groovy-pisces

[groovy-pisces]

I had to question the mermaids. What were you doing while I was working?

Ryan Gosling in The Nice Guys (2016) dir. Shane Black

[groovy-pisces]

Amoreena

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: You always knew you could never fall in love with a knight. But... you did anyway, and when faced with uncertainty, you can't help but lean into him more than you should.

Prompt: The princess falls in love with her knight (forbidden romance)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: Classic Princess x Knight Trope / Forbidden Love, some angst, but mainly hurt/comfort, some fluff, and a sprinkling of spice, but nothing TOTALLY NSFW🤭

A/N: Here is my next submission for the @goosegroupiechallenges, this week the theme is Fairy Tales! So I HAD to write Court as a Knight🤭 Please let me know how you like the fic(and if we would be interested in more from this AU👀)!! I pulled inspo from the song "Amoreena" by Elton John and from one of my favorite movies of all time, "Robin Hood: Men in Tights"! - Birch<3

There are only 6 pebbles left in your stash.

The small gray rock in your hand is smooth, unlike the rugged gravel road below you. Your balcony is only on the second floor of the castle - it's truly not that high off the ground.

Still, it's high enough that it has taken hours of practice to get your aim just right. It's one of the reasons your pebble stash is so low. That, and your target is in the most difficult spot to hit.

He stands almost directly below the overhang, his metal-clad figure still as a statue. You would think that being so still makes it easier, but it doesn't.

Every morning and every other evening, Courtland Gentry is assigned to stand guard on the west wing of the castle underneath the princess's keep. Sought after by many knights due to the beautiful sunsets and its high-stakes notoriety, it was given to him through years of loyalty to the crown.

Who better to protect the princess than one of the best knights the kingdom has to offer?

Over the years, you've grown fond of the stoic and quick-lipped knight. What started with Court guarding the door to your lecture halls soon became the bearded blonde being permanently assigned to your staff.

He was easy to banter with when you got annoyed with your parents, the king and queen, and he never made you feel too far above him. Court became a true companion and friend - your eyes and ears around the castle, giving you bits of gossip and complaints to keep you entertained.

Then, before you knew it, you were asking him to sneak you out at night so you could visit with the townspeople. You were meeting him at the stables to go for midnight rides along the riverbank. You were taking every opportunity to be alone with the knight.

Court did as you asked, but not without some questions. He wanted nothing more than to be on your detail, but he also knew he couldn't get himself in trouble with the king and queen. The second he slipped up - he would be gone.

So when you confessed to him late one night that you needed him more than you were allowed, Court almost asked to be reassigned. He knew he couldn't have you the way you both wanted.

You are the princess.

But, despite his rigid discipline, he let his desires and the soft plea in your voice get the best of him, and now he takes you wherever you wish to go. He sneaks you away to lay chaste kisses to your pretty mouth and whispers promises to defend you with his life.

By now, it's all a part of your routine. This morning isn't much different, except it is.

You flip the pebble in your hand for another moment, calculating where you need to drop the small rock to hit Court's armor to garner his attention.

It's not breezy this morning, and he's just a few inches further back than he normally is, you think to yourself as you shuffle to the chiseled marble railing. You just barely lean over the study railing, not wanting to knock yourself off balance if someone were to appear in your room.

Carefully, you line up your aim, and a second later, release your fingers holding the pebble. The small rock drops quickly, making its way toward the intended mark.

Until it doesn't.

The pebble hits the ground just in front of Court's left boot a few seconds after you release it, and a soft hiss of frustration slides past your lips. You turn away from the balcony and back toward your door, to where your pebble stash is hidden. There are only 5 left.

You grab another one hastily and return to the balcony, lining up your shot again. Okay, he's further back than I anticipated. I put a very slight backwards angle on the throw, but it must be more, you reason as you toss the rock between your hands.

This time, you lean a little further over your balcony - not too much, but you can see more of his armor as you gauge the distance from you to the knight. You snap one eye shut to help focus your hand, and then with as much precision as you can muster, you give the rock a flick of your wrist to send it flying toward your target.

It takes a few seconds to land, as it always does, but this time, you are successful in hitting him. The pebble bounces off his shoulder pauldron with a light ping, soaring through the air for another few seconds before joining the other rocks on the gravel path.

Court knew exactly what you were trying to do the second he heard your footsteps come out onto the balcony the first time. He knew of your pebble stash - and when the first one landed next to his foot, he couldn't help the smirk that tugged on his lip.

He may have purposefully stood further back than normal to challenge your rock-throwing abilities, and he knows he succeeded when he hears your annoyance above. The bearded blonde focuses on scanning the perimeter while he waits for your next attempt, blue eyes raking over the hedges for any sign of intruders.

When you land the hit to his shoulder, the smile on his mouth returns, this time wider. It's not like anyone can see him smiling under his helmet, and it's you. He can't help it.

Still, he doesn't respond to you. He remains as still as ever, the perfect example of a king's royal knight.

A groan of frustration rips its way from your mouth when you don't see him move, and you stomp back over to your pebble stash to grab yet another smooth rock.

You try not to let your annoyance get the best of you, and you take a deep breath to center yourself before resuming your position at the balcony. You once again lean over the cool marble, calculating another throw that'll hopefully land on the top of the knight's helm.

You let a wishful prayer slide from your lips as you flick your wrist again, sending the pebble soaring through the air toward Court's head. This time - the pebble flies true to its mark.

The smooth stone pings firmly off the top of Court's helm before bouncing off and landing in the nearby gravel. It's enough to finally get his attention, and he takes a step forward after doing another quick scan of the grounds.

Then, the armored knight is turning to face you, looking up stiffly in his armor in a silent question of, 'Yes?' You grab hold of the marble balcony with a gleeful twitch to your fingers, and leaning over an inch more, call down quietly, "I need you to help me!"

Court doesn't move for a second, processing your request. A moment goes by, and then he calls back through a small gap in the metal by his mouth, "How can I serve you today, princess?" It's a formal response - one that you can see right through. You aren't sure if any other guards are patrolling this morning, and his question was a precaution for any wandering ears.

You sigh, slightly defeatedly, as your shoulders drop to a more relaxed position. You swallow thickly and reply, this time with a dampened tone, "I need to get off the grounds for a while. It's..."

There's a heavy pause to your words as the morning's escapades float through your mind. Your mouth parts as you shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away as quickly as you can.

You recover a moment later and emphasize, "It's been a bit of a rough morning, Court." The sound of his name falling from your lips tugs on the bearded blonde's heart, and he groans internally at his silent pull to grant your wish.

He knows whatever happened had to have been pretty bad. You've only ever asked him to leave the castle once while he was on duty. And that day - you were beyond upset.

Today - he can hear the distress in your voice, and his need to serve and please you takes over his critical thinking. Despite strictly following his orders from the king and the knight's order, he wants to make you happy, so he relents.

"As you wish, princess. I will see what I can arrange at the shift change," he responds diplomatically, bowing his head to you respectfully before resuming his place under your balcony.

Now, he's got another hour on shift, and a million questions as to what could have upset you this badly.

"Come lie with me," you request as you settle yourself onto the large quilt you have thrown over a flat area in the meadow. The flowery field is surrounded on all sides by woods - there was nowhere for people to sneak up on you.

It's just you and Court.

The bearded blonde stands a few paces away, his blue eyes settled on your horses near the edge of the meadow where the light blue and pink flowers give way to plain grass. The two horses graze comfortably, their saddles slung over a low-hanging tree limb nearby.

He knows they aren't going to go anywhere, but he was trained to stand guard. To stay on watch. Court takes a deep breath as a warm breeze blows through the field, the sweet aroma of the flowers flooding his nose.

A sigh, one that could be almost described as content, escapes his mouth as he turns to face you. He motions toward you with a hand secured with a leather vambrace, murmuring, "You lie down and rest, princess. I can stand on watch."

You let a short puff of air slip from your nose, your eyes narrowing at the bearded blonde. He's stripped out of his heavy-duty armor - the silver plates, pauldrons, gloves, helmet, and more, all left back at the castle.

Now, Court only dons minimal gear: his leather vambraces, his sword sheathed on his hip, and a dagger holstered on his thigh. Otherwise, the knight is wearing what you would consider civilian clothes - a soft, billowy white shirt with strings lacing up the top third of the material to the collar, a pair of brown trousers, and his leather riding boots.

For once, the knight looks relatively comfortable despite standing as rigid as ever, his blonde locks hanging loosely over his forehead. And because of this, you are determined to get him to fully relax with you. It was rare you got to spend time with the man who claimed your heart, let alone with this much peace away from the castle.

"Court," you call to him, a slight whine to your voice. The stormy blue gaze of the knight meets yours in an instant at the sound of his name, and he raises his eyebrows in question as he broadens his stance and tucks his arms behind his back.

"Yes, princess?" he asks in return, giving you his undivided attention. You sprawl out a little more on the blanket and request, "Please join me. That is an order, sir."

There's a teasing edge to your voice, one that you know riles Court up ever so slightly. You loved pulling rank on the bearded blonde - he was always so stern and serious, mainly because it was his job to protect you and take charge when things went south. But with no threat in sight, it was one of the things that he knew you would always tease him with.

A look of playful annoyance flashes across his gaze, but his lip begins to curl upward as he takes a slow step toward you. He glances around the flowery meadow again, noting, "I don't want anyone to catch us, princess. It could be bad if they do."

You offer him your hand as he gets closer, and looking up at him through your lashes, you mumble softly, "I know, Court. But they won't. Not today. So please, come here."

The bearded blonde sighs again, his blue gaze flitting from your outstretched hand to your eyes. There's a thoughtful look to his gaze as his brows furrow slightly, and then he deflects, "Your father will be angry if he finds out I stole you from the castle, and I'm not dressed to protect you. At least let me stand guard."

You can see Court giving you his best pleading gaze - one that reminds you of the lost puppies you had met visiting with the townspeople. Still, you don't give in to him. Not today. You need him.

You flick your wrist toward him again, your arm still reaching toward his own. You blink at him softly, and reply, "I don't care about my father right now. Come here." Now your voice calls to him in the way Court knows he can't deny, and without hesitating, he pulls his left hand out from behind his back to gently clasp your own.

As your fingers intertwine with his, he murmurs, "Why?" It's a simple question - and you know he is truly asking why you asked him to leave the castle while he was on duty. You nod toward the quilt underneath you in response to his question, and again, Court doesn't hesitate.

His right hand deftly unhooks his sheathed sword from his hip before gently tossing it on the far side of the quilt. Then, he takes a small step forward with his left leg to unclasp the thigh holster, which boasts his dagger, and also throws it to the far side of the quilt.

Then, you're slowly pulling Court to his knees before his bulky frame is caging you in. He carefully lies next to you, avoiding his weapons while he props himself up on his left elbow. He's sure to keep his fingers laced through your left hand, and he offers you a light smile as the distance between you shrinks.

The position forces him to lean over you ever so slightly, and he brings his free hand up to your face to gently brush the hair off your forehead. You lean into his touch, soaking in the quiet affection as you piece together a way to explain your morning.

"There was a suitor this morning," you start quietly, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel Court's thumb brush over your cheek. There's a slight pause to his movements as your words wash over him, but then he continues his ministrations.

"My father has been telling me how great he was for the last few weeks," you explain, "A well-off nobleman, and such. And he also told me that he wrote to the suitor telling him of my beauty and grace and whatever else a man could want from me."

Your tone turns slightly sour, and Court whispers your name in warning, "Y/n, you know-" "Yes, Court, I know," you murmur in reply, "I'm more than just a symbol," you repeat the mantra Court had all but beaten into your brain.

The knight knew you would be seeing suitors - you are the princess. He never let himself forget that you would be gone one day. In the blink of an eye, you could be whisked away by a prince to bear his children and raise a family.

But he was so smitten with you, he never wanted you to think that that was all your purpose in life was. If one day you were pulled away from this castle by a suitor, Court only had one wish for you to remember him by - and it is that you are more than your birthright.

At the sound of his mantra falling from your lips, Court leans further into you, waiting for you to continue. He lets his eyes dance over your features, and a moment later, your eyes flit open. Unshed tears make your eyes sparkle, and Court swears his heart cracks at the dejected look on your face.

"Despite my father's wishes and attempts to get this man to betroth me," you whimper, your voice cracking, "The suitor turned me down this morning. To my face, Court."

There is no mistaking the heartbreak in your voice at being so harshly rejected, and Court remains quiet as he processes your words. His gaze softens while his brows knit together, and his thumb ceases its motion on your cheek as you stare up at him.

"I know I'm not always the best presented," you gush as a tear streaks down your cheek, "And I know I'm not the most up-to-date on policies and my lectures." A small hiccup curls up your throat as your free hand comes up to brush at your nose delicately.

You glance back up at Court, who is still leaning over you, and you spiral, "I must not be good enough, Court. This is the second suitor to turn me down. Am I not pretty enough?" The knight has remained silent and still as the words have rushed from your lips.

The meadow is quiet, only the warm breeze rustling the flowers making for pleasant background noise. Court stares down at you, his blue eyes glancing between your own (colored) ones before dipping to trace the curve of your nose. Then, his gaze follows the swell of your lip, the angle of your jaw, and the set of your brow.

His silence makes your heart rate begin to pick up - and you can feel another wave of tears coming as you watch him judge you. Except he's not judging you.

Court's silent admiration culminates in one sentence dripping with finality, "You are beautiful." The words slip from his mouth slowly, complete earnestness and desire lacing his voice. His thumb, which had been gently soothing your cheek, now swipes away the stray tears before he leans into you even further.

His nose brushes over yours, and he holds your gaze steadily, even at such close proximity. You can just start to feel his goatee tickling the skin of your chin, and you can't help the way your mouth parts in want as Court nuzzles you for a second.

The air is heavy and thick between the two of you - and you wait for the knight to elaborate on everything else you gushed about. In the silent pause, you can feel your heart rate picking up, this time in anticipation. There are butterflies swirling low in your stomach with the sincerity in Court's statement.

And just when you think the tension is too much to bear, Court whispers, "My darling." The endearment rolls off his tongue before he can stop himself, the simple nickname laced with what can only be described as love.

Your brows draw together as you lean forward, your forehead bumping against his as you force yourself to let go of the morning's anguish. Court isn't done, though, and he murmurs against your waiting lips, "Perhaps it is not that the suitors are turning you down because you are not enough."

He shuts his eyes as he rubs his nose against yours again, feeling your lips just brushing over his. A moment passes, and then he finishes, "Perhaps it is that they can tell your heart belongs to another."

At that, you tighten your fingers laced through his, and your free hand comes up to cup his bearded cheek. You pull the knight impossibly closer to you as your own (colored) eyes snap shut, and you utter against his mouth, "My love for you is stronger than anything I've ever known, Court. But my father-" "I know," he gently chides.

"I know," he repeats, this time almost inaudibly from the sounds of the flower stalks swaying in the wind. The thought makes both of your hearts splinter - there was nothing either of you could do to avoid the inevitable heartbreak of never being able to be together.

It's quiet again, the tension somehow releasing through the song of the birds trilling overhead and the sweet scent of the flowers in the air. Court takes a deep breath in through his nose, and then he breathes out, "We will always have these moments to look back on."

You nod against him, desperation to hold onto every second clawing at the back of your mind. Then, Court whispers the words that make your stomach flip and your heart stop beating in your chest, "And no matter the situation, my darling, I will always love you."

You can't help but pull him closer, your nose bumping harshly against his and your foreheads pressing even tighter against one another. There is no space between you, just the minuscule gap between your mouths as you whisper, "Even when I am betrothed to another?"

The question races from your mouth before you can stop it, your brain scrambling and spiralling with the morning's sorrowful display. Court's lip curls sadly, and he nuzzles you again as he whispers against your parted mouth, "Even when you wed another man, lie in his bed with him, and love him. I will love you then."

Then, without wasting any more time, Court tilts his head and captures your lips with his own. His mouth crashes against yours, bruisingly slow. The softness of his lips contrasts deliciously with the graze of his goatee on the skin of your chin and cheeks, the kiss languid and tender.

You can feel every emotion Court is experiencing as he pours his love into you, his mouth slotting over yours with pointed intent. Your fingers slide from his cheek to cup his angled jaw, and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss.

Court kisses you like he's never kissed you before - he's putting every ounce of love and desperation into this kiss like it's his life's purpose. And maybe that is his purpose in life: forced to be in love with the only woman he cannot have and loving her anyway.

A whine curls up the back of your throat when Court's tongue brushes over your bottom lip, and you unclasp your intertwined figures to tug at his right hip. You encourage him to shift his weight over you as you part your mouth for him willingly, your nerves set alight by the electricity crackling between you.

Silently, Court does as you wish, and rolls over on top of you to truly cage you between the soft quilt and the firmness of his body. When he settles one leg between your skirts and the other around your thigh, you can feel your heart rate lurch before speeding up.

As Court smooths his tongue over your bottom lip again, you reciprocate and do the same, swiping your tongue over his plush lower lip. A throaty groan escapes the knight at the boldness of your move, and as an unknowing reward, lets his hips nestle flush against yours.

Then, you're sliding your hand from his hip up the length of his torso, and through the soft white material of his shirt, you can feel the thick and hard-earned muscle below. The strength of the man above you has you subconsciously arching your back, and Court lets one hand slip behind the small of your back to tug you flush to his chest.

A gasp releases from the back of your throat at the sudden movement, and it's enough to let Court slide his tongue into your mouth eagerly. Your hold on his jaw doesn't seem like enough now, and you're sliding your hand back to thread your fingers through the shaggy, dirty blonde locks at the base of his neck.

Your lungs burn with the need for oxygen with the way Court is pulling the air from you, but you can't bring yourself to stop kissing him. Not when he's kissing you like this. Not when you know you can't have this when you return to the castle.

Court slows the kiss down again, the intense passion cooling down as he softens his mouth slotting over yours. The simple action draws the air out of you, and Court is pulling back a moment later when he feels your fingers carding faster through his hair.

He doesn't get too far - he only withdraws himself an inch from your mouth so he can rest his forehead against yours. Neither of you says anything. You can't. Both of you know that there is no one else who can compare to the other - there would never be anyone else.

Still, the bubble of bliss had to be shattered at some point, and Court knew it. He presses one more chaste kiss to your mouth, cutting off the soft pant that escaped from your lips. Then, he's whispering, "We will have to return to the castle as if this afternoon never happened."

The honest statement fractures the illusion you were both enjoying, but you dip your head in acceptance as you reply, "Yes, yes, I know." Your gaze flits up to his blue one, and with your eyes dancing between his, you whisper, "Court, I don't want this to end."

You can feel a smile tug on the corner of his mouth as he murmurs back, "Agreed. But it will have to." A silence washes over the two of you again, and before you can stop yourself, you arch your back into his chest, his firm hold on your spine tightening.

There's a question lacing Court's gaze, but he doesn't say anything as you request, "Can you please sit up?" He does as you ask, though, never increasing the space between the two of you. He has to reposition himself so that you sprawl across his lap, his one hand still firmly attached to the small of your back.

Your hand placed on his chest trails down the muscle before departing to find his free hand, and with a shake of your fingers, you grab it. The confusion on Court's face has deepened, a frown now tugging on his brows as he watches you brush your thumb over the back of his hand.

"Court," you start, a long pause hanging in the air as you try to come up with the right words to say. The knight fills the silence, replying lightly, "Yes, my darling?" The simple phrase makes you swoon, your heart skipping a beat in your chest as you muster the courage to ask him the question dancing around your mind.

"I want to make the most of our time together," you continue, your thumb fiddling with the roughened skin of his hand. He doesn't say anything, but you know he's listening by the sharp look in his eyes.

You glance down at your fingers threading over the back of his hand, and you whisper inaudibly, "Would you lie with me?" The question hangs delicately in the air for a second, the meaning now shifted from when you first arrived in the flowery meadow.

Court pulls back an inch, shock overwhelming his features as his mind fights his body. "Y/n, y-you know I can't-" he stammers, completely caught off guard. He cuts himself off as he tries to come up with the right response that won't hurt your feelings.

He swallows thickly as he feels you shuffle over his lap, and he clears his throat to reply hoarsely, "I am a gentleman, princess. My love for you runs deeper than any canyon and soars higher than any sparrow, but I cannot lie with a woman whom I am not wed to."

Your brows downturn in what looks like pain, and then you're pleading, "Court, please. I have never wanted anything more in my life. I need to know what it feels like to lie with the man I love."

Court shakes his head as a similar look of despair laces his face, "Princess, I cannot-" But he is cut off by your hand fiddling with his, and pulling his palm up, you lay his hand flush against the soft skin of your chest, directly over your heart.

He is silent as he stares deeply into your eyes, another look of anguish washing over his face as he starts, "I-" "Court," you all but whimper, cutting him off again. You press his digits more firmly over the skin on your chest, and you ask, "Do you feel that?"

Court can't help but focus on the feeling of your soft skin under his calloused fingers, and then after a moment, he senses it. It's the steady thumping of your heart in your chest - a constant rhythm that distracts him for a moment.

He gives you a tip of his chin as his eyes leave your face to watch your intertwined hands on your chest. He carefully watches the way your chest rises and falls, a simple sign that you are real, here, and breathing underneath him.

"My heart beats for no one else, Courtland Gentry," you state earnestly as your (colored) gaze flits over his bearded face. "There is no one else who will make my blood pump through my veins. There is no one else who will fill my lungs with air to breathe," you implore as your voice grows thick with emotion.

You slide your intertwined fingers from the smooth skin over your heart to the frilly material of your corset, and you feel Court's fingers twitch on your back as you guide him to your barely clothed breast.

The knight can feel the rise and fall of your chest; he can feel the soft air puffing from your nose, dissipating in the space between the two of you. You fully flatten his palm over your breast as you lean into him, and you whisper desperately on his lips, "Lie with me, Court. I'm begging you."

His eyes snap shut as he wrestles with his inner turmoil. He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, and he murmurs tormentedly against your lips, "My darling, I- I am a man of honor." Your hand slides from the thick blonde locks of his hair, down his neck, and to cup his bearded jaw.

Delicately, you swipe your thumb over his cheek, trying to regain his attention. The knight leans into your hold on his face, his nose bumping against yours clumsily. A thick, silent moment passes, and then his stormy gaze flutters open to stare into your own (colored) one.

"I am a man of honor," he repeats against your lips, his head angling so his mouth brushes against yours. You draw him closer with your hand on his face, your lips dancing over his as you echo him, "You are a man of honor."

He nods dazedly as if to confirm what you both stated, his eyes blinking to half-lidded as they flit to your parted mouth. Then, you're whispering, "A man of honor would do as he is asked."

Court's brows draw together again in that pained look, and he murmurs pointedly, "Princess, what you are asking will likely be the beginning of the end for me." You shake your head as you insist, "Let it be the beginning of true happiness for us, Court."

You curl your lip up in the edges of a smirk and coyly jest, "You did say, 'We will always have these moments to look back on,' right? This is a moment I want to remember for the rest of my life."

Your voice drips with conviction and honesty, and Court can tell you are pouring yourself before him. You've already been rejected once today. He cannot let that happen again.

At the thought, Court crashes his mouth against yours, and his fingers move on their own, reaching into the cup of your corset to fully grasp your breast for himself. A whine falls from your lips - half a gasp of surprise, half a moan of pleasure.

Court swears he's in heaven as the sound replays in the back of his mind, and he's pulling you closer as he works his digits over your soft mound.

Neither of you really knows what you are doing, but you let Court push you down into the bed of flowers as the warm breeze returns and rustles over you. The two of you roll around in the blue and pink flowers until the sun sets, making your love known to no one but yourselves.

[groovy-pisces]

Ryan Gosling as Luke Glanton in The Place Beyond the Pines 01/??

[groovy-pisces]

Fooled Around And Fell In Love

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Tensions still run high after Six's outburst, but you are both trying to smooth things over. Just when you think everything is turning out okay, he throws you a curveball.

Word Count: 7.1K

Warnings: angst, hurt then some comfort, minimal swearing, but some fluff and banter, lots of pining, idiot friends that need to realize they love each other and get over themselves

A/N: Here is yet ANOTHER part of The Gray Scale! I needed more of the heartbreak from the last part, so I wrote this :) I recommend reading A Little Dirt Never Hurt, Right? first and then reading this, but they can be read as stand-alone fics. Enjoy! Birch<3

All you can focus on is the unfamiliar car pulling out of your gravel driveway, small rocks popping and spitting under the tires. Inside the vehicle, Claire is sharing jokes and laughing with a friend from school - making plans for her sleepover that evening.

This leaves you at home, tensions running high in the house after Six's outburst. Things hadn't gotten much better, but they certainly hadn't gotten worse.

Every interaction was painful to some degree. Awkward silences, jaunty movements, uncomfortable small talk. You've been trying your best to stay in your lane, doing what you can to keep the house under control and not test Six's patience again.

Similarly, Six was dancing around you. He wanted to offer his help with chores - sweeping the floor, switching the laundry, feeding the horses. But he didn't want you to think that he thought you were incapable.

You just wanted things to return to the way they had been, but you knew that wasn't going to happen. So, you wistfully watch Claire leave with her friend, knowing you would have only Six to keep you company tonight.

"You know, we don't have to stay in for dinner tonight," a deep voice interrupts your train of thought. You jump at the sound, your hand smacking against the screen door with a sharp whiz.

You hiss in pain as your knuckles drag against the grated screen, and you quickly tuck your hand to your chest as you whirl around. There, you are met with the neutral expression of Six a few feet away.

There's a bit of a frown that draws his brows together as he glances from your face to your hand clutched to your chest, but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he offers quietly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

The words come out flat, but he does mean them. He shuffles, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he watches you, waiting for a response.

You try to push your stinging knuckles out of your mind as you shake your head side to side and brush his comment off, "No, no, it's alright."

Then, there's a pause as the two of you look at each other expectantly. You get the courage to look up and catch Six's gaze, which is carefully flitting over your face. He raises an eyebrow at you in question, and that's when you realize he's waiting for your response.

You blink at him before stuttering, "S-sorry, what did you say?" Six takes a deep breath, and his shoulders raise in apprehension. He casually gestures over his shoulder, "I, I was just saying we could go out for dinner if you don't feel like cooking. Or, I can make something if you want."

The air in the foyer of the house has grown increasingly thick with the awkwardness swirling in the air. You wrap your arms around yourself as you process his words.

He wants to go out for dinner? He wants to make dinner? Both options were unexpected coming from the bearded blonde, but as you silently watch him, a lone thought hits you.

Maybe this is a quiet cry to help make up for the other night.

"Uhm, yeah, okay," you shrug as you rub at one of your arms. Six's brows shoot up in surprise, and one of his hands comes to rub at the back of his neck. He coughs once and then questions, "Yes to going out or to me making something?"

You shrug again and offer him a small smile, mumbling, "I'm not opposed to going out to eat. We may as well enjoy the night off, right?" This seems to help dissipate some of the tension in the air, and Six's figure relaxes as he sighs with an upturned lip of his own, "Yeah, you're right."

It's quiet again, but this time it's much more bearable. You rock back and forth on your heels for a moment, and then you ask, "What time do you want to leave? I'd like to get cleaned up." At the end of your words, you bashfully motion to your outfit, which is smudged with bits of dirt, grass, and hay.

Six nods understandingly and glances over his shoulder to the clock in the kitchen, offering, "Well, it's just 4:30 now, so maybe 5:30? 6? Does that give you enough time?" You catch his stormy gaze as he glances back at you, and you instinctively look away as you dismiss, "Oh, yeah, that should be plenty of time, thanks."

The bearded blonde just nods again and stands still as he tries to come up with anything else to say. You point to the bedroom with the flutter of one of your hands and mumble, "Well, I'm gonna-" "Oh, yeah. Go 'head and do what you gotta. I'll get changed when you're done," Six cuts in, waving you off as he takes a couple of steps toward the kitchen.

You give him a silent nod of thanks and dip your chin as you duck toward the bedroom. Six opts to turn away and slide out of the kitchen through the back door.

He might as well get some stuff done while he waits.

"Six?" you call lightly as you step into the kitchen, (colored) gaze scanning for a sign of the bearded blonde. You don't get a response for a moment, but then you hear the sound of the screen door snapping shut at the front of the house.

You instantly glance over your shoulder at the noise, and you repeat, "Six, you ready?" You get a fast reply, "Yeah, yeah, I'm just putting my boots on."

You inhale sharply at his response, but quickly force yourself to relax and brush your hands over the snug fit of your jeans. It wasn't every day you got to go out, so you took advantage of the few nice pieces of clothes in your closet.

The jeans are flared at the bottom, and the material is a pleasant shade of light blue. They curl around your thighs before hugging the curve of your ass. There is a slight design stitched into the back pockets, and you don't need a belt to hold them up.

To go with your nicer pair of jeans, you chose one of your cute, summery blouses. It's a light purple, decorated with a floral pattern of matching pink and violet petals. The material is soft and comfortable, and, frankly, makes you feel like a girl in the best way.

You wanted to lean into that feeling, though, and had thrown on a little bit of makeup to accentuate your features. A dash of blush to your cheeks, some mascara to your lashes. You even popped a bit of highlighter on the points of your face before swiping some lip gloss over your mouth.

The final piece of your outfit - your nicest pair of cowboy boots. They are free of dirt - only having seen the light of day a few times from the back of your closet. But with the summer night rolling in, you knew tonight was the time to break them out.

Pushing your anxieties to the back of your mind, you quietly pick your way over to the front door. Uncertain steps lead you to the foyer, where you see Six straightening out after tying off the laces to his boots.

He also pulled out his cleanest pair of boots, the brown leather leading to a pair of dark wash, bootcut jeans that are pleasantly stacked around his calves. The dark material hugs the thick muscle of his thighs before cinching snugly around his trim waist.

The bearded blonde has a white t-shirt on, covered by his tan jacket slung over his broad shoulders. His usually slicked-back blonde locks hang over his forehead, framing the stormy gaze he sets on you.

"All set?" you mumble as you glance away from him, slightly rocking on your heels as you shove your hands in your back pockets. Six just gives you a nod as he reaches for the key hook by the door, replying, "Yep, I can drive."

He shoots you a glance as he grabs his truck keys and jostles them in his hand. You can't help but look at him from the sound, and you see him raise an eyebrow in question before he asks, "Want to go to The Standard?"

Your (colored) gaze widens in surprise at the name of the restaurant. You blink at him in slight disbelief before rushing, "But- that place is expensive, we don't-" "It's my treat," he chuckles, brushing off your worry with a soft smile.

The smile seems to light up his face, the edges of his figure illuminated by the setting sun through the screen door. You swallow thickly and look down at yourself in a flash of insecurity.

You wipe your hands over the front of your jeans and mumble, "I'm not sure I'm dressed up enough for that place." Six is quiet for a moment, his free hand pushing the screen door open behind him as he replies jokingly, "And you think I am?"

The tone of his voice is playful, the most friendly it has been in a while. There's a twinkle to his eye as he nods toward his truck in the driveway, "C'mon, let's go."

A smile of your own has started to tug on your lips at the insistence of the bearded blonde. You didn't want to invite any arguing into tonight - you wanted to try to fix the gaping hole between you and Six.

But you couldn't turn down a little friendly banter.

You take a deep breath and quip, "You know, we do share a bank account." The bearded blonde stares at you for a second, the smile on his face growing wider before he starts chuckling. The sound is... nice.

There's a raspiness to his laugh, a coarseness that likely comes from not being used to sharing his joy. It's breathy and deep at the same time, and it sounds like music to your ears.

It makes butterflies swarm in your stomach for the first time in a while, and there's a heat that rushes over your face as you watch Six wipe at his eye with the back of his hand. He just points to his truck silently, and you can't help but giggle as you step around his broad frame holding the door.

You make your way toward Six's blue and white striped Chevy truck as he locks up the front door and jogs down the steps. Before you can grab the door handle to the passenger's side, his tattooed hand grabs hold of it, blocking you.

The smile on his face has softened into a more tender look, and he carefully pulls the rusty door open for you without saying a word. You watch him inquisitively as you climb up into the truck, settling yourself into the worn-out leather seats with a shimmy.

Suddenly - it's like you're 16 again. It's like it's your first date with the guy you've had a crush on for years, and he's finally allowed to take his daddy's truck out for the homecoming dance.

A moment later, Six is opening up the driver's side door and climbing into the seat next to you. He doesn't have anything to say; he just slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine while the two of you buckle yourselves in.

Then, you're pulling out of the driveway, the voice of Johnny Cash floating through the truck's old radio.

The Standard is nicer than you remember it being. You had only ever seen it from the outside - a chic building that looked a little too upscale for the small town you had settled down in.

The ambiance of the restaurant was nicer than you had anticipated, and suddenly, your nervousness is back in full swing as Six pulls the truck into a parking spot. He had to park far from the building - the main lot was full, leaving you to walk in from the secondary lot out by the adjacent corn field.

The air seems to be thicker in the warmth of the evening than it was in the truck, the two of you now making your way to the front of the restaurant together. A tension is back that you weren't expecting - the kind of pressure that screams - it's just the two of you. You can't help but notice it, and you want to run and hide at the thought.

Your teeth unconsciously chew at the inside of your mouth as Six opens each door for you, guiding you to the host stand with an unexpected ease. He seems naturally confident in himself, and it makes your heart skip a beat as he offers the host a fake name and asks for a table fit for two.

Six isn't doing much better than you, truly. On the inside, he's wrestling with the thoughts racing through his mind. He wants this evening to go well. He needs to get back on your good side. But he can't overdo things. He can't be out of character.

He needs to show you his true colors and prove to you that he's trying to make up for his outburst.

The host guides the two of you toward a small table near a corner window, setting the menus down before disappearing a moment later. Six glances between the two seats and prompts, "Which side do you want?"

You flinch at the sound of his voice, your arms wrapping around yourself as you tear your gaze away from the people surrounding you to look at the bearded blonde. You blink at him and hum, "What was that?"

He steps closer to the table as a waiter rushes past him and he repeats, slower this time, "Which side of the table do you want?" Your eyes widen in recognition, and you look between the two seats, shrugging, "Uhm, it doesn't matter to me."

Six just nods silently and swallows thickly in response, and then murmurs, "I'll take this side, then." He steps to the right, his back toward the wall as he motions for you to take the seat across from him.

You give him a tight-lipped smile as you move, carefully pulling out your seat before settling onto the plush chair. Six shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the back of his seat as he glances around the restaurant.

You do the same, (colored) gaze flitting over the moody lighting, busy tables, and the dance floor littered with people holding drinks. You have to tear your eyes away from the couples dancing, forcing yourself to fiddle with the menu in your hands.

"So, uhm, how was work today?" you ask quietly as you start to flip through the names of entrées. Six trains his stormy gaze on you with a subtle surprise lacing his features, and he shrugs, "You know how it is. Just another Thursday."

You glance at him over the laminated paper, nodding in response, unsure of what else to say. Six bites his tongue as he fiddles with his own menu, his gaze skimming over the drinks on the back page.

There's a heavy silence between the two of you as you each bury your noses in The Standard's menu, avoiding the obvious elephant in the room. Six is the one to break it, though, and he mumbles, "Remember, feel free to order whatever you want."

Your gaze flashes up at him, and you chirp out a shrill, "Yep!" You internally cringe at the sound, and you flick your gaze back down to the words in front of you as an embarrassed heat floods your cheeks.

Six sets his menu down after another few moments of silence and leans back in his chair just as a waitress lands in front of your table. She offers the two of you a wide smile and pipes up, "Hey guys! Welcome to The Standard, I hope you are having a wonderful evening."

She glances at Six and continues, "My name is Maxie, and I will be your server tonight. Can I get you started with some drinks?" The bearded blonde just offers her a thin-lipped smile and then glances at you with a soft blink.

"Ladies first," he states lowly as Maxie turns to look at you. There's a sudden heat that floods over you again, and you scramble as you flip to the back of the menu. Your eyes race over the words as you try to find something you might like.

Eventually, you spot it. You glance up at the waitress and rush out, "Could I just get a lemonade, please?" She simply nods and writes down your order before turning to Six and asking, "And for you, sir?"

Six tears his gaze away from you to look at the waitress before stating evenly, "Just a sweet tea with lemon. Thanks." His tone is flat as he crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, and Maxie looks away from him to write down his order.

Then, she glances between the two of you and questions, "Do y'all still need more time to order, or are we ready now?" Six's gaze flicks back over to you, and you glance at him with slight panic in your eyes.

The bearded blonde shakes his head once to the side and replies, "Just a few more minutes and we'll be ready." Maxie nods and chirps, "Alright, I'll be back with those drinks in just a moment!"

A second later, she turns on her heel and walks away. You let out a deep breath as her figure grows smaller, and you glance at Six as a sigh escapes you.

He's already looking at you, and you can immediately place a distinct twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes. You set your menu flat on the table as you quietly ask, "What's that look for?"

Six raises his brows in mock offense, and insists, "I don't know what you're talking about." You feel some tension dissipate at the friendly tone of his voice, and you let a smile tug on your mouth as you huff, "That look! It's like you know something I don't."

Six leans back further in his chair as he glances out the window, brushing you off with a scoff of his own. Your mouth parts playfully as you urge, "Tell me!" There's a slight whine to your voice, and it makes a soft smile curl on Six's lip.

There's a thoughtful look on his face when he turns to face you this time, but you know he's not going to share his inner monologue. Instead, the bearded blonde juts his chin toward your menu, "Better pick something to eat, she'll be back soon."

You want to stick your tongue out at him, but you refrain. Instead, you choose to narrow your eyes at him before doing as he says.

As you flip through the menu, Six can't help but let his gaze wander over you. You, sitting in front of him. It's just the two of you, no one else.

It's almost like a date.

Despite the tension starting to fade between the two of you, there is an undeniable awkwardness drifting through the air. There are couples lining the adjacent tables - men and women of all varieties settling down for their fancy, Friday night dinners.

When Maxie comes back with your drinks and takes your dinner orders, you have nothing to distract yourself with. All you have is Six.

The bearded blonde has chosen to look out the window in the long stretches of silence, his mind rolling with things to say. Not just things, but the right thing.

"I don't think you look out of place," you state quietly, toying with the straw in your glass as you effectively break the silence. There's an underlying nervousness to the statement. It borders on a compliment.

Six instantly turns to look at you, the sound of your voice drawing him in. It takes him a second to process your words, but then he's scoffing, "Oh, please." You smile softly at his dismissiveness, but you push, "No, seriously. You just look... comfortable, I guess."

He can't help but stare at you incredulously, disbelief flooding his body. Comfortable? He feels like he's on fire, and if he makes one wrong move, he's going to burn up.

He can't help it. You are... aggravating to him in the best way. He wants you to be comfortable with him again; he wants you to feel safe with him. But every moment is agony when he can't figure out how to do that.

"If you say so, Y/n/n," is all he can manage, your nickname rolling off his tongue before he can stop himself. The endearment hits you like a freight train, and you know there's a deer-in-headlights look on your face.

The air grows heavy as he waits for your response, but then, you're smiling. You take a shy sip of your lemonade before mumbling, "Haven't heard one that for a while."

You want to kick yourself at the subtle implication of your words, and when you glance up at Six pensively, you see a dulled expression on his face. He sniffs quickly and glances away, and you rush out, "You know, I think it might be a little while until our food gets here. I'm going to go dance."

Before you can say anything else, you are pushing yourself up and out of your seat, skirting around the edge of the table, and all but running away from the man behind you.

The dancefloor isn't packed, but it isn't empty either.

There are couples clinging to one another as they twirl around, laughing and having a good time. Your heart slams in your chest, the thought of leaving Six alone at the table after that comment swirling through your mind.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it! You are supposed to be fixing things, not making them worse!

You swallow thickly as you make your way onto the dance floor, your fingers tingling with apprehension and anxiety. You don't dance. What the fuck are you doing on the dance floor?

The answer was an obvious one, but not one that you wanted to admit to yourself. Instead, you try to let the rhythm of the song start to move your body.

What were you going to do now, anyway? Walk away?

It starts with a simple sway to your hips, letting the beat of the drums align with your internal metronome. Then, it's your feet, pulling you deeper into the throng of people littered across the tiled floor, sashaying two steps forward and one step back.

As you let yourself loosen up, your hands begin to move, playing with the hair around your face and waving through the air. The dance floor feels alive, with bodies both gracefully and uncoordinately twisting and turning, letting go of the stress of the day.

Back at the table, Six is left in silence as he watches you dash away. He wanted to curse himself up and down for the slip-up of using your nickname. He got too comfortable, thought things were going too well.

The bearded blonde is afraid he's scared you off, now, as you mingle with the people on the dance floor, avoiding the heavy air Six seems to bring. He can't help but watch you, though.

The way the shifting lights catch the tones of your shirt, the way your jeans hang so perfectly on your frame. You look good. He knows he shouldn't watch; he has no reason to be protective over you.

But he can't help it. There's a part of him that wants to watch you. Wants to be protective. But with the way your words dripped from your lips and you ran off to the dancefloor, he knows he has no right.

Six chooses to swirl his sweet tea, watching the way the lemon gets squished by the ice cubes before rising to the top. A deep sigh falls from his lips as he glances at the empty seat in front of him, another pang of annoyance shooting through his body.

Then, he hears it.

The opening drum beat. The whine of the slide guitar. The trills and runs of a keyboard. It's one of his favorite songs.

He can't help but look to the dance floor, his internalized anger momentarily forgotten. Six sees couples smiling at each other, starting to pull one another close. Their bodies begin to sway in rhythm to the crisp sound of Elvin Bishop's voice, and he finds himself looking for your figure.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, you stand alone.

Wistfully, you let your eyes flit over the couples swaying around you, lost in their own little worlds. You don't mean to, but your (colored) gaze lands on the table you so desperately ran away from.

You find yourself honing in on the broad figure of Six, who's already watching you. It makes a lump swell in your throat, but you push it down as a thought curls in the back of your mind.

You will yourself to lock eyes with the bearded blonde, and shakily, you nod to the dance floor. A sad smile tugs on your mouth, and you know you probably look pathetic. But you don't care.

Six stares at you for a second, and then his brows shoot up and he brings his free hand up to point at himself. You give him a tip of your chin, a silent plea for him to join you.

He reluctantly waves his hand back and forth next to his throat, a definitive, no way. But then, Six sees a glimmer in your eyes from across the room. It's barely noticeable, but it's there.

It's a look he knows he shouldn't run away from. There's a try in your gaze that he hasn't seen since his outburst. And it's enough for him to push off the table, take a quick sip of his sweet tea, and make his way to the dance floor.

The lyrics of the song float through his mind as he makes his way over to you, unsteady steps making him land sluggishly in front of you. Your eyes light up at the sight of the bearded blonde staring down at you, obvious discomfort pricking at the angles of his face.

You know it's not his scene. But this is the first time you've seen the ex-CIA agent uncomfortable in his own body. So, you offer him a smile, one that is both bashful and apologetic.

And he returns it.

Then, he's offering you one of his hands, and you are nervously settling your palm in his. His hand gently tugs you closer to him, the movement somehow fluid despite the nerves that seem to spark the air between both of you.

You catch yourself on his chest with your free hand, the muscle of his pecs firm under your touch. It makes a heat singe your cheekbones, and the proximity makes your heart tighten in your chest.

The air in your lungs seems to disappear as you stare up at Six, eyes widening with surprise. He brings his free hand to cautiously settle on the small of your back, the long digits of his fingers splaying out.

You swear your heart is about to burst, but then he's taking your intertwined hands and pulling your arm up so you can wrap it around his neck. You follow his lead and carefully loop your arms around his neck, a fire burning in your belly at the intimacy of this dance.

He slowly releases his grip on your hand and slides it down your arm, trailing your shoulder, before grazing your spine. Then, he's locking his arms around your waist, guiding your body to sway with his.

There's a space between you and him, delicate enough to make middle schoolers blush, but not enough to upset your mother. The tender way he holds you has shivers shooting up your spine, his grip firm but not controlling.

It's secure and unwavering, but gentle and respectful. It makes the breath catch in your throat, and goosebumps rise on your arms. Despite your body and mind going into overdrive, you try to let yourself relax and follow his lead, swaying your body to the music.

You did ask him to come dance, after all.

But since I met you baby, love's got a hold on me.

You let the lyric hum from your lips, the tune easily coming to you as Six gently turns you around the floor. You don't dare speak the words, but the bearded blonde knows them like the back of his hand.

You can't help the sharp breath that you take afterward, your heart is still racing, and the feeling of Six's hands on your waist is driving you a little crazy. Just then, you catch the scent of his cologne, and it almost makes you lightheaded.

It's rich but comforting, homey with a touch of woodsmoke. It's so very Six that you are momentarily distracted, and you clumsily step on his foot.

Immediately, you look down and scramble off his foot, an apology rushing from your mouth, "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'm such a clutz-" "It's okay, I'm pretty sure I've got two left feet," he cuts you off, a kind look on his face as he ever so slightly tightens his grip on you and spins you around.

It makes you giggle, pushing the thought of your misstep out of your mind. You let yourself relax into the music and the feeling of Six's hands on you, but before you know it, the song is fading to an end.

You aren't sure how Six feels about you right now, not after your untimely comment, so you are the one to pull back from his embrace, withdrawing your arms from his neck. You take a careful step back, regaining some distance between yourself and the bearded blonde.

He lets you out of his grip with ease, a look of longing flashing across his features. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, the carefree look on your face now gone, then you point toward your table, "I bet our food is here, we probably should go sit."

Six gives you a nod of understanding, and clearing his throat, replies, "Yes, ma'am, lead the way." Your heart flutters in your chest at this endearment, but you don't say anything. Instead, you reach forward and shyly grab his hand, tugging him to where your dinner awaits.

The rest of dinner goes by without any more grievances - the two of you managed to talk about Claire, how the farm was doing, and some future plans. Six, ever the gentleman, paid the bill without batting an eye before shuttling you out the door of the restaurant.

It was getting late with the moon rising higher in the sky, but the restaurant was only getting more wound up. You both wanted out before it got too crazy, and you were growing tired from the emotional rollercoaster of the night.

You can't help but sigh as the summer air washes over you, whisking away the heady smell of the restaurant. Six hums in response next to you, his tan jacket slung over his thick arm as the two of you walk in silence.

"Tired?" he asks lowly after a moment, his booted foot toying with a small piece of gravel on the pavement. You swivel your head to look at him, and with a half-lidded blink, you huff out, "Just a little. But this was... nice."

The words are a little clunky falling from your mouth, and admitting that the evening wasn't a total trainwreck makes a shy smile curl on your lips. You glance away from him, focusing on the feeling of your boots scuffing against the concrete.

You miss the smile that laces Six's mouth as he watches you from the corner of his eye, a few strands of his blonde hair falling onto his forehead. A brisk breeze rolls through the packed parking lot, and the sounds of the restaurant fade as the two of you make your way out to the secondary lot.

You shiver at the chill of the breeze, and suddenly you wish you had brought a jacket to wear. Your arms fold around yourself to protect your warmth, your fingers rubbing at the exposed skin of your bicep.

Six notices your movement almost immediately, and he turns toward you and offers quietly, "Here, take this." He shuffles his tan jacket from being folded over his arm to being outstretched toward you, a soft glint to his darkened gaze.

The sun has set and the sky is dark, with only the dim lighting of the parking lot lighting up the features of his face. It's hard to see where he's looking, but your heart lurches in your chest as you stare at the tan material.

So you couldn't dirty up your own jacket?

The sound of Six's cruel words replaying in your head makes you stop in your tracks, and you can hear the blood beginning to roar in your ears. Six pauses next to you, uncertainty draped over his large frame with a quick glance at the startled look on your face.

You don't know what else to do, so you shrug awkwardly as you stutter out, "I-I'm fine, I'm good. I-I shouldn't take your jacket." A deep pang runs through you at the clumsy denial, and you see a look of emotion flit across Six's face.

Things still aren't back to normal just yet.

The air grows still but thick as the two of you stare at the ground. For a moment, you get nervous that Six is going to lash out and say something harsh, but he doesn't. He's quiet as can be, a thoughtful look on his face as he obviously replays the same words you had thought of.

"I meant what I said, you know," he eventually mumbles with concern sewn into his voice. He motions toward you with the jacket clasped in his outstretched hand, "I want there to be another day where you wear my jacket."

This makes you look up at him, surprise dancing across your face as you regard the bearded blonde. He takes a shaky breath after a moment of silence, and then looks at the material bunched up in his hand.

A forlorn smile tugs on the corner of his mouth before he glances up to meet your gaze, mumbling, "Plus, I think it would look better on you than on me."

You can see the honesty in his eyes as he locks his stormy gaze onto your own (colored) one, and your heart skips a beat in your chest at the thought. You swallow nervously, your inability to fight his sweet words taking control, and then shrug awkwardly, "O-okay, then."

Six's gaze softens at your acceptance, and he unfolds the jacket in his arms. Then, he takes a careful step toward you, the distance between your bodies decreasing rapidly. He slowly drapes the material around your shoulders, his fingers coming up to fiddle with the collar to settle the tan fabric around you to make sure it lies comfortably.

Instantly, the jacket seems to stop the bite of the wind, and you catch another whiff of the scent that is so Six. You have to bite your tongue from saying anything stupid; you just stand still and let him adjust the material over your frame.

A wave of heat dusts your cheekbones as you catch the corner of his gaze, and there, you see a soft expression. The lines on his face have smoothed out, and there's a shine to his eye that makes your heart flutter and butterflies bloom in your belly.

You let your fingers come up to pull the jacket around you closer, and Six's hands hover over your shoulders as he watches you. A sigh of content slips from your mouth, and you give him a wide smile as you whisper, "Thank you."

The bearded blonde gives you a smile of his own, and briefly cocking his head to the side, he replies, "Anytime, Y/n/n." This time, there is a meaning to his use of your nickname. It doesn't make you flinch or run.

Instead, it makes you lean closer to him, and you see his gaze flicker down for a moment before regaining eye contact with you. His hands finally come to a rest on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soft circles over the material of his jacket as he nods toward the corn field in the distance.

"C'mon, we still have a ways to walk," he murmurs quietly. Six takes a step back, and it's like the air that floods the space between the two of you is cold as ice. You can take a deep breath now, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of the fresh air clearing the anxiety from your mind.

You do as he says, though, and set off towards the corn field, your knees slightly weakened and your heart still stuttering in your chest. Six is right next to you, though, silent as ever as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

The rest of the walk to the truck only takes a few more minutes - skirting from the edge of one parking lot to another, dodging a minivan that whipped into a spot a little too fast, and getting the bottom of your jeans wet in the late-night dew.

The weightlessness and simplicity of the small interactions make both of you chuckle, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders when you finally see the white and blue stripes of the old Chevy.

Once the two of you get close, Six's hand reaches for the rusty handle on the passenger's side door as if it's second nature, but as his digits clasp around the release, he pauses. You stand merely a foot away, waiting for him to move.

Your brows furrow in confusion as he seemingly freezes, staring at his tattooed hand on the handle. You carefully reach forward toward him with one hand as you ask, "Six? Is everything okay?"

Then, he shifts. He looks at you, a faraway glint in his eyes as his free hand grabs your covered bicep and gently pulls you closer to him. The bearded blonde swivels so that your back is to the blue and white stripes of the truck, and you are facing him.

His tan jacket is just starting to slip from your shoulder, and he carefully tugs it back up as he all but cages you against the truck door. There is a serious expression on his face as he invades your personal space, but there's a wide look of surprise on yours as you let him manhandle you.

Your lips part as you go to ask a question, but he cuts you off quietly, "There's something I need to tell you, Y/n. I can't wait any longer, okay?" There's an urgency to his voice, an underlying plea that makes your heart lurch and butterflies bloom in your stomach for the umpteenth time.

You clamp your mouth shut and give him a few rapid nods of understanding. All you can focus on is him. He is surrounding you. The feel of his jacket over your frame, the smell of his cologne flooding your nose, the sight of him blocking out the rising moon overhead.

Six is everywhere.

The sound of his voice, low with intent, grabs your attention. It's throaty and hoarse, but he manages to murmur, "Please, don't call me Six anymore." You blink in surprise at his ask, but before you can question him, he clarifies, "Call me Court."

An inaudible gasp rushes from your mouth before you can stop it, and emotion wells through you at his confession. This is big. Bigger than big.

There is such an intensity to Six's gaze, you almost want to look away, but you can't. There's a point for his intensity, and it takes you a second to pick up on it, but then it hits you.

He's showing you how much you mean to him. How much he trusts you. How much he needs you. His confession is open and raw and real - and it puts him at a disadvantage.

No one knew the real him. Court did not exist. So for him to share his name with you? It's special.

The confession is as much of a surprise to Six as it is to you. He had no intentions of sharing his given name with you tonight. There were words drifting through his mind, toying with him in his subconscious that he couldn't admit to himself yet.

So this was his remedy.

It said the words he didn't know how to say, but he's not sure if you can pick up on it. He wouldn't blame you if you didn't.

Instead, you are internally questioning why he would share this with you, now of all times. You know he's sorry for being an ass - that much was easy to figure out.

Despite the rocky bits to the night, you did manage to enjoy yourself. And now? He gives you his name? You aren't sure what to make of it, but you know there is one thing you have to do.

You give Six a blinding smile as you lean back against the truck, his words and your thoughts rolling around in your head. This changes everything, and you both know it.

So, you blink up at him softly as his blue gaze fretfully flits over you, and you murmur, "Okay, Court."

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes Court freeze. You actually called him by his given name. His heart slams in his ribcage as he replays the way you enunciated it, the way your eyes twinkled in the dim light of the night.

There are a million things he's feeling as he looks down at you, his stomach twisting and turning with both joy and anxiety.

But one thing is for certain - he is fucked. Because right then and there, pinned against his rusty old Chevy, next to a corn field in the middle of the night, Courtland Gentry knows he's in love with you.

[groovy-pisces]

Extra Curricular Touch Therapy (aka Dry Humping!)

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader NSFW

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶୨୧︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

‘Does it feel good?’ Lars breathes into your ear, cheek pressed desperately to yours; the only place your skin meets. His voice is husky and quiet, breath hitching as he awaits your response. Your clothed legs wrap tighter around his waist, his fingers grip harder to keep you still as his hips rut into you. You nod your answer, and he stifles a moan.

He pulls back then, eyes snapping shut for just a moment, and he stills. ‘Should we stop? Is this- should we- are you…?’ But all it takes is your fingers pushing the fallen strands of dirty blonde hair back from his face and a whispered promise that it feels too good to stop now, and he buries his face back in your shoulder and chases the flame burning in his gut.

He can feel you trembling against him, your legs beginning to shake, and your fingers — god, the way they’re gripping at him — and it really does feel so good.

‘I- I’m-’ he rasps hot and wet against your neck, and just like that he’s groaning against your skin, slowing to appreciate the sensations instead of being overtaken by overwhelm. Dragging them out while everything feels this delicious.

Then he’s dropping onto his bed beside you, red-faced, panting, scared to look you in the eye incase he took it too far and wasn’t supposed to... get there that fast. You know how to reassure him it’s okay, though; next time, you’ll try it with a few less layers between you.

[groovy-pisces]

Drive (Ryan Gosling) - Drive 2011

[groovy-pisces]

CRAZY, STUPID, LOVE (2011) dir. Glenn Ficarra and John Requa

[groovy-pisces]

^_^!!

[groovy-pisces]

That 'you as a Barbie doll' ai trend but it's Lars and I drew it myself

[groovy-pisces]

one of my favorite movies..

i wanted to try to draw :)

[groovy-pisces]

Wonderful Tonight | Part III

Summary: A twist is thrown into the mission just as you think you are finally settling in, and Six? Well, he's acting like your boyfriend more than you can handle.

Word Count: 24.4K

Chapter Warnings: mentions of the mafia/guns/weaponry/bioweapons/alcohol/drugs, strong themes of blood/gore/violence, the black market, mentions of sex trafficking, some sexual innuendos/jokes, one OC is slightly pervy, mild use of seduction tactics, some harsh language/swearing, some angst/mutual pining, anxious tendencies, reader is very slightly crybaby but is just overwhelmed a lot, Six is way too much of a little shit for me to handle, slightly NSFW themes including feeling up/leaving hickies/slightly possessive attitude, one-bed trope, some fluff, BDE competition vibes

A/N: Hello my darlings! Here is the third part of my beloved "mini series" I have been working on! This is one of my absolute FAVORITE things I have ever written. Again, please give me all of the comments and feedback, come scream at me! - Birch <3

Series Masterlist

Epilogue - Click Here

Moodboards

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound makes you rouse, your (colored) eyes slowly cracking open, the world blurry with sleep. There’s just barely sunlight seeping through the open window on the other side of your nightstand, and you slowly realize you are lying on your right side.

It’s fairly early yet, with cool light only pooling on the floor and not blinding your sensitive eyes. The Petalas sun can be a bit unforgiving during the late morning and early afternoon, but first thing in the morning, it is cool and refreshing.

Despite the fresh air swirling through the window, you’re warm, you notice. Very warm. The comforter is pulled up to your chest, yes, but there is an intense but comforting warmth seeping through your body.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, you feel this extra sense of weight. It’s not unbearable, but you don’t remember the comforter being this heavy, not unless you stole all of them again. With a bleary glance down at your body and the covers, you know you don’t have all of the blankets.

The combination of the warmth and the weight makes your eyes start to flutter closed, sleep trying to drag you back under. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A twitch. 

Your eyes instantly snap open. The weight. The warmth. The undisturbed covers. It’s Six.

As you come to your senses, you can suddenly feel the way he is wrapped around your smaller frame. His left arm is slung over your waist, the digits of his fingers splayed out across the expanse of your belly. God, he’s warm. His touch seems to have a magical spell about it, lulling you deeper and deeper into the mattress.

You force yourself to focus, taking note of the rest of your position. His chest is flush against your back, his hips firmly nestled against the curve of your ass. Butterflies well deep inside you at the thought, your breathing quickening ever so slightly.

With a quick flex of your big toe, you realize your legs are intertwined with his, the heaviness of them pinning you flat against the bed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A low groan sounds out behind you, the sound making your heart skip a beat in your chest, and your legs clamp down around his. You silently curse yourself for the involuntary movement, and before you know it, the warmth of Six’s body flush against your own is gone.

Your gaze flits to the end of the bed, where you can just make out Six’s figure near the door before he disappears from view. Now alone and with sleep wearing off, you sit up and glance around the large bedroom. The pillow that you had used as a barrier between you and the bearded blonde now lies on the floor on your side of the bed, long forgotten.

I don’t remember losing that in the middle of the night… You think to yourself as you stare down at the lumpy pillow. You look back over your shoulder to where Six had been lying moments ago. His side of the bed looks just like it has the last couple of nights, but you can still feel his heat radiating through your body.

You groan quietly as you finish sitting up, stretching your arms out in front of you and swinging your legs off the side of the bed. Just as you shuffle to stand up, Six reappears at the doorway of the bedroom, a frown plastered onto his face.

His hair is fairly mussed, the usually combed locks falling over his forehead in knots and into his blue eyes. You can still see the frown set there, and panic starts to flood over you at the disgruntled look on his face. You part your mouth to clear your throat, but Six’s husky voice cuts in first.

“We, uh, are going to need to pack up our stuff,” he starts, his voice deep and still slightly edged with sleep. He rubs at his face with one hand, mumbling, “We’ve been upgraded to a new room.” At the end of his words, he walks further into the bedroom, stopping near the end of the bed to catch your gaze.

You blink at him in disbelief, question evident on your face. He shrugs and mutters, “Yeah, I know. We’re moving up to a honeymoon suite near the top of the resort.” You clamp your mouth closed at his words, and you glance away as you bounce the thought around in your mind.

We have to move rooms? Did someone find out about us? Is this because of Whitney and the other girls I talked to? Or Six’s business chats? Why do we have to move?

You pause for a moment as you try to come up with answers to your silent questions, but then a glaring thought rises to the front of your mind - Honeymoon suite!? What the fuck!? The heat that had coursed through you as a comfort now seems to be too much, your face growing hot and your stomach feeling like it’s full of lead.

You glance back up at Six, who hasn’t moved a muscle, just silently watched you, and you mumble, “Maybe it’s got something to do with my new friends?” Six’s attention hones in on you even more, but all he does is raise an eyebrow at you, a silent way of saying, ‘Go on.’

You shuffle to face him, kicking your feet off the mattress to position yourself before explaining, “Well, I’ve gotten a lot closer with those three girls - Whitney and Isabella in particular. Whitney and I were talking, and-” Your voice cuts out as the conversation floods back over you.

“‘m sure I could think of something for you and Mr. Lawson to try out…”

“You’ll have to come up to my room sometime so we can have some girl talk!”

 “Whitney is always coming up with stuff to try, if you know what I mean.” 

You look away from the bearded blonde as the dirty conversation sings at the forefront of your sleepy mind. You swallow thickly as you think to yourself, There is no way I can tell him what that conversation was about, no way in hell.

“And?” Six’s voice thrums out lowly, regaining your attention. You shake your head to clear your thoughts and sigh out, “And she was inviting me up to her room to like, hang out, I guess. I know her and her husband are on one of the top floors. Maybe she put in a good word for us?”

The words come out a little quick and a little clipped, but Six doesn’t seem to care. His brow furrows a little deeper as he mulls over the details you shared. He cocks his head and then shrugs, “I mean, it’s definitely a possibility. These people are so weird about stuff, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.”

Six rolls his shoulders as he continues, “It could also be because I’m talking to Bad Brad for business. If he thinks I’m somebody worth keeping around, he might be trying to keep us comfortable by moving us to a bigger room before I start business with The Lion.”

You nod as you stand up slowly, sighing as you crack your back, twisting side to side. You huff, “That’s a good point, too. Whatever the reasoning, we should be on high alert for anything suspicious. We’ll have to look for any wires or cameras once we get moved up there.”

Six’s gaze hardens as he realizes your intensity is increasing about the mission, and he confirms, “Of course. We’ll have to keep our stories air-tight. We can’t let anything slip.” You turn to face him again, and you see Six’s eyes dip over your pajama-clad body before returning to your (colored) eyes.

“We’ve only got one shot at taking him out,” he murmurs. You wrap your arms around you, trying to regain a sense of control, and you mumble back, “You’ve got one shot at taking him out. I’ll likely have to cover for us, you know.”

The two of you lock eyes, and you see Six tuck his chin briefly in understanding. Silence falls over the room, the air blowing in from the window making it hard to breathe. You shuffle on your feet in unease, your leg bumping into the pillow left on the ground.

You wobble for a second, glancing down at it in surprise. Six’s stormy gaze also flits down to the white pillow, and he watches as you pick it up and slowly set it on the bed behind you. 

“I’m going to start a pot of coffee, feel free to get changed or whatever,” his voice comes out slightly short as he motions behind the door. You just give him a nod as he backs away and turns a moment later, your (colored) gaze following him until he shuts the door behind him.

Neither of you says anything about the meaning behind the pillow on the ground.

Apparently, the lounge rooms are more common than you had originally thought. The one you and Six had occupied the day prior was small and secluded, but this one? This lounge room is almost as large as a dining hall - plush couches line the walls and decorate the center of the room.

There are small tables with arrangements of hors d'oeuvres, select wines, and other delicate food items. It’s a beautiful afternoon, really. The businessmen and women at the resort are enjoying the warm, light air and the friendly conversations that seem to come with it.

It isn’t as busy as any of the parties or dinners from previous days. You and Six are both here, of course, but the three girls and their partners have made themselves known as well. A few of the other couples that you recognized but hadn’t really interacted with are also milling about, joining in on the pleasantries.

You’re enjoying yourself despite keeping a watchful eye and a listening ear, but there is something about the atmosphere that seems to be a little different. A little odd. It takes you a few minutes to be able to place your finger on it, but then it clicks.

A light tap on Six’s shoulder is enough to get his full, undivided attention. His eyes are immediately raking over you, interest shining in his stormy gaze. He silently lifts an eyebrow at you, and you make a slight motion to the people surrounding the room, whispering, “The other women aren’t with their partners.”

At your words, Six quickly glances around the longue, noting how Whitney isn’t hanging off of her husband's arm, Sophia isn’t next to her partner, and all of the other women are scattered among random men.

A brief look of annoyance washes over Six’s angled features, but is gone the next second, his blue gaze turning back to look at you as stoic as ever. He shrugs lightly and murmurs, “You gonna join in?” 

You didn’t want to join in, but you also didn’t want to stand out. You let a sigh out through your nose, and you give him a pleading look, whispering, “I think I need to flirt with the other men here to fit in and not be suspicious.”

Six’s eyes narrow at you as he processes your words, and you see his jaw clench and the muscles there flex. Flirt with the other men? Is that really the only way to fit in? He doesn’t like it. But there’s no other way, and he trusts your judgement and skills.

Reluctantly, Six gives you a nod before tearing his eyes away to search through the available men. His gaze hones in on a guy sitting alone, one that he recognizes from the group of men that had been standing next to Timothy at the fancy dinner.

He gives a small point in the guy’s general direction, and you take in the figure of the man. Six’s voice hums lowly next to your ear, “He’s a part of the inner circle, I say go for him.” A second later, Six pulls away and fixes the blazer of his jacket nonchalantly.

You cock your head to the side briefly before muttering to yourself, “Alrighty then.” You move to fluff your hair and make sure the locks are hanging the way they should. You know your lipstick looks good, you just put it on a few minutes ago.

With a bit of heat running over your cheeks, you clear your throat as you pick at the fabric lining your chest. Lithe fingers carefully tug the bust of the dress open to be more revealing, the cool air of the lounge hitting your skin in waves. It raises goosebumps over the delicate skin of your chest, and you shoot a glance at Six out of nervous habit.

When you make eye contact with the bearded blonde, you see his gaze has darkened from his typically clear blue expression. Now, his pupils have blown wide, and he’s looking at you with an intensity that makes your toes want to curl. Instantly, you have butterflies swarming in your stomach, but you squash them a moment later.

He’s. Pre. Ten. Ding. How many times do you have to remind yourself? God, Y/n, get it together, the thoughts flood your mind. You take a sharp breath, looking down to smooth out the skirt of your dress, trying to get your act together to approach the man.

Six clears his throat and once again motions to the man subtly, stepping back to allow you to sidestep around his broad frame. You take one final breath to steel yourself, and then you let your training kick in.

Heel to toe. Long but slow stride. Sway in the hips. More sway, twist a bit. Arms loose, opposite of your foot. Chin up, eyes sultry. Part your lips. Atta girl.

The thoughts seep into your mind as you focus on your target. With a quick tuck of your hair behind one ear, you set one foot in front of the other and let your body move in the way you were made to. There’s an undeniable sway to your hips, the fit of the dress clinging tightly to your waist and ass to show off your curves.

Unbeknownst to you, Six’s gaze trails over your figure as you leave. He can’t help the way his gaze lingers on your hips - his hands have clung to them for the last couple of days. And now that you’re all but advertising them? He’s going to watch.

Even with your calm and seductive exterior, your mind is scrambling like a hamster on a spinning, detached wheel. Your heart is picking up in speed, thumping against your ribcage with the intent to remind you that you are alive.

You do your best to force your nerves down, focusing on making solid contact with the ground with your heels. Your ankle is still sore, but these people love their high fashion. So heels, it is.

Just as you were trained, long and elegant steps lead you up to the man Six pointed out. He’s taller than you, but not taller than Six. He’s not built as wide either, but sports a head of short, combed-back black locks and a set of brown eyes. 

He’s not someone you would consider…attractive. His torso is a little too long, and his legs are a little too short. The man is all skin and bones, draped in an expensive suit.  He also immediately eyes you up as you approach, his brown gaze raking over your figure.

It makes you feel as if a roach crawled across the toe of your shoe, and you force yourself to plaster a pretty smile onto your painted lips. You blink up at him through your darkened lashes, giggling, “Hello there, handsome. What’s your name?”

You would have vomited if not in this scenario, the sound of your voice honeyed to be a bit too sweet. The man seems to like it, though, and swivels on his barstool to fully face you. A smug smile of his own tugs on his lips, and you feel a chill shoot up your spine at the unnerving angle of it.

“Name’s Marcus, gorgeous,” he drawls, the words slow to fall from his mouth. You giggle lightly at the compliment, your gut twisting as you get closer to him. You carefully lean against the table he’s leaned back against, smoothly propping your right elbow up to lean your palm against your cheek.

With a bit of tact, you hug your left arm closer to your body, the skin on your exposed chest glinting in the warmth of the lights. You see his eyes dip to your chest appreciatively, and you bite your tongue to stop your urge to gag.

You clear your throat and ask lightly, “What brings you to Petalas? A good time?” Your voice dips to a lower timbre than you usually speak with, a sultry edge placed on your words. The man in front of you leans closer, and you want to recoil at the stench of marijuana hanging from his suit jacket.

You breathe through your parted lips instead, blinking up at him expectantly. The man, Marcus, shrugs nonchalantly before boasting, “Here on business with The Lion. I do a lot of record and bookkeeping.”

The voice in your head wants to ask for more details about it, but you know the women here have no need for information like that. You let a look of awe dust your features, and you smile, “Then you’ll probably get to do some business with my boyfriend. He’s selling products here at the resort and has piqued some interest with the men around.”

Your words are carefully chosen despite your airhead act. Marcus doesn’t seem to pick up on it, he simply raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted. A tall, thin man appears in front of the two of you, arrogantly saying, “Oh, Marcus isn’t that involved.”

A moment later, the tall man turns to face you, and you have to focus on keeping your face neutral as you take in the smug look of the new man. He offers you his hand and boasts, “Timothy Bowers, software developer and data analyst.”

You offer him your same, practiced smile and grasp his hand as daintily as you can. You give it a gentle shake before withdrawing your hand back to your side. You blink up at him shyly and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bowers.”

Marcus cuts in, “Ignore him, gorgeous. Tell me more about what your boyfriend is selling.” You turn to face the shorter man, and give him a polite nod while ushering, “Why yes, sorry I got distracted!”

Both men laugh at your simple-minded “forgetfulness”, and you giggle along with them. As you chuckle, you lean forward and rest your hand on Marcus’ arm that is slung over the table. When your hand touches him, his eyes instantly trail down your body again with an appreciative twinkle. 

You glance between Timothy and Marcus before replying to the question, “All I know is he was going to talk to Bad Brad about it, and that you’ll likely hear about it soon.” As you watch recognition and understanding settle on their features, you have to reset your face back to your blissfully ignorant smile.

Marcus motions toward you with his free hand, unbothered and grunts, “The Lion is very wealthy, so no price is too high for him. Man loves to spend dollars on his pleasures.” His words make your ears perk up. You know you have to tread carefully here to not be too nosy, but the intel is just getting good.

You cock your head and twist your face into innocent confusion. Both men glance at each other and then Timothy pipes up, “Oh pretty girl, don’t think too hard.” A flash of anger runs red hot through your veins, but you just blink at him and inquire sweetly, “What pleasures does The Lion enjoy?”

Timothy huffs out a laugh, and so does Marcus. You watch as Timothy’s eyes flit from your face down to your very revealed chest and down the curves of your body. The urge to throw up is even stronger now, and when you glance at Marcus, his brown gaze is locked onto your chest as well.

Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and the simultaneous want to run away, vomit on them, and punch both guys in the dick is strong. You take a quick breath to recenter yourself, and as you part your lips to speak, a firm pressure on your ass interrupts you.

You jump forward at the contact, but large, rough hands clamp down on your waist, pulling you flush against the firm body you now feel pressed against you. You panic internally for a second at this man grabbing you, and you draw your elbow up in the start of self-defense, but then you glance down at the hands holding you. 

It takes effort to keep your expression neutral, especially when you feel the man’s hips nestle flush against your ass. Your mouth falls even further open, and your eyes drop to half-lidded at the contact, your act almost falling apart. 

One of the tattooed hands dances from its place on your hip up to your belly, the long digits splaying over your stomach before traveling upward. A gasp catches in your throat as the hand diverts to the side as it travels north, slowing down to grasp at your left breast, kneading it tenderly for a second. 

You feel like you’ve been shot with the electricity crackling through your veins, your nerve endings stinging like they’ve been set on fire. You don’t get time to think about it, though, as the hand releases your chest and smooths over your collarbones before gently gripping you around the throat.

The man’s left hand holds your windpipe lightly as his right hand shifts from resting on your waist to wrapping around it, spinning you around to face him. Your (colored) gaze is instantly drawn to the height of the man in front of you, and a wave of thick, confused emotion floods you at his presence.

It’s Six.

He’s looking over your head at Timothy and Marcus, and his hand around your waist slides downward with intent purpose. His fingers dip into the material of your dress as he simultaneously palms your ass and pulls you flush against his chest.

Out of natural instinct, your hands fly up to rest on his pecs, and you feel his grip on your throat tighten a notch and then release slightly. A split second later, you watch him address the men now behind you, “I think you boys have something I lost.”

They are quiet for a second, and you keep your gaze fixed on Six, surprise now lacing your features as you look up at him. There’s a dark, dangerous look to his eye, one that makes a chill shoot straight up your spine. He glances down at you when the men don’t respond, and his grip on your throat tightens as he pulls you up to him.

His lips crash hungrily into yours without wasting a second. You barely have time to find your balance, a squeak falling from your parted mouth as you are pulled even tighter to his chest. This kiss is vastly different from all of the other kisses you have shared so far on this trip.

This kiss is rough. Six’s teeth bite at your painted lips, sinking into the flesh with measured nips. He’s not unforgiving, though, as he gently swipes his tongue over the bruised tissue a second later. The sheer intensity of the kiss makes your mouth fall even further open, and Six takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

A whine curls up from the back of your throat as you try to keep up with him, his fingers sliding up and down your throat soothingly as your mouth chases his. The bruising strength behind the kiss is making you lightheaded, and you can’t help but prop yourself against Six’s chest in turn.

The sounds of a woman and a man whooping and whistling at you and Six draw your attention away for a split second. Six pulls back a moment later, his chest heaving and eyes dark as he stares down at you.

Your lips burn from the abuse he just made them endure, but you can’t deny that your nerves are singing and butterflies are swarming your stomach. Six glances up from you to the two men still behind you, and you see his lips curl into a satisfied, smug grin, traces of your favorite shade of lipstick near his mouth.

Six holds his gaze evenly until you hear Timothy’s voice mumble out, “Sorry, Mr. Lawson. We didn’t realize she was spoken for.” The dangerous glint shines in Six’s eyes as he inhales sharply, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Timothy until you hear two sets of footsteps retreating, then his blue eyes land on you.

Your eyes are wide with surprise as you stare up at the bearded blonde, and you see the deadliness in his gaze soften as he slowly slides his hand off your throat. You swallow thickly as his rough hand resumes its place at his side, and with a quick breath, you start, “I-”

“Yeah, El!” a loud yell interrupts you. Hesitantly, you drag your gaze away from Six to the source of the voice, which lands on the distant figure of Whitney next to her husband. Her husband has an appreciative smile on his face and a drink in his hand. The man raises his drink at Six and whistles in recognition.

Six releases your ass a second later as pink starts to singe the tops of his ears. He forces himself to take a deep breath, and you step back to regain some personal space. You don’t get too far, as one of his now free hands reach for your own, threading his fingers through yours.

His grip is tight as you look around the room, feeling the presence of eyes on you and Six. So much for not trying to be the center of attention on this mission. It’s an eerie feeling, and it only takes a second for you to notice that all of the couples are now back with their partners and the room has gone slightly quiet.

With a sharp glance, people’s eyes leave you, and conversations begin to pick back up. There are a million thoughts spinning around your head, but you don’t get time to dwell on them as Six starts to tug you back to where you had been mingling with him before.

His grip on your hand is tight, but not enough to hurt. It’s one that says not to question him or pull away unless you want to make a scene. More than anything, you are confused. 

Why would he act like he was jealous like that? He knew that it was so we wouldn’t stand out, there wasn’t a need to interrupt. If anything, he should have been waiting for a woman to come up and start flirting with him!

You just clamp your mouth shut and scurry along behind him, the crowd parting as he makes his way toward the door. Other couples are beginning to leave, so Six takes the initiative to follow along behind them.

His body language is tense. His posture is stiff as he walks - his shoulders are tight and slightly drawn up, there’s a dark frown lacing his gaze, and his steps are long and determined as he pulls you along. You aren’t sure what to make of him; he’s never acted like this before, ever.

Never once had you seen him this riled up without throwing a punch or shooting a gun, but here he is. Fired up. 

You do all you can - scuttle along behind him as he leads the way up to your current room without rolling your ankle. The two of you still need to have your things moved after the news from that morning, but you hadn’t quite gotten around to it.

Only when the door to your room is firmly locked behind the two of you does Six take a breath and slightly relax his figure. You withdraw your hand from his slowly in an attempt to keep him calm, and you step around his side as you mumble, “What was that all about?”

The air is heavy in the foyer of the expansive room, and Six averts his gaze from you as he wipes at his face with his now free hand. You can see the brooding look on his face develop, and he moves to brush past you without a word.

With quick reflexes, you step in front of the bearded blonde, cutting him off. He’s still quiet, and you see his jaw clench in annoyance as he looks over your head, stewing in irritation. Measuredly, you reach up and gently grab him by the shoulders, unknowingly drawing his focus to the still exposed skin of your chest.

He doesn’t meet your gaze, and you gently squeeze his shoulders as you reiterate, this time more firmly, “Six, what was that all about out there?” The bearded blonde’s stormy eyes close at the sound of his name, and he takes a deep breath through his nose before releasing it as a sigh through parted lips.

When his eyes flutter open, they hesitantly meet yours, a frown still etched on his face. He grumbles under his breath, “I didn’t like how either of those guys were looking at you, it was dangerous.” A second passes, and emotion flashes in his eyes as he whispers, “Too dangerous.”

You release his shoulders with a light scoff, picking at your face as you huff out, “I was getting good information, Six, right as you came up.” Six rests his hands on his hips over the material of his blazer, and he replies intensely, “I’ve dealt with one of those guys that was talking to you. He’s a scumbag.”

You look at him incredulously as you mimic his pose, but opt to point a finger at him as you state, “I was getting information on The Lion, you should have been doing the same!” Your voice unknowingly raises in timbre, and your own features twist into an annoyed scowl.

Six takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to argue, “It doesn’t matter-” But you cut him off with a sharp look. It does matter, and you know it. He closes his mouth and clenches his jaw as he sniffles and looks away from you, shifting his weight.

You move your hands from your hips to fold across your chest, popping your hip as you wait for him to explain. When Six’s gaze settles on you again a moment later, you can see pink dusting his cheeks in the gloomy light of the foyer.

It’s silent in the room - the wind swirling through the window across the way in the kitchen providing the only relief from the heat brewing between the two of you. Just as you start to take a disbelieving step backwards, Six sighs, and his body releases a part of its tension.

“Look, I’m sorry for how I… handled that, back there,” his apology comes, the words clunky. He wipes at his face again and grunts, “That wasn’t something that we, or you, agreed to when we got assigned this mission. So,” he sighs again as he meets your (colored) eyes, “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

Six’s apology is genuine; that much you can tell from the tone of his voice and the pensive look in his eye. It’s a vastly different look from the one he donned during the… chat with those men. It makes your heart beat louder in your chest as you feel some of the tension dissolve at his words.

Then, a thought occurs to you. If he knew it was something that you didn’t explicitly ‘agree’ to, why did he still do it? The memory of Six’s hands sliding across your body makes your brain go fuzzy for a second. The feeling of his long, warm fingers dragging over the material of your dress, gripping at the soft flesh of your ass and breast.

You can answer your own question. He felt you up like that for no good reason other than his pride and ego versus those other men. There isn’t any other logical reason that you can come up with. Even if he had been acting, the act would have dropped the second the two of you were alone.

In reality, for Six, it was another round of Timothy being an asshole with an accomplice. The never-ending battle of arrogance of mafia men. The game, the contest, the cock fight. The most prowess, the biggest ego. 

It was all aggravating to Six, and when he saw the way Timothy and Marcus were eyeing you up? He couldn’t take it. And, it gave him the chance to serve Timothy some of his own medicine. Give him a one-up on the bastard.

You hum out a sigh, defeat engulfing you as you stare up at the bearded blonde, tension releasing from your own body. You mumble, “You, uhm, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, so to say. You just took me by surprise.”

In a simple motion, you unfold your arms from across your chest as you brush a piece of hair off your face and shrug, “Yeah, we didn’t explicitly agree to… that, but…” Your voice trails off as you try to come up with an eloquent way to word your next thought, but nothing comes to mind.

Heat dusts your cheeks as you glance at your heels and mumble quietly, “It was kinda hot.” 

A hefty silence fills the room at your confession, and you hold your breath as you see Six freeze out of the corner of your eye. You don’t have it in you to look at him, instead opting to change the topic with a rush of, “Well, we should get moved up to the new room. We don’t want it to look like we don’t appreciate the upgrade.”

As fast as the words fall off your tongue, you have spun around and all but sprinted into the bedroom. Six is left standing in the foyer, heart slamming against his ribcage as he watches your figure disappear.

The upgraded room is huge. The foyer is similar to the one from 316, decorated with a pretty wooden door and a thin hallway leading to an expansive floor plan. This time, the bedroom is off to the right, the door already propped open.

With a quick peek through the doorframe, your stomach is twisting in nervous knots. The size of the mattress isn’t the problem - you and Six had… comfortably shared a queen-sized bed, and this is a king. 

The covers look similar to the last bedspread, soft and airy to match the aura of the Petalas Resort. Instead of being pale blue, they are a dark brown, detailed with turquoise - matching the brand of the island. But above the bed is an intricate canopy, the curtain just barely opaque, and very much meant for two lovers.

At the thought, you duck your head out of the bedroom and out to the kitchen area across the hall from the front door. There is almost any cooking utensil and equipment you can think of lining the walls and placed in the drawers. Spices and herbs hang from a rack on the wall next to a tall window, the natural light illuminating the pale marble countertop.

You know you won’t have any time to cook or bake anything, so you push the kitchen out of your mind as you locate the bathroom, which has a huge shower and a separate bathtub. There is a large, flat area to sit in the shower, and you try not to let dirty thoughts twist your mind.

Steam flooding the space. Six sitting on the cool marble slab, legs parted. His rough hands combing through your damp hair while you get on his- 

The sound of a door creaking open far behind you makes you flinch, and your eyes dart around, feeling like you’ve been caught. You shuffle on your feet quickly as you duck out of the bathroom, your (colored) gaze landing on Six’s figure which is disappearing behind another door.

You choose to follow him, intrigued to see what else this upgraded room has to offer. As you make your way after him, you have to avoid a couple of employees whom you recruited to help you move all of your belongings. They were very nice girls, quick to help wherever they could.

They are just moving the last of your clothes into the bedroom as you make your way to the door frame where Six disappeared. When you glance around this room, you realize that it's a fully fledged living room - a large flat screen TV mounted to the wall, lights that dim via controls in the couch.

There’s a huge couch in the middle of the room where you could easily lie and fall asleep. Shelves hosting books and other knick-knacks line the far wall, which is where you catch sight of Six standing, looking around, same as you.

He notices your presence almost immediately, a neutral but slightly hard expression on his face as he regards you. Tensions are still a bit high after your disagreement, but you are doing your best to put it at the back of your mind.

The bearded blonde seemingly is trying to do the same, motioning around the room before huffing, “This is a bit much, isn’t it?” You lean up against the door frame as you follow the movement of his hand, shrugging as you reply, “Sure is. I’m not sure we are going to use even a 1/5th of the space in this place.”

Six hums in response, glancing at you before ducking his head and motioning to the couch, “I’m going to read through some details for a bit. We’ve probably got an hour of free time or so.” You give him a nod of understanding and hike your thumb over your shoulder, murmuring, “Yeah, I think I’m going to lie down for a bit. I’ve got a small headache, and I can ice my ankle some.”

You see Six’s gaze flash with worry as his eyes are drawn from your face to your ankle and back again, and as he starts to speak, you cut him off, “Don’t worry, I’m okay. Just trying to make it feel a bit better.” He swallows thickly at your confirmation and clears his throat, “Okay.”

Without another word, you give him a tight-lipped smile, step backwards, and make your way to the kitchen. The workers have all left at this point, the final one closing the door behind her as you stop in front of the freezer drawer.

You pull it open, not expecting there to be much inside, but you are pleasantly surprised when you see an assortment of frozen vegetables. You snag a bag of frozen peas, gently shoving the drawer closed as you scan the kitchen for a small towel. The only one you can find is the hand towel, so you wrap the turquoise cloth around your frozen veggies and set off for the bedroom.

When you walk in, the lights are dimmed low, forcing you to blink to let your eyes adjust. Once you can see the room in its full glory, you move to the far side of the bed. Six insists on taking the side closest to the door. It’s a thought that makes you smile as you brush your free hand over the comforter, slowly climbing on top of the covers.

It’s a little daunting with the canopy surrounding the top of the bed, and when you lie back and let your eyes wander to the ceiling, you are met with a surprise. A mirror. You stare up at yourself in awe, your hair sprawled out around your head, your legs crossed simply at the ankle, where you’ve set your bag of peas.

Why the fuck would there be a mirror in here? The thought races through your mind, and then you clamp a hand over your forehead before letting it slide down your face. You are pretending to be dating Lawson. Of course they would expect you to be fucking him.

You have to shut your eyes to stop your thoughts from spiralling, instead trying to focus on the dull throb in the center of your forehead and the coolness radiating from your feet. With your mind swirling, all you can do is pray you get some rest.

“You ready?” The words fall from your lips as you pause by the front door of your room. Six is just behind you, slipping on a pair of dress shoes. The bearded blonde just grumbles under his breath lightly, “As I’ll ever be,” but when he stands up straight to look you in the eye, there’s a light twinkle to his gaze.

You both knew you needed to show face again, and Six was hoping he could mingle and get in on some business. You figured you would try to gossip with Whitney, Isabella, and Sophia to see if you could get any other information out of them. Maybe it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

You offer Six a smile and the dip of your chin as you push the door open, taking a deep breath as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the hallway. Six’s hand carefully follows yours, pushing the door open behind you, making sure it won’t swing back and hit you as you step out into the hall. He clears his throat, obviously readying himself just as you are.

A moment passes, and the door clicks locked behind you, a small reminder that you need to have your acting skills on standby. Six is just a step behind you, his presence seeming to loom over you. Thankfully, the tension between the two of you has settled down with time spent apart in the new room.

Six motions in front of the two of you and mumbles, “After you.” You give him a small smile and duck your head, slipping in front of him with ease as you begin to pad down the lengthy hallway. Just as you pass the neighboring door, you hear voices around the corner ahead.

“...spot is ready?”

A familiar voice. 

Six’s hand reaches out in a flash, grasping around your wrist and tugging you back. You want to yelp in surprise, but you bite your tongue as you catch sight of Six holding a finger up to his mouth. Be quiet. It’s an order you don’t need to think twice about.

Intel. 

You watch Six as he concentrates on the voices, his eyebrows knitting together as he focuses on a spot in the distance, his hand drifting away from his face. You can hear a man’s voice this time, one that you don’t recognize. But Six does.

His stormy gaze swarms with recognition, and he glances down at you sharply, mouthing to you, “Bad Brad.” Interest slides onto your features, and you give him a nod of confirmation that you understand.

“Are the girls going to be ready?” you hear from the male voice. You glance up at Six again, confusion evident on your features by the draw to your brow and your pursed lips. Six isn’t much different; his mouth is drawn into a tight line, and his breathing is shallow to stay quiet.

A moment later, you hear the familiar voice again. A woman’s voice. Sophia. She responds to Bad Brad, “Yes, they will. And, we have an addition to the catalog that we weren’t expecting.”

Her words make your head cock sideways. You roll your head side to side slightly as you mouth up to Six, “Catalog?” The bearded blonde glances down at you, his expression still thoughtful as he mulls the word over in his head.

Then, his face drops. A pit forms in your stomach at the sudden horror that fills his eyes, and you see Six’s jaw clench down harshly as he thickly swallows. Still confused, your mind is racing with the possibilities of what they are talking about.

Catalog? A new addition they weren’t expecting? Will the girls be ready? Are they talking about the workers here at the resort?

A moment passes, and you don’t hear the voices, and as you part your lips to silently question Six about their meaning, it hits you. The catalog had a new addition, the girls would be ready for the catalog.

They are trafficking the women from the resort.

The sounds of feet scuffing on the carpeted floor of the hallway makes your already heavy stomach drop. You are going to be sick, and there is no way you can act through this. 

But, ever the genius, Six is on it. The hand he has clasped around your wrist rapidly pulls away, instead coming to rest on your waist, spinning you to face him. His free hand comes up to your other hip, and with a bruising strength, he lifts you from the ground.

Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, the material of your dress bunching up around the tops of your thighs as his hands slide underneath the curve of your ass to support your weight. Then, with a quick turn on his feet, he silently walks back down the length of the hallway you had just traversed, back to your room.

There, he pins you to the wooden door, his hipbones pushing up against you with a strength that makes your toes curl. Your hands have settled on his shoulders, your eyes wide in both panic at the situation and surprise at Six’s actions.

Butterflies replace the feeling of lead in your stomach as Six’s gaze darkens slightly, leaning into you with a delicious intent. His hands fiddle with the hem of your dress as he leans in to kiss you, ensuring that you are suitably covered when his lips land on yours.

Your lips are already parted when his crash against yours, the feeling new and familiar all at once. It still makes your stomach flip with anxiousness, but brings you comfort in a way you never expected. His mouth slides over yours with a new intensity - not any faster or less caring, but more passionate.

This kiss makes your legs clamp down around Six’s waist, the scratch of his goatee on your chin and cheeks driving you a little insane. There is an innate hunger to this kiss that makes your heart flutter and your hands shake, his mouth sliding over yours in a way that you know is messing with your judgment.

Six kisses you like a starved man, yet his soft lips move at an excruciating pace. It’s slow - the type of kiss that makes you breathless based on its intention alone. But, it’s passionate and encompassing at the same time. The world seems to disappear as his mouth works over yours, a perfect synchronicity that makes it feel like he was made to kiss you.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end…

Six pulls his mouth off of yours, his gaze half-lidded as he blinks up at you. His hair is still perfectly combed out of his face, but his cheeks have started to tinge pink, and his mouth is parted, waiting.

…just for more good things to start.

The bearded blonde all but lunges forward as he dips his head toward your neck, his warm lips somehow finding the spot on your pulse point with deadly accuracy. Despite the softness of his mouth, his teeth take no mercy on your soft flesh. With a quick nip at your skin, your head falls back and slams against the door with a dull thud.

A whine falls from your lips before you can stop it, and an embarrassed heat washes over your face at the involuntary reaction. Six, on the other hand, bites down hard on your neck at the sound, before sucking at the delicate flesh, no doubt bruising the skin his mouth dances over.

The thought of Six leaving hickies on you passes through your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his hands tighten on your ass and his mouth starts trailing down to your collarbones. Your hands have begun to move with a mind of their own, smoothing over the front of his suit jacket to sit at the base of his neck, threading your fingers through his combed hair.

Your digits work at the dirty blonde locks as your hips roll ever so slightly against Six’s, and the bearded blonde hums appreciatively against your chest in response. With free access thanks to the low cut of your dress, his mouth works its way down the valley between your breasts.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears at the sensation, and your eyes flutter shut to internalize all of it. It’s warm and wet, soft and scratchy, soothing and burning all at the same time. Your nerves are in overdrive, firing at any and all points of contact Six has with your body.

With a particularly harsh bite at your chest, a moan slips out through your parted lips, and another wave of embarrassment floods over you. Six doesn’t seem to react negatively to your response, and, instead, slides one hand from under your clothed ass to mess with the hem of your dress.

Just as the long digits start to roll the fabric of your dress up on the inside of your right thigh, you hear the voices coming from down the hall. Your grip on Six tightens - he’s relentless. His mouth just travels up and down the valley of your chest, leaving no inch of skin unattended.

His thorough job has you clamping your leg down to pause his hand that is crawling up the inside of your thigh, your mind split between your haze of pleasure and the people you know are inevitably going to catch you.

Despite feeling like you are on cloud 9, you do have a job to do, and you have to force your eyes open to catch sight of the owners of the voices. Down the hallway, you see the figures of Sophia, her husband, and Bad Brad making their way toward you and Six.

Then, Six’s hand releases its hold on your thigh, propping you up with his leg as his now free hand comes to rest on your chest. His digits work over your soft mound, and your mouth parts open in a gasp at the contact, your eyes locking onto the approaching men and woman.

With all of your will, you pull one hand from the back of Six’s head and whimper out, “R-Reed, stop, there are people.” At the hitch in your voice, you can feel Six smile against your skin, and you internally curse the bastard up and down for having this effect on you.

Sophia leads the three of them, and she stops a few yards away, surprise evident on her face as she watches you start to gently whack at Six’s arm. An awkward smile slips onto your lips as you try pulling his head up with one hand still carded through his golden locks, but he doesn’t budge.

Shit.

Six continues his assault on your neck as you stutter out, “Reed, Reed, give me the key card.” Six just hums against you for a moment, then he mumbles, “Don’t pay attention to them, they’ll leave.” Your eyes widen in mock, and real, surprise, and you whack at him again as you scold, “Reed, come on!”

The bearded blonde just groans lowly against you as his mouth works its way back up your chest and neck, finding a spot on your throat and behind your ear to torture. It’s hard to focus with his grip tightening and his mouth working all over you, but you manage to hear Sophia remark, “The two of you are still going at it, I see. This morning wasn’t enough?”

You just giggle as you start patting at Six’s trousers, fingers itching to find the pocket you know the key card is in. Right as your index finger catches on the pocket, you reply to her with a light chuckle, “Thanks to this new room, we just can’t help it.”

In a flash, you tug the key card out of his pocket, and Six groans lowly against you as your hand brushes his crotch and hip. It’s a clumsy move, trying to swipe the card against the locking mechanism without being able to see it, the sound of Six’s throaty groan replaying in your mind. 

But with a couple of taps, you manage to get it.

With a playful wave of your hand still holding the card, Six pushes the door open with a thundering crash as it slams into the wall. The figure of Sophia disappears as Six pulls you away from the door, kicking it closed with a skillful foot.

The internal locking mechanism clicks behind you and Six, and he pins you against the wall as his hands regain their place under your ass. His mouth darts from your neck up to your mouth, and he kisses you without hesitation. You’re more prepared this time, and the keycard tumbles out of your hand as your fingers reach up to cup his jaw to return his kiss.

You meet his mouth with an equal amount of passion, and surprise pricks at the back of your mind as you realize something. The door is shut. There are no more prying eyes. You don’t have time to dwell on it, though, as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip in a silent ask for permission.

Against your better judgment, you part your lips. He guides your head back with a gentle push, deepening the kiss as his tongue slides into the cavern of your mouth. Your breath catches in the back of your throat as his pace becomes languid - taking the time to explore every corner of your mouth.

All you can do is follow his lead, trying to catch your breath as your lips dance over his own. They tingle from the pressure of his kiss, but you can’t help but find it addictive as your head tilts to give him better access. You can’t stop the movement, it’s a subconscious action that your brain screams: Let him take care of you.

You know you should pull away, put an end to this, to save your feelings. But he’s making your head dizzy and your heart jump to your throat. You can’t. So you let him kiss you just the way he wants, his nose brushing against yours, his bearded chin tickling the soft skin of your face.

You hold onto him with everything you can muster because you aren’t sure what’s going to happen when he pulls away. It’s inevitable. The kiss goes from languid to tender, and the softening of his mouth on yours makes your heart flutter in your chest, and a new wave of butterflies blooms deep in your stomach.

After a moment of slowing everything down, Six hesitantly pulls away, regaining a few inches of space between the two of you. Your lungs ache and your chest heaves in an attempt to regain your oxygen, but Six is no better. His mouth is parted open in a pant, and his chest is rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

You have to blink a few times to center your gaze, and when you lock eyes with Six, his darkened gaze has turned slightly sorrowful. Your brows just start to turn downwards as you inhale sharply, opening your mouth to ask a question, but one of his hands releases from your ass to hover over the skin on your throat and chest.

There is a guilty look in his eye now as he whispers under his breath, “I’m sorry,” his fingers dancing over the dark reddish-purple marks littering your skin. His touch makes you shiver, and goosebumps rise on your arms as you watch him take in your disheveled appearance.

You can tell the bearded blonde is beating himself up as he takes note of every hickey, bite mark, and blemish that he sees. It makes your heart crack in your chest when he finally regains eye contact with you, the look of a kicked puppy on his face.

He murmurs the apology again, this time louder, “I’m sorry, I…” and his voice trails off. Before you know what you’re doing, you tighten your grip on his cheek and lean forward. Your mouth is still parted from when you were going to speak, but now shallow breaths slip out as your nose brushes against his.

Then, you close the gap and kiss him.

Even though no one is watching.

The Petalas Resort peaks in one specific set of rooms - the penthouse. On the top floor of the luxurious resort, The Lion has a vantage point above every businessman or woman that comes to the island. He has his bedroom and living area, of course, his specialized kitchen area that is hardly used, and all of the finest decorations he can buy.

But his main area of residence - his office. The Den, as he likes to call it. It’s where he meets with potential investors, subordinates, and other officials. It’s Thursday night, and The Lion knows he’s about to rock the underworld low lifes when his sale happens the following night. 

That’s why he has Bad Brad in his office to go over the final details of the sale and to clean up loose ends. The Lion sits at his large, steel desk with his feet propped up on top of the surface, a bored expression on his face as his second in command sits down in the chair in front of him.

“How are the bioweapon negotiations going?” The Lion asks coolly, his tone level as his dark eyes scrape over the form of Bad Brad. The latter sits stiffly in front of the desk, his posture straight, and he takes a leveling breath to state, “I have been in dealings with the man by the name of Reed Lawson.”

The Lion tilts his head in interest and vaguely motions for Bad Brad to continue. The subordinate swallows thickly before resuming, “The man is well-versed in weaponry - he is the CEO and owner of a business selling infantry and their designs worldwide. He and I had a private meeting, and I think he is trustworthy.”

The mafia boss just rolls his eyes as he sighs, annoyed, “Cut to the chase.” Bad Brad looks away from The Lion, but nods in understanding as he rushes, “When I asked him about bioweapons, he seemed to understand the nature of what you are looking for. He said they already have something like that in the works.”

The words come rolling off of Bad Brad’s tongue as fast as he can say them, and he holds his breath as he awaits The Lion’s reaction. The mafia boss is silent, but raises an eyebrow in thought before asking, “And the deal?”

Bad Brad rolls his shoulders as he gestures to The Lion, “Waiting on your approval. If you think we should move forward with Lawson for the fastest results, I told him you could be interested in meeting with him.”

The Lion’s face turns to a grimace as he snarls, “You what? What the fuck gave you the idea to say that?” Bad Brad’s face drops as he backtracks, “He also said that he would give us a discount if we test the first round of the product for him. Preliminary trial kind of a thing.”

The lie falls fast from Bad Brad’s lips, and he has to hold his gaze even not to get caught. The Lion’s grimace softens into a thoughtful frown as he nods to himself, thinking. His dark gaze flashes up to his subordinate’s, and he notes, “It could work.”

Bad Brad can’t allow himself to relax, and he’s quiet as he realizes The Lion isn’t done with him yet. The mafia boss sets his gaze on Bad Brad with a deep intensity as a wicked smile tugs at his lips, and he inquires, “What about his girl? Is she in the catalog yet?”

The question makes Bad Brad groan internally as he blinks steadily at his boss. He inhales sharply before replying, “We’ve been working on her.” A loud screech rings out in the office as The Lion sits back in his chair, the feet scraping against the floor.

The Lion has a sneer written on his face as he rests his hands angrily on his desk, leaning over to get in Bad Brad’s face. He whispers lowly, with a meaning that makes Bad Brad swallow nervously, “What do you mean you’ve been working on her? Is she going to make me any money or not?”

The subordinate has to use every ounce of will he has to stay calm. An angry mafia boss is a deadly mafia boss. He calmly replies, “I have some girls working on it, I just checked in with them today, and we are making good progress. We should be able to get her at the beginning of the night.”

The Lion doesn’t miss a beat, “If I find out she doesn’t make the catalog, it will be your head I go after next. You are expendable. Easily replaceable. Do you understand?” His voice is threatening and sharp, raising in volume as he slams his fist down on the table.

“Do you understand me?!” The Lion shouts at Bad Brad, rage flooding his words as he shoots daggers at his subordinate with his gaze. Bad Brad nods shakily, avoiding the mafia boss’s gaze as he mumbles, “Understood, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

The Lion just points at his door and grunts, “Get out of my sight before I kill you.” Wordlessly, Bad Brad leaves the room, his mind scrambling with how to get you confirmed in the catalog before the sale ends tomorrow night.

He has one problem: Reed Lawson.

It’s late in the evening - the moon is rising high in the sky, shedding sparse light through the window of the bathroom. The overhead lights are warm in comparison to the cool-toned rays dancing across the floor, but nonetheless, they make you glow.

You’ve brushed makeup all over your face, shimmering eyeshadow over your lids, contour in the hollows of your cheekbones, highlighter to the points of your face. A neutral lipstick is swiped onto your lips, followed by a faint gloss. 

It had taken you a while to work on covering Six’s… artwork. The sight of the dark marks littering your neck and chest make butterflies bloom in your belly as the feeling of his mouth on your skin swirls through your mind. Hot breaths, soft lips, sharp bites.

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you finish touching up your makeup, attempting to push the thought of Six out of your mind. You can’t think about him tonight. Not like that. The breath does its job, and you can feel tension dissipating as you run your fingers over the material of your floor-length dress.

It’s a deep, shimmering emerald. The material is soft, another fabric made from satin. The dress, like many others you have worn on the mission, is slightly revealing at the top. It’s held up by thin spaghetti straps that delve into a plunging V-shaped neckline. The bodice is pleated to show off the curve of your body, complemented by the small corseted back.

Your favorite part? The pockets. 

The pockets are well hidden with the swirling skirt of the dress. With heels on, the dark emerald fabric just grazes the floor, with the material cinched at your waist. For once, you are thankful the dress isn’t as skin-tight, even though a lot of your skin is still on display.

The partial slit on the left thigh is nice too - you have your favorite pistol tucked safely in a holster around the muscle of your leg. Despite the gun on your thigh, nervousness about the night seeps through your bones.

This is it. This is the telling moment of the mission. 

Six is going to kill The Lion. It is the night of the sale, and you both know he’s going to be watching from somewhere in the resort. It upped the stress you are feeling, but you are doing your best to lean into it. To thrive off of it.

Your acting is truly going to be put to the test tonight - Six won’t be by your side. Your one, sole job is to keep suspicions low with the people you’ve been talking to for the whole week. If you were to try to help your partner and stick to the shadows, Whitney, Sophia, and Isabella would likely see red flags. And you can’t have that.

Movement at the door of the bathroom catches your attention, and your eyes flash as they settle on the dark figure behind you in the mirror. Six. He’s quiet as he slowly leans up against the doorframe, his thick arms crossing over his chest as he takes in your appearance.

His silence gives you a minute to do the same to him. 

The bearded blonde looks sharp. Dangerous. He’s in a long-sleeved black button-up with the cuffs rolled to show off his forearms, his silver watch delicately decorating his left wrist. The top few buttons are undone, showing off the tanned skin underneath.

Hanging from his neck is the silver chain he’s worn all week - the pendant with GB glinting lowly in the dull bathroom lighting. There’s no tie hanging from his neck tonight, nor is there a blazer to go with his outfit. He simply tucked the black shirt into a pair of matching slacks and finished off the look with a set of black dress shoes.

It’s the closest he could get to wearing a tactical outfit while fitting in with the rest of the resort. You have a feeling that he didn’t really care what he wore tonight, because after showing face, he would disappear into the shadows.

Six had stashed gear somewhere deep in the resort near the location of the sale, and he would likely throw a bulletproof vest and boots on before donning his weapons. 

Your (colored) eyes flit back up to Six’s face after a moment, noting how his hair is slicked back, as always, and his goatee is finely trimmed. There’s a trace of unease on his angled features, and you blink at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and shrugging silently at him through the reflection in the mirror.

“Having any second thoughts?” he muses quietly as his gaze lingers on your dress-clad figure. Six can sense the tension in your body, and a part of him feels guilty at the ease he seems to be feeling. He gets to do what he’s best at, and you have to put your acting skills to the ultimate test.

You shyly glance away from his reflection as you reach for the pair of diamond studs you had set out on the counter, fingers fumbling with them while you try to come up with a response. After a moment, your fingers latch onto the jewelry, and you let out a sigh, “No, I’m not.”

Slowly, you pull the earring back off of one piece and start to fasten it to your ear as you continue, “I think I’m just a little apprehensive because this is actually happening.” Six nods once silently in response, and you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye.

He glances at his feet before stating, “Don’t forget I’ll be in your ear, and the drink orders we talked about.” Six taps at his ear, which is void of the black com you know he’ll put in once he’s alone, but the thought of it makes you unwind a little bit.

You scoff under your breath, playfully, before huffing, “Right, the more fru-fru the drink is, the better things are going.” Six cuts in, his voice deep with seriousness, “And if you talk about ordering something strong, things are going south, and I’ll do my best to get to you.”

You dip your chin in recognition as you finish fastening the first earring, allowing your hands to drop as you murmur, “Right.” You start to reach for the second earring, and then you hear Six’s voice hum lowly, “You’ll have to be wary of people spiking drinks too. There’s no telling what these people are willing to do.”

His words bring a fear crawling through you, and your blood turns to ice as you freeze at the implications of his words. There’s no telling what these people are willing to do. It is the truth. Anything can happen tonight, and you both know it.

Your fingers twitch on your earring, and it’s enough to make you snap out of your haze. “You’re right”, you whisper, your gaze fluttering down to mess with the earring back.

Six is quiet after that, his eyes carefully dancing over your frame. He can’t help but admire the curve of your lips as they part in concentration, the slope of your nose, and the angle of your jawline. A part of him wants to refrain from ogling the rest of you, but another part says it’s for the mission. 

He needs to know how good you look to see if other men will be all over you.

But then he’s reminded of his display in the longue room, and it helps to ease his worry. But still, he gives in. His stormy gaze drifts down from your face to appreciate your delicate neck, free of any jewelry.

Instead, his gaze dances over your collarbones, which have been carefully covered with makeup. If he focuses hard enough, he can see some areas which are darker than others, and a swell of pride runs through him.

He tries not to dwell on it, instead letting his attention dip to the bodice of your dress before quickly jumping to your backside, where he can see the loose strings of the corset lying untied. Slowly, as if not to spook you, he pushes off the doorframe and walks up behind you, his hands hovering over your waist.

You’re just finishing clasping your second earring as you turn over your shoulder to look up at him with interest, your brows raising in a silent question. Then, you feel his warm hands land on your waist a moment later as he watches your reflection in the mirror.

The touch makes electricity crackle through your blood, chipping away at any remaining nervousness or apprehension. The warmth his hands bring gives you a comfort you didn’t know you needed, and unconsciously, you lean into him.

“Need help getting this tied?” he murmurs softly, the sound of his husky voice outside the shell of your ear making your knees weak, and goosebumps break out on your skin. His hands slip from the sides of your waist to the small of your back, delicately tugging at the loose satin strings to further his question.

A breath catches in your throat at the intimacy of it, and your mind grows hazy at the affection of his action. We aren’t in front of people, there’s no need for him to do this. Unless he wants to? No, that’s silly.

The thoughts, as quick as they come, disappear into the back of your mind as you give his reflection a kind, tight-lipped smile and mumble, “Yes, please.” Without another word, Six’s fingers work deftly at tightening the satin strings to the corset. He pulls them taught, not enough to be constricting, before tying it into a bow tightly at the bottom of your spine.

While his hands finish working on your dress, you reach for your own black com and place it in your right ear. Carefully, you mess with your (colored) locks to hide it, internally reminding yourself not to brush any hair behind your ear.

A moment later, Six finishes and takes half a step back, giving you room to finalize your look for the evening. Watching yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but think you look pretty damn good, and you swivel to look at Six, the skirt of your dress fanning out at the motion. Your ankle twinges slightly at the movement, your dark heels rocking at your spin.

You have to bite back a pained grimace as you quip, “Well, Mr. Lawson, how do I look?” The tone of your voice is light and playful, and you give him a slightly wobbly, but shallow curtsy as your hands toy with the fabric of the skirt. You let a smile grace your features, brightening your eyes as you watch the bearded blonde in front of you with interest.

Suddenly, the mission seems to be far out of mind with the intensity you see in Six’s eyes. The usual, bright blue of his gaze is now swirled into a dark, misty ocean, hard to read, but not uncomfortable to look at. Emotion coats his face openly, and you see his eyes flit over you before he responds earnestly.

“You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Y/n,” he whispers, his voice low and breathy. There is not a single ounce of playfulness to his voice. There is no twinge, no joke, no Ms. Brooks.

In front of you is a man offering true and open honesty, and it makes your heart stop in your chest as your smile softens. A tender look floods your face as you step forward, closing the distance between you and the bearded blonde.

He gives you a smile of his own, his lips curling upwards genuinely as he offers you his arm. With a nod over his shoulder to the front door of the resort room, he quips, “Shall we get this thing over with, Ms. Brooks?”

Carefully, you slide your fingers over the inside of the tan, exposed skin on his forearm before looping your arm through his own. Your smile grows playful again as you giggle out, “We shall.”

At that, the two of you set off for the basement of the Petalas Resort.

It’s loud.

There are people everywhere. More people than you think are even staying at the resort. It’s a mish-mash of male voices mumbling lowly about what to bid on, women giggling over drinks at the bars encircling the stage, and groups of people swarming the central cage.

It’s almost disorienting - the room is a coliseum set deep underground, with no natural light and no windows. It’s almost midnight, so the only light from outside would be the moon, but the artificial brightness makes it hard to focus.

There’s a main focus for the lighting - the center of the coliseum floor. A large, round stage has bright LED spotlights spinning and shifting on it as lots are raised and lowered. Somewhere below the lots, you know there must be a storage area where the drugs and weapons are being loaded for display.

A spherical, round floored cage surrounds the central stage, locked so no one can access the goods without proper authorization. And, unfortunately, once locked inside, no one can get out.

The outer ring surrounding the central stage and coliseum seating is dimly lit and lined with bars and other small seating areas for viewing. That’s where the majority of people are mingling since the auction hadn’t started yet.

The buzz of people around you is one distraction to deal with, the other is the voice of the auctioneer you can hear over a loudspeaker system. Words and numbers come rolling off his tongue at the speed of light. You can hardly keep up with hearing the starting prices as lot after lot is raised and lowered, the eyes of men and women glinting hungrily at the prizes they so desperately want to claim.

With as much confidence as you can muster, you force all thoughts of nervousness and negativity out of your mind. You tilt your chin slightly upward as Six guides you through the busy entrance to the coliseum. People brush past you on all sides, and you tighten your grip on Six’s arm ever so slightly.

Surprise washes over you as you glance around the door frame as you pass through it. No metal detectors. No pat downs. The guards are hardly paying attention. Security down here is barely existent.

You make a note of it as your eyes brush over the crowd, the bearded blonde attached to you seemingly doing the same. A second passes, and your eyes lock onto familiar figures at a dim bar off to the left. You can see the brown hair of both Isabella and Sophia, and excitement flutters in your stomach.

It’s go time.

You lean up to Six, slightly stumbling in your heels as he pulls you along beside him, your ankle twisting more painfully as you mumble through almost clenched teeth, “I see Sophia and Isabella, I should go over to them at the bar on your left. Get a drink to start with, you know?”

Six dons a dark expression, his jaw clenched down tightly to flex the muscles there. You know it’s an act - the grip he has on you is enough proof of that. There’s not one ounce of fear in his touch, and you know he’s Reed Lawson right now.

The slight dip of his chin allows you to know he heard you through the crowd, and he tugs you toward a quieter area near the railing that leads to the coliseum seating. There are fewer people around here, all dispersing around either side of you to go down the steps, or hit up the bars lining the outer ring.

He spins you around to face him, his grip on you going slack as his intense expression drops into one of pensiveness. There, in that split second, he parts his mouth like he wants to say something. You can’t help but look up at him in wonder, your eyes wide and curious as you innocently blink up at him.

You can see the words form on the tip of his tongue, and then his mouth clamps shut in frustration. The bearded blonde swallows thickly before he tugs you to his chest in one fell swoop, the movement fluid like he’s done it a million times.

It doesn’t catch you off guard this time, though you can’t fight the tingle of butterflies that threaten to bloom in your stomach. His left hand comes up to carefully cup your cheek, ensuring he doesn’t mess up your makeup. You can feel the cool metal of his watch graze your skin, but you don’t mind it with the heat his hand brings.

Six’s eyes flit to half-lidded as his mouth parts again, and he closes the gap between the two of you without hesitating. This time, you don’t care that there is no heads-up. His mouth is so soft against your own; the touch and feel of his lips against your own is a comfort. A crutch.

The feeling of his goatee tickling your face makes your nerves sing, your toes curling as he tilts his head another degree. The way he kisses you is nothing short of complete. His grip on you isn’t firm, it seems as if he doesn’t want to hold you too harshly in case you might break. But the way his lips tenderly dance across your own is intense.

There’s a sweetness to his mouth - one that you almost can place as the watermelon flavored gum he loves. It makes you crave more of his kiss, never wanting to pull your mouth off of his, even though your lungs burn and your chest heaves.

It makes you dizzy, the way he kisses you so feverishly, so wholly, so lovingly, that you have to brace your hands against his chest in order to balance yourself. There is an undeniable passion that fills the space between the two of you, and when he pulls back, you know something is different.

Six draws back just enough to let his forehead rest against your own, his nose brushing yours gently. His mouth still hangs millimeters away from your own, and you can feel him more than hear him whisper, “Just, be careful, okay?”

His concern makes true butterflies well in your stomach, and your gaze softens as your eyebrows draw together. One hand slides from his chest to gently cup his cheek, and almost instantly, Six leans into the touch, his nose bumping a little more firmly against your own.

The slight shift in position makes his lips brush against your own, both of your mouths parted in wait. You delicately nuzzle his nose as you tighten your grip on the bearded blonde, and you whisper back to him, “You be careful too.”

You can feel the corner of his mouth tug into a small smile, and before you know it, he’s turning his mouth away from yours. Then, the tickle of his goatee brushes against the palm of your hand that is cupping his face, and he gently places a kiss on the delicate skin there.

This makes your heart lurch in your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to say anything, as he slowly pulls away from you a moment later. But this time, it’s different. Rather than feeling rattled by being alone, you feel ready to take on the next phase of the mission.

You give Six a small smile as you swipe your thumb over his bottom lip, removing some lip gloss he managed to steal from your mouth. The bearded blonde gives you a smirk, his persona sliding back on like a well-tailored suit jacket, and then he shoots you a playful wink, drawling, “You know I love it when you wear lipstick.”

This manages to pull a chuckle out of you, and a smile dances in your eyes as you mumble back shyly, “Come back to me in one piece and you can have a lot more of where that came from.” You release your hold on him a moment later, watching as your sly comment makes Six’s eyes darken ever so slightly.

The bearded blonde cocks his head to the left slightly as you release him, and he clears his throat, “That’s one way to incentivize a man.” You snort, not ungracefully, at the dryness of his comment, and Six nods with his head towards your friends with an amused sigh of, “Alright, pretty girl, go get ‘em.”

His words make your stomach pool with a bashfulness you haven’t experienced since the very beginning of the trip. You avert your eyes as heat dances across your cheekbones, but you give Six a nod and quickly glance up at him to see him watching you with a soft look in his eye.

At that, the two of you move at the same time. You brush past Six to make your way over to where Sophia and Isabella are ordering drinks, and the bearded blonde disappears into the crowd like the gray man he is.

You take a deep breath to center yourself, pushing the thoughts of Six, the kiss, his touch, his eyes - all of him - out of your mind. You need to focus on this mission. But you also can’t seem out of it. It’s a fine line you need to walk just right with these women.

Your training seems to kick in as you start to walk, carefully, the skirt of your dress flowing around you just enough to make people avoid you in passing. You slightly roll your shoulders to soften them down, releasing tension in your neck as you lift your chin and relax your jaw. Cautiously, you stroke a hand over your hair, ensuring the com is still snugly tucked in your ear.

The bar is set back into the wall, much like a food vendor in a football stadium, a row of red cushioned barstools lining the front of it. There, you find Sophia and Isabella, each nursing a drink of their own. 

It’s dark, barely twinkling golden lights from the bartender’s work area lighting up the women’s faces. You offer a wide grin as you giggle, “Hey girls!” You offer a wiggle of your fingers in greeting as you stop between the two of them, both women swiveling to face you at your presence.

“Oh, hey, El!” Isabella chirps out, her feet swinging as she turns to face you. Sophia gives you a tighter-lipped smile as she waves back, and you carefully toss a lock of hair off your forehead with a happy sigh.

You chuckle sheepishly, “Does my lipstick look okay?” The words feel flirty coming off your mouth, and it makes your mind flash back to the night of the gala and the words Six had said to you. Now you look like you belong to Lawson.

As fast as they come, you do your best to push them away, blinking innocently at Isabella before letting your gaze flit to Sophia. Sophia’s tight-lipped smile fades into a friendlier one as she chuckles, “That’s right-” “Reed likes it when you (I) wear lipstick,” the two of you say at the same time.

All three of you laugh a moment later, and your hand comes up to brush at your lips as Isabella giggles out, “Well, I think your lipstick looks great, El!” You give the younger girl a smile of thanks and then look over your shoulder as a man brushes past.

You glance back at the girls and retort, “It is so chaotic here! What’s a girl gonna do?” Sophia points to the bar in front of you with the drink in her hand and shrugs, “Join us and drink!” You give them a wide smile. Perfect.

In the back of your head, you hope you’ve given Six enough time to pop his com in, so you dip your head and huff out, “I don’t know what I should order, though!” Isabella sticks her tongue in her cheek, a thoughtful look pulling on her youthful features before she lights up.

“What’s that drink that Reed brought you that first night we met you? That looked yummy!” her voice chimes out, and heat instantly floods your cheeks at the thought. You chuckle as you mull it over, and when you glance back up, a bartender is ready and waiting for your order.

With an over-dramatic sigh, you huff out, “Alright, can I get a sex on the beach with ice, please?” The bartender just dips her head toward you in recognition, and just then, you hear a crackle in your ear. You try to keep a neutral face at the sound, excitement swirling in your stomach as you wait to hear Six’s voice.

“Six copy,” his voice comes out. It’s clear as day in your ear, but you can tell he’s whispering quietly under his breath. You hear Sophia say something to Isabella behind you as you lean up against the bar, waiting for the bartender to bring back your drink.

You pause for a second, and take a deep breath, releasing even more of the tension crawling up your shoulders and back. It comes shakily through your painted lips, and just as you calm the edge of your nerves, you can hear a small commotion behind you.

Quickly, you turn around, catching sight of a few men tussling near the railing leading to the coliseum seating. You can hear Sophia scoff next to you, “Amateurs, they’ll learn they need to bring their top game if they want to buy stuff here.”

Isabella hums in agreement, and you just bite your lip, opting to stay quiet. “Ma’am, here’s your sex on the beach,” the bartender says formally, dragging your attention back to the bar as you catch sight of the pretty red and orange drink.

The name of the fru-fru drink sounds out loud and clear, and it makes your cheeks burn again at the thought. You hear a light chuckle in your ear, and then, “You’re doing good, then I presume.” You can hear the smile in Six’s voice, and you have to force yourself to give the bartender a tight-lipped smile as you take the drink from her.

You sip from the cocktail so it looks believable to the women next to you, the tang of peach lacing your tongue at the chill of the drink.  With a cheeriness to your voice, you giggle, “Man, this drink is good. These bartenders certainly know how to mix them!”

Both Sophia and Isabella chuckle at your eagerness, and that’s when you hear Six’s voice cut in again, “Alright, suited up and heading for The Lion.” You almost open your mouth to respond, but instead, lift your drink to your parted mouth and take another small sip of the drink.

You can’t be getting drunk. There’s too much at stake.

At the thought, the announcer’s voice splits through the loudspeaker overhead, “The auction is about to begin. Bidders, please take your seats.” You shoot an intrigued look at Isabella and Sophia, who share a knowing look and give you a wide smile.

“Want to go watch?” Sophia motions to the railing where the scuffle had been just minutes ago. It has cleared out now, with people filing down the seats to watch the bidding. You raise your eyebrows in thought before shrugging, “Yeah, why not!”

You push off the bar a moment later, drink in hand, as Sophia and Isabella do the same, following one step behind you. The railing isn’t far away, but when you get up close enough, it takes everything in you to keep horror from flooding your features as you gaze down into the spherical wire cage.

There are humans in the cage. Not operating the cage. Naked, in the cage. From what you can see, they are all young girls, each holding a black chalkboard with their starting prices written on them. Your stomach does a complete somersault, and it takes every ounce of training in you to keep from vomiting.

A slight grimace pulls on your lips, and you have to look away as you hear the auctioneer’s voice start rattling off numbers higher than you can comprehend. You take a step back and brush at your face, and you can hear Isabella pipe up, “El? You okay?”

You wave her off with a plastered smile, picking at your eye as you reply, “Yeah, yeah, I guess I hadn’t quite expected that to be the opening lot.” Sophia watches you as her gaze narrows slightly, and she comments, “You’ll get used to it, El.” Her voice is slightly clipped, and it makes your ears perk up at the change of tone.

When you step back up to the railing, the girls have disappeared, and the cage is now filled with clear bags packed full of white powder. Drugs, no doubt, you think to yourself, and you silently watch as men from around the coliseum raise their numbers, the price tag above the cage rising incrementally.

You watch silently as the lots begin to sell, a pit settling in your stomach as a realization washes over you. You glance at Isabella over one shoulder and ask neutrally, “Hey, where’s Whitney at? I haven’t seen her yet tonight.”

Isabella gives you a smile and chirps out, “Oh, yeah! She’s here, I forgot to mention it. She has a spot in one of the VIP lounges upstairs because of her husband. They get cool perks and stuff because he’s involved in running all this.” At the end of her words, she motions to the coliseum with a wave of her drink.

You just nod in understanding, your (colored) gaze sweeping over the cage before darting upwards, looking for windows that could be a part of the VIP lounges. And the location of The Lion.

There must be a look of disappointment that laces your face, because Isabella quickly rushes out, “If-if you want, I can take you up to her lounge if you want to see the view! I bet Whit wouldn’t mind a quick visit, right, Soph?”

Isabella turns to Sophia on the other side of you, who gives you a knowing glance and then looks back at Isabella. The older brunette tuts, “No, I don’t think she would mind at all. You guys could go up now, things are still pretty mellow down here.”

A pang runs through you at the offer. It would be nice to get a bird’s eye view, but you don’t really need one. Six does, but he can’t see through your com. It might blow your cover if you go, because what about Six not being here? 

All you can do is pray that Six can hear everything that’s going on despite not answering.

You wave the girls off with your free hand, sighing as you huff out, “No, no, that’s okay. I’m not sure when Reed will be back, and I bet he will want to see if we do go up.” The two girls share a brief look, and Isabella insists, “It’ll only take a moment to show you where it is. You can come back down after, get Reed, and then show him where it is!”

You have to bite back a grimace at her persistence, and you know you aren’t going to be able to do things your way. You’ll have to go with, but it’s not like you can explain any of this to Six. You shrug ever-so-slightly and set your glass down on a table nearby as you reply lightly, “Okay then!”

There’s a false positivity to your voice that you hope is masked, and you offer the two girls a smile when you turn back around to face them. “Let’s go then!” you say as you look at Isabella expectantly, waiting for the younger girl to lead the way.

Before Isabella starts to move, Sophia calls, “I’ll stay here in case Reed comes back, that way I can send him up to you! There might be some other girls dropping by too, Iz.” The younger girl gives her a nod of understanding before turning to you and hiking her thumb over her shoulder, “Follow me!”

Your ankle wants to wobble slightly with the height of your heels, but you do your best to recover as you follow Isabella. She weaves in and out of the crowd like it’s the back of her hand, guiding you toward a black curtain that is set forward just far enough you can duck behind it with ease.

Once behind the dark cloth, you finally get a reprieve from the white noise of hundreds of people talking over one another. You sigh in relief at the peace and quiet, and Isabella stops a few steps away with a giggle, “I know, it’s nice back here.”

Despite being away from the public eye, the area behind the curtains is still fancy. There is a carpeted staircase that you immediately place as the way to get up to the VIP lounge, but you wait for Isabella to take the lead again before starting toward them.

The lights from the ceiling are dim, a moody atmosphere setting in as you begin to pick your way up the stairs carefully in your heels. With one hand in the pocket of your dress and the other holding your skirt, you are focused on your feet when you hear noise crackling through your com.

A few grunts and low thuds ring out in your ear, making your eyes widen in surprise. You have to quickly relax your features as a lump wells up in your throat, the sound of punches making repeated contact floating through your ear.

Then, you hear the sound of a single gunshot ring out, and then all is quiet. Deep down, all you want to do is ask if everything is okay, but you force yourself to keep your jaw clamped shut as you silently follow Isabella up the flight of stairs.

The young brunette pauses at the top of the stairs and turns over her shoulder to look down at you a few steps behind her. It looks as if she is about to say something, thinks better of it, and then points upwards, mumbling, “Just one more flight to go, then it’s a bit of a maze getting to the VIP boxes.”

An unsettled feeling washes over you out of nowhere as you look up at the younger girl. The fingers in your dress pocket twitch, and suddenly, you want to reach for your gun. The atmosphere in the stairwell is dark and eerie, your stomach turning as you regard the shine in Isabella’s eyes.

The seemingly sweet girl now has a set to her jaw that makes your skin crawl, unease crawling through you in waves. There’s something about the tone of her voice and her choice of words that makes you blink, and with your focus now solely on her, Six is pushed to the back of your mind.

You swallow thickly as you gaze up at her, thinking carefully about your choice of words as you tentatively ask, “Is there a restroom I can use first?” Her voice is flat as she responds, “There’s one up here by the lounges you can use.”

Tension hangs thickly in the air, and you know you need to try to settle things before you blow your cover. You blink and shrug innocently, “Alright then,” forcing your shoulders to relax and hang low, opening your body language to appear calm and friendly once more.

It seems to help, and Isabella turns back over her shoulder, quiet, as she continues to lead the way. Just as you begin to follow her, you hear Six’s voice thrum out in your ear.

“All good here,” he pants, his voice low and breathy. You can hear him take a shallow breath before he puffs, “Bad Brad got in the way, but he’s down. On my way to The Lion.” The sound of his voice brings you a rush of relief, and you take a deep breath as you round the corner of the stairs leading up to the next set.

Just as you start your way up them, you chuckle out, “I hope they have bars in these VIP lounges. I think I’m going to need a stronger drink after climbing all of these stairs!” You have to keep your voice from falling flat, the joke pouring from your lips with a purpose.

Isabella doesn’t respond, so you take it upon yourself to keep up the conversation, saying a little more firmly, “I think some scotch might be nice. Do you know if the bartenders have anything special in the reserves?”

Almost immediately after you finish speaking, you hear Six’s voice rush out over the com in your ear, “What’s going on?” There is a faint urgency to his voice, but you can’t respond as you carefully watch Isabella’s figure ascend in front of you.

The tension is back, now, with the younger girl having gone quiet. A moment later, the two of you are slowing to a pause at the top of the stairs, another dark curtain slightly billowing. It’s quiet up here, so quiet you can hear blood starting to roar in your ears.

You can feel your heart rate picking up, your body naturally on alert as the air in the stairwell grows increasingly thick. The brunette doesn’t say anything as she leads you through the curtain and into a wide, curved hallway.

Through deduction, you know the curve of this hallway means you are on a catwalk above the coliseum. The VIP lounges could line either side of the hallway, although the blank, slate colored doors you can sparsely see do nothing to help your frame of reference.

“Y/n, what’s going on?” you hear over the com in your ear again. Six’s voice is firmer this time, but still, you can’t answer him. Your heart is slamming in your ribcage at this point, your hands retreating by your sides to clench into fists, hidden behind the fabric of your gown.

Isabella makes a left out of the curtains, only one step ahead of you, as her posture starts to get stiff, her body moving slightly awkwardly, as obvious stress runs through the younger girl. It makes your already present anxiety spike, and your heart seems to skip in your chest as your feet slow down.

“Wait,” the word hits the air before you can stop it, and your feet halt a second later, “What’s going on?” The brunette stops at your voice, almost flinching from the sound of it. You draw one leg back to broaden your stance, but you remind yourself to try to hold onto your cover as long as you can.

The girl glances over her shoulder at you, her gaze dark as she regards you. There is a pensive look on her face, but she doesn’t answer you. You swallow and shuffle slightly before asking again, “What is going on?” Your voice is harder this time, more forceful as you hold Isabella’s gaze. You can see emotion swirling in her brown eyes, but you try not to get caught in the fondness you have for the girl.

She holds your gaze, steady, and then responds monotonously, “Whitney is just on the other side of this black door up ahead.” The words are chilling, and they make goosebumps dance along your skin as the hair on your arm raises in apprehension.

The black door, which you hadn’t originally noticed, hangs on the wall just ahead of Isabella. It looks large and heavy, made to keep people in or out. 

It’s probably bulletproof, the thought snaps to the front of your mind, and your stomach lurches with unease. I have no idea what’s on the other side. And I really don’t want to find out.

There is an undeniable saunter in Six’s step as lengthy strides bring him closer and closer to his destination. It’s easily traceable in the set of his broad shoulders - there’s no tightness in the thick muscle as his hands dance over a bloody pistol clasped in his right palm.

His narrow hips swivel and sway with the accuracy of a trained ballerina, holding his back to be framed with perfect, relaxed posture. The spatter of red across his forearms and hands doesn’t seem to bother the bearded blonde as the rag in his hands swipes away bloodied fingerprints from the weapon. A moment later, the unloaded gun is tossed to the side of the hallway with a quiet thud.

Using the cleaner part of the rag, Six wipes as much of the blood off of his tanned skin as he can, delicately swiping over the watch hanging on his left wrist. The silver metal glints in the dim lighting, and he can barely make out the time on the small circle.

12:25 a.m. There are still a few more hours of the sale.

The height above the coliseum floor might be daunting for any other man. High above the VIP lounges, soaring close to the ceiling, is the thin catwalk Six has found himself on. He had managed to pinpoint the location of The Lion’s office through careful eavesdropping and observation, and now? It is time.

A thin railing is the only thing separating him from falling what seems like 12 stories down onto the spherical cage. At this height, he can’t hear the announcer or see what lots are being raised. Not that he can care - he has a mission to accomplish.

He skirts around the slouched figure of the man he had taken down, his stormy gaze set on the black door he had been waiting all week to find. With a deep breath to ready his mind, Six draws the pistol tucked into the side of his tactical vest, double checking a second clip of ammunition is easily accessible.

With the still body of Bad Brad behind him, Six’s gaze focuses on the door he knows his enemy lies behind. Pointing the barrel of the pistol at the ground, Six positions himself to kick down the door. 1, 2, 3, he counts, drawing his right leg up before quickly smashing it through the door, next to the door handle.

The black door easily flings open at the force of his kick, and before it bounces to hit the wall, Six’s gun is drawn and the safety is flicked off. Standing with one shoulder slightly offset, Six’s eyes flit to the large, steel desk set in the middle of the room.

The room is empty, save for the desk. The Lion is nowhere to be seen. There are a few potted plants that are obviously fake decorating the corners of the office, and a filing cabinet tucked near the door. As Six scans the room for a trace of the mafia boss, he notices a side door that is just barely swinging, and he knows he has company.

With precise, careful movements, Six starts silently toward the door. It’s quiet, too quiet. And then he hears it. 

A soft click from the adjacent room, and on instinct, Six recoils and dives behind the steel desk just as a shot rings out. It’s a lone shot, and Six rolls into a crouch as he regroups, making sure his pistol is still firmly wedged into his hand.

“Ah, you must be the Mr. Lawson I’ve heard so much about,” a man’s voice calls out, thick with a Greek accent. It’s harder to place some of the words he says, but Six can understand him well enough to know this is his guy. The Lion.

Six remains tucked low against the bulky frame of the steel desk as he plucks a smoke bomb out of his tactical vest. With a dry huff, he calls back, “You must be the little kitten I’ve heard so much about.”

The bearded blonde hears a dry laugh in response, the sound humorless as he quickly pulls the pin out of the smoke bomb. With a calculated throw, Six tosses the sphere into the doorway just as smoke seeps out. 

The Lion doesn’t say anything in response to the smoke bomb, but does pipe up again. “You must know I am The Lion, yes?” His accent is still thick, and Six double-checks his pistol as he waits for the mafia boss to continue talking, biding his time.

“Not only am I The Lion,” the mafia boss calls back, “I am a soldier of war. Dolion Marsalis at your service, Mr. Lawson.” At the end of his words, the mafia boss takes a shot through the wall, missing high above the desk where Six is crouched on his knees.

“My mother gave me the name Dolion, and here I am, full of deceit and betrayal, aye?” The Lion rambles through the wall, seemingly trying to get a response out of Six in order to pinpoint his location. Six stays quiet, waiting for the other man to make a move.

This seems to egg the mafia boss on as he chuckles out loudly, “But I picked the last name Marsalis. You know what it means, yes? Warlike, soldier. Suitable for a man such as myself.” 

Six wants to roll his eyes at the ego the mafia boss is boasting, but refrains and instead quips, “Your mother betrayed you, giving you a first name like that.” This makes The Lion go quiet, and Six knows he must have struck a chord. It makes the corner of his lip turn upward, and he glances at his watch to see the time.

The smoke bomb has had time to work.

At that, Six can see smoke starting to curl up over the desk, and he knows he has some cover. With a careful peek over the frame of the steel desk, Six offers a shot toward the wall where he thinks The Lion is standing. 

It’s a miss. 

Six hears The Lion laugh humorlessly, and then the mafia boss chimes, “I thought we were supposed to talk business tonight, Mr. Lawson.” At the end of his words, the mafia boss appears in the doorway to the spare room, taking several shots at Six, who ducks below the desk.

Shuffling around the side of the desk, Six shoots two rounds at The Lion’s legs through the smoke, and he sees the man flinch as one bullet grazes his calf. Instinctively, The Lion ducks back behind the wall he appeared from, panting out with his thick Greek accent, “This is not how I typically get offered deals.”

Six raises an eyebrow to himself and states blankly, “I’m pretty sure this is a one-sided deal.” This seems to upset the mafia boss, a snarl of anger falling from his lips as he darts back around the corner, rapidly firing his pistol toward the frame of steel where Six is hunched over.

The pistol only shoots three rounds before the clip clicks. Empty. None of the shots come close to finding their mark, and Six takes the chance to skirt around the backside of the desk. The Lion grows annoyed at the empty gun and reaches into his back pocket while Six aims his weapon at the mafia boss.

Just as Six fires his gun, The Lion lunges forward and out of the bullet’s deadly path. The two men seem to be playing a game of cat and mouse, just barely missing each other while circling around the desk. It seems to be testing the mafia boss’s patience, as The Lion just growls a curse out lowly under his breath before rushing at Six.

Six pops up from behind the desk as The Lion swings at him, but doesn’t have the time to fire the pistol at his enemy. Instead, he’s forced to duck as the mafia boss’s punch misses, but he turns so the two of them start tussling toward the open floor away from the desk.

The Lion recovers from his missed attack, swinging his left hand holding the empty pistol toward Six’s face. With lightning-fast reflexes, Six leans back just far enough the butt of the gun just brushes his cheek. Quick to not miss a window, Six brings his right elbow up to whack The Lion across his gut, successfully knocking the air out of him.

A grimace of pain coats the mafia boss’s features, but he doesn’t let Six get the best of him. He takes a half step back and then juts a leg out, catching the bearded blonde just behind the knee. Six can’t stop the force of gravity pulling him to the floor, and The Lion takes the chance to smack Six across the face with the butt of his gun again. Harder.

The impact of the gun crashing into Six’s nose makes a loud crack split the air, and as pain radiates from the center of his face, Six knows his nose is broken. He doesn’t dwell on the sharp throbbing or the trickle of warm blood he feels; instead, he tightens his grip on his gun and aims for the center of mass of his enemy.

With a flinch of his finger on the trigger, Six grazes the mafia boss’s shoulder as The Lion parries out of range. A pained yell rips its way from the mafia boss’s mouth, and then he humorlessly chuckles, “I should have gotten those designs from you before this meeting; I think they would have been useful right now.”

Six ignores the jab, lunging at The Lion with intense precision. The Lion goes to swing at Six again, but the bearded blonde easily catches the punch, the pattern of his swing becoming ingrained into Six’s mind. Six fires the remaining bullets at his opponent’s head, but the mafia boss ducks, and the rain of bullets sails into the wall behind him.

While his window of opportunity is still open, Six repeatedly swings and cracks the gun against The Lion’s face, the abrasive metal splitting the man’s dark tan skin. Blood now drips from The Lion’s head, just as it does from Six’s. 

The mafia boss is skilled, though, and pivots the two of them to get Six’s back toward the desk. One of his hands digs in his suit pocket before rapidly reappearing with a blade that he quickly unsheathes.

Six tries to duck out of the way, but The Lion is quick, slashing the blade at Six’s swinging arm. The mafia boss’s accuracy isn’t the best, but with the movement of Six’s punch, the thick muscle of his forearm catches the edge of the blade. His skin splits as red pours down the expanse of his exposed forearm, dripping onto the floor.

A pained yell rips its way out of Six’s mouth, and the mafia boss takes the chance to swing at Six again despite being slightly disoriented from Six’s array of punches. The Lion skillfully flips the blade in his hand, stabbing it toward Six’s thigh, but misses. 

The bearded blonde takes the opening to tighten the grip on his gun and cracks the mafia boss in the chest with the butt of it in an attempt to stun him. It does the job for a second, but The Lion is resilient. 

With an artful tuck and well-aimed kick, The Lion knees Six in the groin, causing a pained grunt to fall from Six’s bloody mouth. Six’s head ducks down as a wave of pain washes over him, his dirty blonde locks falling into his stormy gaze as his grip loosens on his enemy.

It gives The Lion long enough to free himself from Six’s grip, writhing before stumbling back a few steps. Blood drips from his calf and shoulder, but a wicked grin slides across his face as the bearded blonde fumbles back against the desk, fingers discreetly toying with the empty clip on his gun.

“You know, Mr. Lawson, I’m not so sure this is a one-sided deal,” the mafia boss pants, his words icy and cold as red coats his shining white smile. Six’s eyebrows are drawn together in pain as he takes a shaky breath, his fingers subtly changing the clip to his pistol.

The bearded blonde doesn’t say anything, and this fuels The Lion’s ego as he taunts, “Cat got your tongue, aye?” The Lion wipes at his forehead as blood trickles into his dark eyes, and staring at his blood-coated fingers, goads, “Your girl, El, was it? Mighty pretty one you got there.”

At the sound of your “name”, Six’s blood runs cold, and his heart sinks. He tries not to let it show, forcing his face to stay in a stoic frown, but panic is washing over him at a realization. It’s been quiet in his ear.

He rolls his neck slightly to see if he can feel his com shift, and when he doesn’t, his gut lurches. The bearded blonde goes to swallow, but feels blood on his tongue. He turns his head to the side and spits a wad of thick, red liquid out of his mouth before setting his sharp gaze back on The Lion.

The mafia boss is grinning, eyes wide with mania as he watches Six’s reaction. The bearded blonde clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing as he maintains his composure. He doesn’t say anything, but silently and slowly fumbles behind his back to finish swapping his ammo clip out.

“When I first saw her, I just thought she was so appealing,” The Lion starts, shuffling on his feet, “That dress she was wearing at dinner the first night?” A low whistle slides from his lips before he continues, “I just had to get a closer look at her.”

Six blinks in confusion and pain as the slice on his arm and bloodied nose begins to throb, and he can’t help but grunt out, “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice is low and deadly as he starts to shuffle to his feet, and the mafia boss takes the opportunity to start circling the bearded blonde. 

Not one to leave his flank uncovered, Six limps into the spiral with the mafia boss, closely watching as his enemy’s eyes flash with unbridled, malicious joy. “Oh? You mean you don’t know?” The Lion sneers, his head tilting in a condescending way.

The mafia boss doesn’t make a move for Six yet, just takes slow, careful steps as he and the bearded blonde circle each other. Six is diligent in his assessment of his opponent, but his mind is beginning to swirl with thoughts of you, clouding his judgment. What the fuck does The Lion know about you?

Six’s jaw clenches down harder as he glares at the mafia boss, and this only seems to make The Lion’s smile grow even larger. He tuts, “She’s not here at your side right now, is she? You don’t have eyes on her, you don’t have anyone here to watch her for you because you’re new.”

The meaning of the mafia boss’s words is not lost on Six - he doesn’t have eyes on you right now. He doesn’t have someone watching your back while he is here, fighting The Lion. It makes a seed of doubt form in the back of his mind, eating at his composure.

He can’t stop the way his eyes flash with doubt and the way his body grows slightly tense at the thought. What if you are in danger? What if The Lion had someone after you right now? The thoughts make his stomach roll with nausea, but he pushes them down as fast as the uncertainty came.

This is you. You are one of the best agents the CIA has in its arsenal - you were assigned this mission for a reason. 

Six knows he needs to trust your abilities, and he takes a deep breath in through his bloody nose, the air stinging as it slides through his windpipe. He raises an eyebrow at the mafia boss and shrugs nonchalantly, “You’re bluffing. El’s a big girl, she can handle herself.”

The Lion raises an eyebrow right back, mock surprise lacing his features as he remarks, “Am I?” He shrugs at Six, a smirk curling on his mouth as he jeers, “She wasn’t that hard to catch, actually. I bet they’ve already got her in the catalog, and,” he glances at the clock on the wall while humming, “She should be on her way to the cage right about now.”

At the end of his words, The Lion gives Six an evil grin, and fury burns red-hot at the edges of Six’s vision. The Lion isn’t done, though, and boasts as his step gains an arrogant sway, “I think she’ll either sell for a pretty penny, she’s very easy on the eyes, you know, and make me a lot of money.”

The mafia boss slows to a stop and then chuckles, letting out a sigh. He regains eye contact with Six and then murmurs pointedly, “Or, maybe I’ll fuck her first before she sells.”

That’s enough to set Six off. 

A growl tears its way through Six’s throat as he lunges. The Lion laughs as he ducks out of the bearded blonde’s way, knowing he got under his skin and fired the bearded blonde up. Six is no fool, though, and knows that he can’t let his rage blind him.

Six white-knuckles his pistol as he spins and cracks it against the backside of The Lion’s head. The mafia boss drops to one knee at the intensity of the hit, his vision spinning as Six reappears in front of him. Six takes the opportunity to drive his knee upwards toward The Lion’s face, a loud crunch singing through the air. 

“Just returning the favor,” Six’s voice rumbles lowly as The Lion’s head whips backward harshly, his nose broken. The Lion doesn’t respond, but is quick to slash at Six’s leg with the blade still clutched in his hand. It catches on the muscle of Six’s thigh, but just barely breaks the skin.

Blood trickles down his pant leg, but the pain is more annoying than debilitating, and Six can’t stop the red that seems to cover his vision. The Lion objectified you, put you down, and made you seem worthless. And Six isn’t having that.

Tired of dealing with the mafia boss, Six knows he needs to end this and get back to you. As Six goes to fire his pistol at The Lion, the mafia boss rolls the two of them across the floor. Six’s back slams into the side of the steel desk, his tactical vest doing little to take the brunt of the hit. 

The gun in Six’s hand goes flying at the impact with the desk, and a curse falls from his lips as it lands just out of reach. He doesn’t let this slow him down, though, his rage getting fueled by the burn of his lungs aching for oxygen and his hatred for the man underneath him growing by the second.  

Six moves to straddle The Lion, pinning the man underneath him as his left hand fists at the mafia boss’s shirt, holding him still. He raises his right hand, and he lets loose. Six drives his fist into The Lion’s face once. Twice.

It’s five punches. Then ten. He loses count. All he can focus on is the way his enemy’s head swings left and right as he clobbers him. In the blood pouring from The Lion’s nose and mouth, he sees a scared look on the man’s face. 

And in that bloody, scared face? All Six can think of is the man underneath him needing to die for bringing your name up. All he can see is your scared expression in the light of The Lion’s eyes.

The mafia boss reaches up at Six’s face while taking the punches, his fingers feebly trying to wrap around the bearded blonde’s throat. It’s no use, though, as Six is much stronger, and running on both hate and love.

There is only one thing between Six and you - The Lion. And he sure as hell is going to get back to you. The fleeting thought of your last words to him brushes through the front of his mind.  

Come back to me in one piece and you can have a lot more of where that came from.

The Lion manages enough strength to force Six’s heavy weight off of him, and the two men roll again. Six holds on with his left hand, his right arm tucked close to his body to protect himself. When the world stops spinning, the mafia boss slashes at Six’s face, catching his already bruised cheek with the blade.

Six hisses in pain, but focuses on wailing on The Lion again as he struggles to get on top of the mafia boss. Out of the corner of his eye, Six catches sight of his gun. He lunges for it in between punches, the cool metal of the pistol a welcome comfort for the heat coursing through his veins.

Without batting an eye, Six holds the gun to The Lion’s forehead at point-blank range. His right pointer finger sits delicately on the trigger as he stares deeply into the half-lidded eyes of his enemy. 

The edge of a smirk sits on Six’s lips as he shuffles, his right knee coming from sitting next to The Lion’s hip to pressing down on his opponent’s groin. The stretch of Six’s thigh muscle quickly makes his face pull into a scowl, the sting of the cut drawing his attention away for a second.

Six quickly refocuses and presses down on The Lion’s crotch with all of his weight. A sob tears its way from the mafia boss’s mouth, followed by a pained whimper. Six watches him carefully, blue eyes stormy as he pants, “That is for talking poorly about my girl.”

The bearded blonde brings his left hand to The Lion’s throat, squeezing his windpipe as hard as he can with his long digits. His enemy thrashes underneath him, and Six whispers lowly, “That is for being a prick.”

Before The Lion can stop breathing, Six releases him, and The Lion gasps for air. Six isn’t much better, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But now, he can’t wait. This is his chance. He musters every ounce of rage flooding through him as he glares down at The Lion, his pointer finger dancing across the trigger of his pistol.

With a snarl on his lips, Six growls out, “Here, kitty kitty,” and pulls the trigger.

The Lion’s body goes limp, blood and brain matter splattering across the bearded blonde’s face and skin. It doesn’t even make Six flinch. The spatter is warm and thick, dripping down the sides of his face as he rocks back onto his heels and stands up.

Carefully, he tucks the loaded pistol back into his tactical vest, only wincing when he brushes his knuckles against the rough material. It takes him a second to focus on the tanned skin, but then he realizes they are completely split open and rubbed raw. Thick, red blood coats his hands, but he knows it’s not all his.

Not with the way The Lion’s face looks.

Six steps back from the limp form of his target, and scans the room. The air is still thick with the haze of the smoke bomb, and when he is met with nothing moving, he knows his job here is complete. But not over.

There’s only one thing on Six’s mind. Only one thing he craves. 

His chest aches from inhaling smoke and the exertion of fighting his enemy, but shaking the blood off his hands and brushing the bloody blonde locks out of his eyes, he makes his way out of the office.

Putting distance between himself and the dead men he killed, Six sets out on the catwalk at a light jog. His heart is pounding in his chest as he glances down at the metal cage stories below him. He can’t see what lot is being auctioned off, but he knows he needs to be quick. 

He needs to get back to you.

Isabella turns to face you from where she is standing, glancing at you over her shoulder, her brown eyes dark and twinkling. Her shoulders are slightly hunched over, her hands clamped shut by her sides as she silently watches you.

Your (colored) gaze narrows at her as you hold her gaze, your body naturally coming into a defensive position. Just then, a chill shoots up your spine as silence floods the dimly lit hallway. Goosebumps dance across the skin on your chest and raise the hair on your arms.

Then, you give in. You stick your right leg forward and slide your hands up the slit on your dress, your fingers grabbing hold of the gun in your thigh holster. As fast as you can, you draw the weapon on Isabella, holding the barrel of the pistol flat as you ask her again through gritted teeth, “What the hell is going on?”

Isabella’s dark look gives way to one full of fear, the twinkle in her eyes now shining with unshed tears that have welled up. A sob pulls its way from her mouth as one of her hands comes up to cover her lips, and all she can manage to mumble is, “I-I’m supposed to take you through the door.”

Now in work mode, your brows furrow as you bark out, “Put your hands up where I can see them!” Isabella sobs again but does as you ask, her brown eyes snapping shut as her hands go above her head, palms flat.

You shuffle and, with your voice hardened, you ask, “What’s on the other side of that door?” Isabella shakes her head as she weeps, tears dropping from her dampened cheeks onto the floor. You cock the pistol and reiterate, “What’s on the other side of the door, Isabella?!”

The younger girl whimpers and then mewls, “I, I can’t do it. I’m scared.” You furrow your brows even deeper at her vague answer, and you motion to her with your gun raised and question again, “Do what?” Isabella clamps her eyes shut as she yells out, “Catalog you!”

The world seems to stop.

You could have heard a pin drop as confusion and panic well up in your throat. You blink once as her words roll around in your mind. Catalog me? What is she - Oh.

Your already racing heart seems to slam against your ribcage as your mouth runs dry. The girl in front of you no longer seems to be the sweet, innocent girl you thought would help you on your mission. Panic seems to flood your system as you come to terms with what she is capable of.

“You were trying to traffick me?” Your voice breaks on the last words, fear flooding every nerve in your body. Isabella can’t stop the sobs from escaping her at this point, and the brunette tries to take a step closer to you.

Instantly, you regain your focus and motion toward her with the gun while shouting, “Stop moving!” Isabella whimpers and flinches, halting her movements before stuttering out, “T- this was o- only my first time. M- my first target.”

At her confession, you feel an icy wave of fear wash over you, and the urge to vomit hits you. You wished Six was here with you. He had been silent on the coms for a while now, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

What you would give for Six to be here by your side. You can’t risk breaking his cover by asking him something over the coms, so you know you have to rely on yourself. You force yourself to take a shaky breath, and then you motion to the ground with a dip of your chin.

“Get on the ground,” you order, and you hope the waver in your voice is gone. Isabella starts to kneel, and you keep the barrel of your pistol pointed at her as you start to question her, “What exactly were you supposed to do?”

Isabella gets on both knees, hands still high in the air as she mumbles, “We were ordered to traffick you since you were a new face.” You frown at her and inquire, “Whose we? You, Sophia, Whitney?”

She nods once in response, and it gives you a second to think. A horrible realization crosses your mind, and you ask, voice trembling, “That’s why you all approached me the first night. You were trying to get a feel for me since I was new.” Isabella nods again, the fear slowly ebbing away from her features.

She swallows thickly before offering, “You seemed different than everyone else there that night.” There’s a long pause before she whispers, “I thought you could help me, El. I was trafficked a year ago, I know what it’s like to be in the cage.”

Your heart sinks at her confession, and your harsh facade crumbles ever so slightly. As you stare at the young girl, tears staining her cheeks, you aren’t sure if you should believe her. A part of you wants to. She had been so genuine and real in all of your interactions up until this point. But then part of you doesn’t believe her. Once a manipulator, always a manipulator.

Yes, she had actively been trying to traffick you, but if she was telling the truth and was a victim? Of course, you wanted to help her.

You swallow thickly to push the lump in your throat down, and you take another breath before asking, “What about the upgraded room? Who’s doing was that?” Isabella sighs and responds, “That was all The Lion trying to get a little closer to you. You really caught his eye the first night.”

She shrugs and then states, “I guess he thought that if he could lower your guard with the nice room, we might be able to capture you more easily. That didn’t work out.” Another sharp pang of horror washes over you as a memory slides into your head.

Before you can stop it, your whisper, “Bad Brad, Sophia, and her husband that day. Outside of our room.” Isabella nods, sniffling, before chuckling dryly, “You and Reed seemed a little busy, so it didn’t work out that day.”

Heat washes over you at her words, remembing the feeling of Six’s hands sliding over your ass and the press of his mouth against your neck making you shiver. Isabella shrugs her shoulders as her hands start to slouch and she giggles, “I would stay busy if I were with Reed, too, you know.”

You frown at her as your gun lowers a few inches, your lips pursing in thought before you ask, “So why tell me all of this?” Isabella looks deep into your (colored) gaze and replies, seemingly earnestly, “I don’t have it in me to do this type of thing to another person.”

Your heart seems to tug in your chest as you internally battle with what to do. On one hand, she could be telling the truth and needs help. On the other, she could be baiting you.

A hiss of frustration slides through your lips as you stare at the younger girl, conflicted. You don’t get any more time to dwell on it, as your attention is drawn to the staircase Isabella just led you up.

You can hear rapid footsteps clambering up the stairwell, followed by indistinct yelling. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you know something isn’t right. You glance back at Isabella, only to find she has completely disappeared.

“Shit!” the curse falls from your lips, and you know you don’t have time or ability to start chasing her down with your ankle throbbing. Quietly, you hiss to yourself, “What’s going on, Six?” You pray he can hear you over the coms, but you don’t get a response, and the noise from the stairwell only grows louder.

Another curse escapes you, and you quickly fumble with your gun to uncock the pistol, ungracefully shoving it back into your thigh holster in an attempt to regain your cover. Not even a second later, you see the dark curtain flutter, and you are met with the frantic expressions of Whitney and her husband.

They immediately race over to you, and you plaster a worried expression on your face as Whitney rushes out, “Oh my gosh, El! Did you hear there’s a shooter in the building?” Whitney’s husband grabs you by your right bicep, a look of concern on his face as they both wait for your response.

You glance between them, (colored) eyes wide as you stutter, “N-No, I didn’t.” Whitney’s blue gaze flits over your figure, and then she asks, “Where’s Reed? Isn’t he with you?” You silently shake your head side to side before blurting, “I, I don’t know. He was supposed to be getting a bidder’s number.”

Whitney and her husband share a look, and you can’t help but rush out, “Whitney, what the fuck is going on?” The blonde doesn’t give you a response, just smiles an awful, evil grin while her husband tightens his grip on your arm.

You try to pull away from him as realization sets in, and you begin to struggle in his hold. The man’s free hand swings at you, cracking you across the face in a firm slap. A cry falls from your lips as your eyes water from the sting of the impact.

You accidentally bit the inside of your cheek during the slap, and now you can taste copper on your tongue as blood wells up in your mouth. The taste of it makes you want to vomit, and all you can do is try to spit some of it out while you struggle in the man’s grip. 

He’s started dragging you toward the black door, where Whitney has already started making her way over to it. You open your mouth to yell, but the man clamps his hand over your mouth as Whitney throws the door open.

Panic is sending you reeling, fear making your heart feel like it’s going to burst, and your skin crawling. This is it. You are going to be trafficked and sold. No one is ever see you again.

The thoughts come rapidly, swirling in your mind as you do everything in your power to wriggle and writhe against the man’s grip on you. Your head is ringing with the force behind the slap, your eyes unfocused.

Just as the man turns you in his grasp, there’s a gunshot. Instinctively, you flinch and duck, but you don’t have to struggle to do so, as the man’s body who was holding you slumps to the ground. When you look at the man, blood drips out of his mouth, and upon close inspection, the wound is on the side of his temple.

Nervously, you look to see where the shot originated from, expecting to see the smaller frame of Isabella holding a weapon. Instead, your heart skips in your chest, and relief floods your system.

There, standing just outside the dark curtain, is Six.

His pistol is tucked neatly into his right hand, which is stained a deep red. You can see his forearm is shining with fresh blood, and a pang runs through you at the thought. It’s his.

It’s hard to tell if he has other injuries since the black color of his button-up, tactical vest, and trousers hides the spatter of blood. There’s a dull glint of red-silver on his neck, and you can see blood dripping off the chain hanging around his neck. When you make eye contact with the bearded blonde, you swear your heart jumps to your throat.

There is thick, chunky blood hanging off of his face, with barely any of his tanned skin visible through the spray of brain matter and cerebral fluid. Blood pours from his nose, coating his upper lip and dripping down onto his goatee. His hair hangs messily over his forehead, his usual slicked back look long forgotten as his blue eyes narrow, pissed off.

The barrel of the gun is pointed distinctly at Whitney, who lets a scream fall from her lips at the form of her dead husband before she regards Six, horror on her face. Six stares straight down the sights of his pistol as his lips part to speak.

“I think you have something that belongs to me,” his voice comes, deep and rough from misuse. His tone is threaded with ice - there is no waver, no lilt, no bullshit. 

As you watch the man in front of you, you can feel blood trickle down your lip from where it has split open, and you are pretty sure there is a bruise forming on your arm from where Whitney’s husband grabbed you. But it doesn’t matter.

The sound of Whitney weeping grabs your attention away from the broad figure of Six, her frame hunched over her dead husband. Six offers a warning shot next to the wall by her head, making the blonde flinch and throw her hands up in the air. At the sound of his shot, you are instantly drawn to look at him. 

Six doesn’t let his gaze off of the blonde as he holds his arm still, but then you hear his voice rumble out, “You alright, sweetheart?” Then, at the end of his words, you watch him shoot you a worried glance before staring back at the waiting form of Whitney.

Anger courses through the bearded blonde with just one glance at you. He can see blood drying on your face and the mess that your hair has become. The only thing that keeps him from losing what’s left of his temper is the blinding smile you give him, one with pure relief radiating from it.

He is pissed that you’re hurt, and he hones his gaze on the lithe figure of Whitney who is still crying over her dead husband.

You can’t wait any longer. A quiet whimper falls from your mouth as you launch over the limp form of the dead man at your feet. You hiss at your carelessness as your ankle twinges in your heels, but you make sure to stay clear of Whitney, who is still near you.

You know it’s reckless, you know it’s crossing a line, but you can’t help but sprint toward Six’s broad figure as fast as you can, relief flooding over you. Tears edge your eyes as you all but crash into him, but the bearded blonde catches you with his free arm at the last moment, pulling you flush against his chest.

Instantly, you wrap your arms around his waist in a bone-crushing hug. Six doesn’t even flinch at the impact, his gaze never wavering as he glares at Whitney, holding the gun level with her.

Six is here. He is real and alive underneath your touch, and the truth of it makes tears fall down your cheeks. Your fingers grasp at his tactical vest, itching to find somewhere to hold him where he can’t get away. Where no one can take him away.

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, not even realizing you are sobbing until you feel Six’s voice thrum out, “You’re alright?” His gaze is still firmly held on Whitney, but his arm wrapped around your waist pulls you flush against his chest, the best that he can. 

He’s smearing thick, gunky blood across the dark emerald material of your gown, but you don’t care. The feeling of his hand, albeit slippery with blood, warm and rough on your skin, is enough to convince you he’s here and not going anywhere.

You sniffle as the wet blood on his neck smears across your forehead, but you offer him a watery smile as you pull back to look up at him. He doesn’t look down at you, but you know he’s watching you in the peripheral of his vision. You chuckle in relief as you gaze up at him and then murmur slowly with a smile, “Yeah, I’m alright.”

You tighten your grip on him and emphasize, “Just a small tussle, but uh, looks like you took care of it for me, so thanks.” Your comment just barely makes Six’s lip curl upward, and you can see his head slightly tilt to the side as he whispers down to you, “Any time, darlin', any time.”

A beat passes, but then worry pulls your brows taut, and your (colored) gaze flits over his bloodied and beaten face before asking, “Are you alright? You didn’t answer me over the coms.” Six sighs as he stares at Whitney, who remains unmoving next to her husband. His arm never wavers, holding the gun still as he responds to you.

“Com came out when I was fighting The Lion, but I got here as fast as I could,” he murmurs, giving you a quick glance, his gaze softening ever so slightly from its firm scowl. Movement in front of him makes his gaze refocus, sharper than ever, as he instantly pulls the trigger again, this time grazing Whitney in the leg.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he calls loudly, his fingers twitching over the trigger to his gun, and digging deeper into the flesh on your waist. He swallows thickly as he glares at the blonde, but addressing you, he requests, “Do you still have your com?”

You offer him a nod and, releasing one arm from around his waist, pluck it out of your ear. Six takes a deep breath before instructing you, “See the small pin hole in the bottom of it? Stick something small up there, that’ll send our reinforcements in.”

You unwrap your other arm from around Six’s waist, and a moment of panic rushes over you as he slowly releases you. Then, his thick arm winds around you again, pulling you flush to his chest as your hands settle on his tactical vest, one holding the com.

Carefully, you undo one of the diamond stud earrings from your ears, and using the back of the earring, poke at the com until you feel it click. The small device beeps once, and Six’s fingers dance over your waist. He squeezes at your body gently and whispers, “Atta girl. Now, we wait.”

With warmth seeping over your cheekbones, you tuck your head into the curve of Six’s neck again, holding onto him as if he were going to disappear. You know the act is over. There’s no reason to be hanging off of him like this.

But he knows that, too.

And so, the two of you wait for your inevitable backup to arrive - arms woven tightly around one another.

[groovy-pisces]

Barbie (2023) dir. Greta Gerwig

[groovy-pisces]

Wonderful Tonight | Part II

Summary: The mission is starting to ramp up, but your mind starts to get muddled when Six has to actually start acting like your boyfriend.

Word Count: 16.7K

Chapter Warnings: mentions of the mafia/guns/weaponry/bioweapons/alcohol, some sexual innuendos/jokes, some harsh language/swearing, mentions of being close to nude/slightly NSFW themes, non-bloody injury, one-bed trope, some angst/mutual pining, fluff for once, anxious tendencies, reader is very slightly crybaby but is just overwhelmed a lot, reader has hair long enough to put in an up-do of sorts, BDE competition vibes, Six is way too much of a little shit for me to handle

A/N: Hello my darlings! Here is the second part of my beloved "mini series" I have been working on! Again, please give me all of the comments and feedback, come scream at me, come give me your theories and guesses! - Birch <3

Series Masterlist

Part III - Click Here

Moodboards

Exhaustion burns at the back of your eyelids as you fumble with the keycard in your hand. Your steps are unsteady due to your heels, your feet aching from the steep angle of the shoes. You groan, annoyed as you stop trying to swipe the keycard to get into your room.

It’s dark in the hallway on the third floor of the resort, the moody lighting barely helping with visibility. Thankfully, there’s moonlight shining in through the window next to your door at the end of the hall, and you reach down to tug your heels off. You could moan in relief at being flat-footed again, but you refrain, instead focusing on scooping your shoes up off the ground.

Then, with as much precision as you can muster, you focus on swiping the keycard directly over the lock, waiting for the safety light to flash from red to green. It takes a second, but then you can hear the internal mechanism release, and you push the door open with a sigh.

Your room seems expansive this late into the evening, with every nook and cranny making your haul toward the bedroom seem never-ending. Sluggish steps pull you through the doorframe of the bedroom, and you hear the front door click locked a moment later.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust as you step into the bedroom. Apparently, you had forgotten to turn the lamp off that sits on your nightstand when you left for the party, its light fanning out over the ground. It does, however, make navigating the room much easier, and you let out a tired hum at the thought.

You turn to face your closet, which seems to be bursting with clothes, an internal groan flowing through your mind as you try to remember which bin you grabbed the heels from. You find that you can’t bring yourself to care, and you throw the heels at the base of the closet, turning away as you hear them hit the floor. 

Damn things.

Your (colored) gaze locks onto the full-length mirror hanging on one of the walls of the bedroom, one that you seemingly hadn’t noticed before. The curls around your head have dropped and lost their volume, but the shimmery, chocolate-colored dress still clings to your body in a delicious way.

With one last look in the mirror, your fingers start to work at undoing the zipper of the dress. It takes a little bit of effort to shimmy out, the angle of your arms awkward as you manage to free yourself from the dress. 

There, in the middle of your and Six’s bedroom, you are left in your underwear, a lazy yawn falling from your lips as you pick the dress up off the floor. You roll the material over in your hand before glancing back at the closet where the matching heels haphazardly lie. Without thinking about it, you chuck the dress toward the closet, watching the material sink directly over the shoes.

I’ll deal with that in the morning.

Another wave of exhaustion hits you, and you freeze in the middle of the room, your eyes closing on their own volition. Here, in the middle of the bedroom, in just your underwear, your brain seems to need to take a break. You can feel a burning in your gaze, your eyes overworked from the fancy lighting and the changing lights at the bar.

There’s a dull throb in your forehead from all of the noise and the music that wasn’t tasteful, in your opinion. A small part of you wants to blame it on Six - his actions made your head spin so much tonight that he probably didn’t help your growing headache. A deep sigh washes over you at the thought of the bearded blonde.

Then the window creaks. You jump out of your sleepy haze, your arms wrapping around your nearly nude form as you glance around the empty room. I really should get cleaned up before Six gets back, the thought hits you.

You force your body to move, albeit slowly, over to your dresser where you know the comfy clothes are put away. You hum sleepily as you dig through the top couple of drawers, pulling out a clean pair of underwear and a soft set of pajamas - a loose gray sweatshirt and an airy pair of light blue shorts.

Deep down, you know you should be more aware as you strut out of the bedroom and flick the light on behind you. Six could be back any minute. One hand holds your clothes, and the other works at the bobby pins in your hair, and you glance at the front door in thought. Hopefully, he’s not out too late.

You blink blearily a few times before your mind forces you to take a deep breath, and a lone thought washes over you - Right now, I need to get a shower, I probably shouldn’t be walking around half-naked. At the thought, you scamper into the bathroom.

With a handful of bobby pins, you quickly slam the door shut behind you. The loud bang makes your head throb, and your eyes snap shut as a scowl stretches across your face. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You force yourself to open your eyes, and you unceremoniously throw your clean clothes onto the bathroom counter. With as much grace as you can muster, you lock the bathroom door and fumble with your hair, pulling out the remaining pins.

Once your hair lies in disheveled curls, you turn on the shower, fiddling with the handles until it runs to your favorite temperature. You make faster work of your underwear, leaving it on the floor as you step into the vast shower.

Going through the motions of your shower routine feels like a dream - shampooing and conditioning your hair, scrubbing the makeup off of your face, and standing in the stream of water in hopes it’ll clear some of the fogginess you can’t seem to shake.

Steam covers the walls of the shower and the long mirror above the counter, making the haze of the night even more difficult to be pulled out of. Only when you wrap a clean towel around yourself and cool air hits your face do you feel like you can breathe a bit more clearly. When you blink at your figure in the mirror, you seem to be able to see better, despite your distorted shape.

The sweatshirt you pull over your head is a pleasant weight, bringing you the first sense of true comfort since you stepped off the plane this morning. The shorts are airy, and with the warmth of the Petalas night wafting in through the open windows, you can’t complain.

With damp hair and a sense of peace, you wander back to the bedroom. You keep an eye out for Six, but everything seems to be exactly where it was a few minutes ago. A tired hum unconsciously falls from your mouth as you dump your used underwear onto the pile of clothes and shoes building up at the base of your closet.

You would never wear any of those again. Why take care of them? You know that in the morning, your sour mood will have worn off. Maybe, you would appreciate the designers of the dress and the shoes, look them up when you get home for a future mission. But right now? They get dumped on the floor, showcasing your true feelings about the mission.

Moving on autopilot, you flick the main light off in the bedroom, shadows spreading down the walls. Your figure is illuminated by the lamp on your nightstand, and you take a deep breath as you walk over to the queen-sized bed. Idly, your fingers start fussing with the patterned comforter, mulling over whether you should get in bed or not.

Sleep is still calling to you, and now your body is acting on its own accord at the touch of the soft material under your hand. Defeated, you pull back the covers and slip into the bed, a groan rolling off your lips at the plush feeling underneath you.

The mattress seems to pull you into it, and you can feel your eyelids growing heavy at the prospect of sleep. But you can’t. Not until Six gets back. You force yourself to reach for your assigned ‘mission-phone’, which has enough apps to keep you busy until Six returns from scouting.

You let yourself get lost in the mindless scrolling, the sound of the breeze outside the window dulling as you tap away. Pictures of animals pop up on your social media - the playful dog, the sleeping cat. Small, mundane things you wish you got to experience as a CIA special agent, but never get the chance to.

A creak. Then a whine. The front door. The sound is not terribly loud, but you can assertively hear it click open and then close. You don’t hear footsteps as you hone in on the direction of the noise, and for a moment, you panic.

The fatigue in your mind and the apprehension with the mission take control, and your stomach lurches. Is there an intruder? Someone has figured us out. Someone is here with a gun, ready to blast my head off.

The rapid, spiraling thoughts make you sit up in bed, phone long forgotten about on the other side of the mattress. A few seconds pass as you try to come up with a game plan, but then you pause. A sigh. It’s a familiar sound, one you know like the back of your hand.

Six.

The bearded blonde makes his way through the doorframe a split second after your revelation, and you take a shaky deep breath before truly looking at him. When you finally take in your partner’s appearance, you notice he’s a bit, well, undone.

The chocolate colored, diamond-patterned shirt is even more unbuttoned than when you last saw him, leaving little to the imagination as to what hard muscle lies underneath. His slicked-back hair has fallen out of place, with blonde strands lying on his forehead, shadowing his gaze.

He’s a bit more disheveled than you thought he would be, but you let a drowsy smile curl lopsidedly onto your lips as you jibe quietly, “Looks like you had fun with the boys.” Despite your low volume, your voice cuts through the silence of the room like a knife.

Six’s gaze instantly flashes up at you, recognition flitting over his features as he soaks in your sleep get-up. Damp hair, cozy sweatshirt, covers pulled up onto your lap. You were waiting for him. If he was at all startled by you, he doesn’t show it, but silently steps further into the room as he gives you a small, but knowing smirk.

“You could say that,” he tuts as he stops in front of his dresser, slightly angled toward you as his deft fingers work at the material of his rolled-up sleeves. You blink half-lidded as you wait for him to continue, noting how far away he seems on the far side of the giant bedroom. 

Six continues with a low hum, “I learned a few things tonight.” At this, you shuffle to prop your legs up underneath the covers, resting your elbows on your knees. You have to lean forward slightly to be comfortable, and you tilt your head to cup your face with one hand as you prompt, “Oh yeah? What did you learn from the billiards tables and business chats?”

Six huffs as he turns away to start undoing the remaining buttons on the front of his shirt, his back now facing you. He cocks his head briefly to the left before he says, “Well, The Lion doesn’t just meet with people. We figured as much, but now it’s confirmed. I have to assume it’s to protect himself.”

You nod, despite Six not looking at you, and mumble, “Makes sense. Make people talk to his goons before they can get close to him.” A moment passes, and you have to tear your hazy gaze away from Six’s figure. He tantalizingly pulls the button-up out of his fitted trousers from where the material had been tucked in, letting the fabric drape down his broad back as it slides off his body.

Six elaborates on your thoughts, regaining your attention, “And that’s why he uses Bad Brad.” He hastily folds the shirt over his arm, spinning around to face you when you don’t say anything. 

Heat blossoms over your cheekbones as you catch sight of his bare chest, and you find it difficult to avert your gaze. It’s one thing to know that your mission partner is ripped as hell. It’s a completely different thing seeing that your partner is ripped as hell. 

Littered with tattoos from his time in prison, Six’s tan skin seems to glow from the dull light coming from the lamp on your nightstand. The dark ink of his tattoos draws your gaze from his arms up to his pecs, the muscles there that had been peeking out of his shirt all night now on full display. 

Your gaze drifts from his chest to the defined, lean muscle stretched across his abdomen, the trim line of his waist sinfully dipping down to his brown trousers. With him fully facing you, you can appreciate the width of his shoulders compared to his hips, and the rippling muscles between that make your breath catch in your throat.

Your mouth parts as you force yourself to look away, embarrassment of being caught checking Six out washing over you. Tension seems to roll into the bedroom as Six cocks his head at you, slightly confused. It takes him a second to notice your diverted gaze, and when he sees the awkward look on your face, he looks down at his bare chest and then back up to you.

One, thick, tattooed arm comes up to rub at the back of his neck as he sheepishly mumbles, “Sorry, force of habit. Let me get a quick shower, and I’ll explain the rest.” You clear your throat, gaze now downcast, and nod toward the bed, “I’ll be here.”

Six doesn’t say anything else, just briefly fiddles around for another minute, grabbing his own pair of clean clothes before ducking out of the bedroom. Once his large figure has disappeared, you take a deep, centering breath. 

Kind of funny to know Six strips the second he gets home, the thought crashes over you, and you could slap yourself for thinking it. It’s been a long day. I think it’s really starting to get to me.

The sound of water running from the shower in the next room distracts you, and a sleepy smile settles on your face again at the thought of Six getting ready for bed. You blink once to clear your thoughts, focusing your gaze on the plush blankets to try to find where you dropped your phone.

After a couple of moments of flipping and straightening the covers, you find it. With a few moments to yourself again, you sink back down into the mattress, relaxing your legs so that you almost lie flat. You begin to mindlessly scroll as you had been before Six showed up, flicking through post after post with no real regard for the content.

When you realize you haven’t read the last four posts, you give in. With a quick click, you turn the phone off and set it on the nightstand. You fumble for a moment to find the cord you had plugged in earlier, and you set the phone up to charge.

Without choosing to, your mind helplessly wanders back to the image of Six’s muscular back and sculpted torso. God, he’s attractive. But, he’s also just Six. Nothing has changed. He’s still the same, stoic, quick-lipped, funny guy that you’ve known for all these years. 

The thoughts ease some of the tension from your mind, and you shut your eyes at the peace that seems to flood over you. The bed is still inviting underneath you, sleep edging at you to curl up and tuck yourself under the covers for the night.

But just as you start to let yourself succumb to your exhaustion, you hear footsteps at the doorway. They aren’t very loud, and you get a sneaky feeling that he purposefully made his footsteps louder than usual so he didn’t surprise you. You pry your eyes open just as Six steps into the room, his hair is now dampened from the shower, but he is also wearing a t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts. 

Much more clothed than he was when he left the room.

Six stifles a laugh at how far you’ve slumped down into the bed, your eyes almost completely glazed over with sleep, but he doesn’t make a comment about it. Instead, he clears his throat and starts walking toward his dresser, stating, “I think I know what we’ll have to do next.” 

You hum tiredly in acknowledgement, forcing your half-lidded gaze over to him as sleep burns at the edges of your vision. He moves to put the suit he wore in an empty drawer as he continues, “I think the next step is talking to Bad Brad.”

Your eyes widen a little at the thought, and you sit up straighter, ever so slightly more alert as you ask, “That soon already? Was he there tonight?” Six shuts the drawer and faces you, rubbing at the back of his neck again as he shakes his head, “No, he wasn’t, unfortunately. But, I did manage to get us invited to this private, dinner-type thing in two nights.”

It takes you a couple of slow blinks to understand his words, and you mumble back, “Private dinner type thing?” Six sighs as he walks over to the bed, on the opposite side from you, and shrugs, “I’m not really sure, they didn’t explain it very well. Maybe like a gala?”

You nod in response, satisfied with his answer this time. Six sits down on the edge of the bed and rolls his neck around with a groan, trying to relieve some of the tension in his body from the stress of the day.

You shuffle from your sitting position to lie on your side, facing him and tiredly yawn, “I think that sounds good. I think I got some pretty good leads, too.” Six looks over his left shoulder at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? Those girls you were chatting with?” The words come off playful, but you know he’s taking your words seriously. You nod once as your eyes start to close, “Mhm, they were all very nice. The one girl was a bit odd, but I think that might just be her. She was pretty drunk.”

This gets a chuckle out of Six and he cocks his head as he considers your intel, then asks, “The blonde one?” You snort and open your eyes, peeking at his figure as you smile, “Yeah, Whitney.” His eyes widen in mock surprise as he repeats, “Whitney, huh? How is Whitney going to help us?”

You can’t stop the giggle from rolling off your lips as your body floods with an exhausted giddiness, and you move to sluggishly swat at Six’s arm, but he easily moves away. You sigh, a smile resting on your mouth as you chuckle out, “I think she and those other two - Sophia and Isabella, can be helpful with establishing alibis. I think I’ll be able to use them as informants if I play dumb.”

You wave your hand around and continue, “They already believe our backstory, so I think it might work.” Six nods thoughtfully at your words before replying, “It’s not a bad idea. Just don’t get too swept up in it, gotta keep an open mind.”

The back of your eyelids burn as you blink in confirmation at him that you heard his warning. Silence fills the room after that, and neither of you moves. Six is still - only his eyes flit between his hands on his lap, the mattress, and you.

There’s an awkwardness that fills the air at the silent question of who was going to breach the conversation first. You take pity on him and mumble out, “You good?” The question is clumsy and thick with sleep, but it does the job to get the ball rolling.

A deep sigh heaves its way out of Six’s chest, and he thinks for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I’m good. I- I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable sharing a bed. I can go sleep on the couch or something.”

Butterflies threaten to kickstart your nervous system, but you push them down to reiterate, “Six, it’s okay.” Your sleepy gaze meets his concerned one, and then you mumble jokingly, “I’ll just put a pillow between us or something. I agreed to it before the mission, it’s all good.”

This seems to be enough for Six to calm down, but he’s slow to move to lie down next to you. His movements are deliberate and calculated, which you appreciate, even though you trust him wholly. 

Once he’s settled down next to you, you grab one of the extra pillows from behind your head and place it between you silently. Six doesn’t say anything; he just pulls the sheets up to his neck and folds his arms over his chest underneath the covers. 

He lies on his back like a statue, stiff and unmoving. His actions tug on your heartstrings a little, but you try not to dwell on it as you reach over to your nightstand and flick the light off. When the room is completely dark, you quietly whisper, “Goodnight, Six.”

A quiet hum of “‘night” is your only response.

Light pricks at your closed eyelids, your senses slowly awakening as your body shuffles without being told to. The mattress underneath you is soft and warm, and you have the pale blue sheets and comforter wrapped around you like a cocoon.

It’s hard to move for a second, the weight of the blankets sucking you down into their drowsy depths. You are comfy. This bed was by far the most comfortable thing you had ever slept on. 

It takes some effort, but you finally pry one eye open, blearily blinking and looking around. Nothing seems out of place until you look at the other side of the bed. It’s empty. A moment of panic washes over you as you realize…

Your side of the bed is empty.

You instinctively sit up, rubbing at both eyes as you take in the bed with quick, disoriented glances. You are on Six’s side of the bed. The pillow barrier you had put up lies on the floor on your- no, Six’s side of the bed. 

Just as you identify the lumpy shape of the pillow on the ground, you hear a drawer opening quietly from across the room. You blink sleepily again, stifling a yawn as you catch sight of Six milling about. He’s quietly getting ready for the day, putting away his sleep clothes and straightening out his outfit for the morning.

You groan lowly as your body calls for you to stretch, so your arms unfurl in front of you, and you’re pretty sure something in your back pops. Six pauses at the movement and glances over at you, a soft smile on his lips as he huffs a quiet laugh out at you.

You are barely awake - your hair is mussed in every direction, ends sticking up, curling toward your face, and knotted near the base of your neck. Your face is a bit puffy with sleep, and there are lines on your right cheek from where it had been flattened against your pillow. 

A hum falls from your lips before you mumble, “‘time is it?” Six glances at his watch and replies, “Quarter ‘til 8, we’ve got time, sleepy head.” A pout of indignation settles on your face, but then softens as you apologize, “Sorry for somehow getting to your side of the bed, I don’t know how I…” and you motion to the lump of blankets and pillows.

Six looks away from you and shuts the drawer to the dresser he had opened as he brushes you off, “Don’t worry about it, you moved once I got up and started getting ready.” Heat washes over you uncomfortably, and you shuffle, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you crawl to the edge of the bed. On your side of the bed.

As you stand, Six catches sight of your sweatshirt rolled up on your waist, showing off the smooth skin there. The combination of your messy hair, mussed-up pajamas, and sleepy expression makes Six stop in his tracks.

His mouth runs dry seeing the ease and comfort you seem to have this morning, especially compared to the anxiousness you had shown last night before the cocktail party. The bearded blonde isn’t going to complain about it, but it does take him a second to pull his gaze away from you as he finishes tidying his side of the room.

You stumble over to your side of the room, trying to straighten yourself out a bit as the embarrassed heat seeps to the ends of your fingers and toes. You start to grab an outfit, but then pause. You look over your shoulder at Six, who is just making his way toward the door.

“What’s on the agenda for this morning?” you ask softly, your voice still laced with sleep but much clearer than it had been. Six halts in his tracks, his hand coming to rest on the door handle as he looks back at you.

He clears his throat, his brows slightly raising as he lists off, “We’ve got breakfast downstairs first thing. I guess there’s a private chef or something…” His voice trails off a little at the end of his words, and then he lightly shrugs.

You nod at him and then crack a smile, joking, “Ooo, so fancy. A private chef? We’re being spoiled!” Six just tuts at you, ever so slightly rolling his eyes, but then continues, “Then after breakfast, there’s a big block of time where a lot of people were talking about enjoying the beach.”

A wave of butterflies washes over you at the thoughts that come racing at his words. The beach? We get to enjoy ourselves a little? The beach!? I have to wear a swimsuit in front of Six? Six will be wearing a swimsuit!?

Six takes your silence as an opportunity to explain, “We weren’t together a whole lot yesterday for people to see us, only when we got to the cocktail party.” He straightens his shoulders a little before motioning with one hand, “So we’ll probably have to be more couple-y today.”

You take a sharp breath but exhale slowly as you shrug back, “I mean, I’m still good with all of the rules and stuff. I guess just try to give me a bit of warning before anything if possible?” Your voice turns up at the end of your question, the words laced with uncertainty and an undeniable shyness.

There she is, Six can’t help but think to himself. He regains eye contact with you and gives you a solid nod, offering, “I’ll do the best I can.” The sureness of his voice makes you relax a notch, and you give him a smile as silence fills the room.

You glance away and then vaguely point to the door, “Are you gonna g-” “Right, right,” Six rushes as he takes a step back and all but charges the doorway. As fast as you can, you call after him, giggling, “Thanks, Mr. Lawson!”

The door clicks shut, not a millisecond later.

The breakfast nook is huge. 

There are rows and rows of chefs, each tending to guests of the Petalas Resort as they come and go. The kitchen, if you can call it that, is full of sounds of pots and pans clanging, chefs yelling over their shoulders, and the undeniable sizzle of food on the stove tops.

From what you can see, there is no discernible menu anywhere. It makes you feel a little unsettled, but with Six next to you, you manage to remain fairly calm. He lets you walk in front of him, the pair of you making your way over to one of the chefs waiting to serve patrons.

As you glance around, the chefs are making anything and everything you can imagine for breakfast. You step up to the chef in front of you and offer him a tight-lipped smile as he stops what he’s doing to offer you a, “Good morning, ma’am.”

There is a girl helping the chef, quietly maneuvering behind him as she preps for your order. The chef harshly reaches behind him and grabs her wrist, scolding her, “You always greet guests, even if you have to stop working.” She averts her gaze from the chef but nods, “Yes, chef.”

She turns to face you and Six and offers a timid, “Good morning, sir, good morning, ma’am,” then sets back off to work. The chef seems happy with this, turning back to face the two of you. Both you and Six are a bit taken aback, but neither of you lets the emotion come through on your face.

You offer the chef your tight-lipped smile again and ask, “Could you make me a chocolate chip waffle?” The chef gives you a bit of a funny look and glances at the couple to your left, who have also stopped their conversation and are giving you inquisitive looks.

Suddenly, you realize that there are eyes on you from the simplicity of your order. Shit, shit, shit, you think as panic rises in your chest. I don’t know what the fuck these people eat for breakfast! You see the couple’s food placed in front of them a moment later, and it looks fancy. 

You look back to the chef, your mouth parted as you try to come up with a way to cover your ass, but Six’s voice cuts in, low, smooth, and unnervingly calm, “Make that two, the miss loves home-styled cooking. Can’t change what the heart is fond of.”

At Six’s words, the chef offers the two of you a nod and turns away for a moment. You sigh in relief and lean back into Six’s chest in a silent ‘thank you’. Six instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, his hold firm but gentle. It’s a reassuring grip, one that wordlessly says ‘I’ve got you.’

A moment later, the chef reappears with a small seating card and states, “Table 26, it will be brought out shortly.” Six takes the card from him and nods his thanks, gently pulling you away from where you had been standing and toward the seating area. 

He doesn’t release his hold on you, just shuffles so his hand can rest on your back as he guides the two of you to your table. Your mind is riddled with negative thoughts, cursing yourself for your undercover skills sucking compared to how natural Six seems to be. 

His hand squeezing on your waist helps pull you out of your thoughts, and then you realize Six has pulled your chair out for you and is waiting for you to sit down. A wave of butterflies soars through you at the gesture, but is quickly squashed with realization.

He’s pretending to be a high class gentleman, get your head out of your ass.

The harsh thought seems to do the trick, as you offer the bearded blonde a quiet ‘thank you’ before taking your seat and looking around. You try to focus on the people around you instead of Six, who has moved to sit across from you at the small round table. 

You can see all types of couples, but none of the women resemble the girls you had met the prior night. Hesitantly, you look at Six, who is doing the same as you, his stormy gaze scouring the crowd. You clear your throat and mumble, “I don’t see any of the girls. Looks like new faces to me.”

Six quickly looks over at the sound of your voice and takes a deep breath, raising a brow and sighing, “There are only a couple of guys I recognize from last night. But you’re right. No one new.” 

Silence washes over the two of you again, and your hands fiddle for a second before they reach for your wrapped silverware. You quickly set the napkin on your lap and cross your legs, trying to regain some semblance of being a high-class lady.

Sitting here, across from Six, you can’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach. This is going to be a long week of running and fighting off every feeling you’ve ever had for him.

The sun is starting to climb in the sky by the time you and Six are making your way to the beach. The island air is warm and thick, despite it only being late morning. Thankfully, there is an ever-so-slight breeze rolling across the open beach, just enough to prick your skin.

After breakfast ended, which was very tasty, you and Six had gone back up to your room to get changed and ready for the beach. Six insisted on carrying the small bag you had packed with a couple of towels, a book, and a pair of sunglasses, so you let him.

You were almost distraught at the choices for swimwear when you were getting ready - it was either a baby blue bikini or a hot pink one, so you opted for the light blue one. It had minimal patterning in a slightly lighter shade of blue, just a simple and cute piece, but it still left you feeling exposed. 

You had made sure to find a slip to throw over your swimsuit before you left the bedroom. There was no way you could have walked out in front of Six like that. The one you found was a cute, white jumpsuit that was loose but comfortable. It fit the vibe of Greece perfectly.

Six, thankfully, wore more clothes than you thought he was going to. He put on a pair of black swim trunks that hugged his trim waist and accentuated his thick thighs - but also donned a slim-fit white wife-beater, showing off his bulky shoulders and beefy arms.

He looked good, but that wasn’t anything new. Now you were being forced to be seen with him while he looked this good. 

The beach is warm under your flip flops, with slight heat radiating from the light colored sand. Your fingers are laced through Six’s while he has your bag clutched in his other hand. You can’t help the butterflies that swim in your stomach at his touch, and the way your hand seems to fit so perfectly in his.

You sigh as the breeze hits you, and you point over toward the group of white beach umbrellas, saying, “Let’s set up over there!” Six just nods in response, squinting ever so slightly in the bright sunlight. He lets you lead the way, pretending to be the reluctant boyfriend while you seem to be showing a false sense of excitement.

The white beach umbrellas span a wide chunk of the open water, with ragged rocks lining either side of the alcove. Under each of the umbrellas are several beach chairs, and you drag Six toward one that seems unclaimed. It’s not super close to the water, but you can hear the waves crashing and the call of some island birds.

The two of you pause next to the chairs, moving them ever so slightly to be more in the shade of the umbrella. Six sets your bag down carefully and then gives you a pointed glance toward the bar at the top of the beach near the resort, “You want me to get you anything?”

You sigh as you mull it over. These people love to drink. So much. It doesn’t matter that it’s only 10:30 in the morning. People are drinking. You glance up at him as you shuffle to stand between one of the beach chairs and his large frame.

“I don’t think so,” you mumble, even though the words ‘sex on the beach’ ring out in your mind. It’s a cruel thought your mind is dropping on you, but you focus on Six’s response instead. His gaze softens at the tone of your voice, and he reaches up to brush a stray piece of hair out of your (colored) eyes.

“Okay,” he murmurs back, his voice gentle. He pulls back and then motions toward the bar, “I’m going to grab a drink, I’ll be back.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, and you gesture to the beach chair, familiar words falling from your lips, “I’ll be here.” Waiting for this torture to be over, you want to add.

Six gives you a subtle nod of confirmation and silently backs up before turning away, making his way back up the length of the beach. You release a breath and look around at the water in front of you.

It is still as gorgeous as it looked the day before, blue skies, clear water, white sand. It is as perfect a dream vacation as you could wish for. There are couples a few umbrellas away - the ladies sunbathing while the guys snooze in the shade. It’s a peaceful atmosphere despite the nerves crawling under your skin.

With one more glance at Six’s distant figure growing smaller, you decide now is the best time to shimmy out of your slip. That way Six won’t have to watch you. Despite posing as a couple, you don’t want to force him to watch you and make him uncomfortable, even though that would be expected of his fake persona.

You make quick work of getting out of the slip - carefully stepping out of the material, and laying it on one of the reclined beach chairs. It softens the slightly scratchy fabric of the chair, and you take a deep breath as you lie back on it. You feel slightly awkward and stiff when you first settle into the chair, but you force your legs to relax and settle against the curve of it.

You try to focus on the sounds around you as you will your eyes closed. There are waves crashing distinctly in front of you, spraying ocean mist up into the air. You can hear a gaggle of gulls calling above you, circling over the beach in search of unattended food.

You focus on your breathing, slowing it down and enjoying the breeze that rustles over you. You still feel a bit exposed in just your bathing suit, but listening to your surroundings seems to ease your nerves, and you allow yourself to unwind as the minutes slowly tick by. 

Returning from his trip to the bar, Six is slowly meandering back to the chairs, a whiskey sour in one hand. He knows he can’t drink all of it; he needs to stay alert, but he would allow himself to enjoy a few sips of the alcohol. 

The bearded blonde is looking out across the beach as he approaches the umbrella where you are lying, your figure obscured by the back of the reclined chair. His stormy gaze is taking in the same sights you had just moments ago, and, doesn’t completely pay attention to your relaxed figure on the chair.

He stops just behind the recliner, and resting a hand on the back of it, takes a sip of his drink. Six tilts his head back as the liquor burns his throat, and just as he starts to swallow, his eyes betray him, and he looks down.

There, Six sees your bikini-clad body sprawled out on the beach chair, your eyes closed and (colored) hair fanned out behind you. And he chokes. Literally.

A bit of Six’s drink goes flying through the air as he turns his head and coughs, obviously caught off guard by your appearance. His hand that is resting on the back of the chair comes up and pounds on his chest, trying to clear the alcohol that is running down his windpipe instead of his throat.

Six’s coughing fit makes you jump, and you lurch forward as you whip around, your eyes locking onto his figure. “Are you alright?!” you whisper yell, taking in the drink in his right hand and the placement of his left hand over his chest. 

The bearded blonde can’t look you in the eye as he tries clearing his throat, and grunts, “Mhm, yep”, and you instinctively reach forward to tug the drink out of his hand, setting it on the sand behind you.

As you look back towards Six, you realize there are couples walking by that are staring at you and Six, and a wave of panic rushes over you. He’s the one who is usually cool in moments like these, and he’s coughing up a storm!

You realize that you need to do something to get these people to stop looking at you, and a sudden thought brings butterflies soaring in your stomach. You don’t dwell on it, though. 

With as much confidence as you can muster, you tug Six to the open beach chair next to yours. You lay him back on it as he coughs lowly a few more times, a look of confusion on his face as he does what you wordlessly ask. You take a deep breath as you swing your right leg over his lap while your left one stays firmly planted in the sand.

You’re straddling him. His lap is quite comfortable, but you push the thought out of your head as his hands reactively come up to rest on your waist. You start leaning into him, slowly. You see the question in his gaze intensify as his coughing settles down.

You turn your head slightly away from the people watching and mouth to the bearded blonde, “Kiss me.” Then, you see a sharp flash of recognition in his eyes. He pulls one hand from your waist up to gently cup your cheek. The movement causes a new wave of butterflies to bloom in your stomach, and you almost think you could be sick.

His palm is rough on your cheek, the skin calloused from years of throwing punches and firing guns. It’s gentle, despite this, and he tucks your hair behind your ear as he draws you closer to him. Somehow, it’s fast and slow all at the same time.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and you wonder if he can feel how nervous you are. Your lips have parted unknowingly, and a breath catches in your throat when you feel his nose brush against yours. 

Your hands come up to rest on his chest, your fingers splaying out over the thick muscle of his pecs. Six gently nuzzles you for a second as your eyes flutter closed. Then, there’s a slight pause. 

The heads up you asked for. 

A moment later, you feel him shift and his lips ghost over yours, hesitant. Your fingers twitch on his chest in a nervous tic, and you wait, your breath coming out shakily. Six tightens his grip on your waist ever so slightly, pulling your body closer to his. The movement makes you gasp, your mouth falling open millimeters more, and then he closes the distance.

His lips are warm when they land on yours. They’re soft and plush against your own, and you can just barely make out the taste of whiskey on them. The kiss is painstakingly slow as you allow Six to lead, his beard tickling your chin and cheeks as he guides you, his mouth slotting over yours languidly.

The hand cupping your cheek slowly tilts your head back a few degrees, and Six deepens the kiss, his mouth moving in perfect synchronicity with your own. Kissing Six feels like heaven. He’s warm and firm underneath you, but gentle and tender in his kiss.

It's like he pulls the air from your lungs with every pass of his mouth over yours, not that you are complaining. The outside world seems to disappear as the breeze washes over you, dulling your senses to solely focus on the man in front of you.

Your mouth yearns to chase after his, and another gasp slides from your lips as his grip on your waist rocks you forward, closing the distance between your chests. You are forced to slide your arms around his neck as your scantily clad chest is pressed feverishly against his own.

As if on instinct, your hands naturally find their way to the back of his head, threading through the thick locks at the base of his neck. At your touch, Six lets out a low hum, and the vibration of it sets your already tingling nerves on fire.

The kiss remains slow thanks to Six’s lead, but your lungs start to ache as the need to breathe takes over. Six seems to be in the same boat from the relaxed pace he had set, so he tenderly brings the kiss to an end. 

He just barely pulls away from you, resting his forehead against your own and brushing his nose across yours again. Your mouth remains parted as your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath. Your eyes fight the urge to open and ruin the moment as a lone thought pings in the back of your mind.

That was one hell of a first kiss.

The feeling of Six’s hand sliding from your cheek to threading through your hair causes your (colored) eyes to flutter open, and you find Six’s gaze already trained on you. You can still feel his breath on your face as the two of you silently stare at each other, breathless.

He takes a deep breath and pulls back a few more millimeters so only your foreheads are touching, then whispers, “Was that okay? Or too much?” His voice is deliciously rough and low, and it makes your nerves alight at the sound.

Your hands slowly release from his hair, looping gently around his neck instead as you pant quietly, “It, it was good.” Really good. Better than good. Great. Fantastic. Mindblowing. Life-changing.

With the taste of whiskey on your tongue, Six nods slightly and pulls back. Fresh air washes over you, and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again. You blink at him, still hazy from his kiss. 

The bearded blonde glances away from you, the tips of his ears and nose tinged pink as he clears his throat, “Well, no one is watching us now.” You tear your eyes away from him and sit back, retracting your hands from around his neck to run your fingers over the piece of hair tucked behind your ear.

Six releases his hold on the back of your head, but keeps his hand on your waist to steady you. You take a deep breath and mumble, “Well, that’s good.” Six doesn’t respond for a second, his gaze still diverted, before his usual, cool expression is back, and he can look you square in the eye.

“You wanna stay here or go back to your chair?” The words catch you off guard, Six’s tone now flirty and light as it brings a wave of heat over your face. Your heart rate, which had finally settled down, jumps again, and you instantly scramble as you move to get up.

You can feel Six chuckle beneath you as you pull yourself up and away from him, but his laugh quickly stops a moment later when you lean forward to swing your right leg off of his lap to stand up. He totally just got an eyeful of my chest in this stupid top, the despairing thought comes.

You try not to look completely mortified as you stand up straight and turn away from him. Now he can look at my ass, the next one comes. You could slap yourself at the humiliating thoughts and remind yourself, This is Six. He would never purposefully objectify you.

For a second, you contemplate putting your slip back on, but you think better of it and sit down on your original beach chair, facing Six’s now relaxed figure. He’s regained his drink and is now swirling it, finding the contents of the glass interesting.

You fold your arms over your exposed body, suddenly hyper aware of your exposed skin. Six glances at you as you start to curl up, and his blue eyes soften at the semi-mortified look on your face. He’s the one to break the growing tension in the air with a rasp of, “Want a towel?”

You don’t quite meet his gaze but give him a nod, and he rifles through the bag on the opposite side of his chair, fishing out a beach towel for you. His hand brushes yours as he hands it to you, and the touch makes your body feel like it's been electrocuted.

As you pull away and fold the towel in half over your lap, you can’t help but brush at your face. Your lips are slightly swollen from the kiss, and if you try hard enough, you can almost feel Six’s mouth still moving against your own.

With a glance toward the distant figures of the people who had been watching you, you let out a silent sigh. There is no way in hell you are going to be able to relax now.

Waiters and waitresses seem to bustle around without a second thought. They are here and there, in and out. Despite the reserved dining hall hosting fewer people than are at the Petalas Resort, the staff seems to be hellbent on making sure everything is perfect.

You had learned that much at dinner the previous evening after your outing at the beach, but they are still meticulous about it today. There must be someone important here tonight, the thought comes across your mind.

It feels odd being considered someone ‘important’ while being invited to this private dinner. But, you suppose, that is one of the bonuses of dating Reed Lawson. The hall is exquisite, and perhaps, one of the most incredible things you’ve ever seen.

You feel like you are in a time capsule - the room did not match the aesthetic of the rest of the resort you had seen in the slightest. The ceiling rises high into a delicate arc that comes to a point in the middle. Large crystal chandeliers line the roof, with an extra-large and sparkling one hanging from the center.

Each chandelier glistens with neutral light, casting flickering and glimmering shadows across the dark wooden tiles of the floor. There are large stained glass windows on the right wall with depictions of scenes from nature - a mother bear and a cub, a hummingbird drinking from a flower, and a fawn curled up under an oak tree.

You can’t tear your eyes away from them, they are simply stunning. The sun is setting, hitting the stained glass in a way that paints the floor and tables in rainbow light. The other couples don’t seem to notice the captivating light, but you are drawn to it.

A squeeze on your hand pulls your attention away from the beauty of the room, and you have to blink to reorient yourself. When you look at the source of warmth on your hand, your face flushes with heat from the view you are met with.

Six’s hand is firmly clasped in your own, and when you meet his gaze, you swear your nerves are on fire. His hair is neatly slicked back, and he’s taken the time to clean up the lines of his goatee. His eyes seem to be extra blue, but it could just be the deadly and serious glint he holds with the pressure of the evening looming over both of you.

He’s dressed in a crisp black suit. It’s a classic - white button-up shirt, black blazer and trousers, shiny black dress shoes, and silver watch. Instead of a typical Windsor or Eldredge knot, he took the time to properly tie a sharp, jet black bowtie to complete his outfit.

For once, he didn’t quite look like Sierra Six. He definitely had the persona of Reed Lawson tonight, and he was going to need every ounce of support he could get.

Tonight, he was finding Bad Brad and starting business.

That leaves you on eye-candy duty, so you did your best to play the part. Since Six went for the traditional black suit, you figured a black dress and heels would be the best match. And it is.

The black dress is a floor-length gown, but there’s no train dragging behind you. It has long, tight-fitting sleeves that are detailed with a lace overlay. The ends of the sleeves have small loops that you slide over your middle fingers to keep them from rolling up, which nicely accentuates the ring decorating your right ring finger.

The sleeves lead to a corseted bodice, where your waist is firmly held upright with the detailed ribbing. The nature of the corset pushes your chest upwards, which is certainly inviting to look at, and you take pride in the fact that you feel impressive. 

At the bottom of the corset, the dress clings tightly to your hips before slowly flowing out to stop even with the floor. There is a long, seductive slit on your right thigh, and you try not to think about how exposed you feel if you stand the wrong way.

Then, for your feet, you chose an elegant pair of shiny black heels that matched Six’s dress shoes. The extra couple of inches didn’t help much against Six’s height, but made it so that no fabric from your dress drug on the floor, and that you liked.

Your hair and makeup are also done up in a classic, Hollywood style. Your makeup is fairly simple, just enough eyeshadow to make your (colored) gaze pop and some shadowing on your cheekbones with blush, highlighter, and some contour. Your lipstick, however, is a perfect, matte cherry red.

You spent the better part of 45 minutes messing with your hair to get it just right - curling the pieces near your face until they laid perfectly against your cheekbones. Despite your nervousness about the evening, you did feel like you looked the part for once.

There’s another squeeze on your hand. Then, you hear, “El?” You blink again, refocusing on Six’s face. There’s a small frown in his brows when you finally shake your thoughts off, and you hum, “Yes?” Six pulls you a little closer to him by your intertwined hands as he whispers, “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

You take a deep breath and give him a tight-lipped smile, “Fine, sweetheart,” the nickname comes rolling off your tongue. You can tell there is a question in Six’s eyes that he can’t ask out loud, but you hope he can see the assurance in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand back to reemphasize your response, “It’s just a lot.” Your words are simple, and you know he’ll understand what you mean. The whole evening is a lot. The people. The private dining hall. The outfits. Everything.

Six nods in understanding and glances above your head, his stormy gaze scouring the room before settling on you again. There’s a bit of a boyish smile on his lips, and you can see a twinkle in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

Damn Reed Lawson personality, you think to yourself just as Six starts, “Well, princess, I’d say you look stunning tonight despite that.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the line, and instead, you act like it gets you flushed.

You rest your free hand on Six’s chest and giggle, “Oh, Mr. Lawson, you sure are kind.” The bearded blonde smoothly tugs you to his chest and starts to lean into you. There’s a millisecond pause. 

Your heads up.

And then his lips land on yours for the second time. Your heart lurches in your chest again at the feeling of his mouth on yours, warm with a precision you didn’t know he had. His kiss is deadly accurate - just like his aim, and he gently, but methodically, slots his mouth over yours so as not to disturb your lipstick.

It makes you dizzy, and your ability to overthink while being kissed senseless never fails. But with this many people surrounding you, you don’t truly have the chance to absorb it like you did the first time. 

Your lips part in slight surprise as Six’s free hand slips to the small of your back, and Six takes the opportunity to be sly. Forgoing the gentle nature of the first kiss on the beach, Six catches your lower lip between his teeth. Then, before you can think, he bites down on the soft flesh.

You almost yelp at the sharp pinch of pain, and your heartbeat jumps in your chest at the notion behind it. This kiss is short and the total opposite of the kiss on the beach. This is… possessive? You don’t have time to dwell on it, as Six quickly pulls away and steps back.

His face is void of any emotion that indicates he just kissed you, and he releases you to button the front of his blazer like he’s done it a million times. You stare up at him, slightly dumbfounded, but then he reaches forward to cup your cheek.

This touch is much softer, much more tender, and it makes you reel. His thumb delicately swipes under your bottom lip, the digit now smudged with a line of cherry red lipstick. Six releases his hold on your face and murmurs under his breath, “Now you look like you belong to Lawson.”

His words make your mind spin again. You can hardly keep up with him, and you suddenly wonder if this is how he was going to stay ahead of Bad Brad and The Lion, making their minds whirl until they can’t think straight. You part your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off lowly, “Your friends are here, 9 o’clock. Go talk to them, I think I have a visual on the in-group.”

Then, he takes another step back, rakes your figure with a dark gaze, shoots you a wink, and pivots, walking away. That undeniable saunter to his step is back, and you can’t help but silently watch him slip into the small throng of people.

What the fuck has gotten into him? 

The thought comes rapidly as his figure disappears into the crowd, and you are left alone, waiters and waitresses slipping by you every couple of seconds. You do your best to shake it off, instead focusing on 9 o’clock, where you can see the brown hair of Isabella.

Time to get some intel.

There is an undeniable skip in his step as he walks away from you. Six doesn’t mean for there to be, but the readiness to get the night over with crawls throughout him, making his feet hit the ground lightly as he skirts around the wait staff.

He isn’t sure what compelled him to kiss you like that just now, but the way you looked up at him? He was sure his heart was going to stop. Your eyes… they were so wide, so trusting, so completely focused on him, he didn’t know what to do.

So he put on an act. Lawson. 

The bearded blonde clenches his jaw as he sets his gaze on the small in-group he had pointed out to you. It's time for him to get some intel. Some real intel on how to complete this mission.

When he's with you, he can’t concentrate. He can’t think about gaining scraps of information, not when he wants to slip his hands around your waist, cup your cheek, kiss you until you were whin-

No. Focus, he scolds himself. You are an incredible distraction, and right now, he needs to make sure he isn’t going to get either of you killed. He needs to make sure you stay safe.

With his stormy gaze scraping the group, he picks out the figure he’s been hoping to find. Bad Brad. He knows it’s him. There is an unmistakable tattoo curling around the mafia officer’s left temple - the lines forming the shape of a Chinese dragon.

Bingo. Six slows his pace down and quickly sets his expression to be the cool, laid-back look of Reed Lawson, businessman and CEO. He does a quick scan of the other people in the group, 4 other men of varying backgrounds. There’s one tall man who is a little quieter, set back away from the group, but intently listening. That’s where he’ll start.

Six skirts around the group and catches the eye of the man, and the man juts his head up in recognition. The bearded blonde stops in front of him, offering him his hand as he states, “Reed Lawson, CEO of Lawson Weaponry and Gun Designs.”

The words slide out of his mouth with a practiced ease, and with a charming turn to his lip, the tall man reciprocates. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lawson. I’ve heard great things about your business. Timothy Bowers, software developer and data analyst,” the tall man replies, taking hold of Six’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

Six gives him a polite smile before retracting his hand, “You as well, Mr. Bowers.” The tall man, Timothy, shuffles to face him, slightly stepping away from the group to give his full attention to Six. The bearded blonde can see Timothy give him a quick once-over, a judgmental look in his eyes as he takes in Six’s broad figure.

Then, the hostility in Timothy’s gaze seems to disappear with a blink as he tilts his head back, and a smug smirk spreads across his face. Six internally groans at the arrogance flooding off of this man, but he knows this game well. It’s a contest between men. Who has the most prowess. Who has the biggest ego.

Six takes a quick breath and forces his shoulders down and straightens his already perfect posture a degree more. He plasters a similar, smug look on his lips as he asks, “So I hear there are some people on the island looking to increase their arsenals. You know any of them?”

Timothy glances down, swirling the drink in his free hand, and replies, “I do, actually. I was told you manufacture weaponry of all types, is that so?” Six shoves one hand in the pocket of his black trousers while the other smooths over the front of his blazer. 

He offers the man a nod and offhandedly remarks, “Oh yes, everything from handguns to infantry and service rifles.” Six pulls the hand from his blazer to generally motion, “But we also sell designs, too. Making custom firearms isn’t cheap, but selling blueprints for someone else to make?” He lets out a low whistle, regaining eye contact with the tall man, who takes a sip from his martini.

Timothy cocks his head for a second as he takes in Six’s words. His dark gaze rakes over Six’s cool expression, a try-me look set on the bearded blonde’s face. Timothy thinks better of it and points his finger at him, slightly waving the digit as he tuts, “You’re a smart man for that, Mr. Lawson.”

Six huffs out a clipped but polite laugh and replies, “Well, you learn some things doing this kind of business.” The words are edged with a bit of ice, a double meaning. Timothy’s face flashes with recognition, but he’s interrupted when a hand is placed on his shoulder.

Six catches sight of a red-headed woman appearing from behind Timothy, a sickly sweet look covering her face as she gazes up at the tall man. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I hate to interrupt, but Timothy,” she bats her eyes up at him, “I need you over at the round table, just for a moment.”

Her voice comes off with the air of someone from the 1950’s and it makes Six sick to his stomach at the overdone aura of the woman. Timothy gives her a nod, wrapping his hand around the woman’s waist as he shoots Six a shit eating grin.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lawson. My wife here needs me,” Timothy boasts, cockiness oozing off of him in unbearable waves. Six resists the urge to clock the guy, instead shoving his free hand into his other pants pocket with a tight-lipped smile.

Six dips his head toward the woman and then toward Timothy, relenting, “Of course, don’t let me hold you up.” Timothy seems to like this response, and narrows his eyes at Six, saying, “Let me introduce you briefly to one of my colleagues. Maybe he can help you find who you need.”

A rush of excitement floods through Six’s body, but all he does is raise a brow at Timothy. The tall man turns to the group of men just behind him now and taps on the shoulder of the man with the tattoo on his temple. Six internally pats himself on the back, but he refrains from getting too excited. He can’t celebrate yet.

The man turns and regards Timothy with a slightly annoyed look, but when Timothy whispers in his ear, a look of surprise laces the man’s face. Six sees the Chinese dragon on his skin before he meets the brown gaze of Bad Brad.

A chill runs up Six’s spine as he locks eyes with The Lion’s right-hand man, and he steels his expression to one of an unnerving calmness. Timothy pulls away from Bad Brad as the latter turns to face Six. 

Then, Timothy and his wife slip away without another word, leaving Six and Bad Brad outside of the small group, alone. Six forces himself to hold Bad Brad’s gaze, another silent show of dominance between mafia men. The whole thing is ridiculous to Six, but he has to play into their system.

When Six doesn’t break his line of sight, Bad Brad silently offers him his hand. Six lets a smile tug on the corner of his mouth, and skillfully shakes Bad Brad’s hand without breaking eye contact. Bad Brad releases Six’s hand a moment later and swirls his drink before using that same hand to point in Six’s direction, “What can I do for you?”

Six blinks at him once and then starts, “I’ve heard some people at this resort are looking for some weaponry designs.” It’s a test. He wants to see how Bad Brad will react to the general line of work he is supposed to be a part of.

Bad Brad takes a sip of his drink, thinking, before he responds, “That depends on what you sell exactly, mister?” “Lawson,” Six cuts in, “Reed Lawson.” A look of recognition flashes over the mafia officer’s face, and Six knows he’s in. Bad Brad sets his glass down on a passing waiter’s tray before motioning to a quieter area of the dining hall.

“Let’s talk, shall we?” he asks. Six nods and the two men make their way to a small table with a few lush chairs. It’s set in the back of the dining hall where there’s no one else around, presumably for this exact reason. Staying alert, Six tactfully unbuttons his suit jacket before sitting down in one of the chairs across from Bad Brad.

The mafia officer watches him for a moment before chiming, “You know, Mr. Lawson, I’ve heard you were coming to the events here this week. I’m glad you are here, because my boss may be interested in some of your designs.”

Six raises his eyebrows in recognition and settles his hands on his lap, inquiring, “What would they be interested in? If they’re in need of heavy-duty equipment, that’ll take longer to make. If they’re more interested in handguns and pistols, it’ll be quicker and less expensive.”

Bad Brad rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, a glint in his eye as he urges quietly, “He’s interested in your new kinds of weapons.” Thoughts swirl in Six’s head. The conversation went straight from normal business to the black market at the flick of a switch.

But Six doesn’t panic. This is exactly what he was hoping for. The bearded blonde swallows thickly and narrows his gaze before measuredly replying, “If that’s the case, then he should know the price is quite high for those.” Bad Brad grins at Six but nods, motioning, “Whatever the asking price is, we can meet it.”

Six shuffles to also lean forward as he presses, “What is he in the market for, exactly? We have a variety of ready-to-use bioweapons, but if he’s thinking of something more tailored…” His voice trails off as a waitress walks by the table, and he briefly glances at her before returning his gaze to the man in front of him.

The mafia officer mulls Six’s words over for a second, then answers, “I would have to confirm this with him, but he wants something that will drug someone quicker, faster. Enemies of The Lion need to be taken down efficiently, and not all of them can be shot at.” Six makes a mental note that Bad Brad confirmed The Lion is his boss, but nods in response to him.

The bearded blonde shrugs and says, “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’d have to look at some schematics and talk to my lead engineer, but I’m fairly certain we have a prototype for something like that in the works already.”

This seems to really catch Bad Brad’s attention, and he clasps his hands together before throwing them up in the air, “I’ll have to talk to The Lion, but I would think he may want to talk to you directly to streamline business.”

Six’s heart lurches in his chest at Bad Brad’s words, but he gives him a nod and offers him his hand, “That would be great, sir.” Bad Brad gives Six a sickening smile and replies, “It’s good doing business with you, Mr. Lawson.”

Your heels seem a bit unsteady underneath you as you start walking through the small crowd of people. Without Six’s hand on your back, you feel a bit exposed, but you try to put on your confident facade. With this outfit on, you can do anything, you tell yourself, jutting your chin upwards ever so slightly.

You center your (colored) gaze on the brown hair of Isabella’s you can see just ahead, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Now is not the time to think of Six. Focus on gathering intel, you chant in your head, subtly rolling your shoulders to loosen them.

Isabella turns just as you stop next to her, and a wide smile spreads across her face as she gapes at you, “Well, don’t you look stunning, El!” You give her a kind smile in response, ducking your head and batting your lashes as you gush, “Oh, stop it, you look lovely as well, Isabella.”

The brunette’s smile somehow widens even more before she glances behind you, obviously looking for someone. Her brown gaze returns to yours with a question in it, “No Reed with you tonight?” she asks, less enthusiasm in her voice.

You roll your eyes lightly and shrug, “It’s the CEO in him, he can’t help but attack business when he can.” It wasn’t a complete lie - Six was always one to focus on business, even if that was usually gun fights using his enemy’s weapons and landing punches hard enough to make grown men cry.

Your words hang in the air for a second as she gives you a slightly questioning look, but it fades away with a quick blink. Odd. You motion around the lively dining hall with a lazy hand and claim with amusement, “Tonight is somehow busier than the cocktail party the other night, even though there are fewer people.”

Isabella’s gaze follows your hand, scanning over the crowd just as you did moments before. Her brown eyes flash back up to yours, and she huffs, “No kidding, people love to chat before the big event.” The big event, huh? You think to yourself as you steadily hold her gaze.

You briefly wipe at your nose and tut, “People love to drink here on Petalas, too, I’ve noticed. There’s a bar in every room, it seems!” Isabella laughs at your joke, and thankfully, it lightens the air between the two of you. You both sigh after a moment, and you raise your eyebrow at her, questioning, “You never did tell me how you ended up here at Petalas.”

She shuffles her feet for a moment, slightly rattled to the trained eye, but quickly recovers as a smile sets on her mouth again. Isabella takes a sip of her drink before sighing, “Similar to you, my partner is here on business.”

You raise an eyebrow and playfully jostle your shoulder toward her, “Partner, huh? What’re they like?” Isabella flushes under your questioning, her eyes darting around as she tries to escape the heat of your gaze, “Oh, he’s just - Oh hey, Whitney!” Isabella interrupts herself as she catches sight of the blonde hair of her friend making her way toward the two of you.

Your eyes narrow a bit at her dodginess, but you are soon faced with the drunken stupor of Whitney crashing into you. You stumble a bit as she wraps one arm around you, and one holding a drink around Isabella. Your ankle twists as your heel rolls, and a sharp twinge of pain shoots through your leg.

“Hey girls!” Whitney slurs, her arm uncomfortably clamping down on your shoulder. You have to put on a brave face as you ignore the pain in your ankle, instead offering a tight-lipped smile as Isabella responds, “Looks like you found the bar, huh?” There’s a friendly jibe to Isabella’s tone, and you get the understanding that this is a common occurrence between them.

Whitney looks at her and sheepishly giggles, “You know me, Izzy, when the husband orders, I must drink it!” Her words make you want to cock your head in confusion, but you just brush it off, slightly shuffling to help Whitney stand up straight.

Your movement makes Whitney glance over at you, her blue eyes flicking from your own (colored) ones to stop on your mouth. “Your lipstick is messed up, El,” she mumbles drunkenly as her hand comes up to start fiddling with your face. You instinctively duck out of her way, reaching up to stop her hand from messing up the rest of your makeup.

You take a wobbly step backwards as another pang of pain shoots up your ankle, and you huff out with uncertainty, “Haha, yeah, that’s thanks to Reed. He loves it when I wear lipstick.” Silently, you want to curse Six for messing up your makeup, but at the same time? 

You can’t shake the feeling of his mouth on yours. His hand threaded through your own. The possessiveness of the kiss. The swipe of his thumb on your lip. The dark look in his blue eyes.

Whitney’s face flashes with an unreadable emotion before she waves her now free hand at you, wiggling the digits. She giggles with a dangerous smile, “You’ll have to come up to my room sometime so we can have some girl talk!”

You laugh uncomfortably, and Isabella joins in, chuckling lightly as she shifts Whitney to stand up straighter. Isabella turns to you and giggles, “Whitney is always coming up with stuff to try, if you know what I mean.” She shoots you a wink at the end of her words, and understanding washes over you.

Not only do the women and men on Petalas drink like nobody’s business - they love their dirty jokes and bedroom talk.

Whitney gives you a thorough look up and down, taking in your figure with blatant interest before slurring, “‘m sure I could think of something for you and Mr. Lawson to try out…” Her words fade as she takes a swig from her glass, and another wave of unease washes over you.

Warmth settles over your face at her implication, but a pit heavy as lead sits in your stomach as you mull over her words. Not knowing how to turn the conversation around, you just laugh and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and glance away.

With your nonverbal response, Whitney seems to relent, instead turning back to Isabella. Whitney leans her head back to look at the younger brunette and asks, “Izzy, where’s Soph at?” The nicknames seem to roll off the blonde’s tongue in her stupor, a mental note that you tuck away to think about later.

Isabella briefly glances through the crowd with a bit of a frown before turning back to Whitney, “I’m not sure, we came in together and went to the bar. After that, I don’t know.” The two women start brainstorming about where the third member of their group disappeared to, and it gives you a moment to catch your breath.

You glance away from them, over your shoulder, to where Six had walked away from you. The bearded blonde is nowhere to be seen, and as you reach up to swipe at your lip, you can’t help but wonder if he’s having more success than you.

“Mmm, you’re warm,” your voice thrums out lowly, the words slow and thick with the callings of sleepiness. A pleasant warmth floods you - originating from your right side and slowly spreading to the tips of your toes and edges of your fingers. It settles deep in your chest as sleep whispers to you, your eyes flickering to half-lidded as you do your best to fight it off.

“Yeah?” Six murmurs, his voice low and soothing as it washes over you. Not helping with your desire to sleep. His left arm is slung over your shoulders, his hand softly rubbing circles on the exposed skin of your left bicep. 

It’s fairly early in the morning, with the sun barely peeking above Petalas’s horizon. No one else at the resort is up and milling about yet, but between you and Six, neither of you could sleep in. So, you had gotten ready for the day and scouted out a small lounge where you could rest but also catch up with each other.

The lounge has a large, dark leather couch in the middle of the room, and that’s where you and Six find yourself seated. There’s a large, flat-screen TV hung on the wall that’s quietly playing a rerun of some sitcom, but you don’t have it in you to watch. Instead, you find yourself sinking further and further into Six’s side as his heat envelops you. 

The room is secluded from the main part of the resort, the small area meant for people to relax in private, but was technically open for anyone to come and go as they please. Rather than camp out in your room, Six thought it might be a good idea to scout one of the rooms out and relax until breakfast was served.

The bearded blonde is fairly relaxed this morning despite not being able to sleep much the previous evening. He still slicked his hair back, but a few strands have slipped loose and hang delicately over his forehead. He chose to wear a tight, white t-shirt under a loose, light denim shirt that he left unbuttoned, which stretched deliciously over his broad chest.

He did manage to roll the cuffs alone this time, once again showing off the expanse of his tanned forearms. A crisp pair of khakis and brown Redwings finish off the casual look, and you wonder if this is what he would choose to wear in his free time. Because he looks damn good in it.

You had also seemed to pick up on the casual, beachy vibe for the morning - choosing a pair of light wash jeans that clung to your hips and ass in a way no pair of jeans ever had, a mauve off-the-shoulder t-shirt that is soft and pliable, and a white pair of slip-ons that are so comfortable you might just have to steal them when you get home.

“Mhm,” you hum back. The back of your head rests somewhere between his shoulder and flat on his chest, tucking yourself into his side while simultaneously leaning back against him. When he doesn’t say anything else, you force your eyes open to look up at the bearded blonde.

The physical touch with Six is less daunting now that it is the third day of the mission. Every time he moves to grab your hand or rest his palm on your back, it’s more of a comfort than nerve-inducing. Every touch still makes your heart flutter and skip, but it’s less obvious, and Six can tell.

So much so that when you move to look up at him, he’s already looking down at you. His blue eyes are soft this morning, not quite laced with the edge of Reed Lawson. They flit around your face for a moment, noting the natural makeup you donned today - just some mascara and your brows. 

Six scans the rest of your face - watching how your eyes blink slowly up at him in wonder, the way your mouth has parted in thought. You look peaceful, here, wrapped up in his arm. It’s a look he wants to get used to, but knows that he can’t have forever. Yet, he can’t find the will to pull away from you.

A pout slides onto your mouth as you mumble up to him, “My ankle hurts.” He raises a brow at your complaint, slowing his hand on your arm to a stop. His fingers drum against your skin as he inquires, “What happened?” You roll your head back against his chest as you look away and groan, “Those damn heels last night. Twisted my ankle when Whitney hugged me.”

Six wants to laugh, he really does, but he bites his tongue and simply replies, “Yeah?” You frown up at him when you catch the playful tone of his voice, and you turn to face him again. This time, you sit up from being next to his side, shuffling so that your body is across from his.

There’s a subtle intrigue lacing his features at your movement, and deep down, you miss the warmth his side has been giving you. You point your finger at him as you grumble, “You don’t understand the struggle of wearing heels. They suck.”

Six huffs at you, rolling his eyes in a playfully mocking way, which makes you childishly gasp and swat at his chest. His right hand flies up from his thigh to catch your wrist, stopping your attack before you ever make contact. He glances from your wrist to your (colored) gaze, once again raising an eyebrow as a silent challenge. What now?

A voice in your head is screaming at you. Lean forward. Kiss him. Distract him. But there’s no one watching. There’s no reason to kiss him. So you listen to the logical reasoning in your head instead - flop down on his lap. Yeah, much more logical.

You shuffle so you sit sideways in his lap, a wave of nerves running through you at your bold movements. Six doesn’t say anything, so you continue getting comfortable. You rest your feet where you had just been sitting, and Six’s arm that had been slung around you now comes to rest on your bent knee.

Six’s grip on your wrist loosens a bit as you set your free hand on your lap, leaning back against the armrest and pillow he is sitting next to. Now, you basically sit bridal style on his lap, head resting on the pillow he had propped up. The bearded blonde watches you silently, the soft and playful look in his eye twinkling mischievously.

You shoot him a sharp glance, “Don’t even think about it. I will sucker punch you in the gut as hard as I can.” Six’s gaze flits between yours and your wrist still caught in his hand, and he retightens his grip before boasting, “Oh yeah? You and your non-dominant hand?”

His words are playful and teasing, and the tone of his voice makes butterflies bloom in your stomach. You had never seen him at such ease, so carefree. It looks good on him. But you are never one to back down from a fight. 

You jut your chin out at him, “Yeah, me and my non-dominant hand will whoop your ass.” Six hums knowingly as his left hand, resting on your knee, moves slowly, crawling up the curve of your thigh. It brushes over your hip and then settles on your waist, the digits warm through the thin material of your shirt.

The touch makes your brain short-circuit, and Six knows it. He gives you a smug smile and tuts, “Not gonna sucker punch me now, huh?” Heat seems to explode over your face at the sly comment, and embarrassment is the only thing you can think of as your free hand moves to cover your face. 

“This is worse than those damn heels,” you groan quietly into your hand, not willing yourself to look at Six who you know is pleased with himself. In fact, he rubs it in by chuckling lightly at your discomfort. The sound is pleasant, one that you don’t get to hear very often, and it makes your already racing heart flutter.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” you grumble, trying to pull your wrist free from his grip. He doesn’t relent, though, holding your wrist as still as a statue while scoffing, “Aw, come on, pookie, don’t be like that.” You instantly part your fingers to scowl at him, a frown plastered on your features as you glare at him with as much embarrassed anger as you can.

You can’t even respond to him, your mouth clamping down as your brain forces you to shut up before saying something else stupid. Your hand slides down your face while your cheeks burn, and Six huffs, “Sugar plum, don’t be like that.” His voice is sickeningly sweet, and you know he’s having the time of his life riling you up.

You force yourself to look away from him, trying to calm the blazing heat coursing through your body and the skip in your heart that can’t seem to stop. His hand squeezes your waist to get your attention, and when you make reluctant eye contact with him, you understand the softening look in his eyes. I’m done messing with you.

The bearded blonde releases his hold on your wrist, giving you free rein with both hands now. He sets his hand on the cushion near your head, his arm propped up against the back of the sofa like he didn’t just torment you for the last 2 minutes. The traces of a smug smirk still lie on his features, but you just sigh and rub at your face with both hands, grumbling indistinctly to yourself.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs when you finally regain some composure, crossing your arms over your chest. Six nods toward your ankle with a more serious look on his face, “Are you alright, though? Anything I can do to help?”

The scowl on your face lessens at his words, and you sigh as you look at your foot, slightly rolling it and then wincing at the ache that still runs through the center of your ankle. You glance back at Six, a more vulnerable expression on your face as you mumble, “I don’t know, to be honest. I’d like to think some rest will do the trick, but things are about to ramp up.”

Six takes a deep breath before sighing, “Yeah, you’re right.” He nods again to your foot and murmurs, “But seriously, if there’s something you need, let me know. Can’t have you out of commission.” You give him a genuine smile this time as you reply quietly, “Thanks, S-” But you cut yourself off.

The bearded blonde doesn’t make any comment about your quiet slip-up but does pipe up, “Speaking of things ramping up, there’s some stuff from last night I should tell you about.” This piques your interest, and you start to sit up so you can give Six your full attention.

His hands fly from their relaxed positions to hover next to your waist, waiting to grab you as you shuffle closer to him. There’s a worry in his eye, and you look up to brush him off, “I’m good, I’m good.” Six is hesitant, though, and he mumbles, “Come here, that way I can stay quiet.”

You look at him with growing interest as he guides you back up into a sitting position. His large hands cradle you close to his chest as he shuffles underneath you, taking your spot, leaning back against the armrest. He lies behind you now, parting his thighs so your body slots in between his thick legs.

Your legs are still bent as you shift slightly to get more comfortable, slowly leaning back to be flush against Six’s chest. He leans down close to your ear, murmuring, “You alright there? Comfortable?” You just give him a silent nod as you will your quickened breathing to slow down, your heart pounding in your chest at this new intimacy.

Six sighs underneath you, and you can feel your body naturally relax as his warmth begins to seep through you again. You settle one of your hands in your lap, letting the other rest on one of Six’s broad thighs that seem to cage you in. He stiffens under your soft touch, but then eases a moment later, clearing his throat lowly.

“So,” he starts quietly, “I managed to talk to Bad Brad last night.” You freeze as his words wash over you. You want to turn around, yell at him while asking a million questions, cheer, and celebrate, but you remain still, shocked at his intel. Six slowly curls his arms around you, resting his hands on his thighs, with one sitting right next to yours.

You lean back into the bearded blonde a notch more, and he continues, “I confirmed that The Lion is his boss and that he is looking for a bioengineered drug to dope people faster.” Your breath catches in your throat at the information, and you stutter, “Th-that’s insane. What did you tell him?”

You can feel Six shrug beneath you as he mumbles, “That I would have to talk to my lead engineers, but there was already something like that in production.” You let an amazed smile slip onto your lips, and you huff out, “You sure are incredible, you know that?” 

Six is quiet underneath you, and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you that you know you’ve caught him off guard. The silence makes your smile grow, but you don’t let it get to your head. Instead, you ask lowly, “What did he say to that?” This time, Six answers right away, “He’s going to talk to The Lion. He may want to streamline business and talk directly to me.”

This makes you gasp, your eyes widening as you turn around to look Six in the eyes. Six has a slightly smug curl to his lip, and he shrugs, “Our window.” You blink up at him with amazement as you repeat, “Our window.”  

You smile at each other for a moment, excitement thrumming in the air between the two of you at the notion. The mission is going to plan. Everything is going to work out. Six’s blue gaze flits around your face as he takes in the look of elation on your face, and he can’t help but think you’re glowing. His eyes dip to your mouth where the most radiant smile rests, and the urge to kiss you hits him like a bus.

You blink up at him, realization setting in as his expression becomes more serious and the air thickens. You open your mouth to speak, but you stop when you hear the sound of footsteps coming toward the door.

Six breaks out of his haze, his stormy gaze snapping back up to meet yours as it narrows in concentration. You instinctively finish rolling over, now lying flat on your stomach as your arms come up to rest on Six’s chest. He follows your lead, his hands sliding from his thighs to rest on your back, the long digits splaying before one hand slips a little lower.

His right hand just barely slides over the top of your ass, keeping you caged between his thighs as the footsteps get louder. You rest your head on Six’s chest, and for a moment, you can hear his steady heartbeat before your vision focuses on the figures walking into the room.

You almost instantly recognize the brown hair of Sophia - her tall and thin figure pausing near the entrance to the room. A man stops just behind her, and you have to assume that he’s her husband. Surprise laces her features as she takes in the appearance of you and Six, cuddling, essentially.

“Well, good morning to you two,” she chimes, a pleasant smile resting on her mouth as she reaches back to grab her husband’s hand. You hear Six’s voice hum out, “Morning, you must be one of El’s new friends. Reed, nice to meet you, officially.” His hand on the edge of your ass twitches, and you know he’s on high alert by the way he stiffens slightly afterward.

You hum playfully up at him and whine out, “Reed, I told you their names.” You turn back to Sophia and roll your eyes, “Sorry about him. Baby, this is Sophia.” The pet name slides off your tongue easier than you thought it would, and apparently, Six must have thought the same thing, because his fingers once again twitch over your back.

Sophia and her husband both wave awkwardly, but Sophia pipes up, “So what are you two up to this morning before breakfast?” Six takes a deep breath, ready to answer, but you beat him to it, “Talking about our next trip to visit my nephew, Georgie.”

Surprise floods the room at your words, as everyone, including Six underneath you, is quiet. You shuffle to sit up a little as you explain, “My nephew’s name is Georgie, and he,” and you take a deep breath before letting it out, continuing with a somber tone, “He has trouble connecting and talking with people, he’s only 7.”

You smile sadly down at Six, who glances up at you, masking his confusion with a similar look to your own. You nod at the bearded blonde and say, “But, when I introduced him to Reed for the first time… It’s like he became a whole new boy. I’ve never seen him talk to someone he didn’t know like that ever.” 

You take another deep breath and wave your hand as faux emotion wells over you, “It’s just,” you sniffle, cutting yourself off. Six’s hand on your back instantly starts rubbing, trying to soothe you as you clear your throat from fake emotion, “It’s just hard with how much Reed travels for business sometimes.”

A sad smile sets on your face again as you glance back to Sophia and her husband, who are sharing a pensive look that screams ‘What the depressed fuck did we walk into?’ Six’s hand on your back runs up to cup the back of your head, quietly “shhing” you as you fake-wipe a tear away and mumble, “I hope he’s doing okay, is all.”

Sophia nods in understanding and takes a small step back while mumbling, “I’m sorry to hear that, El, we didn’t mean to interrupt your morning.” You give her a saddened nod, fake-unable to respond to her due to emotion. The brunette dips her head to Six, who has been continuously comforting you throughout the whole exchange.

“We’ll leave you to it. Catch you later, El,” Sophia says as her husband drags her backward and out of the room. You can hear their footsteps dim as the seconds tick by, and once they are gone, you slump face-first into Six’s chest.

You groan lowly as you drop the emotional act, and you can feel Six take a deep breath, blowing it out through puffed cheeks. He huffs once and then exclaims, “Didn’t know you could act like that, Ms. Brooks.” You giggle lightly into his chest before looking up and propping your chin on your hands.

“I didn’t know I could do that either,” you reply coyly, a shyness coating your features as you briefly catch his stormy gaze. Six hums lowly, and this time you can feel it deep in his chest. He blinks at you slowly a few times, and then he replies, “It was pretty impressive, actually.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Oh, stop it, it wasn’t that impressive.” Six shrugs and murmurs, “Whatever you say, Ms. Brooks,” his eyes flitting between your own. You take a deep breath and sigh out, “You weren’t too bad just then either, Mr. Lawson. Very comforting, I must say.”

Now it’s Six’s turn to huff in laughter, and the two of you chuckle for a moment before silence washes over you. You look back up at Six, only to find his gaze is still trained on you. It makes butterflies bloom in your stomach at the intensity, and before you know it, you’re pushing up off his chest.

You don’t seem to have control over yourself as one of your hands cups his cheek, slides back to the base of his neck, and threads through the thick blonde locks there. Six groans ever-so-slightly at the touch, leaning into it while simultaneously tilting his head toward yours.

Six’s fingers twitch at the bottom of your spine again, and when you tighten your grip on his hair, his fingers give in and slide fully over the curve of your ass, digging into the soft flesh with a bruising strength. 

Your forehead bumps against his as your mouth parts, panting like you're already out of breath. Six’s nose brushes against yours, waiting to see if you are going to keep going or if you are going to back out. He nuzzles you for a second, the air between your bodies growing thick and hot with tension.

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and you pull your gaze from his parted, pink lips up to his stormy gaze. You can hardly see the blue in his eyes, his pupils have blown out, and his eyes are half-lidded. The sheer intensity of his gaze makes you want to back out, but you know you can’t. Not right now.

It’s a stalemate. Neither of you moves. Limbs intertwined, bodies flush against each other, mouths millimeters apart, breathing the same air. It’s torture, but you only have yourself to blame. You made the first move.

Never one to back down from a fight, you make the next painstaking move. You tilt your head slightly to the right, your mouth just barely ghosting over Six’s. Then, you let your (colored) eyes flutter closed, and you kiss him.

[groovy-pisces]

[groovy-pisces]

The Call To Be More

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Claire comes home from school one day, bursting at the seams with excitement. She can't quite control what comes out of her mouth, and Six isn't sure how to handle it.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: FLUFF, mild angst, but this is so cute and sweet my teeth are going to fall out

A/N: Here is another part of The Gray Scale, a collection series that I'm writing when I feel like it! Also... why does my brain choose violence on Mother's Day? But DAD SIX. I REPEAT. DAD SIX. - Birch<3

It's just after 3:45pm when you can hear the squeaky brakes of the school bus near the end of your lane. It's a sound you've grown accustomed to; it was your idea to send Claire to a normal high school after all. Especially despite Six being initially opposed, but eventually giving in.

You had reminded him that Claire didn't really like you, and that homeschooling her would drive an even bigger wedge in your already fragile relationship. He had relented, though, but insisted you be home when the bus arrived since he would still be at work most days.

Claire appreciated the small taste of normalcy - waking up early to get her things ready, waiting at the end of the lane for the bus, and laughing with her friends as it made its way down the country road to the school a few miles away.

Today, for once, Six had the afternoon off, and he had taken the chance to spend some quality time with you - helping with chores around the barn, helping you pick and clean vegetables from your garden, and sipping iced tea with you on the front porch as the sun grew hot in the late afternoon.

The bearded blonde stands behind you now, watching over your shoulder as the young girl's figure all but bounds down the lane, excitement emanating from her. You can see a happy yet confused look tug on Six's face as you glance up at him, and he huffs down to you, "I wonder what's got her so excited?"

You lean back against his chest as you shrug, "I'm not sure, I know she's been working super hard on her school work." Six hums in acknowledgement as he delicately rests his hands on your waist, sweetly kissing you on the top of your head.

The simple action still makes butterflies bloom in your belly, even after all the time you've been with the bearded blonde. He doesn't seem to notice, but squeezes your waist gently before letting you go as Claire gets closer to the house.

Six takes a step toward the foyer as Claire launches up the steps to the front porch, the girl making a mad dash for the screen door. You are forced to take a step back as the door harshly swings open, surprise lacing your features as her voice all but shouts, "Dad, Dad, guess what!"

The words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you blink in shock as she says them so effortlessly. Six doesn't even bat an eye as she springs toward him, her arms outstretched in a running hug. He catches her with a practiced ease, a soft and confused smile on his face as he quietly mumbles into her hair, "What's up, sweetheart?"

Claire's arms lock around his neck as she crashes into him, and she giggles before exclaiming, "I aced this test at school! I got a 105% and I have been studying for it for weeks!" Six tightens his arms around her waist, easily picking the girl up and spinning her around in a circle as he chuckles, "That's amazing! I'm so proud of you."

His words drip with honesty, and you watch the two of them embrace for another moment while your heart sinks slightly in your chest. Claire would never love you the way she loves Six. She just called him Dad.

You plaster a smile onto your mouth that doesn't quite meet your eyes, and you quietly mumble, "I'll have to make the steaks in the freezer for dinner to celebrate. That's really awesome, Claire."

Six slowly releases her as he shoots you a contented glance, an emotional twinkle in his stormy gaze. The young girl turns toward you with a smile, one that is seemingly genuine, and chirps out, "Thanks, Y/n!"

The sound of your name falling from her mouth makes the heavy feeling in your stomach sink like lead. She would never call you Mom.

It's later that night - the steaks you had cooked up had been delicious, and all three of you celebrated Claire's success with joy. Six had pulled you off to bed once Claire had turned in for the night, more reserved than usual but handsy. He was craving your touch.

The bearded blonde opts to sit on his side of the bed, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he stares at a distant spot on the carpeted floor of your shared bedroom. His hands have clasped together in front of him, lost in thought.

You are rifling through one of Six's drawers, finding one of his t-shirts to slip into for the evening. Just as you pull the shirt over your head, you catch sight of his still figure that has grown stiff.

He hasn't moved from his place on the mattress, and a frown creases your face as you gently ask, "Are you alright?" As you wait for his answer, you finish settling the large shirt over your frame, your fingers fiddling with the hem.

Then, you can just make out his quiet response, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. I just- Claire took me by surprise this afternoon." His voice is rough, not unusual, but the tone of it is hard to read.

You swallow thickly as you shimmy out of your pants, and trying to minimize the hurt in your throat, you reply earnestly, "Yeah, me too. It's obvious she cares about you a lot. The poor girl has been through hell and back."

You can't help but glance over at his form as you swipe your clothes off the floor, and you hear a soft sniffle from his direction. It makes you freeze - the sound is unusual coming from the bearded blonde. You carefully tread over to the laundry basket, where you deposit the pair of pants, and with a worried glance toward Six, you reiterate, "Honey, are you sure you're alright?"

Six doesn't respond as he wipes at his face, trying to be discreet but failing. He takes a shallow breath and mumbles, "Yeah-" but his voice cracks. Instantly, you immediately rush over to him, crossing the bedroom in long, hurried strides.

You stop in front of the bearded blonde, your hands hovering over him as you try to gauge what's wrong.

Only when your eyes dance over the face of your lover can you see a wide, beaming grin on his face, tears shining in his crystal blue eyes. It makes some of your initial panic dissipate, and you gently cup his scruffy cheeks as you wait for him to elaborate.

Tenderly, you tilt his head up to look at you, and he takes a deep breath as one of his hands comes up to rest on your back, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the fabric of his shirt. After a thick swallow, Six whispers shakily, "I- I never once thought I would get to be a father, let alone be called Dad."

Six sniffles again and goes to wipe at his eyes with his free hand, but you beat him to it, swiping away a lone tear with the pad of your thumb. He sighs, slightly annoyed with his emotions, and then murmurs, "And she just took me by surprise."

You give him a sad, knowing smile as you lean into him. As soothingly as you can, you gently press a kiss to his forehead as you push his thighs apart to stand between them. You don't pull back very far, just enough that you can rest your forehead against his.

It's quiet for a moment, and then you hum out, "Life has a funny way of giving you things you've never dreamed of." Six is silent after your response, but then he pulls back far enough that he can look you squarely in the eye, a frown tugging on his face.

With uncertainty lacing his voice, he asks, "Does it upset you that she called me Dad but not you Mom?" Your heart skips in your chest, a sudden wave of anxiety rushing over you, and you internally curse. Him and his damn observational skills.

You tear your gaze away from his as you watch one of your hands slide from his cheek to thread through his blonde locks, toying with the golden strands. You know he's watching you, waiting.

Dejectedly, you let a sigh slide through your nose as you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, "I guess it stings a bit." You force yourself to regain eye contact with Six as you explain, "But I'm not her mother. And we don't even have a relationship that resembles that kind of connection."

You swipe your thumb over his cheek as the side of your mouth curls downwards, and you whisper, "But you've always acted like the father she never had from the second you met her."

Six watches you carefully, his brows pulled taut in thought as he mulls over your words. He glances between your (colored) eyes and finds no hesitation or doubt, even as you reiterate, "It doesn't really bother me, though, and I think it's sweet that she's this comfortable with you."

Carefully, Six brings his second hand up to cup your right hip, and he hums in acknowledgement of your statement. He tenderly pulls you closer as his eyes sink to being half-lidded, and you giggle, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe she's been calling you Dad at school too," you tease, sliding your second hand from his cheek to rest at the base of his neck as you lean into him. His nose bumps into yours, but you can still make out the slightly flushed look that coats his face.

It makes you giggle even harder, and you turn your face away as you tuck your head into his shoulder. Six sighs defeatedly as he grumbles in mock annoyance, "We should go to bed."

You pull back up to look him in the eye, and you snicker, "What, you don't like being called Dad?" Six raises an eyebrow at you and shoots you a pointed but playful glare. You better watch your mouth.

You do relent, though, and you mumble after a moment, "Maybe one day, you'll be getting called Dad from someone other than just Claire." Six tugs you closer as an interested look spreads across his face.

"Oh yeah?" his voice is rougher now, low in timbre and it makes butterflies swirl in your stomach. You feel heat crawling over your cheekbones, and you glance away from him as you get shy.

He's not done with his payback, yet, and he questions lowly, "Have you thought about kids before, darlin'?" There's a slight drawl to his voice, and it makes shivers shoot up your spine as his hand on your hip dips under his shirt that you're wearing.

Carefully, his fingers dance over your warm skin, distracting you before you stutter out, "W-well, I wasn't sure before I met you... But now?" Six raises an eyebrow at you, stopping his fingers as he repeats, "But now?"

You offer him a bashful smile, struggling to meet his gaze as you mumble, "I would love to build a family with you when the time is right." You let a sigh slide through your nose before you retract your fingers from his hair.

Then, with a playful boop to his nose, you remind him, "But first, I need to befriend Claire." You see a look of disappointment slide across his face as you start to pull yourself out of his grip, a pout settling on his mouth as you back up.

He nods in understanding, but quickly tugs you forward to let his mouth crash against yours. The kiss is short and sweet, with a sense of longing lacing it. The bearded blonde pulls back after a moment and then states earnestly, "You will be a great mother. To Claire or any kids we may have."

The honesty in his voice makes your knees weak, and you lean back into him as an embarrassed heat dusts your cheeks. You blink shyly at him as you ask, "You would want kids with me?"

Six looks at you in confusion as he instantly replies, "Yes? Of course I would. You're beautiful, and kind, and running this house like it's nobody's business. You would be an incredible mom."

There's an emphasis to his words, and you duck your head in embarrassment at the praise. You tuck your head in the crook of his neck as you try to find the right words to respond, but you're too flustered to come up with something smart to say.

Six just chuckles at you, and lets his arms slide around your body as he reminds you, "Let's go to bed, darlin'." You nod into his neck as he hugs you tight to his chest, and an evil smirk tugs on your lips.

"Okay... Daddy."

[groovy-pisces]

For @peterfelweek Day 3: Dancing in the Dark. It’s probably not the most efficient way to rob a museum but it is very fun

[groovy-pisces]

one year