𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 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.”

Just thinking of an angst fic with the bridgerton boys and some duke (interpreted by Henry Cavill)

Fair warning, this is just me rambling, adding some dialogue. Not a fic... Just whatever happens in my weird little mind.

So bc I like angst and I like Henry Cavill, what if you had been friends with the Bridgertons since you were young and you and Anthony had _something_, everyone thought you'd end up together- Ben and Colin had crushes on you, and they had fantasized about the day you'd become a Bridgerton for real and ask their big brother to share his pretty wife. You are practically a Bridgerton, having tea with them everyday, staying for dinner and a lot of times even to sleep in their house.

But Anthony discovered the crush Ben had on you near your first season- Ben had drawn you over and over, written poetry about you and his crush looked more like love than Anthony had ever thought of so, despite his plans of asking you to court as soon as you were presented (he didn't thought he loved you, he just thought it was obvious and convenient), he decided he'd let Benedict court you and let you two have a love match. So your first season, he meets Sienna and he starts his relationship with her. You're named diamond of the season but you don't marry.

Next is Daphne's season and you spend it helping her and defending her tooth and nail, being her confidant and the only one who knows about the farce with Hastings and ultimately, her maid of honor. Violet gets antsy when your third season starts and Anthony claims he wants a viscountess, making his list of prospects but not including you

After his first afternoon of interviews, you come to bridgerton house for tea and ask him how he's faring (you're still under the impression that maybe he's doing this to make a show, to somehow make a grand romantic gesture, to basically tell the world that you're the best for him and he _knows_ bc he has interviewed all other debutantes) but he takes it as just friendly curiosity and he's honest about how he's not very hopeful and tells you all about his list (a list that is basically describing you) but before you can smile and tease him about how he seems to be describing you, he tells you he has his sights set on the new diamond, Edwina Sharma and he will visit her the next day. You tense and everyone in the drawing room seems to stop breathing, and calmly, you ask him if that's his only prospect and he says yes of course, none other could be worthy of the most eligible bachelor other than the diamond of the season. You excuse yourself shortly after, feeling betrayed and foolish, for you had wasted _your_ season waiting for him, and the following waiting for him and defending his family, only to be tossed aside like an used toy?

You don't attend the next ball and you miss the courting of miss Sharma and the viscount, instead, you are called by the queen, who is wholly disappointed in your failure on getting married. She asks you to be her honored guest in her next ball and there, you meet the Duke of Cornwall (Henry Cavill)- he had been to the war against Napoleon, but now he's back to London, looking for a wife. Unfortunately, despite his title not many women desire him bc not many is known about his wealth and he doesn't have the regular build of the gentleman, seeming more like a giant. He also doesn't dress exactly as the fashion of London dictates, so he's not well accepted by the ton. But you see potential (and you swoon to think of what's under that big coat and my, not many men can make you feel small and dainty but him? He does), so you talk to him and see friendly. You don't have much hope of him wanting to marry you (if Anthony, who knew you your whole life, didn't want you, why would a beautiful stranger want to?), but you think that you still have some sway on the ton, still being favored by the queen and keeping the title of diamond- so a couple of weeks of meeting him and his mother for tea, some suggestions on his wardrobe and he is officially the most handsome man and the most desirable gentleman of the ton.

He obviously falls head over heels for you. You're so kind and patient, explaining what was fashionable and what would suit him best, always complimenting him and his bravery, talking about all or nothing. He's not surprised you were named a diamond your first season, but he is surprised to know you're not married- the why is not something you talk about and he doesn't pressure you.

Imagine that you give him a suit tailored for him and his build- he insists on paying you back and you say no, bc if anything you're glad to have another friend and you'll love to parade around with him, at least the first dance of the next ball (you're assuming he will mingle among the debutantes to search for his future wife) and he's just... Moved to have someone being proud of showing him off- he would be your trophy husband any day of the year.

Anyways, he insists on having a dress commissioned for you in the same color as his suit (so you look married) and in the next ball, he escorts you in. You push him to mingle around, which he does (he thinks you want your husband to know more of the ton and he can do that), then he asks you for the vals and you accept, taking the time to ask him about his success. He tells you the men seem to dislike him even more now and you can't help but laugh.

"You're not searching to marry one of the men of the ton, your highness"

"True, but you asked about my success. I'm just regretfully informing you it wasn't so"

"I disagree. I didn't intend the men to like you, you can take care of that at the gentlemen's club in your own time. No no, balls are to be liked by the most important people of the ton: the women"

"Ah. Very well then... I guess they seemed more eager to dance with me. Miss Cowper even insinuated she could erase a gentleman from her card if I desired to take his place"

"Ugh, no, anyone but Cressida. Take your pick among some of her friends, I can excuse some of them but not her"

"That's good to know, but I didn't dance with her. I just conversed with her shortly"

"Well I'm not surprised. Your suit is expensive, I'm sure she is just chasing the money. She's not a good measurement for success. What about Penelope Featherington?"

"Miss Featherington was nice to me on my first event, that hasn't changed"

"Yes yes, I know she was polite. What I want to know is if she blushed when you talked to her"

"Pardon?"

"Blush, your highness. The redness in a woman's cheeks? Did she have that this time around?"

"I know what a blush is, little mouse" he had taken to call you mouse ever since he had seen you eat crackers with cheese instead of the god awful cucumber sandwiches people of the ton liked. "I would like to see one on your cheeks one day, but yes, you're right, she did blush"

"Aha! So we did have succes! Even someone not attracted to men could see your appeal. You can now have anyone you want from the ton... Well mostly, Eloise and Penelope, despite being on the market, are not really searching for anything."

"Interesting, how you know these things"

"I just do. Now, what are your options?"

"My options?"

"Yes. Does any lady tickle your fancy? Anyone beautiful and graceful enough to become the next royal duchess?"

"I think you know the answer to that. I have already chosen my wife"

"Ooh, do tell... Except if it's Cressida. If you choose her, I'm never speaking to you again"

"I wouldn't want to do anything to risk never listening your lovely voice again"

"Well then tell me, who is it? I must know her, I know everyone in the ton"

"Well, she's exceptionally kind and pretty. She has an impeccable fashion sense and is the prettiest jewel in this ball"

"... I don't think I know anyone like that... You did listen when I said Penelope is not available, right?"

"It's not Penelope"

"Okay then... I'm blank. Who is it?"

"You, obviously"

"...what"

"Why do you look so baffled?"

"I thought you were serious!"

"I am! Is this your rejection? If so, I don't accept it. I'm willing to have a very long courting if that what it takes, but I'm not giving up"

"Oh, come off it, you could do better. At this point you could ask miss Edwina Sharma to marry you and she'd say yes"

"The diamond of this season? She's already being courted by viscount Bridgerton, is she not?"

"Yeah well, she'd leave the viscount for a royal duke... I think. I don't know her all that well. Most women would anyways"

"I'm not interested in most women, I'm interest in you."

The seemingly unending waltz ends and you are about to genuflect and walk back to the edges of the ballroom but the duke does not let you go. He holds onto you for the next piece.

"Your highness," you call between gritted teeth. "Pray tell, what are you doing"

"Making my intentions clear to the ton. I shall call on you tomorrow. Hydrangeas are your favorite, are they not?"

"...they are."

"Very well. I'll be sure to purchase enough and bring some tools for your gardeners to plant them, wouldn't want your house to... What did you say? Reek of death in the next couple of days?"

"I was joking" you say, looking away with a blush. You weren't joking when you said that for all you loved to admire flowers, you hated when they dried and had the stink of death and decay-despite your servants diligence, your first season you had received three florist's worth of flowers for weeks and it was near impossible to hide the smell of them (the good and the bad).

"You weren't, but I appreciate your honesty just as much as your kindness. I shall endeavor to think of your comfort as I conquer your heart with grand gestures, worthy of the most precious diamond"

"You keep this up and I might start believing you"

"Good, that's all I want"

He dances with you four more times, knowing full well that more than three dances means courting (you told him that repeatedly and after your third dance you repeated and he just smirked while you glared).

Of course, the next day Lady Whistledown is already speculating on the date of your wedding and, to make matters worse, your house receives six carriages of hydrangeas- you're quite sure the whole of England is now in a shortage of the flower. There are so many that your servants have to put some out the windows, trying to seem as intentional decor instead of the last resort on where to put them.

When the responsible party comes to call on you, however, you're unable to keep your glaring at him (something your servants and father do for you). He's charming as always and even invites you to promenade and you can't quite refuse his boyish smile and his deep blue eyes. Not even a month ago, you didn't think there were other men aside from the Bridgertons, your heart only fluttering for the chocolate eyes of the eldest and summersaulting for the green and blue of the next in line.

He is perfect, his eyes never straying from you, making light conversation and genuinely complimenting you-you feel like Icarus, soaring rapidly to the sun and rapidly falling into the abyss that is love. But it feels as if this time, someone is ready to catch you. Not even ten minutes into your walk and you're already convinced you're a fool in love, even more convinced you must look the part, smiling stupidly broad, blushing and giggling. Not even in your first season did you feel so seen as in this very moment.

You pass the Bridgerton tent without even noticing, your eyes wholly focused on the man by your side. It's not until your mother calls for you that you turn, walking back with the duke in tow to greet your old time friends, greeting Lady Violet with affection (but much more formal than any other time before- before you were sure one day youd be her daughter, and now you know you won't), then turning to Eloise, hugging her and sheepishly taking her frown and thinly veiled interrogation as she inquires where you've been the last month.

"We were so worried. You just... Stopped coming by! A simple note the first day of your absence and then nothing! And in the balls, you never search for us and-"

"Ah, I believe I'm at fault for all of that" ~your~ the duke intervenes with a smile. "You see, miss Y/N was very kind to visit me and my mother this last month to teach me and guide me into the world of the ton- as part of the military, I've hardly had time to learn all that there is to know to be in polite society, despite my title. She was a godsent and I've been, quite unashamedly, hogging her time" he is humourous with his answer but his eyes are a bit hard, a bit serious- he's letting Eloise know he's taking the blame but by no means will he accept any disrespect to you- her tone had been whiny and almost accusatory, but it was all in good fun, after all you were practically siblings.

You smile apologetically, and take the duke's hand in yours, letting him know you're alright and have this situation in control.

"I'll be sure to visit you this week, Eloise, to make up for lost time" you say pleasantly

Eloise doesn't back down completely. She stares at the duke, wholly unimpressed before raising an eyebrow at you, almost as if asking "Really? Him?" And you just sigh, nodding. She shrugs, but still does t stop glaring at the duke as she tells you she will eagerly await for you at her house the next day.

When her gaze returns to her book, you think the war is over- but apparently, youve only won a battle.

Anthony is missing from Violet's entourage but Colin and Benedict are very much present and their glares at the duke and your hands intertwined are so intense, you're surprised they haven't intervened in some way.

Stay tuned for part 2 with how will Ben and Colin bring Anthony to his senses! And some Bridgerton shenanigans

ballad of lovebirds and puppy dogs | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem actress!reader

face claim: rachel zegler

everyone is a hunger games fan, even if you say you're not a hunger games fan you are. this includes lando norris.

based on this request: could you please do a lando norris smau with rachel zegler as the fc!! where the ballad of songbirds and snakes recently came out, twitter could be freaking out over it, and then someone spots her with lando or something!! take it from there queen that’s just my like base plot‼️‼️ - @inejghafawifesblog

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI?

yourusername

liked by tomblyth, landonorris and 1,231,866 others

tagged: tomblyth

yourusername: kinda have a movie coming out, have yall seen it?

view all comments

user1: ANNOUNCE RELATIONSHIP NOW

user2: friendships can exist between men and women you know?

user3: look at her holding his arm though that shit ain't platonic

hunterschafer: my favourite girl in the whole world

yourusername: that's crazy because you're my favourite girl in the whole world too

hunterschafer: crazy when that happens huh

tomblyth: does that mean i'm your favourite man in the whole world

yourusername: my lawyer said i can't answer this question

tomblyth: god you get a boyfriend and all of a sudden i don't mean shit

this comment has been deleted

tomblyth: does our frolicks in the woods mean nothing to you?

user4: WE SAW THAT GRANDPA

user5: sooooo. there is a man.

user6: and it's not tom :( so disappointing their chemistry was insane

user7: babe that's called acting

user8: lando norris in the likes i knew my man had TASTE

user9: i knew there was a reason i liked that man

f1gossipandtea

liked by user13, user14 and 12,309 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

f1gossipandtea: lando norris was spotted multiple times out in monaco with y/n y/ln !! this comes after his appearance at the premiere of her new film the ballad of songbirds and snakes. do you think they're a cute couple?

view all comments

user15: try not to say parents challenge (impossible)

user16: has someone looked into my brain and pulled out my dream threesome and made them a couple

user17: i need them to give me a chance for real

user18: i am defo anti-paparazzi but thank you for these absolute gems xx

user19: those motherfuckers must've been camped out cause literally got the whole itinerary

user20: this feels like such a random couple but after watching the BTS of tbosas they defo have very similar personalities

user21: i did a lil bit of sleuthing and tom has posts of him at races? so do we think he suggested lando? or showed him to y/n?

user22: i also had a wee look and y/n follows basically all of the grid and a couple of the retired drivers so that tells me she likes the sport? like if she just liked lando surely she'd only follow him and maybe some of his friends?

user23: so like my vision is y/n y/ln either performing or singing the national anthem at one of the american races

user24: someone get this gal in the fia stat

user25: who is this girl? she's too irrelevant for lando ...

user26: and who are YOU? he's not going to pick you girly

user27: she's in the top film in the world for weeks now ... let's not be silly

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,833,209 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: what the paps didn't get ...

view all comments

user28: screaming, crying, throwing up i did not know i needed this so much

user29: i am so unwell this is so cute

user30: i was so on the y/n and tom train but i am happy to say it has been hijacked by lando

yourusername: paps didn't get our good angles :(

landonorris: i'd like to keep the best angles to ourselves

yourusername: no for real, for MY eyes only

maxfewtrell: god you people are obnoxious...

landonorris: you literally told me to stop complaining about being lonely and now i'm being attacked 🤨

maxfewtrell: NOT LIKE THIS THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE

yourusername: fuck them kids

landonorris: what y/n said

danielricciardo: free enchante promotion, y/n you're invited to my wedding

yourusername: the girlfriend effect x enchante goes crazy tbf

landonorris: are you saying i didn't dress well?

yourusername: you either didn't dress well or can't pack for shit you came to GEORGIA IN THE SUMMER WITH A SUITCASE FULL OF HOODIES

landonorris: but that's my brand :(

georgerussell63: the twitch quartet formally announce our disappointment about finding out about this relationship via @f1gossipandtea, we expect a big apology and perhaps and visit from tom

tomblyth: i am THERE

yourusername: eh i think that's on lando .... but real question is who follows @f1gossipandtea

georgerussell63: me duh, i need to check for potential GDPA incidents

alexalbon: i also follow it 👍 no real reason i just like the drama thanks @charles_leclerc and @carlossainz55

yourusername: LMAO

charles_leclerc: i am disappointed in you lando. ALEX WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN

carlossainz55: ???

landonorris: lol would you have even believed me ?

georgerussell63: no

alexalbon: no

charles_leclerc: no

yourusername

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,339,309 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: some cheeky behind the scenes pics, including lando demanding to be pampered while i was in hair and make up

view all comments

user31: i hope lando can fight (i have brass knuckles on, sorry not sorry)

landonorris: UMMMM ???

yourusername: soz babe they're just passionate

user32: HE WAS ON SET? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING?

landonorris: how dare you !! the makeup girlies LOVE ME

yourusername: sure, if that's what you wanna believe

landonorris: they liked me better than you they said so :p

yourusername: they were just being nice i told them you're fragile

landonorris: i am NOT FRAGILE I AM SOFT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE

user33: okay now i get them 100%

maxverstappen1: so this is why you didn't play fifa with me 🤨

oscarpiastri: so this is why you abandoned me at the airport 🤨

danielricciardo: so this is why you blocked me after i called you seven times in a row it was an emergency you ASSHOLE 🤨

carlossainz55: so this is why you've ditched golf dates the last couple months 🤨

alexalbon: so this is why you didn't come to watch tbosas with me and lily 🤨

georgerussell63: so this is why the GDPA chat was muted on your phone 🤨

yourusername: i ain't reading alla that, i'm happy for you or i'm sorry that happened, i'll see you all in the parking lot at the vegas gp

landonorris: ...sorry?

user34: Y/N IS GOING TO THE VEGAS GP?

maxfewtrell: actually could you have him more often?

landonorris: AHAHAHAA :(

yourusername: gladly :)

landonorris: :)

f1

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,441,723 others

tagged: landonorris

f1: lando's new helmet for vegas... we wonder where this inspiration came from?

view all comments

user38: IS THAT A BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES HELMET

user39: maybe men do deserve rights

landonorris: the ballad of songbirds and snakes is out in cinemas everywhere now !!

yourusername: i knew they should've given you a cameo

landonorris: THERE WAS A CHANCE OF THAT?

yourusername: no, but it would've been funny tho

landonorris: don't get me excited like that :(

danielricciardo: maybe you could have a cameo in snow white, you are what the kids call a short king... sorry

yourusername: LMAO

landonorris: can we stop bullying me on my special post :(

yourusername: sorry babe, i love you and i love your helmet, thank you xxx

landonorris: THANK YOU :)))))

maxverstappen1: so you're telling me i sat through whatever the fuck that opening ceremony was when you could've had y/n perform the whole time?

yourusername: new agent incoming?

landonorris: I KNEW YOU WATCHED THE FILM

maxverstappen1: i am a supportive friend?

landonorris: you didn't even know her?

maxverstappen1: i saw you at the premiere, went through your instagram, saw you only followed her, put two and two together, went to see the film because we're friends by proxy now 👍

yourusername: i am scared and impressed

landonorris: fine... that's kinda cute

user40: okay soz i love this relationship and all the friendships starting

user41: okay but @yourusername who is winning the games

yourusername: fernando or valterri they scare me

fernandoalo_oficial: compliment!

valterribottas: i'll take it

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell, yourusername and 1,723,990 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: i wanted to impress her :( she's a lot better at her day job

view all comments

user46: (i'm glad he's okay) lando really was the 'this one is for you babe' and misses meme this weekend

landonorris: not wrong

yourusername: GET OFF YOUR PHONE AND STOP TALKING DOWN TO YOURSELF

user47: currently picturing y/n whisper yelling positive affirmations at lando

yourusername: yes !! baby boy is way too hard on himself and NOT on my watch

landonorris: :)))

yourusername: you did so well this weekend, i loved watching you do what you love - don't be too hard on yourself !!

landonorris: i just wanted to do your helmet proud :(

yourusername: i am more than proud

landonorris: can you sing to me in your country accent again?

yourusername: of course

maxverstappen1: is this a kink?

landonorris: 1. no it's not a kink 2. ASK ME IF I'M OKAY BEFORE YOU TRY TO KINK SHAME ME

maxverstappen1: you're actually spelling even better maybe a concussion was what you needed

yourusername: TOO SOON MAX

maxverstappen1: did you just send me a picture of lando pouting

yourusername: yes ! say sorry now !!!!!

maxverstappen1: fine. i'm sorry lando. i'm glad you aren't hurt and that you don't have a country accent fetish

user48: are these the new terror trio?

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 1,552,589 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: don't listen to this bozo, he's the most talented boy in the world

view all comments

user49: THEY HAVE A CHILD?

user50: that's a dog...

yourusername: just because i didn't birth him, doesn't mean mr. fluffy isn't my biological child

landonorris: i'm not a step dad i'm the dad who stepped up 🆙

tomblyth: tom blyth erasure

yourusername: boo you whore

tomblyth: ermmm EXCUSE ME?

yourusername: lando appreciation post must be mean to all other men, sorry !!

tomblyth: understandable, continue.

landonorris: the most talented??? coming from you??? this is high praise

yourusername: and you BETTER take it

landonorris: yes ma'am

maxverstappen1: is this another kink?

landonorris: MAX?

maxverstappen1: it's winter break i'm bored and you have a GIRLFRIEND so i can't terrorise you in person :(

yourusername: attempt to kink shame us one more time and i'm sending mr fluffy at your ankles

yourusername: fuck it i'll send ankle biter yuki in as well

yukitsunoda0511: i'll do it

yourusername: @landonorris i see why he's your favourite now

landonorris: yuki-san!! can we give mr. fluffy a brother?

yukitsunoda0511: i love you guys but i see you way too much as it is

yourusername: harsh crowd

landonorris: at least you have me?

yourusername: TRUE

user51: my life pre and post y/nxlando was so vastly different - i love them

note: thank you for the request !! i have been swamped with work... and recovering from my birthday weekend. i hope you enjoyed it!! i love the hunger games and i can't wait to see tbosas !!

these tags are so funnyyyy

---

(elys anon) gonna try my hand at something. Ignore if too cringe!!!!!

----------------------------------------------------

She hears of you before she sees of you.

Rumors travel fast you see, with halls like these; the walls have ears, and the windows are simply another pair of eyes for the court. They call you prey, in the same sweet mocking way all fae do. You have many names she thinks with silent apathy and an even more silent curiosity—Pretender, Little Queen, The Court's plaything—her people whisper of you, mock of you.

"What a joke." They'd giggle in the same sickening way all fae do. "Isn't that right your majesty?"

She hums, non committal, ever neutral. Ice and steel her cosmetics and apathy draping over her words like a shawl. "I suppose." But her true feelings are far from that.

They say you're weak. That you're pathetic. She however, sees something else.

You are strong. She thinks, unlike everyone else. Even your own husbands who look at her with adoration perhaps. Yes, the walls hear of gossips and more, and the windows brings light to even the most greatest secrets—such is the way of the fae, but you see, she is a firm believer of actions being more louder than words. It is how she's kept her own kingdom alive and running for this long, and so—she sees you for what you are.

The hardest worker there was in those castle walls—the smartest person in your own kingdom perhaps.

She's seen the results of your endless labor you see, how much that kingdom has flourished because of your effort, of how beautiful your kingdom has become.

Yes, your kingdom. Not that man (who she refuses to call by name too appalled at how he and his men treated you), or even the queen.

Yours, a mere human. The softest thing there was in the court, the weakest there was in a room full of the inhuman.

But still, still, it is rightfully yours and even the Forest creatures know. The wretched omen of death, the mischievous whisps, and perhaps even more—all of whom were Mother Nature's most cherished children whom seemed to all but adore you, and how correct they are to be she thinks. Mother nature may be fickle and cruel but she is not a fool, and neither are her children it seems.

She is of the same opinion.

That is why when the day arrives she is to grace your kingdom and finally sweeps past her greetings with the Queen and the men, she passes by them to greet you—who's head is hung low (what a travesty they have reduced you in, you were the one who deserved to hold her head high. Not them), and curtsies before you ignoring the scandalous gasps around her.

The sounds draw your attention, as you lift your head and look at her and—She smiles as softly as she can (because humans are soft, and you are human regardless of how you dress yourself. That is fine she thinks, she likes honest and good things. You are one of them, and therefore the deceit they have forced you to hide in is something she wants you to throw away when she is around.), and gingerly holds your hand up for her to kiss—much like those human stories the court whispers you so dearly adore.

"It is most pleasant to meet you at last, your majesty []"

THIS IS SOO GOODDD ELYS ANON I CANT THANK YOU ENOUGH 😩 an absolute masterpiece istg you gotta make a writing blog now pls 😩 <333 i hope you don’t mind me adding this and basically having it escape me 🙂‍↕️😭

Your name is soft on her tongue. The only name she bothers to speak. Not theirs.

You blink, startled, your lips parted slightly in confusion, and in the space between that breath- she sees it. The glimmer of what once was: the queen who stood alone in a foreign court, wrapped in fae glamours and political silk, holding up a kingdom with hands cracked from too much ink, too many late nights, too many broken promises. A queen no one ever crowned aloud but who ruled all the same.

They tried to grind you down to nothing, she thinks. Chipped at you until even you forgot how tall you stood.

And still, you remain; a little softer, perhaps. A little more quiet. But still, you remain, a solitary tree withstanding hail and storm/

Your hands are still stained with the ink that built this court. Your eyes still carry the weight of every lie you’ve had to wear. And your spine- gods, your spine, decorated in bones and gold and snakes- is still straight enough to shame kings, and she hopes your joined husbands are the most ashamed.

You have been robbed of everything except your dignity. So she will not rob you of that, too.

Thus, it continues quietly, like all dangerous things do; with glances and silence and gifts too carefully chosen to be mere coincidence.

“Is this… for me?” you ask one morning, holding the delicate glass vial up to the light. The honey inside shimmers like starlight- amber and strange, scented with something that doesn’t belong to this land.

Her voice is calm as ever. “It reminded me of you.”

You blink at her, confused. “Sticky?” you try to joke, your smile dry, unsure why she cares for you so- why she seeks out your company above everyone else’s. “Hard to clean up if spilled?”

Her lips curl, small and secret, a moment just between and for the two of you. “Rare. Sweet. Difficult to forget.”

It’s in the spiral-carved bookmark that appears in your book next- your favorite book, though you never told anyone it was.

You lift it from the pages with a furrowed brow. “…This wasn’t here before.”

“I thought it might suit you,” she murmurs from where she stands at your window, pretending not to watch the way your lips part in surprise. “You always lose your place when you fall asleep reading.”

It’s you, who still sits at the same desk, fingers stained with ink, lips pursed in thought as you organize a council that will never truly thank you for it.

It’s you, who walks through the gardens cloaked in styles you no longer believe in, trailing behind the court with that same tired smile, always five steps behind your husbands- no longer quite queen, not quite dismissed.

And yet…

She is always near.

She watches you the way others watch constellations: in awe, in silence, with a kind of reverence that borders on worship. She’s not obvious about it- not as obvious as the others might be, not as obvious as the first day she came to this court and only held disgust for your husbands. Her admiration is laced in frost, dignified and distant. But it’s there.

Gods, it’s there.

She never speaks cruelly to you. Never jokes about your soft hands or your mortal sleepiness. Never calls you “Little Queen” the way the others do, sharp with mockery and disrespect.

“Do you ever tire of it?” she asks you once, her voice like glacial water, after you had to watch another meeting go by without a lick of care being given to your opinion. “Being here. With them.”

You hesitate, glancing down at the scrolls in your lap. “I tire of not knowing where I stand,” you say softly. “But I’ve been tired longer than I’ve been anything else.”

She doesn’t smile. Not then. Just watches you for a long, quiet moment. “They don’t see you,” she says finally. “Not properly. They don’t server you.”

You laugh, and for one it’s not the sound of sweet, tinkling bells heralding joy- but a broken sound, early morning blue skies and rain pattering on a window. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she says. Simply. Without pause, without even needing to think about it.

You think she means it in that polite way that nobles do- acknowledgement, nothing more, even though your heart beats so fast the remainder of the day everyone keeps sneaking you confused, nervous glances.

But you don’t see the way her fingers curl into her silks every time you laugh too brightly. You don’t see the way her throat bobs when your knuckles brush hers reaching for the same document. You don’t see how rigid her shoulders go when you flinch after someone calls you the human consort again, like your existence is a footnote.

You don’t know that she’s dreaming of you, either.

That she lies awake and wonders what your voice would sound like in bed, sleepy and real. That she thinks of your mouth on a teacup and wishes it were her instead. That she remembers, too clearly, the way you sighed once, just once, when her hand lingered too long at your back.

You don’t know that her guards are worried. That her advisors whisper of distraction. That a visiting noble once dared to touch your arm and she, without blinking, laced frost through the veins of his wrist.

You are just… confused.

You notice her kindness, and you thank her with a smile- but you don’t ask why she always stands between you and the cold; you don’t ask why her eyes find you first in every room; you don’t ask why she always smells like the sea wind, like distance and salt and something wild coming closer- you just thank her with too-human softness and bow lower than you should.

“Your Majesty.” You say whenever you pass her. Too formal and grateful for basic kindness..

“Please,” she sighs, and the ocean stills and watches the moon- hushed and yearning. “You can call me by my name.”

You blink. “Are we… that close?”

She looks at you then, and there is a sea-storm in her gaze, though you don’t feel afraid at all.

“I would burn the distance between us to ash if it meant you would see what I see.”

You say nothing. You think it’s fae poetry. A courtesy. You do not yet know her like she knows you, surely she doesn’t mean those words when no one here likes you-

And still- still-

She watches, and she wants, and oh, she thinks:

If she ever lets me love her, I will never let her forget what she is.

Not prey, and certainly not burrowed. Beloved.

And your husbands- oh, your poor, foolish husbands- they laugh at first.

“She’s playing the game.” Simon says, arms crossed, voice clipped.

“She’s being diplomatic- even if’s not needed.” Johnny agrees, too loud.

“She’s curious,” Kyle adds, with that forced little shrug, and John nods.

“Humans are a novelty.”

But their confidence begins to crack when she begins to show you off; at festivals, she walks with your arm in hers instead of their; in court, she praises your rulings before the council, cutting off nobles who try to talk over you.

At feasts, she pours your wine before her own.

“I never knew you liked rosewater.” You murmur, blinking at the glass, a happy little smile curling your lips.

“I didn’t,” she says, eyes steady and hands steady. “But you do.”

In the end, it shouldn’t be surprising when the maids sent to wake you doesn’t find you in bed. She searches and searches, and they are growing alarmed and have informed the guards who have gone to inform your husbands-

And then her maids finds you asleep in her bed, in her arms, and your flimsy nightgown’s ridden up enough they can all see the bite marks littering your inner thighs and your neck.

an erotic poem:

leg so hot

hot hot leg

leg so hot u fry an eg

For @nightunite. I actually came back with some Seal!Soap and some hurt/comfort of poly!141 x fruit bat!Reader. Hope this is satisfactory

Harbour seal!Soap who’s off the base whenever he can — getting back home as soon as possible, the favourite baby of his mama, the oldest son and pride of his family.

Harbour seal!Soap who has difficulty slotting into most teams, he’s not a pack hybrid, he’s not attuned to the thin threads of connection that wolves or bats or even cows can feel, he’s him and maybe that’s the problem?

Harbour seal!Soap who tries hard to blend in, because he is friendly, of course he is friendly, he’s the friendliest guy on base but whispers are that he smiles too wide, that his laugh is too strained, that his teeth are always out — sharp, menacing things.

Price takes one look at his file and thrusts the pup in Simon’s hands, hums to take care of the seal and Wolf!Simon isn’t even sure what the fuck is he supposed to do.

The lad is jumpy despite obvious brilliance, the lad is trying to smile so hard Simon’s wolf grumbles with the urge to paw at him, press cheeky pup in the ground, teach him some bloody manners. You don’t show your teeth off to the likes of Simon unless you want to have them knocked out.

But Soap wiggles his way in every conversation, eyes shiny and smiles wide up until Ghost corners him, looming like death himself — snarls that if he doesn’t want a big bad wolf to bite him, he’ll fucking stop.

Simon doesn’t know whether to act on his promise or laugh in disbelief when Johnny raises his head and grins wider, now showing off his own canine’s deliberately. Look at that, the pup can bite, can’t he?

Komodo dragon!Price just hums when he finds them tangled in each other and places a bite under Soap’s collar, teeth sinking in warm salty flesh, tongue licking off the blood.

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy, Price thrives on power — that’s the only thing he won’t compromise on.

Johnny grins and finds way in his arms as well. Too damn bad, captain, too damn bad. Harbour seals thrive on attention.

Their unit is all live wires and sparks and heavy heady tension — air so thick with perpetual hunger that they could carve their initials inside of a little heart.

It gets easier when Kyle arrives — he takes away some of the tension, he gets each of them, catching up on everything twice as fast as Soap did.

It scratches Johnny the wrong way, makes a sensitive small part of him whine that this is it, that Kyle will take his place because how can anyone not like Kyle? Kyle is handsome, Kyle is bright and so effortlessly charming Soap wants to whip out little notebook where sergeant speaks.

But at some point Gaz pecks a kiss to his temple and pulls him on the couch of the rec room. Warm, inviting, draping hand over his shoulders — draping wing over both of them.

Soap watches him — teeth sharp, jaws itching to try the pretty wings on the pretty Gaz, head plopping in his lap.

Kyle slots into their team like he always was there — fingers careful in Johnny’s hair, hands warm around Ghost’s shoulders, talons sharp on Price’s skin.

And then you arrive. Little bat with big eyes and big wings and some of the fluffiest hair Soap has ever seen.

You don’t slot in like Gaz, you are a little rougher around the edges, a little awkward with your approaches.

Bats are social creatures but not all of us take the best parts from our hybrid sides.

You are bloody amazing at what you do, your efficiency is not a concern but you don’t wiggle your way right in the team.

You hover on the outside, you eat your fruits alone (he isn’t even sure why you even eat them? Aren’t bats carnivores? Maybe you just like them) and in the dark, you watch them — always in the periphery of the vision. But never too close.

You remind Soap himself.

Small childish part of him wants to keep things that way, small childish part of him doesn’t like new people on the team, doesn’t like sharing attention.

But you don’t ask for any. You are just there.

It takes him month and a half and a stupid joke Ghost makes about vampires for you to reply that you are a) vegetarian b) a fruit bat and not a spectral bat for Soap to feel like someone kicked him in the face. Simon pauses, tilting head to the side, his tail stopping its friendly wag.

Your smile is too wide, your teeth are so sharp and you don’t try to fit in.

You try to stay away.

They don’t know you and you just let them know that they don’t. You just let them know that they haven’t tried to know you.

Soap spends the whole evening googling information about your species with Ghost hovering above his shoulder, dark eyes reading faster than Soap scrolls.

The next morning is the first time none of them comments on the amount of fruit you consume for breakfast.

Kyle slots in next to you, murmurs “gorgeous wings, love”, asks if you could help him with preening, offers you company for the morning drills.

Offer makes something in you flutter, sending spark of hope down your chest, your big eyes zeroing on warm friendly Kyle.

(Kyle will never admit how embarrassed he was to realise that you slipped through the cracks. Kyle will never admit that social “bird” part of him croaked with distress when he noticed that you are always a little behind. Never with them.)

Soap feels something in him clench when you glance in his direction and then shake your head at Kyle. Soap knows why you looked at him very very well.

He notices Price with your file in the afternoon, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, tail swaying in with something very similar to agitation. Price doesn’t know how to crack on you, you never fight for his right at the top of the food chain, you never contest his power. He has nothing to bite down on.

Soap isn’t sure you will give captain anything to hook on. Soap isn’t sure you feel like you can.

Johnny finds you late at night, ridiculously big bowl of fruit in your lap, his cheeks burning when your head snaps up at him and you put it away.

He and Ghost used to tease you about the amount of fruits and berries you consumed — you started eating less at dinners with them.

Soap’s throat bobs when he gulps and he shakes his head, plopping himself down on the carpet next to you.

He should have thought you’d find a way to catch up on your meals when no one looks.

When no one can make you feel wrong for eating what you like to eat.

Johnny extends his palm to you. You won’t eat while he’s here but he’d like you to. Maybe you will continue if he asks you to share.

Wikipedia page smacks his brain immediately, reminding that fruit bats eat alone and are very protective of their food.

Bloody awesome, Johnny, you might’ve as well tried to wrestle fruits out of your grip.

But before his panic forces him to hide his palm away you carefully place a date in his palm, your darker claws cool and pointy. Soap doesn’t know why but he stares, eyes gluing to him.

“Can do damage with these, eh?”, he attempts at having conversation, trying not to smile too wide. Not to show off too much teeth.

You hum out “depends” and in demonstration poke a piece of orange, skewing it on a thin claw.

Soap feels his brows arch, leaning closer, unbidden “how many can you stack on ‘em?” leaving his mouth before he thinks.

To his absolute delight you snicker and pass him the bowl.

He spends the rest of the hour stacking pieces of fruit and skewing berries on your claws and watching as you practically inhale them once he’s done.

When you two finish up the bowl, you both are covered in juice and are grinning like mad idiots but Soap never felt lighter.

He watches you grin back at him — wide and toothy — and feels something shifting.

Maybe he’s not the pack hybrid like Ghost or doesn’t have Kyle’s easy charm or even John’s acute understanding of dynamics within the team. But he is him and it seems like that’s exactly what you need.

Few months later Soap finds himself with you nuzzled in his neck, Kyle plastered over you two like he’s a big blanket, Simon reading something in the quiet low voice of his and John already crawling into den you call bed.

It’s warm and he’s squished by people who like him from every side and he finally belongs.

Soap presses a kiss to the top of your head and smiles wide when you raise it, giving him a slow sleepy blink. His smiles are wide and toothy.

His smiles are always welcomed with his team.

And so is he.

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

-----------------------------

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!!!

Glitter & Gold

Masterlist

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader (featuring Zoyalai x Reader and some GenyaDavid x Reader)

My Masterlist

All That Glitters [18+]

Zoya finally convinces you to join her friends for drinks, but you know that she’s not-so-subtly trying to introduce you to Aleksander and Alina.

Golden Hour [18+]

Alina and Aleksander are rather taken by you, and your presence in their lives becomes a source of frustration that wears away their restraint day by day. They both intend for you to be theirs.

Like A Diamond [18+]

Every one of Aleksander’s closest friends has at least one Morozov diamond. He gifts you one which then prompts an unofficial initiation into Ravka’s most exclusive group of socialites.

Toying with You [18+]

After spending the night at Nikolai and Zoya’s house, you wake between Aleksander and Alina. It isn’t long before their hands begin to wander.

Secret [18+]

As the three of you grow closer together, Alina wants to know you like no one else does.

Fierce wars and faithful loves

It isn't easy being a woman, especially an omega, in the military. Both your primary and secondary genders marking you as inferior in others' eyes. But not every man, and not every alpha, thinks that way. Captain John Price, an alpha if there ever was one, knows something special when he sees it, and the new omega on base may be just what his pack needs.

poly!141 x fem!reader, omegaverse

1: first sight 2: the offer 3: transfer paper 4: family talk 5: introductions 6: decision time 7: joining the 141 8: making it official 9: meet Ren 10: what glass ceiling? 11: settling in 12: asset retrieval 13: nesting? 14: undercover work 15: preparations 16: small comforts 17: new beginnings 18: homecoming 19: a change in the air 20: wine and dine 21:

main masterlist