#court gentry/reader
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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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Kinktober Day 31: Hand Job || Sierra Six/F!Reader
Day 31: Hand Job
Summary: Six comes back from a job, and you give him a hand.
1067 words. Female/AFAB reader
Warnings: EXPLICIT MINORS DNI: public sex, hand job
Notes: It’s not October anymore, I know, but I wanted to finish these. For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.
**Tag list is gone, please follow @wbslibrary **
It wasn't ideal, being penned in against the washing machine by Six. However, the scrape of his goatee against your neck more than made up for it. Ever since you patched him up in your bathroom the two of you would end up tangled up in each other. His hands settled on your hips, rough fingertips brushing under the hem of your shirt, skimming over warm skin.
“I missed you,” you murmur, biting back a soft sound when he starts to nibble and kiss at your neck. He’d been gone for a week, citing work. He had asked you to watch after Claire, and the teen had seemingly loved camping out in your living room.
He chuckles softly, “I thought about you a lot.” One of those large, warm hands slides under your shirt, resting at the small of your back, pulling you to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call.”
“I understand,” sure you’re curious, but there’s no point in pushing for more information about his work. He moves seemingly in shadows, and all he’s given you is he works for the government. You don’t ask, he doesn’t offer anything other than that.
“Claire missed you.”
You feel his smile, a soft laugh huffing out against your neck. “I could tell. She’d text me even though I couldn’t message her back.”
“She’s a good kid.” You say, he hums noncommittedly, lifting his head when your hands ease under that tight black t-shirt he’s fond of wearing. He’s so warm and solid under your hands, a soft little grunt coming from him when your thumbs brush over a new wound. “Really?”
“It’s healing.” He murmurs. “You can kiss it better later.” He tips your chin up, mouth slotting over yours, kissing you slow and easy. You moan into the kiss, lips parting under his tongue. Six pulls you closer, pressing every hard plane of his body against yours.
Your hands are flat against his stomach, the muscles flexing under your touch. “I could kiss it better now.” You look up at him, pausing at the open want on his face.
He licks his lips, shaking his head. “We don’t have time for that.” Claire was due home from a friend’s house any time now, and you had left her a note letting her know you were doing laundry. “Not enough time to do it properly.” The intent in his voice sends shivers down your spine. Six’s hips rock against you, and you feel what he’s working with, and you know that once you get him out of his clothes, that there wouldn’t be enough time.
“You can’t see the kid like this.” One hand slides down his torso, his breathing ragged in your ear. You cup the bulge in his pants, squeezing gently.
“Want to give me a hand?”
You look up at him, mentally rolling your eyes at the wide grin on his face. It’s almost cute, almost. “Are you serious?”
“You don’t have to.” Six says quickly, “I was just playing around. It’ll go away.”
“Six,” you say softly. “I’m teasing you.” Voice soft, attempting to reassure him. Under your fingers you feel his cock twitch. “I’d like very much to give you a hand.” You work at unbuckling his belt, feeling his eyes heavy on you. “I also like your corny jokes.”
“I’ve got a lot of them.” Six says softly, the hand at the small of your back curling against your skin. “But they can wait.”
You unbutton his pants, lowering the zipper. He’s quiet, breathing a little faster, the curve of his body heavy as he rests his head on your shoulder. The sound that spills from his throat is damn near intoxicating when you palm at his erection through his boxers. “Still alright?” His groan rattles your bones, embedding under your skin.
“Please, don’t stop.” He murmurs your name, nuzzling against your neck. His mouth is soft, so soft, pressing gentle open mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat. “Need this, need you, and you’re driving me crazy.”
Managing to get his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, you find yourself blinking when it slaps against that tight, hard stomach. He’s proportionate, thick, the tip glistening with precome. There are a few prominent veins that you’d love to trace with your tongue, but once again you’re painfully aware of the time constraint. A low groan rumbles through his chest when you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly. Teasing your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading precome along the shaft, he catches your mouth in a slow kiss.
He's heavy and warm in your hand, twitching when your wrist twists on the end of the upstroke. A light squeeze just under the head of his cock, and he gasps, hips rocking into your hand. “Like that?” You’re breathless, caught up in the way his eyes are half closed, lips parted, head tipped back, losing himself in pleasure.
“Yes,” he grits out. “Just like that, baby.” Six breathes out. He’s thrusting into your hand, and the slick, wet sound encourages you to stroke faster, keeping up with his pace. He’s absolutely gorgeous, especially when he’s moaning your name softly.
Another kiss, then one more which turns into two, three—four, you lose count. Still stroking at his cock, loving how he reacts to you. Swallowing the small sounds he makes into the kisses, his hands gently gliding up and down your back, one resting just under the band of your bra, those long fingers barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Hesitantly that hand slides over the cloth, gently groping, a low soft sound muffled as he breaks the kiss, face buried in the curve of your neck.
“M'close,” He murmurs, voice vibrating through his chest. When you tighten your grip, slowing, he whines—the sound damn near music to your ears. Six comes, spilling over your hand. His cock pulses, and you can’t look away from the relief chasing across his face. He’s gorgeous, and the low soft moan paired with your name is one that you won’t forge for a long time. You stroke him through it, pulling away only when his whimper is tinged with being oversensitive. His hands tremble as he fixes his pants, tucking himself away.
“Welcome back, Six.” You look up at him, licking the spend from your fingers.
/end
#kinktober2022#wbskink#sierra six/reader#sierra six/you#shelly writes#court gentry/reader#court gentry/you#The Gray Man
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SOMEBODY WRITE RYAN GOSLING SMUT I CANT DO THIS ANY FUCKING MORE
#ryan gosling#ryan gosling smut#drive 2011#blade runner#officer k#officer k x reader#holland march#ken#place beyond the pines#sierra six#the gray man#court gentry#young hercules#writers on tumblr#the fall guy#colt seavers#colt seavers smut#the fall guy smut
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Privacy
Summary: Your highly powerful father hired Six to guard you at your home while he was out of the country. Six doesn’t speak much but that doesn’t mean he’ll give you privacy. All you want is to release some pint up energy due to being locked up in your residence.
Warnings: afab reader, masturbation, vibrator, getting caught, age gap, cursing, pervert!six, oral (fem receiving), jerking off, praise, talking you through it
Six has lived with me for some time. He was hired by my father to protect me at all costs while he was out of the country. By what I’ve been told, he’s the best in his agency and he will do anything to protect the thing he’s guarding.
The only downside to this is that I cant leave the house. At first, it was no big deal and it was even relaxing in a way. But after a few weeks I was starting to get restless. I needed to do something, anything that involved social interaction. Six wasn’t much help with that whatsoever.
I’ve convinced Six to join me in everyday tasks, like eating breakfast or even watching a movie. He’ll speak only few words if necessary. Which doesn’t stop me from rambling, venting out all my problems while he’ll sit and listen.
On this particular day, the house was quiet. It was one of those days where me and him kept our distance. I stayed curled up in my bed, the boredom becoming stronger. I could sense he was near, doing some rounds around the house and guarding every possible entry way.
The boredom let my mind wonder, I started to think more about Six. The lingering moments we would have at night, him eyeing me as I got a midnight snack in my skimpy pajamas. Or brushing against him as I walked past to return to bed. I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. His facial expressions gave away nothing and I was at a complete loss.
I couldn’t help but squeeze my thighs together, thinking about what it would be like for his big hands to touch me all over. I thought about the vibrator I purchased before this whole ordeal. I felt embarrassed, to get myself off while he was just outside my room, protecting me.
I crawled out of bed and went to my dresser, opening the top drawer and digging for the hidden toy. Eager, I jumped right back into bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. I set the toy to low, putting it over my silk shorts. I hummed quietly, moving my hips against the vibration of the toy. I turned it up, I wasn’t use to the intensity of the vibration. I got lost in the moment, not thinking about my surroundings.
Not until I heard the floor creak. I jumped at the sound, at the door stood Six.
“Get out!” I squeal, putting the toy behind me.
He tilted his head, amused by my behavior.
“Didn’t you hear me? Leave!” I huff, putting my head in my hands.
He shook his head, “hm hm”, he closed the door.
“What’re you doing?” I asked curiously, watching his figure move over to the bed.
“Give it.” He Held his hand out, indicating he wanted the vibrator.
My face turned pink out of embarrassment, I did what he asked. I could barely look at him.
Six put the toy at his side, guarding it. He put a hand on my knee, “come ‘ere.” His hands grabbed both of my knees, pulling me closer. “Six-“ he interrupted me, “you wanna show me something?”
“Show what?” I pouted, unamused by the mocking.
“Show me how you fuck yourself” he hummed, his voice low and sweet with a hint of condescension. He watched my expression, “don’t get embarrassed now.”
“But I cant.” I shake my head, “not allowed to.”
He turned the toy on, putting it against my clothed clit. I gasped, “don’t-“
“Gotta keep it a secret ok? Just between you and me” his breath hitched, fixated on what he was doing.
I think for a moment, what harm could it be? “Okay…” I nod, “want you to play with me.”
“Fuck-“ he let out a low groan, “wanna see how wet this is making you hun, let’s get these off.” Six pulled my bottoms off, his eyes never leaving my body.
He disregarded the toy for a moment, going down to my pussy. He started sucking on my clit. “Six!” I gasped, he took me by surprise. “Please-“ he grabbed my thighs and put them on his shoulders.
“Tastes so good honey” he sighed, his tongue fucking me desperately.
I whimpered, grabbing at his hair and tugging. Six clearly enjoyed this as he moved his hips against the bed.
“See what you turn me into?” He looked up at me, “so fucking desperate and horny.” Six sat up, grabbing the toy again.
“Why’d you stop?” I whine, wanting his tongue again.
“Because” he took a moment to catch his breath, “I’m gonna fuck you with this” six holds the toy up, “and you’re gonna touch me okay?” His tone was gentle, almost perverted.
I nod, “okay.” His mouth quirked up slightly, a smirk forming, “such a good girl, now lay back for me.”
Six stood up, undoing the belt of his trousers and fly. “I’m gonna stand right here, and I’m gonna fuck your hand m’kay?”
“Yes” I blush, “I’ll do anything”
“Good” he rubbed his cock through his boxers with one hand and switched the toy back on with the other. He put the toy inside me, hitting that spot.
“Shit- it’s too much” I whimper, the toy’s setting on high.
“Shh” he pulled his cock out, “you can take it.”
I arched my back, taking in the sensation. I took him in my hand, jerking him off slowly.
He cursed under his breath. He mumbled, “keep going, you’re fucking me good.”
“Don’t stop! Please- fuck” I moaned, he thrusts the toy in and out, while I go faster with him. He moved his hips, fucking my hand.
“Jesus- keep going any faster and I’ll cum” he groans.
“Uh Huh” i close my eyes, “please let me cum, let me have it”
“Yeah? You want it? Cum for me” he fucked me with the toy harder.
“I’m coming ” I squirm, my orgasm rushing over me, letting myself release.
“Oh fuck” he couldn’t hold back himself, “gonna cum on your fucking face.” I let go, and he started jerking his cock through his orgasm. His cum dripping onto my face. “Look so pretty like that” he sighed, “never gonna give you privacy again doll.”
#sierra six smut#court gentry smut#ryan gosling smut#ryan gosling#sierra six#smut#netflix#the gray man#ryan gosling x reader#ryan gosling x you#sierra six x reader#sierra six x you
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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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I am so down bad for this man it’s not evEN FUNNY ANYMORE
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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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Unfinished Business
Summary: Our boy has some unfinished business
A/N: Listen y'all this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….just don’t okay?
As always, the inspo is thanks to the Goosecord and my beautiful partner in crime @ken-dom who constantly receives messages from me in the dead of night needing reassurance or "Hey what about if THIS happened?!"
Bless you my new found chosen sister for putting up with my antics!
This is a continuation of the first part Hello Nurse which you guys absolutely raved over and I am SO flattered (no really some of your messages really had me tearing up)
Like I said last time, this won't be the last you see of SIx
Enjoy my loves! <3
You let out a heavy sigh massaging your temples as you sat at the nurse’s station; the fluorescents were giving you a migraine and the phone had been ringing off the hook all night long. It rang again for the four hundredth time and you picked up the receiver
“Fifth floor nurse’s station”
“Hey, you”
Your face broke out into a grin and you sat back in your chair twirling the phone cord around your finger recognizing his voice immediately. “Hi”
“You on a secure line?”
You scoffed with a small laugh “You know I’m not” you went through this every time he happened to call, and yet, he always asked. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere cold” he always kept his answers vague.
“Being safe?” you asked, reaching over the desk to take a clipboard from a coworker
“Course”
“Are you lying to me?” You asked, with a smirk cradling the receiver on your shoulder as you typed the information on the clipboard into the system.
“Never”
You stopped typing paying more attention to your call “You better come back to me” you said with an air of seriousness to your tone. “In one piece”
He laughed softly on the other end
“I’m not kidding, all your fingers, toes and…appendages”
This caught the attention of your coworker who tilted her head curiously with a raised eyebrow; you just shook your head, hoping she’d get pulled away before you’d have to answer questions.
“Hmm, well I’ve got some bad news sweetheart…”
“You better be joking” you dropped your voice to a whisper
“Would you love me any less if I weren’t?”
You huffed with annoyance rolling your eyes “No, you idiot; now come home…I miss you”
A page overhead for you caught your attention and you sighed “I gotta go, be careful, please” You knew better than to hope for that, he was never careful, everyone else came first. “I love you”
“Me too, sweetheart”
You hesitated holding up a finger to a coworker motioning overhead “Court”
He sighed and you could practically see the look on his face
“I’ve got all day”
“No you don’t”
“Then I guess you’d better hurry up”
“I love you too”
“I’ll see you soon?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give you a concrete answer
“Soon” he confirmed before the line disconnected.
You swallowed hard, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as you pushed up from your chair. You had signed up for this, you knew that, but the knot in your stomach never untwisted itself completely until he was standing in front of you; admittedly usually covered in blood and bruises, but here and alive.
***
It had been six months since that fateful night on the staircase; and Six had been gone for three of them. Thankfully you had managed to keep yourself busy with work, keeping your mind off of it, most of the time.
Then you crawled into bed, alone, or he called to check in and that knot in your stomach just tightened.
You did have to admit that when he was just a fleeting stranger who had saved your life once, and occasionally darkened your doorstep it had been a lot easier and you worried significantly less, but you wouldn’t trade that man for anything.
You had to keep it relatively secret; it was safer that way Six had said, you were in less danger. You disagreed but he would rarely listen to reason on the topic; or he had fallen asleep before you had gotten the chance to broach it again.
You laid in bed that night after work, wondering for the first time in a long time about Six’s past. Even though you had convinced him you didn’t need a 24/7 bodyguard and could in fact take care of yourself on occasion, and you had been….”together” for the last six months; the personal details you knew about the man were very few.
You knew that was by design, but the thought of your parents immediate disapproval made you giggle to yourself; would be just like you ending up with the ex-convict who would end up on the wrong end of a gun one day because he showed up on your doorstep one night looking like wounded puppy.
Not that Six would even entertain the notion of ever meeting your parents so it didn’t really matter.
***
He unlocked the door before putting the key back and quietly slipping inside before locking it behind him.
He stumbled up the front steps, weak with exhaustion; the house was dark, but your car was in the driveway. Checking his watch, it was creeping into the one o’clock hour.
He shook the spare key out of the bottom of the ceramic goose you kept on the front porch; he had told you at least a hundred times that was an awful idea and you had reasoned if someone was going to break into the house, they weren’t going to use a key to do it.
He slid his boots off, shedding his t-shirt as he climbed the stairs. You were curled up in bed sleeping peacefully, on his side.
He smiled to himself, stripping off the rest of his clothes before gently shifting you to your side, you hadn’t even stirred until he climbed in behind you; arms wrapping tightly around you as he kissed your shoulder.
“Hey,” you turned over, voice thick with sleep as you wrapped your arms around his neck “You’re home”
He kissed you properly before you nestled against his chest “I missed you”
He kissed the top of your head, pulling you against him as you drifted back off almost immediately and he followed suit.
The next morning he stirred awake, the sensation of your lips across his bare chest and up the side of his neck to his face and finally landing on his lips; your weight heavy on his midsection.
"Good Morning," you smiled kissing him again
He smiled, reaching to tuck a chunk of loose hair behind your ear, his large hand cupping your cheek.
"All in one piece" you smiled, your cheeks had started to hurt from doing it for so long.
"Satisfied?"
"Not for months" your lips moved against his as you deepened your kiss.
With minimal effort he flipped you on your back, pinning you to the mattress underneath; wrists on either side of your head.
“Let's fix that then”
Before you had a chance to respond, his lips were pressed firmly against yours, strong hands gripping your wrists as his hips made languid movements, his hard cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, your legs dropping open with ease.
You hummed into your kiss as his tongue tangled with yours before kissing down your neck and chest.
A small gasp escaped as his warm wet mouth enveloped your nipple. Your back arching off the bed, needing more, wanting more.
He sucked gently, tongue grazing over the hard bud, making you shiver before trading sides and administering the same treatment to the other side.
His hands slid from your wrists, over your sides and came to rest on your hips momentarily as he dipped lower, settling between your thighs. Your fingers pushed through his thick blond hair as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His breath hot against your core made you moan, leaning back into the pillow.
“Court…please “ you breathed.
Like an answered prayer, he licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry out, pulling hard on the hair trapped between your fingers, making him grunt against your clit before sucking you into his mouth.
You writhed in the sheets, heels digging into the mattress.
His hand sliding from your hip, two thick fingers pushing inside you with ease, pumping slowly as his tongue teased your clit.
Your sighs and moans were like music to his ears. A glance up from between your thighs, your eyes were closed, face contorted in sheer pleasure, mouth open as you whined to the ceiling.
Your entire form shuddered under the hand holding your hips steady.
Your breathing came more laboured and shallow as he watched the flush creep over your naked body, his tongue flicking a little harder, fingers pumping a little faster, hand pressing firmer on your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he kept you from twisting out of his grip.
Your muscles clenching around his calloused fingers coated in your arousal as your orgasm tore through your body; pulling his fingers from inside you, tongue lapping up everything you had to give. Shudders wracking your entire form, your clit sensitive and overstimulated.
You collapsed, completely spent as Six crawled back over top of you, kissing you deeply as you panted against his mouth.
“My turn” you smiled breathlessly as you shifted, Six propping himself against the headboard as you put yourself between his knees.
Without hesitation, you swallowed down his length, slick with precum. A loud groan of approval over your head as you bobbed slowly, sucking gently as you felt his hands find their way into your hair.
A loud thud, what you were certain was his head making contact with the headboard.
His hips bucking up, forcing him further down your throat.
The soft “Fuck” assuring you, you were doing something right.
You moaned around his shaft, relaxing your throat to take as much down as you could manage. You let him take control as much as his position would allow letting him fuck your mouth hard and fast.
Grunts a mixture of effort and pleasure as he slid with ease between your lips.
His massive form twitched and he stopped abruptly, the hot, thick rope hitting the back of your throat, swallowing what you could before it became too much to handle, the excess spurting from the throbbing tip as you released him to take a breath.
You moved to wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and Six’s hand snapped out, closing around your wrist.
You looked up and he was shaking his head. “Don't”
You tipped your head curiously with a smirk as he pulled you closer, you climbed in his lap, arms draped over his neck as he kissed you harshly, tasting his release on your tongue as he was sure you could taste yours on his.
He scooted back down, lying you on his chest as you sighed with a satisfied hum. “God I missed you”
He chuckled softly, taking a deep breath, breathing you in, your scent invading his senses, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too sweetheart”
He sighed, your eyes saying the things your voice wasn’t.
Six’s time at home had been fleeting this time around; he had been here and gone again within a day and a half.
A quick kiss and he tried to fly down the stairs, unsuccessfully because of the hold you’d had on his wrist. He stopped turning to look at you.
He pulled you against him, burying his nose in your hair as he kissed the top of your head; your arms wrapped tightly around his back as you fought to keep your composure.
“Two weeks, tops” he whispered into your hair; you only hugged him tighter, knowing he couldn’t possibly know that for sure.
“Make someone else go” You muttered against his chest “You just got back”
He laughed softly, big hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I can’t…” he pushed you back gently so he could look into your eyes “This one is personal”
Your brow creased as your frowned “What do you mean personal?”
His shoulders dropped as he let out a heavy sigh and it clicked “Lloyd…” you sighed
He nodded “He won’t stay in one place very long”
A strong finger under your chin lifted your head and you sighed looking up at him, the worry clear as day on your face.
You let out a slow breath swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat; eyes dropping to look at your shoes.
You had never met this man, but the stories were enough to never want to and even those weren’t many. He had injured someone in Six’s care, and was the reason the only person Six had even remotely considered family had died. He was a monster.
“Please be careful” you whispered softly
He nodded dropping his hand “Always”
You scoffed “Not always” You reached up to cup his cheek “You better come back to me”
He didn’t answer, just leaned forward, claiming your lips in a gentle kiss as the tears you had been fighting to hold back slid silently down your cheeks.
He pulled back and you sighed with a sniff, wiping the tears from your face. “Promise me”
When he didn’t say anything you closed your eyes taking a breath “Just this once, promise me, if it goes sideways, you will get out…please”
You stood eyes locked with his, seeing that emotionless mask crack for the briefest moment before he nodded. “I promise, just another Thursday.”
You huffed pulling yourself against him, burying your face in his chest. “No it isn’t, and you know it”
He pulled away then and you let him go; you knew if he was going to catch this bastard he had to leave and he had to leave now.
“Here,” he undid the watch around his wrist, holding it out to you
You shook your head “I can’t take that; it’s too important to you”
“Then keep it safe for me” he wrapped it around your wrist, having to do it up on the last available hole in the band so it would fit around your wrist.
He took your face in both hands, giving you one final bruising kiss; whispering a barely heard ‘I love you’ against your lips before he was down the stairs and gone.
You turned, going back inside, the door closing heavily behind you as you locked and leaned against it. A flurry of emotions bursting through the dam in your chest as you finally let yourself cry. You slid down the door, settling on the floor with a hard thump covering your mouth with your hand as the tears streamed freely down your cheeks. The fear, the sadness, the sliver of hope that he hadn’t just walked down those stairs to wherever, and you’d never see him again.
You cried so hard you nearly made yourself sick before you got yourself under control and pulled yourself to your feet.
You took a deep breath, wiping the tears out of your eyes and off your face as you made your way to the kitchen.
You stopped halfway through the threshold, breath catching in your throat seeing the man you didn’t recognize sitting on top of your counter with his arms folded and ankles crossed in front of him.
“Hiya Sunshine,” he smiled in a way that made your skin crawl as he hopped off the counter and your heart slammed in your chest.
“Can I help you?” You fought to keep your voice even as a thousand thoughts raced through your mind one after the other; trying to place this man.
“You really are easy on the eyes, aren’t you?” he asked, ignoring your question, advancing forward and you instinctively took a step back,
“Do I know you?” you asked, mentally cursing yourself for never counting how many steps were between your kitchen and front door, but not daring to turn your back and bolt.
“Your boy certainly does”
Lloyd.
Your blood froze, you were sure all the colour had drained from your face then.
“Based on the doe eyed bambi look on your face, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say you’ve heard of me”
“I don’t know-”
“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes with a dismissive wave of his hand “Don’t pull the ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ card, it’s just disrespectful”
You didn’t answer, just kept moving slowly backward into the living room as he moved closer across the kitchen.
Your eyes scanning his form, not seeing any blatantly obvious weapon easily within reach.
You took your opportunity and turned swiftly on your heel and raced for the door.
In a flash your hand gripped the doorknob and had it been unlocked you would have been free. Instead, Lloyd shoved you against the door, his body pinning you to the unforgiving surface as he laughed maniacally next to your ear; a fistful of your hair in your hand as he pulled your head back hard, making you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut briefly
“Oh no, no, no, no, no” he shook his head “We’re gonna get more acquainted; see if I can figure out what it is about our boy that you like so much”
“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, voice strained as you turned your head as much as his grip in your hair would allow; he was watching you with a raised eyebrow waiting for you to finish. “He’s got a massive-” Before you could finish, your head banged hard against the wooden door and Lloyd scoffed with disgust.
“Don’t be gross, it’s unladylike”
You scoffed with a laugh trying hard to ignore the instant throbbing headache “That’s your mistake for thinking I’m a lady Lloyd”
Your composure was quickly slipping away as you were running out of ideas for an escape.
“And the lady has me at a disadvantage,” Lloyd spoke slowly, his breath hot against your ear making you cringe. “I don’t really need to know your name anyway, doesn’t matter much, you’ll scream all the same”
You scoffed “He’s gonna kill you”
“Oh sweetheart, not if I kill you first”
That was the last thing you heard before it all went dark.
#fic#ryan gosling#the gray man 2022#sierra six#courtland gentry#court gentry#sierra six x reader#courtland gentry x reader#lloyd hansen#chris evans#God that's a lot of tags
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His Bonnie on the Side
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦/𝑆𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑆𝑖𝑥 𝑥 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 ! 𝐹𝑒𝑚 ! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟.
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡—𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑣 𝑠𝑒𝑥. 𝐶𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑑𝑘 𝑗𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑏ℎ. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑐 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑡 1 𝑎𝑚.
𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚, 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗧 𝗦𝗢 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗. Six was hired by your dad to protect you from people trying to hurt you, not to fuck you while he's asleep in the next room.
Six's strong hands pushed your hips into the mattress below you as the tip of his hard cock teased your sopping cunt. "Six," you whined rather loudly.
He quickly shushed you and covered your lips with his hand. "You want your father to hear you, hm?" Six kissed your neck as you shook your head. "That's what I thought."
"Be quiet for me," he told you, removing his hand from your lips and sinking his cock into your cunt. Inch-by-inch his girth entered your pussy, stretching your cunt to an amount you thought you'd never get used to.
"Shit," he groaned as you squeezed his cock. "Need you to relax for me."
You threw your head back into the pillow beneath you, a gasp escaping your lips. You tried to relax, breathing in and out your nose, but, god, Six was big. As his pelvis was flush against yours, he gave a moment to adjust to his size before pulling all the way out. "Hold onto me," he said, and at first you were confused until his cock entered you again with a rough—almost forced—thrust into your cunt, causing your body to jolt up. You immediately gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
You attempted to silence the moan begging to escape your lips by digging your teeth in your bottom lip; unfortunately, that wasn't going to work with the way Six had started pounding into you.
"Fuck, Six," you moan especially loud, and as a result he bit your neck, making you gasp and clench around his cock. He grunted and thrusted harder than before, grinding his hips against yours. He removed a hand from your hip, which you're sure you're going to have bruises there in the morning, and started kneading your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb while his hips brushed against your clit. You whimpered at his movements; then, he slid his hand down your stomach and began to rub harsh circles on your aching bundle of nerves.
Six started to move again, his thrusts as rough as before, they were getting faster. Soon, the bedroom was filled with the sound of clapping, the bed frame banging against the wall, and the sound of your moans—almost sobs.
You were so focused on your pleasure you didn't even think about whether your dad could hear you or not.
Six's cock was hitting that one spot that made your walls flutter around him, and each time he did, you feel yourself getting closer to your release. You could Six was too because everytime you clenched around him, he'd grunt, and his thrusts would become unsteady and more feral.
"Six . . . Ah-" You started to warn him about your oncoming orgasm, but he started to nibble on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. "S-Six, I'm close."
He groaned against your collarbone as the thumb on your clit quickened, causing your walls to squeeze his thick cock.
"Come," he murmured against your brown skin, and that's all it took to send you over the edge. You opened your mouth, nothing coming out as you squeezed your eyes shut.
Six pushed his hips flush against, groaning, "Fuck," as he came inside you.
He gave you a moment to recover before pulling out, causing you to whimper from the loss.
"You think my dad heard us?" you asked, turning to Six.
"He heard you," he replied, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and got out of bed.
#sierra six smut#sierra six#court gentry#ryan gosling#ryan gosling smut#the gray man#the gray man 2022#sierra six x reader#sierra six x black!reader#ryan gosling x reader#ryan gosling x black!reader
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Into The Gray (Chpt. 7)
Secrets (Into The Gray Chpt. 7)
Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)
Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You
Type: Multi-Chap
Tags: @medievalfangirl, @biblichorr, @pyrokineticbaby, @lxvrgirl, @asiludida164, @torchbearerkyle, @jasmin7813, @comfortzonequeen, @96jnie
Everything that you’d learned about human behavior and habit had been through careful instruction, nothing ever given to you without intention. There were things that you’d picked up through basic experience and casual observation–people had a habit of writing their name when given a new pen for example, and if you have a plan B, then plan A is less likely to succeed.
Sierra Six had uprooted the CIA’s plan A and B, and so far, he was already eliminating all expectations for plans C, D and E. Just like with you, interrogations only left the interrogator more exhausted than when they started, and although you found the entire thing entertaining, you reveled in Carmichael’s frustration with coercing any kind of confession and the realization that he didn’t have Claire to use as leverage this time around. He told Six otherwise, but out of many things that The Gray Man was, ignorant wasn’t one of them.
For once, you could say that you weren’t the only cause of Carmichael’s misery as much as you wished you were.
Undoubtedly, getting Six’s compliance was going to take more than pulling a few teeth.
You traversed down sterile white hallways in search of his room–the holding cells had been searched already, and he hadn’t been there–so you strongly entertained that he was put in the same room that you had been during your induction. Carmichael had never said exactly, and although he had suspicions about your whereabouts when apprehending Six, he didn’t have the time to properly look into it, and you’d already been covering your tracks just in case he did.
Your list of things that Carmichael didn’t need to know was growing exponentially longer you realized, but you were too far in to consider confessing them all now.
Watching him spin in circles had also proved to be vastly too entertaining.
A few winding hallways and empty rooms eventually led you to find him. Sitting in a stationary chair in the middle of the room with his elbows propped on top of his knees, he looked as though he were debating the world. His expression was fixed into something akin to contemplation, tunnel vision on the tile, but you suspected that he was aware of you outside the room. You weren’t trying to be subtle, anyway.
“You’re here,” he said once you stepped in, looking up.
“You should go into espionage with those observational skills.”
You thought that he bit back a smile, but you couldn’t really tell. There were things that he was good at hiding, such as your involvement at his house at all, you’d learned. He hadn’t told Carmichael; he’d acted dumb when Carmichael had asked. Six had knowingly or unknowingly backed your lie, but you didn’t thank him for that.
It was the reason behind it that most perplexed you, and you couldn’t help but be a little curious. It was only another thing that you’d find out eventually on your own, so you didn’t ask. He did ask the most obvious question however, still traversing on that very fragile line, and risking the plummet. He’d gone outside of his conditioning and learned to care , and a killer with morals was still a humorous concept to you.
You’d noticed that you had a habit of looking at him, a little too much and a little too long. You had never been a creature of habit, but there was something about looking at a book and suddenly not knowing how to read. Your eyes flickered, traveled , over his form in the chair; no particular direction, and no particular reason.
“I’m surprised they didn’t cuff you to the chair too.” You mused aloud, recalling the number of irritated negotiators that had left the room with you, then with him –they’d never been brave enough to negotiate without restraints, but they had been more afraid of Sierra Six than you. You’d been frustrating, but him ? “They’re scared of you.”
He scoffed. “I don’t think I’m anything to be scared of.”
“I believe you.” You hummed. “But people like you tend to say that.”
“People like me?”
“A total contradiction that somehow balances out.” You said, but didn’t clarify. Even when he looked at you, eyes probing, you didn’t offer an answer. His brows furrowed, first in confusion, but eventually they settled into the neutrality that you were so familiar with. He recognized very quickly that there was no point, that he may as well have backed down instead of pushed forward. You considered that he didn’t care about that much, and he shouldn’t have. Your opinion hardly mattered as much as anyone else’s.
You were nothing and no one special, not where he was concerned.
“Do you know where Claire is?” He finally asked the most obvious question.
“Not here,” you answered immediately, walking further into the room, your arms crossed. There was still a reasonable distance between the two of you, several feet that demanded conversation higher than a whisper. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if you were passing secrets. He knew that Claire wasn’t here.
He sounded tired. “Do you know where ?”
“What makes you think that I do?”
Lips pressed together, he waved vaguely, as though it were really a question worth asking. Unlike you, his eyes never lingered on any certain part of you for too long. “I couldn’t really tell where she went because of your friends from the CIA pummeling me, but I’m pretty sure that you were the last person to have been with her.”
“I know. I watched you get pummeled,” you corrected him.
Then he really did look at you, and quirked a brow.
“Long enough to watch you get a cheap shot on Agent Morrison.”
His brow quirked further.
“I never liked him that much.” You clarified with a shrug, eyes darting elsewhere. “He has an extensive record, but he had enough connections to wipe his slate clean.” A pause. “He’s also a prick.”
He looked down. “Sounds familiar.”
“Depending who you asked.” You confessed. “If you’re going to be a prick to anyone, I think you’d at least be honest about it.”
Then, you thought Six really did smile, even if at the floor; an approximation of one, as close to one as someone like him could get. A scoff of a laugh escaped him, and when he looked up again, his gaze was darting, never staying. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in with the popular crowd.”
“You’re not missing much.”
Your eyes followed his to the same familiar sterile white walls, the minimal amount of furniture, parts of the tile and the baseboards still protruding from where you’d tried to pry it apart so many months ago now; not so much a cell as an actual room .
You wondered what had changed to get you promoted to being on their payroll, earning an inch of freedom at a time, but you’d always been good at pretending. As far as they knew, you’d only wiped out one of Carmichael’s key obstacles, and you contemplated that he kept you close by for the same reason that they kept Sierra Six alive. Blame. Carmichael hadn’t found your record, nor any hint of your past.
Yet.
“I’m assuming that Claire went to a safehouse that you showed her,” you went on. “I didn’t follow her, so I can’t say for sure where she went. If I don’t know, then it’s safe to say that Carmichael doesn’t know, either.”
Something akin to relief flashed behind his eyes—he knew the location, but you didn’t. You didn’t ask; you’d said that you’d find her when you needed her, and that was true with or without his help.
“You said you weren’t with the CIA. Who are you with?”
A smile crept onto your lips, lingering close to the surface. You could have scoffed, could have laughed, but you didn’t. Your head tilted, your expression flat despite your amusement. “You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who doesn’t go by their actual name.”
“You don’t ask enough.” He retorted.
Then you really did smile, a slow upturn on both corners of your mouth. “I told you the answer already.”
“The truth.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
His brows furrowed, clearly skeptical. “So you’re parading around with the CIA for… what, fun ?”
“The same reason you’re sitting here when you can leave at any time, I guess.” You said. “You want something.”
“What do you want?”
“What do you ?” The two of you stared at each other, level but with one more perplexed than the other. It wasn’t you. When he didn’t answer, you shrugged, incapable of supplying the answer yourself. Instead, you asked: “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘supply and demand’?”
He nodded slowly, still with that perplexed expression that you somehow found endearing.
“You’re demanding, but you’re not supplying.” You explained. “I’ll give you,” you paused, but it wasn’t a critical decision on your part; the choice wasn’t hard. “Six questions.” You caught him resisting the urge to roll his eyes at your choice of amount and smirked. “Whatever you want to know. But only six.”
Six looked to think for a moment, picking his words carefully. His eyes had a way of darting you noticed, observing nothing and everything all at once. He was acutely aware of everything in the room, from the protruding tile to the resewed lining in the mattress, to you . From an outside perspective, he may have looked like nothing special, but he definitely was as smart as you gave him credit for. The depth of his mind was far from anyone’s reach. “Why did you let Claire escape?”
“First question. She wasn’t my target.”
“Who was?”
“Do you want to use one of your questions for that, or can you work it out on your own?”
His brows pinched. “... Why me?”
“Second question. I needed to see if you had information on Donald Fitzroy. I was going to search his house—“ well, it’d been closed off as a crime scene until the FBI could tear it apart at its foundation, and that was before Six had gotten ahold of it. You shrugged. “There’s not much of it left.”
“What kind of information?”
“Third question: A program. Not Sierra.”
“Are you going to count every question?”
“Does that count as four?”
Six shook his head. “Fitzroy didn’t have any program besides Sierra.”
You shrugged.
“He did ?”
You raised your eyebrows, a silent question. Question four?
He’d deduced it on his own. You could see his mind working, but in a much more delicate process than your mindless interrogators. He sighed. “Fitzroy’s dead.”
“I know.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything.” To anyone else, it would have. The main target had died, and that usually meant the case was closed. Anyone else would have moved on, but you weren’t just anyone and there were still things that you had to do, and still things that you had to find.
You were stubborn, but that was what had led you to Sierra Six in the first place.
“Fitzroy had a lot of secrets,” Six said, still sitting in that same position as though he were debating the world. At least, you knew that he was debating his circumstances inside the room. His fists were curled on top of his knees, sitting straight in a demeanor that suggested he could pounce at any moment. There was a relaxed tension in his muscles that you hadn’t noticed before, but that could change in a second. “The Sierra Program hardly had any records.”
“There are always two people to every secret. If not you, then someone else.”
Six’s eyes searched your face for the first time since you’d arrived, lingering longer than what was normal for him. You held gazes, but then he was standing, suddenly towering over you despite being several feet apart. His build didn’t strike you as intimidating–if he’d meant it to, it would’ve been. He shuffled closer. The two of you could have whispered if you’d wanted to.
“What about you? Who do you share your secrets with?”
You looked up, your voice nearly a whisper now as well. “Question four. You , apparently.”
“I still feel like I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe you’re not asking the right questions.”
“You still owe me three.”
“ Actually , I owe you two, and I’m done answering them for now.” You were leaning up, leaning toward him, bare inches of space that had become familiar for you to invade. He didn’t lean away, even if the coil of his muscles suggested the urge. You’d turned to walk away, but his voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
You half-turned; waited.
Your arms were still crossed, but his were at his sides, two completely different barriers shoving against the same wall. “Whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re looking for; uh, be careful.”
“We share secrets, remember?” You laughed at what was probably the most genuine one in a long time. “I can’t let you out of my sight just yet. I’m not going to make that mistake twice.”
#sierra six#the gray man fanfiction#courtland gentry#fanfiction#the gray man (2022)#courtland gentry x reader#court gentry/reader#court gentry x reader#court gentry#sierra six x you#sierra six x y/n#sierra six x reader
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Six Days, Part I - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)
Being stuck in a room with Sierra Six for a week causes more drama than you thought.
This was a 16 hour fever dream. It's probably going to be a two-parter, but this one ends satisfyingly anyway! I had to get this out of my head because ✨️Sierra Six deserves a lil kiss✨️ 😌
Beginning / Ending / Prequel
TAGS: Smut, One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, blood/wounds/death, poor knowledge of wound care.
WORD COUNT: 7.9k
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇
I
The knife slashes diagonally across your upper thigh, cutting deep enough you see … yellow? That’s probably not good, your mind flashes. You stumble forward, holding the wound.
The man who had just given it to you tries to grab you again; he was careless where the knife in his right hand went, as long as you weren’t killed. His gloved hand snatches at your left arm, but his attempt ends abruptly. You feel his body fall to the floor with a thump. You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, but there in front of you appears a disheveled Six, his firearm still pointed down the hallway behind you.
His eyes drop to your hands clutched around your bloody leg, and he closes the distance between the two of you in a second.
“You’re okay. Can you run?” He sounds calm.
One hand reaches out to gingerly touch the side of your face; he tilts his head to peer into your eyes. It won’t cross your mind until later that he’s trying to keep you from panicking.
“I-” your voice breaks. “I think so, yeah.”
Six nods, thankful that your adrenaline has taken hold; even he'd be making noise with that kind of injury. That wound was certainly going to require several stitches.
“Hold on to me.”
He indicates his belt, wanting to keep you close behind him but needing to keep his arms free. You comply gladly, curling your fingers through a belt loop. Though still scared, your body responds automatically to the protectiveness emanating from the man who has watched over you for the last four months.
He sweeps through the house, following the escape route he’d had planned from the very day he got here. You try not to see but the specter of death is unavoidable. Black-clothed, anonymous bodies lay strewn across broken glass. Debris extends throughout the house, but mercifully the kitchen is corpse-free. Six guides you across the room, and he reaches out for the garage door. As it swings open, Six curses.
“What’s wrong?” You whisper to his back.
He hesitates, then states, “A friend did me a favor.”
He doesn’t move toward the broken body lying next to the vehicle - it’s clear by the angle of the man’s neck that he’s beyond help.
“We’re even,” Six solemnizes over the man.
He says it so quietly that you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear. You feel a prickle in your nose like you’re near tears. You don’t know if it’s the situation or the fact that you’ve never seen the reticent man show any strong emotion, but you scrutinize the back of his head, trying to understand what’s inside.
“I’m sorry, Six,” you breathe. You drop your hand from his belt to give him space.
Six doesn’t respond.
You can’t really tell the difference between the man lying there and the other bodyguards that had been rotated through over the past week. Six had hidden the fact that he knew the man well; you’d never seen them interact.
He steps over to the driver’s door cautiously. You wince as your adrenaline starts to fade and the distraction of Six’s body is gone. Ensuring no joy-riders are hiding in the backseat, he climbs in and starts the car. As the engine springs to life, he observes you standing still in the headlights and deadpans, “You stayin’ here?”
*****************************
The two of you burst into the tiny apartment, not initially noticing the fact that it’s shockingly small: one chair, one bed, one bathroom. Without warning, he scoops you up into his arms and heads into the bathroom, flicking on the single bulb. He sets you gently on the countertop. He bends to grab a first-aid kit from the cabinet, and you wobble without his support, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion. His hands steady you and he stares into your eyes, willing you to be composed. You blink twice, realizing his face has never been this close to you - ever. You smile shyly, and he frowns. Clearly, he thinks you’re in shock. Your heart is racing but it has very little to do with the night’s events.
You’d been half-expecting an assault for some time now, and you’d prepared yourself as best a normal person could. Sure, you were scared - nothing would ever be the same now. But you had survived, thanks to Six, and the cold, animal part of your brain knew that was all that mattered. No, the thudding of your pulse was the fault of the ever-present magnetism you felt for the man working before you.
“I’m going to cut your jeans,” Six states.
You nod, mind racing with thoughts too silly to vocalize. He pulls a folding knife from his pocket and gingerly slices away the front half of the already-cut pant leg. You’re left with what resembles a pant-mullet and you giggle a little hysterically at the ridiculous thought.
He peeks up at you, now certain you’re in shock, “Lean against the mirror.”
You obey, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you recline. Six rises from his hunched position, standing so close that you can still see his face out of the bottom of your vision.
“Tell me when you need a break.” His voice is gentle, but you notice his jaw clenching. His hands settle on your skin. “Deep breath.”
Then the pain blinds you. You’d been silently crying in the car, the constant burning feeling in your leg causing you to grind your teeth, fidget, do anything you could to distract yourself. But the bite of the needle through your torn, pained flesh as he stitches you back together is much worse.
You slam your palms down against the edge of the counter, gripping tight - your sheer willpower the only thing keeping you from thrashing against him. You take deep breaths as he instructed, trying to leave your body behind.
Your mind wanders to earlier in the night, before chaos reigned, when Six had actually agreed to play a video game with you. You’d let him pick the game, and he’d chosen a first-person shooter (because of course he did). You’d still beaten the trained assassin. He’d sat beside you on the couch, his body heating your right side, and when you won the match, you’d sworn the side of his mouth turned up a little at your gloating. You’d spent most of your time together trying to make the man laugh, so you’d take anything he gave you. When he beat you in the next round, you’d been a sore loser - accusing him of cheating. You had poked his side, gently, and he had actually laughed. Okay, you checked yourself, it was more like a snort, but it counted.
But then he had admitted to it, “Gotta use everything to your advantage. I could see your location on your side of the screen.”
You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”
“A what?” He scoffed. “There’s a name for it? And not even a creative one.”
“Yeah, for cheaters who screen-look.” You glared.
He’d rolled his eyes, then met your stare with his own, much more intense one. His face might be guarded, but his eyes expressed his feelings. He always tried to hide it, but everything was written there among the blue. Your heart had lurched, your breathing requiring thought. For God’s sake, he was so close. His eyes weakly flickered down to your parted lips; but then he had stood, walked a few paces away from the couch.
“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
Rattled, you followed his lead. You knew he wanted you in your room; he always did his rounds once you turned in for the night. You had stood and stretched upwards, relieving your back. You never saw the guilty way his eyes followed the curves of your body as you moved, nor the way his jaw ticked as you bent to turn off the gaming console.
When you’d turned around, he had been perfectly composed. You had passed by him as close as you dared, close enough to hear the gum he was chewing, and muttered, “Goodnight, cheater.”
“Goodnight, loser.” He’d said, shrugging at you as you closed the bedroom door. You’d laughed at that, and as soon as your door had closed, he’d allowed himself to smirk.
He stuck the needle through a particularly sensitive section of your leg, and you were thrust back into your new reality. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore, and people had died because of you. Including Six’s friend. He’d probably request an entirely new team now; one that would replace him. He’d be free of the assignment he’d had for too long. You’d heard him say once that most assignments don't last longer than a week, and he’d been stuck babysitting you for months.
Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.
He stops, “I'm just over halfway. You need a break?”
You shake your head, “Get it over with.”
The next stitches are as painful as the others. But then you feel his hands leave your skin, and you hear something fall in the trash can - bloody material, maybe. You hear Six wash his hands in the sink next to you, then dry them with a towel. Exhaustion tinges your every thought, now. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d slept.
Tears fall from your closed eyes, unbidden. Gently, but quickly, his fingers wipe away the liquid, and your eyelids flutter open at the contact. The ugly light causes you to squint, but you see Six lean toward you. His right arm slips under your legs, his left snakes around your back, and he lifts you from the counter. You softly cling to his neck. He’s careful not to jar your leg as he maneuvers out of the bathroom and across the room. The bed dips with your weight as he sets you down on top of the covers. Instead of moving you again, he lays a different blanket across your body. He leaves your wound uncovered.
“Don’t let that touch your leg. Need to keep it as clean as possible, and the last time these were washed, cell phones still had visible antennas.”
“Yes, sir.” You say sleepily. It’d been a long day, a longer night, and though your leg was still paining you, the temptation of the abyss was greater.
Six watches you fall asleep from the red wingback chair in the corner. He was grateful it was thickly padded - he wasn’t sure he could sit in a plastic chair with the bruises he had. There was no couch, and only one bed, but he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
He wanted to believe that this safe house, two hours away from the previous, was off-the-books enough for his enemies to have overlooked it.
We’re fine here, he was nearly chanting to himself, willing it to be true. But he wasn’t going to relax, wasn’t going to get complacent. Not when he had a job to do.
*****************************
II
Six’s entire body ached. He hadn’t moved from his chair except to use the bathroom. He was completely still, his arms folded across his body. He wanted to check the perimeter; he wanted to see what was going on outside. Maybe they were setting up for a raid out there. Maybe they were already on their way inside. Or maybe they had one or two agents doing recon, trying to get a confirmed sighting of him or of you. And if it was the latter, him exiting the building would be the opposite of helpful. But god, he hated sitting here feeling useless.
His eyes kept dancing over your sleeping form. You’d slept fitfully at first, but you seem peaceful now, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon. Six wouldn’t dream of waking you unless necessary. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face.
How could he have found out? What didn’t I do?
He couldn’t carry the heaviness in his heart. His whole life had been about protecting others; his brother, buddies in prison, strangers, and now you. It’s all he knew, it’s all he wanted to do. Now, because of him, Denver was dead.
Six had asked him to help beef up security for a few days. There’d been word that something was likely to go down soon and Six had looked to one of the few men he truly trusted for help. He grimaced, mourning the dead man; he’d saved Denver’s ass three separate times, each one becoming a joke between them about life debts. Six wished he could’ve been there a fourth time, but he also knew he wouldn’t have altered a thing.
You hadn’t been asleep like he’d assumed so he had broken the pattern in their established rounds to find you. He’d felt nearly panicked searching the house, and when he recognized what he was feeling, he’d grunted, trying to shake it off like a broken toe or a stab wound. It had hurt nearly as badly. He’d shot two men and gotten into blows with a third before finally seeing you at the end of the hallway as you left the bathroom, and of course, he had shot the fourth: your friend, the knife-wielder. Six would never forget the way his body had sagged with relief at finding you.
No, even if he had known that he had a choice that night between you and Denver, he wouldn’t have hesitated in his answer.
And there’s the problem. He somehow knows my answer, too.
*****************************
You sat up quickly, knowing you’d slept longer than normal as the golden light streamed through the small, frosted window. Hoping to neutralize the hunger pains, you threw off the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the new pain.
“Well, don’t undo all my hardwork.” Six’s favorite tone with you was exasperation; like a man whose patience was always at its limit, but never beyond.
“It’s fine, doctor,” you toss back sarcastically, “I just forgot about it.”
“You - forgot - about the gash in your leg?”
“...yes.”
He rolls his eyes, a hand passing over his face. You’re about to thank him for stitching you up, since he’s apparently sensitive about it, when your stomach growls.
“Is there anything to eat?”
“Yeah.”
You bite your lip and narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, I guess I will make us some food.”
He doesn’t move except to pick up a book from the shelf.
You hobble over to the kitchenette and see the world’s worst pantry. Canned peaches, olives, green beans, and chicken - the latter of which you gag over. There’s a mini-fridge on the counter next to the hot plate. You open that and see a carton of eggs. Wonder how old those are. The carton seemed new, so you open it and are pleasantly surprised by twelve fresh eggs.
A few minutes later, you’ve made two chopped olive omelettes. There are no plates, but there is a roll of paper towels. You walk slowly toward the chair Six has taken up residence in, an omelette on a makeshift paper plate in your hand. He sees the movement and looks up from the book. He stands and leans forward to take it from you, with a curt, “Thank you.”
“So, what do we do now?” You ask. Your mouth is half-full of egg and you’re nearly unintelligible.
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“For things to get quiet.”
“Mmm.” You nod, still chewing. “Okay, then what?”
He looks up from his own food, answering, “We move. Further away.”
“Okay. And by ‘we’, you mean you’re not leaving?” You keep the nervousness out of your voice.
“What-? Where would I be going?” Genuinely not anticipating your question, Six’s eyebrows knit together. He blinks, gears turning in his head.
It finally clicks for him and he frowns; you’re a little confused how your question could irritate him, but you can’t stop the satisfied grin blooming on your face. The soulful eyes, the little curl of hair resting on his forehead, Six is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met, as well as a good friend, and the thought of leaving you apparently never even crossed his mind.
“And now you’re smiling?” He’s now totally bewildered.
Six is doing his damndest to put distance between the two of you emotionally, but you seem to be happy about …him staying with you? After assuming he’d leave you in this mess? He is speechless, his food forgotten momentarily.
“Nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. I just woke up, I’m still loopy.” You awkwardly smile again. You realize he’s not going to be satisfied with that, but you’re definitely not admitting your thoughts. So, you edit and try again.
“Okay, well, I figured since the original team is gone, a new one would be coming. Also,” you pause, knowing he’s against emotional oversharing, “I am very sorry about that. I know it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but I feel terrible. How do you get used to a life like this? People dying for you? My project wasn’t that incredible. There are more intelligent, more experimental chemists than me. There is no way my knowledge was worth that.”
You set your partially-eaten food down beside you, no longer hungry.
“You don’t get used to it.”
He answers your first question in the rawest voice you’ve heard from him. His eyes bore holes into the floor, desperately wanting to come clean, to relieve you of your guilt. They didn’t die for you, they died for him.
You try to catch his eye, to raise him from whatever mood suddenly snagged him, but he won’t look at you. He’s conflicted. Not only is he hiding the truth from you, but you still believe he’s capable of leaving you at the first bit of trouble, that he’ll give you up to another protection detail at his earliest opportunity. Six decides he cannot sit any longer. He rises, still avoiding your face, checks his gun, and walks to the door.
“I’m going to do a perimeter check; probably be gone ten minutes. I’ll knock in that pattern I showed you.” He pauses then adds, “If I don’t, there’s a trapdoor in the bathroom.”
“Alright,” you say quietly, your eyes on his back. Confused by his behavior and unable to let him leave in that manner, you can’t help but stage-whisper, “Please be safe, Six.”
You can’t see the way his throat constricts, the way he closes his eyes and lets your words soak in. Then he’s gone.
You mark the time with the analog clock on the bookshelf, and busy yourself by exploring the infinitesimal room. Your college dorm had been larger than this. The bathroom door is closed, and when you open it to find the trapdoor - just in case - the door hits the toilet bowl.
“Wow,” you wonder. “How did we both fit in here last night?”
You crouch to explore the grimy linoleum for the hidden seam, but you don’t see anything. Your eyes strain and your head bobs from side to side, trying to see something. But you find nothing. Maybe he’s confused this place with a different tiny, foreign safe house. Unwilling at the moment to actually feel around the gross floor, you’re content to just believe he’ll knock in the correct pattern.
You turn back into the main room, and pick up the book Six had been reading off the chair. A trashy bodice-ripper? How in the hell had he kept a straight face? You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. There’s no way he’d actually even read the title. He - for sure - had been trying and failing to seem preoccupied while you cooked. You’d get even with him for that.
You sprawl out on the bed, the book still in hand. You skip to a third of the way through, hoping to find the good parts, and sure enough: pure bodice-ripping. Again, you laugh out loud at the absurdity of the emotionally-repressed man you know reading this. Feeling this.
That sparks an idea in you; it had been a good long while since you’d been allowed to be completely alone. The waistband of your mangled jeans is loose enough to slip your hand down, and you engross yourself in a particularly dirty passage.
You're totally absorbed by the filthy story when the front door flies open and Six barrels through, shutting it as quietly as he could compared to his violent entrance. He flinches at your aborted scream, watches as your hand rips out of your jeans and you scoot up against the wall, trying to seem like you were not doing what you were definitely just doing.
The two of you stare at each other for a breath too long. Knowing he won’t - or can’t - you break the silence, “See anything?”
He short-circuits for a second, “No, you’re wearing jeans.” And then he realizes what you were actually asking about, “Oh, no. Nothing.”
His face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes anymore. You’re under the impression you’ve mortified him, but he knows if he keeps looking at your excited, glowing face for a second longer, he’ll make a decision you could both regret.
“I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you knock?” You titter at the ridiculous situation. But you’re less embarrassed than you thought you’d be. It hits you suddenly that Six has always made you feel safe in a multitude of ways, and maybe... maybe you don’t mind being caught by him.
“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Hence the busted door.”
“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.
He doesn’t make a reply, so you question, “Why were you pretending to read this?”
“Hm?” He settles his firearm back in its holster.
Six takes a long, calming breath, then meets your eyes. He’s as stoic as can be - except, now you're starting to wonder if it’s a front. You’d long felt like there was an electricity between the two of you. You’d seen Six’s eyes on you more than they should be, you’d feel his hand hover over your lower back sometimes when he walked you to your room, sending chills through you. He was reliable, protective, witty - he was also kind and selfless, though he let few people see it. But only in your daydreams could you believe he had any real feelings for you.
…so why did he just react that way? Wouldn’t a normal bodyguard apologize (right or wrong) and move on? They wouldn’t have to stand there and collect themselves, surely.
Or I’m just seeing what I want to, you chastise yourself.
“I know you were not actually reading this.” You tease, waving the book in the air.
“And how do you know that?” It’s clear he doesn’t even know what the book is about. He folds his arms across his chest and you attempt to discreetly ogle the vein on his bicep.
The smirk on your face warns him that you’re about to say something he’d rather not hear, “You wanna know how I know you weren’t reading this book of trashy erotica?” You heavily emphasize the words, and his eyes go wide. “Want me to read some aloud?”
He lunges toward you and snatches the book. “No. No, I do not.”
He absolutely cannot let you read porn aloud to him, he would lose all semblance of control. Six was already losing it, and that thought has him grumbling under his breath. Unthinkingly, he glances at the page you had open and he groans. This is what you were masturbating to? Fuck, shit. He shouldn’t have looked. His teeth grind together.
Oblivious, you bounce off the bed onto your good leg and say, “Since there’s no one out there, we need food for dinner. Is a store nearby?”
“I’ll go." He immediately takes the diversion. "Gotta find a new doorknob, anyway. You stay here, and listen for my knock.” He pins you with another exasperated look.
You huff, “Okay, jesus.”
You want to push him, ask him for the book back, ask him if you’re allowed to continue, but you can see he’s on edge. So you let it go.
He tosses the book unceremoniously on the highest shelf which you can’t reach. You glare at his backside, but he’s gone without turning around.
Six doesn’t get surprised. He doesn't let emotion get the better of him often, and in the past hour you’ve done it twice in two very different ways. He takes a deep breath, and swears again to build one more wall. He can’t let you continue being in danger because of him.
But, part of him knows there’s not much he can really do; leaving would only make you vulnerable and leave him lost. He couldn’t leave your fate up to strangers. No, he knew staying was still the best option. He just needed to stop entangling himself in you. Six’s best chance at protecting you long-term was to convince everyone else that you meant nothing to him. That meant getting through this current shitshow, and disengaging from you. You deserved a normal, boring life. A life where you wouldn’t be hunted, used as a pawn, just to hurt him.
*****************************
Six didn’t speak to you again the entire night. He hadn’t been able to get much with the cash he’d had on hand, but dinner was satisfying enough. You’d handed him his portion on another paper towel, and he had nodded his thanks, but that was just about the only communication he gave you all night. He’d fixed the door and you’d teased him about being handy, but his only response had been to stick his palm out for one of the screws you'd been holding.
He then picked up a book, pointedly avoiding his earlier choice, and actually read all evening while you snuck glances at the way the light from the dusty reading lamp caught his fair hair, his tense face. He had pretended not to notice, but each time your head tilted toward him, he realized his feelings might not be quite so one-sided.
Sure, he knew you were attracted to him; after all, he was trained to notice the little things. The difference between your genuine smile and the polite ones you gave the other bodyguards; the way you unconsciously broke his personal space, brushing past him, poking him; and the way you tried to take care of him. He'd never had that, never had someone bring him glasses of water while he sat at his laptop, ask him how he felt about a certain song, what his favorite flavor of gum was.
But he was afraid it was more Stockholm Syndrome, or boredom, than genuine affection. You were a good person, and bringing someone a glass of water wasn't a Declaration of Intent. So, he had ignored the numerous times you turned to him - written them off as restlessness.
Now, the sheets scratch your face and you rub your eyes, sleep calling you once again. You roll over to face Six, still in his chair, to ask him to join you. Not for anything nefarious, but because you know he must be exhausted. The past thirty-six hours had been stressful, and your method of coping with humor had been at his expense.
Your eyes adjust with the dim lamplight and you see the book drooping from one limp hand, his eyes closed and head tilted to the side. Happy he was finally getting some rest, you shuffle off of the bed, take the book and mark his place before setting it on the shelf. You grab the plush blanket he had given you last night and drape it over his much-larger body. It didn’t fully cover him, but it’d do.
You gaze down at him, admiring his vulnerable form. Six meant more to you than you cared to tell him. No family, a workaholic with coworkers for friends, you’d let yourself grow fond of the reserved, self-sacrificing blonde man with the affinity for chewing gum. It was the closest you’d been to a person in over a year. No matter what he considered you - a client, a ward, a burden - you considered him a friend.
“Thanks for always being there, Six,” you whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear. You softly kiss the top of his hair, then get back in bed. The abyss welcomes you back. You must’ve been dreaming when you heard what sounded like a defeated groan.
*****************************
III
You wake the next morning to Six seated on the opposite corner of the bed, his gun in pieces. You prop yourself up on your left elbow and watch as he painstakingly cleans each part.
“Can you teach me how to do that?”
He lowers the barrel in his hands, turning to you. You’re backlit by the small window on the far wall, and he curses inwardly. You look sleepy, domestic. Something pure and stable that he knows he’ll never have.
“Yeah, I can.”
He twists a little in place to fully face you, and you crawl a little closer to see the parts. He picks up a piece and hands it to you, extremely careful not to touch you.
“This,” he explains, “is the slide. It’s what chambers a new round and ejects the old casing.” He hands you a paper towel, again obviously avoiding your skin. “I like a softer cloth, but I don’t have anything blood-free. Gently rub the interior.” He instructs.
You do as he asks, working in silence. You hold it up to him for inspection, a smile, disproportionately proud of your simple task, beams on your face. He responds with a faint smile, and places the slide on another towel designated for finished parts.
“Can you show me how to-” You falter as he turns his heavy eyes back to you. “Like, if I needed to, how to use it?” You hesitantly ask, hoping you weren’t bothering him. You’re not a fan of firearms, they’ve always made you nervous. But if push came to shove, you’d prefer not to be using the gun as a club.
Six is not quite so nervous around guns, and he nods, agreeing that you should have every possible manner of defending yourself.
“Sure.”
You watch in silent admiration as he puts his weapon back together faster than you’d ever be able to, meeting his eye at the end and giving him a dramatic, impressed look. He smiles again, a shade more than earlier.
You slide over to sit beside him, your legs dangling off the bed. He spends the next few minutes helping you find your way around the gun. He still refuses to touch you, and it gets more noticeable with every second. He even sets the gun on the bed for you to pick up rather than hand it to you. You wilt a little at that, sure now that you’ve pushed him away even further than you thought. You can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. He’s never been a touchy-feely, overly-friendly person; why did you make him so uncomfortable yesterday? You want to kick yourself.
You watch as he stifles a yawn.
“Didn’t you sleep?” You ask incredulously.
“I slept enough.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Six sneaks a quick, longing glance at you, replaying last night’s feeling of your lips on his hair. How he’d woken up at your touch. How could he have slept after that? He’d warred with himself about climbing up beside you, holding you close. But Six didn’t want to push this now. He knew there was a power imbalance here (although most of the time it felt to him like you were the one in control) and he didn’t want your feelings out of gratitude or survival. He’d compromised with himself by letting his mind free; he imagined your breathy sighs as you slept curled against him, how perfectly you’d fit alongside his body, the feeling of your hair between his fingers. He tears himself away.
“Please take a nap. You’re no good to either of us dead on your feet like this.”
“For a corpse, I think I look pretty good.”
“Six, for god’s sake, it’s daylight and it’s been silent for days. I promise I will wake you at any noise.” Your voice drips with earnesty, “I promise.”
He rubs his brow, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes are intent upon you, “You promise.”
You nod twice in quick succession and he makes a face like he’s accepting a plea bargain. He stands, then all but collapses onto the same side of the bed where you’ve been sleeping. You take up vigil in his chair, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.
After an hour, your legs begin to cramp, and you start pacing the tiny apartment. Still feeling a little guilty for yesterday, you wonder if there’s any gum nearby. Maybe a vending machine? You assess Sleeping Beauty: still breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to the door and unlock it. Six’s rhythm is unchanged by the sound of the deadbolt, so you slowly pull the door open. Peeking your head out, you see a featureless, white hallway; several other plain-looking doors leading to God-knows-where; and there, at the end and nearly out of sight due to the alcove it’s in, is a glowing vending machine. You pat your pocket and find two coins. Should be enough, you hope. You’re unfamiliar with the local currency, and honestly you’re not even totally sure which country you’re in. You prop the door open, just in case, and cautiously step out into the hallway.
Ears straining for any noise at all, you begin your trek. Keeping your feet as close to the baseboards as you can, you make as little sound as possible. Eventually you reach the vending machine, and you’re right - you have no idea which country this is as you don’t even recognize the language. But you can identify a pack of chewing gum anywhere. It’s only one of the coins, so you pop it in and get your reward. Uneventfully, you return to the room, quietly slipping the door closed, and deadbolting it shut.
Six sleeps for another few hours, while you spend time making lunch for when he wakes up, and reading some of the other, mostly boring, novels scattered around. One novel piques your interest with a convoluted plot which helps time pass. The book makes you feel uneasy, makes you start to wonder about your own situation. It really doesn’t make sense for Six to still be assigned to you over some biochemical project that never even made it to the testing stage. The fact that someone had actually attacked you made even less sense. None of your research was on your person, and it’s not like you had memorized every single formula. Maybe Six knew more than he’d told you.
Thinking about Six makes you grow lonely, wishing selfishly he would wake. You’re debating getting in bed and taking a nap with him, your only inhibitor being your promise, when he stirs. He shoots up like a dead man raised from the grave, his hand going to his side where his weapon usually rests.
“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.
“Mmph,” he grumbles. You’re trying not to stare at him, but he looks so uncharacteristically soft, you can’t help it. He pretends not to notice, thankfully. Six tosses the covers off, and picks his gun up from the nightstand. He walks to the door and listens. Satisfied, he turns around and sits back on the mattress.
“I can make lunch-” he starts to offer, but you cut him off.
“I already made you some,” you swiftly grab the sandwich from the mini-fridge and deliver it to him. After he takes it, you pull the gum from your pocket, extending it towards him, too.
His eyes jump from you to the gum and back again twice. “Where’d you squirrel that away?” He jokes, thinking you took it from your previous residence. Then he remembers the machine outside. His face tightens, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”
“... don’t be mad at me,” you begin slowly, dropping your hand to your side.
“Dammit.” Six hisses. “Dammit, you promised.” He’s off the bed again, towering over you.
He shakes his head, disbelieving. He’s still in the hyper-alert mode he has been used to for twenty years. But his eyes keep catching on your pouting lips. He’s finding temptation difficult to ignore when all he can think about is how those lips would make him feel.
“I upheld my promise! There were no noises!” You know it’s not a real defense.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind on the problem. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”
“No to the first, and honestly, I can’t answer the second.”
His mouth opens to retort, but he closes it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He raises his hands in supplication and slowly states, “You can’t go out there alone.”
“I wanted to do something nice.” You explain. “But I am sorry. I was trying to ease some small amount of stress for you, not add to it.”
Six snorts and looks away. You'd put yourself in danger to make him happy. How was he supposed to react to that?
When he turns back to you a moment later, he reaches to take your wrist. Goosebumps appear down your arm, but he tries to ignore them. You loosen your grip on the small paper package, allowing him to take your peace offering. You don’t want him to let go of your wrist, and he doesn’t. His hand is hot, his thumb rubbing languidly across your skin.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But shockingly, you take priority over gum.” His tone deepens and he orders again, “Do not go anywhere alone.”
He’s not trying to turn you on, but with his rough hand holding yours, his authoritative face inches from your own, and his protective demands, you feel the tension coiling.
“Mhm, noted,” you respond.
Your blood feels hot. Surely he can feel your pulse thrumming? You try to shake yourself out of the rising heat you feel. Take a cold shower, you thirsty bitch, you mentally jar yourself.
“You wanna relax? Make my job a little easier? It’s like you’re trying to kill me yourself.” Six accuses playfully, finally releasing your wrist, where - yes - he had been enjoying your quickening pulse.
His soulful eyes dance between yours. You feel flames licking up your body, your stomach tightening in anticipation. Am I killing him? The way he’s killing me? Your heart is hammering, body screaming for him to touch you again.
“Little dramatic,” you snort, surprised it comes out in a normal tone of voice. Turning away from him, you walk towards the bathroom.
And you’re not sure what possesses you, you’re half-sure he can’t stand you, but still you hear yourself say, “I’m going to shower. Am I allowed to do that alone, Six?”
His head snaps, his intense stare nearly stopping your breath. You watch him swallow hard and you wonder what he’s thinking. Your chin tilts upward, eyes locked with his, confirming every pass you’ve ever made at him.
And well, he tried, didn’t he? Six is a strong man. He’d been stabbed, shot, he’d fallen from great heights, been pepper-sprayed - and through everything, he’d kept on fighting. But this? The slow drip of you over the past few months had been bad enough, but stuck in this room with you nearly begging for him? He wasn’t strong enough for that.
“No. You’re not,” he growls.
He crosses the room in two strides, his arms enfolding you. He grunts as he lifts you up and backs you into the wall; at the same time his lips come hard against yours, months of repressed feeling apparent in his grip, his fevered kiss.
Your legs curl around his waist, tugging him closer, and your hands move down him - everything you can reach, you want to feel. Your hands press in his hair, his beard, they caress his throat before dropping to feel the beat of his heart through his wide chest. Your frenzied movements send him wild. He had no idea giving in would feel this good; he’s already forgotten about the shower.
You feel the wall disappear as he moves toward the bed. His knee bends on the soft surface as he lays you onto the blankets. You feel his weight pressing into you, grounding you to him. His left hand slides up your shirt, breaking his kiss to remove it fully. He tugs his own off by the collar, and the sight of his bare chest makes you gasp. Intensely defined muscles riddled with scars and tattoos decorate his body. He's lived a hard life. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving, and he makes a lustful noise at the sight. He unclasps your bra, replacing it with his mouth.
“Oh,” you throw your head back at the feeling, and he makes another deep, rumbling sound at your approval.
His pants go next, leaving him in dark red briefs. He pauses and regards your pants, your wounded leg.
“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.
He moves his hands appreciatively along your sides, stopping when he reaches your waistband. Six’s beard scratches your sensitive skin as he plants kisses lovingly around your thigh. He’s hoping you understand it’s his apology for not killing the man before he ever touched you. He unbuttons your frayed, fucked-up jeans and places a large hand over the cut on the outside of your leg to protect it while he pulls the material down, your underwear also going.
As he leans back over you, you can’t help but admire him, your eyes brimming with fondness at his care. His burning chest presses into yours, and you can feel his muscles flexing as his hands grope your body.
Your hands go to his hair once more, clutching him to you. His tongue skates over the hollow at the base of your throat - you inhale sharply at the sensation. His thigh shifts between your legs, and the pressure on your most sensitive area causes you to tilt your hips back and forth, riding him a little. Six notes your reaction greedily; he presses his thigh into you harshly and you whine. He places a large hand around the base of your throat, and continues his mouth’s path upward until he reaches your jaw, spurred on by the obscene moans you’re making.
“Sweetheart, you’re making me blush," his breath caresses your ear.
One of your hands cradles his chin while the other snakes along his body, pushing his briefs down - he kicks them off. The feeling of his thick, naked thighs against your own nearly distracts you from your goal. But you find him quickly - you knew he would be big there, too - and you relish the way his powerful body goes slack at your touch. In your peripheral, you can see his biceps shake at the tension building in him. Your thumb brushes over a vein, and you shiver as he lets go of the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard him make.
You lean up to capture his lips and swallow the sound he just made. His hand plunges into your hair, cradling your head while the other palms your lower back; he grunts as he leans back onto his heels, easily taking you with him. His mouth connects with yours, and his hand slides to the curve of your ass.
Your thighs straddle him in this kneeling position, and you grind along his smooth erection. His hand on your ass encourages your rhythm. His other arm falls from your hair to wrap around your midsection, holding you tight to him. Six’s kisses are deep, desperate, but tender somehow. It makes you want him everywhere - you want to know nothing but him. You rock forward far enough that his tip catches at your center.
He stills your movement, keeping you in limbo. He leans his head back to see you. You can feel the strength in his muscles, so you don’t even attempt to fight him for the friction you’re craving. Artlessly pushing back the hair that had fallen in your face, he then rests his palm on your cheek, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.
He shifts his body for a better angle, then slowly - so slowly - pushes up into you. Six’s eyes are almost entirely black, the smallest bit of blue rings his blown pupils as he drinks in your whimper. You didn’t think you could be more turned on, but the look in his eyes is so hungry. He sucks a line of kisses up your neck and the sensation of the warm trail cooling on your skin causes you to clench down on him; he grunts again at that.
You sigh in relief when his hip bones sit flush with yours. You’ve been so ready for this man, the considerable stretch doesn’t hurt in the slightest. You breathlessly laugh; utter bliss surging through you. You don’t try to move, knowing instinctively that he’s in charge.
“Mmm,” he hums gruffly, running a hand through your hair.
You feel him twitch inside you, and you want to ask him what he just thought about, but he pulls out and thrusts up into you without warning. You cry out, but he’s not done. He does it again, then again, snapping his hips brutally. You’re getting what you wanted, he’s driving up into you and it is overwhelming; Six is destroying you, piece by piece. His arms flex as they hold you still, his stomach muscles jump at the strain underneath your slack hands. Sweat begins to shine on both of you; the slick reward for his exertion somehow making you wetter elsewhere. A lock of dirty blonde comes free, swinging against his forehead; and you’re mesmerized by the masculine beauty of Sierra Six.
His pattern slows briefly to lay you both back down. His right hand finds its home in your hair, before he begins a deeper, more sensual pace. You gasp out his name at the new feeling, the intimacy. He’s weakened your body so thoroughly that he is absolutely fucking you senseless into the mattress despite his slower pace. You grasp at the bedsheets above your head; you can hear the bed creaking with the force of him. His lips press against your forehead, breathing heavy. One hand cradles the base of your skull while the other plants against the wall for leverage. He tilts his head to rest against yours, and it’s clear he’s all but making love to you at this point. The knot in your stomach gets more tenuous with each and every one of his touches.
You try to reign in your gasps, your cries, but his left hand falls between where you’re joined, and your attempt at being quiet ends entirely.
His lips brush your ear and he growls, “Should’ve known you’d be as loud in bed as you are every other fucking day.”
“You love it,” you choke out, smiling smugly.
His voice is heady, “It is that obvious?”
You’re in sensation overload, the feeling of Six pushing inside you, the rhythmic motion of his hand, and that look in his eyes has your body taut as a bowstring. Your hands reach up to frame his face, wanting to hold him, when you're surprised by the tension in your abdomen snapping viciously. You writhe up beneath him, fucking him back, never breaking eye contact. You feel yourself repeatedly clench down as you come apart for him, finally closing your eyes when you breathe out his name. Six possessively parts your lips with his, groans echoing in the space between kisses as he lets go, too. His hips begin to stutter; his abdominal muscles jerk as he buries himself deep within you, spending himself nearly as powerfully as you did.
His head drops to your collarbone and you press another kiss to his hair. Six raises up on his forearms, memorizing the way you look underneath him. His lips meet yours again softly before he carefully eases himself from you. He wraps a muscle-bound arm around you, tugging you to him. Six scoots both of you a few inches onto a pillow and throws the covers over you.
Diffused, indigo light from the window indicates that sunset has just occurred, and you can’t help but hope tomorrow doesn't come. Staying here in this comfortable, intimate twilight world was the only place you cared to exist. You feel Six’s chest press into your back then retreat, and his exhale tickles your ear. The tattoo on his left forearm lay across your naked breast, and you don’t stop yourself from tracing it.
“That feels wonderful,” his sigh is gravelly. You shift further into him and he responds by pulling you tighter, settling you flush against his body.
“I won’t stop, then,” you promise him quietly.
He sighs, and within a few moments, you feel his breathing deepen. You keep your promise until you drift away, too.
#sierra six#sierra six x reader#six#the gray man#the gray man fanfic#the gray man fic#court gentry#sierra six fanfic#ryan gosling#rg#personal#my fics#courtland gentry#smut#sierra six smut#lloyd hansen#chris Evans
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｡･ﾟ･ღ¸.✻´ fic masterlist `✻.¸ღ･ﾟ･｡
*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | old masterlist
-updated: 01/15/24
-writing and taking requests for marvel, bullet train, the gray man, stranger things
✮ smut | ♡ fluff | ❄ angst | ❀ general romance | ☽ misc.
Bucky Barnes
one-shots:
stars around my scars ♡ ❀
during a day off, you and bucky reminisce about how you met and your past experiences.
sunshine ♡ ❀
you and bucky host a get-together for the team, an expected surprise causes you to confide in steve.
you showed me how ♡ ❀
bucky was never one for love, unsure he was even capable of it- but then there’s you.
Steve Rogers
one-shots:
tangled ♡ ✮
(archived for revision)
honeybee ♡ ✮ ❀
steve knows everything about you, his best friend, and he strives to make you happy. you make the first move and steve wants to learn how to please you in other ways.
sunday morning ♡ ❀
a rainy day ruins your date plans, so steve brings the date to you.
if i could give you the moon ♡ ✮ ❄ ☽
your relationship with steve is nothing more than a string of lies and promises in a hearty affair.
only you ♡ ❀ ❄ ☽
on a night out with the team, only shortly after you and steve’s breakup, you end up drinking a little too much and refuse to go home with anyone but steve.
afterglow
06/20/24-06/27/24
a quiet hue ♡ ❀
you meet steve during a creative block, and he eases you out of it.
two-shots:
01. fireworks ❀
everyone but you and steve realize you like each other.
02. sparks ♡ ✮ ❀
just steve fulfilling his craving of you.
01. a quiet hue ♡ ❀ ☽
during an extreme case of art block, you meet steve on your apartment's rooftop. he helps cure your blocked creative flow, and sparks something else along the way.
02. a brighter hue ♡ ✮ ❀
you and steve go on a date, deepening your connection in ways you couldn't have even dreamed of. (01/20/24-01/25/24)
wip series:
bitter sweet series
you've grown to resent steve after he breaks up with you and you give him the cold shoulder for weeks. you soon discover you're pregnant and show back up on his doorstep to tell him the news. he tells you the real reason for his leaving forcing both of you to work together and cooperate. will things go back to how they were, or is it forever unfixable?
01. bitter sweet ❄
02. sour ♡ ❄
03. tart ❄
04. citrus ♡ ❄
05. sickeningly sweet ❀ ♡
06-1. as sweet as cake ♡ ✮ ❀
06. fresh start ♡ ❀ ☽
rogue series
01. rogue
timeweaver (mini-series)
01. coming soon
Wade Wilson
one-shots:
i love you, wade wilson ♡ ❀
a simple, lazy weekend with wade. (coming soon)
Billy Hargrove
one-shots:
remember ❄ ♡ ❀
billy's first and only love returns
you're so good ♡ ✮ ❄
you and billy connect, forming a close bond.
Steve Harrington
one-shots:
i missed you ♡
{steve confesses after nancy leaves}
Tangerine
one-shots:
kyoto ✮ ❀
tan stumbles (literally) upon you on the way to kyoto
Ladybug
coming soon
Six/Court Gentry
coming soon
Lloyd Hansen
coming soon
#fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfiction#bullet train#bullet train fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#the gray man#the gray man fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#captain america fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#the winter solider fanfiction#billy hargrove x reader#steve harrington x reader#masterlist#masterpost#tangerine bullet train#ladybug bullet train#court gentry#lloyd hansen#sunvmars#wade wilson x reader#deadpool fanfiction#multi fandom blog
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Who’s the Boss? 10
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Note: Bro, my hip is pinching so tight I feel it in my ankle.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖
Your mother always said you never missed a detour on a straight road. You always think she’s too narrow-sighted. Even if she's right. Your search for the caddy is foiled by your innate curiosity. You end up in the small gift shop, playing with the novelty pens there. You do need a new one…
You find a replacement for Fiona. Of course, no pen could ever live up to her comfortable grip or her gliding ink, but Bailey the Bunny would do just fine. A long pen topped with a pom pom with rabbit ears. You could make it hop as the fluffy ball was attached by a spring.
On your way to the checkout, you grab one of those portable fans that goes around your neck. You never do good in the heat and the sun is blistering down. Coupled with Hansen’s ever burning disapproval, you'll surely need it. Oh and candy.
You finally defeat the dragon and his hoard, leaving the shop with your wares, and heading outside at the direction of an attendant. A row of three carts await you as you pop a gummy bear in your mouth. The breakfast of champions.
Along with the carts, your boss scowls at his phone as his associates chat in the front seat of the middle vehicle. You hop down the steps and apologise as you swallow and shove the package in your purse.
"Uh, I had to hit the bathroom," you lie.
"Just get in," Lloyd tucks his phone away in his cream pants. What's with this guy? Does he like the adrenaline of tempting a stain?
You obey and get in a cart, gripping the wheel with one hand as you search for the key, the slot empty.
"Are you crazy?" Lloyd puts his hand up on the roof of the cart, "move over."
"Ah, right," you shimmy over, disappointed that you won't get to be Silvio for the day.
He drops onto the seat, the cart shifting with his weight. You glance back at the caddy, alone with several tall golf bags in a cart of his own. Why couldn't you ride with that guy? He looks like he has good memes.
The engine putters on and Hansen hits the gas, a slow roll across the green.
The silence is laced with his impatience. You cross one leg over the other and try to stretch the skirt past your thighs. He huffs and reaches over to still your hand.
"You fidget too goddamn much."
"Sir, sorry, sir," you stop yourself and pull your hand back, crossing your arms as you fight not to squirm. His hand lingers on your leg before he retracts it, "I've never golfed before, ya know?"
"You won't be today," he shakes his head as he steers, "take notes and be quiet."
"I'll do my best," you avow, "so how many points do you need to win?"
He doesn't answer as he sneers at the grass ahead. You're just making conversation. No wonder his buddies don't seem very friendly. Not with him, at least.
🖇️
You dodge another backswing, trying to catch whatever Lloyd is blabbering on about. There's too much. Too much green, too much pollen, too much sun, and of course, you can't help but get distracted by the putters in the distance yelling fore, as you resist yelling back five.
Hansen shades his eyes as he watches his shot fade into the sky. You can barely see the ball but whatever. He seems proud of his shot, landing right by the pole, but not in the hole. Right, but isn't he supposed to get it in? Why is this taking so long?
Court whistles, "good shot," he praises, "you know, my shoulder," he rolls his left arm, "I need to stretch it out a bit more," he takes a club and examines it as he pass Hansen, his ball only few feet behind, "you wanna give it a go?"
He offers you the end of the club and you clutch your phone to your chest. You glance past him as Lloyd turns back with a tilt of his head, "you tryna butter me up by losing, Gentry?"
"I don't need to butter you up, Hansen, I'm not the one selling," he insists as he keeps his pale blue eyes aimed at you.
"Oh, I don't know how," you smile, hoping to appease Lloyd with your refusal, as much as you kind of want to.
"I can help," Court wiggles the club at you, "come on. No fair just watching."
"She said no," Hansen snips.
"Because you're a hard ass," Court retorts, "come here."
He gestures to you with two fingers, pointing the foot of the club at the ball. You give a look to Mr. Hansen and shrug. He shakes his head and motions to the caddy for water. Nick smirks as his eyes dart between the two men.
You put your phone away and follow Court. He waves you closer and directs you to turn around. He stands behind you, his long arms stretching past you as he holds the club in front of you.
"Put your hands here," he guides your right then your left below his, "arms straight," he's flush to you, his voice surrounds you like smoke, "feet apart." He kicks your shoes wider, "just be loose, swing back," he angles the stick up, twisting his body with yours, "and down, make sure you follow through."
He brings the club back behind the ball short of touching it. You peek up as Lloyd growls and Nick holds back a chuckle. You don't get the joke.
"Good," Court pulls away, his hands brushing up your arms, "it's all yours."
"Right," you scrunch your nose and focus.
You shift your feet, wiggling your hips as you look back and forth between the club and the hole off in the distance. You take a breath and raise the club and let it swing, nearly toppling yourself with the velocity as it twists you around halfway.
The ball flies off as you regain your balance and Court hums as the other men grumble and squint at the sky. You try to see where it went and finally see the white bounce onto the green. Once, twice, three times before it rolls past Lloyd's and knocks into the hole.
Your eyes round in disbelief. It's like you're glitching before you suddenly fling your arms up, nearly hitting Court with the club.
"I did it," you hop in place, the skirt flying up carelessly, "yesssss." You stomp down and cock your fist towards the ground, "I did it!"
You spin and raise your hand. Court barely gets his up as you high five him.
"Wonderful," Nick praises, "well, I don't know how I can follow that."
You hand the club back to Court with a smile and go back to the cart, just by Lloyd, "did you see that, Mr. Hansen?"
"Mm, yeah," he mutters, "why don't you stick to your notes, intern?"
You deflate and nod, "yes, sir."
He doesn't even look at you, his shoulders set as he glares at Court. You stick your tongue out at his back as the other men chuckle at the act. You quickly snap your mouth shut as Lloyd peeks back at you.
"God," you say as you grab the box hanging from your neck and flip the fan on, pointing it at your face, "hot out today, huh?"
He scowls and for a minute you think he might snatch the fan. Instead, his hand balls into a fist beneath his glove and he turns back as Nick approaches his ball. You don't get these old men or their dumb game. It wasn't that hard to get the ball in a hole. Duh.
🖇️
You're hesitant to sit down as the men claim a table in the club dining room. You hover behind Lloyd and he snap his fingers, pointing to an empty chair near his. You inch forward as the other men settle in, peeling off their gloves and sighing.
You're a bit overheated but overall, you feel fine enough. You wouldn't have minded a lazy Saturday but those are seeming to be in short stock. You lower yourself into the seat as the server approaches with a beaming request for drink orders.
"Ladies first," Court winks at you, an unexpected gesture.
"Oh, uh–"
"Two mimosas," Lloyd interjects holding up as many fingers.
You don't argue and just nod with a weak smile. Court narrows his eyes and orders coffee as Nick contents himself to a whiskey with coke. You wiggle in the chair, pushing the tail of the skirt under your ass as the wooden frame squeaks. Lloyd grabs your arm and squeezes. You stop and make yourself sit back.
"So, it's a plan?" Hansen begins.
"Well, you got me listening, it's more than I expected," Court counters, "but let's leave that for office hours. You can pencil me in this week, I'll have my assistant check in when they are on the clock."
You try not to send a look at your boss and keep your lips sealed. He chafes at this obvious remark but doesn't argue.
"Fair enough, we'll enjoy our lunch then."
"I'm starving," Nick intones as he looks over the menu, "how about you?"
You realise he's asking you and you perk up, "oh yeah, I– actually, I got some candy–" you pop open your purse.
"Intern," Lloyd girds.
"Oh, uh, yeah, no dessert before dinner," you shut the clasp and cringe, "sorry."
The server returns, easing you away from the awkward silence and puts down each drink. You stare at yours, your stomach grumbling for actual food.
"Do we know what we want?" The server asks.
Again, Court defers to you, a habit that seems to irk Lloyd. You haven't even touched the menu.
"Uh, do you have grilled cheese?" You go with your gut, "if that's uh…" you glance at the menu and the French words on it, "okay?" Lloyd scoffs and you chew your lip. "Sorry, can I pass? I don't know."
"We can do grilled cheese," the server offers, "cheddar okay?"
"Oh yummy, sure," you grin, "thank you."
"Anything with it? Fries? Salad?"
"Fries. Oh, and ketchup on the side, thank you so much, sir. Er, garcon?"
Court looks amused as Nick sips from his glass. You don't chance to look at Lloyd. The men put in their orders and you tap your fingers on the tablecloth.
"Quit," Lloyd hisses and you once more weave your fingers around each other. "Why don't you have a drink?" He keeps his voice low, "unless… you had your fill last night."
"Hm?" You blink, "what do you mean?"
He clicks his tongue but doesn't answer. You swing your legs under the chair and lean your arm on the rest, propping your chin on your knuckles.
"You ever think of golf lessons?" Court intones, "you're a natural."
"She's lucky," Lloyd insists.
"They give lessons?" You snort, "I mean it's not science or anything."
"I suppose you're right," Court lifts his mug and you nose a hint of a tattoo peeking out by his sleeve. There's another further down you didn't even notice before.
"Oooo, you have a tattoo?"
"Several," he answers.
"Nice, I was thinking of getting a little kitten tattoo."
"That's cute," he says. "Suits you."
"Does it hurt? I'm a big baby."
"A little but you get used to it," he explains.
"Hmmm, maybe I'll actually do it. It'd be cool."
Lloyd sighs and you fidget. Everything you do annoys him but you're just being friendly. Besides, the guy seems to hate your boss so maybe, just maybe, if you’re nice, it will help whatever they're trying to agree on.
"Anyway, I'm sorry. When I'm hungry, I talk too much."
"That you do," Lloyd reaches to push your drink closer, "so stop."
"Now Hansen, you dragged her out on a Saturday, I'm sure she has better things to do than watch a bunch of old men stare into the sun," Nick pipes up, "take it easy on her. She makes you tolerable."
"Fuck you, Fowler, how about that?" Lloyd snaps.
"You just hate that we prefer her," Court snickers.
"Look, I think we're all just a bit hangry–" you interject.
"Intern," Lloyd growls, "you don't gotta like me, Gentry, but if you didn't like the numbers, we both know you'd be gone by now."
"Well, someone like you needs a worth beyond their personality," Court says flippantly, "looks like the girl could teach you a thing or two about manners. And golf."
"Whatever," Lloyd sits back grumpily and grabs his drink, "she's a fucking intern."
"And yet more professional than you," Court jabs before he directs his attention back to you, "wanna see my favourite tat?"
You peek at Lloyd as he refuses to acknowledge you. You don't know what to do. You can't stand the heat. You're tempted to use the little fan but know that will only annoy him further.
"Uh, sure," you smile at Court, "I'd love to."
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#court gentry#nick fowler#the gray man#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#au#boss!au#who's the boss?
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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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“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
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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."
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