuation but this time, from Astarion's point of view. Thank you all so much for your support. It makes me so happy to know the fandom is enjoying my work.

He honestly doesn't know what Tav wants from him or why she keeps stirring weird emotions in him and she only further confuses when she presents him with a thoughtful gift.

There will be a part 3. Tav is not mentioned by name.

Content Warnings: She/Her Tav

Word Count: 2.2k words

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Astarion never considered himself particularly lucky but he knew how to adapt to situations beyond his control – keep himself alive and everything. He’d proven himself to be talented enough to seduce well, just about anyone.

Just about anybody it would seem but not a single member of the strangest group imaginable, also known as the one he’d chosen to travel with.

Because luck would mean the most frustrating woman in the world would be the one he aimed to… shall he say, convince about the benefits of staying close to his side.

Oh, she wasn’t exactly immune to his charms. He could see the effects when he moved close to her and her lips curled into a natural smile, attention flickering to him in anticipation of what he wanted to say. She brushed against his shoulder whenever she wanted to pass and laughed at his snide remarks.

All the things that he would usually consider a success; a sign he’d managed to win her heart in some form.

But then, she also went and did the absolute opposite.

Instead of pulling him aside in the camp when he offered and allowing him to drag his lips along her throat, she dragged him into the middle of the group to socialize. She leaned into his touches and then ran off to help save another puppy or whatever else caught her attention.

It annoyed Astarion because he knew she liked him but he didn’t know what she wanted from him. They’d spent one evening together and she appeared keen on more but then rather spent her nights teaching an owlbear how to sit.

Admittedly, a very cute pastime but still.

She ran a bath for him, washed his hair, and then promptly left him alone in the water instead of joining him for some fun. If he understood, he could easily provide but she made the first part infuriatingly difficult.

“Alright,” he said after she’d caught him staring into a blank mirror and spurned agitation in him by reminding him that he didn’t, in fact, know what colour his eyes once were. “Tell me what you see when you look at me. Surely you can describe my appearance well enough.”

She giggled and put a hand to her chin, as though considering. “I think we’d be sitting here the whole night if I did that. You’re so pretty, it’s unfair.”

Pride curled hot in his chest and his irritation simmered. Amazing how easily she managed to do such a thing. “Oh? Then name your favourite.”

She reached out to brush a strand of hair away from his face, freezing only when the action had already startled both of them. Astarion wondered why she stopped for only a second before he realised he’d shifted away from the touch, a movement done on instinct rather than thought.

Shit. That wasn’t going to help him.

She dropped her hand as though nothing happened. “I refuse to believe becoming a vampire changed you that much. There’s no way you weren’t this gorgeous before.”

She knew how to appeal to his vanity and the strangest thing about it was, he didn’t feel as though she did it on purpose. Her ceaseless flattery came naturally to her.

“It’s been over two hundred years since I last saw it and memories fade.”

A lie but not an important one. He remembered everything since the day he woke up in his coffin, panicked and struggling to breath though he didn’t need to. The pain of transforming, the agony of starvation, and unending confusion. Nothing slipped away and he hated it. Despised how the memories shoved their way forward.

But for now, he refused to think of them and instead waited to see what she thought of. She pressed her lips together tightly before she spoke.

“The first thing I noticed when I met you were your eyes. They’re red, obviously, but they’re also strong and piercing. You also get these crinkles beside them when you laugh.”

Again with the strangest compliments. Still, he took them in his stride this time. “That’s better. What else?”

“The way you smile. It’s dangerous and sharp but occasionally, genuine. It’s enough to charm anybody, I would say.”

He offered her a smile in response, pleased with the praise. He preened beneath her pretty words and happily took the knowledge close to heart. Meaningless flattery had always been one of his favourite things.

“Now just tell me I’m beautiful and we’ll call it a day.”

She laughed and tilted her head to the side. “You’re beautiful. I thought that much was obvious.”

But something in the way she said it ruined everything. She took the most boring compliment of the lot and meant it deeper than all the others. The teasing tone easily exposed the truth and the pride disappeared, replaced by something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now was there any real reason for you to make your way over here?”

She didn’t really want anything but he’d almost expected it. Everything she found on their journey eventually got shared with him and today, she spoke about some woman’s letter she’d found. Nothing important.

Astarion thought that would be the end of it.

He continued to flatter her to make sure she always preferred him above their other companions and was rewarded when she continued to seek him out first. An entirely selfish action truly but she offered him a path forward.

The others had their strengths but something about her united them the best. If a chance existed where he could retain this ability to stand in the sun, he had no doubt she would be his best way there.

Even if she did insist on carrying about so much nonsense she found whenever they went out and helped every person with the smallest problems.

But then she found an empty book lying on the floor somewhere and she immediately began staring at him whenever it was open, scribbling away inside but always staring at him over the edges. Every time he offered her a quizzical glance, she smiled and continued with whatever she was doing.

She showed it to Wyll and Gale a few times but never brought it over for him to see.

Of course, if Astarion really wanted to, he could find what waited in those pages easily.

The parasite provided an easy path forward but she would know he wanted something when he dug around in her head. He didn’t sleep most nights but she rested deeply; deeply enough to allow a vampire to drink from her throat without even waking her like the true fool she was.

She knew, even laughed when he complimented her the next morning, but never once complained, just told him he was welcome back whenever.

Originally, he thought she may be too trusting but he learned quickly how wrong that assumption was. She didn’t believe most of the people who tried to sway her to their side; straightened her back and glared when they tried to trick her and often even stood between them and her companions.

Which meant, somehow, he’d earned her trust.

Ridiculously stupid as it was for her to trust him, he didn’t want to lose the privilege and so he left her book alone until the next time she spent too long staring over its top.

“I do hope you’re writing something fun in those pages,” he said. “If you let me read them, I’m sure we can make them happen.”

She laughed at the suggestion. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just trying to draw you.”

He lowered his goblet a little in confusion, unsure how to respond to such a thing. “Draw me?”

“Well, you complained so much about not being able to see yourself in the mirror so I thought this would be the next best option. Come here and I’ll show you.”

She patted the spot on the ground beside her but Astarion didn’t move. Of all the things he’d expected from her, he hadn’t anticipated a recall of the strange conversation from before. Certainly not for her to have spent several days on such a thing.

“Come on,” she welcomed him. “I’m not horrible at art, I promise.”

He shook off the surprise and forced a laugh. “My apologies, I got distracted watching those adorable cheeks of yours flush. It’s absolutely delicious to see the way the sun burns your skin.”

“Oh, that wasn’t the sun,” she said. “If you’re talking about this.” She twisted a little so he could see a deeper red mark on her chest and where it curled over her shoulder. “You know the chest I kept fiddling with beneath the grove? Turns out it was trapped but don’t worry, Shadowheart promised it would fade with time.”

He honestly hadn’t been speaking of anything but he found himself annoyed at her for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint. “Well, I suppose that’s what you must deal with when you’re obsessed with looting everything we come across.”

“It’s profitable,” she teased. “Now do you want to see what I’m drawing or not?”

He took his time to saunter over and sink into a relaxed seat beside her. The sun had begun to set and its final rays danced over her skin as she shifted closer, leg brushing against his own as she turned the pages to him.

“It’s not perfect,” she warned. “You’re not an easy person to capture on the page but it’s something.”

True to her words, the book had been filled with sketches from the front to the back. Some crude and others detailed but every single one was of him. Close ups, full bodies, and even a few in action with daggers drawn. Had she truly drawn them from memory alone?

“I keep getting frustrated when they don’t come out right,” she said. She leaned back so she was lying against the grass, attention on the sky. “I’ve asked the others but they can’t tell what I’m doing wrong either. They’re just not right.”

He turned the pages slowly, not sure how he should respond to a gift like this.

Seeing his face showed truth to her words. He hadn’t changed awfully much in these years. The great care put into this though… she’d spent ages detailing his hair on others and even put dapples of sunlight over others from when they’d been travelling through the forest.

They didn’t have many hobbies to pass the time while travelling (not unless you counted Lae’zel who appeared to be collecting more and more heads as they continued on) but this must have taken so much of her waking hours.

The emotion that crept up his throat was unwelcome and difficult to recognise. It made his unbeating heart twist uncomfortably and he immediately snapped the book shut.

She nudged him to get his attention. “Well? What do you think? We can hire a professional when we reach a bigger city but it’s a temporary solution.”

He forced the smile and it felt wrong. “I doubt even a professional will capture me right. It’s as you said, difficult to capture perfection.”

She laughed. “I’ll try again tomorrow but with our plans, I think you’re going to be in a foul mood and I don’t want to draw you when you’re sulking.”

“Me? Sulk? I couldn’t possibly imagine why when you’re making me trudge through a swamp.”

She grinned and for a second, the briefest moment, he felt something tug on his chest when he looked at her. Fondness. His panic flared immediately and he turned his gaze away, uncomfortable suddenly with the attention she lavished upon him.

Curse her and her ridiculous book. Yet another strange aspect of her life – one that tempted him to flee in the middle of the night and never return to this group and their insistence on helping people.

But he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up the safety provided by them yet.

“I’ll be happy to take this off your hands darling,” he said to her, holding up the book. “Keep it safe and make sure it doesn’t disappear in the night.”

“You will not. It’s mine until I get at least one drawing of you right and then you can have it.”

He leaned over her, placing one hand on the ground beside her hip. “Wouldn’t you rather the real thing? We can make some references for more enticing artwork in the future.”

She stared at him, briefly frozen as he drifted a faint touch over her thigh. The flare of lust in her eyes made him comfortable again. This was something he understood. An emotion he recognised. She still wanted him; she must if she spent all this time trying to draw him.

She moved closer and her breath brushed over his cheeks, her eyes locked on his.

He waited, about to close the gap, when she suddenly kissed him on the nose, grabbed the book from his hand, and rolled away with a laugh.

Astarion was left blinking as she tucked the book into her pouch.

“I’ll let you have it when I’m done but that does sound like fun. Unfortunately, this evening though, I managed to talk Wyll into giving me some dance lessons so I’m booked. You should join if you feel up to it.”

He huffed and tried not to let the strange jealousy return as she ducked away towards the others.

Taglist: @rosenightwings , @tragicdruid , @bloopthebat , @venus-wrts

characters i write for:

⫷james potter⫸

⫷sirius black⫸

⫷remus lupin⫸

⫷regulus black⫸

⫷poly!wolfstar⫸

⫷poly!marauders⫸