#court gentry x reader
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Alone Together
Sierra Six x gn!reader
2.4k words
∘₊✧ Summary: you take Six to the carnival for your first date, hoping he’ll relax a little
∘₊✧ Author’s notes: this was written for @heresthestorymorningglory’s birthday! Thanks for being my best goose, I hope you have an excellent day when it eventually rolls around 💖 (we were too excited to wait to post our birthday fics). It was SO hard writing Six without sending it to her to check it was Sixy enough!! If you haven’t read her Six, thoroughly recommend.
∘₊✧ Warnings/content: fluff, first date, kissing, mild peril?!, mention of clowns
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Six’s arm is secure around your shoulders, almost swallowing you up in his embrace as he keeps you close.
And keeps you safe, of course. Even during his rare downtime, Six was on high alert. You’d never seen someone play a ring toss challenge with such laser focussed eyes and tensed shoulders before, but he got every single one, winning you a red love heart shaped balloon that bobbed along above you as you strolled through the fairground.
It was cute of him to choose the balloon over an annoyingly large stuffed toy, but you know it was partly (mostly) so that if he lost sight of you, you’d be easier to locate in the crowd should anything go wrong. But, really, what did it matter? You’d never felt safer than when you were with him, and your first date is shaping up to be just about perfect; except that you haven’t stopped to eat yet.
The aromas of deep fried doughnuts and roasting onions make your mouth water as you move through the fair, and you fully intend to drag him off for a hot dog or fries when you see a ring the bell game and stop in your tracks, considering it.
Six looks down, seeing your eyes light up, and smiles. But he feels you sigh as you glance at the arm around your shoulders and look back in the direction of the food stalls, forgetting it.
‘Hey, let’s have a go?’ he encourages, lightly squeezing his arm around you.
You huff, amused. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘No.’
‘Nah, it’s huge. And you’re huge!’ You squeeze his bicep. ‘Far too easy, and where’s the fun in that for either of us?’
Six takes a deep, even breath, slowly sliding his arm from around your shoulders as he thinks on it. ‘How about we make it interesting?’
You raise an eyebrow in his direction and he remains apparently unfazed, with both his hands free he pops a Skittle or two into his mouth, chewing leisurely. There’s no urgency in him at all and you realise he’s started to relax. Just a little.
‘If you ring the bell before I do, you choose what we do for the rest of the night.’
‘I fully planned to do that anyway,’ you smirk playfully.
‘Even the haunted house,’ he offers with a tilt of his head, as though it’s a very attractive deal.
‘Oh? Scared?’
‘Terrified,’ he quips, tossing another Skittle onto his tongue and sucking for a second before giving in and crunching the sugary shell.
‘Whatever, you just want to show off,’ you wink.
Six grunts, shoving the candy bag back into his pocket, and confidently strides over to swap a five dollar bill for the mallet, assuming the position.
He swings the mallet down to the base with such force that you’re sure will send the little red puck right up to the top of the ten foot pole and send a triumphant ring through the fairground.
But, somehow, he misses. Spectacularly.
The second time, the mallet conveniently – and comically – slips out of his hand before he swings it, and falls to the ground behind him.
He tilts his head in defeat, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
You glare back, annoyed that he’s doing this to let you win. There’s no way Six, with all his precision and skill can’t manage to wield a simple carnival mallet.
The third time he brings the mallet down, the puck shoots up to just an inch below the bell and drops back to the bottom again without a win. There’s that precision.
With sparkling eyes, he catches your gaze and mutters, ‘Too distracted, I guess. Your turn.’
You narrowed your eyes at him as he leant against the side of the nearest trailer, folding his arms over his chest and trying to appear casual.
You grip the mallet, squeezing your fingers around the handle to brace yourself, and bring it down hard. The little puck shoots up, and you don’t reach the bell, but you’re so close you could kick yourself.
With much less effort this time, you do it, and the bell rings loud and proud through the chatter and music, and you were offered a range of ridiculously large stuffed animals to choose from and take away with you.
Six stayed propped against the trailer, smirking again but blatantly this time, as you picked out a huge panther plushie.
‘That one. Reminds me of him,’ you smile, throwing it immediately over to Six.
He catches it easily. It looks so much smaller in his hands and you laugh at the frown he reveals as he lowers it.
‘That thing’s yours now. You’ll need to name him.’
‘No thank you,’ Six retorted, holding it back out toward you.
‘I rang the bell, I make the decisions, remember?’
Six’s jaw clenched as he stared at you.
‘Fine. Bruce,’ he eventually grunts, reluctantly sliding the thing under one arm as you slide your arm into the other.
‘You let me win, Six. You’re not getting away with it that easy.’
‘You didn’t want to win?’ he smarms.
‘Of course I did. I just didn’t want you to pretend to lose for my benefit.’
Six sighs resignedly. ‘Hungry?’ he suggests, hoping you can forget about the stupid ring the bell game over a bag of sugary doughnuts together, but an idea lights up in your eyes and you drag him away in the opposite direction.
You pass the stunt cage and watch a peroxide blonde mount a motorcycle, making a mental note to return to here later and catch the next show. But for now, you had other ideas.
‘You mentioned the haunted house?’
Six’s brow furrows again.
‘Oh, impatient are we? I apparently had to win a biassed game to get what I wanted, so I’ll take it at my leisure, thank you.’
Six rolls his eyes and drops back in defeat, leaving you free to stop off at the sweet stall for a big cloud of blue cotton candy on the way.
He watches you as you excitedly point to what you want, still clutching your balloon as he clutches Bruce. He’s in awe at the way you move, the way you laugh with the vendor as though you’ve known her your entire life, the glee on your face as you return to him with the ball of pure sugar.
You reach up to pop a handful into his mouth, fingertips brushing briefly against his bottom lip. He almost lets out a hum at how your gentle touch tingled, but manages to stop it before it erupts.
‘How’s it taste?’ you ask innocently, tearing off a chunk of blue for yourself.
Six blinks away, inclined to answer with something like Not as good as I bet you do, but worried it would be too much. So he stayed silent as you shared the rest of the floss with him.
‘Will that keep you going?’ you ask teasingly, not waiting for an answer. ‘Haunted house next!’
You grab his hand to pull him toward the attraction, your knees weakening slightly as you feel how big it is against yours. You’ve noticed the size of his hands before; big, warm looking palms and long, surprisingly elegant fingers.
‘I’ve never actually been in one,’ you admit excitedly as you stop by the little ticket office to admire it in all its stereotypical horror film beauty. ‘But I’ve always wanted to. I love a bit of a spook!’
Six takes care of the tickets and follows your lead. You step inside and drop his hand as you venture first. A skeleton pops out to wave and you laugh, but then there's a second, unexpected skeleton, and you jump, grabbing his hand again.
Six’s cheeks turn hot at how you find safety in him, but you can’t see the blush colouring his cheeks in the gloom of the spooky corridors. He’s thankful for that.
You move closer when the winding path through the house grows darker, sickly smelling smoke making it hard to see very far ahead of you, and eventually you’re so close to Six that his breathing catches in his throat.
The haunted house doesn’t phase him one bit; he predicts almost every movement before it occurs and has absolutely no fear of the dead and creepy; it’s an occupational hazard that he’s much more concerned with the living and creepy. But having you cling to his arm feels nice somehow. It makes him feel safe and wanted, which is new, and surprisingly pleasant. He doesn’t want you to let go and hopes there's a while before this comes to an end.
A group of ghosts sweeps past and you giggle, but the bizarre gust of wind that accompanies them chills you to the bone. Before you can quite recover, a clown appears right in your path, and you jump enough for Six to automatically pull you closer. Feeling you tremble with the after effects of your surprise, he quickly seeks out a particularly dark, undisturbed corner and tugs you toward it, setting you in front of him so you’re facing away from whatever else is going on in the haunted house for a moment.
‘Hey, you doing ok?’ He sounds lighthearted, but you can tell he’s forcing it, concern lacing his tone.
‘Yeah! Yeah, it’s fun, it’s just…’ you trail off.
‘A little jumpy,’ he nods, as though he agrees, but you know he isn’t phased.
As your eyes adjust in the darkness, they find his piercing blue gaze intense on yours and your heart races a little faster.
‘Need a break?’ he whispers huskily..
You can only nod. The thrill of being scared out of your wits is all part of the fun for you, but being so close to Six after the adrenaline rush, alone together in the dark, renders you speechless. You’ve been drawing closer by the second and now you’re mere inches from his face, can feel his warm breath on your cheek, smell his peppery cologne. Bruce nudges you in the chest and six drops him.
You can’t recall how it started, you just know that your lips were trembling one moment, and pressed to Six’s the next. His muscular arms snake around your waist as his strong hands glide up your back, pulling you flush to his chest and finally letting out that hum he tried to suppress when your finger grazed his bottom lip earlier. It vibrates against you and you think this might be as close to reckless abandon as Six might get and smile against his mouth.
You feel his tongue, hot and wet, trace the join of your lips and you instantly part them, eagerly inviting his tongue to slide against yours. It’s languid and needy, and the taste of the cotton candy you’d shared hits you first. It tastes different on his tongue than yours — more blue somehow — and then the artificial sugary fruit of the Skittles he’d been periodically chewing on all night follows. It’s sickly sweet, but so him you can’t help but find it delicious.
The groans and cackles and clanks of the haunted house fade into nothingness behind you, and it’s just him. Just Six, and you, hidden away. Secure and yet adventurous, safe and exciting. Your grip on the balloon he’d won you loosens and it floats up to the ceiling, somewhere in the dark, ready to be discovered when the carnival moves on.
He shifts a little, suddenly impatient, and deepens the kiss with a quiet moan that sends butterflies soaring in your stomach, and when the fingers tenderly rubbing at the nape of your neck slide up into your hair and scrape against your scalp you all but swoon, thankful he has you pinned against his chiselled frame within those thick arms to keep you upright.
The kiss slows to a stop, and Six pulls back for breath, sighing almost dreamily. He’s smiling at you, but it’s not playful or jokey this time. It’s warm and soft, and unlike any expression you’ve seen on his features before.
‘Better?’ he breathes, already fumbling in his pocket to retrieve yet another Skittle and drop it into his mouth.
‘Much,’ you smile back.
He drops his gaze, coy, and nods. ‘I’m excellent at distraction techniques.’ And with that, his mischievous sparkle is back. ‘Now can we please get some food? Skittles will only sustain me for a few days.’
You roll your eyes spiritedly, and one corner of his mouth twitches, pleased he’s calmed you enough to be mock-exasperated with him.
Six holds an elbow up as an offer for you to tuck yourself under his arm again, and you accept, pulling his forearm up gently to cover your eyes. As cute as the ghosts and skeletons had been, that final clown jump scare just about finished you off.
After collecting discarded Bruce, he carefully guides you back out into the bustle and bright lights of the fair, the familiar melodies of carnival music and the sizzle of the nearby hot dog stall flooding your senses again, and you pull his arm away from your eyes.
‘Thank you,’ you mouth, reaching up to stroke his cheek with a tender caress.
His eyes slide shut and he leans into your touch for just a moment, but he’s quick to snap his gaze back to his surroundings again. Force of habit, you supposed.
You drop your hand and look around too, getting your bearings. ‘So what can I get you? My treat.’
His gaze is already trained on the doughnut stand before you finish the sentence. Laughing, you nod and head over without waiting for his confirmation, bringing him back a bag of four deliciously golden doughnuts dusted in thick sugar.
Six eyes you suspiciously as you hand over the little paper bag. ‘I didn’t give you my order.’
‘Didn’t need to; I saw you eyeing them. To be honest, even if I didn’t, I could’ve guessed.’
Six, paused with a doughnut half way to his mouth, raises a questioning eyebrow at you.
‘Six. Come on. You taste like sugar.’
Six blushes deeply. He’d never considered how he might taste. He felt exposed, but in a good way? He wasn’t sure how to explain it. You see it this time, and smile inwardly.
‘What, you want my fries instead?’
‘No, no, I’m good,’ he protests, taking a bite big enough to tear the first doughnut clean in half and mumbling through a full, sugary mouth, ‘thank you.’
#sierra six x reader#sierra six fluff#sierra six fic#sierra six#the gray man#the gray man fic#ryan gosling x reader#ryan gosling fluff#ryan gosling#ryan gosling fic#court gentry#court gentry x reader#court gentry fluff#court gentry fic#ken-dom writes
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the truth
pairing : sierra six x f!reader
summary : sierra is hired to protect you after your publish a controversial book going against multiple governments and something goes wrong during the night
words count : about 1.7k
warnings : canon-typical violence, swearing
notes : might make this into a series, idk
The sound of gunshots downstairs pulled you from your peaceful trance. You hurriedly put your book down and, as quietly as possible, slipped out of the warm and soapy water of your bath. Watery footprints followed you as you went to pull your robe on and grab the gun hidden in the bathroom. In all your years in the field, you’d come to know your way around the weapon and even though you hated using it, you weren’t opposed to it if it meant saving your life. Just as you were around to run into the safe room, as you had been instructed by Six, someone barged into your bedroom. You fell to your knees behind the bathtub, feeling the bruises and your heart hammering inside your chest
—————————
You thought back to how you had gotten yourself in this situation. It had all started months ago, when you’d published your first book.
Being a journalist with purely political interests and works, you were quite well known around the journalism and political world. Your honesty and carelessness of consequences made you popular amongst the public and you were often invited to talk-shows. You had often been warned about what your wrote. Your boss was always worried about your safety and had insisted that you follow self-defense courses. But no one was safe when rightfully accusing nations of corruption and illegal projects. You were never really safe, and you knew it.
After spending seven years on an ongoing project, you finally published your first book : The Truth. You denounced the corruption of the European Parlement, the illegal projects of the government of the United States and the unpunished crimes of multiple other nations. All accompanied by pictural and written proof, signed and delivered by yours truly.
The reception of your book had been a catastrophe, as you had expected. No one, save for your publisher, knew about your project. It had been a shock to the whole world. Suddenly, your assistant was getting calls from all kinds of governments and organizations requesting meetings and such. You never answered.
You didn’t realize how serious it all was until your publisher, a close friend of yours, was brutally murdered in his apartment one night. It had been a shock to you and no matter how much you wished you could have prevented it, you couldn’t. The Truth was out and nothing could stop it as it sold millions of copies worldwide.
The day after you publisher had been killed, you were in the kitchen making an omelet when someone violently knocked at your door. You whirled around, spatula at the ready when your door was broken down and a dozen of men dressed in black suits swarmed your apartment. Without thinking, you threw a raw egg at the man the closest to you and reached for your pan, brandishing in front of you as one would a sword.
« Who are you ?! What is this ?! » you cried, ignoring the man wiping off egg next to you. A blond man with dazzling blue eyes stepped through the cloud. You noted the way his lips twitched upwards when he saw the egg on his colleague. With a single finger, he gently pushed down your frying pan until it hung by your side.
« We’re CIA. » His badge flashed in your face. « We’re here to keep you safe. We’re bringing you to a safe house. Pack a bag. We leave as soon as we can. »
You had done as you had been told and packed a bag. In the big black SUV, you turned to the man who had addressed you previously.
« Where are we going ? »
When the man didn’t answer, the man sitting on your left took pity of you.
« We’re heading to a safe house. Your apartment isn’t safe for you anymore. »
« Oh. » You thought for a moment. « And why are you protecting me ? What’s in it for you ? I didn’t hold back on the USA chapter. » The blond man’s lips twitched again.
« I can’t tell you that. Someone will meet you and explain everything. »
True to his words, once you’d arrived at the safe-house, a huge villa right in the middle of Nowheresville, you were greeted by a woman in a burgundy suit.
« Hi, I’m Suzanne. » You shook her hand even though you already knew who she was. Just like you had a guess about who the blond man worked for. You knew the process, but we’re shocked to find yourself at its centre.
« Y/N, » you introduced yourself. After preparing both of you a coffee, Suzanne sat down on the opposite end of the table and joined her hands.
« I’ll answer your questions now, »
« Why are you protecting me ? What do you want from me ? » you asked immediately. The blond man, who hadn’t left your side and was now standing near the door, made a small sound, but played it off as a cough. By the time your eyes landed in him, he was staring out into the hallway.
« Your knowledge is useful to us. We know you didn’t put everything you know into that book. And we’d like to put your and your abilities to good use. » Suzanne spoke in a way that made you believe she’d practiced exactly what she was going to say, or that she’d said it multiple times before.
« Putting my abilities to use, what does that mean ? »
« It means we’re offering you a contract, Y/N. We’ll keep you alive and you will give us information on what we ask. When the whole scandal will have blown over, we’d like you to work for us, gathering intel and such. »
You scoffed. « And here I was thinking you were offering protection by some kind of moral compass, but I guess your priorities lie elsewhere. » Silence. « And so I guess that you don’t care about all the illegal stuff, right ? Because I think we both known I didn’t stay within the law to learn what I learned. » Suzanne shook her head. After a moment of silence, during which Suzanne seemed to really enjoy her coffee, you finally nodded. « Fine. I’ll take the deal. » You were no good to anyone dead. Knowing you wouldn’t survive when there was a price on your head, you decided this was the best option.
Since then, it had only been you and Six in that big house. You thought maybe you’d become friends, but he proved to be quite difficult regarding that aspect. He wasn’t particularly talkative and even though his eyes betrayed his feelings most of the time, you still had trouble reading him.
—————————
You tried your best to keep your breathing silent as the man slowly trudged around the admittedly large bathroom. You gave yourself away when you gasped after he shot at the bathtub. White porcelain flew, a piece slicing your cheek. Hands barely shaking, your raised your weapon to retaliate but the man was too quick for you.
His arms were around your neck in a second and you desperately tried to elbow him in the stomach as you struggled for breath. He chuckled and pulled your gun out of your grip. Thinking quickly, you rammed your hand into his crotch. He doubled over, groaning in pain and effectively setting you free. You scrambled to get your gun but he kicked your ankles and you fell to the floor with a thud. Your head hit the marble with a dull sound and your vision blurred for a moment. You coughed and winced as he stood over you.
« Bitch, » he snarled as he slapped you across the face. Your head flew to the side and you saw stars, feeling your lip burst.
« Though you could get away, huh? A bit too optimistic if you ask me, doll, » he taunted, leaning over you. Panicked, you looked around you and took ahold of your gun. Before he could register what was happening, you’d uncocked the safety and aimed at his shoulder. You didn’t want to kill him, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did. You took the shot and he screamed, falling to the ground. Red painted your silk robe as you scrambled to your feet. You raced down the stairs with shaky legs, running straight into Six. He wrapped an arm around you and let out a small breath. Little did you know he’d been through all the men in the house, hoping, praying you were in the safe room.
His face was bloodied and you were pretty sure his T-shirt was wet with blood in the middle. He pulled back, keeping his large gun in one hand, and examined your face.
« Are you okay ? » he asked, pushing his fingers under your jaw to tilt your head to the side. His eyes scanned the rest of your body and his brows furrowed when he saw the blood on your robe.
« It- It’s not mine, » you stammered, holding on to his bulletproof vest. He hummed, a low noise in his throat. Suddenly, he stepped in front of you and pointed his gun at the man leaning on the handrail at the top of the stairs, clutching his bloody shoulder with one hand and his gun with the other. Unconsciously, your grip on your own weapons tightened.
« Did he do this to you ? » Six asked over his shoulder passively. His eyes never left the man. You nodded once.
« Look away. »
You did as he told you, turning to look the other way, one hand still holding on to the back of his vest. You gritted your teeth as several gunshots rang out. You heard the sound of a body rolling down the stairs and shuddered.
Six turned back around, his larger body shielding your from the traumatic view.
« Let’s go. »
He guided you out of the house, shielding you as much as he could of the horrid sights. When you finally reached the car, he hurriedly ushered you inside before getting into the drivers’ seat.
Once you had arrived at another safe house, Six pulled you to the bathroom. You pulled yourself up on the counter with wobbly arms and Six steadied you by the hips. You licked your lips, wincing as you tasted copper, and leaned back against the mirror behind you. Six pulled out a first—aid kit and started rummaging through it.
He started cleaning up the cut on your lip and you did your best not to grimace in pain. Even though he was being particularly gentle, everything hurt.
« Did you do that to him ? » he asked as he applied a numbing cream to your bottom lip. You waited for him to pull away. You hated the way you reveled in the way he stared at your lips for a few more seconds.
« Yeah, » you croaked. « I shot him in the shoulder. » Six cracked a semblance of a smile and you chuckled.
« Good girl, » his deep voice praised. Your knees felt weak and you were thankful to be sitting down. You giggled.
« Did you hit your head ? » Six asked, seeing your unusual behavior. He examined the crown of your head with his fingers, lightly pressing. You hissed in pain when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.
« Yeah. »
« Follow my finger. » You did as he ordered and followed his finger from left to right, right to left, up to down and down to up.
« You’re gonna be okay. »
#sierra six x reader#sierra six#sierra six fluff#the gray man#the gray man x reader#ryan gosling x reader#court gentry#court gentry x reader
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Safe With Me
Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.
Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader
Word Count: 2.7K
Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.
A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.
When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.
Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.
It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.
Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.
“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.
In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.
Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.
"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.
He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.
“You alright?” He asks.
You're not, but you nod anyway.
“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.
You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.
“Yes.”
“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.
You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.
“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”
You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.
At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.
“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.
"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.
“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.
“Where is she? Did they-” you start.
Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.
He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.
“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.
You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.
As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.
You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.
“Hen.”
You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.
“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.
“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”
You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.
“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.
“Just the face.”
“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.
When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.
You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.
“You a doctor now?” You ask.
“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.
He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.
“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”
“What about you?” You question.
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”
“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.
“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.
He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.
Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.
“Let me help you.”
“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.
“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.
“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.
You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.
Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.
A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.
“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.
You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.
“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.
You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.
“Not half bad, doc.”
You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.
“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.
There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.
You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.
“Six…”
He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.
“You should go check on Claire,” he says.
“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.
He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.
"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."
He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.
Taglist: @wildbornsiren, @a-reader-and-a-writer and @blue-aconite.
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#sierra six x you#sierra six x reader#court gentry imagine#the gray man#court gentry x you#court gentry x reader#the gray man fanfiction#the gray man fic
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aftercare with daddy!six after a rough scene :(
𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬
Paring: daddy!Sierra Six x little!reader
Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, ddlg, daddy kink, unprotected sex, smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, praise, AFTERCARE!! fluff, pure softness and comfort! A lot more smut than I intended, but it turns very soft
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Feedback and reblogs are VERY appreciated
“Yeah? Can’t answer me, huh?”
One hand securely gripping your throat, Six forcefully slaps his calloused palm across your cheek, the abrupt strikes leaving a sting on your hot flesh. “Dumb little girl’s stuffed so full with Daddy’s cum, can’t even think.”
“D—Daddy,” you sob, the ache in your throat growing with each of your strained whimpers.
His blush pink bottom lip juts out as he lets it goes from his teeth grip. “Poor little girl,” he grunts, hips harshly slamming down, his entire weight forced onto you. “Brains gone all fuzzy, hasn’t it?"
The head of his cock repeatedly rams into your most sensitive spot. “Love being used like a whore, my sweet princess really is just a dirty girl. Needy cunt can’t help it, huh?” Six’s words push you further and further; you’ve lost track of the number of times your Daddy has made you cum, slapped you, shoved his fingers down your throat.
“Tell me how much you love being Daddy’s little toy,” Six demands leaning down, trapping your writhing form, coercing your weak muscles to contort as you squirm, nails firmly digging into his muscular biceps. “Go on, princess, use your words like a big girl.”
The overstimulation and pure euphoria of Six’s dominance overwhelm your senses; eyes glazed, the salty tears break past the barrier of your waterline, rolling down your cheek. His chest pressed against yours, forcing you to swallow your broken sobs. “Daddy,” you croak, arching your back, thrashing against the sheets, determined to release your pent-up frustration.
Six overcome with authoritative satisfaction; he hovers dangerously close to you, all movements completely frozen; he still manages to torment the fire that amplifies the pulse that glides through your aching folds and throbbing bundle of nerves.
“My little girl looks so pretty crying for me—” his low, breathy grunts shift into brutish, animalistic growls “sweet tears all for me, huh?”
You frantically nod, brows furrowed, eyes intensely yearning for Six’s approval—the thrashing of your hips instantly come to a halt as Six restarts his harsh thrusts. The rough pads of his fingers still rubbing against your raw skin, the depletion of your oxygen continuing to add to the difficulty of holding back your orgasm.
The harsh smacking noise derived from Six’s sculpted v-line colliding with your overly sensitive abdomen mixes with the faint ringing in your ears. Your bottom lip quivers, feet arching, heels digging into the ruffled sheets, the friction perspires a burning heat.
Six presses his forehead against yours, beads of sweat accumulated on both of your hairlines meld together. Mercilessly pounding into you, Six’s grunts get increasingly aggressive, frustrated curses slipping off his tongue. Your body instinctively trembles–the skin wrapped around your nucleus tightens in rhythm with the way you frantically clench around his cock.
Convulsing in frustrating overstimulation, you repeatedly babble nonsense into Six’s chest. “Yeah, that’s right, princess, you just lay here while Daddy fills you up,” he groans, full, heavy balls drawing up as you reach your high again.
“That’s my good girl,” he taunts, clinging to the bit of willpower he has left. “Cum for Daddy.”
Ending his controlled pattern of deep thrusts, Six lets go, pushing himself further inside you than before, the tip of his cock forced against your g-spot.
As each rope of Six’s cum paints your walls, he restrains your trembling limbs while he rides out his high. He maintains his position–his warm breath cascades down your skin. Breaking his stern grunt with a tender chuckle, you whimper against his skin.
He brushes your forehead with his nimble fingers, laying a delicate kiss on your skin. “There we go, nice and easy, princess,” Six coos, steadily pulling out and putting his weight on his heels. His gaze switches from your pleading eyes to his shaft as he continues to slip out of your grip, inch by inch.
Drawing patterns down your sensitive skin, Six’s eyes fixate on the excessive amount of his cum that you’ve already managed to spread to your inner thighs messily.
Circling your sore, puffy clit with his thumb, Six presses his lips to your sweaty forehead again. “Daddy p-please. No… no more,” you wince, letting a final tear flow down your cheek, firmly clamping your legs around Six’s forearm, struggling to escape his touch.
“Were so desperate for Daddy’s cum, now look at you, all fucked out and filled to the brim,” he smirks, letting you free to admire your tired body sprawled out under him. “So pretty stuffed with cum, hmh?”
Swiping the pad of his thumb across your cheek, Six catches your tear, soothingly whispering against your heated skin. He sits you up, wrapping his muscular arms around your bare waist. “Is my little girl feeling floaty?” Six calmly pets your arm, trailing his touch as you squirm, timidly wincing back at his hushes.
“Sh sh, I got you, princess. Take a deep breath for me.” Following his directions to the best of your abilities, you melt into Six’s embrace, gingerly placing your shaky hand on his biceps, fingers gliding over his distinct scars. His reassuring aura consumes every aspect of you. “There we go, there’s my good girl.”
Enveloped in Six’s arms, he carefully positions the two of you upright. You look up at him with a confused frown, clawing closer to him.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Daddy’s gonna put something on so we can get cleaned up, alright?” Scooping you off his brawny thighs, he coaxes you into a mellow state.
The rush of the air conditioner blows down on Six’s defined, muscular back; hastily grabbing a pair of boxers, he slips the fabric up until it sits lowly on his hipbones.
Walking back towards you, he lets out a content sigh, watching as you fiddle your fingers with the linen duvet.
“Hey, princess, look at me. Show me that pretty face of yours.” Six crouches down to your fatigued, curled-up body. Hugging your knees to your chest, Six cups your cheek, taking in his familiar scent, you nestle into his touch. “That’s my girl. Give me a smile, smile for Daddy.”
Sheepishly turning, you softly smile, looking up at Six, stretching your arm out and gently making contact with his cheekbone, innocently holding his face.
Reciprocating a warm smile, Six murmurs under his breath, “there we are.” Large, rough hands molding to the sides of your rib cage, Six secures your weight, supporting your drowsy figure, transporting you to the bathroom. “I got you; let your head rest on Daddy’s shoulder.”
The contact of the cool marble on the back of your thighs shocks you out of your drowsy state; Six calmly hushes your shaky whine, pressing his plush lips to your temple.
“Did so good for me, princess. I’m so proud of you.” Six distracts you, rubbing your back with his right hand as he switches on the faucet with his left hand, letting the stream of water hit his skin, waiting for the perfect temperature.
Heavy lids fluttering shit, you nuzzle your face into the crook of Six’s neck, humming softly. “Don’t wanna shower.” Securing your exposed body to Six’s, tightening your grip as you cling onto him.
“No shower, princess. Just let Daddy clean you off, alright?” Six softly pries away from your hold. “Gonna be real quick, I promise. Then we can get all comfy in bed and cuddle.”
The tranquil expression displayed across your face melts into a confused frown. “P-please, Daddy,” you hiccup. “D-Daddy.” One blink away from tears trickling down your cheeks–you anxiously watch Six grab a washcloth and soap from the shower.
He delicately wipes over your sensitive skin, you whimper as his hand moves up your inner thigh. “I know, sweetheart, your princess parts are feeling sore, huh? Gonna be quick.” Faintly whining at Six, you squeeze your eyes shut, further hiding against his chest.
“All done, princess,” Six croons, picking you back up. “Did so good for me. Daddy’s so proud of you.”
Sinking back into the plush mattress, your thoughts wander, waiting for Six to return for mandatory cuddles. You admire your Daddy’s towering stature and defined build as he makes his way back to you.
“Arms up.” Slipping you into one of his t-shirts, Six immediately scoops you into his arms, settling you on his lap, bringing your special blanket to your arms.
“Thank you, Dada,” you hum, nuzzling into Six’s reassuring embrace. “Love you.”
“I love you more, princess.”
Endnote: well… anyways… um… hi… I love Ryan Gosling? Here’s your tag, princess @buckysboobs I love you so very much <3
Also, I wanna change my theme and make my blog look all nice, but I’m bad at that. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed!!!
Also also, this isn’t proofread per usual 👍🏻
#fran’s fics#sierra six#daddy!sierra six#sierra six fanfiction#sierra six x reader#sierra six smut#sierra six fluff#daddy!sierra six x reader#daddy!sierra six x little!reader#court gentry x reader#court gentry smut#court gentry fanfiction#ryan gosling fanfiction#ryan gosling#the gray man fanfiction#the gray man fanfic#the gray man#x reader smut#little!reader
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Bullet for You | Sierra Six
sierra six x fem!reader ✧ oneshot
Summary: Six's job is simple—protect you and Claire. It should have been straight-forward, should have been easy. That is, until you fell in love. And love makes us do crazy things, things that make the simple job of protecting very difficult.
A/N: I'm back! I know it's been a while, but I'm on a break from university and I can actually breathe and do the things I love, like writing for a totally new character to me! It's another angsty whump, but what else do you expect? Some authors specialize in smut, others in fluff. I just happen to love the angst. And be honest, so do you. Love and miss you all, keep dreaming 🤍
Warnings: angst, blood, injury, language, happy ending I promise
Word Count: 6033
✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦
It began with a smile.
I'm not even sure if you could call what Sierra Six's lips made a smile, considering how small and quick it was. I count it, though. After months of being a bodyguard for my sister and I, months of Claire cracking jokes and me forcing Six to sit through comedy after comedy, he finally smiled.
And he smiled at me.
It was oh so brief, so fleeting, so miniscule. And yet, that one upturn of his lips changed something so fundamental and eternally within me. I was in the kitchen, trying desperately to grab the flour from the top cabinet and stubbornly refusing any and all help Six so stoically offered from his silent post in the corner. When I managed to accidentally tip it over, raining the flour down upon me and sending the bag careening to the floor, I looked up just in time to see Six's lip turn up.
And I could never be the same.
After the smile, more of the ice began to crack. He got more comfortable on movie nights, would even joke back with me with that dry, sarcastic humor of his. Sometimes, if it's been an especially good week, I can get Six to take us out on the town. Our mission had always been just to warm up the unflinching exterior of Sierra Six. Claire and I never meant to rely on his protection, his safety, his surprising warmth.
I never meant to fall in love.
And love makes you do incomprehensible things.
"Six, on average, how much do you sleep? Just give me a ballpark number here," I call out, eying the stoic, gorgeously rugged man over my steaming coffee mug.
Six pauses to think for a minute before adjusting the cuffs on his suit jacket, "3 hours on a good night."
"Excuse me?" I sputter, almost choking on the burning liquid caffeine. I set down my mug, my wide eyes catching on the humor buried in Six's smug features, "You have to know how bad for you that is."
"Sleep is for the weak," Six replies plainly, and even though I know he's joking with me I roll my eyes skyward.
"That's why you have the emotional range of a carrot. I would too if I slept that little!"
I almost miss the smile that ghosts his lips. It takes every ounce of strength I have to smother the roaring of my heart at the sight. Six simply stares ahead, his unchanging demeanor giving little away. After the many months he's been watching over us, though, I've learned to pick up on the subtleties in his behavior. The way his shoulders are relaxed and his jaw isn't set, the way his clear blue eyes seem softened, I'd go as far to call him almost...content.
I hadn't realized how much I would be willing to give to make sure he stayed that way.
I find myself studying him for another moment, and I know that he knows I am. I can't bring myself to look away, though. I know what he's been through, and even if my knowledge is only a fraction of his past, I know that peace and rest have seldom been in the cards for him. Sudden, pressing emotion threatens to choke me at the thought of the agent's life away from here. All of the horrible things he has to do, all of the fighting, all of the sleepless nights and days void of joy.
"Six, can I ask you a personal question?"
There's a beat of silence, and I know he wasn't expecting that from me. Neither was I, if I'm going to be honest.
"Technically you're my boss, so you can ask me anything. Now whether or not I’ll answer..." Six tilts his head, his humored eyes meeting mine as the start of a smirk tugs at his lips. He walks over slowly to the breakfast table I sit at, and I almost begin to fear that the pounding of my heart and searing of my blood in my veins is audible.
"Ask away, Y/N." Six says gently, his gaze down at me with a glint of something that he keeps intricately veiled.
And yet it makes a shiver crawl down my spine.
I almost lose my nerve, what with his eyes burning down into me and the closeness of his presence making my head dizzy with a dangerous tangle of attraction and unspoken feelings. Swallowing thickly, I keep my voice calm as I hold his gaze.
"If you had a say in your life, what would it look like?" I almost whisper.
His jaw clenches slightly, his throat bobbing and his body going tense. A faraway look settles into those breathtaking eyes as Six raises his gaze to the window across from us. He's silent for a while, which is characteristic for Six. He always chooses his words wisely, always stays calm, always remains sure.
This is the most unsure I've seen him, and it makes me wonder if he's ever been asked this.
"I don't know," He finally answers truthfully, making something so fundamental crack in my chest. I can't help but stare at his lifted face with furrowed brows and and pain-filled eyes. "I guess I've never really thought about it."
"You've never thought about what you want?" I ask, my voice no more than a breath to hide the anguish that threatens to out my feelings for my bodyguard.
Six sets his jaw, looking down at me again and stealing the breath from my lungs. His eyes search my face, almost as if he's memorizing every feature. In them is more emotion than I've seen in his gaze before. Finally, his eyes meet mine and I remember how much of a goner I am.
"Not until recently."
I don't dare to imagine what he means, but I can't ignore the stumbling of my heart and the overwhelming urge to stand and close the distance between us. I stay unmoving in my chair though, not daring to barely breathe.
"And what do you want, Six?"
Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench tighter together in front of him, almost as if he's...restraining them. From what, I'm not sure. My heart pounds harder in its cage of bones and I feel something shift in the air between us. As my breathing slowly increases and the silence grows thicker, I begin to realize that I can't hold back from him much longer. Six seems ready to answer when the ringing of my phone on the breakfast table interrupts and snaps the moment.
"Sorry," I whisper, finding my breath hard to gather as I look down at the caller ID, "It's work. I have to take this."
I give him a sympathetic gaze, but Six seems to relax slightly at this. He takes a few steps back and nods, giving me another small smile, "Duty calls,"
I smile back, and it takes all of my effort to look away and answer the phone. The call is short and to the point. They're loading me with remote work to finish over the weekend before Monday morning. Once I finally hang up, I let out a long sigh and shove myself to my feet.
"Well, looks like my Saturday just got filled," I announce with a yawn, stretching my arms up before grabbing my coffee mug. I give Six a tired smile as I bring the empty mug to the sink in the kitchen.
"They're working you half to death," Six remarks, turning to watch me as I clean my dishes, "Any more extra hours and I might have to go over there and bloody up my knuckles."
His words shouldn't ignite me as much as they do.
"I’m tempted to tell you to, being technically your boss and all," I respond, and I swear a quiet laugh escapes his laugh. It makes a soft smile grow onto my lips that I don't bother to stop. I finally tear away my gaze and walk towards my room.
"Let me know if you need anything, Six." I call back, meaning every word.
What he says next makes he halt in my step, my brows furrowed in confusion.
"Court."
I look back at him, not even having to ask to convey that I don't know what he means by that one word. Six just stares at me in a way that makes me feel undone.
"That's my real name. Courtland, but everyone used to call me Court."
His name. More than a number, more than a title, more than a job. His name. He told me his name.
What Six...what Court has done to me can never be undone. What he has changed within me can never be fixed. I know it as I just stare at him, a smile growing on my lips. I know it as that name clangs around in my mind.
"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, though." Court jokes, his face still so stoic. With my heart pounding in my chest and my mind spinning out of control, I stand staring at him in awe for another moment.
"I'll take it to my grave," I whisper, my heart racing so quickly that I fear it will fail, "Court."
Saying it is one thing, but to hear his name from someone else, to hear his name from me...Something changes in Court's gaze. Something changes between us, something I can't put my finger on and something that makes me come to two realizations as I walk into my room and shut the door.
One. I love him more than I thought love was capable of.
I press my back up against my bedroom door, letting my head fall back and my eyes slip closed.
Two. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn't do to give Courtland every single thing he could ever want.
That second realization is a very dangerous thing to know to be true when the man you'd give everything for is the man in charge of protecting your very life.
|||
Later That Night
I walk out of my bedroom, stretching with a groan. It's nearly two in the morning and I'm just now finishing up with the work that my boss sent over. My tired eyes adjust to the darkness of the house as I make my way over to the kitchen and grab a water from the fridge.
"I guess I'll relax when I retire," I grumble under my breath as I take a swig of water.
I recap the bottle and go to set it on the counter edge, but miss. When the plastic bottle clatters against the ground and I realize that I have to pick it up, I let out another groan. Mumbling under my breath annoyedly, I bend down to pick up the bottle. When I do, I'm not even fully standing before a large, powerful arm is barring my throat and pressing me to the fridge with a massive, warm body. I barely have time to gasp when my wide eyes meet those familiar blue ones and his arm is off of me in the next instant.
"Shit, Y/N are you okay?" Six asks, gently taking my face in his large, rough hands and tilting it so he can examine the untarnished skin of my neck for signs of harm.
I force out a laugh to hide the lowering panic from being attacked and from being so close to Court. Where his skin meets mine burns so intensely that I almost think something is wrong.
"I'm alright," I promise, but he doesn't let go and step back until he has come to the same conclusion, "Unless you count scaring me half to death."
"No one's usually up this late, I thought you were an intruder," Six responds, guilt still coursing through his gaze. I can’t help notice the absence of warmth in my body without his hands on me.
"Well, you're very good at your job but if I were an intruder, why would I stop for some water?" I ask, humor coursing through me. Six shrugs, and I can tell he's scrambling to regain his composure.
"Maybe you got thirsty. Breaking in takes effort"
I laugh softly, which visibly puts Six at ease. He shakes his head slightly, running a hand across his stubble-covered jaw. It's then that I notice he's not wearing professional clothes. Instead, a tight-fitting black t-shirt shows off nearly every muscle in his torso and the sweatpants to go with it make him almost seem...normal. The sight has my mouth dry and my chest tightly constricted.
"I can't believe my eyes," I remark breathlessly, looking up to connect my gaze with his, "You're not wearing a suit."
"They're in the wash," he remarks, making another laugh escape my lips.
"Well, now that you've scared me half to death, I'm definitely not tired anymore."
"Next time, don't go sneaking around the kitchen at midnight," Six advises. I scoff, lifting an eyebrow at him.
"Sneaking around? If that was sneaking around then I lied. You must not be very good at your job," I point out. His ever-so stoic face turns smug in a way that sends my heart careening out of rhythm. He takes a step closer and I have to look up to keep my gaze locked with his. His warmth washes over me and suddenly I can't think straight.
"Honey, I'm not good at my job. I'm fucking incredible at it," Six rumbles, and every coherent part of me turns molten.
The way he looks down at me with that stupid smirk on the lips that I've dreamed about for months, the way his body seems to dwarf mine, the way every molecule of air has been sucked away...it's too much for my fool's heart to resist any longer.
We both go quiet, and I think he realizes the tension thick in the air at the same moment that I do. His eyes dart down to my lips so quickly that I almost think I dreamt it, but I know that I didn't and it sends me past the breaking point.
"Y/N," Court whispers. His voice is a warning, a plea, a promise.
I'm about to close the distance between us when the glint of something catches my eye. I dart my gaze over my bodyguard's shoulder just in time to see a singular man with a handgun standing at the entry of the kitchen.
And the gun's aimed at Six, not me.
My eyes widen, and the moment suddenly slows to a crawl. The man's finger is already squeezing the trigger, and in my head I can see the love of my life catching that bullet and crumpling to the ground. Pure horror seizes my chest and I can't even think before I act.
"NO!" I shout, shoving around Six and managing to get my body between him and the man just in time for a gunshot to ring pure and clear through the air.
Time freezes and every second is a handful of years. The pain is instant, but the bite is dulled by Six bellowing my name. I've never even heard his voice get that loud. It seems almost louder than the second gunshot that explodes nearer to my head, one that comes from Six and hits the lone intruder directly between the eyes.
I press my hands to the burning in my chest, and my shocked brain can't seem to comprehend what the thick, warm liquid that gushes around my fingers is. I see Six move in front of me and slowly look up at him, my head growing lighter by the second. His eyes are wild and frantic, not an ounce of calm in sight.
"Court," I breathe, and it's the only word I can get out before my legs give out. Courtland reacts instantly, lifting me in his arms and already moving for Claire's room.
"Hold on, honey. Hold on," He orders, his voice straining for indifferent but betrayed by its tremble. My blurring vision stays caught on the beautiful man who holds me, and for once his stoic nature is broken. In its stead is a panic that he barely keeps controlled.
"Six? Six what happened?" Claire calls out from somewhere in front of me.
"Claire, I need you to grab the keys and get the car started. We need to get your sister to a hospital, alright?"
I can hear Claire frantically rush out a million questions as she scrambles through the house. My vision begins to fade, voices begins to dull, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I feel myself being carried into the garage. I vaguely hear the roar of an engine and the opening of a car door. In the midst of it all, though, my eyes are on Court.
"Court," I whisper, and through the darkening haze I see the love of my life look down at me, his gaze breaking with something deathly close to tears, "Court I'm tired again"
"No baby," he interrupts, his voice breaking on the words so deeply that he has to clear his throat to keep his tone steady, "I need you to stay awake, alright sweetheart?"
I try to nod as he sets my down in the back seat with Claire and shuts the door. I can hear my sister sobbing and speaking to me as she presses down firmly on my chest, trying desperately to keep my blood from gushing out of my body. Then, Court's in the driver's seat and peeling out of the garage and down the road at an ungodly speed. The squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber catch in me as my brain scrambles to hold onto anything and everything.
"Why did you do that, Y/N?" Court demands, his voice so angry and terrified and desperate, all at once showing more emotion than I have ever head from him. “Why did you that?"
I know he doesn't mean for me to answer, but in the midst of it all his voice is my lifeline to the living world. As the pain dulls and I feel myself being dragged underneath by the alluring peace of darkness, Sierra Six's voice keeps me tethered to reality a few minutes longer.
He was just supposed to be my bodyguard. He didn’t even want this job when he first started. He was my uncle’s employee and that was it.
And now, I’ve taken a bullet for him. I’d do it again, too. Over and over and over again.
Oh how things have changed.
"I couldn't let you die." My voice is weak and small, but he hears it through all of the commotion. As he tears down the dark road, his eyes meet mine in the review mirror. In them, I see his heart shattering. I see the guilt mounting and I see his very composure hanging by a thread.
"You should have let me."
Those words are the last things I hear before my world fades away into a nothingness so consuming that I almost welcome it.
|||
The next few hours—or days, of which I’m not sure—pass in a drug-induced haze that captures my mind in a knee-deep sludge.
There’s flashes of white coats and bright lights, needles and monitors, cold metal and blinding pain. Through it all, my mind struggles to keep pace and the confusion muddles every thought and leaves them to die on their way across a neuron to fruition. Eventually, the chaos settles into a blissful sleep.
That is, until the lights turn back on in my mind and this time, I can think clearly.
When I finally manage to get my eyes to open to the soft lighting of a hospital room, I remain still on the bed. I can hear voices mulling around me, and subconsciously I find myself searching and yearning for that one specific voice to grace my ears.
But it doesn't.
With a slight frown etched into my brow, I stir slightly on the hospital bed and turn my head to survey the room. The sources of the voices appear as I sweep my gaze to the chairs at my bedside. A small smile etches onto my lips. It's Uncle Fitz and Claire.
"Hey,"
My voice is barely a scratch of a whisper, but it makes my family go silent before me. They both whip their gazes towards me, and instantly whatever conversation the two were having before is long forgotten. Uncle Fitz and Claire hurry to my side, each speaking over the other to try and talk with me. Tears edge my gaze and I chuckle slightly, the motion making my chest ache painfully.
"One at a time," I manage out, smiling at the two. Uncle Fitz grabs ahold of my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and clutching it in his grasp as if at any moment I'll fade away.
"You gave us both one hell of a scare, kiddo,"
"Yeah," Claire chirps in, slapping my thigh lightly, "Don't do that again, Y/N"
She's saying something else, but my gaze sweeps through the rest of the room and something in my chest falls when I see only a stranger standing in the corner. No trace of Six. An odd spiraling sensation trickles through my chest. This room isn't complete without him.
"Where's Six?" I mumble, turning to look between a now silent Uncle Fitz and Claire. My uncle takes in a long breath and sits up slightly, keeping my hand in his.
"Y/N, this is Agent Williams. He will be watching over you and Claire from now on"
That trickle in my chest intensifies to a downpour, and suddenly someone is wrenching my heart in their grasp. My breathing quickens, my head spins, my soul trembles.
Where is Six? Where is he? Why isn't he here?
"Did you fire him?" I breathe out, my eyes wide and every emotion displayed plainly across my face.
"Y/N," Fitz sighs, hanging his head so to not look me in the eyes.
"Did you fire him?" I repeat, my heart beating so fast it could burst. Then, Uncle Fitzroy looks me in the eyes once more.
"No, sweetheart. He requested to be moved to another assignment."
And my heart, my very soul, fractures.
He's just so easily left us behind? After everything we've been through, after every day cooped up together, after slowly but surely breaking into my chest and stealing my heart, he's gone.
I don’t think so.
I only groan slightly as I sit up against my uncle’s protests, “Give me his location.”
Fitz freezes, his brows furrowing as he stands unsure beside my hospital bed, “Y/N, I can’t-“
“Give me his location,” I repeat, staring down my uncle, “You know it’s safe with me.”
Fitz holds my gaze for a few more moments, warring with himself over whether or not to give into my demands. I know I’ve won when he lets out a long sigh and pulls out his phone.
“You’re not gonna back down, so I guess I have to,” he wearily says. He fiddles around with his phone before putting it away and pulling out a burner phone from another pocket.
Does he just keep those things on hand?
“Here, I sent the location to this phone,” Uncle Fitz informs, slipping the burner phone into my hand, “But you’re not allowed to go until you’re healed up.”
I nod, grateful to take whatever bargain I can. As the day goes on, it turns into two. And then three. And then a week. And then two weeks. Before I know it, it’s been a month, and I’m still clutching the burner phone to my chest. A few more months and I’ll be able to hunt Six down. I’ll find him.
I have to.
|||
A few months later.
The cold wind whips against my cheeks angrily, making my skin nearly burn with the frost it holds. The buildings smattered around do little to break the icy temperatures, and neither does the throngs of people mulling around quietly with their thick coats tugged close. My eyes follow the buildings closely as I walk, and it isn’t long before I come to a pause and pull out the small burner phone Uncle Fitz gave me months ago in the hospital.
I check and then double check. This is it. This is the building.
Anxiety I hadn’t expected blossoms in the bottom of my gut as I stand before the apartment complex. A million doubts rush through my head, but I banish them with the reminder that, if nothing else, I am here to see Court one last time.
Even if that last time is me punching him across the face.
I shove past the crowd and hastily cross the street, getting lucky enough to slip in through the main entrance behind another tenant as they go in. The blast of stifled heat in the dingy, close to trashy, apartment lobby is enough to make me choke, but it’s welcome compared to the icebox of outside. I go unnoticed as I make my way to the stairwell beside the elevators that don’t seem all that trustworthy.
Fourth floor. Room 416. It should be the last one on the right.
I take each step slower than the last, my grit fizzling out the closer I get to the fourth floor. The stairwell is silent, leaving my brain plenty of room to run over and over and over again what could happen. Once again, I silence the thoughts by reminding myself of what spurred me to come here in the first place.
He left. Six left and I don’t think I can keep living like this without him.
What if he doesn’t want to stay with me? What if I mean as little to him as the next target? What if, what if, what if?
I don’t even pause to catch my breath when I reach the massive door marked with the Russian word for four. I shove through it and begin to blaze my way down the cramped hallway. My heart is racing but I don’t dare stop, don’t dare look back. I’ve come this far, I can’t turn around now.
I do pause, though, when I reach the last door on the right. Room 416.
“416,” I breathe, my heart slamming in my chest loud enough to reverberate through my being.
Then I raise my fist, and knock.
And knock.
And then knock again.
By the third round of knocking, it hits me that he’s probably not home. For some reason, that comforts me. I tug in a breath of stifled air and then pull out the pickpocketing kit I’d purchased weeks ago in case of this very scenario. With trembling fingers, I stoop down and begin to fiddle with the lock just as I’d practiced. It’s only a few minutes before I’m met with a surprising click.
It’s open.
I stash the kit and hold my breath as I take the cold doorknob in my grasp. Then, with a heart of both lead and hope, I turn it and enter his apartment. The moment I’m inside and the door is shut behind me, I know that I’ve reached the right place. The overwhelming smell of pine and snow and a hint of gum circulates, and that’s one smell I don’t think I’ll ever soon forget.
Casting my gaze around the darkened apartment, I notice it’s as I suspected. I can’t see anyone in here. I traipse my way into the main area of the small but quaint apartment. There’s a kitchen to my left, a small living room to my right, and a short hallway leading to a door that I presume is his bedroom before me.
I haven’t taken more than two steps towards the door when a pair of large, rough hands grasp my shoulders and shove me backwards until I’m colliding with the wall beside the kitchen. A massive, muscular arm comes up to bar my throat, and once my shock has subsided, I come to realize what’s happening. The familiarity of this is too strong.
Because it’s him. It’s Courtland.
He must be just as surprised to see me, because the moment recognition flares through those gorgeous, deadly eyes, his stubble-covered jaw slackens and so does his hold on my neck. He keeps me there against the wall, seeming to be frozen and uncomprehending of what stands before him. With his skin on mine and his face so close, I almost buckle to the floor as something I’ve been missing these last few months crashes into me. Something only Court makes me feel.
“This position seems familiar,” I finally whisper, breaking the thick, tense silence.
“Y/N” Six mumbles, the very sound of my name coming from his lips making me shiver.
He shoves away from me instantly, taking steps back to put space between us. Six runs a hand over his jaw as his gaze sweeps over me, slowly and scrutinizingly in the way he was trained. Only his gaze doesn’t make me feel like a target, it makes me feel…undone. I see his eyes stick on my upper torso. The exact spot that bullet slammed into me all those months ago. A certain pain flashes through his gaze before, in an instant, his unfeeling and unyielding demeanor returns.
Only this time there’s a difference. I can visibly see the strain it takes to hide whatever emotions are running through him.
“I’m okay,” I manage out, shattering the silence between us. I mentally scold myself for the stupid and fumbling excuse for a first greeting, but I press on nonetheless.
Court nods, his face blank as his eyes pierce into mine, “What are you doing here?”
His words send a dagger of hurt slicing through my heart, but I try to ignore it. Instead, I gather my nerve and say what I came here to stay.
“You weren’t there when I woke up”
I intended the words to be bold, convicting, confident. It surprises even me when they instead come out nearly laying bare every inch of affliction burdening me. My words are quiet, but they hit Six so hard I see him flinch the slightest bit.
“I’m just glad you woke up,” Six averts, but his words ring with truth. I feel tears I knew would come but desperately hoped wouldn’t begin to prick behind my eyes.
“Why did you leave?” I ask directly. I’m done beating around the bush.
“Y/N, it’s not as simple as-”
“Why did you leave?” I repeat, my words stronger and trembling only slightly at the end. Six sighs, clenching his jaw before he manages a response.
“I had a job, I failed at that job. When that happens, that usually means you don’t have that job anymore.” He sounds almost automated, as if he’d memorized those words.
“That sounds pretty simple to me,” I shoot back, anger I hadn’t anticipated beginning to burn in my gut, “But I’m calling bullshit.”
There’s a moment of silence and I can tell from the shift in his gaze that he’s going to tell me the truth.
I just hope I’m prepared for what it means.
“It is-,” he stops abruptly, barely reacting except for the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists before him as he tries again, “Was my job to protect you. I couldn’t do that when you were willing to put yourself in danger around me.”
“You left me because I made you incapable of doing your job correctly?” I exclaim, my tone incredulous.
“It’s not about the damn job!” Six suddenly outbursts, and I go silent immediately. I’ve only ever heard him raise his voice now twice.
And the first was when he saw blood pouring from my chest.
“Protecting you,” Six continues, his normal volume returned but his voice strained, “It goes beyond the job.”
I don’t seem to have a response for that one. I don’t need to find one either, because Six can’t stop himself from taking a step closer to me.
“You once asked me what I wanted,” He murmurs, and even though we’re a few feet apart the air is electric. “Well, what I want can’t be near me if all she’ll do is put herself between me and a bullet.”
I’m fairly certain that my brain short-circuits, because his words won’t process.
What he wants.
What he wants.
Me? He wants me?
“You mean you-”
But just as quickly as his emotion has exploded, it’s gone. Court’s face hardens and he turns around, walking off back to where he was before I broke in.
“Your new bodyguard is good. He’ll take care of you.”
"Wait, Six. I-"
"I've got a job to take care of here, so I probably won't see you or Claire again. Keep her safe for me." His voice is so monotone, so careless, so...so strained to make it that way. I watch in utter shock as he mills around his apartment, grabbing a phone and a gun as he clearly prepares to leave.
"Six, don't shut down like this. We need to talk about what you just said." I insist. He acts as though I haven't spoken at all.
"If you'll excuse me," Six says curtly, pulling a suit jacket on and brushing past me and towards the door to his apartment. A certain panic grips my chest so tightly that my legs nearly give out.
He can't leave me, not again. I can't lose him. I can't.
"Six, wait!" I exclaim, trailing him towards the door. He doesn't turn around, "Please, just talk to me."
Six makes it to the apartment door and swings it open. As he does, despair that threatens to suffocate me invades my chest. I'm slowly beginning to realize that this is it. He's going to walk out that door and everything that has happened in the time I've known him, everything he's become to me, will be over.
"Court, please. Don't leave me,"
Six freezes in his step, the door still in his grasp and his frame halfway through the opening. My heart slams into my throat, hope making it pick up its pace as he stands with his back to me, his body clearly heaving with breath.
"If you meant what you just said," I falter slightly, only slightly, before I throw all caution to the wind, "Then you have to know that I want you too, you have to know that. Shit, Court I more than want you. I-"
My words die as Six is suddenly moving, storming back into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. I stare with wide eyes as he suddenly approaches me, and the next thing I know his hands are cupping my face and his face is so close to mine that all thoughts leave me. His eyes search mine as he pauses, no emotions held back this time.
"This isn't safe for you," Court rasps. I can hardly focus as his eyes drop to my lips with a desire so strong in them that a shiver runs down my spine.
"I'm safest with you," I assure. Court shakes his head slightly, his thumb running across my cheek.
"You just had to go and say my name," He murmurs.
Then Court connects his lips to mine, and for the first time in my life I know what it is to live.
His lips move in perfect harmony with mine, his warmth overwhelming me and overheating me. His large, calloused hands on me are everything and not enough all at once and when one slips into my hair and tugs me closer, I know.
He is danger, he is the dark, he is everything I was warned about as a child. And he's the love of my life.
"No more jumping in front of bullets for me," Court orders once he pulls back. My lips twitch up slightly.
"No promises."
#courtland gentry#courtland gentry x reader#court gentry#court gentry x reader#court gentry x y/n#sierra six x reader#six x reader#sierra six x y/n#angst#fluff#the gray man#sierra six#whump#ryan gosling#oneshot#sierra six oneshot#courtland gentry oneshot#sierra six angst#sierra six x female reader
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Needy | Court Gentry/Six x Reader
Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x F! Reader
Summary: Court is tired and just wants to sleep, you have something else in mind.
Warnings: pure smut, I’m not sorry. unprotected piv, cockwarming, lil bit of masturbation. 18+ only.
Word Count: 916
A/N: I woke up with the need to write some filth. I hope you enjoy this short little fic. Could kinda be seen as in The Other Fitzroy! verse somewhere in the future. Also not beta’d or proofread so I’m sorry y’all.
MINORS DNI
You had been in bed for over an hour, tossing and turning as you tried to fall asleep. Court was tired, and you knew it, as he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. You, on the other hand, couldn’t get comfortable. Your skin was hot and damp with sweat, and you were undeniably horny. You pressed your thighs together as you laid on your side, trying to give yourself some kind of relief–but it wasn’t working. You needed more. Feeling only slightly guilty about it, you scooted yourself closer to Court’s sleeping form and pressed your hips into his. He knew your body better than you and could have you coming within minutes–something you desperately needed. You were thankful that the two of you had opted to sleep naked due to the summer heat–it made what you wanted easier to obtain. It only took a few circles of your hips on his for him to wake, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as his cock twitched against your ass. His large hand came to rest upon your waist, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder.
“I’m tired, baby,” he murmured into your skin, another groan emitting from him as you continued to roll your hips into his. His cock was growing harder by the second. The hand that rested on your waist gripped you tightly, ceasing the gyrating movements of your hips.
You let out a whine. “Court, please,” you begged. Your clit was throbbing with need, your walls already clenching around nothing.
He hummed softly in response, shifting his hips so that the head of his cock lined up with your slick entrance. “Keep me warm and I’ll fuck you in the morning,” he promised, giving one swift thrust that sheathed him inside of you completely. Both of you let out a moan as he filled you up. You could feel every inch of his thick, veiny, cock deep within you, but it still wasn’t enough. Your velvety walls clenched around him, but Court didn’t react. He was probably already asleep again. You silently cursed him for being able to sleep through almost any situation. You wished you could do the same. But the throbbing desire to cum returned and you couldn’t control yourself. You rocked your hips back and forth, gently fucking yourself on his cock. Court’s hand upon your waist tightened again, halting you. You let forth another whine in response, your hand snaking down your torso and sliding between your folds. Circling your swollen clit with your fingers, you felt the muscles in your lower stomach begin to tighten. Your walls fluttered around Court’s cock erratically, causing him to twitch deep within you.
Court breathed out a laugh as he realized what you were doing. “Really?” He questioned softly.
“Need to cum,” you panted, fingers pressing harder against your clit.
Court sunk his teeth into your neck, making you moan wantonly. “So needy,” he scolded playfully. His hand slid from your waist to under your thigh, lifting your leg up so that he could thrust into you.
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned as his hips snapped into yours, each stroke of his cock brushing against the spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your back arched as you neared your orgasm, your fingers working in harsh circles on your clit as Court’s thrusts picked up pace. Finally, the coils in your lower stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves as Court fucked you through it. Your hand fell to the sheets as soon as your clit became sensitive, but Court quickly replaced it with his own. You let out a cry at the overstimulation, trying to run from his touch. He only pressed his fingertips to your clit harder in response, nipping at your neck once again.
“One more, baby,” he panted against you, soothing the skin that he had just nipped with his tongue.
You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. “No, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I know you can,” he encouraged, his cock beginning to swell and twitch deep inside as he pistons in and out of you. Your body begins to tense as your second orgasm builds, your fingers clutching at the damp sheets beneath you as you rock your hips to meet his thrusts. It all feels too good, too quickly, and your walls clamp tightly around him. You’re squeezing him so tightly that his thrusts falter as you fall over the edge.
“Fuck, Court!” You cry out, your legs shaking as an intense orgasm courses through you. Court resumes his pace after your walls relax, now chasing his own release. Groans and growls rumble from his chest, increasingly growing in volume as he nears his peak. A few thrusts of his hips later and he’s cumming deep inside of you with a final growl. His cock pulses as rope after rope of his hot seed fills you. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls his softening cock from you, his cum immediately leaking onto the sheets. You make a mental note to throw them into the wash in the morning.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder as his hand slaps your ass gently. “Now let me sleep,” he murmured into your skin. You giggled in response, snuggling yourself into the covers as you finally feel sleepiness overcome you.
#sierra six smut#sierra six#court gentry smut#court gentry fic#sierra six fic#sierra six x reader#court gentry x reader#the gray man fics#the gray man smut#myfics
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Six Days, Part II - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)
I wrote this because ✨️Six deserves a lil more than a kiss✨️ 😌 I read the first The Gray Man book, and some characterization is based on it, but mostly this is movie-based. Let's pretend Lloyd Hansen survived his ordeal, shall we?
A/N: I had not yet read Ballistic (Book 3 of The Gray Man series) before writing this so the unintended similarity between Ch 36 and my work here was unintentional. I'm gratified to know Court Gentry so well lmfao. 💀 My bad, Mr. Greaney.
Lil Spotify playlist I listened to while feverishly typing. (Wipe Your Eyes is a Sierra Six song, I said what I said.)
Beginning / Ending / Prequel
TAGS: Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, mention of rape (rape is not threatened nor occurs), drugging, blood/wounds/death.
WORD COUNT: 8.6k (yeah, I'm REALLY sorry)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IIII
The room is dim when you wake. It can’t be later than six o’clock, but the bed is empty, cold where he should be. The bedsheets rustle as you twist to read the green-lit clock on the bookshelf. Your face ticks in confusion at the numbers spelling out 9:09 a.m.
Must be a cloudy morning. Too bad I can’t see out this fucking frosted window, you grumble internally.
Sitting up, you pull the sheet a little tighter to your naked chest and squint at the bathroom door, bringing it into focus despite your sleep-laden eyes. It seems completely closed, but if Six is in there, he’s unusually quiet.
You drop the sheet and leave the bed, looking for your clothes on the floor. On Six’s chair, a pile of material catches your eye. Your hand trails across the folded, new clothing; you pick up the top item, the tags still attached. A smile splits your face in two. He’d laid out a pair of plain white underwear, denim shorts, and a green t-shirt. You quickly locate your old bra and underwear and throw away the bottoms. You’re too uncomfortable without the support of a bra, so you put it back on despite its desperate need of a wash.
Once clothed, you knock on the bathroom door but it swings open with the contact. It’s dark and unoccupied. A sudden wave of fear hits you and you take a step back.
Where's Six?
Irrationally, your mind taunts you: Did he leave me? Get what he wanted and cut his losses? A small sound escapes you at the intrusive thought, but you remember the way he had held you all night, the gentle yearning of his touch, the devotion in his sapphire eyes. You silence the unhelpful worries. No way. That’s not him.
Shit, shit, did something happen? Oh, my god, I hope he’s okay. The fears cycle through your mind. He’d never left without telling you before. Not back at the original safe house, not here, not ever. Unease settles in your chest like a virus.
It was evident he had left and come back this morning to bring you new clothing, but where was he now? You move into the bathroom, quickly flipping on the light to try to dispel some of the dread. You drop to your knees and begin feeling around the floor as grime and dirt pile along your fingertips.
Oh, god, I bet it’s under this disgusting-ass flooring.
You lean left to grip the rough edge of the linoleum where it lies underneath the sink. Pulling at the aged material, it comes up easily enough, and you’re rewarded by a discolored section of hardwood floor. The linoleum slips from your dirty fingers, and as you reach to grab it again, a loud crash booms behind you.
The front door bangs open. You spin around, knocking yourself on your ass. Your heart fears it’s an intruder, but your brain expects it to be Six, mad at you for not hearing his knock.
As the door swings wide, you’re faced with an unfamiliar man, clad in a blue patterned shirt and slacks, standing with a firearm in his right hand. It’s the first thing you see, but it’s not pointed at you. The man looks relaxed - happy, you notice.
“Hey, doll. Been lookin’ everywhere for ya.” His voice is upbeat yet menacing.
“Whatcha doin’ to that floor?” He marches over to you, roughly grabbing your upper arm.
As his fingers dig into your flesh, you stare at the stumps where his little and ring fingers should be. He hoists you to your feet. You don’t even struggle as your brain tries to play catch-up.
“Who- the fuck are you?” Your voice trembles despite your efforts to the contrary. Your heart is throbbing, painful aching in your veins; your worst nightmare is coming true.
“You haven’t heard of me?” He sounds surprised. “Well, isn’t that hilarious. Mr. Moral Compass has been keeping secrets from you.” He makes a mockingly sympathetic face.
“Where is he?” Your voice cracks and pain pricks in your eyes, your vision watering. You’re petrified of this man’s answer.
To your great discomfort, the man laughs. It’s a terrifying laugh: somehow, all of his features seem warmed by his mirth, like he’s energized by your distress.
“That's supposed to be my line, buttercup.”
He makes a condescending gesture, “Someone saw you clomping around this hallway out here. Not very smart, are we? And wherever you are, Six is sure to be trailing like a sad puppy. But I’m not too worried about where he is right now; he’ll follow us, and that saves me quite a bit of effort. Not to mention bullets and bruises.”
It takes a second for his words to find you through the panic, but when they do, you’re nearly lightheaded with relief. You’d thought you managed and processed that first night well. It had given you confidence in your ability to persevere. But standing here, face-to-face with a man who seemed to know things you didn’t, who exuded the dangerous energy of a wild animal, you were frozen in fear. However, if Six was still out there, still okay, you had some hope. You had every hope in the world, in fact.
Six. Six, please. Please walk through that door. All your wits could offer was to repeat his name like a prayer.
“Let’s head on out, shall we? Car’s waiting.”
His grip on your arm tightens painfully, and you still don’t fight him. He steps toward the bed and, with a flourish, places a piece of paper on top of your pillow.
“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining.
You know you can’t win a physical fight with this much-larger, armed man, but the dam in you breaks as he pulls you toward the exterior hallway. You’re already leaning forward from the way he’s holding you, so you aim at your closest target. Your right fist slams just below the zipper on his slacks and he exhales with a yelp, doubling over. He recovers too quickly, though, and whirls you around, leveraging your throat with his forearm. He squeezes and wins a pained, high-pitched rasp from you.
“Do it again and I’ll leave your dead body for him to find instead of that paper,” he says through gritted teeth.
You shiver and try to swallow, panicking when you can’t. He loosens his grip enough for you to shuffle along, and when he tries to walk you both through the door a second time, you let him.
You were right, the sky outside was blanketed by wooly clouds threatening to let loose a deluge. The old city you’d holed up in was quiet for the time of day, and no one saw the well-dressed man toss you into a waiting black SUV. Your cheek smacks the faux-leather gray seat, and you push your arms underneath your body to reorient yourself.
The air inside the vehicle is artificially cold and smells new. The pleather squeaks as the two armed men who had been waiting outside your room seat themselves on either side of you. You hadn’t seen them until the well-dressed man had dragged you from your shelter out into the sterile-looking hallway. It seemed to you that they were reasonably sure you were alone. There was no way he wouldn't have sent an entire team in if he’d thought the two of you were together, right? This man didn’t dress like it, but maybe he didn’t have the funds for a whole team. Six had mentioned to you once how expensive one mercenary could be, and the going rate for a whole group could feed a small country for a week.
A thumb and forefinger pinch your nose, and your mouth drops open automatically. Your hands shoot upward to fight off whatever assault is beginning, but then the agent to your left pops something small into the back of your throat. You try to choke it out, but he had thrown it skillfully, and you accidentally swallow. You lurch forward violently as the driver accelerates.
You gag but nothing comes up. Coughing, you ask, “What'd you give me?”
The kidnapper’s smooth voice answers you from the passenger seat, “The ineloquent call it the ‘date-rape drug’.”
Utter fear shocks through your body at his blunt words. You’re a chemist, you know exactly what it is he gave you.
He turns a little to face you, “Sugar, you look nervous. Don’t worry,” his voice is jovial, “This is a date, not a rape.”
You shrink into your seat as best you can, trying to protect yourself. City blocks quickly turn into dilapidated housing, then farmland since Six’s safe house was close to the outer edge. You don’t know anything about the country you’re in, so memorizing the now-green scenery would be useless. Instead, you decide to evaluate and catalog the men next to you.
The man on your right is tall and tan. With his ironically trustworthy face, you would’ve never given him a second glance if you passed by him on the street. He’s holding what you believe to be a submachine gun, and a pistol butt pokes out of his waistband.
Your friend on the left is his friend’s polar opposite. This man makes you feel like the kidnapper does, and your hands shake just by looking at him out of your peripheral vision. His sharp, pale features keep anger at the forefront. His dark eyes, though rarely on you, twitch with menace. He’s carrying the same weapons as his partner, but you see an added hunting knife hanging from his black cargo pants. Unconsciously, your weight shifts to your right side, trying to put as much distance as you can, though, of course, you know the other man is truly no better.
Heavy exhaustion suddenly falls on you like an anvil. Lethargy places immense pressure on your limbs. Your world goes startlingly black for a second, then you realize you’ve closed your eyelids. You try to lift them, but it’s so difficult. Straining, you see a sliver of blurry light, but your eyes return to darkness. It feels like a weight is pressing on your chest - like Six did last night. Delirious, you half-smile at the recollection. Your head drops to the side with its own weight, and your final conscious thought is that you hope you fell to the right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life, Six had woken that morning on his side with your head on his right bicep. You were asleep facing him, your right calf sandwiched between his thighs, your hand curled on his chest. If he didn’t include every other time he looked at you, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Six felt a sense of possessiveness surge through him; he was never going to let anything take you from him. If you wanted him, he would be there.
Six had never told a woman that he loved her. Certainly not romantically. He wasn’t completely confident in how it all worked, but he no longer wondered what it felt like. Six knew by the way he wanted to care for you as you did him. It was evident in the way he found himself pulling your favorite mug from the cabinet each morning before you’d even woken; it was evident in the way his body thrilled as he counted your not-so-sneaky glances at him. Six knew how powerful love was because he felt all other aspects of his life drop in priority to you. He didn't pretend to be good at it, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.
In a matter of excellent timing, you rolled away, tucking your head down and off his arm. He extricated himself from the bed, intending on performing a quick errand. He was incredibly energized; after yesterday’s long-awaited activities and then the full night’s sleep he’d gotten, he felt sure he could do anything.
After showering, he located an old, plain black tracksuit set that he’d hidden years ago in the bathroom closet. It wasn’t exactly clean after all this time, but it wasn’t the disgusting shirt and pants from the past few days which was all he cared about.
He thought about leaving a note, but it was so dark outside that he knew you’d still be asleep when he returned. And also, he had no pen. Nimbly, he moved to your side of the bed where he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his feather-light touch never waking you. You sighed into his hand as it curved down your cheek, and he felt himself twitch at the familiarity. He quickly decided that he’d be keeping you in bed today; his high energy would be put to good use.
Six casually moved out onto the streets of the old world city. It was just past eight-thirty. The air was nice: warm and breezy, hinting at the coming storm. It wasn’t a bustling locale, but its population was large enough to provide some cover. Six’s furtive yet discreet searches around the area told him that all was well, so he trekked through the city to a store he knew supplied women’s clothing. He figured your old clothes were no longer suitable - he himself had torn them off in more ways than one - and he had nothing in his cache that would be practical for a woman. He was still cautious, still calculated. If he needed you to run, you couldn’t be tripping around in too-long pants.
The brightly lit store didn’t have much, so he purchased the first items he saw that best fit the summer weather, making no guesses as to your size since it was something he’d memorized for this exact situation. He thanked the shop clerk in his native tongue, then took a shortcut back to the room.
He returned as the green numbers glowed exactly 9:00 a.m. to find you still sleeping as he had suspected. He laid the pieces on the chair and then moved to the kitchenette. His jaw set as he realized the food was entirely gone; there wasn’t any substantial meal to be eaten, and canned peaches weren’t going to satisfy the both of you. Grumbling, he took another survey to confirm your slumber, then exited once again, locking the door as he left.
On his ten-minute jaunt to the corner store, Six felt uneasy. Now he believed the electricity in the air had nothing to do with the impending thunderstorm. He felt the breeze rustle through his blonde locks and tried to relax a little. He had a few - well, he couldn’t call them friends - in this general part of Europe, but only one lived in this area. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him; or you, considering the man might know about the situation.
He’d run out of cash, and his nearest stash was about a four-hour drive away in Latvia, so he was forced to steal a loaf of bread and two chunks of meat. Six left his not-inexpensive watch as payment, but he regretted being forced to this level. He’d never stolen anything in his life (except the odd vehicle, those almost couldn’t be helped) and he hated it. He was paid well for his services; he never needed to steal. Every bit of decency he could afford, he performed. If you hadn’t been waiting, he would’ve contented himself with the peaches for the next few hours, but you were injured, and moving on to Latvia could wait one more night.
His walk back from the store was circuitous by habit. He took two extra turns and an alleyway before opening the glass-paned door to the building. The room you two had been sharing was the very first on the ground floor, and something was horribly wrong.
Groceries fell to the floor, replaced instantly by his gun. He swept into the room, then the bathroom, already knowing you weren’t there. A sharp intake of breath sounded as he realized the linoleum had been disrupted.
Thank God, you’d gotten into the safe room.
He grunted as he pried open the heavy trapdoor, already beginning to tell you everything was okay, when the dusty hole gaped empty beneath him. The breath heaved out of him. He cursed loudly and slammed the door shut with such force that it reverberated throughout the lower floor. He spun around and his eyes snagged on the paper positioned on the pillow you’d occupied only moments earlier. He snatched it up.
- Do you miss her like I miss my fingers? -
Below the handwritten taunt was an address. Six needed no further information - he sprinted out of the building and up the street.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Groggy and unsteady, your left eye opens a little before your right. Warm light streams from a small round window at the other end of the room. It’s dusty, and motes float about in the beams. Your hands chafe at the handcuffs, but the most uncomfortable aspect is the rickety chair you’re roped into. Your shoulders ache and your neck is pained at the position you’d been unconscious in.
Fear rises in your throat, bubbling like lava in your chest. But it’s mutating with another emotion you’re not sure of just yet. You rock forward violently and shift the old chair forward a little, trying to move toward the window. The impact of your weight rattles the rafters, and you realize that endeavor is hopeless if you want to remain alone. You try to scoot, using your untied feet to pull you along, but the chair catches on a warped floorboard, and you’re left stuck.
Panting from the claustrophobic panic and the exertion, you begin taking some calming breaths you’d read about once for test anxiety. It helps, but then you hear the creaking of hinges as a trapdoor falls away a few feet from you. The ladder slides down smoothly, and moments later the head of a man appears. His fit, sweater-wearing body follows. He glares at you.
“You got bits of ceiling plaster on my sweater.”
“What’s going on? What do you want me for?”
You expect him to say something about your job, to demand access to the research, to complete some of it yourself; maybe he wants you to oversee a project of their own. You have no idea and you’re not prepared for what he answers.
“I don’t want you at all, honey. Sorry, you’re not my type. I like women who don’t punch me in the dick.” He says testily. “No, I want your boy, and I want him to be sad. I had no idea you existed ‘til a friend snapped a few pictures of the two of you getting cozy.”
He unfolds three photos from his back pocket. The first is through the large glass backdoor in your original safe house, the telephoto lens capturing Six’s hand nearly touching your lower back, your head turned to smile at him. A second photo was taken from a distance through a window, and it shows Six sitting on the couch beside you, talking. The man holds up a third photo, this one of the two of you outside, Six’s face glows with that reluctant smile he favors, though it's much larger than usual; facing away from you, he looks downright joyous at something you must’ve said or done.
The emotion you’d had trouble naming finally identifies itself as you spit, “Fuck you.”
The man backhands you hard enough to split your lip, but he doesn’t knock you over. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, and you yelp. The moment this man had stepped through your door, you’d done your best to prepare yourself for physical pain. You were still surprised, still shocked by it.
The man crouches in front of you, his eyes level. Your upper lip curls into a snarl.
“I know Sierra Six. That man is a goody-two-shoes. Although, apparently he’s been lying to his lady love. See, I did do my homework: your employer’s security contract with Six ended a month ago. He’s been bunking with you because I sent him those photos the day before termination. If he stayed with you, I knew it was genuine.” He pauses, then jeers, “He doesn’t allow himself to get attached to people.” The man smiles, perfect teeth flashing behind pink lips as he waves the photographs, “But I found the one he has.”
Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening, you just stare. You’d been through quite a few emotions over the past twelve hours and the tumult in your head was raging. Your admittedly hands-off employers had never told you when the protection detail’s contract ended, they probably had just assumed Six would leave of his own accord. The house had been furnished with anything you would’ve needed so you’d kept on working, and your employers kept getting what they paid you for. As long as the status quo remained, no one would’ve questioned each other.
“So, you’ve got me here in this dry-ass attic because you don’t like Sierra Six?” Your confusion manifests with righteous anger. This man is using you, not for your brain, but to get to someone you care about.
He sharply raises his left hand as an example, “I fucking hate him, actually.
“Don’t your manicures cost less now?” You hiss venomously.
Your chair nearly tips when his hand connects once again with your face. You spit out blood, but you’re weak and it lands pitifully on your shirt.
Your mouth already open, you ask one last question, ”And when Six comes for me… you’ll kill him?” You are still angry, but your worry over Six causes your voice to break.
“All part of the show, babe. I’m not monologuing to you.” He shrugs, smiling as if he wasn’t just monologuing to you. He stands and jogs forward-facing down the ladder. You hear his rich voice say something about a knife, and your body goes rigid. More pain. Your heart rate skyrockets and traitorous tears fall.
Calm down, get calm, I can’t be calm, just be calm, this is insane, deep breaths, it won’t help, you’ll be fine, your thoughts race uncontrollably.
Stressed wood and hinges ring out from the ladder as he reappears with a switchblade. He squats and ties your ankles to the chair legs with little effort, despite your kicking. Then he pulls another chair from the far side of the attic to face you.
“Oh, I’m Lloyd, by the way.” He grins as he slices at your already-injured leg.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Though he’d brought a comfortable chair, Lloyd didn’t stay long. He made a few cuts, watched you scream and squirm a little, but then his stomach had growled. He stood, wiped the bloody knife on your denim shorts, and folded the weapon as he left the attic. He made a little quip about letting bed bugs bite, and then the trapdoor squealed as it shut, as he left you in darkness.
The window across the room is dark blue, now. You beg your mind to relive the previous sunset, but the pain in your wrists and your leg are agonizing. Lloyd had cut a shape into your leg, and you didn’t want to see it. You’d not looked as he worked, and you were unable to do so now. Maybe it’ll be gone by morning, you childishly wish.
Again and again, your mind returns to Six. As much as you may have had a right to be, you didn’t have the capacity to be upset with him. Certainly not right this moment, as all you wanted was to be secure in his arms, and it was unlikely you’d be too pissed later, either. Six was your friend. Sure, he was generally reserved, closed off - but those were his natural defenses, and it was impossible not to feel his sincerity, his regard. Six had stayed on without payment for an entire month. He’d asked for extra men, probably calling in a favor instead of offering a reward. Just because he wanted to protect you. If he’d felt it was best to keep the truth hidden, then the truth was probably best kept hidden. After all, the man was the best tactician around; even you knew he had a near-mythological reputation.
Simply put, you trusted the man unequivocally. You just wished that he would both hurry and stay away. If this lunatic managed to kill Six by using you as bait, you weren’t sure you could live with the guilt. Six spent so much time walling himself off from everyone, and you’d purposefully broken down those defenses. Now you were both in danger. Six was all you had, all you’d wanted, and now that you had him you were about to lose him.
You sat there as time slipped by, in the dark, crying, until your body exhausted itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IIIII
A splitting headache wakes you. Your neck is screaming at the position it’s been in for hours, and you feel a little nauseous. The strong light from the round window allows you to clock the time at late afternoon, and you regret waking. Your body straightens when you realize that the sound of the trapdoor opening is what woke you. The sound sharpens and you tense, waiting for more pain.
As expected, Lloyd’s face beams at you. Immediately, you’re on edge: if Lloyd is happy, you shouldn’t be. He finishes climbing the ladder, and when he does, he motions to someone else to come up.
“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially.
“No,” you plead. "No.”
“Mhm. ‘fraid so.” He couldn’t possibly smile wider.
A blonde head that you’d recognize anywhere materializes. He’s shoved by someone else you hate to see: the pale man on your left. The pale man looks terrible. His face is swollen and bloody. Since the ladder rises away from you, you don’t see the prisoner’s face until the pale man roughly turns him around, but you knew it would be Six. He’s slammed into his own rickety chair. His beard is sticky with blood, and a cut near his right eye oozes more blood. His black tracksuit is filthy and torn, and his hands are bound in front of him with zip ties. The instant he faces you, he holds your tearful gaze, and he winks. Your eyebrows constrict briefly in confusion, but you return to utter despair quickly. Lloyd was never going to let you go if he captured Six, and you’re pretty sure he never even offered that lie up to you. Now you were both going to watch each other die. Your chest heaves in sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” your voice is a hoarse whisper, but Six frowns and shakes his head. His attention is forced away from you, however, when Lloyd steps in front of him.
“Wow, Lloyd, you should’ve squeezed the CIA for a better patch job. You look like shit.”
Lloyd laughs, “Aw, don’t make me kill her already. I was just getting excited.”
“Did you do that to her face?” Six asks conversationally.
“It wasn’t the only thing I did,” Lloyd answers suggestively. And though you can’t see his face, he grins at Six who barely keeps a leash on himself. He files that comment away for later fuel.
Lloyd begins to speak, cajoling as Six flexes his jaw, his expressive eyes never leaving the threat. “The CIA didn’t ‘patch’ me up. They’ve pinned that whole … situation… on me. Rather unfairly, wouldn’t you say?” He doesn’t give Six time to answer before he continues, “I have other powerful friends who aren’t hunting me for war crimes. But they don’t matter. They support my little personal revenge mission, although they’re not funding it.” He holds up his hands, “Don’t be offended I didn’t send a whole squad after you, Six. I’m pretty depleted after all your shenanigans. But anyway!” He claps his hands, “Don’t you wanna know how I knew?” He sounds thrilled.
“A little birdy told you?”
“Your friend Denver. Now isn’t that just the worst? He sold you out. ‘Six has found himself a girl.’ His plan was to live that night, but hey, can’t win ‘em all, right?”
Lloyd moves to grab his chair, and you’re able to see Six’s reaction. His face doesn’t change, but you know those eyes. He’s not completely shocked, he can’t afford to be in his line of work, but you can see the betrayal, the sadness pooling there.
Since he has line of sight on you, again, he takes advantage and the corner of his mouth quirks up quickly. The smile is gone before you’re even sure it existed - but that’s the second time he’s signaled you. Trying to keep me from panicking, as always, you reason. You give him an answering smile, but it’s sad, and he grunts in frustration.
Lloyd has his chair in hand, and he looks animatedly between the two of you - back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to choose. The pale man, still standing next to Six, laughs. Your disgust evident on your face, Lloyd makes his choice and sits directly in front of you.
“Did you miss me, honey?” He purrs. You know from his tone that everything this man is about to do has one purpose: to twist a dagger into Six’s soul.
“Didn’t really get a chance, asshole,” you pour every bit of rage and hatred you can into your voice. This man might break your body, but you’re pretty sure this level of anger will protect your mind.
“Let me see that six.” He orders, which stops you right in your tracks.
“What?” You ask, perplexed.
“The six! The six I gave you.” His bottom lip pouts, “You didn’t even see what I gave you?” And he points at your thigh.
Amidst the blood, you finally see the pattern he had carved into your leg. He hadn’t cut as deeply as your other wound, just deep enough to ensure scarring.
“You said something about wanting a six, right?” He plays dumb. “If that one’s not big enough, here, I’ll do another.” He lifts the knife quickly and you start at the sudden violence.
Behind him, you hear Six grunt, then an unfamiliar, more pained-sounding grunt. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate before he jumps behind your chair and sticks the knife against your neck. As he does so, you see the body of the pale man drop to the floor, his submachine gun in Six’s freed hands. Your chin tilts up as high as you can to avoid the blade.
“You brought a knife to a gunfight, Lloyd.”
“Quite the party foul of me, huh?” Lloyd rejoins. “Oh, well. That’s where your bitch comes in handy.”
Six doesn’t react. Lloyd's using you as a shield, but he is much larger than you. One good shot would knock him back enough that Six was confident he could reach you before Lloyd recovered. Six starts to squeeze the trigger when the knife leaves Lloyd’s hand, aimed directly at his heart.
Six bats away the shining switchblade with the gun, which sends him a little off balance. Lloyd uses his chance to rush Six. Like the football star he had been, he tackles Six to the floor. Six groans in pain as the wind is knocked from him, and a scream tears from you. At the last second, you remember that the other man in the car, the one on your right, was probably somewhere below. Surely he had heard the thumping, right? Why wasn’t he coming?
Six quickly gets the upper hand, kicking out from underneath the other man, smashing the gun into Lloyd’s face twice as he did so. Six is loath to shoot the man outright because he really wants to beat the shit out of him first. Lloyd gets to his feet at the same time Six does.
Frantically, you knock the chair over, and try to wiggle sideways towards the knife Six had hit. It was several feet away, very close to what now looked like a standoff. Six hears what you’re doing, and circles a little more to his right, putting himself between you and Lloyd. He thrusts the butt of the gun at Lloyd’s gut, but Lloyd grabs hold of it. Six immediately ejects the magazine faster than he’d ever made the move before. He releases his hold on the weapon, knowing it won’t make a difference. Lloyd gives him an eyebrow raise before tossing the gun down the ladder.
Your chair scrapes with every inch, but your desperation gets the knife into your right hand right as you hear the gun fall. You saw at the ropes around your body, then once free of that, you cut the flimsy material around your ankles. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed to the chair’s armrest. Keeping the knife in hand, you lift the old chair and slam it against the floor, once, twice. Thinking better of that, you sit down and jam both heels on the underside of the armrest, hoping to force the slim piece from its spindles. That worked. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed.
Six waits for Lloyd to swing first, and when he does, Six puts every play he’s ever learned into action. He swings haymaker after uppercut at Lloyd, most of them connecting viciously. Lloyd gets in several licks, but each time Six shakes it off with a growl. Hoping to shorten this dance, you hold up the knife, hoping it’s Six and not Lloyd who sees what you have to offer. They both notice.
As Lloyd starts to run at you, Six leaps forward, grabbing him around the throat by his forearm. He uses the momentum to slam Lloyd down to his knees. Lloyd twists and claws at him, but Six is stronger. To Lloyd’s endless consternation, Six has always been stronger. You gawk on in horror. You’d seen Six kill a man before, but this was different. This was personal, angry, justified. Six is silent as his arms strain, pressing every bit of strength he has into Lloyd’s windpipe. Lloyd is gagging, gurgling. It was terrible.
“Go!” Six commands through gritted teeth, and though he wasn’t looking at you, you obey. You didn’t want to see this.
You flee down the ladder, knife still in hand. Subconsciously, you take in your surroundings: a vacant, crumbling mansion. The white hallway was cracked, and moldy. No furniture could be seen. You could still hear Lloyd’s death throes above you, so you stumble along the hallway, desperate to end the nightmare.
Your right leg, so damaged, gives out and you hit the floor. You see stair railings a few feet away, but you can also see the attic entrance from where you fell, and you weren’t going anywhere without Six. So you drag yourself up against the wall and try to slow your labored breathing as you wait.
A few minutes later, a man dressed in black climbs down. Your heart pounds at the sight of the blonde hair. You stand, wobbling, and drop the knife. As he reaches you, he wraps an arm around you. His hand presses your head to his chest.
“Let me see your hands.”
You hold up your cuffs. He unlocks them with a small key you can only assume he got from one of the bodies upstairs. He nudges you forward, and you start down the hallway, then down the stairs. When you get to the bottom of the wooden steps, you see why the other man never came running. He lay bloody on the floor of the foyer. Six had killed him first.
“Didn’t know where you were in this big old house, so I made my entrance known. Lloyd would take me wherever you were. Amateur.”
Stepping around the body and out the front door, you hysterically giggle at the stolen car Six had parked normally. “You literally walked in the front door?”
“Yeah.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IIIIII
Lloyd had taken you over the Latvian border by several hours, so while you were in the right country, you were still a couple of hours away from Six’s cache. As he drives, you curl up on the back seat, trying to relieve your sore muscles and your stinging leg.
It’s nearly midnight by the time Six pulls to the curb a block from his newest safe house. The streets were bustling with people enjoying their evening, and it wasn’t difficult to blend in. In the darkness, no one could make out your bloody leg, his bloody face.
Six breaks the padlock off the abandoned-looking building’s side entrance, then steps inside, ensuring it was uninhabited. There’d been no actual threats to your life besides Lloyd Hansen, your company hiring Six as a precaution over rumors, but Six was never going to take a chance again when it came to you.
He ushers you through the door, then tucks you into his side as he opens another door. It’s pitch black, and you cling to his jacket. You hear the door shut behind you, then you hear the sound of his hand sliding along the wall trying to find the light switch.
He succeeds and the room is illuminated in warm, artificial light. It’s another ground-floor apartment, and it’s similar to the previous minus Six’s favorite wingback chair. He takes your hand and guides you into the bathroom where you see the biggest difference yet. The bathroom is clean, spacious, and it has both a bathtub and a shower.
“Capital cities have the best safe houses. More people to maintain them,” he replies to the question in your mind. “Strip.”
Your head jerks up to look at him. He unzips his track jacket but leaves his pants. You pull the hem of your shirt over your head and drop the bloodstained fabric to the floor. Six crouches in front of you and unbuttons your shorts.
“I’m a professional,” he whispers, trying to lighten your wordless mood as he covers your new knife wound with his hand and pulls your shorts down.
He takes your hand to balance you as you step out of the bottoms. As he touches you, he looks for a sign of disgust, fear, something that will break his heart but make sense after what you’d been through.
He grabs a washcloth from the counter and wets it. He crouches in front of you again and begins softly cleaning the blood from your thigh, leaving a wide gap around the actual wound.
You’re a little unsteady after the lack of nutrition and the stress your body has undergone the past day, but you steel yourself for a moment: you focus on not freaking out, not crying just yet in order to take stock. You watched him kill someone. How do I feel about that?
In your heart, you know that it doesn’t change anything you feel about him. Six killed bad men - always had, always would - and you’d known that when you met him. Your torso shakes, nearly hyperventilating. No, the worst is that you could’ve died, you could’ve watched him die. You collapse onto his shoulders, your arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry.” He says, the timbre of his voice letting you know that he means it for all that has occurred. For what Lloyd did to you physically and probably emotionally. For not telling you the truth, but mostly for putting you in the situation in the first place.
Too emotionally distraught to check the words thoroughly, you try to relieve his guilt: “’s not your fault someone loves you, Six.”
Still not noticing your own words, you bury your face in his shoulder, and your tears fall freely. The noise he makes under his breath sounds affectionately amazed.
He stands, picking you up, and your legs wrap around him automatically. Your cuts are nearer the outside of your leg, but it still sends a jolt of pain down your limb when you use it to latch onto him. He sets your bottom on the countertop. One hand rubs your back while the other nestles into your hair.
He knows you’re in shock, and he knows you didn’t mean to tell him you loved him like that. It’s good to hear, and he can’t help the sunrise in his heart, but his primary concern is consoling you. Or distracting you, if possible. Early in his career, he had learned that the best way to move forward was to stop overthinking. Distractions worked well for that.
“Shower or bath?” He asks.
He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, and you’re more than welcome to answer with neither. But in his mind, if it comes to it, he could try to make you forget today for a little while. You sniffle as you pick your head up off his shoulder to see his face.
He’s looking at you like you just saved him, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed.
“Shower.”
You’d love nothing more than to be warm, bloodstain-free, and staring at Six naked. Without another word, he drops his pants and unclasps your bra. You push your underwear off. You latch around him again, and he carries you into the shower. You drop your legs and stand while he adjusts the temperature. The shower’s wide enough that you don’t feel the water at all as it warms up.
As the water begins to steam, Six looks over at you and holds his hand out, palm up. A smile touches your lips and he answers with his own as he pulls you to him underneath the showerhead. His hair soaks instantly. He rotates so your hair can rinse free of all the shit it had gone through in the last week.
Six takes a clean, soapy washcloth and stoops to finish cleaning your leg. He tries to ignore the shape that those cuts are in, but it’s still torturing him. He’d tried to forget it the moment after the words had left Lloyd’s mouth, but now he was face-to-face with the physical consequences of his feelings for you. He straightens up and lets the water get the rest of the blood.
You watch as his expression twists, and he won’t meet your eyes.
“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”
“Yeah, right into my fucking name.” He begins washing himself as a means to avoid your face.
“It’s not your name." You cup your hand to his cheek. "Hey, ‘Six’ is not your name. Those marks will heal, and even if I’m still able to see the number, it doesn’t bother me.” Your voice rises with each word. You’re trying to tell him that it’ll be an incidental scar, and even if it mattered, it’s the pseudonym of the man who rescued you.
His stormy eyes meet yours finally, skepticism clouding them. “It doesn’t matter to you that you were tortured and permanently scarred," his voice acerbic, "because of me?”
“It does matter, but it wasn’t because of you, Six. It was because that guy was insane. He was unstable. He hated you and I was useful.” You're pleading with him to hear you. Your hand slides up from his cheek into his drenched hair.
You decide to gamble a joke, “Always wanted a man’s name tattooed on me, anyway.”
Your eyes shine up at him fervently, hoping the joke corroborates your apathy over the wound. Because that really didn’t matter to you. The physical scars were nothing - they would heal without issue. If anything, you worried about being separated from Six. How would you ever feel safe without him again?
Your gamble works. He snorts and leans his forehead to yours. Stray water droplets collect in his facial hair.
“But you’re right, that’s not my name,” he murmurs, then carefully presses his lips to yours. He’s gentle, but pain issues forth from your split skin, anyway. You flinch slightly, and Six murmurs, "Sorry."
Angry at the reminder, you decide you’re not letting Lloyd take any more seconds of your life, so you deepen the kiss. Your lips part to allow him in, and at the first touch of his tongue, a spark of tension flares.
He hums deep in his chest at your enthusiasm, your reassurance. Six’s right hand curves around the back of your upper thigh, underneath your ass, and he half-lifts/half-pushes you into the icy wall of the shower. You hiss in surprise, but his warm body follows with a grunt a split-second later, and you’re no longer thinking of anything but him.
Your hand drops to stroke his velvet length against your thigh, and Six’s groaning mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw and drops to the hollow he knows you love. His hands caress your curves, one hand traveling to grasp your breast as the other hand slides between your legs.
You gasp as the friction of his rough palm, then his fingers, send a jolt right to that coil in your stomach. He squeezes your breast gently, and his thumb rolls over your nipple as Six drops to his knees.
“You don’t have to -” you start, but change your mind instantly as you appreciate Six below you: his hair drips into his profoundly blue eyes; water runs down his well-defined body, and his thighs flex as he shifts closer to you and sits back on his heels. His large hands wrap around your hips. You feel your breath hitch as he angles forward and his breath touches your tender skin a moment before his heated mouth. His tongue flattens against you before flicking at the perfect pace; he alternates between the two patterns. The heat floods through you in a deluge - your eyes slam shut, your head rolls back, and when your stomach constricts, your legs go weak.
He makes a pleased guttural sound that vibrates into your skin, and he plants one firm arm upward along the inside of your hip, his hand on your ribs, to keep you upright. His other hand on your hip welds you firmly to him. Your cries of pleasure echo in the space, and he feels himself growing painfully hard.
Your body having been stretched to its limits in so many ways means the euphoria you feel now has you coming easily. Six feels the tension in you splinter, feels the shuddering in your legs. The pride it gives him is unmatched as he holds you still. You moan into the steamy air, and he knows could do this forever.
He continues at the same pace, but in a moment of lucidity, you miss him against you. You pull at his shoulder, and he obliges, standing. His right hand grasps the underside of your knee, palm on the outside of your leg, and he fits himself right against you. You can feel him twitch with expectation. An aftershock of your first orgasm ripples through you, and has you clenching around nothing. You shiver, already anticipating how good he will feel.
“Please, Si-” you beg him, unnecessarily.
He makes a sudden decision, cutting you off, “It’s Court.”
Your eyes fly up to his. But before you have a chance to speak, he steadily shifts up into you. His quiet groan is punctuated by your gasps. His eyes close involuntarily at your tight warmth. Your nails dig into his biceps where you’d braced yourself. The stretch hurts a little this time, but you're too satisfied with the closeness to care. Relishing the unique intimacy of being inside you, he skims one hand down your side before he drags himself unhurriedly out, and thrusts back in.
He begins to slowly increase his rhythm, and with each incredible entrance, you both let the sounds spill out from your mouths uninhibited. Before long he is driving into you so unrelentingly that all you can do is hang onto him. He never neglects your lips for a second, his deep, messy kiss the only thing keeping you sane. You feel white-hot; it’s nearly painful, but it’s so good.
Tears leak down your face. His left hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the salty liquid. He can see you’re about to snap once again by the way your face pinches, then begins to unwind underneath his hand. He drops his hand to work you over further. He never knew life could be so sweet. Reserved, isolated his entire adult life, he knows that he’s never going to be happy if he’s not coming home to this.
“Don’t say Six,” he begs. It’s never mattered to him before. He was the same person no matter what anyone referred to him as. But he wanted you to know, to have the purest version of himself. The version no one else had.
He looks down into your eyes as he asks, and when the understanding hits you, it’s the final nail in your coffin. A sob echoes in the small room as your walls constrict around him, fluttering. He revels in the image of you falling apart against him.
He kisses you again, then lets his lips hang open over yours as you both breathe heavily from the wicked roll of his hips. He’s blurry through your tears, and you blink a little to better understand what you just saw flashing in his eyes. What you’d seen there two days earlier, too. He loves you, your mind supplies unasked.
Court’s rhythm changes to deep, passionate thrusts as he tries to bury himself in you. His desperate grunts send aftershocks throughout your thighs. He’d never stop if his body would allow it. He gradually slows his movements, still working you through your own high. He finishes with a low, animalistic noise and closes the small gap between your mouths. Neither of you move, panting.
You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of tears at the emotion between you two. He kisses you, hard - full of everything he'd wanted to say for months. After several moments, he lets go of your leg, and removes himself from you.
Unwilling to stop touching you, though, he takes you by the hand as he exits the shower. You twist the knob to shut it off as you walk by.
He wraps an old, gray towel around his waist, and hands one to you. You squish your hair, then wrap it around your chest. He’s quiet, uncomfortable for some reason, so you take his hand again, and back him up against the counter. He barks a reluctant, low laugh at you pretending to be able to keep him pinned. He rests his hands on your waist.
“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.
“I’m not the one who was just crying,” he deflects with a quip.
You raise your eyebrows and frown at him.
Remembering that he wanted you to know him, he cautiously answers in a halting undertone, “I would like a calm life.” He stops, thinking. “Maybe with you...”
It's almost a question, and he doesn’t say what he means exactly, but you understand. You're his chance at a normal life. A happy life.
“Maybe not a calm life, no, but you could have me.” You phrase it as a potential, though it’s not one. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months. You'd do anything if your reward was this man.
His face doesn’t change, so you try again, “You already have me; so, it’d be nice if you’d accept it.”
“Oh, I don’t even get a choice, now?” He smirks faintly, his thumbs rubbing along your hips through the thin towel.
“I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy without you,” you confess your earlier thought. Your hand traces over the tattoo on his chest. “I know I wouldn't feel safe."
He sighs heavily. “I can’t say nothing will ever happen,” he says honestly, “but I can promise I'll be there." He pauses, trying to figure out how to express himself. "If you want me, then-"
“I always want you, Court.”
You cut him off, speaking his name for the first time. When when he smiles, it finally touches his eyes. His grip tightens on your waist. He's contemplative for a moment as his look turns mischievous.
He lowers his voice, “About that book you tried to kill me with: I think I remember a page or two -” he breaks off as he bends faster than you’re capable of reacting to, and throws you expertly over his shoulder, smiling at your laughing shriek.
#sierra six#the gray man#the gray man fanfic#court gentry#courtland gentry#my fics#smut#fluff#ryan gosling#lloyd hansen#chris evans#sierra six x reader#court gentry x reader#the gray man fanfiction#personal#I have a deformed finger and my dad makes that manicure joke all the time fyi#the gray man 2022#sierra six x you
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Late (NSFW)
Pairing: Sierra Six x Female!Reader
Warnings: Minor description of injury, mention of blood, and unprotected sex (don’t do this!). No other sex-related warnings I don’t think but let me know if there are any!
Word Count: 3.7K
Summary: For the first time, Six is late. But not without a good reason.
A/N: Tried a bit of a different writing style. Feedback is appreciated!
Six should be home by now.
Time schedules were either completely null or explicitly stated in his particular job field. A plane here, a week to drive a knife between some poor guys ribs there, then done. Money wired into his bank account before he even landed back in the states. Before he could even waltz through the threshold of your shared apartment. Other times, a kill was written down to the second he was meant to execute it. Chattering com in his ear and finger hovering over whatever long range gun they supplied him with.
The latter was your favorite. At least then he could whisper when he’d be back between kisses, hands cupping your cheeks and assuring you that you could both have dinner together because he’d be back before that time. The assurance was nice. It offered a timetable in which your worries could be left off the table, mind confident that everything is alright because he’ll be back soon, and if he wasn’t, then you’d worry. But he was always back.
Until now.
The cool air of the apartment is dead silent. Suffocating. It consumes and warps, amplifying the sound of the ice machine whirring on, making the beginning of it almost sound like a door opening. You stare ahead, wooden door shut firmly but unlocked. Ready for his hand to wrap around the biting cold metal of the doorknob and to walk in, throwing down his black backpack and giving you that sweet smile in greeting. A softness only for you—something you have been without for over two weeks now.
A heavy feeling settles in your gut as the clock by the door ticks on, slow and fast all at the same time. He’s late by almost two hours now. No call, no text, and still no Six. Your phone sits on the kitchen table, screen dark and quiet. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, you think it lights up despite the lack of noise that usually accompanies a notification. Muteness prevails, yet you turn your head towards the electronic anyways, tapping the screen to see your home wallpaper staring back at you and nothing else.
Your eyes sting, water rising to combat it and to get you to blink and shut your eyes for just a moment. Footsteps sound outside in the hallway, your back goes straight, muscles tensed and ready to shoot up from your chair and to the door. It passes, just like it has the other few times. Neighbors, likely coming home from a night out, stomping on the short carpet and to their own sections of the apartment. You blink, gaze blurry.
It’s past three in the morning now. The ticking hand of the clock has came and went over the number, not hovering over it like your stare did. Tck-tck-tck. It’s constant. You feel the tears coming.
Then, heavy-set footfalls rise above the ever present sound of the moving hour hands. Distant, but they itch at something that sits in your brain. Familiarity settles in, washing away any ounce of worry and replacing it with air in your chest, making you feel like you’re about to burst with each thud.
The doorknob rattles. You stand so abruptly that the chair scrapes against the wooden floor.
Blood. Lots of it. It’s smeared across his face, right cheek more red than flesh. A path of dried blood falls from his nostril and onto a puffy upper lip, discoloring already spreading enough that you can see it from feet away. Then you’re in his arms, ignoring the patches of darkness on his tan tactical shirt.
He groans as you wrap your arms around him, causing you to relent the small amount of pressure you had given and settle for practically hovering your arms around his waist. Warmness surrounds you, curling with the scent of musk and dirt. Only one strap of his black backpack hangs off his broad shoulder, the attempt to remove it forgotten by your sudden advancement.
“Hey,” Six whispers into your hair, voice catching in the middle like he hasn’t spoken in a while. Arms wrap around your body, pulling you further into him even though he winces at the small movement.
A lump settles in your throat. You swallow it down and murmur, “I missed you.” Worries amiss now that he’s back. Present and in your arms. Wherever he had been and whatever happened didn’t matter now because Six was home. Covered in blood, surely, but alive, nonetheless.
A barely audible chuckle that you feel against your cheek. It hitches into cough momentarily, and you attempt to pull back. His grip tightens. “Sorry for being late.” Is all he offers for the blood and evident pain, not even letting you attempt to ask until he’s good and ready to part with you, face smushing against his chest to prevent any further movement of your mouth. You can smell the metallic tang of gore on him.
A minute passes, documented by the ticking sound emitting from the clock. His hold on you ceases. All there one moment and gone the next. Now he’s looking down at you with hooded blue eyes, lashes brushing atop his dirty cheeks. “Go ahead,” he says, giving permission for the questions he knows you have.
Okay, most urgent inquiry first. “What happened?”
The muscles of his jaw clicks, poking out as he grits his teeth, eyes going all dazed and far away for just a split second before he’s back. “Got complicated.” It’s not exactly spat out, but tense. Like those two words alone bring him back to whatever had gotten the blood on him. You’ll press for more later.
You eye the dark bags lingering just below his own. “When’s the last time you slept?”
That, for some reason, is more nerve inducing than the initial question. He takes a moment, fully taking off the backpack and plopping it by the door. The loud thud tells you that there’s something heavy in there. “What’s today?”
“Wednesday.”
“About two days? Give or take.”
Your teeth clench against each other, the only physical sign of your rising emotions. Anger, worry, all for him, directed at wherever the CSS had sent him, and whoever had the unlucky chance of meeting someone as dangerous as the man standing before you. “God, Court,” you start, using his real name. It feels worthy now, like that one word could encompass all that you feel for him. Not the one assigned to him by Fitz, but the one only a handful of people know. “Let’s get—Let me start a shower so that you can,” you look him up and down, taking in the tan tactical shirt and a shade darker tactical pants, “Get all that off of you.”
He hums a low sound, going to wrap his arms around you again, chin bumping against the top of your head. “Thanks.” The word is soft, tender. Tired, you’d say now that you’re aware of how little sleep he has gotten. You both stay like that until you let go first. He lets you, shoulders drooping now that he’s inside the apartment.
The water is warm under your fingers. A pine green towel hangs over the rod that holds up the cloudy yet almost transparent shower curtain. Six lingers behind you, watching.
“Okay, this should help,” you assure, for both of you. Once he’s all clean and calm you can relax. Smother him in the love that he’s been missing while he was away.
Dried blood is better than wet. It doesn’t make the fabric stick to his skin as he peels it off, discarding it in the hamper for a later washing or two. He’s slow taking them off, and you help with his shirt. It’s damp beneath your fingers from sweat.
Soon, his tan skin is exposed to the bright light of the bathroom. You try to suppress it, but a gasp escapes.
Red welts cover the left side of his ribs, similar to the one on his upper lip. They circle around like your stretching fingers. Your hand tentatively brushes against the bruises. “What happened?” You ask again. Can’t help it when this is so fresh, so used to the healed over scars that mar his skin and not this.
A sigh. He stops in his journey to pull down his boxers, letting them grip below his V-line. Warm fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand up to his mouth. Saliva wet lips meet your knuckles. “Told you. Got complicated,” greyish-blue eyes gaze into your own, taking in the worry before he continues, “I’m here now. We’re okay.”
Now that he’s here in front of you, you agree.
You know he won’t tell you anything more until he’s ready. No use in trying to ask again. Six will bring it up when he feels it’s time. So, you let him remove the rest of his clothing in silence.
Steam has begun to hover in the air. It slips out the open door, and you go to follow it. A gentle grip on your upper arm stops you completely. He turns you back around to face his now naked form, not embarrassed about it in the slightest. You have seen him in this exact state, minus the wounds, many times before. Still, a hot flush creeps up your neck and you blame it on the rising temperature due to the hot water pouring from the shower head.
“Stay with me?” He asks. You do, nodding and going to sit on the closed toilet lid before he shakes his head. “No,” an incline of his head in the direction of the running shower, “There.”
Oh. Okay, you can do that. Six steps into the tub as you strip off your pajamas, much quicker than he did his own clothing. He steps back from the water to allow you in front of him. You close the shower curtain behind you.
Warm air curls around your naked body, then so do his arms.
Two weeks seem to have taken their toll on Six, both physically and emotionally. He buries his head into your neck, breathing in deeply. You can feel the rise of his chest, then its downfall. Skin on skin with no barrier. Neither of you seem to care about the dirt or blood caked on his body. The contact feels too good to forgo so soon, and you relax into his hold. Let him breathe you in until his muscles loosen up.
His own bar of soap is generic. Picked up without too much attention to detail. It’s larger than yours, less used with how often he comes and goes. You pick it up and let the water run over it, suds forming, before twisting around.
Reluctant to move, he barely lifts his head out from your neck. It hovers just an inch above where it was previously, hanging down so that he’s close to your face, eyes closed yet a small smile gracing his lips. He doesn’t budge from his position as you begin to brush the bar across his skin. Doesn’t even open his eyes. If he wasn’t smiling, you might think he had fallen asleep.
Your chests press together as you go to swipe the soap over his back. Six makes it akin to a hug when he once again gathers you in his arms and tugs you into him. Calloused fingers brush over your spine, following the bones up and down. Another time you might’ve laughed at him practically petting you.
Goosebumps erupt all over your body, water spraying on your backside. Bubbles cover everywhere but his lower half. You’re reluctant to bend down, to move from how he’s got you. Eventually, he does it for you, kissing the top of your head before grabbing the soap and finishing the job.
Then he brings it to your own body, heavy scent clinging to your flesh with each swipe.
He moves slowly. Holding the bar in his big hand and rubbing it over your neck, shoulders, breasts. Pace lessening there, a quick kiss to the shell of your ear before he goes below them and to your stomach. Warm breath fans across your shoulder because he’s leaned down, peering over to see the front of your body. He doesn’t shy away from your hips or lower regions, movements almost measured. Only when it’s time for your legs do you take the soap and let him move in front of you to wash the foam from his own body.
As soon as only water lingers on his skin, he’s back on you, gently grabbing your hips to move you in front of the spray. Wide palms and long fingers splay over wherever he can touch, using his own hands in place of a washcloth. Helping the froth to disappear.
The faucet squeaks as you shut it off, bending over enough that your backside is momentarily shoved against his front. His fingers press into your hips, lips running over the fresh smelling skin of your shoulders. Teeth lightly graze against it, causing a shudder to wrack through your body. You attempt to stand up straight again, but Six just grips you harder, keeping you right there.
“Six?” You inquire, voice higher than normal, suppressing a whine at the feeling.
A breathless reply of, “Yeah?” Before he’s sliding his hands up and over your stomach, feeling the soft flesh there before rising higher. The way he palms at your left breast so suddenly has that same sound releasing from your throat. He hums in content, other hand smoothing down your side. Still so warm even without the steaming water.
Unable and not wanting to move, you remain there. Letting him grope at the tender parts of your body and growing hotter by the second. Something pokes at your ass cheek, and you whisper, “Court?”
That does it. He uses his hold on you to twist you around so that you’re facing him, lips findings yours.
The kiss is strong and desperate, pressing into you like he’s trying to get as close as he can. When he nips at your lower lip, you open up without hesitation. His tongue delves past your teeth to lick at the inside of your mouth, exploring everywhere as if it’s the first time. A deep moan falls into your open jaw, low and entirely desperate.
Once your lips are puffy and nearly numb, he pulls back to admire his handy work. Takes in your fucked out expression before going back in for another taste, hands grabbing at your backside. Palms full of your flesh, squeezing until you whimper into his mouth.
It’s only when you begin to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure does he push you into the shower wall, back against the already cold tile. It pulls a gasp from you, and he swallows it down as it arises. Uses it to shove his tongue even deeper as he moves a leg between your thighs.
The muscles press against your folds suddenly. Six taking advantage of his hold on you to move you down onto the upper part of his limb before you even realize what’s happening. He takes in the moan that follows, sharp grip keeping you stationary as you wiggle at the sensation.
His mouth leaves yours, a string of saliva keeping you connected. The discoloration on his upper lip looks painful, and it’s now that you remember the forming bruise. You go to comment on it. To ask if he’s okay, but he cuts you off with a hand over your parted lips. It’s gentle, yet still gets his point across.
“Not right now,” he breathes, pupils blown. “Talk about it later.”
Got it. No complaints from you, especially when he moves you over his thigh, grinding that sensitive part of you against him.
Your knee touches his growing cock with each movement forward. Just a brush, but it has him jolting. Bending forwards just a fraction, he goes against your mouth again. A quick kiss there, then to your neck. Nipping until the skin goes red, just to soothe the sting away with his tongue. He repeats this until the beginning of bruises appear. Different from the ones that cover him. Born of love rather than hate.
It’s not long until the heat pooling in your stomach turns to tightness. Muscles growing taut in preparation for the rising orgasm that approaches rapidly. He moves in front of your face, noses nearly touching. You whine when he doesn’t move to kiss you, taking the initiative and going forward only for him to pull back. A short, breathless chuckle and eyes glued to yours before he goes next to your ear. “Go on, baby.”
You do as he says. Eyes screwing shut and hole fluttering. All the while he’s growling praises, letting you spasm and holding you upright. You’re glad he’s got you, otherwise you might’ve fallen from how intense the pleasure goes through you. Legs turn to jelly, and you’re barely coming down from it before he’s spinning you around and pressing your chest against the tiles.
He groans your name, word fanning across the damp skin of your back. Hard hips grind into your ass. “Fuck, tell me if you want me to stop. Please.”
When you remain silent, his head drops forwards where your shoulder meets your neck. His hair tickles against your skin. “Want to know why I’m covered in bruises?” Six suddenly asks, like he just lost an internal battle you hadn’t known he’d been having. Your mouth opens to ask him why. To ask why he’s bringing it up right now of all times. He guides his length until the hot head sits against your opening, and the words are lost. Can’t even remember what he said when he shoves up into you, using the wetness brought forth by your orgasm to enter faster than he would otherwise.
It's not until he bottoms out that he continues, mouth right next to your face. “Some idiot in Peru. Fleeing the CIA. Saw some—some bad shit, wanted me to take him out.” He pauses in his explanation to drag himself out of you, only to slam back in. You cry out, half muffled by how your face is pressed against the shower wall. “Easy and quick. Fitz got some mercenaries to fly me out when—original crew got more important plans.” Six scoffs at that, then bites your shoulder before grinding himself further into you.
You can feel yourself leaking down your thighs. Barely able to stay upright with the onslaught that he’s giving you. “Turns out they knew who I was. Fucking jumped on the chance to try and—and get me. Didn’t though,” the words turn into a growl at the end as he lowers until only his head is still inside of you. “One guy blabbered some shit before I,” hips meet your ass again, harder this time. He continues this as he speaks, words only audible over the sound of skin meeting skin because of how close he is to your ear. “Put a—a bullet in him.”
A high pitched, garbled moan that could barely pass for words comes from you. It sounds something along the lines of, “What did he say?”
His cock presses against that spongy part of your insides, reaping something akin to a sob. Adjusting his position, he begins to slowly hit into it again and again. “Said a lot of bullshit,” Six growls, pulling you away from the wall enough to slip a hand between your thighs. “Lot of nothing.” Three fingers find your clit with ease, rubbing leisurely yet constant circles around it. “Knew something, though. Knew enough to guarantee his death.”
Six lets out a groan, high enough in his throat that it’s animalistic and rough. Fingers move faster over your sensitive bud, mirroring the quickening pace of his hips. “Thought they had me,” he says, more to himself than you. “So they—they talked. Too much. Mentioned—Mentioned you.”
In your dazed state, the words take a moment to register. When they do, your eyes widen.
Being Sierra, all of his information has been wiped. Any mention of his past gone. No name to connect a past to. A clean slate that he always intended to keep that way, lest an enemy of Fitz or him find it. By knowing of your existence well enough to know your name—it meant leverage. But it also meant that you were in danger, which is why they were all dead and Six was here, taking you against the shower wall.
You go to say something, but he just rams himself into you. The fingers of his other hand go from gripping your waist to your face, slipping past your swollen lips and into your wet mouth. He effectively cuts off any further comment by laying them over your tongue. Instead of trying to speak, you close your lips over his fingers and lick the skin, the taste of soap filling your mouth.
He brings you to another orgasm, letting you grip his cock with how your muscles tighten and release with it. Doesn’t stop in his pace even when you tremble, moaning around his fingers. Just when you’re about to burst from the overstimulation, his hips stutter against your ass, going as deep as he possibly can before releasing thick ropes of cum inside of you.
The rest of the night you’re inseparable.
You turn the shower on again, washing away the sweat and bodily fluids. Six stays with you, helping you to stand when your muscles want to give out. Urging you to use his soap again to clean everything off of both you and him.
The clock by the door reads four as you pass, but its ticking simply falls into the background with how warm hands remain touching you over the towel. It’s only when you’re laying in bed, as naked as you were in the shower, tightly wrapped in his hold, that you really think about your earlier worries and how he had answered.
He was late not only because of the traitoring mercenaries but also because they had said one of the only things that would warrant complete and utter brutality: your name.
That fact could mean others know of his relationship with you. Could use it against him in the future. Maybe that should worry you more, but in his arms, you’re sure he’ll always be back to you. No matter what others do.
#sierra six#court gentry#sierra six x reader#sierra six x you#court gentry x reader#the gray man#the gray man movie#the gray man netflix#the gray man fanfiction#sierra six fanfiction#sierra six smut#court gentry fanfiction#court gentry smut
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apology
pairing: Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x reader
warnings: SMUT 18+, p in v, fem receiving oral, cream pie, squirting, showering; canon level violence, kidnapping, electrocution, minor blood, guns.
word count: 3,000
summary: You are kidnapped by Lloyd. After Six saves you, the two of you have comfort sex in the safe house you go to. no spoilers.
masterlist
Six had never been in this position before. He was currently tied to a chair in an abandoned factory while being tortured. He wouldn’t have said he was scared, it wasn’t an emotion he really felt anymore, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of his predicament just yet. Lloyd reached for the jumper cables again. Six tensed up, preparing for the next round of questioning. Lloyd leaned down in front of Six so he was level with Six.
“Where is Fitzroy?” Lloyd asked, looking Six dead in the eye.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know,” Six said through gritted teeth.
“Wrong answer,” Lloyd replied. He jabbed Six in the stomach with the cables. Six jolted violently as the electricity ran through his body. Lloyd pulled the cables away and Six coughed loudly.
“Unless you want me to lie, torturing me isn’t going to change my answer,” Six spit out.
“No? Well, it’s a good thing I brought someone else,” Lloyd said smugly. He gave a nod to one of his men and suddenly you were being pushed through the doors at the end of the room. You had a cut on your forehead and duct tape over your mouth. The men sat you down on a chair and tied you to it. Six could hear your muffled shouts as you met his eye. He pulled against his restraints trying to reach out to you.
“Let her go!” Six bellowed.
“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Lloyd taunted. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he started. “If you don’t give me an answer I like then I’m gonna give Princess Six a little jolt with the cables.”
“I don’t know where he is!” Six shouted.
“That’s not what we were looking for,” Lloyd said. He approached you.
“No! No! Stop!” Six shouted. Lloyd paused.
“Why? Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asked. Six looked down at his feet and then up at you. You shook your head at him, trying to keep him from giving in.
“I can call him,” Six said. “I don’t know where he is, but I can call him.”
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?“ Lloyd grinned devilishly. “Get me a phone,” he said to one of the armed men.
“Untie her first,” Six demanded.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Lloyd said. “And if you don’t tell me the number then I’m sure we can work out a punishment for your little girlfriend.”
“She’s my wife,” Six snapped back.
“A nonexistent man with no name and he has a wife. That’s a new one,” Lloyd joked. One of Lloyd’s guards walked in with a phone. “The number?” Lloyd asked, looking at Six. Six relayed the phone number to Lloyd. Lloyd flashed you a flirtatious grin and then put the phone to his ear as he headed out of the room. You were left in the room with Six and one guard. You met Six’s eyes.
“Duck on three,” he mouthed to you. You nodded. You watched as Six quietly mouthed out the count and then you threw yourself to the ground. Six ripped the ties around his wrists with a knife he had concealed and then stood and threw it over where you were lying on the floor to hit the guard in the neck. The guard pulled the knife out, took two steps forward and then fell to the floor, quietly bleeding out. Six raced across the room to you.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Six muttered in a hushed tone. He lifted you from your position on the ground. “We’re gonna get out of here.” He carefully pulled the tape off of your mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Is Fitz going to be okay?” You asked, ignoring his question. Six reached up and gently ran his thumb over the cut on your forehead.
“Are you okay?” He repeated. You nodded.
“I’m okay,” you said.
“Good.” Six let out a relieved sigh.
“What about Fitz?” You asked again.
“He’ll be fine, honey. Right now we just need to get out of here,” he said. He undid the ties around your wrists and you threw your arms around his neck at once. Six raised his hand and gently stroked your hair. You let out a sob that was muffled by Six’s shoulder. “We’re okay.” He soothed you for as long as he could allow, stroking your back softly and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. He pulled away and kissed your forehead.
“Stay here.” Six was gone for only a moment before coming back with a gun. He approached you again.
“Okay, I want you to close your eyes. You’re going to hold onto my shoulder and follow me while we leave,” he said.
“Shouldn’t I have my eyes open? Won’t it be safer?” You questioned.
“No, baby. I don’t want you to see any of this,” he told you.
“Court, it’s okay,” you said. His lips just barely twitched upwards at the sound of his name on your lips. You were the only one who called him by his name anymore. You were the only one besides Fitz who even knew it.
“It’s not. Keep your eyes closed, okay? Promise?” He requested. You nodded.
“Promise,” you agreed. Six headed for the door. He looked back at you.
“Eyes closed, sweetheart. It’s all going to be okay,” he assured you. You gripped the fabric of his shirt over his left shoulder and then shut your eyes tightly.
For the next six minutes you were silent as you listened to gunshots and yelling around you. Your hand held tight to Six’s shoulder until you felt him reach behind himself and give your other hand a squeeze.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said. You opened your eyes and found you were in front of a car. Six pulled open the door. “Get in,” he told you. You ducked into the passenger seat and he closed the door behind you before climbing into the driver’s seat.
Six took off the moment your seat belt was buckled. After he had gotten onto the freeway he reached over and took your hand in his.
“Did they hurt you?” He asked.
“They knocked me out when they kidnapped me, but that’s all,” you said. Six glanced over at you and noticed a bruise forming over your eye beneath the cut on your forehead.
“We should get ice on that,” he said. “I’ll find us a place to stop,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “You don’t need to stop just for a bruise.” Six grimaced. “What?” You asked, noticing his expression.
“I just don’t want you to get used to this,” he said. “I want you safe.”
“I am safe,” you said. “I’m with you.” You gave his hand a squeeze. “Where are we going?”
“Safe house,” he said. “London. We’ll drive to Paris and then take the train,” he explained. You nodded.
By the end of the day you were in a small flat in East London. Court checked all the exits and ensured they were all locked before he retired to the bedroom. You had already gotten in the shower. He climbed in with you, taking the shampoo bottle from your hand as you picked it up. He squeezed some into his hand before gently rubbing it into your hair. You hummed in appreciation.
“Are you okay?” You asked after rinsing the shampoo from your hair and turning to face him. He nodded solemnly.
“I’m with you, darling. I’m always okay when I’m with you.” You nodded and reached up to shampoo his hair for him, standing on your tippy toes to reach the top of his head. He smiled down at you softly. His hands found your hips and he began rubbing slow circles on your bare skin with his thumbs. You looked down at his hands, but something else caught your eye. You looked up at Court with a smirk on your face.
“Something turning you on?” You teased.
“You,” he said with a small smile. He leaned down to kiss you but you spoke before he could.
“On the bed,” you said. Court nodded. He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and turned off the water. He grabbed your hips and pulled you off the ground making you gasp. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down on the sheets gently before climbing over the top of you. He put a hand on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. You reached up and ran your fingers over the stubble on his jaw. Court leaned down and kissed you. His kiss was needy and desperate. He was often like this when he got back from missions. It was like the physical connection reminded him that he was human, and not just the killing machine the CIA had intended him to be. He moved his lips to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses against the tender skin there.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your neck.
“Don’t be sorry,” you replied, running your fingers through his wet hair.
“I want to be,” Court said. “Let me apologize to you.” He slid down your body, nudging your knees apart as he did. You leaned back against the pillows as he began leaving kisses down your stomach and thighs. He settled onto his stomach in front of you and looped his arms around your legs, pulling your thighs apart. He didn’t waste any time, leaning down at once to lick a stripe up your slit.
“So wet,” he murmured.
“I did just get out of the shower,” you joked.
“Not what I meant, princess,” he said before leaning back down. Court circled his tongue around your clit slowly. You let out a small hum of pleasure, but he wanted more. He was a quiet man, but he loved when you got loud for him. He dove his tongue into your waiting hole earning a sharp gasp from you.
“Oh, Court,” you moaned softly. He reached up and ran his fingertips along your folds at the sound of his name. You only used it when the two of you were alone. You’d known him for three months before he had told you his real name, so it felt sacred to use it. Court moved his lips back to your clit, sucking harshly as he slid a finger into you. You let out a breathy moan as he began slowly thrusting in and out of you. He hit the spot inside you that always had you screaming for him and you moaned loudly, closing your thighs around his head. He leaned back slightly so he could speak.
“Keep ‘em open for me, honey,” Court instructed you. You whimpered but grabbed hold of your knees, prying your legs back open. “Good girl,” he praised before leaning back down. He slid a second finger inside you this time, curling them upwards to press against the soft part of your walls. You let out a long high pitched moan. Court groaned at the sounds you were making and began grinding himself slowly against the mattress, seeking any relief. He built a steady rhythm with his thrusts and he began sucking more harshly. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers and he knew you were close.
“Faster,” you moaned. He complied at once, always wanting to give you your every need. He curled his fingers up once more before you were falling apart around him, moaning loudly enough that if the walls weren’t sound proofed, the whole building would have heard.
“Good girl,” he said as he leaned away. He stuck his fingers in his mouth after pulling them out of you. “Taste so good, baby.” You blushed and covered your face in embarrassment. He grabbed your hands and pulled them away from your face. “Don’t do that, you know I like looking at you,” he reminded you.
“Come up here,” you called down to him. He gave you a soft smile before climbing back over you. You spread your legs wide to make room for his body. You reached down and grabbed his cock causing him to groan. You slid his tip along your soaked lips a few times before he pushed into you.
“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. You gasped roughly at the feeling of him inside you. He was a big man, in more than one way and you never seemed to get used to the way he would stretch you out.
“Good?” He asked quietly. You nodded.
“Go ahead.” Court started to move slowly, his thrusts slow and deep, letting you adjust to his length. He let his head drop into the crook of your neck.
“You’re so tight,” he whispered against your skin. “I could die in this pussy.”
“Don’t though,” you joked. He chuckled lightly. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging so that he had to lift his head. He met your eye and you leaned up to kiss him, sliding your tongue into his mouth and tasting the remnants of the watermelon flavored gum he had been chewing earlier. His thrusts were still torturously slow.
He liked to have you like this every now and then. Slow and sweet and loving. You whined when he lifted one of your legs so he could get just a bit deeper.
“Fuck, that feels so good, Court,” you moaned up to him. He moved his hips a bit faster when he heard your words. “Ah! Yes! Like that!” You moaned when you felt the new speed. He reached down and rubbed back and forth quickly over your swollen clit. Before you could register what was happening you were coming again, screaming out expletives as you pulsed around his cock. He pulled his hand away after he’d pushed you through your orgasm. He was still inside you, but he wasn’t moving.
“Can I give you another, baby? I want to give you another,” Court said. You nodded, completely cockdumb by that point.
“Only one more though,” you said. He nodded and kissed your lips lightly. He began thrusting again, faster this time. Your moans were louder now, still sensitive from your first two orgasms. You dug your nails into his shoulder blades leaving red scratch marks behind. Court leaned back and lifted both your legs so that they were in the air, resting against his shoulders. He kept one hand on your calf and the other steadying your hip. You moaned pornographically. “I’m close.” Court pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of your calf.
“Me too, baby. Hold on just a little longer,” he said.
“Harder, Court,” you cried out. He smirked but followed your instructions, thrusting into you more harshly. You were contracting around his cock as you lost yourself in the pleasure.
“Fuck, baby. You’re pulling me in,” Court groaned.
“Come inside me, Court. I want it,” you whined.
“I’ll give it all to you, princess. Give you all my love,” he moaned back. He leaned down so your legs were pushed above your head. You cried out in pleasure and came around him.
“Woah,” Court murmured. You were too lost in the pleasure to ask what he meant, but he thrust into you faster because of whatever he saw and after a few more strokes you felt his warm cum filling you up. He groaned softly as he pushed himself all the way inside you to make sure he pushed his cum in nice and deep. Your legs fell away from his shoulders so they rested against the mattress. Court made a few more lazy strokes, but you put a hand against his chest.
“Too sensitive,” you whimpered.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t be sorry. I can’t handle another apology,” you said. Court chuckled and kissed your nose.
“You gotta get up so I can change the sheets,” Court said, rolling off of you. You whined disapprovingly and tried to grab onto his arm.
“Can’t we do it in the morning,” you complained. He looked down at you like you were missing something obvious. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“Baby, you squirted,” he said. You looked down. between your legs and saw the large wet spot on the sheets.
“Oh,” you said. Your cheeks heated with embarrassment. Court chuckled.
“Don’t be embarrassed, it was really hot,” he said. He tugged on your arm. “C’mon, you can get in the shower again while I change the sheets. I think we need another one.” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed.
“Has to be a bath, Court. I don’t think I can stand for that long,” you said. Sure enough when you stood to get off the bed your legs buckled underneath you. Court grabbed you so that you wouldn’t fall. He chuckled lightly.
“Arms around my neck,” he told you. You wrapped your arms around him and he placed one hand beneath your back as he lifted you beneath the knees to carry you into the bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the tub and started the water. “I’ll be right back, honey,” he said. He started to head out the door.
“Wait!” You called after him. Court turned back to look at you. “Can I have a kiss?” You asked sweetly. He grinned, something you only got him to do on the rarest of occasions, and stepped back towards you. He took your face in his hands and tipped your head up as he pushed his lips against yours. You hummed in the kiss, completely content, the rest of the day now long forgotten.
“Love you,” you murmured against Court’s lips. He smiled as he pulled away.
“Love you too, baby,” he said. You were the only person he ever said it to anymore and he didn’t want it any other way. You were all he needed, and you felt the same.
#courtland gentry x reader#court gentry x reader#sierra six x reader#six x reader#the gray man x reader#court gentry smut#courtland gentry smut#sierra six smut
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Fandom: The Gray Man
Pairing: Court Gentry/Reader, Sierra Six/Reader
Words: ~3K
Type: One-Shot
Title: Into The Woods
Six didn’t talk much, you noticed.
Since he’d been assigned to protect you per your father’s very infuriating insistence, he’d never said much beyond simple introductions. Besides walking in circles around your house and looking at his shoes, he’d done as promised and stayed out of your way. Any further attempts at conversation only left you feeling more confused than when you’d started.
You didn’t mind his presence in your life. After all, he did his job, and he did it well. And that’s what you were: A job. What else beyond that were you meant to ask? He liked to chew gum and had a habit of always giving vague, short answers. Beyond that, he was a closed book, bound and wrapped ten times over with a promise that he would never open.
His secrets would stay locked away from you. You didn’t even know if he had an actual name.
One day, when you’d prompted your father about him, he’d only called him disposable. If something happened to him, nobody would notice. However, that wasn’t completely true. You’d notice. You didn’t think that men like him died and nobody noticed. Sickening suspicion suggested that he probably thought that nobody would mourn his passing, and he would be wrong.
Six possessed a sense of humor underneath all of that passive neutrality, and you wondered if he’d find the concept funny; if he’d find it funny that you’d found it comforting having him at your house, just the two of you while your father was away on a business trip. You’d never found peaceful silence anything comforting, always needing to fill it with conversation, but with him, it just worked.
And when the threat had come, twenty to one were stupidly impossible odds that he’d defeated. Then, he’d whisked you away to a safehouse in the mountains that were too damn cold, and the silence he left between you even colder.
You didn’t think he didn’t like you, but you didn’t really know what he thought about you at all.
Next to the window of the cabin, Six sat in companionable silence, arms draped over his knees and appearing none too bothered by the cold. He didn’t look any different after having killed all of those people, his expression always thoughtful, and always contemplative. If you could, you’d crack his head open and see what sat inside, but you very much liked it intact.
Blankets were drawn tight around you, but it didn’t matter. You were still freezing. Your skin felt clammy, reeking of sweat, bruised and miserable about it and he was acting as if ending lives was like any other day of the week. He had his track jacket, thin and probably not very warm, but you didn’t see the slightest trace of a shiver through the tightly wound cord of muscle on his arms.
He glanced over, just catching your eye before you ducked your head. With a fierce blush, you realized that you’d been staring a hole into him.
“You should get into some different clothes.” He said, only sounding a little amused.
The two of you had jumped into a river to escape the house, your clothes further hindering your ability to get warm. When the attack had started, you’d been walking through the halls and Six had rounded a corner, covered in blood–albeit he’d told you later that it wasn’t his blood and that still hadn’t been a comforting answer. You’d just barely managed to get the words out ‘ Oh my God. What are you–’ before he’d moved past you, telling you to follow him, to keep your head down and not to ask until you were both out.
You figured there was danger, and he hadn’t grabbed you, so you’d had no choice but to stumble after him. Outlines of men, bodies , on the floor, tucked back into corners had barely been discernible through the dark. If it hadn’t been for Six knowing the house better than you did somehow, you doubted that you would’ve made it very far on your own.
You had an affinity for scared, lost things that looked tough on the outside–your father had a tough time convincing you to rehome the animals you brought home–but you knew that was stupid. Sitting there with Six as he draped a musty smelling blanket over your shoulders, even after everything that had happened, his hands were steady.
He was a murderer–good at it in fact–and you believed that he should probably be in jail, but you were safe with him. You trusted him and he was probably the only person in the world besides your father that held the honor.
“Did that bother you?” You asked. You looked up as he shifted back to the window. He wasn’t looking at you, and although you were sure that it was part of his job–keeping watch–he was avoiding your eyes for some other reason entirely. “Back at the house?”
His answer was immediate. “Just another Thursday.”
So was yours. “It’s Tuesday.”
Six cracked a smile, the barest upturn at the corners of his mouth, but you took great pride in that.
“I know that you had to kill those people, but when did it start getting easier? I think about it, seeing them like that , and I just can’t imagine…” You couldn’t finish it, feeling as if you put a foot in your mouth already. Your eyebrows drew down. You hugged the blankets tighter.
“I do what they tell me to do.” There was no edge in his voice–never was. He didn’t lean on any of the words. He probably didn’t know anything else. Not anymore. You wondered what his life was like before all of this.
Maybe it’d been so long that he’d forgotten.
“I’m sorry.” You apologized. “I’m sure it’s not something that you want to talk about–”
He shook his head, and once again, his attention was back to the window, at anything but you.
You couldn’t help yourself, the possibility permanently embedded at the back of your mind, suffocating until you got it out of your system and into the open–hoping for an answer that wasn’t as vague as Six himself was. You squinted, scrutinizing his appearance. “If it wasn’t because of me–I mean if you weren’t protecting me, what would you be doing?”
“Prison, maybe.”
“Oh. ”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
You were, but you couldn’t let him know that. You quirked a small smile. “You look the type.”
He scoffed. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He sounded so awkward that you tried not to laugh. It wasn’t that it was funny, but you’ve come to know what hysteria feels like and you’re verging on the edge of whether if you don’t laugh, you’ll start crying.
You wondered if he had a preference.
Six looked relieved to have this aspect of the conversation over, however. It was snowing, heavy, flat flakes coursing through a darkened sky. Wind howled through the trees. It was beyond you how he saw anything at all, the idea that he was looking out for some other reason only further cemented in your subconscious.
“Do you think they followed us up here? That they made it through the pass?”
He shrugged. “If they did, they won’t get far.”
You didn’t think that they would. Hours ago, you were driving through it while he hung outside the passenger window and blew their pursuers to pieces. It’d been difficult to manage a car up a bumpy pass while the sound of gunfire raged in your ears. You remembered screaming, high pitched but also guttural and blood curdling; screaming so loud that you nearly took your hands off the wheel and let fate sort itself out. You may have been ready to just let them take you. Kill you. You could have been collateral damage if that wouldn’t hurt Six’s career in the process.
Water had soaked the driver’s seat, your hair and clothes plastered in frost while your teeth chattered hard enough to bounce out of your skull. You’d been shaky and nauseous when you finally made it, but he was ushering you inside before you could find your feet, the squelch of your boots and wet socks following you into the cabin. Your stomach had lurched and nearly vomited up everything you’d eaten, and everything you planned to eat later.
You lost time after that. It could have been hours ago, and yet somehow it felt like lifetimes.
Trying to make conversation with Six had that effect on you.
“Is this your place?” You prodded further, attempting to fill the silence with something.
“Something like that.” He looked at you, really looked at you now. Even after witnessing him put so many people into the ground single-handedly, you didn’t flinch. He’d never had that kind of power over you, and he didn’t want it. In the dim light, his looks hadn’t changed. Same facial scruff and blonde hair that you had come to know so well after the last few months. Six didn’t look soft to you, and you didn’t think that he was supposed to, but he didn’t look any less human either. He also didn’t look tired. Maybe there was some kind of release from mowing your enemies down.
You wouldn’t know, but that didn’t sound like something you should ask.
You gathered the blankets a little closer; looked around. The cabin was small, barely space for one. There was a small dining area, a couch, and shelves stocked with essential supplies that looked as if they had been gathering dust for a long time. There was a sleeping bag though, and a closet that you held a sneaking suspicion was full of guns.
Knowing Six, you were dead certain that’s what it was.
You shivered.
The lamp was lit, but it was dim and barely cast a shadow. You thought that maybe that was all Six could handle for now, too cautious that someone unsavory would see, and would find them, and they’d spend the next few hours trekking in the freezing wilderness again with scarcely anything except his intuition that he knew where they were going.
You just barely caught a glimpse of Six before he was standing in front of you, holding out a stack of neatly folded clothes.
“It’s dry.” He said, his smile dry and a little wan, but you took solace in anything you could get from him. Your heart picked up its pace a little, but you shoved that aside for now.
You took them, looked around awkwardly and saw nothing resembling a private space to go change in. He was still standing there, and you were acutely aware of that. “Can you…” You moved your finger in a circular motion, unsure how to voice the question.
His face switched seamlessly from simple confusion to realization. He nodded, turned and faced the wall, avoiding the reflection in the window before maneuvering off into the small kitchen. You heard the sound of water running, and the wrestling of tea bags. It was startlingly endearing; Six being who he was somehow still polite and understanding how such a thing would be awkward.
Nonetheless, you undressed. The blanket dropped to the floor as you peeled off your shirt; filthy and you begrudgingly realized that it would never take back its vibrant colors again. Next was your jeans, and although you felt awkward, you stopped being childish and removed your underwear. Six wasn’t looking at you anyway, and even if he did, you doubted that you’d be the first woman that he saw like this before. The last thing was your boots. You tossed them off to the side and flexed your numb toes, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sight of socks in the pile. It was the little things sometimes.
Inside the cabin had become quiet and still while you changed, the flurry of snow outside and the tension in Six’s muscles underneath his shirt. You flexed your numb fingers next, wondering how warm they’d be against him, the warmth that was sure to come if you buried your head in between his shoulder blades and absorbed what he had to offer.
You’d shimmied into one of his track suits, a hoodie and some socks: black and red because that had come to be recognized as his colors. Everything was way too big, but it was warm. The material was soft, and it smelled like him.
Your hair was another story, but thankfully you could throw that up if you really wanted.
“You can turn around now.”
He did, albeit slowly, as if he was giving you a final few seconds to cover up, two cups of tea in hand.
You earned a little half-smile when he saw how badly his clothes fit, his absence of words expected but still a little disappointing. You settled onto the couch–It smelled musty and wet and completely and utterly disgusting, but it was comfortable–while he brought the tea over and handed you one.
He leaned back against an end table to drink his own.
You looked down at your reflection in your cup, fingers skimming around its circumference. “Why do you think that they tried to take me instead of going after my father directly?”
He hovered by the couch, more focused on his own tea than your questions. “Leverage most likely.”
“So, if not for me, then they’d have no leverage against him.” You sipped, the tea scalding your tongue. Both of you had an understanding about that. You knew by his sudden change in expression. He got it. You’re a liability.
“It wouldn’t matter either way, I think.” Six said earnestly.
“Why not?” You asked. “Because without me, they would find a way to hurt my father anyway?”
He frowned, looking as if he wanted to say something, but stopped. He looked down at his mug.
You drew the blankets tighter around yourself, feeling more secure within your little barrier. The little heater was trying its best to warm the place up but between the weather, and Six’s silence, it was failing miserably.
“You can sleep if you want.” For the first time, he sounded uncomfortable.
“I don’t think I could.”
He didn’t tell you that you should, or it was what was best for you, or how he’ll watch out for you. Instead, he grabbed the remaining sleeping bag and sunk down on the couch himself, long legs splayed out in front of him.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, through his hair, closed his eyes for a long moment and you’re almost certain that you heard him humming the first few notes to an old record–one your father played a lot in his study. You wondered if there’ll ever be a time when Six no longer surprised you. If you’ll ever come to understand why he is the way he is.
“You know, I care.” You said and that edge was back.
He opened his eyes and glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.
“Whether you were safe.” You clarified. “My father called you disposable, but you’re not.”
“That’s the whole reason that I’m here,” he said, and you could hear the certainty in his words, how strongly he’d meant them. “Because I am.”
“I meant to me.”
He didn’t say anything, and you were grateful. Things were fucked up for the both of you; complicated and you weren’t completely sure what you wanted him to do with that information anyway. You thought that maybe people like him didn’t have the capacity to think outside the current. “I guess … I guess I’m just glad you were there. That you’re here .”
You shivered violently then, the heat doing nothing to warm you and the copious amounts of blankets even less. You’re freezing, whether from the snow outside or the emotions you’re just expended you don’t know, but you were moments away from turning into an icicle.
He looked you up and down, and then he extended a hand across the couch.
You’d think about the consequences of it later, giving up the cold safety of the couch for the reckless warmth of him. Teeth chattering, you moved over and sunk into his side, laying your head against the crook in his shoulder. He shifted to accommodate you.
You don’t talk. Not for a long time anyway. You bundled under the blankets and sleeping bags and he held you close with his cheek against your head, and you listened to the wind outside, the cracking of trees in the distance.
He sighed out through his nose, and you hoped that meant that he was relaxed.
“You feeling better?” He asked eventually.
You nodded. “Much.”
You felt his smirk more than you saw it, imagining how his mouth twisted slightly at the edges. It would be gone before you looked.
You didn’t turn; didn't want to ruin the moment. For the first time that day, you felt content. You pressed closer, breathed gently into his neck, felt his pulse jump.
“They didn’t choose you because of your father.”
You let the moment stretch, refusing to give much thought to where it was going or why. You allowed yourself the time to absorb this new revelation, to understand it. You guessed it changed everything, but nothing. You didn’t know what to do with it either way.
He looked like he might say something, like he was searching for the words in his head but couldn't find them, locked somewhere else. Six was violent in most aspects of his life, and you wondered how this could be any different.
You looked up at him, fully expecting him to say something about needing to go back to work instead of talking to you. You waited for it, steeled yourself for the disappointment that was sure to come your way. He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned into you, closed his eyes, covering your hand at your waist with his own. You waited for him to part his fingers so that you could slide yours between them.
“So what you’re saying is that there are a lot of people pissed off at you?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess it’s good you’re like a super soldier, then.”
“After expenses, I’m more like a soldier of the middle class.”
You smiled, laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. The silence in the cabin didn’t seem so strained. It was you, and him, suddenly much warmer than you ever thought possible. You still felt as if you didn’t know much about Six, most certainly not, but something about the moment made you believe that you were headed in the right direction to figuring it out.
For now, that was all that mattered. Once the two of you made it out, alive and well, then… then you would see.
#the gray man#sierra six#Sierra six/reader#court gentry#court gentry/reader#the gray man 2022#sierra six x reader#court gentry x reader#the gray man fanfiction#the gray man fanfic
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Some Kind of Torture
Pairing: Court Gentry (Sierra Six) x Agent F!Reader
Warnings: Oh boy! Torture, blood, injury, weapons, death, sex (it's protected, though!)
Word Count: Like 2k?
A/N: This movie is living rent-free in my mind right now. Court needs all the love. Lloyd stans begone.
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Six is no stranger to pain.
In fact, he does some of his best work when he's in pain. He thrives in it.
There's a dull ache in his face from the butt of the gun that had struck him earlier, and parts of his shirt are wet with blood that has bloomed from the wounds on his torso.
He focuses on the throbbing, the stinging, the burning. Every ache keeps him grounded.
The man in front of him mutters something in Russian to a soldier in fatigues on the other side of the room. Six catches some of it- "battery", "cables".
He knows what's coming.
It's not like the spy thrillers he used to watch as a kid- there's no car battery wired up to jumper cables or live wires pulled from the power box here.
The charger is on wheels, hooked up to two paddles not unlike those of a defibrillator.
Six focuses intently on a crack in the wall.
"Last chance to talk," the man speaks with a thick accent as he switches on the machine and it hums to life, electronic gauges reflecting a voltage Six knows too well.
"I'll pass, thanks," he delivers the retort without a second thought, eyes still focused on the wall. He remembers to keep his tongue behind his teeth.
The first shock is short. At most, 3 seconds.
Every muscle in his body contracts, straining at the ropes that bind him until the paddles leave his exposed chest.
"Not the answer you wanted, Drago?" Six smirks as the man screws up his face in anger.
The second shock is longer.
"You want the pain to stop? Talk."
"Nah, I'm starting to like it."
The man adjusts the dial to a higher voltage. Six ponders the origin of the crack in the wall.
Outside the door, there's a sudden commotion- the sound of bodies hitting the wall and muted gunshots. A man's voice yells something in Russian and a shot pings off the metal door.
"That doesn't sound good," Six cocks his head as the hallway outside goes quiet and the man exchanges a furtive glance with the soldier in the room, "Not even gonna check on your pals?"
In an instant, the metal door is off its hinges, erupting in a cloud of debris. The soldier takes a bullet between the eyes before he can even react.
The torturer isn't far behind. His body hits the floor with a muted thump and the paddles clatter to the floor beside him.
Six's ears are ringing as you step out of the cloud of debris and into focus.
"Took you long enough. The rope almost disintegrated on its own," he jerks his head backward and you roll your eyes.
"A simple 'thank you' would suffice."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot my manners when I had 200 volts on my chest," Six retorts.
You move behind him and slash the ropes on his wrists and ankles. The unblinking eyes of the torturer seem to follow your every move. A thin line of blood oozes between them and curves along the bridge of his nose, pooling on the floor at Six's feet.
"We have no ride home for the time being," you sheathe your knife as Six rises slowly to his feet, "But there's a safe house in Saint Petersburg."
--
The safe house is dull- windowless and devoid of furniture, save for a bed and a kitchen table.
There's a shower, though, and that's all Six cares about right now.
His shirt clings to him as he unbuttons it and peels it from his body, caked with blood and sweat from two days of imprisonment.
You watch him from the doorway, eyes transfixed on his form as he undresses. He has more scars than you can count- a roadmap of his years of service to the agency.
"See something you like?" Six cocks and eyebrow and you laugh in return. He loves that sound.
Hell, he loves you.
Six didn't think it was possible to feel the way he does about you.
He feels like a lovesick schoolboy, able to drop his hardened exterior, if even just for a moment.
The shower is refreshing, melting away the blood that is dried to his skin. Six watches it circle the drain until the water runs clean. He slings a towel around his waist and makes his way to the bedroom.
You're sitting on the bed, engrossed in a novel you've been trying to finish for months. You've re-read the same sentence six times.
"Still working on that book, huh?" Six smirks and you sigh in defeat.
You let your eyes wander across his broad chest, down his stomach and to the frayed edge of the towel that dips just below his navel. You feel as if you're about to vibrate out of your body with spare energy- a way you always felt after a successful mission.
"You need to blow off some steam, baby?" Six croons, his mouth twitching into a sly smile. He loves the way you look up at him, doe-eyed and like putty in his hand.
Before you can even nod your head, his mouth is crashing into yours, teeth nipping at your lip. He slips the towel from his waist and lets out a lustful groan when your hand brushes against his cock. He slips his tongue into your mouth and swallows your moan when his hand palms your breast through your shirt.
"Lose the clothes," he mutters against your mouth, and you comply without hesitation, pulling away for a moment to shed your shirt and jeans.
"Damn," Six lets the word fall from his mouth before he can stop it, his eyes raking over your body hungrily as you lie back on the bed.
"See something you like?" you echo his earlier remark and he grins in return.
Six rummages in the wallet on the nightstand until he finds a condom, slipping it on before climbing on top of you. He hikes your legs up around his waist and buries himself inside you with a breathless moan.
"Court-" you stutter out his name and he feels his head go light at the sound of it.
No one calls him Court anymore. Only you.
Six wishes he could stay like this forever- lost in you and punchdrunk on the feeling.
Each of his thrusts is overwhelming, the angle lets him hit you so deeply that you can hardly think straight.
"Fuck-" Six drops his forehead to yours as he fucks you, "You feel so good, baby."
It's strange to hear his little terms of endearment fall from his lips- so out of character for the calm and collected agent you see in the field.
He pulls back from you and snakes a hand between your legs, brushing his rough thumb over your clit and sending a shockwave through you.
"Court, please," you whimper and he feels his chest swell with pride at the way he's making you feel.
"You close?" he murmurs and you nod frantically. He wants to send you over the edge. He needs it.
Six works your clit, thumb expertly circling the tender nerves as he fucks you. He drops his mouth to your chest and takes one of your nipples in his mouth, grinning against your breast when you arch up into him.
"You gonna cum for me?"
His words send you toppling over the edge, clawing at his chest as you crest your high and cry out his name.
He wishes he could listen to that sound on repeat.
Six knows he's close now- he can feel the tension in his gut as he rocks against you with with building desperation. You whine beneath him, his name tumbling from your lips as he pushes you far past your orgasm and into the unbearable.
One final stuttering thrust and he's done, panting and sweating in the quiet of the safe house bedroom. He kisses your forehead before pulling out slowly, chuckling when you whine at the sudden absence of him.
"Feel better?" Six glances over his shoulder as he heads to the bathroom to clean up.
"Mhmm," is all you can muster in response.
When he returns, he climbs into bed next to you and you melt into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder as he wraps a broad arm around your frame.
Six wishes he could have you like this every night- to give you the domesticity he knows you deserve.
But he can't right now. You both know that.
For now, nights like this will have to do.
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save me - court gentry/sierra six x reader
Plot: When reader is kidnapped by Lloyd and his gang, Six comes to save her.
Pairing: Sierra Six/Court Gentry (I use both names in this) x Female!Reader
Warnings: 18+ Please! Mentions of death, kidnapping, violence, torture, graphic descriptions of blood and injury, weapons/guns, and shooting. Also Lloyd Hansen being a creepy POS.
Notes: Look. I’ve always loved Ryan Gosling, even before I discovered Sebastian, and when I watched the Gray Man, I knew I had to write something for Six. If you have any requests for him please let me know!
Once again, not beta’d so any mistakes are my own.
Struggling against the zip ties binding her to the chair armrests, Y/N watches the men surrounding her, each with a large gun strapped to their belts. What felt like only less than an hour ago, she was walking home, her mind filled with boring things, like what she’s going to have for dinner or how her boyfriend is doing. And then, her life turned upside down, and she was snatched off the street. She fought back as hard as she could, but they still shoved her into the trunk of a car and drove away. And now she’s here, tied to a chair in what looks like some kind of fancy ass castle, with no sign of her boyfriend anywhere. Of course, despite how much he tries to hide it, she knows that danger comes with dating Court. After all, as a CIA assassin, he has a lot of enemies who want to do a lot of damage to them.
Deep down, she always knew a day like this would come. When his other life would bleed into their domestic life together, and put them both at risk. Yet, despite the no doubt countless risks to her life, Y/N started ignoring them after a while. Of course it was stupid to ignore them, and she knows that now, but Court always promised that he’d keep her safe, and after all the years they had with nothing actually happening…Y/N believed him, and stopped thinking she was in danger.
Y/N’s eyes move around the room, looking for a potential escape route if she somehow gets out of here. They didn’t tie her legs to the chair, so she might be able to make it out. But she doesn’t have much hope. No doubt the men with guns will stop her before she gets to the door. As she sits there, awaiting her death, Y/N’s thoughts drift to Court, and where he is. Of course, she hopes that he knows where she is, and that he’s on his way to save her. Most of all though, she hopes he’s safe. She knows that Court’s more than capable of handling villains by himself, but these guys seem to be the very definition of armed and dangerous. Even if she doesn’t make it out here alive, she hopes that Court does.
Suddenly, the door opens, interrupting her thoughts. Y/N watches as a man enters. Whoever he is, he’s swearing about something, and he looks furious. And he definitely has questionable tastes in facial hair. But then, he lays eyes on her and grins, instantly switching off his rage. “Ah, you must be Y/N.” He pulls up a chair, sitting across from her. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Lloyd.”
“What do you want with me?” Lloyd doesn’t answer her question, and instead continues to watch her, his blue eyes studying her intently. Her blood chills.
“You know, you are so beautiful. I can see what Six saw in you. Depending how things go, maybe we could grab some dinner after this.” He grins, causing her stomach to churn. When he gets no response, Lloyd huffs. “You do realise I’m giving you a compliment, right? You’re supposed to say thank you.”
“…Thanks.” She mumbles.
“Sorry, what was that? You’re going to have to be a lot louder than that, sweetheart.” When she repeats herself, he grins. “Good girl. Now that we’re acquainted with each other, the fun can really start. Where’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.” Lloyd sighs, tutting slightly.
“Not good enough. Where is he?” Y/N repeats her answer again, swearing that she has no idea where her boyfriend is to Lloyd’s continued questions. With every repeated insistence, Y/N can see him getting angrier, but she doesn’t know what else he’s expecting from her. After all, she’s telling him the truth.
“What do you want with him, anyway?” She asks, watching Lloyd warily as he continues to stare at her, peering over at her like a shark watching its prey.
“He has something that belongs to me.” He leans in close, tracing a finger along her jawline. When she shudders, he smirks. “So I’ve taken something that belongs to him for a fair trade. Hopefully, for your sake, he gets here soon.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” Y/N hisses. She tries to kick him with her free leg, but Lloyd dodges it. Immediately, someone grabs her shoulder, harshly pulling her back into the chair.
“Oh, you’ve got some fire in you. I like that.” Lloyd smirks. “Just a shame it won’t do you any good.” Without another word, he raises his hand, striking her across the face hard. The sound reverberates across the room, as does Y/N’s cry of pain. Before she even has a chance to say something, another hit lands. Pain floods through her body, and Y/N bites her tongue hard to stop a cry from slipping out.
“Is that…the best you’ve got?” She asks, ignoring the blood running down her face. Lloyd laughs, an awful, cruel laugh that sends shivers down her spine. This man is a fucking maniac.
“Oh…no, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”
After some time, Lloyd finally relents on his attack on Y/N. Y/N winces, trying to move her body into a more comfortable position. The zip ties on her wrists are digging in, so much so she has to bite her cheeks to stop the pain as tears stream down her cheeks. Lloyd broke all her fingers in his attempt to extract the truth from her. She still held strong and continued to maintain the truth about Court’s location, but fuck, she’s in so much pain. The flow of blood has exacerbated, and even breathing and crying hurts now.
Suddenly, the sound of a ringtone cuts through the air. “What did I say about phones when I’m working?” Lloyd huffs.
“I think it’s yours.” One of the armed men says. Lloyd’s eyebrow rises, and he finally stops his assault on Y/N. As he goes to answer it, the deep red of Y/N’s blood still staining his hand, Y/N lets out a breath of relief. It’s over. At least, for now.
“What the fuck?!” Lloyd’s anger fills her ears, and she jumps. “You’re supposed to be the best in the world at what you do, yet you can’t even handle one fucking man?” Y/N frowns for a moment, until the penny drops.
Court. He’s here. Y/N’s thoughts are confirmed when Lloyd turns back to her, another creepy smile on his face. “Well. Looks like your Prince Charming is here, after all.” Hope fills her every being as she imagines Court coming to save her. Yet, despite how hopeful she is, it’s overshadowed by her fear. She can see the cracks in Lloyd’s facade, and how his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. And despite everything Lloyd has done to her so far…seeing that look on his face makes her the most afraid she’s ever been. Lloyd’s a total sociopath, and he could do anything to Court. And it’ll probably be much, much worse than what he did to her. “I better give him a warm welcome.”
“No. Stay away from him!” Y/N begs. Lloyd chuckles.
“Sorry sweetheart. No can do.” Once more, he bends in close, lifting his hand to touch her once more. Fuelled by rage and fear, Y/N spits in his face, her blood spraying against his cheek. Even though she knows that it was a pretty badass thing to do, Y/N regrets it as soon as she does it. Lloyd isn’t the type of person you should piss off.
Lloyd doesn’t say anything, only seethes with anger. The silence is agonising the longer it goes on, and Y/N’s body chills as she wonders what he’s going to do next, and which body parts she’s about to lose. Suddenly, Lloyd starts laughing again. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that. And not just because I liked this shirt. If you’re sure you want my friends and I to kill you and your boyfriend, then so be it.” He shrugs, getting up and walking towards the door, gesturing for the armed men to follow him.
“No Lloyd, wait! Please!” Y/N screams, shouting after him. “Please don’t hurt him!”
“Too late, sweetheart. You’ve made your choice.” He announces. And then, he’s gone, and Y/N is alone.
Y/N sits in silence as she waits for someone, anyone, to return. Her entire body aches, but her fears for Court and his safety are even more painful. Of course, with a life like Court’s, Y/N always knew that a day might come when she loses him forever. But this is the first time she actually thought it would happen. And it scares the shit out of her. If he dies, what’s going to happen to her? Then again, she’s probably going to die too. Tears flow down her face once more. She isn’t ready for it to end. Not like this.
Suddenly, muffled gunshots sound from outside the room, and the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up. Whoever it is, they’re heading straight for her. As the doorknob turns, Y/N braces herself for what’s about to happen. However, to her surprise, and immense relief, the person who opens the door is who she least expects to see.
“Court?” she gasps. In what feels like a second, he’s by her side, trying to cut through the ties binding her wrists.
“Y/N, oh god. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, Y/N notices the amount of blood covering her boyfriend and staining his shirt.
“W-What happened to you? Are you bleeding?” He doesn’t respond, which makes her even more worried. “Court!” She demands.
“I’m fine, I promise.” He finally replies. “Lloyd got me a few times, but it’s nothing I haven’t handled before. Just a little scratch.” She doesn’t believe him at first, yet before she can say anything else, her wrists are free, and Court takes her into his arms, squeezing her for dear life protectively. “It’s okay. Lloyd’s gone. I took care of him. You’re safe now. It’s over.” He whispers. As soon as she registers that she’s in his arms once more, the whole situation hits Y/N then, and she breaks down in tears once more.
“I thought I’d never see you again.” She whimpers.
“Me too. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here.” He whispers, kissing every inch of her face and squeezing her tightly, as if he’ll never let go. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
“I love you.” She sobs. “So much.”
“I love you too. Can you walk?” He asks. Nodding, Y/N takes a few steps, but stumbles a little. Without another word, Court wraps his arm around her, keeping her steady. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Come on. Let’s go home.”
#his arms are...so big. i want them to hold me#court gentry x reader#court gentry x you#court gentry x y/n#sierra six x reader#sierra six x you#sierra six x y/n#court gentry#sierra six#the gray man spoilers#the gray man#the gray man fanfic#the gray man fanfiction
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Oooofff that gif set of Six in that black shirt 🤤 him fucking you up against the wall while he wears that and those gloves
BESTIE.
Yes.
NSFW thoughts under the cut. 18+ only.
Can you imagine him fingering you while wearing those gloves, his lips on your neck as he works you to orgasm? How he would shush you and tell you to be quiet so you're not discovered while he uses his big body to press you into the wall. You’d have nowhere to go, nothing to do except take the pleasure he gives you. When you come, he’d silence your cries with a gloved hand over your mouth and press kisses to your forehead as you fluttered around his fingers. Then he’d urge you to turn around.
"Hands on the wall," he’d direct, tapping your feet with his boots to get you to widen your stance. Then he’d reach down to pull your dress up and tug your underwear aside.
"Ready?" He would ask, waiting for you to nod before filling you with one powerful thrust because at the end of the day, Six is the king of consent.
You’d both groan at the feel of him and you’d push, trying to take more of him but his hands on your hips would stop you. He’d want to control the pace, starting slow, dragging his cock in and out of your wet heat to work you up again. He’d love to get you trembling and desperate, begging him. He’d want you to need him so bad you're not even aware of what you're saying anymore. Nonsensical pleas for more and yes and oh god.
Only then would he fuck you like you both want, hard and fast but still somehow gentle because it’s Six and even when he’s violent there’s something sweet there for you.
#sierra six thoughts#sierra six x reader#court gentry x reader#sierra six x you#sierra six imagine#court gentry imagine#court gentry x you#court gentry#sierra six#the gray man#the gray man fic
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I am so down bad for this man it’s not evEN FUNNY ANYMORE
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hello there! i absolutely adore your writing and saw that requests were open so i decided to send one in :) could you perhaps write a sierra six x reader where six has been acting kind of strange all day and the reader is confused. he’s just been avoiding eye contact and shyer so the reader teases him. from the reader’s teasing one thing leads to another and there’s eventual smut. but while they have sex he’s still acting all shy and stuff. sorry if this is kinda confusing hahaha. thank you!
Shy Boy | Sierra Six x Reader
warning: smut (female dominance) , court gentry being a very shy boy.
word count: 653
A/n: hey hey!! i hope you enjoy this!! shy shy court gentry is very sweet to write! lmk if you have any other shy court request!! I also really love that you enjoy my writing! thank you so much for requesting something!
How were you supposed to know what goes through the Court's mind? He had always been distant about the thoughts that swirled in his head but today, today was different. The man wouldn't look at you and when he did he would just blush and return his focus to the last thing he was doing. It aggravates you, the man you love was ignoring you, or more so was so shy and flustered he couldn't look at you. You didn't know which one was worse; being ignored or your lover being shy towards you.
This went on for about a few hours. You decided to take things into your own hands and tease him relentlessly. It was easy to tease Court on a normal day but because he had been so shy and distant lately you knew your boldness would catch him more off guard than normal.
“Hey baby” you said, in a little bit of a huskier tone than normal. Court looked up from the book he was reading on the couch to see you above him. His cheeks reddened and he blushed.
“Hey…” he said, drawing out his sentence. “What are you um, up to?”
“Oh me, not much just wondering what you're doing” you said to him, you slowly sat down in his lap letting your hands run over his shirt. His book ended up on the floor and his hands found your waist.
“Baby?” he asked shyly. You knew your mission like you knew the map of him. You unbuttoned his shirt slowly keeping your eyes on his. He never broke eye contact, even when his shirt found the floor.
“Still shy?” you asked, and the little nod he gave you helped you know that tonight, you were in control of everything, “Okay baby”
That night it was you in controle, it was your turn to dictate what happens. Normally you would want him to control it, want him to make you beg, but tonight it was enticing wanting to hear the begging come from him. The bed was warm from the afternoon sun on it and the almost sunset light gave Court a new glow.
He was still shy under you, still glowing in that light while you rode him and was still so shy about making a sound while you gave him pleasure. Your hips rocked back and forth on top of him sending waves into you and his soft whimpers from under you made you rock harder on top of him. The slight bounces broke Court from his shy trance and once the moans from both of you filled the room the man that you loved with came back to you all shyness gone. He took over letting you fall on top of him, kissing your neck while he pounded into you, making you feel breathless. His hips satisfied you, and satisfied the shy boy under you.
He laid next to you. Skin exposed to the now pink and orange sky. You turned towards him, the apartment windows letting all the sunset light, pinks oranges and blues just cascaded over the room and the two of you. “Why all the shyness Court?” you asked, breaking silence.
“I…didn't know how to talk about what I wanted” he said, a little shy but not as shy as before.
“What did you want?” you asked, concerned letting yourself sit up to face him.
“You, in control” he told you, your smile broke the awkwardness making Court sigh in relaxation.
“If you want me in controle, ask, i'll do it again” You told the man you loved and Court took you in his arms, the heat and sweat not bothering you as he hugged you. The two of you fell asleep to the setting sun and the comfort of the two of you.
"I love you y/n" he whispered before you both fell into a comfortable and relaxing sleep.
#the grey man#the grey man fan fiction#court gentry#court gentry x reader#i am so in love with six its not even funny#sierra six x reader#sierra six#sierra six x you#i love ryan gosling
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Wide Open Spaces | Cowboy!Court x F!Reader
Pairing: Cowboy!Court Gentry x F!Reader
Summary: After ending your five-year relationship, you find out your beloved Aunt left you her small Ranch out in the country. Desperate to get away from the city, you happily up and move several states away for a fresh start. What happens when you find out your new neighbor is a hot single dad? (Court and Claire have taken on their new life of father & daughter after the events of the movie and settled down on a ranch.)
Warnings: Court being a sexy Cowboy, Claire meddling in Court's love life, and mentions of a deceased family member.
Word Count: 4k
A/N: I haven't posted anything in FOREVER, and honestly....I have missed it. The new photos of Ryan have inspired me to write a fic (that will probably turn into a series) about Cowboy Court. I hope you all love this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!
As you stepped out of your car, you sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. It was so much different than the city air you had been breathing for the last five years. There was none of the usual exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, and the lingering smell of fast food from two blocks away here. You cast your gaze over the home your aunt had left you when she passed. It had been years since you’d been here, and it looked like it had been quite a while since anyone had. The house wasn’t in total disrepair, but it was clear that no one had lived here in the three years your aunt was in assisted living. The wooden steps beneath your feet creaked as you climbed them, the railing wobbly when you placed your hand on it. Your nose scrunched in disgust as you had to bat away a few cobwebs, thankful that there weren’t any spiders on them at the time. You dug your new set of keys out from your purse and pushed it into the lock. A smile crept across your face as the lock twisted easily, but when you simply pushed on the door to open, it wouldn’t budge.
After putting all of your weight against the door, you nearly barreled through it into your aunt’s foyer. Well, you supposed it was yours now. As you maneuvered into the living room, a sneeze overcame you. Wow, you were going to have to put dusting at the top of your list. All of your aunt’s furniture sat right where she left it, just coated in a heavy layer of dust. The style wasn’t exactly to your taste, but it was better than having nothing. Sure, you had some furniture back in the city, but it was easier just to leave it there. Those pieces held too many memories that you wanted to forget, and it made it easier to move several states away without any help. After all, with your aunt gone now, all you had was, well, you.
As you explored the house, grimacing at the state of a few rooms, you found yourself back in the kitchen. It was going to be difficult, but this fresh start was exactly what you needed. Leaning yourself against the sink, you gazed out the window in front of you. Your aunt’s land wasn’t ginormous by any means, but there was a stable for horses, a small barn, and plenty of fenced in yard. In the distance, you could see a man on a horse. You assumed that must be your new neighbor. He was too far away to notice much, but the cowboy hat on his head and tan leather jacket that covered his broad shoulders was enough to intrigue you. The sudden sound of a knock on your door pulled you from your staring.
“I’m coming,” you called out as you made your way back to the foyer. You certainly weren’t expecting any visitors, but you figured it was probably the wife of the man you had just been ogling from a distance. However, when you opened the door, you were greeted by a girl who looked no older than sixteen.
“Uh, hello,” you greeted.
A wide smile was spread across the girl’s face. “Hi! I’m Claire, your new neighbor.” She gestured towards the land besides yours, and for the first time you noticed the plate of cookies in her hand. “Can I come in? I made these for you.”
You let a smile grace your features as you nodded and took a step back. “Of course, come on in.” As Claire stepped into your home, you felt the need to apologize for the state of it. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” You began as you led her towards the kitchen.
Claire shook her head, cutting you off. “No, it’s okay. No one’s been here in years.” She glanced around as she followed you. “I actually met your aunt right before she went into assisted living about three years ago.” She admitted. “She was a really nice lady.”
You nodded your head solemnly as you thought of your recently deceased family member. “Yeah, she was.” A wave of guilt washed over you as you wished you had visited her more often, or you know, at all. But, you were busy living your life and always put it off.....You called her monthly, sometimes weekly, but you never stepped foot onto a plane to come and visit. You always thought you’d have more time. Sadly, you’ve found out that isn’t how life works.
It was like Claire felt the shift in you and decided to talk about something else. “It’s nice to have a new neighbor. It gets lonely out here sometimes.”
That caught your attention. Surely, a girl her age must have friends. You furrowed your brows as you looked her over. “Lonely? How so?”
Claire set the plate of cookies down on the dusty counter. You made a mental note that you really needed to get started on cleaning. The younger girl then shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it’s just me and my dad, and he’s fairly protective. I’m homeschooled, so I don’t get out much.” She admitted.
A frown pulled at the corner of your lips. “Mm, I suppose father’s are always good at that, aren’t they?” You questioned rhetorically as you thought of your own father. Vaguely recalling when you were her age and how your father wouldn’t let you stay out past nine o’clock.
Claire nodded in agreement as she absentmindedly brushed a finger across the countertop. “Is it just you moving in?” She asked curiously, her head tilting to the side as she eyed you over.
Something about the look in her eyes made you a bit uneasy, like she was sizing you up. Whatever for, you had no clue. You shifted your weight onto your other leg as you nod. “Yeah, just me. My aunt was the only family I had left, and, uh, I’m newly single.” You explained very briefly.
“Newly?” Claire prodded on that last piece of information you gave.
You blew out a puff of air. Did you really need to be telling your sob story to a sixteen year old? You were silent for a moment as you contemplated. The look in her eyes made her seem older, and she had been nice thus far. What did it hurt? Other than perhaps your ego for your first new friend being a teenager.
“Uh, yeah. I found out my boyfriend of five years had been cheating on me, shortly after I learned about the death of my aunt.” Shrugging your shoulders, you continued. “So, I packed up everything that truly mattered, and I came here.”
Claire scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Ugh, men.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that response. “My thoughts exactly.” You agreed with a heavy sigh.
Claire looked around the room for a moment before something in the window caught her eye. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. If you need any help, just give me a call, yeah? And if you need help with repairs, my dad had to fix a lot of stuff when we first moved into our house. I’m sure he can help.” She extended the offer as she pulled out her phone and asked for your number. Once your contact was safely in her phone and she had sent you a text, she let herself out of your back door.
You moved to the sink and watched as she wandered off towards what must have caught her eye. The man you had seen earlier, her father, was at the edge of your property on his horse, staring at your house. That is, until he spotted Claire and his head turned to acknowledge her. You couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the tanned man in the cowboy hat gave your house one last look as Claire hopped up onto the horse to join him before riding off towards their home.
Once they were out of your sight, you turned to face the disaster of a house you now owned and heaved a sigh. It was time to start hauling all of your things in and pick a room upstairs to call your own. Then, you would get started on dusting.
Morning came all too soon for you after staying up late last night dusting every inch of the house. But, at least you wouldn’t have a sneezing fit every time you entered a room anymore. It really wasn’t all that early, but with the long days of travel, emotional and physical baggage you’d been carrying, you felt as if you could sleep all day. However, you had too much work to do for that. So, you pulled yourself from bed and got dressed into some casual clothing. A white tank top and denim shorts, something to keep you cool while you clean.
After taking care of getting yourself ready, you made your way down to the kitchen. Sadly, your aunt didn’t even have an old-fashioned coffee pot and you begrudgingly accepted that you would have to make due without any caffeine. This wasn’t the city, and there was no easy way to doordash your morning fix. You heaved a sigh and made your way to the kitchen sink, intending to twist the knob and turn on warm water. But, it was stuck. You sighed again in frustration, wondering how many things in this house were going to require more strength than you possessed in order to work. You beared down harder on the knob, and felt a streak of pride as it finally turned. That is, until the knob came off right in your hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” You stared at the handle in disbelief for a moment before the sound of rushing water reached your ears. Dumbfounded, you stared at the faucet. There wasn’t any water coming from it. Where was it…? Oh no.
Realization hit as you hurriedly bent down to rip open the cabinet beneath the sink. There was water gushing from….somewhere. You weren’t a plumber and without caffeine your brain still felt like mush. You cursed, several times actually, and then began to panic. You tried twisting the other knob to the sink, but it did absolutely nothing. At least it didn’t break off like the other, though. You had no idea where the water shut-off valve was in the house and you stood helplessly as you watched your kitchen floor begin to flood.
Come on, do something! You thought to yourself, trying to come up with a plan. Towels. Finally, there was an idea. Surely your aunt had to have a spare linen closet around here, right? You frantically searched for one until you found it near the mud room, grabbing as many linens as you could carry and rushing back to the kitchen. Unfortunately, the water had spread since you had left, and you slipped, landing on the hard linoleum floor. The towels you were carrying also fell, at least beginning to soak up the water. As you slowly rose to your feet, your white tank top and shorts now soaked, you realized the towels were hardly helping the problem. Grabbing your phone, you called the only person you could think of.
Claire.
It was answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Came the familiar voice of the girl you had met just yesterday.
“Claire!” You exclaimed in relief. “Do you know any plumbers? I think a pipe burst in my kitchen sink and it’s gushing water and I have no idea where the shut-off is.” You rambled out frantically.
“I’ll go get my dad, he’ll be right there!”
You shook your head, that wasn’t what you had asked. “No, wait–” you began to protest, but the girl had already hung up.
Claire must work fast, because you swore it was only a matter of minutes before you heard a knock at your front door. Your feet carried you as fast as you could without slipping on the hardwood floors of the house. You were going to have to throw your shoes outside to dry after this. As you slung open the front door, you stopped in your tracks.
Wow. You knew Claire’s father was handsome even from a distance, but you didn’t expect him to be this handsome. He was a bit older than you, but he had to be, to have a daughter that was Claire’s age. The only thing that gave away his age, though, were the fine lines he had begun to develop on his brow and around his eyes. His short, blonde, hair was messy without a single strand of gray insight. He must’ve come from working in the yard because his white t-shirt that fit him perfectly was slightly dirty, his arms and face were covered in a bit of dirt and dust, along with a thin sheen of sweat. As your eyes trailed down his form, you noticed the toolbelt he wore around his waist, and the new pipe that he held in his tattooed hand. You only caught a glimpse of his brown cowboy boots before he cleared his throat to gain your attention. Shit, had you really been staring for that long?
You rose your eyes to meet his keen blue ones as you felt heat rush to your cheeks. He was staring directly at your face. Maybe, if you hadn’t been so distracted, you might’ve noticed it was because your top was completely see-through from being soaked.
“I, uh, heard you’ve got a leak?” His smooth voice graced your ears, and successfully pulled you back to the issue at hand.
You moved away from the door so that he could enter, gesturing for him to come inside. “Yes, a big one,” you answered hurriedly. As he stepped inside, you saw his horse waiting for him in your front lawn. Ah, that was how he got here so quickly.
You didn’t need to show him where the kitchen was. He either was smart enough to have an idea, as you assumed all of the old houses out here were set up similarly, or he followed the sound of water. He let out a curse under his breath as he saw what he was faced with. “Yeah, that’s a big one alright,” he agreed with your earlier sentiment before dropping down to his knees and immediately getting to work.
Within seconds, his tee was completely soaked like yours. But, it didn’t seem to bother him. His hands were moving faster than you could comprehend, using his pure strength to unscrew the pipe that was broken so that he could get the new one installed. He let out a few grunts as he worked, and all you could do was lean yourself against the island and watch. The muscles in his arms bulged as he exerted his strength against the pipe. His slightly tanned skin was on full display now that his shirt was transparent, and you could even make out a bit of the tattoo he had on his chest. Your eyes happily drank in the sight of his chiseled torso. At this moment, you were almost thanking your ex for cheating on you and your aunt for leaving you this house because without all of those things coming together, you would’ve never been able to experience this. An attractive, hard working man at work. Your eyes drifted from his torso to take in the gruesome scar he had on his left arm, curious to know how that came to be.
What felt like an hour to your daydreaming self, was really only a matter of minutes before Claire’s father had your leak fixed. Or, at least, one of them. You couldn’t help but realize the sight before you, and the grunting sounds he let out whilst working, had awakened something within. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. And you didn’t even know his name.
Movement pulled you from your thoughts, and you realized that he was coming out from underneath the sink. You had to act as if you hadn’t been gawking at him this entire time, and instead stared at the floor that was covered in soaked towels. The sound of running water pulled your attention back to the sink, and you found that he was also staring at the faucet that was still running. Right, the knob broke too.
He gave a nod as he realized the next issue. “Right, well at least it’s not flooding your kitchen anymore.” He turned his head to look at you briefly before looking back to the faucet. “I probably have a spare around, if not, I’ll run out and grab one.” He explained with a simple shrug of his shoulders.
You were quick to shake your head. “You don’t need to do that,” you began. “I can run out to the store and grab one.” You glanced down at yourself, finally realizing that you had put on a hot pink bra this morning and your still-soaked tank was completely transparent. “....Right after I change.” You felt heat creep up your neck once more as embarrassment overcame you.
When you glanced back over at him, he was quick to avert his eyes. “Really, I don’t mind. Your aunt was very nice to Claire and I when we first moved in. She personally made us about a week’s worth of food, I think.” He explained, letting out a chuckle.
You bit down on your bottom lip. That certainly sounded like something your aunt would do, and if this attractive man wanted to help you as a repayment, then you supposed you could oblige. “Fine, I’ll accept your help. On one condition.” You paused, watching as he rose a brow at you, urging for you to go on. “You tell me your name so I don’t have to call you Claire’s father.” You finished with a grin.
A smile of his own crossed his features and those wrinkles in the corner of his eyes deepened. “You can call me Court.”
“Thank you, Court, for saving my entire house from being flooded.” You spoke with a laugh as you looked down at your kitchen floor.
“I’m just sorry I couldn’t stop it before the kitchen flooded,” he responded. “Speaking of, do you wanna go get changed and I’ll help you clean up before I fix the faucet?”
You glanced down at yourself once more, and with a moment of confidence, you shook your head. “No, I’m sure you’ve already seen it, so what does it matter?” You asked rhetorically. “Besides, it wouldn’t really be fair for only one of us to be wet, now would it?”
Court paused to look at you, seemingly analyzing your choice of words. You watched as his eyes flashed down to your chest before he shook his head. “I suppose not.” He spoke, moving to pick up the water-logged towels on the floor.
A few minutes into picking up the strewn about linens and you heard Court curse.
“Shit.”
You turned to look at him, worry in your brow. “What?” You questioned.
“A piece of your linoleum was lifted up, water got all underneath.” There was a pause. “I’m gonna have to replace your floor.”
“Shit,” you echoed.
“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He stated nonchalantly.
You stopped in your tracks. Here this man was, a stranger, really, volunteering to spend a day replacing your flooring? “Court, really, you don’t have to. I can hire someone to fix it.”
Court shook his head. “It’s not a problem. Like I said, your aunt was a nice lady.”
“She was so nice that you’d spend an entire day of labor replacing her niece’s kitchen floor?” You asked in disbelief. If this were the city, you’d never find a man offering to replace your flooring for free.
Turning his head to finally look at you, Court smirked. “For her niece that’s as pretty as you? Yeah, I’d do a lot of things.”
Any retort you could think of making died on your tongue and Court went back to picking up linens with that smug smirk on his face. You felt as if your brain had short-circuited. Did he just flirt with you? After a moment, you shook yourself out of your stupor and resumed picking up the towels.
The two of you carried your heaping piles of soaked towels to the mud room, where you began loading up the washer. As Court stood there watching you, you turned towards him.
“Can I at least make you and Claire dinner tonight to show thanks?” You canted your head as you awaited his response.
Court’s tongue darted across his lower lip. “I’ll allow it.” He agreed with a nod, then motioned towards the hallway with his head. “I’ll be back soon to fix your faucet, alright?”
You nodded, watching as he turned and left. After you heard your front door close shut, you placed your head in your hands. Your life felt like an absolute train wreck at the moment, but somehow you knew it was only going to get better. Your aunt always swore moving out here would be better for you than your life in the city. You didn’t used to believe her, but after today? You were starting to realize she might’ve been right.
Now, you need to plan for dinner. Fuck. Why didn’t you ask him what his favorite food was? You have no idea what to make. Slapping yourself on the forehead, you let out a groan before making your way up to your bedroom to get changed.
“Easy, girl.” Court called to his horse as he pulled on the reins. She slowed her trot to a halt by his house, allowing him to slip off from the saddle. As he made his way inside of the home, his thoughts solely on the new girl next door, Claire was waiting for him.
“So, did you fix her sink?” She asked, startling him from his thoughts.
Jesus, he thought. He was really losing some of his skills if he let Claire startle him over a woman. He clicked his teeth and nodded, trying not to seem interested. The last thing he needed was Claire meddling in his love life. He’d been lucky thus far by keeping her home so often that she never met anyone she could set him up with. But that never stopped her from constantly suggesting it.
“Yeah, mostly. I stopped the leak, but a knob is broken and I need to replace it. Some water got under her flooring.” He explained as he moved towards his bedroom to find dry clothing. “I’ll have to replace that tomorrow.”
Claire followed right behind him, the idea of personal space diminishing over the years they had lived together. She wouldn’t enter his room if he was changing, but she’d be right outside of the door, continuing the conversation she started.
“So, you’ll be seeing her again tomorrow?” Claire wondered aloud. There was something in her tone of voice that set off alarms in Court’s head. But he tried to ignore it. If he called her out on it too soon….
“Yeah, and she’s making us dinner tonight.” He added on with a huff as he stripped himself of his shirt and pants. Then began rummaging around for new ones in his closet.
“That’s great! I knew you’d like her.” She called smugly from the other side of the door.
Court’s brows furrowed as he tossed his new shirt over his torso and closed the distance between him and the door. He opened it wide enough to peek his head out and level his gaze with Claire.
“Who said anything about liking her? She’s doing it as a thank you.”
Claire stared blankly up at him. “But she’s pretty, isn’t she?” She questioned, as if that were the only important matter.
Court didn’t respond. He simply shook his head at her antics and shut the door in her face. He wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of the truth.
“Deny it all you want, but you just wait! You’ll be telling me I’m right before long.” She called out teasingly as Court retreated further into his room to put on pants.
God help him with that girl. She wasn’t going to rest until she was right. For once though, he might not have much of a problem with that.
#the gray man#court gentry#ryan gosling#sierra six#cowboy! court gentry#court gentry x reader#f!reader#court gentry x female reader#ryan gosling fic#court gentry fic#sierra six fic#the gray man au
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