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bookwyrminspiration · 10 months

Note

THANK U FOR RECOGNiZING BUFF FITZ ! i think a lot of us forget his insane workout regimen they mentioned in flashback. To me personally yhe is like ken ^__^

YEAH!!! he can just?? do 45 handstand pushups upon someone asking? that is not normal behavior that's wild. and he goes for his morning runs like the fun little guy he is :)

Of course there is potential for emotional complication/angst when it comes to working out, as we saw in Neverseen that Fitz idolized Alvar (not in the same regard as Keefe, but he was someone Fitz looked up to), and Alvar is notoriously someone who worked out near religiously. So he may have been following in his brother's footsteps, which is now a whole entire can of worms.

BUT THAT ASIDE!!! Fitz works out he puts in the effort (though he did recently say he was out of shape, not that I trust that statement), he's got muscle! He should be buff!

Also to each their own but I personally do not mean like super super lean muscly, I think he should be super muscly and squishy. have some fat protecting those muscles. some substance to him. thank you for your time

#kotlc #fitz vacker #quil's queries #lemontarto #all caps #literally still thinking about that handstand pushup scene #like what /was/ that #why did shannon make him do that #why did she make him capable of it #that's so so random #and so so specific #imaging sophie just standing there awkwardly while fitz does his handstand pushups. silently fuming #like that's gotta take time #and they're all just standing there while he does that #thats so silly #adn /45/??? that's such a high number #literally what was with that

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grishamanimationstudios102 · 2 years

Photo

An update on Fitz the Dog’s human design. His hairstyle now slightly resembles his dog ears.

Fitz the Dog is property of Fleischer Studios and Paramount Pictures.

#fitz the dog #out of the inkwell #the inkwell imps #fleischer studios #1920s #human #humanization #human form #fan art #traditional art #paramount pictures #cartoons #animation #silent star #graphite #charcoal #model sheet #rubber hose #update

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dilfscvm · 1 year

Text

Fitzgerald Grant x Female! Reader

Hi! This is my own work, I wrote it and I much don't like to have it posted in other social media flatforms without my permission.

WARNINGS : This contains smut, if you don't like such content please skip it and don't read it. Vulgar words has been used also. Do excuse my grammatical errors and typos, correct me nicely or else I'll block block you. English is not my first language:)) Enjoy reading!<33

Special thanks to the owner of this gif<3

“I told you to stay away from him!” Fitz yells at you, he's in the pit of rage and you know you just crossed the line.

Making him jealous because you wanted to make him pay at what he did to you a week ago. He thought you got over it, but looks like his naughty wife has a better plan. And that is to make him angry. What's on his mind right now?

I'll get you bend over this dining table, fuck you and breed you.

That's what his brain tells him to do. You're his property, you're his and he doesn't like to share. And you absolutely knew it. That's why you make everything on planned.

"I'm sorry, but you really need to stop working." Fitz firmly stated, you're shocked at his sudden statement.

"W-what?" you scoffed.

"I said... I want you to stop working." he repeats as he slowly strode over you, like a lion ready to attack its prey. His eyes tells he craves. You stumped in front of him, face to face, nose almost touched. Eyes raged.

"I. Won't. Stop. Working." you said what is to be said, "I love my work, Fitz, I love working as a professor and you know how much I love my work and you can't just barge here in my office to tell me to resign and stay with you at the white house and fulfill my duty as a first lady. How did you get in here anyways?"

"You don't need to know how I get here, what you need to do is to get all your things and sign these resignation papers and let's go at the white House." his frown deepen, but you can see his eyes averting from your eyes to your lips, his breathing getting heavy as you argue with him.

"I won't resign just because you're jealous of my colleague who haven't done anything but to do his job." you continued. He scoff, he backs away a little shaking his head.

"Believe me, you will." and that's the last thing he said before he walks out your office. You stared at the door where he just walked out of, jaw drop, can't believe that your husband can do such things.

Well he's the president of the United States after all.

You're at his birthday party, talking with some guests. Not paying attention at your husband who's been such a attention seeker for you.

Since he made you sign those resignation letter you give him silent treatment that he deserves. He can't just manipulate you just because he's jealous.

“Dance with me?” you heard a voice from your back making you turn around. It's your colleague, the man Fitz don't ever want to see.

“Well why not.” you giggle and took his hand that been waiting for you to take.

You wanted him here. His name is Race, and he's a colleague, a married man but it's a private marriage. Fitz were a fool, he doesn't even let you explain it, and now, you will take advantage of it.

Race lead you to the dance floor where there's already some people who's dancing, including your husband who's with a old lady which you can recognise as the 40th president's wife.

Well watch me turn the tables around, darling.

“So, I bet he still doesn't know.” he smiled at you which you returned with a naughty smirk.

“This is a lesson, he has been fooling himself. You know that I would never cheat on him, I love him too much to break his heart.” you factly stated. He sighs as he slowly sway you, syncing with the music.

“I know that you cheeky minx.” he whisper that makes you both laugh together.

Both of you continued to dance and talk about random things up until Fitz finally notice, well actually you've seen him, he got his eyes on you. Watching you dance with the man he despise right now, and all he wanted to do were to yank you off him and take you right in front of everybody, specially him. You're playing with fire.

“Ma'am if you'll excuse me.” he politely smiles at the woman who nods with a smile. As soon as he turns around, his face contorts into a deep frown, raging eyes glued at you.

He walks with power, greeting every person he walk pass with a smile then immediately turns back into a frown as soon as he looks at you.

“I think that would be great, I like it and I know-”

“Mind if I steal my wife for a while?” firm, and low husky voice. Fitz says as he folds his arms across his chest. His face shows it all. Anger, rage, jealousy... Lust.

Well you were about to say that you like race's idea to surprise his wife for her birthday.

“Why sure, Mr. President.” race politely agrees as he smiled at the man, not paying attention to fitz's face, looking like he's ready to punch him.

Fitz did not waste anymore time as he possessively pull you away from him by your waist. He then pressed his lips on yours, taking you by surprise. Race sealed his lips containing his evil grin. Success.

You on the other hand, didn't give what Fitz wants. You did not kiss him back making him pull inches away from your lips.

“You like him don't you?” Fitz slowly said. You stared at him, slowly, a smile formed in your lips, mocking him. You know it makes him more hungry for you, and you like every bit of it.

Knowing your husband, he loves you so much, he's a very territorial, possessive, and obsessive at you. Well because you're his wife, and he needs you to know it.

“I love you.” you smiled at him. He'll say it back. No matter how he's mad at you. You know he will.

“I...love you too.” he whisper, as he look down on your lips, almost looks ashamed. I know you too well.

“Dining room.” you whisper at him before pulling away to walk out of the room.

“What?” he asks confusedly. His brows knitted, his signature look. You smiled evily, seductively bit your lower lip as you said;

“I know you like it anywhere, baby.”

Fitz is a kinky man, you must declare.

A knowing smirk were now plastered on his face making you giggle.

“Meet you there, baby!” you turned around and walk off.

Did he waste more time? Of course he didn't. He quickly walk off the room full of guest and walk towards dining room, where you waited there. Wearing nothing but a pair of black lingerie and a black stocking.

“Y/N-” his breath caught above his lungs as the view in front of him completely astonished him. “What's all of these?” he asks, as his eyes continue to hungrily Starr at your body up and down.

You hop ontop of the table and crossed your legs. He slowly walk towards you.

“A lesson.” you simply said when he's already standing right in front of you and tries to open your legs.

“A lesson for what?” he looks confused. You smirk and parted your legs, you hooked him with your legs on his hips and forcely pull him using it.

You put a finger on his lips and it just parted for you, “You know what you've done, Fitz, and now I'll teach you.. A.. Lesson.” you lean closer to him, he thought you will kiss him, so he lean forward to reach your lips but you pull back. “Ah, ah, darling... You need to be taught and punished—”

“Screw you.” that's all he got to say before he slam his lips on you, you tried to pull away but you're too intoxicated at his taste and scent. He kissed you hungrily, both hands on either side of your cheeks. Both with heavy breathings, both were panting, and moaning in each others mouths, as their tounge collide, exploring the insides of it adding more heat down your womanhood.

Fitz grab ahold of your stockings and rip it apart making you gasp into his mouth. But keep on kissing him still anyways. He pushed your legs more apart and start to kiss your neck. His hands were now roaming you body, specially down your area.

“F-fuck, Fitz.” you moaned as his kiss went down your cleavage, to your stomach up until he reached where you wanted him to be. He place a kiss on your lingerie, as his eyes stilled on yours.

“You can't punish me. I will punish you... For being such a brat, for ignoring me, for teasing me, you think you'll get away with it? Think again...” he snarled. You scoff at him. He just smirked. That devil smirk he always does when you both on bed. It turns you on.

“Fuck you.” you smile and press your lips on his kissing him ever so roughly as your hand went to his belt and undo it. He slapped your hand away and grab a hold of your ass and yank you off the table and put you on your feet as he turn you around, panting as he retrieve his breath, as well as you. He continue to kiss on your neck as he unbuckle his belt and push his pants down.

“Fuck you, you mean.” he chuckles, he ripped your panties and thrown it on the floor leaving you gasping. There's nothing can make you more turned on than you are now.

He latched his lips again on your neck as you grab ahold of his head pushing him more to it, moaning as you did. Fitz let his mouth open while he teased your hole with the tip of his enormous cock. Confusedly you is when he put his hand tightly on your mouth, but it didn't take long when he rams his cock inside of you with a guttural groan, trying to contain his own sounds.

You swear if he hadn't covered your mouth, you would scream. You never got used to his cock, up until now.

“I will never get tired fucking this sweet, tight pussy of yours, Y/N.” he whisper erotically in your ear, while you left there moaning in his palm, grinding your hips with his as he thrust slow but you can feel the roughness.

“Now tell me, my sweet, does teasing me satisfy you?” he asks as he slowly fastening his thrust, breathing were getting more heavier. You shook your head. “Liar.” he grunts, he let's go of your lips and push you down the table, making you lay your front to it as he grab onto your hips and continue his bruising pace. He pause a little when you began to moan, as much as he wanted to hear it, you must minimise your moans so no guest will get traumatised, “Please do be quiet for me, sweetheart, there's people outside. I don't want them knowing I'm screwing my bratty wife while I have party to be at. Wouldn't want to look disrespectful yeah?” he whispers at your ears. You only nodded, panting. “Good.” he smirk before he bit your ear gently. He then suddenly pushed in roughly making you squeal and him shushing you.

Fitz won't let you dominate him, we'll at least not now. He doesn't have much time for you to tease and edge him. But he will let you do that later, when no one's in the house.

He spread your ass to watch his harden cock penetrate your wet cunt, he couldn't help but whimper looking at the beautiful view. He sure is won't ever get enough of you.

No one can ever make his cock this alive, only you, his wife. You always turn him on even in small things you do. Like the way you walk, you talk, your smell, he gets turned on easily, if it's you who'll make him.

“Fuck, Fitz, I'm close.” you quietly moan, Fitz was too lost in pleasure. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pull you against his chest as he thrust up to help you cum for him. He's nearing, as much as he doesn't want this to end, he has visitors to entertain.

“Darling, I'm gonna cum.” he whisper against your skin. His eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows were knitted, pleasure takes over him. “I know you want to cum too. Cum hof me.” he place a kiss on your neck.

“Fitz..” you moan, almost out of breath. His hand went to your breast and squeeze it tightly as he left his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Ah! Fuck!” your walls clamped around his cock that enough to edge him, and leave him moaning as you cum.

“Oh God, you feel so good.” he groans through gritted teeth. He continues to thrust in you as he breed you, filling you with his cum—wait he breeds you?!

“Fitz!” you yell at him. He frowned at you.

“W-what?” he says panting.

“You finished in me!”

Not to be rude but you both talked about having another baby and he said it's not the right time yet to have another one, and you agreed with it.

“So?” he asks confusedly. He's still inside of you, still thrusting very slowly as he just reached his climax. “You're my wife, I have the rights to do so.” he said, he slowly pulls away making you bite your lip. You turn around to face him.

“Yeah, but I thought you don't want another baby yet?” you ask, he sighs and pull you closer to him as he wrap his arms around your hips.

“Jerry's not a baby anymore, he's four—well he'll still remain our baby but I miss having a small human in my arms,” he chuckles. He place a hand on your cheek, a finger in your lips and continues; “I want to have another baby, I know that you also want another but I choosed to deny you. I'm sorry.” he whisper, your eyes were glistening as he rub your cheeks.

“Thank you, and I love you.” you smiled at him, which he returns.

“I love you too.” he says back with a chuckle. You giggle and tiptoed his lips. Kissing him deeply and passionately.

It didn't last long when he lift you up again and sat you on the table before he push you on your back. He pulls away with a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Fitz!” you giggle when he pulls a chair and sat on it before he pulls you by your tighs to the edge of the table. He smirk at you making you part your lips.

“What? I'm hungry.” he teasingly said before burying his head between your tighs leaving you breathless as you throw your head at the back, moaning as you did.

#fitzgerald grant #scandal #olivia pope #imagines #oneshot #y/n #wattpad #romance #tony goldwyn #actors #readersgonnaread

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drivinmeinsane · 7 months

Text

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.”

#the gray man #sierra six #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #the gray man fanfic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling character #the gray man (2022)#courtland gentry x reader #my work #my posts

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nijigasakilove · 8 months

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“I can’t get him off my mind” “I’m in love with a man” I got news for you buddy…

Jokes aside, another very well adapted Mushoku episode that highlights the rising feelings between Rudeus and Fitz. Things are about to reach a climax(pun intended) in this arc and it’s clear that both will have to be honest about their feelings. These last two episodes are going to be peak. Can’t wait.

For the most part, Bind gave a very faithful adaptation in this episode. They wanted to focus on Rudeus and Fitz’ feelings for one another so they cut out a few monologue and minor details but the slice of life emphasis was very fun. Might make another post in a bit going over some omissions. Some really funny moments like Julie drinking and just a great job of making the world feel alive. Even in mushoku episodes where not much happens it always goes by so quickly. These next two episodes are going to be amazing.

Wait ayo did my goat rudeus really try jerking off in the library there at the end lmaooo. I thought it was just one touch based on how it’s worded in the book 😂

#summer anime 2023 #anime summer 2023 #2023 summer anime #summer2023anime #mushoku tensei s2 #mushoku tensei #jobless reincarnation #mushoku tensei: jobless reincarnation #mushoku tensei: isekai ittara honki dasu #jobless reincarnation s2 #rudeus greyrat #silent fitz #fitz mushoku #Rudeus mushoku #MT anime

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oliversrarebooks · 2 months

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The Rare Bookseller Part 41: Alexander's Mark

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, abuse, burns, mouth whump, aftermath of forced self-harm

The beach. He was imagining a beach.

A place filled with warmth and sunshine, sunshine that would protect him from vampires. A place of freedom, where the waves would crash against his knees and the salt air would blow through his hair. A place where the auction house and its monstrous inhabitants were a nightmare fit for a cheap horror novel.

Maybe if he managed to pass out, he'd wake up on the sand, the searing pain gone, his body returned to him.

Fitz's mind forced itself back into reality as his new master led him into a different room. He couldn't remember walking -- he couldn't remember anything after the hazy, muddled visions of a seal burning into his chest. The pain was causing his vision to blur and his mind to haze over, but he recognized Mr. Alexander and Miss Lily as they walked into the room. Miss Lily had her head buried in Mr. Alexander's shoulder, but both stood up and at attention when his master entered.

Miss Lily. Her punishment.

Her dress was somewhat askew, her hair falling out of place, and she'd obviously been crying, but there was otherwise no sign of the horrific thing her sire had ordered her to do. But he knew from her expression as she'd left the room that she'd actually done it. There was no question.

"Alexander. Lily."

"Sire," said Mr. Alexander, bowing. Miss Lily said nothing, bowing and holding her mouth firmly shut.

"My knife, if you please, Lily."

Miss Lily stepped forward and gave the Maestro back the silver knife, clean as it was when he handed it to her. He took her by the chin and opened her jaw. Fitz found that he was mercifully able to shut his eyes to avoid looking.

"Satisfactory," said his master, and Fitz would have shuddered at this if he was actually able to do so. He couldn't believe that Miss Lily could be so calm after cutting her own tongue out. It was impossible.

Yet he could feel the enforced stoic expression on his own face, even as internally he was writhing in pain. Was it any different?"

"Sire," said Mr. Alexander, his deep voice surprisingly shaky, "what have you done to -- to your thrall?"

"I have marked him as my own. Surely you remember."

Mr. Alexander's face showed that he did indeed remember.

"The thrall you so desired, child," said his master. "He is mine, now. My performer, my plaything, a vessel for my will."

Fitz could hardly tell through through his stupor, but Lord Alexander seemed sad, meeting Fitz's gaze with a silent apology, one tinged with longing.

Or maybe it was another dream like the beach, a lie his mind was telling in a desperate attempt at escape. The lie that any of these vampires would care. Not when they had this much power, not when they had no reason to treat him as anything more than a possession.

"I see that, Sire." Mr. Alexander's eyes traveled to the burn on Fitz's flesh.

"Your fondness for this untamed, insolent human is far too obvious. It's unbecoming for a vampire of your stature," said his master. "I have tolerated this folly for far too long. It's long past time it was burned out of you."

"Sire..."

"So I bring you a gift and a punishment in one. I will give this thrall to you, to do with as you see fit."

Fitz's chest tightened. Although he could hardly trust Lord Alexander, he'd much rather be with the vampire who joked amiably with him over the one who burned and slapped him, who effortlessly controlled his body's every move.

Mr. Alexander had nothing but suspicion and fear on his face. "As I see fit, Sire?"

"Yes. I will give you this thrall for a year. At the end of the year, I will evaluate his training. If the training is satisfactory, you may keep the thrall for good. If it is not... then I truly will have no choice but to take it upon myself to punish you both." His master laid one ice-cold hand upon Fitz's head. "But if you do not actually desire him, I'll take him and train him myself."

A trap. An obvious trap. Whatever Mr. Alexander had planned for Fitz, it was clearly never going to be up to this cruel vampire's impossible standards. Mr. Alexander's eyes showed that he knew very well what a raw deal this was.

Never-ending torture for Fitz now... or torture and punishment for them both in a year. Fitz knew which option he would take, given the choice. A lot could happen in one year, and every fiber of his being was screaming for him to get away from his new owner, even if it meant running into the arms of a different monster. But it was a terrible deal for Mr. Alexander. It wasn't possible that he wanted Fitz enough to risk it.

The pain of his burn intensified, causing his breathing to quicken and his vision to dim and fuzz. He struggled against the tunnel vision, trying not to pass out, even as his body stayed rigidly upright with his head bowed.

He was never getting out. He would be trapped in this unbearable hell, not even able to protest, forever, and --

Mr. Alexander's eyes were burning into Fitz, even as he bowed. "Thank you, Sire. I accept your most gracious gift and your most fitting punishment."

Fitz felt himself tremble under the stiff pose he was being held in. The determination in Mr. Alexander's eyes was giving him hope, hope he didn't want to entertain lest it be pulled away from him. After all, if Mr. Alexander wanted to avoid eventual torture, wouldn't he have to be as cruel as his sire?

"Very well, child. You know the consequences of disappointing me," his owner said. "Now you shall mark the thrall directly underneath my mark, as proof of this contract."

Every muscle in Fitz's body tensed painfully as his owner handed over the small metal seal to Mr. Alexander, everything within him screaming for him to run, inwardly thrashing against the power keeping him still, to no avail. Rational thought flew from his mind, and all he knew was that he was going to be burned again. A few tears managed to leak from his eyes as his knees touched the carpet once more, his perfect posture giving no indication of the dizzy disorientation consuming him.

Mr. Alexander was heating the seal in a candle. Mr. Alexander was going to press it against his flesh. Mr. Alexander was --

-- singing.

The song penetrated through his terror, wrapping itself around his mind, and the pain and distress began to lessen. With no choice but to listen, no ability to resist, he felt as though he were floating up and away from his body, observing the scene as if it were happening on a stage. The pain on his chest and his cheek was washed in a soothing coolness, reducing it to a faraway ache.

Calm. Safe. No more pain. No more fear.

He was being placed under a spell again, he realized that, but a spell of bliss and comfort. Mr. Alexander was warming the seal in a candle as he sang. Fitz's mind warred within itself, one portion dreading the pain even as the other wanted to drown in the song and forget it all.

Mr. Alexander approached, lifting his chin and tilting Fitz's head into his gaze, the song shifting to something richer and deeper.

You are desired. You are wanted.

He felt it in his bones, the fleeting, breathtaking feeling of recognition and validation. The high he was always chasing, offered to him in its purest form.

In a instant, Fitz fell completely under the spell, without any more fight.

"You're going to feel a small sting, Fitz, and then there will be no more pain," said Mr. Alexander, holding the metal seal and pulling down the neck of Fitz's dress. "You're doing so well."

You are precious. You belong to me.

He was utterly focused on Mr. Alexander's eyes and his heavenly voice. Nothing else mattered. He didn't even really feel the seal as it pressed into him this time, just below the first burn, too lost in euphoria to care.

"You eased his pain, Alexander," said the Maestro, disapproval dripping from his musical voice.

"There was no need for him to suffer, Sire," said Mr. Alexander with a note of dangerous defiance.

"Suffering is the only teacher we listen to. That is what you do not yet understand. In moments of desperation, when every gentle lesson has fled from our minds, the only teachings left are those ingrained upon us by the deepest suffering." He walked behind Mr. Alexander, stroking his cheek. "This is why you have not learned. Your suffering has not yet been great enough. It is most fortunate that I am a patient vampire. I can see your perfection underneath your shortcomings and unfortunate desires."

He slithered around to where Fitz was still kneeling, petting his hair, and Fitz would have shuddered if he weren't still so entranced. "You and Fitzwilliam are very much alike. I can sense that your fates are bound together, like entwined trees or twin stars. You two will be my magnum opus, my masterpiece."

"...Yes, Sire."

"I'll take my leave now. I must return to my manor before the sun rises, and my coachman waits. Good night, Alexander."

"Good night, Sire."

And the mysterious vampire left the room in a flurry of chill air, and Fitz felt himself collapse to the floor as his limbs were suddenly freed. His head was still cloudy from Mr. Alexander's song, but...

He could move. Everything hurt and he was so exhausted but he could move. A part of him felt like he should try and flee the monsters that harmed him, but he was still dazed, too woozy to stand. He could imagine the ridiculousness of trying to escape from a mansion full of vampires while crawling across the carpet in a confused fog.

Besides, he belonged to Mr. Alexander now.

Fitz heard a choked, shuddering sob and realized that it was coming from him. It was followed by a mangled cry, high pitched -- not him. A glance around his shoulder showed that Miss Lily had collapsed to the floor, blood running from her mouth, curled up in agony.

"Fitz. Fitz, I'm here. Are you all right?"

His focus flew back to Mr. Alexander like a moth to the light. "No, sir, obviously not, sir," he said with a pained laugh.

"I know, I know, an unnecessary question to ask. It's over now. You won't be hurt any more, I promise. Just relax." Mr. Alexander began humming a low tune, and Fitz surrendered to it even as the back of his mind howled in alarm at having his autonomy stolen again. He was too tired, too defeated, and he allowed his breathing and thoughts to slow.

"Good, that's good," said Mr. Alexander. "You're safe for now. I'm going to help you, but I need to check on Lily first, okay?"

Fitz nodded weakly.

"Lil, can you stand?" said Mr. Alexander's voice from somewhere behind him. "You have a room here, right? Is Nellie here with you? If you can walk, I can get us all to your room. Nellie and I will attend to you there. Good, that's it. You can cling to me all you need. There you go. I'll get Fitz."

Fitz felt himself being picked up and carried. He was looking up at Alexander's face, clearly upset but still laced with determination. "I've got you, Fitz," he said. "You're going to be all right."

He began to hum again, a soft and enchanting tune. Fitz wasn't sure what this new spell was doing until he felt his eyelids become suddenly so heavy. A lullaby, a sleeping spell. No, no, he didn't want this -- but a part of him did, a part of him wanted to fly far away from here in his sleep, to have a respite from pain and terror. His half-hearted protest was drowned in a yawn as drowsiness settled over him like a blanket, all of his thoughts bending to the deep, irresistible urge to go to sleep.

Fitz couldn't help but shut his drowsy, heavy eyes, just for a moment.

Just...

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Next week, wrapping up Fitz's nightmare. In the meantime, there will be an interlude of Fitz in happier times, from the point of view of his thrall, Roger. Thanks as always for reading and reblogging!

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tvseries-writings · 4 months

Text

Road Trip VIII

Road trip masterlist

Wandanat x Bioquake x reader (Bobbi x reader platonic!)

TW: blood

Summary of previous chapters: When Nat, Wanda, Daisy, Jemma and reader have an accident, reader is injured so badly that Jemma and Wanda must combine science and magic to save her with only one side effect...special healing powers that allow to project the injuries onto someone else but at a high price. What happens when the girls find out what this “high price” consist in?

Silence invades the room since you told them the truth about the tests. You had hoped that lie would last at least a couple of weeks, but instead it hadn't even lasted a day. Jemma looks at the papers in her hands, barely holding back tears and quickly shaking her head.

They say there are five stages of grief. And even if that is not their mourning, not yet at least, each of them, knowing the truth, is going through at least one of those stages.

Jemma is facing denial, rereading again and again those words that are incomprehensible to you but which Fitz has diligently summarized for you, as if by doing so he can find a permanent solution to your situation that you can accept.

 "No, no, there must be something we can do...if you don't use your powers then, maybe-"

Daisy paces back and forth across the room, making her shake just barely, almost imperceptibly to anyone who doesn't know her. Daisy is incredulous, bewildered by a revelation of such magnitude.

"This is not your choice, all right? I wanted to tell you because I was forced to," you cast a glare at Daisy before continuing to speak, "and you have no say in the matter, get over it."

You know you've been hard on them, you know it and you see it in their looks but it's for their own good and for your own sanity. No one banned them from using their powers, even when they were hurting them so they have no right to ban you...not if you can save lives. You could even heal cancer with your powers, how can they not understand that.

 "You may be right, sometimes our powers hurt us but we don't sign a death warrant every time we use them detka." Wanda takes a few steps toward you but you back away, shaking your head. "I could save who knows how many lives, I...you are special, you always have been, by your powers or your qualities and now I too will finally feel useful in something" "Even if it means your death y/n? Because that's what we're talking about, you can't deny it and each of us is all too aware of it; do you realize that if you keep using these strange and dangerous new powers, you'll only destroy yourself until there's nothing left of you?"

Natasha struggles to keep the fear from seeping into her voice but you know her, you know she is only scared and afraid of how far your recklessness may take you this time.

You look away, unable to sustain the former widow's sharp but concerned gaze.

 "I'm aware of that Nat, I know I'm signing my own death warrant but if it will help even one person then I'll be more than happy to take the risk."

"This is bullshit! Are we really going to allow her to do something like this? This is stupid and dangerous. You're committing suicide y/n and I can't stand by and watch you do it, at the cost of stopping you by force."

Daisy raises her arm toward you, she doesn't know why either but hopes to stop this madness even though both you and she know she would never hurt you. In fact, after a few seconds in which you all remain silent, the inhuman lowers her arm with a defeated air.

 "Please love, please...we would not survive without you."

Daisy lets tears line her cheeks as she collapses to her knees, repeatedly shaking her head, "you can't choose to leave us if you have the option to not to, please..."

Your heart breaks and your body moves before you can stop it. You kneel next to her and hug her, kissing her cheek and whispering that it will be okay even though you know it is a promise you cannot keep. Wanda approaches you and joins the embrace, Jemma follows her while Nat remains motionless, just a few steps away from you. She would like to join but the pain she is feeling right now prevents her from doing so.

 "Nat" Wanda whispers, turning toward her lifelong companion, inciting the redhead to join but the latter shakes her head. "Please" you look up, mimicking the word with your lips, and she resists for a few seconds before complying with your request. This warm squeeze is supposed to be for Daisy but actually, if you have to be honest, you think it serves all of you.

You don't know how long you stay like this but when you speak again, your mouth is dry and your voice trembles. "I'll...I'll be careful, I'll only use them when I think it's necessary okay?"

The girls nod, not what they wanted to hear but they know they won't get anything else from you. "All right but first I want to do some tests and many, many blood tests so I suggest you prepare yourself psychologically."

You huff dramatically and hide in Wanda's arms.

"Wands save me" you whimper and Nat pats you on the butt shaking his head. "I don't think you're going to get off that easy" "No no, Jemma is right and in fact, we'll help her hold you down for as long as detka" Wanda leaves a kiss on your temple and smiles when you let out another whimper. "If you're going to have your way at least you have to suffer a little" Daisy sticks her tongue out at you and you kick her on the shin which makes her pout and massage the injured area.

"I hate you" "No you don't" "No you don't...I hate you very much."

"Y/N!"

.................................................................................

During the next three weeks Jemma doesn't give you a break and Bobbi certainly doesn't help. You have pitted arms and think you're missing a lot of blood after all the blood draws the biochemist forced on you. Just like she's doing today.

 "Stop it Bobbi, that's the third one today..please."

You sigh, shaking your head and withdrawing your arm from the blonde's hands and almost injuring yourself with the needle. "Y/n! Be careful or you'll hurt yourself."

Bobbi removes her gloves and places them, along with the syringe, on the small table to your right.

"I know you hate all these rockstar withdrawals and I know how terrible you are as a patient but-"

Your phone rings and as soon as it does, you immediately recognize the ringtone. "Director Fury, tell me."

Bobbi watches you throughout the entire call, trying to figure out what your boss is telling you but can't. She has never been good at reading other people's emotions, let alone their looks.

"All right director, no problem. We'll leave right away."

You end the call, putting the phone back in your pocket and getting up from the infirmary bed. A dizziness forces you to sit back down and Bobbi snaps toward you, grabbing your arm to keep you from falling to the floor.  "Hey hey, easy. I just took a liter of blood from you, I don't think it's a great idea to get up so fast without even drinking your juice."

Bobbi hands you the juice and watches you carefully as you drink it all so as not to infuriate her.

"Can I get up now boss?"

A smile of defiance paints your face and the spy rolls his eyes, nodding his head to give you permission.

 "What did Fury tell you?"

Bobbi tosses the used syringe and gloves into the trash can, but continues to watch you out of the corner of her eye to make sure that once you're on your feet you don't get hit with dizziness again.  "We have a mission and we need to leave right away, it's a 084."

"Origin unknown..." Bobbi whispers and you nod. You both know that code all too well, as does Daisy. "We need to warn the others and move now."

You head for the infirmary exit but Bobbi blocks you. "You can't go on the mission, Fitz hasn't finished designing the electricity absorber for your neural connections yet and if anything goes wrong Jemma would kill me, non-" "Bobs, I know. It's going to be okay okay? I promise. Now get ready, I'm going to call the others."

When you finally find them, they are all four ( or almost) engaged in a violent, but also deeply exciting, sparring session.

Natasha is on top of Daisy, pushing her against the mat beneath them while Wanda and Jemma watch them on the sidelines with mischievous smiles on their faces. "Do you give up Agent Johnson?" "Forget it Romanoff."

It takes Daisy a couple of tries before she gets the better of Nat and knocks the redhead to the ground, holding her hands above her head and legs apart.

That sight makes you hot, but as soon as you remember the real reason you came after them, to your regret, you interrupt the little scene before you.

"As much as I hate to interrupt you...Fury called me, we need to leave immediately for a mission. It's about an 084."

Daisy untangles herself from Nat's grip and looks at you with a look you've never seen on her before. "When do we leave?"

………………..………………………..…………………………….

In less than four hours, 084 turns out to be much more "known" than expected, and you, Daisy, Bobbi find yourselves tied, in a cold, dreary gray cell, to each other, because of a white, misogynistic, and, above all, psychopathic Nazi asshole.

 "I remembered you dead."

You spit on the floor; the mix of saliva and blood settles inches from his designer leather shoes.

You cast a glance at Daisy and Bobbi. The former is still unconscious but the rise and fall of her chest indicate that she is still alive while the blonde is awake and struggling against the handcuffs as she watches that being torture you helplessly.

 "Oh my dear, you know how we Hydra people are...when you cut off one head two more pop up."

Whitehall smiles; a crooked, sick smile so sadistic it makes you cringe, even if you don't show it. "Although it's been years, I see you still use the same jokes. Old age is looming eh? Indeed, since you ran out of your beauty serum, quite a few wrinkles have appeared."

Another fist crashes against your jaw and is so hard that your head snaps to the side and more blood joins the blood from before on the floor. Whitehall wipes his hand on a handkerchief taken from the pocket of the ivory jacket he is wearing.

He shakes his head, smiles at you and grabs your face with his right hand, cupping your chin between his index finger and thumb so hard you think he might shatter it. Despite his age, the asshole still has a lot of strength.

As long as he takes it out on you and leaves Daisy and Bobbi alone, though, he's more than okay. At least until Nat, Wanda and Jemma come to your rescue. Knowing them, they will already be hot on your trail.

 "Now tell me agent y/n, where is the journal that S.H.I.E.L.D. seized from me?"

Whitehall grazes your cheek with the scalpel, causing a small cut that makes Bobbi wiggle even more from her restraints; you know that look, she's telling you not to pull too hard.

"For the umpteenth time, you Nazi prick, I don't even know what you're talking about!"

Blood drips from your nose, probably broken considering the throbbing pain. Obviously you know what he's talking about, it's no secret that S.H.I.E.L.D. came into possession of the red journal inside of which were engraved the super-soldier activation words but I doubt that a Hydra bigwig would need it so badly that he would kidnap three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Daisy lets out a groan as she slowly opens her eyes and you freeze, aware that Whitehall will now focus all energy on her.

And to think he only managed to capture you with a sedative in the form of gas...uh, Nazis, those assholes never change.

"You Americans are so stupid...the red diary, from Hydra. Seems obvious to me."

Whitehall cracks a smile before carving you one more time with the scalpel only this time, the cut is deeper and all too close to your carotid vein and Daisy, who has just woken up and recovered from the sedative, as soon as she sees how you are reduced struggles against the handcuffs and yells at Whitehall to stop.

"The destroyer of worlds...glad you could join us in this pleasant reunion."

He turns away from you, focusing on Daisy. The Inhuman tries to activate her powers but can't, the collar on her neck prevents her from doing so, and the Hydra scientist smiles as he sees her tenacity.

 "Daisy Johnson, Quake, the Destroyer of Worlds, many names but without powers you are nothing."

Whitehall approaches one of your soulmates, and when he injects something into her neck, you can't see anymore and the handcuffs become completely useless against the rage you're feeling and the fear that whatever that was inside that damn syringe might cause Daisy harm.

It all happens quickly; Whitehall reaches down and grabs you by the chin again and then uses that same hand to dab the blood that suddenly comes out of the wound in his neck-the exact same wound he gave you that is now gone from your skin and transferred to his. The blood from your nose comes out even faster and more copiously so that your head starts to spin but you can still make out a smile on that psychopath's face.

"Ha Ha, I knew the rumors were true, and a little water injected into one of your lovers gave me the confirmation I was looking for. What amazing powers, the gift of healing and destruction as sides of the same coin."

Whitehall shakes his head while continuing to smile as he takes his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabs the blood coming from your nose; not that it has much effect since the bleeding is due to your powers. "I look forward to experimenting on you, my dear. It will be painful but you know, breakthroughs require experimentation."

He turns to the two energetic men on either side of the door, the only way out of that room, and motions for them to take you away.

 "Pick her up and take her to the room. I'll prepare for operations; we must start now. Science does not wait!"

Bobbi watches intently, and as soon as Whitehall and one of his two henchmen emerge from the gray and far too brightly lit cell in which they are keeping you locked up, the handcuffs that held her bound fall to the floor. The sound the handcuffs make as they hit the floor makes Igor the enforcer turn toward the blond spy. Bobbi picks up the chair to which she was tied and smashes it over the giant's head, and within seconds the latter falls unconscious to the floor before he even realizes what is happening.

You observe your surroundings without really doing so. Your head is spinning and the nosebleed still doesn't seem to have stopped; in fact, you don't know if it has; you are so dazed that you don't realize it. Passively, you watch Bobbi untie Daisy and then pick up the gun that the giant idiot dropped after being stunned. And then, as Daisy approaches you and Bobbi unties you, you feel yourself return to the reality around you. At least in part.

"Hey, look at me, are you okay?"

Daisy takes your face in her hands, tearing off a piece of her shirt and dabbing at your nose to the best of her ability.

Bobbi keeps her gun pointed at the door as her spy skills take over, though that doesn't keep her from checking you out with her eyes every few seconds. After all, she is one of your closest friends and she cares a lot about you. "You're an idiot, you shouldn't have used your powers for me." "You would have done the same for me Dee," you whisper, concentrating on focusing on her face and straining to pronounce the words correctly. Daisy does not respond and merely looks at you, continuing to hold the now blood-soaked piece of her T-shirt under your nose.

"Shit Bobbi, it won't stop bleeding. What should I do?"

Bobbi continues to watch the door as she kneels down to slip something metallic from her right boot before tossing it to Daisy. "This is the neural connection stabilizer that Fitz designed, it's only a prototype but it should help. Besides, it's not like we have much choice right now sestra."

Bobbi shoots you a look, startled by how out of it you seem and lacking connection to reality. Daisy applies two electrodes to the sides of your temples, attaching them to the thick and particularly heavy iron headband at the back of your neck, and then, as soon as she presses the power button Bobbi points to her, the pain suddenly fades and your head stops spinning considerably, the same way the blood stops going down.

 "How I love Fitz," you smile, shaking your head just barely to try to ward off even the dazzling nausea that unfortunately has not yet gone away. "Yeah well, don't push it, we don't know how much it holds and I'm not about to find out y/n" Daisy gives you a warning look before helping you to your feet. You sway dangerously to the side as the world tilts but Daisy keeps you firmly anchored to herself, giving you a concerned look. It takes a few seconds before you stabilize.

 "I just feel a little dizzy, that's all. I'm okay Dee." "Yeah, sure, you're okay...if you're okay, I'm the director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

You roll your eyes and snort, giving Daisy a gentle nudge and realizing only then that the Inhuman is still wearing the collar that blocks her powers.

"Bobbi, can we get it off without hurting her?"

You turn to the blonde, and when the latter shakes her head, you tighten your lips, thinking how much you'd like to put a good bullet through Whitehall's skull.

Noises outside the door alarm you and you waste no time in grabbing a broken chair leg to use as a weapon. "Oh, that's scary." "Better this than air."

You stick your tongue out at Daisy, and for a few seconds you think you are safe, perhaps on the couch, sitting between the women you love most in the world as you watch a few movies on one of your movie nights.

Then, three gunshots cause you to take a defensive stance, putting yourself in front of Daisy to protect her just as the door to the closed cell you are in is smashed open and falls to the floor with a thud.

Bobbi doesn't lose sight of the entrance, but when she recognizes the silhouette of the person standing in the knocked-down doorway, a smile breaks out on her face and her shoulders relax as she lowers her gun. "Did I step on your moment?"

Natasha smiles and runs toward you and Daisy, squeezing you in a hug before exchanging a pat on the back with Bobbi.

"Good entrance Romanoff, I see you still like to show off." "Oh Morse, you know me well. My ego comes first."

Natasha presses the earpiece she has in your ear, looking at both you and Daisy relieved to see that you are both okay albeit with a few bruises and some blood. "Jem, Wands...yes, I found them, they are fine. Whitehall escaped but we will find him."

...............................................................…………..

The journey to the Zephyr is silent, methodical and full of bullets lodged in the heads of Hydra soldiers. When you arrive on board, you are greeted by a warm, smothering embrace from Jemma and Wanda, and even Bobbi cannot escape it. And then, as was bound to happen, Jemma drags all three of you to the infirmary.

"Come on Jem, I'm fine. Really." you grumble as the biochemist wipes the crusted blood off your face, ignoring your protests. "You're not fine, you used your powers and you shouldn't have. It was stupid and reckless, so let me do my job." "That lunatic injected who knows what into Daisy, I couldn't stand by and do nothing Jemma! You would have done the same. All of you would have, don't lie."

Jemma shakes her head, casting a glance at Daisy before moving to the front of her crib.

"Oh, don't start with me. Think y/n."

Daisy gives you a dirty look, one of those that a brother gives his sister after the latter has ratted you out, and you amiably show her your middle finger. You two really love each other only you have a strange way of showing it, that's all.

The biochemist tilts the Inhuman's head, looking closely at the tiny little hole the syringe has left in Daisy's skin.

As Jemma drains Daisy with at least two vials of blood, you approach Bobbi and brush her arm with your hand.

"Hey, are you okay?"

You whisper and Bobbi nods, sighing so softly you almost heard it.

"You went too far, it could have been bad," the blonde whispers and clenches her jaw. You look away, doing anything to avoid meeting her eyes," she could have killed you and I couldn't have done anything about it. Do you understand that y/n? You cannot jeopardize your life like this...your life is not worth less than my life or Diaisy's life."

You shake your head and flinch away from Bobbi, drawing the attention of the other two girls in the room. "I had no choice, you know how fixated Whitehall is on Daisy and her mother!"

Bobbi remains silent, she probably would have done the same thing in your place but the fear she felt at almost losing her best friend a few hours earlier still grips her stomach.

"Y/n, Bobbi is right. My life isn't worth more than yours and I don't want you to do shit like that ever again."

Daisy gets off the crib and walks over to you, taking your hands between her own and drawing circles on your skin.

 "Yeah, I'd say we have enough stubborn, reckless people in this relationship already."

Natasha says, entering the infirmary at that moment. Behind her, Wanda crosses your gaze, turning a small smile. "Honestly-and happily-I still don't know how you are all unharmed considering you never think before you do anything."

Jemma shakes her head and emphasizes a sigh of exasperation to let you know how much you stress her out.

You smile and the tension that seemed to hover in the room before quickly dissipates. Jemma picks up the tablet next to the crib Daisy was on, looking at the results that the fast S.H.I.E.L.D. machines have sent her.

"Well, then Dee looks like Whitehall was telling the truth. I don't know if it was water but it didn't alter any of your values so at the moment I'm satisfied...Not that you're safe from any future tests in the days to come, let's be clear."

Daisy snorts and Wanda hugs her to comfort her, unsuccessfully holding back a smile. After Jemma finishes observing your test results, the biochemist clears Bobbi for any substantial damage, simply giving her a palliative for a nasty bruise on her shoulder, and then, after long and careful consideration, decides it is time to remove Fitz's device.

She has you lie on the crib, though your protests are anything but feeble, and then hooks you up to a million machines. Heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, CO2--everything. "Bobbi come here, Wanda stand by in case your intervention is needed."

You feel like that crib is your bedside, with all the people you love around you and wires poking out of your body everywhere. Jemma lifts up your shirt, gluing the two electrodes one above your left breast and the other under your right armpit. "Oh Jem, I don't think we should do this right now," you whisper, pretending to be scandalized as Jemma pats you on the shoulder. The whispered word "idiot" and the laughter that follows make your heart warm.

Daisy, Wanda, and Natasha remain silent as they watch Jemma slowly and carefully detach the electrodes on your temples, also slipping off the iron tube behind your neck.

 "How do you feel?" Bobbi says, watching the monitors and checking your vitals, noting a gradual increase in your heart rate. "Simmons, heart rate 95 and BP 130/85 and rising."

Jemma runs to one of the drawers; you can't quite make out her movements or the faces of your girls despite the fact that they are inches away from you. Your vision is blurry and you're pretty sure your nose has started bleeding again and profusely too, considering the concern-laden tones of voice of the girls around you. "Shit y/n, stay awake," Bobbi says to you, slapping your face a couple of times when she sees you squint.

Natasha is dabbing your nose with all the paper she can find, and her face contorts more and more from worry with each blood-soaked handkerchief she throws on the floor. And then, in the general chaos, while Jemma is injecting you with drugs for hypertension and to try to lower your heart rate, Daisy does the only thing that makes sense to her: she takes the electricity absorber and puts it on you in the exact same way it was just moments before. And everything disappears, your vitals return to normal and stable, and the nosebleed stops.

In your regained lucidity, you rub your suit sleeve under your nose, trying to get the crusted blood away.

"Well, Fitz really did a good job."

A small smile curls your lips as Jemma leaves a kiss on your cheek, breathing a sigh of relief. "You're going to kill me one of these days, really. And anyway, you're going to stay on this crib until I'm sure you're okay, and we've got to find a solution to this," the biochemist taps you a couple of times against Fitz's jaw-dropping invention. "We'll probably force you to stay there for life, considering the heart attacks you're giving us" Wanda giggles, wiping away tears she hadn't been able to hold back.

"I agree" Natasha leans over, leaving a kiss on your lips and being immediately followed by Daisy. "Not bad for an agent without a degree, is it?" "You're an idiot."

"Daisy Johnson, you know you're not just a stupid piece of paper to us. You don't-" "Jeem, I was joking. Chill."

You shake your head as Jemma continues to rail at a poor, helpless inhuman who nevertheless deserves every single word the biochemist is saying. Ah, they are so cute when they bicker. You love them.

Thanks for reading! I know it's been a long time but hey, at least it's a very long chapter come on. Comment, share and tell me what you think. If you want to support me, this is my ko-fi link☕️ and as always: have a great day!

Taglist: @wandanatsbaby @bioquaked @bioquakeweek @daisyjohnsonx @wandanatsgirl @chaekhan @station19 @resilientpendragon @so-no-kissing-then @thearchpitbullmx @ashadash0904 @kingshitonly @alwaysgoodnight @callistic @xjule @yuleni18 @simpforwandanat @alexxislexi @mrsdanversromanoff @coollemonsaresour @hushed-woodsman @razorscooteer @eponine-xx @maniacallinc @michelle170 @classyig @elenaguarnieri @scarletwidow @tati3001 @cristin-rjd @your-my-mission @mr-nicely @hi-i-1 @anniethurs @ktstwice @scarlet-raccoon @maria-403 @goldfishthegr8 @wandanatfan @looiegirl-blog

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