I NEED PART TWO OF THE MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N L/N!
I NEED PART TWO OF THE MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N L/N!
. . . MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N Y/L/N FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT! (part2)
You cackled to yourself after sending the message into your groupchat, quickly returning to the video and beginning to play it again, occasional bursts of giggles slipping through your lips.
Resuming your place in the video—the first clip that began playing was actually from not that long ago at all. It was You, Kat Dennings, Elizabeth Olsen and Zendaya at Taylor Swifts Eras Tour (an experience you would genuinely never forget). Taylor was playing Lover and, in the clip, Kat had your face in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist, bringing you close to her body.
“Lover, can I go where you go—“ Kat sang with Taylor, singing all the lyrics to you and grinning at you, faces inches away from each other. “—Can we always be this close.” She punctuated this lyric with giving you an eskimo kiss.
You smiled sincerely at the memory.
The next clip began up, it was you and Chris Evans doing Playground Insults with BBC Radio 1: the two of you were sat opposite each other, knees touching, Chris was grinning goofily at you, giddy laughs escaping him as you tried to remain straight faced.
“—we’re here with Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N.” The presenters introduced.
“And we’re about to play Playground Insults . . Now Chris and Y/N are sat opposite each other,” the camera cut to you and Chris, him smiling largely and you looking away to contain your own, “the atmosphere is very tense.”
“We’ve done this quite a few times now but im thinking.. this is the biggest movie of the year, let’s make this the biggest playground insults we’ve ever done.”
“Yep.” Chris nodded, trying not to laugh.
“Chris, hun. . you’re ugly. Like, plain ugly.” You nodded seriously, immediately setting off as you feigned a pained wince to the words. “Everyone’s been talking about it. . just, you’re so atrocious to look at. Honestly, I almost feel arse over tits in horror when I saw you.”
Chris opened his mouth to say something but then faltered and pouted, “no matter how good of an actor I am, I could never even get those words out my mouth about you and make them sound genuine. Seriously.”
The third clip started—it was Chris Hemsworth on a carpet, a bold colourful question at the bottom said ‘WHO HAS THE MOST FANS?’. Chris immediately said, “Y/n.” In that deep Australian accent of his. “Not that I blame the people from choosing her to be the people’s queen, she is truly one of a kind. You’ll only ever meet one Y/n in your lifetime, cherish it. The fans have the right idea.”
It changed to Scarlett with the same colourful question at screen and at the same carpet event: “Oh, Yeah. Y/n, one hundred percent.” She chuckled huskily. “That woman has fans upon fans and seriously, I’m one of them. She is something else.” She grinned, winking at the camera.
After Scarlett, Paul Rudd came onto your screen in the very same clip. “Oh! The legend herself, Y/N Y/L/N.” Paul answered brightly, smiling. “The amount of fans she has is unbelievable—well, it’s definitely believable for someone like her, so, not really unbelievable..”
The forth clip began—it was you all playing Family Feud with Jimmy Kimmel, on his live show. Sebastian and RDJ were currently facing off; Jimmy posed the question “what, other than the sun, are some of the hottest things to exist?”
Sebastian got to the buzzer faster than Robert managed to and didn’t even falter or hesitate as he answered straight away, “Y/N Y/L/N.”
The audience immediately screamed laughed and shrieked in delight, RDJ just nodded his head in understanding and appreciation, clapping his hands. Chris Evans, Mark and Anthony on the other side all looked amused but ultimately accepting (Chris was nodding along almost subconsciously). You were on the other team, looking heavenward with a faint exasperated grin and Scarlet wrapped her arm around your waist, Chris Hemsworth smirking at you both.
The fifth clip started up: it was a behind the scenes shot from Endgame, the big final battle. You were currently in the middle of doing your own stunt, green screen behind you and harnesses strapped to you as you dangled at a halfway point in the air. Your arms and hands were positioned in such a way to show your character manipulating her powers—the position also very much enhanced your chest, with the added help of your superhero attire. You looked hot, even you could admit.
The camera mirthfully panned to some of the rest of the cast who all stood aside while you filmed your scene—said cast being Chris Evans, Tom Holland, Gwyneth Paltrow, RDJ, Elizabeth Olsen and Tessa Thompson. All of their eyes were fixated on you, Robert was the only one grinning in amusement (and awe) while all the others stared at you as though you hung the sun yourself.
“Boobies.” Lizzie giggled faintly, her eyes stuck. The rest of the cast watching dumbly nodded while the crew cracked up behind the cameras.
And if you screenshotted their dumbfounded faces looking ip at on screen you. . well that was your business.
The clip changed. It was now Karen Gillan being interviewed on some carpet event, looking genuinely breathtaking. The interviewer was asking, “—obviously, your friend and co-star Y/N Y/L/N has been in lots of iconic movies. . what is your favourite scene of hers in The Wolf of Wall Street?”
Karen paused with a cheeky little smile, giving the interviewer a a jokingly incredulous look. “Come on.” She simply said. “It’s a bloody no brainer, I’m certain it was Leonardo’s favourite scene too. . I hope it is anyway otherwise he’s a silly, silly man.”
At the same carpet event with the same interviewer, Chris Hemsworth was being interviewed—his wife, Elsa, on his arm and looking half ready to battle off any rude interviewers (queen).
“—what is your favourite scene of hers in Ocean’s 8?”
“All of them!” Elsa answered eagerly, grinning. “Her outfits really accentuated her personality and I enjoyed them very much so. Particularly her outfit for the gala. . the amount of accentuated personality, by gosh, it had me speechless.”
Chris turned her head, obviously trying not to laugh at his wife.
“Nunca he estado más celoso y agradecido por la ropa en mi vida.” Elsa hummed.
You blinked.
The clip changed to you, Sebastian, Lizzie, Paul, Jeremy and Jimmy all on his Tonight Show playing Musical Beers. The slightly unnerving music/beat played in the background while you all stalked around the circle, Paul and Jeremy already out—leaving you, Seb, Lizzie and Jimmy.
As you were all racing around the circular table, Lizzie very obviously swatted your ass and you were impressed with your own body as you watched that impact: the audience erupted into laughs and shrieks, Jimmy playfully covering his eyes as Seb smirked. You thought that would be the end of the clip, but no.
The very disco-esk tune briefly cut out and past time you thought that meant it stopped completely and you’d already reached for the red cup in front of you and chugged it’s contents, only to pause as the music began back up.
“Spit it back! Spit it back!”
You did just that—but when the music actually stopped and Seb was left standing in front of the cup with your (let’s not go there) in it, your mouth popped open in shock. Jeremy gladly backed away from the table in hysterics, Lizzie and Jimmy equally as amused.
“Oh my god, I am—“
Sebastian quickly downed the cup with. . those contents, not even looking all that perturbed.
“So sorry.” You finished, mouth agape.
You vaguely remembered a conversation you’d had with him after the show, sincerely and repeatedly apologising and he was just very, very amused with you. He didn’t seem to mind at all—what an odd man.
“It’s all good.” Sebastian chuckled lowly, wrapping the mortified looking past you in a one armed shoulder hug and squeezing you to him. Lizzie seemed to be trying to trade a very obvious eye message with you—the audience shrieked and screamed in the background.
Another clip began: its was you and Scarlett Johansson doing a trust fall thing, you thought (correctly).
“Scarlett I swear. .” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at the woman behind you—she grinned back at you amusedly, her eyes twinkling.
“Calm down.” She laughed herself. “I’ll catch you don’t worry, gorgeous.”
Still slightly overcome with nervous giggles, you turned and let out a breath as you shut your eyes before holding at your arms and falling back.
And catch you she definitely did—although her hands didn’t exactly land in a PG-13 area, you cackled as you watched her hands grope at your chest to pull you up. In the video, you were also wheezing as were the crew and Scarlett had a cheeky little smirk as she laughed.
When you were finally standing, she gave one last squeeze before finally letting go—on screen you was breathless with giggles.
“Always wanted to do that.” She shrugged simply with a large amused smile.
The next clip began—it was Zendaya and Tom Holland on LADBible, playing that how much do you agree or not game. The statement said was ‘Y/N Y/L/N is everyone‘s celebrity crush’.
Instantly, Tom and Zendaya moved their cups to strongly agree, both of them nodding in solid agreement with the statement: presently, you awed at your friends, ego very much boosted. Well. To be fair, all of this video was massively boosting your ego.
“I mean, come on.” Zendaya made a ‘duh’ face and shrugged her shoulders.
“It’s Y/N.” Tom smiled crookedly, adding onto her comment.
“I am so happy I get to now say that she’s one of my closest friends.” Zendaya beamed genuinely. “She’s—one of those people whose beauty isn’t just an external thing, she’s so lovely man.” She pouted, in awe of you.
Watching the video, you beamed back at her.
The clip changed: Mark Ruffalo was on the Graham Norton show, next to Nicki Minaj and an actor you couldn’t place.
“Who would you say your favourite co-star has ever been, Mark?” Graham inquired.
“I—i would probably have to go with Y/N—“ The crowd instantly erupted into cheers and yells and Nicki smiled next to him, stating that she loved you under the sound of cheering. Mark grinned back at her, mumbling ‘me too’.
“Yeah, she’s a hell of an actress, that one. So easy to work with. Funny as f—hell, she’s just—an extremely genuine and kind person, and she really brings the energy on set.” Mark grinned. “..she’s also the only free pass my wife has ever given me. Which I won’t be using! Because I don’t believe in cheating, it’s scummy! Even though she’s gorgeous—anyone would be lucky!” He had to rise to a shout at the end as the audience erupted.
Nicki giggled next to him, “me personally, I would use that pass.”
You gasped in laughter as you watched the screen, screen-recording it all so you could go back and watch it. Saving it to your folder titled PISSING MY PANTS HRLP
The clip changed yet again, showing a scene from the Winter Solider BTS. You and Sebastian were filming a scene where he had to shoot your character—you watched the ‘Winter Solider’ shoot your character multiple times making you go down with an agonised yell, crawling away from him.
As soon as CUT was yelled, Sebastian’s face dropped from his stone cold (wintery) expression and he raced to you, crouching next to you. He practically tugged you into his lap on the floor, holding you.
“Oh my fuck that—that just felt so real, Y/n. You know I would never hurt you right?” He asked, blinking repeatedly before a small smirk fell on his lips. “You’re way too pretty to injure doll. Can’t ruin your perfect face.”
On screen you huffed in mock anger, hiding an amused grin as you shoved at him—he still held you close to him though, so both of you fell backwards and burst into giggles.
You literally thought ‘I ship them’ as you watched the clip of Sebastian and yourself, forgetting that was you for a moment.
Another clip started up—another behind the scenes. It was you and Tom Hiddleston in Thor : Ragnarok. In the scene Loki was tied down to the chair and your character was meant to intimidate him—you watched yourself take out your character’s daggers and lean forward into his space. One leg leaned up on top of the arm of the chair, sliding one dagger just a hair above the skin of his neck while using the over the move his chin up to be angled to you as you mockingly smiled down at him.
You said your line as your character but Tom remained silent, mouth parted and eyes widened as he gazed up at you—speech failing him. (You knew that they actually decided to include this awestruck look in the movie—the amount of fucking edits you’d seen was unreal).
Eyebrows crinkling you nudged your knee into his chest and he snapped out of it, grabbing your knee in a gentle grip. “Sorry darling, words sometimes seem to fail me in your presence.” He muttered rather hoarsely, still staring up at you.
“I don’t fucking blame him.” Tessa Thompson murmured from behind you both, and the camera moved to show her staring at you in a similar awe.
Present time, you could barely hide your smirk. Literally the biggest ego boost. Of all time.
Again, the clip changed and it was now Natalie Portman looking gorgeous on a carpet event, being interviewed—“if you could have Jane explore another romance than Thor, who would it be and why?”
“Y/N!” Natalia enthused immediately. “Well—her character, but like. Both. Either. One for me, one for Jane. That—would be great. And why? Come on! She’s an absolutely beautiful woman, inside and out. She has this outward glow that you literally cannot and don’t want to look away from and that reflects so much in her personality—once you’ve interacted with her one time, you never want to stop. Ever. I’m not kidding.” She giggled.
Another clip started up quickly—a blooper of you and Chris Evans. In this scene, your characters were meant to kiss after an angsty, angry argument. You stormed into the frame, into the bedroom, completely in character—an angry expression on and ready to go at Steve.
Before you could even let out a single syllable to begin your lines, Chris immediately surged forward and took your face in his hands, kissing the living daylights out of you.
You both pulled back after a bit and you just started at him, questioningly (that kiss was probably one of your best ever, let it be known, Chris Evans was a fantastic kisser).
“I—I thought It’d be good for the scene. .” Chris trailed off bashfully, scratching the base of his neck, literally pulling the excuse out of his arse. In actuality, he hadn’t wanted to spare a moment of the scene where he could be kissing you, well, not doing so.
“Bull!” Scarlett exclaimed as she materialised in the doorway. “He just wanted to kiss you.” She told you, pointedly looking at the man.
“Yeah—i—“ He huffed a defeated sigh, pink-cheeked. “I’ve got nothing. She’s right.”
In hindsight, you thought to yourself, you should probably stop being so shocked when the fanbase starts shipping you with your costars.
The clip changed: now it was you, Elizabeth and Aaron on a carpet event together—all being interviewed at the same time.
“So, Y/n, how does it feel to be in a Maximoff twin sandwich right now?” The interviewer giggled happily, smiling.
Before you could open you’re mouth—“we’re really enjoying it.” Lizzie and Aaron replied at the same time.
The interview gaped and you simply rolled your eyes as the two smirked at either side of you, they’d been talking in sync ever since you’d first met them at the table reading.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t why?” Aaron grinned crookedly. “A beautiful, lovely woman in between us. Honestly, love, there’s not a thought in my head besides you.” He joked, throwing an arm over your shoulder.
“I completely support that.” Lizzie chirped in, “ever since I’ve met this gorgeous lady who i now acknowledge as my partner in everything—she’s taken up all of the room in my brain, and I couldn’t be happier.” She giggled, putting her arm around your waist.
In the middle of them both, with an arm over your shoulder and one around your waist—you simply sighed, sparing the giddy interviewer an exaggerated suffering expression.
Again, the clip switched—it was now another blooper of you in the Iron Man movie, the scene where you handed Tony’s arse to him in the boxing ring. Instead of acting as scripted, Gwen Paltrow got up from her seat and strode over to the boxing ring, stepping inside gracefully and planting one right on your lips.
Presently, you giggled as you thought back to this moment. Gwen was your impulsive queen. Your idol.
From the floor, RDJ squawked in shock, exclaiming about being cheated and betrayed and Gwen flung her stiletto off her foot at him without moving from your lips.
When she finally did, she simply smiled at you kindly, “you just looked so good that I couldn’t not kiss you, sweets.” She shrugged and you, on screen, laughed at her as you leaned back in to kiss her cheek.
(Unfortunately the scene was not included in the movie—but Gwen never wasted an opportunity to talk about it, and you, if the chance arose).
The clip moved onto another one—back to the Thor : Ragnarok movie, you and Heimdall were fighting together, however you missed a step in your stunt and ended up stumbling. Idris immediately caught you with a steady arm around your waist, full you to him so you could stabilise yourself.
You smiled up at him thankfully, squeezing his arm in gratitude (totally not because you’d just wanted to feel his bicep).
You watched as your on screen self get distracted again and Idris murmured to Tom who’d now appeared next to him, “I feel like it’s dishonourable how much I want her to fall so I can catch her again now.”
“Mate, trust me,” Tom laughed, “I completely understand. But she doesn’t need the rescuing.”
“That she does not.” Both men smiled fondly as they watched you.
Presently, you were actively refusing to blush.
A different clip started up—Florence Pugh was being interviewed, looking breathtaking in her green dress. “—did you take anything from set?” The interviewer was asking, smiling at Florence.
“Um—not much, just Y/n’s heart.” Florence immediately cracked up at her own joke, smiling widely. “And her underwear too.” She added.
The interviewer opened her mouth to say something more, giggling at Florence as she continued speaking: “and before you ask, no. I wouldn’t be selling, for any price. Finders keepers and all that shite—plus, she’s my girl, so. That rule applies even more so. No one else can take her heart. Or her pants.”
Watching your friend, you giggled at her cheesy smile at her words before getting distracted by your group chat, where multiple of your friends and co-starts had seen your message and were now responding. Your laughter increased tenfold as you opened the thread.
More Posts from Jestersasphodel and Others
Lockwood & Co. Incorrect quotes, pt.5
Requested by @superpositvecloudshipper !!!! Thank you for requesting!! Others will be other soon!!
Y/n: Your lover doesn’t have the mental strength to caramelize onions. Anthony: Your lover thinks it takes 5-10 minutes to caramelize onions. Lucy: Who’s fucking caramelizing onions? Have you sociopaths forgotten that apples exist? George: Do you think caramelizing onions is putting caramel on onions.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Lucy, Y/n & Anthony: *screaming* George: *runs into the room* What’s wrong, Lucy?! Y/n: Wait, why are you asking Lucy that when Anthony and I are also here? George: Because Lucy wouldn’t scream unless it’s an emergency. You two scream whenever you have the chance.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
George: *tapping fingers on table* Anthony: *taps fingers back furiously* Lucy: …What’s going on? Y/n: Morse code. They’re talking. George: -.– ..- .-. / - …. . / -.-. ..- - . … - Anthony: *slams hands on table* YOU TAKE THAT BACK!
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
George: We call that a traumatic experience. George, turning to Y/n: Not a “bruh moment”. George, turning to Anthony: Not “sadge”. George, turning to Lucy: And DEFINITELY not an “oof LMAO”.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Anthony: I never said I was gonna get back together with her. But I was thinking, she’s in town, would it be the worst thing in the world if I gave her a call? Lucy: No. No, Anthony, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would be the fourth worst thing. Number one: a super volcano. Number two: an asteroid hits the Earth. Number three: All the Evel Knievel movies are lost. Number four: Anthony calls Y/n. Number five: George gets eaten by a shark. George: I’m George, and I approve the order of that list.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
George: Yesterday, I watched Y/n try to eat a decorative rock from Anthony’s potted plant. Lucy caught her, and told her she can’t eat rocks. Y/n started whining something about no food being in the house before walking away.
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George: I sleep with a gun under my pillow. Lucy: I sleep with a knife. Anthony: Both of you are pathetic. George: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with? Anthony: Y/n.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Y/n and Anthony: *making loud, shouty gorilla sounds at each other* Lucy: George, exasperatedly: We have a guest.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
George, knows what she’s done: Who wants to go out of the country on a road trip? Lucy: Yea, I could drink legally! Anthony: I could hang out with the boys! Y/n: I could hide from the consequences of my actions.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Lucy, talking about a case: They… well, I wouldn’t call it inheritance per se. What do you call it when you kill someone and get their stuff? George: Um, murder??? Anthony: Adventuring! Y/n: Tuesday.
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Y/n, singing to the tune of I Kissed a Girl: I killed a guy, and I liked it- Lucy, whispering: Should we call the exorcist? Anthony, also singing: The taste of his cherry chapstick. George, appalled: Call the exorcist.
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Y/n: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. George: No, that’s not how you make cookies. Lucy: FLOOR IT!! Y/n: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? George: yOU’RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Y/n: I’M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Anthony: DO IT! George: NO-
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Anthony: Today at 7 am, Y/n poured a Monster energy drink in her coffee, said “I’m going to die” and drank the whole thing. Lucy: I watched Y/n brew her coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think she ascended into the astral realm. George: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.
Karlach Unable to Get Enough of You
Pairing: Karlach x Reader
Tags: fluff, touch-starved, kissing, cuddles, tail shenanigans, playful biting, protectiveness
A/N: She's been on my mind for a while, I need to get these brainworms out. Plus I find the whole "romance but can't touch" thing very appealing both as a writer and as someone who's ace.
The pining was almost too much to handle for you both, unable to touch from the fear of being hurt, well this was more Karlach's fear then yours, you were willing to endure a few burns if it meant that you'd kiss her
Once she's able to touch you she becomes the clingiest person in your party
This isn't just towards you but towards some of her friends as well
Although with you it's a lot more romantically intimate
She'll place her hand on your thigh when you're sitting by the camp fire, she'll wrap her tail around you when you're sleeping, it doesn't matter if her back is turned or not, she'll pull you into her arms and growl at anyone who flirts with you
You're hers, and it feels strange to admit to it, to have this new protective and possessive urge to be with you
Kissing happens multiple times a day, after every fight, before you go to sleep, as she holds you up against a tree, biting at your lips, pulling them between her sharp teeth and letting you moan against her lips
You always feel her tail around you, even when you're walking
This has tripped you up a few times before but now she's able to catch you, spin you around and kiss you better
She no longer minds when you catch her looking at you because now you can both do something about it, a touch, a kiss or something more, it's all finally on the table for you two
a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town
academy
adventurer's guild
alchemist
apiary
apothecary
aquarium
armory
art gallery
bakery
bank
barber
barracks
bathhouse
blacksmith
boathouse
book store
bookbinder
botanical garden
brothel
butcher
carpenter
cartographer
casino
castle
cobbler
coffee shop
council chamber
court house
crypt for the noble family
dentist
distillery
docks
dovecot
dyer
embassy
farmer's market
fighting pit
fishmonger
fortune teller
gallows
gatehouse
general store
graveyard
greenhouses
guard post
guildhall
gymnasium
haberdashery
haunted house
hedge maze
herbalist
hospice
hospital
house for sale
inn
jail
jeweller
kindergarten
leatherworker
library
locksmith
mail courier
manor house
market
mayor's house
monastery
morgue
museum
music shop
observatory
orchard
orphanage
outhouse
paper maker
pawnshop
pet shop
potion shop
potter
printmaker
quest board
residence
restricted zone
sawmill
school
scribe
sewer entrance
sheriff's office
shrine
silversmith
spa
speakeasy
spice merchant
sports stadium
stables
street market
tailor
tannery
tavern
tax collector
tea house
temple
textile shop
theatre
thieves guild
thrift store
tinker's workshop
town crier post
town square
townhall
toy store
trinket shop
warehouse
watchtower
water mill
weaver
well
windmill
wishing well
wizard tower
One of the things I resent most about being Animal Brain Apex Predator trapped in Maximum Productivity Society is that I have to work when the weather is gross, instead of following my natural instinct to burrow myself into something dry and soft and sleep until Optimal Foraging Conditions
A Personal Experiment : a George Karim x f!reader oneshot
The Gist of This: The one where George knows more than he’s letting on about how you feel about him.
This fic is 18 and up. You are responsible for your content intake. You have been forewarned. Characters in this are 18+.
George first noticed it when you were standing at the kitchen bench, effectively blocking him from the overhead cabinet and the glass he wanted. Instead of asking you to move, he just reached up over your head, your nose in the centre of his chest as he stretched upward, his body pressing yours back into the bench. And when he stepped away again, desired glass in hand, and glanced down at your face, he saw dilated pupils and a shade to your skin he had never seen before.
Keep reading
Continuation of this, go read every single fic of this lovely lovely writer ( ≧∀≦)
Summery: a young boy tries to steal things from your husband's room, you take him under your wing and get a personal knight in return.
Warnings: none!!!
Words: 1880
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It wasn't unusual for you to walk alone, especially in this household. While your husband is nice, he doesn't necessarily try to spend time with you. You've gotten used to the silence, being alone, the only sound being your heels meeting the floor.
But things are different now.
Trailing behind you is a young boy, no older than 12, he's admiring every single thing he sees and even takes a few things with him.
You caught him stealing from Johns office once, nothing important, just something he could sell for a bit of food. Since you didn't rat him out and instead helped him cover up his 'crime' he decided to stick close.
His walking speed picks up and he's dashing past you, towards a window. He looks out, mouth falling open at the sight. You fight the urge to smile, covering it up by looking away instead.
“It’s so big,” he murmurs, pressing his hands against the glass. His breath fogs up a small section, and he swipes at it with his sleeve. “Do you think they ever get tired of looking at it?”
You follow his gaze, even though you already know what he’s staring at. The city sprawls out before you, golden lights flickering like fireflies against the night. From up here, it all looks peaceful, untouchable. But you both know better.
“They don’t look at it,” you say simply. “Not like you do.”
He glances at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?”
You shrug. “When you have something your whole life, you stop seeing it. It just becomes… normal.”
He turns back to the window, mulling over your words. His fingers drum absently against the windowsill. You know that restless energy well—he’s already thinking about what else he could take, where else he could go.
“Hey,” you say, and he immediately straightens, wary. He still doesn’t trust you completely, not yet. “No stealing anything important.”
He grins, all teeth. “Define important.”
You sigh. “Nothing that will make John notice.”
"He won't notice this!" He calls out, rushing past you while showing something in his pocket. He passes by you and runs down the hallway, making a sharp turn to the left by the end of it. Hearing a small 'thump' makes you pick up your pace.
This was not what you expected to see.
The young boy was on the floor, rubbing his head slightly. While you would have checked on him your gaze was stuck on the person standing there.
Simon.
"Duchess." He mumbles, eyes moving from your face to the small boy starring up at him.
Like anyone would, the kid jumps to his feet, scrambling for cover. His safest option? You. He presses himself against your back, small hands clutching your dress, his head peeking out cautiously from behind you.
"Good evening..." You mumble, hand reaching behind you to pat the kids head.
...
Silence.
No words spoken, no sound besides soft breathing.
"What are you starring at?" The kid asks, glaring at the man in front of you. His words were definitely not a smart choice given the difference of their status but he still chose to say it. His glare could actually kill someone, if it wasn't for his shaky hands holding onto your dress.
"Excuse me?" Simon questions, raising a brow at the courage of this commoner.
"he didn't mean it like that!" You stutter out, pressing your hand over the childs mouth in case he wants to say something again. "Excuse us" You mumble and flash him a small forced smile.
Before Simon could speak again, you already turned around and hurried the kid away.
He just stares. Watching you disappear in the hall.
-----------
Two days later and you still have that memory in your head. You scolded the kid, Leo, for his bold cjoice of words.
His excuse?
He was protecting you.
You. From Simon.
With a sigh you place the book on the table, looking at the flowers in front of you instead. The flower garden is definitely your favorite place, people are rarely there. Leo is crouching by some flower, admiring them or something
You watch as Leo reaches out, running his fingers lightly over the petals. His expression is softer than usual, a rare moment where he isn’t scheming or watching his back. It almost makes you smile. Almost.
“You like flowers?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.
Leo startles slightly, as if he forgot you were there. He hesitates, then shrugs. “They’re nice, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He frowns, shifting his weight. “They don’t talk. They don’t take things from you. They just… stay.”
You don’t respond right away. You know better than to push him when he lets something slip. Instead, you glance at the flower he’s fixated on—a small, stubborn thing, growing slightly apart from the others.
“Seems like this one’s a bit of a troublemaker,” you muse, tilting your head.
Leo snorts. “Guess that’s why I like it.”
For a moment, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet you’ve started to enjoy since Leo’s been around. But then, the moment shatters.
A voice cuts through the stillness.
“There you are.”
John
Leo tenses immediately, his fingers twitching like he’s deciding whether to grab something or run. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart toward you first.
Protecting you. Again.
You inhale slowly, turning to face John, already bracing yourself.
"Good morning." You sigh and stand up, looking at your husband. Normally his eyes would be on you, watching - almost studying - you but not today, his eyes drift to Leo, whos holding the flowers so tight they might break.
"We need to talk..." He sighs and meets your eyes, after a short moment he continuous speaking. "...alone."
Leos eyes widen and he immediately jumps up and rushes over, hands reaching up to hold your hand tightly to his chest.
"No way!" he calls out, shaking his head. "You're not hurting her."
John freezes, looking at the kid with a confused expression. "Hurt her? Why would i hurt her?"
"You all do!" Leo accuses, cheeks turning red as his eyes start to water. "You all hurt her."
John blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at Leo like he's trying to make sense of the accusation.
You can feel Leo trembling beside you, his grip on your hand like a vice. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, but your own heart is hammering against your ribs.
"Leo," you murmur, but he doesn’t back down.
“They whisper about it, the maids,” he continues, voice shaking. “They think I don’t hear, but I do. They say she’s a ghost in this house. That she doesn’t laugh, doesn’t speak unless spoken to. That she flinches when—”
"Enough." John's voice is sharp now, cutting through the air like a blade. Leo stiffens but doesn't let go of you.
John exhales, rubbing his temple before looking at you. “What the hell has he been hearing?”
You don’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you gently pull Leo closer, shielding him with your body. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.
With a small sigh you pick up Leo, who immediately hides his face in your neck. "If you don't mind, i think it would be wise to continue this conversation some other time."
Not waiting for an answer you turn around and walk back inside, missing the way Leo stares down John with a tiny smile.
-----------------------------------
Leo needs to protect you, and apparently that also means when you're sleeping. It started of serious, him guarding your door while you read a book in your bead. Then he sat down on a neaby chair, eyes still on the door. And after about 15 minutes, he's in your arms asleep.
That's how you go to sleep and wake up.
The knock from outside and then the door opening made you groan slightly, Leo aswell. After you don't hear a voice or a sound, you force your eyes open.
Johnny and Kyle are in your room, both carrying a tray of what you think is breakfast.
"Good morning..?" You mumble and sit up, pulling the blanket slightly over your chest.
Kyle blinks and forces a small smile while stepping closer, putting the tray of fresh fruits on your bedside table.
Johnny sets his tray down on the other side, a plate of toast, eggs, and something that smells sweet—honey, maybe. His gaze flickers to Leo, still curled up beside you, his face buried against your arm.
Neither of them says anything about it, but the look they exchange speaks volumes.
“You don’t usually sleep in,” Johnny comments, crossing his arms.
You rub your eyes. “Didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”
At that, Leo stirs, letting out a small, disgruntled sound before blinking up at you sleepily. The moment he realizes you’re awake—and that you’re not alone—his drowsiness vanishes. He sits up fast, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his too-big shirt, before glaring at the two men like they were the ones who did something wrong.
“What do you want?” Leo mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
Kyle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. “We brought breakfast,” he says instead.
Leo eyes the food suspiciously, like it might be poisoned. You roll your eyes. “It’s just breakfast, Leo.”
He doesn’t look convinced but leans into your side anyway, watching as you pick up a piece of fruit. Only then does he grab a slice of toast from the tray, biting into it cautiously.
Johnny exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “John wants to see you.”
Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. “Now?”
Kyle shrugs. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Leo tenses beside you. “She’s not going.”
Johnny sighs. “Kid, it’s not up to you.”
“Yeah?” Leo challenges, sitting up straighter. “Well, it’s not up to you either.”
Kyle mutters something under his breath, clearly regretting being part of this conversation. Johnny just pinches the bridge of his nose.
You exhale slowly, placing a hand on Leo’s shoulder before he gets himself in trouble. “It’s fine, Leo.”
He snaps his head toward you, disbelief written all over his face. “No, it’s not.”
And the worst part is—you don’t know how to argue with that.
"Leo," You start and bring your hands to cup his face, his eyes soft as they look at yours. "John is still my husband..If he wants to talk, we talk."
He shakes his head before throwing himself into your arms, cheek pressed against your collarbone. "Then I'm going with!"
"Leo..." You sigh and press a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm sorry but no..but you can help me get ready?"
For a moment there's no answer, then he gets up and speed walks to your vanity. After a short moment he comes back, offering you a beautiful yet simple necklace.
"Thank you." You smile and put it on.
"Mama, you look pretty with that..." Leo mumbles as he takes another bite of his toast.
------------------------
Johnny and Kyle burst into Johns office, not surprised to see Simon already there.
At the same time the men speak, out of breath from running.
"He called her mama."
-------------------------
a/n: we're not gonna talk about the missing post from this weekend. take this silly thing and enjoy!! ヾ(≧▽≦)ヾlike always, not proofread!!!
The Cute One
Smosh : Fic
Damien x Reader
Word Count: 2496
Warnings: Lots of giggles… a try not to laugh challenge… and a possibly questionable white van joke?
A/N: Guest staring on Smosh Pit was every bit as fun as you hoped, maybe even a little romantic as a certain Damien Haas flirted during the entire game
“Guys, welcome back to the Try Not to Laugh Challenge,” Keith addressed the camera as the rest of the cast cheered. “You guys wanted it, so we’re doing it again.”
Shayne clapped his hands together, “We’re doing it again, it’s going to be crazier. You know why it’s gonna be crazier?”
“Why?” Olivia perked up.
“Cause we’ve got a guest this time.”
Everyone gave their own round of applause as they amped up the soon to be revealed contestant.
“And we’re not just talking about Damien because he ends up being here way too often.” Damien waved at the camera and avoided a well aimed smack from Courtney.
Shayne continued, “Introducing (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”
Keep reading
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.
forgive me lord for I have imagined a life far more soft and tender than the one you created for me
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.”
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