#((I know! I'm sorry! They're all bad at suggesting things when they feel like it's vital))

[sskk-manifesto]

\\

[redwinelew]

partition | lewis hamilton

social media au. southeast asian + sugar baby!reader

summary you were supposed to be hidden. but when the secret is out, lewis cannot help but flaunt you for the rest of the world to see.

face claim zahara davis

song partition by beyoncé

warnings a little smutty, suggestive, reader is 23 so HUGE AGE GAP, reader is implied to be indonesian, pls lmk what i missed

author's note this was so fun to make! pls reblog if u enjoy this and comment what u think i should improve. as always requests are open!! <33

all pictures taken from instagram. credit to owners.

twitter!

instagram!

liked by treaclychild, realbarbarapalvin and 10,253 others

ynln back in home 🌴💚

view all 4,027 comments

user1 IS THAT LEWIS HAMILTON?!??!!!?!

user2 she's so brave for posting his pic lol

user3 no way she doesn't know about the rumor already 😭😭

user4 user3 i'm sorry what rumor?

user3 user4 she might be lewis hamilton's sugar baby

user4 user3 LEWIS HAMILTON?? AS IN THE F1 GUY????jesus christ

user3 user4 ikr lmfao

user5 user3 user4 why are yall acting like it's a bad thing lol

yesly pretty

ynln yesly ily

user6 GET THAT BAG (AND DICK) SIS 🗣️‼️

twitter!

messages!

instagram!

liked by jennaortega, florencepugh and 100,379 others

indegoblack me and my sayang (sweetheart) @.ynln

view all 26,739 comments

user1 SAYANG?!!!?!???!!?

user2 THE WAY HE STRAIGHT UP HARD LAUNCHING HER OMFG 😭😭

juser3 i thought she was just his sugar baby????

user4 user3 i don't think that's the dynamic they're having anymore i think these two are officially a romantic couple now 😭😭 so happy for them though

user5 is it just me or this post feels a little weird like the news was spread and now he's announcing that they're dating???? how do we know it's real or that he's just trying to cover everything up

user6 oh to be sir lewis hamilton's sugar baby then his actual gf...... god me and who

messages!

instagram!

liked by iamrebeccad, kennedyclairewalsh and 193,478 others

ynln we didn't even make it to the club — as beyoncé once said

tagged lewishamilton

view all 17,377 comments

user1 THE CAPTION OH MY GOD????

user2 oh she tagged his main.... it's official OFFICIAL

user3 she really won in life

user4 oh to be ynln

lewishamilton ripping that dress off of you was fun

ynln lewishamilton buy me more so you can do it again

user5 ynln lewishamilton IN PUBLIC??????

alex_albon woah

lilymhe alex_albon behave

user6 f1 wag really said hot girls only

user7 idk if i want to be him or her or be with them or want them to adopt me or

user8 user7 this is so real

taglist — @b0r3dtod3ath @actuallyazriel @isagrace22

[rekino2114]

How the chainsaw man girls handle jealousy

A/n:I usually don't write for the csm 2 girls but let me know if you want me to and I'll add them to the masterlist (mainly cause I really like fami)

Makima

Thanks to you, makima, now could finally feel true emotions. You made her feel the happiness of being truly loved, the sadness of being without you, anger when a devil had the gall to hurt you, and the worry of when you came injured from a mission and so on..

She felt another one of those emotions when she saw you talking to another girl at the public safety headquarters, a particularly flirty one who apparently didn't know you were dating her boss.

Ah this must be jealousy.

She wasn't that bothered by it. She knows she can trust that you'll never leave her. However, the moment she starts touching you even after you clearly rejected her and is making you feel uncomfortable, that girl is dead.

She might have better morals after meeting you but she's not above killing who she deems as human scum.

But if things don't reach that stage, the girl might just be assigned a particularly difficult mission as her next

"Sorry, but I have a girlfriend,"

"Who cares? It's not like she's gonna know anyway"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to talk to y/n"

"Ah! M-miss makima!"

"Oh sure babe"

"B-babe? You mean she's your girlfriend"

"Exactly, and now that you know I suggest not looking forward to your next mission"

Power

The moment she sees you talking to another girl, she gets mad, she assumes you're cheating on her cause she doesn't have that much of an understanding of relationships.

In her eyes, you don't need anyone else when she's clearly the best option.

She's also really angry towards the girl. How dare she try to steal what's hers? Even though she wasn't flirting with you

"Hey! Y/n! What are you doing talking to this human"

"Oh power, don't worry she was just asking me directions"

"Like I believe that! You better go away this very moment I'll kill you!"

"Power be nice"

"Only if you stop talking to this bitch"

"*sigh* I'm so sorry"

Himeno

How she reacts depends on how drunk she is.

She gets really clingy when she is drunk, so she'll hug you from behind and lazily try to pull you away from the girl you were talking to while mumbling some incoherent words and that's usually your sign to take her home.

She's really not that jealous when sober, even when a girl flirts, she doesn't get mad, she understands her,after all if she didn't flirt with you she wouldn't have gotten with her amazing partner.

"Hey, you having fun without me over here?

"Oh sorry hime,I was just about to tell her I have a girlfriend"

"Oh you do? Sorry I had no idea"

"It's fine. I get it they're so stunning anyone would try to get with them"

"Did you just use the fact that a girl was flirting with me as a way to flirt with me?

"Guess so, I guess complimenting you is just second nature to me"

Kobeni higashiyama

This poor nervous wreck of a girl.

Whenever she sees you talking to another girl, she kinda gets anxious and starts comparing herself to that girl. Imagine how it is when a girl actually flirts with you

She starts overthinking and sweating,thoughts that you're gonna leave her for the other girl and how she's a bad girlfriend her fill her head.

She'd rather self combust than try to confront the girl with you around so she'll just continue wallowing in self-pity until you finish.

She needs a lot of hugs and reassurances later to calm down

"Hey, are you OK, kobeni? You were sweating and shaking"

"O-oh n-o i'm ok, what about t-that girl you were talking to?"

"I told her I had a girlfriend and she left, don't worry,more importantly, let's continue out date"

"R-really?"

"Of course you're my girlfriend right? I'd much rather hang out with you than some random girl"

"Uhm t-thank you"

Asa mitaka

She is also kind of anxious and worried just way less than kobeni.

She feels kind of like a bad and boring girlfriend often, and that feeling skyrockets when a girl flits with you.

She trusts you, but seeing you so close to that girl while she blatantly flirts with you just makes her feel kinda angry at her, and yoru definitely tries to take advantage of that.

"Come on don't you wanna get rid of her anyway"

"Not in that way yoru!"

"Just turn her into a weapon, that way I get a new one to fight chainsaw man, and you get to take care of that bitch"

"I'm not gonna do that"

"Geez you really are a bad girlfriend then"

"I'M NOT A BAD GIRLFRIEND"

"........"

"D-did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah but don't worry at least it was the truth"

Yoru

You and yoru begged asa to let her take control of her body for just an entire date. After a lot of hesitancy, she accepted but made yoru promise not to kill anyone........ You should probably think twice before trusting the war devil

The moment she saw another girl even look at you with a flirty gaze, immediately she turned her into a weapon without any hesitation.

You weren't that shocked, dating yoru does come with a very high chance of her trying to murder people she even thinks are trying to steal you, you were kinda mad at her for what she promised asa though.

"*sighs* why did you do that?"

"You're mine she was trying to take you from me. I could feel it"

"And how are you gonna explain it to asa?"

"Well it's not my problem"

"What?"

Then she feel unconscious the scars from her face disappeared and asa woke up looked at the weapon in her hand and then at you

"I'm so sorry asa I swear I can explain"

Fami

She was just coming back to your table with your fast food orders (she got way too much food for herself). When she saw you talking to a girl, she didn't recognize

She didn't think much about it maybe you were just talking to a friend. So she ignored the kinda weird feeling in her chest by doing her favorite thing (tied with spending time with you) eating.

The girl, meanwhile, was very freaked out that a random girl was staring at her with a cold glare and ringed eyes so she left allowing you to go back to your girlfriend.

"Hey fami, sorry if It took me long"

"It's fine, who was that girl you were with?

"I don't know she just came up to me and started flirting"

"I see"

"Why? Are you jealous"

"No I am not"

"Alright whatever you say, you did eat faster than usual though and that's saying something"

"*sighs* Humans are truly weird creatures"

[rubra-wav]

how do you think Hazbin Hotel characters would react to a demon with butterfly wings?

The main Hazbin cast x Butterfly demon reader

Part 2 >

A/N: This wasn't really specific with what charas specifically, so I'm just doing the main cast. I'll do a part 2 with more characters, though, if it's wanted (sorry)

Reader's wings are written as colourful and proportionate to their body, so they are pretty big.

Realised there's a 10 image limit per post, which is bs. Isn't how i normally would have liked it to be aesthetically bc of that 👎

Cw: Sfw, slightly suggestive stuff in Angel's, reference to decapitation and cannibalism 💀, kinda a bit angsty in Angel's and Vaggie's, gn! Reader

Charlie

- Charlie would be absolutely delighted by you, no doubt about it.

- She wants nothing more than to be in a place that's vividly colourful and (assuming reader is a somewhat colourful butterfly demon) you'd be that for her.

- She also probably just really really likes butterflies in general though, let's be real.

- I can imagine her just staring at your wings with absolutely starry eyes while complimenting them.

- "They're so pretty ohhh my gosh!"

- I imagine her being lightly jealous, she'd love to have wings like a butterfly.

- Would probably ask if she can touch, and look somewhat sad when told no due to how it would cause your scales to come off. (Assuming reader's wings are the same as normal butterfly wings)

- It may get somewhat uncomfortable if you don't like attention, she would definitely fixate heavily on them. Tell her to stop though and it's making you feel weird and she will tone it down though.

- If not, though, enjoy the attention you're gonna be getting from Charlie over them.

Vaggie

- Vaggie would likely be a bit uncomfortable about seeing demons with wings in general due to her history - let alone you with beautiful, delicate ones.

- I think she'd secretly be hiding some angst and jealously about your wings ngl.

- When she sees Charlie fawning over them though oh boy.

- Yeah she's not gonna be happy about them then. She doesn't blame you or anything for how she's feeling as it's her issue and she knows that, but it still hurts quite a bit - especially in the beginning.

- It gets less and less bad though the more she gets used to it, she kind of just becomes 'meh' about it - especially if you ask Charlie to stop being so gaga about them.

- When she gets her wings back, though, I think she'd come to think they are cool. A normal level appreciation though.

- I can half see you two helping each other out with your wings down the line if you two get closer though.

- There are some things that come with upkeep so wings don't become damaged and stuff, so the people who also have wings? Allies 100%.

Angel

- I'm gonna be fr, the first time your wings come out he's probably gonna be panicked due to his baggage.

- Especially if it happens when you're angry.

- He's probably gonna need reassurance you aren't gonna try hurt him tbh.

- As sad as it is, his trauma would definitely play a part in his initial perception of them.

- After he recovers a bit and stops immediately going into fight or flight and seeing you =/= Val though, the switch up is insane.

- He would be all over you about them.

- I can imagine him calling you a bunch of butterfly related petnames.

- If you remember the 'make those wings flap' comments he made about Husk, its gonna be that on a hundred.

- Even if it's just joking flirting about them, it's gonna be constant because he thinks they are beautiful and it's a lot of material considering you're a butterfly and he's a spider.

- I feel like he would touch them at some point without really thinking and pull his hand back to see your scales have rubbed off onto his hand and go ''oh shit.''

Husk

- I don't think he'd have much of a reaction to it at all - at least not initially.

- Of course he acknowledges that they are very pretty, but he won't comment upon it much at all unlike the others.

- Possibly may make reference to it when crafting bitter statements directed towards you, though.

- Down the line, if you grow closer to him, I can see him as actually being concerned about your wings.

- They are extremely eye-catching and unique for a being in hell, and due to that, it could lead demons to actively target you

- Whether with overt aggressive intentions to take your wings and sell them, or with more covert problems like you being scouted for modelling (ie. By Velvette)

- I can see Vaggie and you trying to set up a wing maintenance group and trying to include him in it. Him being vehemently against it to a level that's almost comedic.

- You eventually convince him even though he's complaining the whole way through it. (He is lying and actually enjoys it).

Pentious

- He wouldn't like them at all in the beginning.

- They're big and bulky and get in the way of everything, including him.

- The amount of times he's accidentally fallen due to 'tripping' on your giant ass wings is greatly irritating and embarrassing to him.

- Possibly thinks you keep trying to kill him by tripping him.

- Could also see his 'hair' (idk how to properly refer to it, haha), accidentally brushing up against your wings with how expressive it is and getting your scales all over him.

- Basically, he doesn't like them because he's clumsy but will take it out on you.

- I also get the vibe he'd be jealous because of how eye-catching they are.

- In his mind, if he had wings like that, then he'd surely have been acknowledged by the Vees in some way.

- If you change your habits with your wings to be conscious of him not being able to walk normally and start getting onto better terms, though, he will likely become appreciative of them and stop being so pissy about them.

- They are very cool looking to him, and once his poor attitude wears off about them, he'll come to admit that.

Alastor

- He'd actually be somewhat weary of you in the beginning.

- It's nature's law that creatures that do not bother to hide themselves are not to be messed with - especially in a place like hell of all places.

- When he sees that you just happen to be particularly colourful, he drops that, though.

- He'd honestly probably be thinking of what it would be like to eat a demon like you after confirming you are, in fact, not poisonous or dangerous at all.

- He doesn't much care all that much for the intrinsic beauty of things as long as they aren't utterly ugly, and as long as they aren't obnoxious and in your face.

- Depending on how bright and vibrant they are and how much attention you bring to them, he may actually dislike them.

- If not, though, he acknowledges they are nice to look at, but again, doesn't really care about them outside of theorising how they would be to eat.

- Would probably make comments about how he could "just eat your wings up," or ask you about how you taste just to try to freak you out.

Niffty

- When she sees them, her eyes grow wide in a mixture of surprise and awe. At the exact same time, an unhinged smirk spreads across her face.

- She then proceeds to leap at you, scissors or whatever sharp object is closest to her raised at your wings.

- She'd be absolutely trying to take a piece out of them for her 'collection' 💀

- You're gonna need medical attention after she's done with you because she's hellbent.

- Her obsessiveness over your wings would vary depending on your gender but either way, she'd be trying to get a piece of them for herself.

- Definitely abnormal level of appreciation of them in the absolute worst way.

- If you can get her to stop instantly trying to cut off parts of them, she's still constantly trying to touch them. You need to complain about your scales every damn time she tries to reach out to touch it without fail.

- it's like your wings are a beacon, and she's the insect gunning for it ironically.

[prettyoatmeal]

Hand holding HCs..DROP EM

Likeeeeeeee their fav ver of hand holding, do they do the finger rub thing, do they pull your hand in to kiss it!!!!!!

-🕯️

TF141 and how they would hold your hand!

A/N: Yesss finally I finish something cute and wholesome. I'm sorry this took so long, I'm lowkey so bad at fluff.

Warnings: No warnings, suggestive for the very last point on Soap's section towards the end. 99% fluff.

Masterlist here!

***************

Price is a romantic when it comes to holding your hand.

He would've been a little shy about it at the start, almost always asking because he's just such a gentleman. Now it's just become a habit of his, a very cute habit.

"Can I hold your hand, love?"

"They're so soft."

His hands would ALWAYS be warm which is perfect if you're a cold-handed kinda person.

"You feel so cold. Here, let me just.."

He is very insistent on placing kisses on your knuckles or the back of your hand.

Over all he's just very sweet about it, a gentle yet firm grip as you two walked or cuddled, or anything.

If he had to choose, his favourite time or way to hold your hand is while he's driving. One hand on the wheel while the other holds yours over the console.

Gaz would just initiate it like that. He doesn't feel the need to ask.

He's already wrapped around your finger the minute he wakes up, while eating breakfast, just hanging out together, everywhere.

He will always have his hands on you, whether it be holding your hands or not.

An extremely clingy boyfriend, his grip is pretty possessive.

He just loves you so much and wants you to know how much you mean to him.

PDA? Doesn't really care unless you do. He will very proudly hold your hand and show off how gorgeous his partner is.

Is quite playful with it, will happily swing your arms back and fourth.

Holding your hand is something which could cheer him up from whatever stress he would be facing.

Shamelessly, his favourite way is when you begin to pull away, and he has to coax his fingers back into yours, not wanting the moment to end.

"Kyle- stooop, your hands are sweaty."

"No, no, no. Let me hold you just a little bit longer, doll."

And you always let him despite how warm and clammy you may feel. Who are you to deny him of that?

Ghost wasn't much for physical affection, only finding comfort in the smallest of touches like small pats on the shoulder or knee.

Though later on, he warms up to your touches, finding your aura endearing and calming.

It started out as linking his gloved pinkie finger with yours, slowly, slowly edging closer until your hands are completely intertwined together.

His hands are so rough and so cold compared to the rest of him so there was quite the temperature contrast between you two.

After feeling how warm you were compared to him, you swore you could almost hear him purring into your neck the moment your hands met.

PDA isn't his thing. It isn't anything against you, he just doesn't enjoy putting too much attention on it. He'd formally hold your hand or interlock your pinkies together, maybe a little more if you ask him or if the time called for it.

His favourite way to hold your hand is just the cutest.

He will very often grab your hand under the table or under the covers and out of sight. Its intimate, almost as if you two were trying to keep it a deep secret. He knew it made your heart flutter, and it made his flutter too.

Soap's probably the one where your hand holding will most likely lead somewhere more.

If he's holding your hand, then he's also placing kisses along your palms and your knuckles.

His kisses would lead up your arm like in cartoons until he's placing small kisses on your shoulder, your neck, then up at your lips, and a make-out session ensues.

And he's holding your hands all throughout it, not letting go one bit.

Since starting dating, he's just been happily holding you with physical affection being his love language. He couldn't help it, you feel so soft against him.

"These hands may've killed, but they'll hold ya' like there's no tomorrow, dove."

He's so romantic it's adorable.

"I love you," kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss "ah, you set my soul on fire."

Similar Gaz, he's very, very clingy.

Doesn't care too much about PDA either, he'll very happily hold your hand regardless if you're out with.

His favourite way to hold your hand would be during sex just because of how intimate it is. Whether he be taking you from behind or in missionary, his fingers would be firmly intertwined with yours, pushing them into the plush of the bed to make sure you wouldn't be able to let go anytime soon.

***************

I think I'm back guys! 2 more exams and it's over, and I SHOULD be back to writing again. I mean hell, I've had the urge to write so much in these past couple days, I'm on a roll. Are we so back?? I hope

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[enidette]

TEACH YOU A LESSON carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — both are 18+, repost of an old fic because i feel bad for depriving you guys, overstimulation, ruined orgasm, jerking off, oral (m!receiving), sub!carl

it got on your nerves how all of a sudden a new girl comes to the school and your boyfriend is all over her. maybe you're overreacting, but he's still spending too much time with her for your liking. the two of you have barely spent time together the past few days.

that brings you to now. sitting outside next to ron. you were in your normal spot, right next to where carl was supposed to be sitting. instead he was teaching enid how to use a gun, which the girl was already clearly an expert at.

the worst part, he was way too close. arms around her close, ignoring her murderous glare.

but what really caught your attention is the way he was looking at you. you've been with carl so long that you can read him like an open book. he was doing this to get a reaction out of you. soon after he was making his way back to your spot, but you don't even give him time to sit down.

you grab his arm and stand up, "let's go."

"go? where?" it didn't take a genius to recognize the suggestive tone in his voice. but you didn't answer him, just took his hand to lead him to his house.

he would say snarky things while you walked even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. "cat got your tongue?"

you whip around and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him down harshly. "i don't know what you were hoping for but trust me carl, you're not getting it."

the smirk on his face drops but quickly returns. "punishment or not, you're gonna fuck me."

he was right, you did. but here the boy is now, squirming on his bed on the edge of his third orgasm and you showed no signs of stopping. it was a sight to see truly, his head thrown back, legs quivering. your hand was working on his cock in slow motions.

"please, please, please."

you giggle, speeding up slightly causing the boy's mouth to drop open. "please, what baby?" he didn't answer you, all he did was grab your arm and whimper.

you pout in faux sympathy, "want me to stop?"

his grip on your arm got tighter and he leaned forward, guiding your hand to make sure you didn't "no!"

a sadistic smirk finds its way to your lips, something popping in your head that would guarantee carl never stepping out of line again. maybe it was a little harsh, your heart clenching a little at your precious boyfriend. he'd already apologized and was doing so good.

but it would teach him a lesson.

you continue pumping him, speeding up a little and nearly laugh when 'thank you's repeatedly fell from your boy's lips. you truly can read him like an open book, so you could tell when he was about to cum. you wait until the moment he was about to and pulled away, ruining it for him.

tears spring his eye at the dull feeling, "why?" he whimpers, head lifting off the pillow to look at you before falling back in desperation.

maybe you felt a little bad, but you also really liked it. "i'm sorry baby, was that mean?" he nods, pretty tears falling from his eye. your hand wraps around him again and he jolts, pushing it away.

"oh, you don't want me to finally give you what you want?" his eyes widen,

"no, i do! please," you smile at him and lower yourself on the bed.

once your mouth is level with his cock you look up at him again, "you sure you can take it baby?"

he nods, "mhm, i'll be good. promise."

he nearly sobs when you take him in your mouth, sucking on his tip lightly. you watch his reactions and wonder how someone could be so pretty when they're a mess. you lower your head, attempting to take him all in your mouth no matter how difficult it may be. you wanted to see just how wrecked he could get.

his hand finds its way to your head, not pushing, just tangling in your hair while he looks down at you in ecstasy. when you start bobbing your head it's obvious he won't last longer. he finishes down your throat with something between a moan and a groan.

"i hope this teaches you a lesson carl."

[avocado-writing]

Okay, I've had this idea bouncing around in my head, waiting for you to reopen suggestions, haha. How do you think the Origins Companions + Halsin, Rolan, Dammon, and Zevlor would react if they found out that Tav had been hiding a very serious injury from them? The kind of injury where Tav is convinced that they're fine and they don't want to worry anyone with something they can handle on their own, especially the people they care most for, but as they try to ignore the injury it only gets worse until it's potentially life threatening and they can't keep up the facade anymore. I will leave it up to you whether or not Tav and the other individual are in a romantic relationship. I think both ways have potential for wonderful angst 😆

ooohhh noooooo! but also oh yes, LOVE this sort of angst lol. written as if you have had an infection come on from an injury. this is gonna be a long list so let's buckle up...

Astarion

really tries to hide his panic but fails miserably.

can't help but start snapping - how could you keep something like this from him?

you try to give your excuses but he waves them away, angry, but mostly because he's terrified that he might have lost you.

if he has any healing potions he helps you take them, if he doesn't he immediately... sources some from somewhere.

holds you as tight as he dares, worried that he will aggravate the injury otherwise.

as you begin to heal and drift off to sleep he spends the whole night watching you rest, making sure that you're still breathing, still safe. doesn't mind when you cuddle up to him in the night, sleepily.

Gale

curses himself for not noticing your condition. he's a wizard, damn it! he's meant to be bloody perceptive.

wishes for the first time ever that he didn't just know wizard spells. wishes he knew how to heal, too.

makes you as comfortable as he can while he finds a book about what he can do for an infected wound, probably swallowing his pride and going to Shadowheart if it's bad enough.

you manage a weak, "Gale, you don't have to--", and he cuts you off, "if you're going to insist that I don't have to look after you, I'm telling you that I do."

fixes you something to help with the pain and infection, makes sure you drink it all despite the horrid taste, then tucks you into his bedroll to let you rest.

when you go to reach out and cuddle him he slips into your arms, presses his lips to your hair, and whispers as you fall asleep about how much you scared him. about how he'd never be able to lose you.

Lae'zel

only realises how unwell you are when you fall over mid-journey.

"tsk'va! why did you hide the extent of your injuries from me?"

hauls you onto her back and carries you back to camp, muttering about your foolishness the whole time.

makes you comfortable in her tent and uses her knowledge of githyanki medicine to help start healing you.

it isn't comfortable as she works on your infection but for the first time you feel her hands being soft rather than vicious.

"you should not have kept this from me." "I know. I'm sorry." "hm. ridiculous thing. zhak vo'n'fynh duj."

goes and intimidates the camp into being quiet so you can rest. it works. this is the nicest she's ever been to you. you could get used to it.

Shadowheart

obviously this is not a huge problem for her, but she is still worried that it got so far without her noticing.

immediately heals you, pouring far too many spell slots into your body in order to get it up and running again.

it helps, immediately breaking the fever you've been nursing, and the touch of Shadowheart's hand to your face is cooling and reassuring.

"lady shar teaches us to embrace our pain... but not like this. you should have known better. you could have died."

her hand slips down to cup your cheek, you cover it with one of your own. she's telling you off but you can tell it's because she cares.

"I'm sorry that I scared you." "I know. don't do it again."

she smiles and the ache in your heart is lifted, too.

Wyll

panics.

you collapse on day in camp and he immediately calls on the others for help, not so proud as to be unable to admit when something is out of his knowledge. he is not a healer. he needs help.

he manages to catch you in his arms as you tumble, hugging you close to his chest while magic is worked or a healer checks you over.

lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when you begin to stabilise.

helps you back to your tent to rest, gently chiding you but letting you know that he's glad you're alright.

when your hand weakly comes up to touch him, he indulges you in a kiss to let you know how relieved he is.

constantly watching you on the battlefield from that moment on. if he can help it, you'll never be hurt again.

Karlach

another panicker.

scoops you up in her arms and holds you to her chest, running to the tent of the nearest healer in camp - or, if you're in the city, kicking down the door of a local doctor.

begging the healer to check you over, but is reluctant to let you go. if she stops holding you it's like she's relinquishing control and that scares the life out of her.

you're healed and she feels you start to stir in her arms, peppering you with kisses of relief, choking through her tears that you're never to scare her like that again.

carries you back home, even if you're totally capable of walking. she just wants to make sure you're okay.

Halsin

sternly disappointed that you didn't tell him, but more annoyed that he didn't notice something was wrong himself. how could he not see how out of balance with nature you were?

squirrels you away to his tent to heal you, make you soothing and medicinal teas, his big hands over the source of the infection.

you burrow into his touch, into his chest, and you end up sitting in his lap as he heals you.

he wants to tell you off a little, but is more relieved that you're alright. encourages you to share all your burdens with him.

kisses you on the forehead, then on the mouth when he's sure you're strong enough for it not to knock you flat.

Dammon

my poor boy is just a blacksmith, so though he doesn't exactly panic, he does scoop you up and try to find a healer as soon as he can.

waits quietly and nervously as you are examined, silently cursing himself for being too busy to see how you were hurt. he's meant to be better than this. he's meant to love you, how didn't he notice?

when you come to he can't stop apologising, and it takes several of your kisses to soothe him and tell him it was not his fault but yours.

he makes you promise that you'll always tell him when you're hurt. has you look into his eyes and swear it.

he can't do much on the battlefield but he can protect you where he can.

Rolan

another one cursing that he doesn't know healing spells.

"you aren't meant to die, gods damn it! you're meant to be strong... what good am I if I can't keep you safe..."

rushes you to the best doctor in Baldur's Gate. pays for all the treatment that you could need. holds your hand at your bedside for your entire recovery... until you come back to consciousness, of course, at which point he just starts telling you off for being stupid enough to get into his mess in the first place.

you grab him by the collar and drag him down for a kiss. that finally shuts him up. but he never lets you forget how foolish you were.

Zevlor

practical but still worried about you.

you collapse in the field and he finds a safe place to hide the both of you from dangerous eyes, using his Lay on Hands ability to channel his magic into healing.

you try to apologise but a finger to your lips silences you, and all you can do is watch in quiet wonder as he burns the infection out with his Paladin's light.

when you're better he gently chides you. tells you that you have people relying on your leadership, and that a problem shared means there are more heads working on how to fix it.

when he sees how sorry you are lets you cuddle into him. when you say you'll repay him, he insists your happiness and well-being is enough for an old warrior like him.

does take the kiss you offer, though. he's been wanting to do that for a while...

[redsrooftopprincess]

Nightmare

Gn reader x Raphael

Warnings: Injury, Guns, Blood, Suggested Character Death, Nightmare

Part 2

You're not sure why you're awake. You can't put your finger on it, but something about tonight is just unsettling. You are sitting on the couch, staring blankly through infomercials, when the dirge of products made for very specific situations is interrupted. 

BREAKING NEWS: MONSTERS IN MANHATTAN

Your stomach drops.

No...

The news report cuts to a live feed of the construction site where they knew the Foot had *something* going on, but they couldn't figure out what. They had moved out to do just that hours ago. 

Please no...

The news helicopter hovers over a circle of gunmen trained on a large figure. There is a massive, darkening bruise across his left arm and face, and his shell is cracked and seeping red. He'd fallen. From how high up you'd no idea.

Your body stands on it own and steps towards the television. Too injured to stand, he looks up at the humans surrounding him, and he's afraid. You've never seen him afraid of anything. 

You reach out a hand towards the screen as wild eyes dart between barrels, he's trembling. You can't hear him over the roar of the helicopter and the barking of orders, but you see him say, "please... please don't hurt me..." 

One man orders him to raise his hands over his head, another orders him not to move, a third demands he identify the device on his back. They're scared too. You hate them for it. 

A sound, probably nothing more than falling debris, spooks one of the younger men and he opens fire. The rest follow suit, and a scream rips from your throat as your knees buckle. 

You hit the floor and shoot up in bed soaked in sweat and screaming. Through a haze of tears and terror you frantically grasp for your phone on the beside table, sending the call. 

He picks up quickly. 

"Hey." 

"Tell me you're okay." You demand into the phone.

"What?"

"Tell me you're okay. I need to hear you say you're okay." You're near hysterics, still barely conscious, the roar of gunfire ringing in your ears.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," he reassures quickly, "are *you* okay?" He asks. Now he's worried. You're usually one to keep a cool head in the worst situations.

You lay back and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to slow your heart rate, and ignoring the hot tears of relief that stream from your eyes. "Yeah... Yeah I'm okay..." your voice trembles.

You suddenly feel really stupid. Of course he's okay. "Sorry... I'm sorry," you apologize, embarrassed, "Bad dream. You can go back to work. Sorry. Night." You hang up before he can respond and cover your face with your hands.

He looks down at his phone when the call ends. You certainly didn't seem okay. He's on the other side of town tonight, but things have been pretty quiet, and... well, now he has an excuse. 

A little over an hour later, you're still sitting in bed, having been unable to fall back asleep, and there is a soft landing overhead. 

Damn it. 

Moments later there is a knock at your bedroom door. You don't bother getting out of bed.

"You didn't have to come all the way here," you sigh. 

The door opens, "Seemed important."

He steps into your room and over to the bed. You move over and he sits on the side of the bed next to you. 

He looks you over. You can't bring yourself to look at him, instead choosing to remain focused on the hands in your lap. "Bad dream, huh?"

You nod. 

"'Bout me?"

You nod again.

"I get hurt?" 

You tense and shut your eyes as that first gunshot rings in your ears. 

He nods in understanding, looking you over. There's something like a selfish pride that's touched that the thought of something happening to him seems to affect you so deeply, but it's quickly overruled when you open your eyes and they're brimming with tears.

He sighs and takes one of your hands, squeezing gently, trying to reassure you that he's okay, that he's safe and he's here and he's okay. "Sweetheart..." He says softly before trailing off. He doesn't know what to say. 

"I know why you do what you do," you say softly, as if you're afraid that speaking too loudly might break you, "I understand it, and I agree with it, and you know I would never ask you to stop..." 

You look up at him and his heart breaks when your voice cracks, "... and I hate it." 

He releases the hand in your lap and bring his up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and pressing his hand against your cheek, grateful for any tangible proof that he's here, safe. "I hate waiting for the day when you climb out my window for the last time," you say, unable to stem the tears, "and I hate knowing it's coming." 

You'd grown so close in the last few months. You'd begun to forget what life had been like without him, and you really really didn't want to have to remember. Ever. 

He couldn't bear it. Seeing you like this. He looks at you with an unreadable  expression before picking up you in one motion and pulling you into his lap. You waste no time wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. You bury your head in his shoulder and cry.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to tell you that nothing bad is going to happen, that he will always come back to you, that you don't have to worry. But he can't. He can't lie to you. There is a very real possibility that any given night might be the last night. 

So, he does the only thing he can do. He holds you tighter, grateful for this moment, and every single one after, that he has left with you.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl

[locke-esque-monster]

I got real nervous they were doing Lila x Five really early in the season. It wasn't even explicitly stated, it was just a feeling from how they were setting up and framing things. Lila disagreeing with Diego and going to talk to Five. Lila keeping secrets from Diego that Five knew about. The tension of Five covering for Lila to Diego. Lila's dissatisfaction with her relationship with Diego and asking for a break. Without actively being romantically into Five, it kept setting up the narrative for Lila to leave Diego and Five was all tied in with what she was going to as an alternative to Diego. Add that to the promo pics with them together - even having watched it later and avoided spoilers I had a real bad feeling where this was going long before 4x5. (Or at least avoided until I already had my theory - my phone helpfully suggested an article days before I got to 4x5. I was not pleased to say the least.)

But there's a lot of reasons I take issue with this pairing and how it was done, so Christ, I guess let's get started:

Five explicitly stated in season 3 that Lila is not his type.

Five murdered Lila's parents. Sure, on the Handler's orders. But you think it's easy to have a romantic relationship when you know those hands killed your parents (aka my biggest critique of Tony/Bucky shippers in the MCU).

Five is indirectly responsible for the Handler's death. He saved everyone but her when he time traveled back. Sure, Lila was upset with her, but this woman raised her. She's got to have some complicated feelings about that and Five is all wrapped up in them now.

Five also had a weird relationship with the Handler, where she was a little flirty with him, which was all kinds of uncomfortable. Lila briefly mimicked this in season 3, which was even more uncomfortable. It's unclear if this was deliberately copying her "mother" or not. But adding Five and the Handler's complicated relationship on top of the other issues means there's a whole carousel of baggage to unpack here.

Five has always seemed kind of annoyed or tolerant of Lila, which extended into early this season. It's maybe a hair kinder at the start of season 4, but definitely not where it should be if there's potential here. It'd be one thing if they were friends after 6 years, but their relationship hasn't substantially changed at the start of this season to suggest otherwise.

If you have to do an all musical montage to show 2 characters falling in love, I'm sorry, you're not doing this right. That's telling, not showing. These characters have had tons of interactions to build off of. If you can't do that, then you're effectively saying that you have no foundation for this relationship.

Also, if it takes 6 1/2 years of being each others sole companions under adverse conditions for you to get together - maybe you shouldn't be together. It's one thing if it's treated like "Finally" or "Oh I didn't think you also felt this way". It's another if it's like it's a new idea entirely - that suggests loneliness and a desire for companionship and they're you're only option.

Five's history includes him having a pseudo-romantic relationship with a mannequin when he's left alone in the apocalypse at 13. The next time he's separated from his family for years he's with Lila. I'll allow that it makes sense he developed feelings for her specifically because of his history. That said, that makes this a wholly unhealthy relationship when he has a history like that. Lila is filling a gap Five's psyche has clung to before in similar harrowing times.

Frankly, the fact Lila was first looking for excitement out of her home life and is now upset she can't get back to her family isn't a good headspace either. (I'm also deeply frustrated that Lila feels trapped at home. Lila is so capable and she has a buttload of family members who apparently can take their children on a whim during all this chaos. You're telling me she couldn't have found a better outlet to work on their marriage or get some freedom before it got to this point of lying to Diego?)

Five is volatile and Lila is unpredictable. They're nothing but a menace to practically every other character they meet, including each other. But once they're a couple, they're perfectly pleasant the whole time. I don't buy it. The only fight they have is when Five lied to her. I'm not saying they can't be sweet. But this is all sweetness. For me to buy this couple they need to lovingly bicker. Instead, they've both had personality transplants.

So they decide to go back to the greenhouse after 6 years 5 months and 2 days. Five admits to having the book 5 or 6 months on their 7th anniversary of being lost. Let's be generous and assume they kissed within a couple days of getting to the greenhouse, because they look reasonably settled. That means that best case, Five decided that after being in a relationship for less than 2 months, he was going to throw his whole family away and run away with Lila. That is a hell of a lot of commitment for a short relationship.

And keep in mind, it's not like their family is safe. Last they heard, they hadn't solved the Cleanse. So they're either actively in danger or dead. Five - The man who spent 45 years trying to save his family. Who survived decades in the apocalypse alone (minus Delores the mannequin) and murdered his way through time for the chance to get back and save them - is going to let his family die for a 2 month relationship. I call bullshit.

Also, I will give Five credit that he tried to stay on task during the fight with the Cleanse. He only seemed to fight in retaliation for Diego - he actively looked towards the fight at least once before Diego pulled his attention. But you're telling me he's ready to keep fighting Diego and is threatening to kill him over Lila? That his powers only work correctly after 7 years of having them back because Lila begged him? I once again call bullshit.

And Five was going off to mope alone and never come back and potentially let his family die from an active threat, all because Lila didn't pick him? That is not the Five I know.

I also feel like we maybe did all this arc to get Lila to the point where Five has to convince her to stay because no one else could even if she hates him for it, but still get her family on the train to get the planned ending. And that feels very clunky and I hate it.

Outside of plot lines - it is a bit disturbing to me that we're pairing up an actor whose barely an adult with a woman 15 years his senior - practically old enough to be his mother. This is a aside from the fact he's a what, 71 year old man internally at this point and Lila (if we assume even living at the commission she's a similar age to Diego) is in her early 40s by the time she kisses a physically mid-20s Five. There's so much about that I am not okay with I don't even know where to start.

I also hear the writers wanted a romance for Five. First, okay, then have a longer season. Develop a character for Five earlier on in the season or the show you can pair him with. God knows with that history and age issues it'll be tricky. But also frankly - why? Why does Five need a romantic love interest? He's been fueled by the love of his family and that's done so many impressive things out of love for them. Not everyone needs a romantic love of their life to find happiness and it feels very heteronormative (is that the word I want?) that we need to have that for Five. Give Five an apocalypse-free world and his family alive and then we can see what happiness he can find.

[yuugen-benni]

''...Excuse me ?''

Prompt: Getting hit on in front of your lover Fandom: Bungou Stray dogs and Genshin Impact Characters: Ayatsuji Yukito, Fyodor, Dazai - Freminet, Wanderer, Dehya Gn!Reader (They/them)

Ayatsuji Yukito: I feel sorry for anyone who likes jealous boyfriends because Ayatsuji is not one. While a random man is hitting on you, he will literally be standing next to you, as if testing to see if the man will realize that he is your lover. But this obviously failed. Ayatsuji is now staring at the man, raising an eyebrow and you can tell he is mentally cursing the man in a clever way. If the person gets too close, or does something that makes you even more uncomfortable, he pokes the tip, still hot, of the kiseru pipe on their forehead and push them back.

''How long will I have to listen to this ?...*sigh*... Sir, use your last remaining neuron to realize that: they're with me''

Fyodor: He laughs…HE LAUGHS. Fyodor is surprised, that you got hit? Maybe, but he's actually surprised by the man's boldness. I mean...he is scary, he exudes death so if someone is by his side it is either his partner in crime or maybe his lover.

When the ''conversation'' becomes more suggestive, he decides not to watch the show anymore and literally just take you out of there.

''It was really fun to watch, but now leave my lover alone if you don't want your heart to stop beating''

Dazai: He's a son of a b!tch, but a lovable one. Dazai will act like he's just a friend and started telling the guy about you (or rather, lie about you to protect your privacy) pretending to help the guy hit on you. Yes, he's just taking advantage of the situation; BUT YES, Dazai is also protecting you so don't be mad at him. At the end of all this performance, he will play his final card: ''They're great people, aren't they? Having them as a lover must be wonderful and guess what? They are my partner!''

-

Freminet: Poor thing, he doesn't know what to do! Does he explain?, Does he just push the guy?, Does he grab your hand and run away??? I believe the last option is more effective. Freminet isn't even used to talking to strangers, let alone someone hitting on his lover. But he tries, he tries hard. And when the guy becomes more invasive, he acts on impulse and pushes you to his side.

''...O-okay, I'm sorry but- you're being extremely disrespectful with my partner''

Wanderer/Scaramouche: This little man here is trying not to beat the ass of the person who is hitting on you. He's holding on so tight that his fists are white. But, as always, Wanderer pretends he's not jealous and then lets you handle the situation… before he does something he shouldn't-- but if the person is very insistent on ''having your heart'' he will definitely do something he shouldn't. He will use words… bad, horrible words or even opt for physical aggression... well you at least are safe now.

Dehya: This is a somewhat unlikely event because once you are under her gaze, nothing bad will happen to you. But, maybe, at some point when you two are shopping, and you end up distancing yourself a little, it can happen. She's prepared… a little too much, but she won't hesitate to confront the guy/girl who has started to make you uncomfortable. At this point, she won't even care if she's being overprotective or not, as long as you're okay.

''Are you blind or something? Can't you see that they're not interested ?''

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! I wanted to ask if you feel lately like you've been getting anything positive out of your therapy, because a lot of your initial thoughts about it kind of mirror mine. I'm very logical (except when I'm upset at myself) and very skeptical, so I feel like a therapist either isn't going to tell me anything new, or that I'm going to just disregard it because I can't trick myself into believing things that I just plain don't believe.

But I'm also starting to come to a realization, two years after my ADHD diagnosis and letting go (without therapy!) of most of the executive dysfunction-fueled self worth issues I was having, that I'm kind of Not Okay in other ways. I'm safe —going to work every day and doing my job so I won't lose my livelihood and have never had a self harm urge in my life— But I'm not really okay. I'm having major self esteem issues related to my personality separate from the executive dysfunction that are putting me in a bad place. I don't want to take antidepressants for reasons I won't go into but that means my other option is therapy and... I don't know if I'm a person that therapy will actually work on. I found a lot of validation in some of your perspectives, about affirmations being bullshit and "mindfulness" exercises feeling impossible and useless, about not having an inner monologue and how that might be causing issues with traditional methods. So I was just wondering, do you feel like therapy is working now that you've been in it longer?

I've wasted a lot of money on "elective" (and ultimately useless, back to square one) medical nonsense this year and I'm not eager to waste more, but I've also met my insurance deductible so it's the best time to try it if I'm going to.

I mean, it depends on the modality a little but I don't think trying basic talk therapy can hurt, as long as you find a decent therapist. And it's better to try it now when you're feeling Mostly Okay than waiting until you are Really Not Okay. But this entire paragraph comes with a lot of context so....

A lot of what I talked about in terms of struggling with mindfulness, etc. was less related to the therapy I am still in than it was to the DBT class I took at Therapist's suggestion. We were both aware that she was basically throwing stuff at the wall to see what stuck, and while it was an interesting class I don't think for me it was helpful. As you mention, I struggled with affirmations and visualization since neurologically I'm not really set up for those; I don't think they're objectively bullshit but I do think there's an assumption within the mental health industry that they will have function for everyone and that's simply untrue, and the expectation that it will is very damaging. I also struggled with the physical-intervention aspects (called TIPP usually) which didn't work at all for me and felt frankly like doctor-approved self harm. DBT can get very culty, which set off a ton of red flags for me -- possibly false flags, but they still waved real big.

And that's because I also have a lot of trust issues surrounding therapy. To the point where, the minute one of the people running the DBT class made actually quite gentle fun of me for asking a question he couldn't answer, I checked out on anything he said. We were learning about a DBT concept called Wise Mind and I asked, "If wise mind is an identifiable mental state, how do we know if we're in it?" and when he couldn't quite answer beyond "It's different for everyone" I said, "But if we know it's real there must be some kind of common denominator, a measurable data point," and he said "Well, Sam, you're not going to levitate" and the rest of the class laughed. Sorry bud, this is almost certainly an over-reaction, but I'm me and you lost me when you came at me instead of just admitting you didn't know. (Also it turns out I just live in Wise Mind like 80% of the time which is one reason I couldn't tell.)

But basic talk therapy outside of DBT is just...you talk at someone about your problems and come up with ways to try and solve them, which is a lot more straightforward and way less frustrating. You have to be an active participant, you have to both have a goal and be willing to discuss reaching it, but that goal can be as simple as just "figure out what my mental health goals should be" at first. You don't have to learn like, vocabulary for it.

The thing is, while I have seen some improvement in regulation issues, I also struggle with basic talk therapy. Most people, and this blew my mind, see measurable improvement in nine to eighteen therapy sessions. A lot of people don't go long-term, they just are having a moment and get help getting through the moment and then can disengage, with their therapist's approval.

I was in therapy consistently from the age of nine to eighteen and only stopped because I reached legal majority and physically refused to go.

Not one minute of those nine years did I want to be there. And, because none of the three therapists I saw across those years actually explained to me why I was there or how therapy worked, for me it felt like "Your punishment for having feelings is to speedrun every feeling you had this week in an hour, to a stranger." There was also what my current therapist believes to be some extremely unethical behavior going on, which didn't help.

So it has taken actually a lot of time to get to a place where I would even allow her to understand what help I need. I've been in therapy for about a year (generally weekly but there have been some gaps) and it has only recently gotten deeper than very basic interpersonal problem-solving.

Like, two weeks ago I told her, "I had a thought this week that I couldn't tell you about something I was doing because then you'd have material on me" (meaning blackmail material) "and that's a fucked-up thing to think." And once I'd actually identified it as fucked up I had zero issue telling her about it, wasn't even nervous as I did so. Who's she going to tell? She's literally legally constrained from telling.

I think well over half of what she does is either validate that whatever emotion I'm having is normal, affirm my reactions so I don't keep believing I behaved weirdly, or praise something I've done that was a positive act. Does this work? Not always, because I'm unfortunately very aware that it's part of her job to do those things. But yeah, sometimes. Even if you don't fully believe it, "Hey that was a really smart move" is nice to hear. Sometimes she helps me come up with a plan for stressful future events or (rarely) behavior modification, and sometimes she either provides me with research or points me towards research I can do on my own. We don't do meditation or affirmations or stuff like that.

Like, last week I brought up the fact that I hadn't really ever thought about how if I have a disability that causes emotional dysregulation and I got it from my parents, they also likely had undiagnosed emotional dysregulation when raising me. So she said I should look into research on children with emotionally dysregulated parents. I was pretty annoyed by what I found (the ONE TIME adults are the focus instead of the kids is the ONE TIME I needed to learn about the kids, really?) but it led to something that was both informative and upsetting, so we discussed that. And when I was stumped about how to move forward with the information, she suggested that my general coping mechanism of writing about it was probably a good plan.

(At which point I just silently advanced my powerpoint presentation to the next slide, where I had a series of quotes from the Shivadh novels where Michaelis, acting as a parent, repeatedly does the exact opposite of the upsetting thing, because I realized even before the meeting that it's an ongoing theme in my work whenever I deal with people being parents. It's a good thing she has a sense of humor and also that I do.)

So yeah. Going into therapy you have to be ready to reject a therapist if you don't like them or if they get weird and pushy, you have to be ready to be a self-advocate, but you are the client; it shouldn't be super difficult to find someone who can at least walk you through what you want from it and agree not to do the stuff you don't want, and if you want to stop going you just...stop going.

Good luck, in any case! I hope you get what you need, whether or not that ends up being therapy.

[drivinmeinsane]

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.”

[carrymelikeimcute]

Going over the izzy/lucius/shark exchange is so interesting in the context of this being an episode about apologies. About making concessions and trying to fix things.

(In this ep there's a lot about ed making amends/accommodating the crew's triggers and trauma. It's also about stede having to fix things when he upsets the superstitious crew by not treating their feelings as valid.)

At the start we have Ed's (probably well intentioned) but evasive, non-apology. He does an 'I'm sorry you feel that way' sort of apology about 'whatever that bad stuff was'. It's a wish to do better, but it doesn't really cover what went before. A lot of people interject here, but Izzy remains completely still and silent, off to one side.

Lucius says he never used the word 'sorry' and rightly calls this out. Roach however, says he's never heard an apology before - and liked it - so this seems like as much as it's a first for Ed to take even some accountability, it's probably the first time some of the crew have seen a captain (or anyone else) do this too.

Archie says 'They just get away with it and we move on'.

Lucius rounds on Izzy, because obviously Izzy should have the biggest grievance here. But Izzy responds to the question about Ed's apology as if it was about piracy in general - clearly showing that the cycle of abuse is a feature, not a bug. This is part of his life and identity as a pirate. This is, actually, things going back to normal. You get whipped (and we see these scars on him later) no one apologises, and you just reset to how it was before, pretending nothing has been altered until it all bubbles over again.

Ed then tells stede that he's never apologised for anything. Confirming that most of the crew's responses are in line with their past experiences.

Then Ed goes to fix the door and tells it that it's not its fault that it's broken, it was just doing it's job. This directly parallels Izzy's rant to the figurehead about it failing to do it's job. Ed could be talking about himself here, as Izzy was talking about himself - but to me it doesn't fit that well, because what 'job' was Ed trying to do? He could instead be acknowledging, indirectly, that he is aware that Izzy was doing his job - trying to make sure they all survived and functioned as a crew. Ed probably broke that door, and he broke Izzy. But he has yet to talk to him about it.

Immediately following this, is when he scares the BEJESUS out of Lucius and tells him 'it would be faster to get all this out in one go'. It sounds like a reasonable suggestion, but we know that it doesn't actually work. Lucius pushes him off the boat and it doesn't help. Because 'I hurt you, so now you hurt me' doesn't benefit the abused, it's still about making the abuser feel better - making them feel punished and therefore redeemed, even when their victim isn't healed. I don't think Ed is trying to manipulate Lucius here - both of them think it might help to 'fix things' but fixing things takes emotional intelligence that's not really developed yet.

ENTER, THE SHARK

Izzy starts working on the shark, after the non-apology. He doesn't have it in the 'candle fighting' scene obvs - but he does receive an apology in that scene, when stede says 'feet' and then corrects himself to foot. It's a simple straightforward apology, even if he does sort of laugh awkwardly. Izzy also at least attempted to apologise to Stede in ep. 3 - so he clearly sees the use in apologies - AND right after the apology, Izzy agrees to help stede. Their relationship changes. It gets better and they're no longer stuck in those old patterns. Izzy is full-on gentle parenting stede - even when he shoots down a fucking sail.

He also, notably, states that the crew's feelings on the curse are important. Meaning, how the crew feels is important to him, period.

After this, we're back to Lucius throwing Ed overboard. But it doesn't work because Ed doesn't remember the talent show thing, he doesn't really know why Lucius was so blindsided by that betrayal of trust. It's not about who goes overboard. It's about the dynamics underneath that and those can't be fixed by just trading places for a moment.

FINALLY. We see Izzy finishing the shark, and he's completely unsurprised that Lucius pushing Ed into the water didn't fix things. Izzy's done this 'tit for tat' thing - betraying Ed to the English over being banished - and it ended terribly for both of them. It escalated things. He knows it's not as simply as getting even with someone.

The solution Izzy has chosen to the cycle of his relationship with Ed is to pretend that Ed hasn't done anything to him. A shark did it. Like with the non-apology, blame is being shifted to a third party 'the bad things' the 'bad times'. Lucius (rightly) points out that this is not healthy, but Izzy's response, that's better than not moving on, clearly resonates.

Izzy's response to being hurt was to 1. Get even and 2. (when that proved deeply unsatisfying and made things worse) to put the unresolved conflict behind him. Because he doesn't think Ed is ever going to apologise or change, and wanting those things just hurt more.

Anyone who has parents/a partner/friend who's NEVER apologised for anything, knows how he's feeling. You stop trying to have it out and fix the relationship, and it starts to wither, even though the other person thinks it's healthy.

'Not moving on is worse' is a warning, and it's one that Lucius takes to heart, immediately trying to centre positive things instead of resentment and anger. He shares his feelings with Pete, and their relationship thrives.

The issue here, is that denial doesn't work. Lucius might be able to move on from what happened to him without a proper apology from Ed, but that's because he's not in a relationship with him. Izzy's the one who's really in it with Ed - he's had DECADES of this shit. That can't be willed away.

Stede's resolution to the curse conflict models a healthier method and one that I'm hoping we see in a future episode between Ed/Izzy. He validates the crew's feelings, make a sacrifice (the suit) and TOGETHER they collaborate on a solution to the issue that is mutually satisfactory - he even gets to keep the shirt, as a sort of compromise. It isn't about just making stede or the crew feel better, it's about moving on together.

This happens with Ed and Fang! Ed actually apologises once he realises what, specifically he did wrong. Fang says they're 'sweet' because he beat Ed to death (oof) which outwardly seems like retaliation working - but there has also been an actual apology and Fang wasn't retaliating against Ed, he was standing up for himself - a physical version of saying 'that wasn't OK - you need to change'.

This method of resolution is echoed in the final scene, with stede and ed. They reach an understanding about the pace of their relationship and find a happy medium (holding hands) - mutually satisfied and moving forwards.

Bottom line? I hope we see 1. Ed actually apologise to Izzy and 2. the pair of them outline what it is they want to change in their relationship moving forward, ending the cycle for good.

Thank you for coming to my Ed talk.

[wand3rlustm3]

what abt perfectstudent!reader x stoner!txt?? 🙏🙏🙏

Perfect Student!Reader x Stoner!TXT

Note: Hello anon 😞 I am so sorry to get back to you after months of waiting. I was not ignoring you, and I meant to get back to you sooner, but my first ever official semester of college took a toll on me mentally. I had to take a break.

I'll start off with a small headcanon for each member, and you can let me know if you want me to add to it, okay? This is also the first time I'm writing a bulleted fic, and I hope you enjoy it ^3^

Warning: Suggestive, NSFW, mentions of drug use (weed), 18+

Yeonjun

taps your shoulder during class with questions because he's too high and he knows that you have amazing grades so you can help him

the thing is that when you respond to him, he's too high to understand you either so he just laughs (and pisses u off)

whines when you don't respond to him, and asks if you can help him after class since you're busy actually paying attention in class

but when you two are the only ones in the classroom, he gets distracted and starts looking down your shirt

fuck—now he's hard and he can only think of how he wants you bent over the teacher's desk as he leaves a bruising grip on your hips. *_*

Soobin

I think we can all agree that soobin is a perv I'm sorry

His pencil fell out of his hands when he was absenminded and toying with it, so as a kind gesture, you bent over to pick it up.

Soobin's reddened eyes immediately focus on your plump ass and he starts blushing as he stutters and says his thanks to you.

But when you get up and lean over his desk to hand him his pencil, he starts staring at your tits instead and starts imagining how they'd feel in his mouth >_<

He asks if you can teach him, mentally noting the way your fingers wrap around the pencil—just so he could touch himself to the thought of your hands wrapped around his cock instead.

Beomgyu

I don't know why but Beomgyu strikes me as someone who would get REALLY needy when they're high

Straight up wouldn't even act like he needs help with schoolwork, and says that he has a problem for you to solve but it's in his pants

Being a perfect student, you of course had a reputation to uphold, but could you help it when someone as handsome as him was slipping his fingers to the inside of your legs?

No— and that's why he fingers you during class as you try to continue taking notes. You try to hold back your moans and facial expressions so the teacher doesn't find out :3

Taehyun

Taehyun strikes me as the type of stoner to somehow still have perfect grades even though he's always high???

He literally makes up an entire plan of acting stupid even though he gets A's on every assignment....like "Hey y/n...how do you do this? Can you please come over and give me an in-depth lesson? I'm having a bit of trouble"

You know that he's a stoner but you know that you're no one to judge him, so you go to his house and try to help anyways.

During the lesson he doesn't need, your soft thighs keep brushing against his, and he just wishes you'd sit on his face and let him eat you out until they shake and tremble. ^_^

Huening Kai

Oh boy....I don't even know what to say about this one

Usually when he gets high, it opens him up a little bit and makes him feel less shy, but around you??

He literally turns completely red every time you look at him, and even though he feels bad, he can't stop staring at you (as well as your body)

One time when you're not looking as you study for an upcoming exam, you accidentally knock into him and somehow land directly on him

While apologizing and getting off of him, you somehow perfectly straddle his hips and he can feel your warm pussy against his strained dick.

He misses the entire class because he's too busy touching himself in the restroom. He 100% imagines you sucking him off with those pretty lips of yours that he'd like to kiss. >3<

[strangersteddierthings]

ooo can i suggest prompt six? "Did you lie to me?" hehe

Thanks for sending a prompt, Nonny! It's my daily ficlet for today!

Daily Ficlet 6

Steve's never been a secret before. He's too likeable (or hateable) for that. He's never had to hide a relationship before because what girl wouldn't want to be with him? All his friendships are well known, or were, back when he was in high school. There weren't even secret rivalries!

So, it's an adjustment, keeping this thing with Eddie a secret. But he's trying. Even though all he wants to do is hold his hand every hour of every day he refrains because. Because?

Well, he's not really full on those details. He knows it's partially because Eddie isn't out to anyone in the group except Steve. He's not even out to Robin, and Steve thought for sure they'd figure each other out and bond over it but that hasn't happened yet. Eddie's also said something about keeping it to themselves so they can just be themselves, together, without other people. When Eddie had whispered that it had sounded so sweet and romantic. But that was, like, two months ago and it's.... it's still romantic, but Steve wants to ramble about how beautiful Eddie is to Robin.

Also! This secret keeping is causing Robin to worry! He can't keep secrets from Robin, he never has. He told Robin he thought he might like guys exactly 0.4 seconds after he'd realized it! In fact, he's so bad at secret keeping that he's told her he has a boyfriend. Won't say who, and Robin won't push. All he had to say was his boyfriend wasn't ready to come out and that was that.

He's out to the Party, too. Mostly as an accidental outing he didn't back down from even when Will offered him an out with his quick thinking. Jonathan knows, too. That was an on-purpose telling after Will came out to Steve when they were finally alone, and Steve learned Jonathan knew about Will.

Anyway. Steve's never been a secret before. He doesn't want to continue being one. He just wants Eddie's permission to tell Robin. He'll be fine with waiting even if Eddie says he's not ready for Robin to know, of course, but he just. He wants Robin to know who the amazing person he rants about is.

So, imagine his surprise when, halfway down the stairs to the basement at Eddie and Wayne's new house to talk to Eddie about telling Robin, he hears his name.

"-because it's Steve Harrington, y'know?" Gareth's voice floats up the stairs to Steve and he freezes. Is Gareth a goddman psychic!? How did he know Steve was here?

"That's your reasoning? Because it's Steve?" Eddie asks, and oh. They don't know he's here. They're talking about him. Steve should make himself known. He shouldn't just stand here and listen. But. Well, if Eddie's finally telling his friends about them, he kinda wants to hear it. Want to hear Eddie spill the secret so they can quit being so secretive.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who's always saying people don't change. Did you lie to me? To us? Has Steve changed?" That's Jeff's voice, and his questions make Steve gut twist. But Eddie's not Nancy. He's not- they aren't bullshit. Eddie knows that. He'll defend Steve. He'll tell them the truth. There's silence, though. Eddie doesn't defend him.

"What's with the silence?" Frankie asks, when Eddie's been quiet too long. Funny, Steve wanted to ask the same thing.

"I'm trying to not snap at you all," Eddie says, and he sounds angry. "I get that you guys might still be hesitant or whatever, but you don't get to come here and throw accusations when you haven't even tried to be friends with him! This is why I don't invite him to come hang out with us! 'Cause you can be a bunch of dicks sometimes!"

Steve feels a warmth bloom inside him. He knew Eddie would defend him, he did. It's just hard to believe sometimes, and he's not going to make that Eddie's problem. But hearing it. Hearing that Eddie does defend him even when he doesn't know Steve's around to hear it. Fuck, it makes him want to kiss Eddie so bad.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," Jeff says, "you're right. We are being dicks, and pretty standoffish with Steve. We aren't giving him a fair chance."

"You're not!" Eddie agrees aggressively. "Even if he wasn't my b- my friend, he's still the reason I'm even fucking alive. So, respect that at least."

Steve stands at the midpoint of the stairs until the conversation turns to a different topic before he tiptoes back to the top of the steps to turn around and thunder down the stairs loudly, giving everyone in the basement a warning to his arrival.

He'll tell a lie, that he was driving around because he was bored and thought to stop and see what Eddie was up to, and get invited to stay and hang out. Eddie's friends are more open with him than they usually are and Steve doesn't waste the opportunity to try and really engage with them, get to know them.

He can be a secret just a little longer, he supposes, when he looks away from Jeff and catches Eddie staring at him with the same adoration he sees on Eddie's face when they're alone. And judging by the almost slip up earlier, Eddie might be getting closer to not being a secret, too.

[rogueddie]

Thinkin Bout You T | 1,061 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy

Even though he can admit that it's a selfish desire, Eddie still wants to use Steve's pool. He'd thought that, after finally defeating Vecna and saving Max, they could use it as an excuse to have some sort of party.

He's always wanted to go to one of Steves infamous, exclusive pool parties.

"No," Steve immediately snapped, when Eddie brought it up. It was the first time Eddie had ever really heard him angry. "No one goes in the pool. No one- just, stay away from it. It's off limits. That's it."

He'd been confused, but accepted his answer. It didn't matter what he wanted, it clearly made Steve uncomfortable. It wasn't his place to challenge those boundaries.

... but it did make him curious.

At first, he tried to figure it out on his own. Or, more accurately, tried to gauge how Steve fully and truly felt about the pool.

Steve avoided the thing like it would bite him if he looked at it too long. He always steered conversations away from it, or swimming in general, too.

"I'm worried," Eddie admitted, when he finally gave in and turned to Robin. "He can't keep avoiding pools forever."

"It's not pools," Robin says, reluctantly. "It's his pool, specifically. You'll have to ask him, but... you'd get it. If you knew why."

But the only answer he got from Steve was vague, something about Nancy and bad memories.

"I don't want to know what happened," Eddie starts, worming past Nancy as soon as she opens the door. "I only need to know if redecorating the pool might help. Like, if it's bad memories tied to it then spicing it up so it looks different... that'll help, right?"

Nancy stares at him for a moment, needing a moment to catch up.

"We are talking about Steve?" She finally asks.

"Yeah!"

"Right... um... redecorating..." She looks off to the side, frowning in thought. "It might help. He probably won't want to get in himself, no matter what, but... yeah, changing it up might make him more comfortable with it in general."

"Great! I don't know how to redecorate a pool."

Nancy rolls her eyes.

But she jumps into action. She calls Robin, Jonathan and Argyle, gathering them together so they can brainstorm ideas.

It's Jonathan who suggests they try and make it more kid friendly. Argyle is the one who collects pool decals, agreeing on placing them too. Robin insists on being the one to chose the colors with Nancy's help.

Eddie gets stuck with collecting floats and toys, making a mental list of what they could get.

With their hush money, they're able to put aside a decent amount of money for the budget. They're definitely going to be able to completely change that pool.

Getting the kids to agree to distract Steve for the entire day is too easy. They don't even ask why.

Steve calls Robins less than half an hour after they call the kids, pleading and whining about the kids plan. He tries to get her to come up with some excuse to get him out of it.

"Sorry," Robin says, wincing. "Need to stay home with mom. Sounds serious."

It takes another half an hour until Lucas is able to radio them, giving them the all clear.

Sneaking round to Steve's pool feels strange. Mostly thanks to how casual it is, how calm the others look despite the fact that they're technically breaking in.

"We're not breaking in," Nancy points out. "We have keys. He said we can come over whenever we want. We're welcome."

"Hey," Jonathan says, snapping his fingers to get their attention. "Come on, we have a lot to do."

And it is a lot.

Working together, they're able to get through the worst of it pretty fast. It's impossible to rush it all though, having to wait for paint to dry or glue to stick.

They've barely sat down, finally finishing everything, when Steve gets back with the kids.

"Woah, this is amazing!" Dustin says, grinning wide, the first to burst out the back doors.

"Holy shit," Mike says, next out. "How did you do all this in that time?"

"What are you guys yelling about?" Steve asks, voice distant.

The kids scramble out of the way, watching the door for Steve, excited.

"Where have you- oh."

He freezes in the doorway, eyes darting around the garden.

"Surprise!" Robin yells, jumping over to him. "You like it?"

"How did you..."

"It was easy," Nancy says, reassuring.

"Eddie noticed that you hate the pool," Robin adds. "He suggested we redecorate. Change it up. Make it something new."

Steve looks between them all, face blank.

"Steve?" Eddie says, shifting nervously.

"Thank you," Steve says. "It's... thank you."

"Does this mean we can use your pool now?" Mike asks.

Steve laughs, though it sounds slightly choked. "Yeah," he says, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever, let's have a pool party."

The kids cheer, rushing off to get changed. The others follow after them slower, leaving Steve and Eddie alone.

"This was your idea?" Steve asks.

"Kinda? We all worked together to actually... do it. I only suggested we do something. Nancy's the brains behind it all, really. And Argyle."

"Still, you thought to do all... this."

"I guess."

"Thank you, Ed."

"Oh, nah, don't. It was motivated entirely by, like... greed."

Steve snorts, disbelieving.

"It was! You never let us use the pool."

"You wouldn't need to redecorate this much to do that."

"That... yeah, I would," Eddie winces at how his voice cracks. "You're overprotective."

"Eds," Steve grabs his hand, finally drawing his attention to how they've drifted to each other. "Just accept the thank you, alright?"

Eddie glances at their hands, half expecting Steve to pull away. But, despite the flush in his cheeks, he keeps a tight hold.

"Alright," Eddie finally says. "You're welcome?"

"Great," Steve tugs at his hand, keeping ahold of him as he drags them to the house. "I have spare swim shorts that you can borrow."

"You sure they won't be too big?"

Steve glances back, just in time to catch Eddie's eyes drifting down. He laughs bumping his shoulder into Eddie's.

"Perv."

"You love it," Eddie teases, expecting Steve to take it ask a joke.

But he smiles, soft and genuine, squeezing Eddie's hand as he says, "I really do."