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drivinmeinsane · 5 months

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Snow ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Four ※ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You expected a quiet night in, but that changes when you follow a trail into the trees.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Pre-relationship, Treatment of injuries, Caretaking

※ Word count: 1920

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Of course you notice that the log basket by the fireplace is empty when you’re already sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand, Christmas tree plugged in, and fully prepared to settle in for the night. You grumble as you get up and pull on your boots and your coat. Grabbing your flashlight, you open the back door and step out into the cold. You’re nearly to the shed when the beam of light picks up something unusual in its field. You come to a complete stop and examine the ground with a growing sense of horror.

The snow is churned up, something had clearly come through here recently enough. Probably within the past hour or so while you had been snugly tucked into your remotely located home. You can make out footprints. Human, likely belonging to a tall male judging from the size and the distance apart. They’re messy like the maker had been stumbling along. Your flashlight picks up dark blotches on the white. Blood. You look up, frantically scanning your surroundings for a sign of who might have left this path across your yard. There’s nothing other than the trail that leads off into the woods.

You silently backtrack to your home to grab the hunting rifle leaning against the wall in the coat closet, an assurance for living out in the middle of nowhere in the wooded hills. Feeling like a side character in a cheaply stereotypical horror movie, you go back outside to follow the trail. Flashlight off now that you’re in pursuit. You desperately want to nope out of the situation, but there is no one else around for miles to handle this. You push follow the path into the thicket. There’s a shape huddled at the base of a tree not far into the brush.

The moonlight is blocked by the branches, so you resignedly turn your flashlight on to illuminate the figure. It reveals a man dressed in bloodstained street clothes. He’s slumped forward so you can’t see his face, but his jeans are covered in a mixture of blood and snow. Some of the blood is glossy, fresh, but most of it is frozen. He is only wearing a thin windbreaker for warmth. There’s a gun resting on his lap. His fingers are slack around it, not even holding onto the weapon. They look waxy and stiff. Only his labored breathing lets you know that he’s alive.

“Hey.” He doesn’t respond to your slightly hesitant yell so you nudge his foot with the tip of your boot and try again, louder. “Hey!”

No movement, or any awareness of you at all. He just continues breathing like each exhale might be his last. Emergency services are at least forty-five minutes away, if they are even able to get through the snow at all tonight.

Gritting your teeth, you inch forward to kick the man’s outstretched leg. “Hey!”

That finally gets a response. The stranger groans and lifts his head up. He squints against the bright light you have pointed at his face and raises a shaky hand to block it. You shift so you’re pointing the rifle at him in case he gets it in his head to make any sudden movements.

“Put your other hand up too,” you order him. He complies, leaving the handgun on his lap. You can barely hear your voice over the pounding of your own heart. “What are you doing out here? You’re on my land.”

His mouth works a couple of times before he’s able to speak. When he does, his voice is hoarse. “Sorry. I got turned around.”

“Yeah? Why are you so messed up if you just ‘got turned around’?”

“Had to jump out of a moving car. The people I was with didn’t appreciate that much.” He sounds so serious that you raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you going to be trouble for me?”

“Probably not.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, out of his mouth before your question has the chance to linger in the air.

Against your better judgment, you take his word at face value and tuck your rifle under your arm, pointed away at him. His handgun gets stowed in your waistband before you help him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder. The arm not occupied by your own gun gets wrapped around him. Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of him. It’s slow going to your back door. He seems to be intermittently losing consciousness. On the second of the three steps leading to the small porch, his foot drags and slips out from under him. He nearly takes the both of you down.

“C’mon,” you grit out and bodily haul him up the final stair.

The stranger slumps in your hold as you get the door open and all but drag him into your kitchen. He comes to enough to stagger through to the living room. You more or less drop him onto the couch. He sags limply into the cushions like a puppet with its strings severed.

“Can I call for medical help or do you need me to try to do a patch job?”

“Please don’t call anyone. I’ll be fine.”

You exhale hard, nerves jangling. Patch job it is. “Sit tight.”

Leaving him alone and dripping melting snow all over your couch, you gather a couple towels and the medical kit that you keep well stocked for emergencies. He is exactly as you left him when you come back in the room laden down like a pack pony. You put the supplies on the seat next to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Six.”

You want to comment on how that’s obviously not a real name, but you bite your tongue and swallow the words down. It’s not your business. Keeping him from dying on your couch is your business.

Without any further preamble, you wrestle him out of his wet clothing, leaving him in just the underwear you don’t dare to touch. Once he is stripped naked, you start examining his body to find the source of the blood. You find it immediately, but your eyes can’t help but take in the rest of him. Six, as he calls himself, is muscular, but you knew that from how heavy he was over your shoulder and in the circle of his arm, but it’s the expanse of his injuries that is more notable. It’s unsettling. He’s marked with old scars and fresher ones that are still uncomfortably raw and pink. You don’t think you want to know what this strange man does for a living. It looks as though several people have tried to kill him over the years, admittedly with limited success if his presence in your home is any indication.

Ignoring the rest of his body, you focus on the sizable gash in his size. A bullet must have burned its way across his side at a close range judging from the singeing around the edges of the wound. It’s still sluggishly bleeding, but it’s thankfully shallow enough to not be fatal in the short term. You wet a piece of gauze with disinfectant and press it against the wound. Six does not so much as flinch. He looks resigned to the pain when you glance at his face to gauge his reaction. You pinch the sides of the injury together and secure it with several meticulously placed butterfly bandages to keep it closed. Holding a thick gauze pad on the wound with your hand, you wind vet wrap around his abdomen to hold it in place. It should serve to put pressure on it to restrict the chance of bleeding and further trauma to the sight.

You’re relieved to discover that the rest of his injuries are minor in comparison. He has a slightly sprained wrist that you stabilize with more vet wrap. Unfortunately, he is covered in scrapes and abrasions. All you can do for them is to put a large band-aid on the worst of the road rash. It’s next to a tattoo that says something in Greek. Your stranger appears to be more well-versed in literature than you might have expected, not just a thug despite the obviously prison quality tattoos.

Injuries aside, the man feels concerningly cold due to the exposure to the freezing temperatures and not insignificant blood loss. You realize that if you had been more prepared and hadn’t needed to restock your log barrel, he would have likely succumbed to the elements right outside of your home. The thought of finding his body in the morning makes you shiver reflexively. You push that line of thinking aside and pick up one of the towels. You hold it in both hands and rub his extremities in between your cloth covered palms, trying to encourage circulation back into his body. It works. His fingers lose their waxy appearance and his body temperature seems to level back out. He starts shivering, a good sign that means there is no more need to worry about hypothermia. You take the fresher towel and dry his sodden hair before wiping his torso clean. His shivering gradually subsides as you work. He’s dozing off, breath whistling through his nose. Some of the tension has left his face.

Once you’re finished with him, you finally fetch the logs from the shed. On your way, you take the time to disturb the tracks. Even though it’s still snowing, you do not want to take the chance that they will be discernible by a hostile party. Knowing that you will be cleaning up anyway after you put your unexpected guest to bed, you don’t take any great pains to avoid tracking more snow into the house.

You drop your armful of logs into the basket and put a couple of them into the fireplace. They should last a while. You approach the couch, catching Six awake but not alert. He’s staring blankly at your Christmas tree, seemingly captivated by it. His eyes redirect unsteadily to you when you’re close enough to touch him. The man squints like he’s having a hard time seeing through his exhaustion.

“You an angel?”

You almost laugh, but he sounds so tired and so sincere. “No,” you tell him gently. He mumbles something unintelligible in response.

Crouching at his side, you take hold of his legs and guide him until he’s laying down, curled on his non-injured side on the cushions. Six manages to lift his head enough for you to shove a decorative pillow under it. His eyes slip closed when you cover him with the throw blankets that you always keep in the living room. You practically tuck him in. Just before you withdraw, you impulsively smooth his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead. Something in your heart tells you that he could use the comforting gesture.

You pull away, satisfied that he’ll make it through the night and that you will be able to get some food into him in the morning. Just as you turn to leave to start cleaning up the mess that has been left in the wake of his arrival, you’re brought to a halt. Six’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist just long enough to make you pause before he lets go.

“Thank you,” he says, muffled against the pillow.

Your face softens and you feel the corners of your lips rise in a smile. “You’re welcome."

#12 days of goosemas #the gray man (2022)#the gray man #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling x reader #.my posts #.my work

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valleyfae · 2 years

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aftercare with daddy!six after a rough scene :(

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: daddy!Sierra Six x little!reader

Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, ddlg, daddy kink, unprotected sex, smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, praise, AFTERCARE!! fluff, pure softness and comfort! A lot more smut than I intended, but it turns very soft

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Feedback and reblogs are VERY appreciated

“Yeah? Can’t answer me, huh?”

One hand securely gripping your throat, Six forcefully slaps his calloused palm across your cheek, the abrupt strikes leaving a sting on your hot flesh. “Dumb little girl’s stuffed so full with Daddy’s cum, can’t even think.”

“D—Daddy,” you sob, the ache in your throat growing with each of your strained whimpers.

His blush pink bottom lip juts out as he lets it goes from his teeth grip. “Poor little girl,” he grunts, hips harshly slamming down, his entire weight forced onto you. “Brains gone all fuzzy, hasn’t it?"

The head of his cock repeatedly rams into your most sensitive spot. “Love being used like a whore, my sweet princess really is just a dirty girl. Needy cunt can’t help it, huh?” Six’s words push you further and further; you’ve lost track of the number of times your Daddy has made you cum, slapped you, shoved his fingers down your throat.

“Tell me how much you love being Daddy’s little toy,” Six demands leaning down, trapping your writhing form, coercing your weak muscles to contort as you squirm, nails firmly digging into his muscular biceps. “Go on, princess, use your words like a big girl.”

The overstimulation and pure euphoria of Six’s dominance overwhelm your senses; eyes glazed, the salty tears break past the barrier of your waterline, rolling down your cheek. His chest pressed against yours, forcing you to swallow your broken sobs. “Daddy,” you croak, arching your back, thrashing against the sheets, determined to release your pent-up frustration.

Six overcome with authoritative satisfaction; he hovers dangerously close to you, all movements completely frozen; he still manages to torment the fire that amplifies the pulse that glides through your aching folds and throbbing bundle of nerves.

“My little girl looks so pretty crying for me—” his low, breathy grunts shift into brutish, animalistic growls “sweet tears all for me, huh?”

You frantically nod, brows furrowed, eyes intensely yearning for Six’s approval—the thrashing of your hips instantly come to a halt as Six restarts his harsh thrusts. The rough pads of his fingers still rubbing against your raw skin, the depletion of your oxygen continuing to add to the difficulty of holding back your orgasm.

The harsh smacking noise derived from Six’s sculpted v-line colliding with your overly sensitive abdomen mixes with the faint ringing in your ears. Your bottom lip quivers, feet arching, heels digging into the ruffled sheets, the friction perspires a burning heat.

Six presses his forehead against yours, beads of sweat accumulated on both of your hairlines meld together. Mercilessly pounding into you, Six’s grunts get increasingly aggressive, frustrated curses slipping off his tongue. Your body instinctively trembles–the skin wrapped around your nucleus tightens in rhythm with the way you frantically clench around his cock.

Convulsing in frustrating overstimulation, you repeatedly babble nonsense into Six’s chest. “Yeah, that’s right, princess, you just lay here while Daddy fills you up,” he groans, full, heavy balls drawing up as you reach your high again.

“That’s my good girl,” he taunts, clinging to the bit of willpower he has left. “Cum for Daddy.”

Ending his controlled pattern of deep thrusts, Six lets go, pushing himself further inside you than before, the tip of his cock forced against your g-spot.

As each rope of Six’s cum paints your walls, he restrains your trembling limbs while he rides out his high. He maintains his position–his warm breath cascades down your skin. Breaking his stern grunt with a tender chuckle, you whimper against his skin.

He brushes your forehead with his nimble fingers, laying a delicate kiss on your skin. “There we go, nice and easy, princess,” Six coos, steadily pulling out and putting his weight on his heels. His gaze switches from your pleading eyes to his shaft as he continues to slip out of your grip, inch by inch.

Drawing patterns down your sensitive skin, Six’s eyes fixate on the excessive amount of his cum that you’ve already managed to spread to your inner thighs messily.

Circling your sore, puffy clit with his thumb, Six presses his lips to your sweaty forehead again. “Daddy p-please. No… no more,” you wince, letting a final tear flow down your cheek, firmly clamping your legs around Six’s forearm, struggling to escape his touch.

“Were so desperate for Daddy’s cum, now look at you, all fucked out and filled to the brim,” he smirks, letting you free to admire your tired body sprawled out under him. “So pretty stuffed with cum, hmh?”

Swiping the pad of his thumb across your cheek, Six catches your tear, soothingly whispering against your heated skin. He sits you up, wrapping his muscular arms around your bare waist. “Is my little girl feeling floaty?” Six calmly pets your arm, trailing his touch as you squirm, timidly wincing back at his hushes.

“Sh sh, I got you, princess. Take a deep breath for me.” Following his directions to the best of your abilities, you melt into Six’s embrace, gingerly placing your shaky hand on his biceps, fingers gliding over his distinct scars. His reassuring aura consumes every aspect of you. “There we go, there’s my good girl.”

Enveloped in Six’s arms, he carefully positions the two of you upright. You look up at him with a confused frown, clawing closer to him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Daddy’s gonna put something on so we can get cleaned up, alright?” Scooping you off his brawny thighs, he coaxes you into a mellow state.

The rush of the air conditioner blows down on Six’s defined, muscular back; hastily grabbing a pair of boxers, he slips the fabric up until it sits lowly on his hipbones.

Walking back towards you, he lets out a content sigh, watching as you fiddle your fingers with the linen duvet.

“Hey, princess, look at me. Show me that pretty face of yours.” Six crouches down to your fatigued, curled-up body. Hugging your knees to your chest, Six cups your cheek, taking in his familiar scent, you nestle into his touch. “That’s my girl. Give me a smile, smile for Daddy.”

Sheepishly turning, you softly smile, looking up at Six, stretching your arm out and gently making contact with his cheekbone, innocently holding his face.

Reciprocating a warm smile, Six murmurs under his breath, “there we are.” Large, rough hands molding to the sides of your rib cage, Six secures your weight, supporting your drowsy figure, transporting you to the bathroom. “I got you; let your head rest on Daddy’s shoulder.”

The contact of the cool marble on the back of your thighs shocks you out of your drowsy state; Six calmly hushes your shaky whine, pressing his plush lips to your temple.

“Did so good for me, princess. I’m so proud of you.” Six distracts you, rubbing your back with his right hand as he switches on the faucet with his left hand, letting the stream of water hit his skin, waiting for the perfect temperature.

Heavy lids fluttering shit, you nuzzle your face into the crook of Six’s neck, humming softly. “Don’t wanna shower.” Securing your exposed body to Six’s, tightening your grip as you cling onto him.

“No shower, princess. Just let Daddy clean you off, alright?” Six softly pries away from your hold. “Gonna be real quick, I promise. Then we can get all comfy in bed and cuddle.”

The tranquil expression displayed across your face melts into a confused frown. “P-please, Daddy,” you hiccup. “D-Daddy.” One blink away from tears trickling down your cheeks–you anxiously watch Six grab a washcloth and soap from the shower.

He delicately wipes over your sensitive skin, you whimper as his hand moves up your inner thigh. “I know, sweetheart, your princess parts are feeling sore, huh? Gonna be quick.” Faintly whining at Six, you squeeze your eyes shut, further hiding against his chest.

“All done, princess,” Six croons, picking you back up. “Did so good for me. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

Sinking back into the plush mattress, your thoughts wander, waiting for Six to return for mandatory cuddles. You admire your Daddy’s towering stature and defined build as he makes his way back to you.

“Arms up.” Slipping you into one of his t-shirts, Six immediately scoops you into his arms, settling you on his lap, bringing your special blanket to your arms.

“Thank you, Dada,” you hum, nuzzling into Six’s reassuring embrace. “Love you.”

“I love you more, princess.”

Endnote: well… anyways… um… hi… I love Ryan Gosling? Here’s your tag, princess @buckysboobs I love you so very much <3

Also, I wanna change my theme and make my blog look all nice, but I’m bad at that. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed!!!

Also also, this isn’t proofread per usual 👍🏻

#fran’s fics #sierra six #daddy!sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six x reader #sierra six smut #sierra six fluff #daddy!sierra six x reader #daddy!sierra six x little!reader #court gentry x reader #court gentry smut #court gentry fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic #the gray man #x reader smut #little!reader

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soupfiction · 2 years

Text

Late (NSFW)

Pairing: Sierra Six x Female!Reader

Warnings: Minor description of injury, mention of blood, and unprotected sex (don’t do this!). No other sex-related warnings I don’t think but let me know if there are any!

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: For the first time, Six is late. But not without a good reason.

A/N: Tried a bit of a different writing style. Feedback is appreciated!

Six should be home by now.

Time schedules were either completely null or explicitly stated in his particular job field. A plane here, a week to drive a knife between some poor guys ribs there, then done. Money wired into his bank account before he even landed back in the states. Before he could even waltz through the threshold of your shared apartment. Other times, a kill was written down to the second he was meant to execute it. Chattering com in his ear and finger hovering over whatever long range gun they supplied him with.

The latter was your favorite. At least then he could whisper when he’d be back between kisses, hands cupping your cheeks and assuring you that you could both have dinner together because he’d be back before that time. The assurance was nice. It offered a timetable in which your worries could be left off the table, mind confident that everything is alright because he’ll be back soon, and if he wasn’t, then you’d worry. But he was always back.

Until now.

The cool air of the apartment is dead silent. Suffocating. It consumes and warps, amplifying the sound of the ice machine whirring on, making the beginning of it almost sound like a door opening. You stare ahead, wooden door shut firmly but unlocked. Ready for his hand to wrap around the biting cold metal of the doorknob and to walk in, throwing down his black backpack and giving you that sweet smile in greeting. A softness only for you—something you have been without for over two weeks now.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut as the clock by the door ticks on, slow and fast all at the same time. He’s late by almost two hours now. No call, no text, and still no Six. Your phone sits on the kitchen table, screen dark and quiet. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, you think it lights up despite the lack of noise that usually accompanies a notification. Muteness prevails, yet you turn your head towards the electronic anyways, tapping the screen to see your home wallpaper staring back at you and nothing else.

Your eyes sting, water rising to combat it and to get you to blink and shut your eyes for just a moment. Footsteps sound outside in the hallway, your back goes straight, muscles tensed and ready to shoot up from your chair and to the door. It passes, just like it has the other few times. Neighbors, likely coming home from a night out, stomping on the short carpet and to their own sections of the apartment. You blink, gaze blurry.

It’s past three in the morning now. The ticking hand of the clock has came and went over the number, not hovering over it like your stare did. Tck-tck-tck. It’s constant. You feel the tears coming.

Then, heavy-set footfalls rise above the ever present sound of the moving hour hands. Distant, but they itch at something that sits in your brain. Familiarity settles in, washing away any ounce of worry and replacing it with air in your chest, making you feel like you’re about to burst with each thud.

The doorknob rattles. You stand so abruptly that the chair scrapes against the wooden floor.

Blood. Lots of it. It’s smeared across his face, right cheek more red than flesh. A path of dried blood falls from his nostril and onto a puffy upper lip, discoloring already spreading enough that you can see it from feet away. Then you’re in his arms, ignoring the patches of darkness on his tan tactical shirt.

He groans as you wrap your arms around him, causing you to relent the small amount of pressure you had given and settle for practically hovering your arms around his waist. Warmness surrounds you, curling with the scent of musk and dirt. Only one strap of his black backpack hangs off his broad shoulder, the attempt to remove it forgotten by your sudden advancement.

“Hey,” Six whispers into your hair, voice catching in the middle like he hasn’t spoken in a while. Arms wrap around your body, pulling you further into him even though he winces at the small movement.

A lump settles in your throat. You swallow it down and murmur, “I missed you.” Worries amiss now that he’s back. Present and in your arms. Wherever he had been and whatever happened didn’t matter now because Six was home. Covered in blood, surely, but alive, nonetheless.

A barely audible chuckle that you feel against your cheek. It hitches into cough momentarily, and you attempt to pull back. His grip tightens. “Sorry for being late.” Is all he offers for the blood and evident pain, not even letting you attempt to ask until he’s good and ready to part with you, face smushing against his chest to prevent any further movement of your mouth. You can smell the metallic tang of gore on him.

A minute passes, documented by the ticking sound emitting from the clock. His hold on you ceases. All there one moment and gone the next. Now he’s looking down at you with hooded blue eyes, lashes brushing atop his dirty cheeks. “Go ahead,” he says, giving permission for the questions he knows you have.

Okay, most urgent inquiry first. “What happened?”

The muscles of his jaw clicks, poking out as he grits his teeth, eyes going all dazed and far away for just a split second before he’s back. “Got complicated.” It’s not exactly spat out, but tense. Like those two words alone bring him back to whatever had gotten the blood on him. You’ll press for more later.

You eye the dark bags lingering just below his own. “When’s the last time you slept?”

That, for some reason, is more nerve inducing than the initial question. He takes a moment, fully taking off the backpack and plopping it by the door. The loud thud tells you that there’s something heavy in there. “What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“About two days? Give or take.”

Your teeth clench against each other, the only physical sign of your rising emotions. Anger, worry, all for him, directed at wherever the CSS had sent him, and whoever had the unlucky chance of meeting someone as dangerous as the man standing before you. “God, Court,” you start, using his real name. It feels worthy now, like that one word could encompass all that you feel for him. Not the one assigned to him by Fitz, but the one only a handful of people know. “Let’s get—Let me start a shower so that you can,” you look him up and down, taking in the tan tactical shirt and a shade darker tactical pants, “Get all that off of you.”

He hums a low sound, going to wrap his arms around you again, chin bumping against the top of your head. “Thanks.” The word is soft, tender. Tired, you’d say now that you’re aware of how little sleep he has gotten. You both stay like that until you let go first. He lets you, shoulders drooping now that he’s inside the apartment.

The water is warm under your fingers. A pine green towel hangs over the rod that holds up the cloudy yet almost transparent shower curtain. Six lingers behind you, watching.

“Okay, this should help,” you assure, for both of you. Once he’s all clean and calm you can relax. Smother him in the love that he’s been missing while he was away.

Dried blood is better than wet. It doesn’t make the fabric stick to his skin as he peels it off, discarding it in the hamper for a later washing or two. He’s slow taking them off, and you help with his shirt. It’s damp beneath your fingers from sweat.

Soon, his tan skin is exposed to the bright light of the bathroom. You try to suppress it, but a gasp escapes.

Red welts cover the left side of his ribs, similar to the one on his upper lip. They circle around like your stretching fingers. Your hand tentatively brushes against the bruises. “What happened?” You ask again. Can’t help it when this is so fresh, so used to the healed over scars that mar his skin and not this.

A sigh. He stops in his journey to pull down his boxers, letting them grip below his V-line. Warm fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand up to his mouth. Saliva wet lips meet your knuckles. “Told you. Got complicated,” greyish-blue eyes gaze into your own, taking in the worry before he continues, “I’m here now. We’re okay.”

Now that he’s here in front of you, you agree.

You know he won’t tell you anything more until he’s ready. No use in trying to ask again. Six will bring it up when he feels it’s time. So, you let him remove the rest of his clothing in silence.

Steam has begun to hover in the air. It slips out the open door, and you go to follow it. A gentle grip on your upper arm stops you completely. He turns you back around to face his now naked form, not embarrassed about it in the slightest. You have seen him in this exact state, minus the wounds, many times before. Still, a hot flush creeps up your neck and you blame it on the rising temperature due to the hot water pouring from the shower head.

“Stay with me?” He asks. You do, nodding and going to sit on the closed toilet lid before he shakes his head. “No,” an incline of his head in the direction of the running shower, “There.”

Oh. Okay, you can do that. Six steps into the tub as you strip off your pajamas, much quicker than he did his own clothing. He steps back from the water to allow you in front of him. You close the shower curtain behind you.

Warm air curls around your naked body, then so do his arms.

Two weeks seem to have taken their toll on Six, both physically and emotionally. He buries his head into your neck, breathing in deeply. You can feel the rise of his chest, then its downfall. Skin on skin with no barrier. Neither of you seem to care about the dirt or blood caked on his body. The contact feels too good to forgo so soon, and you relax into his hold. Let him breathe you in until his muscles loosen up.

His own bar of soap is generic. Picked up without too much attention to detail. It’s larger than yours, less used with how often he comes and goes. You pick it up and let the water run over it, suds forming, before twisting around.

Reluctant to move, he barely lifts his head out from your neck. It hovers just an inch above where it was previously, hanging down so that he’s close to your face, eyes closed yet a small smile gracing his lips. He doesn’t budge from his position as you begin to brush the bar across his skin. Doesn’t even open his eyes. If he wasn’t smiling, you might think he had fallen asleep.

Your chests press together as you go to swipe the soap over his back. Six makes it akin to a hug when he once again gathers you in his arms and tugs you into him. Calloused fingers brush over your spine, following the bones up and down. Another time you might’ve laughed at him practically petting you.

Goosebumps erupt all over your body, water spraying on your backside. Bubbles cover everywhere but his lower half. You’re reluctant to bend down, to move from how he’s got you. Eventually, he does it for you, kissing the top of your head before grabbing the soap and finishing the job.

Then he brings it to your own body, heavy scent clinging to your flesh with each swipe.

He moves slowly. Holding the bar in his big hand and rubbing it over your neck, shoulders, breasts. Pace lessening there, a quick kiss to the shell of your ear before he goes below them and to your stomach. Warm breath fans across your shoulder because he’s leaned down, peering over to see the front of your body. He doesn’t shy away from your hips or lower regions, movements almost measured. Only when it’s time for your legs do you take the soap and let him move in front of you to wash the foam from his own body.

As soon as only water lingers on his skin, he’s back on you, gently grabbing your hips to move you in front of the spray. Wide palms and long fingers splay over wherever he can touch, using his own hands in place of a washcloth. Helping the froth to disappear.

The faucet squeaks as you shut it off, bending over enough that your backside is momentarily shoved against his front. His fingers press into your hips, lips running over the fresh smelling skin of your shoulders. Teeth lightly graze against it, causing a shudder to wrack through your body. You attempt to stand up straight again, but Six just grips you harder, keeping you right there.

“Six?” You inquire, voice higher than normal, suppressing a whine at the feeling.

A breathless reply of, “Yeah?” Before he’s sliding his hands up and over your stomach, feeling the soft flesh there before rising higher. The way he palms at your left breast so suddenly has that same sound releasing from your throat. He hums in content, other hand smoothing down your side. Still so warm even without the steaming water.

Unable and not wanting to move, you remain there. Letting him grope at the tender parts of your body and growing hotter by the second. Something pokes at your ass cheek, and you whisper, “Court?”

That does it. He uses his hold on you to twist you around so that you’re facing him, lips findings yours.

The kiss is strong and desperate, pressing into you like he’s trying to get as close as he can. When he nips at your lower lip, you open up without hesitation. His tongue delves past your teeth to lick at the inside of your mouth, exploring everywhere as if it’s the first time. A deep moan falls into your open jaw, low and entirely desperate.

Once your lips are puffy and nearly numb, he pulls back to admire his handy work. Takes in your fucked out expression before going back in for another taste, hands grabbing at your backside. Palms full of your flesh, squeezing until you whimper into his mouth.

It’s only when you begin to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure does he push you into the shower wall, back against the already cold tile. It pulls a gasp from you, and he swallows it down as it arises. Uses it to shove his tongue even deeper as he moves a leg between your thighs.

The muscles press against your folds suddenly. Six taking advantage of his hold on you to move you down onto the upper part of his limb before you even realize what’s happening. He takes in the moan that follows, sharp grip keeping you stationary as you wiggle at the sensation.

His mouth leaves yours, a string of saliva keeping you connected. The discoloration on his upper lip looks painful, and it’s now that you remember the forming bruise. You go to comment on it. To ask if he’s okay, but he cuts you off with a hand over your parted lips. It’s gentle, yet still gets his point across.

“Not right now,” he breathes, pupils blown. “Talk about it later.”

Got it. No complaints from you, especially when he moves you over his thigh, grinding that sensitive part of you against him.

Your knee touches his growing cock with each movement forward. Just a brush, but it has him jolting. Bending forwards just a fraction, he goes against your mouth again. A quick kiss there, then to your neck. Nipping until the skin goes red, just to soothe the sting away with his tongue. He repeats this until the beginning of bruises appear. Different from the ones that cover him. Born of love rather than hate.

It’s not long until the heat pooling in your stomach turns to tightness. Muscles growing taut in preparation for the rising orgasm that approaches rapidly. He moves in front of your face, noses nearly touching. You whine when he doesn’t move to kiss you, taking the initiative and going forward only for him to pull back. A short, breathless chuckle and eyes glued to yours before he goes next to your ear. “Go on, baby.”

You do as he says. Eyes screwing shut and hole fluttering. All the while he’s growling praises, letting you spasm and holding you upright. You’re glad he’s got you, otherwise you might’ve fallen from how intense the pleasure goes through you. Legs turn to jelly, and you’re barely coming down from it before he’s spinning you around and pressing your chest against the tiles.

He groans your name, word fanning across the damp skin of your back. Hard hips grind into your ass. “Fuck, tell me if you want me to stop. Please.”

When you remain silent, his head drops forwards where your shoulder meets your neck. His hair tickles against your skin. “Want to know why I’m covered in bruises?” Six suddenly asks, like he just lost an internal battle you hadn’t known he’d been having. Your mouth opens to ask him why. To ask why he’s bringing it up right now of all times. He guides his length until the hot head sits against your opening, and the words are lost. Can’t even remember what he said when he shoves up into you, using the wetness brought forth by your orgasm to enter faster than he would otherwise.

It's not until he bottoms out that he continues, mouth right next to your face. “Some idiot in Peru. Fleeing the CIA. Saw some—some bad shit, wanted me to take him out.” He pauses in his explanation to drag himself out of you, only to slam back in. You cry out, half muffled by how your face is pressed against the shower wall. “Easy and quick. Fitz got some mercenaries to fly me out when—original crew got more important plans.” Six scoffs at that, then bites your shoulder before grinding himself further into you.

You can feel yourself leaking down your thighs. Barely able to stay upright with the onslaught that he’s giving you. “Turns out they knew who I was. Fucking jumped on the chance to try and—and get me. Didn’t though,” the words turn into a growl at the end as he lowers until only his head is still inside of you. “One guy blabbered some shit before I,” hips meet your ass again, harder this time. He continues this as he speaks, words only audible over the sound of skin meeting skin because of how close he is to your ear. “Put a—a bullet in him.”

A high pitched, garbled moan that could barely pass for words comes from you. It sounds something along the lines of, “What did he say?”

His cock presses against that spongy part of your insides, reaping something akin to a sob. Adjusting his position, he begins to slowly hit into it again and again. “Said a lot of bullshit,” Six growls, pulling you away from the wall enough to slip a hand between your thighs. “Lot of nothing.” Three fingers find your clit with ease, rubbing leisurely yet constant circles around it. “Knew something, though. Knew enough to guarantee his death.”

Six lets out a groan, high enough in his throat that it’s animalistic and rough. Fingers move faster over your sensitive bud, mirroring the quickening pace of his hips. “Thought they had me,” he says, more to himself than you. “So they—they talked. Too much. Mentioned—Mentioned you.”

In your dazed state, the words take a moment to register. When they do, your eyes widen.

Being Sierra, all of his information has been wiped. Any mention of his past gone. No name to connect a past to. A clean slate that he always intended to keep that way, lest an enemy of Fitz or him find it. By knowing of your existence well enough to know your name—it meant leverage. But it also meant that you were in danger, which is why they were all dead and Six was here, taking you against the shower wall.

You go to say something, but he just rams himself into you. The fingers of his other hand go from gripping your waist to your face, slipping past your swollen lips and into your wet mouth. He effectively cuts off any further comment by laying them over your tongue. Instead of trying to speak, you close your lips over his fingers and lick the skin, the taste of soap filling your mouth.

He brings you to another orgasm, letting you grip his cock with how your muscles tighten and release with it. Doesn’t stop in his pace even when you tremble, moaning around his fingers. Just when you’re about to burst from the overstimulation, his hips stutter against your ass, going as deep as he possibly can before releasing thick ropes of cum inside of you.

The rest of the night you’re inseparable.

You turn the shower on again, washing away the sweat and bodily fluids. Six stays with you, helping you to stand when your muscles want to give out. Urging you to use his soap again to clean everything off of both you and him.

The clock by the door reads four as you pass, but its ticking simply falls into the background with how warm hands remain touching you over the towel. It’s only when you’re laying in bed, as naked as you were in the shower, tightly wrapped in his hold, that you really think about your earlier worries and how he had answered.

He was late not only because of the traitoring mercenaries but also because they had said one of the only things that would warrant complete and utter brutality: your name.

That fact could mean others know of his relationship with you. Could use it against him in the future. Maybe that should worry you more, but in his arms, you’re sure he’ll always be back to you. No matter what others do.

#sierra six #court gentry #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #court gentry x reader #the gray man #the gray man movie #the gray man netflix #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six smut #court gentry fanfiction #court gentry smut

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classickook · 2 years

Text

just another thursday | sierra six

pairing: courtland gentry (sierra six) x fem!reader

summary: in which lloyd hansen has taken you, six’s girlfriend, instead of claire and you get injured in the process.

warnings: swearing, mentions of a gunshot wound and blood, hurt/comfort

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i wrote this instead of working on my 20 other wips but what’s new?

you didn’t think your day would lead to you bleeding out in a random maze slash courtyard of a foreign country, yet here you are with your special cia-assassin-or-whatever-the-hell-he-is boyfriend kneeling in front of you.

“look at me, baby. keep your eyes on me, all right?”

you nod weakly, putting far too much effort into the simple action in addition to keeping your eyes open long enough to focus on the face in front of you, feeling deflated and dizzy as if your mind had been separated from your body.

“bad news is there’s no exit wound so the bullet is still lodged in your arm.”

you swallow sharply, finding it difficult to breathe past the pain and the horrible news that six just dropped on you. it feels like sandpaper coats your tongue and the roof of your mouth. god, wasn’t there any water around here? you try swallowing again and just barely make a successful attempt without choking.

“didn’t hit the brachial artery,” six mutters quietly. “that’s good, at least.”

“you a doctor now?” you wheeze.

“i’ve been at this a bit longer than you have, sweetheart,” he chuckles, glad to see that your humor is still intact despite the oozing gunshot wound in your upper arm. “comes with the territory.”

“yeah, well, your territory sucks.” you let out a sharp hiss and squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers apply more pressure to your wound. “fuck.”

his steely blue eyes flicker up to yours in a look that can only be described as pure agony at the expense of your pain. “i’m sorry. just a bit longer, okay?”

“sure,” you rasp.

his gaze lingers on you for another fleeting moment as if gauging your reaction for any change before continuing. six silently tears a strip of fabric from the bottom of his black fitted t-shirt, biceps flexing with the movement and you use that as a distraction from the pain.

“this is going to hurt the worst,” he warns, but then quickly slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans before handing something small to you that flashes silver in the low light. “take this.”

the fingers of your good arm pluck the tinfoil-wrapped rectangle and flick it open. “gum?” you ask, arching a brow in disbelief, “really?”

his lips twitch a bit. “you’re better off chewing on that than grinding your teeth down.”

“jeez, it’s gonna be that bad, huh?”

he shrugs his broad shoulders and says, “better safe than sorry.”

“great.” you pop the gum into your mouth and urge your jaw into motion as artificial watermelon coats your tongue. typical. “should’ve known it would be watermelon.”

“it’s the best,” he replies easily as if there truly is no other flavor of gum to compare it to. what a dork, you think affectionately.

you inhale sharply, blood and musk and petrichor overwhelming your senses as you prepare yourself for what would no doubt be the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. “i guess i’m ready.”

he nods once, still surveying your features for any signs of panic, but you try to keep yourself calm, neutral, as if tricking your mind into believing this is no big deal; just another thursday, as six always says.

“i have to get the bullet out, okay?” the tilt of your chin is the only response he gets. “then i’ll put more pressure on it and wrap it until we can get you to a hospital.”

a faint whimper crawls up your throat at the thought of it all and six attempts to school his features at the sound of your distress, but you still notice the slight tick in his jaw beneath the scruff of his goatee. “okay,” you say quietly, trying to put on your brave face for him. he’s been through far worse than this, you scold yourself. don’t be such a baby.

“you’re not being a baby.”

shit. you didn’t realize your last thought had been voiced aloud. maybe the pain and shock are really getting to you now; you can’t even control your thoughts or tongue anymore.

“it’s okay to be scared,” he continues. “in fact, you should be scared. no part of this is normal—not for you. i was supposed to protect you from him, from all of this. i failed you.”

you shake your head slowly, feeling woozy and weak as the adrenaline bleeds from your body. “it’s not your fault. you saved me in the end… just in time.” you offer him a weak smile but you know he doesn’t believe it, that he’s choking on his guilt and letting it soak into his every pore as you sit wounded in front of him. “just get this awful thing out of me so we can go home, yeah?”

without another word, you feel prodding fingers burrowing into your flesh and you clamp down hard on your teeth, stupid watermelon gum be damned. “fuck,” you groan as tears prick your vision until six’s face is nothing but an unrecognizable blur.

you bite your lip, your tongue, your cheek—anything to reorient the pain onto something else, and the taste of copper floods your mouth.

another whimper bubbles past your lips and you squeeze the fingers of your good arm onto six’s thigh, nails pinching into the fabric of his jeans until you can almost feel the warm skin beneath.

“that’s it, you’re okay. almost done,” six coaxes gently as his fingers pull back, now coated in blood and encasing around the golden bullet that burrowed its way past flesh, blood, and muscle. “keep your eyes on me, baby. i just have to wrap it, okay? you’re doing so good, i’m so fucking proud of you.”

your eyes blink open and focus on his shoulder as pressure builds in your arm. six continues to talk you through it as he wraps the strip of fabric around your wound and tightens it snuggly until you can’t really feel anything but a constant pulsing sensation.

you blink blearily at him until his features sharpen into view, noticing the familiar steely blue eyes looking up at you that appear more electric than usual due to the smudges of dirt and blood on his face. even still, he looks beautiful.

he bows his head and chuckles lightly. “you’re delirious, sweetheart.”

damn. did you say that out loud too?

six rises from his crouched position in front of you and gently urges you into a stand, large hands holding you steady along your waist and lower back. “are you feeling okay…? dizzy, nauseous, is the pain worse—”

“six,” you croak. “i’ll be okay. just take me home, please?”

he releases a sigh of relief to see you speaking and standing well enough on your own given the blood loss. “yeah, baby. let’s get you out of here.” one arm stays firmly placed around your waist, however, as he leads you out of the maze and back out front to the car that’s waiting for the two of you.

six is so gentle with you, taking his steps slow and steady as he maneuvers you into the passenger seat, buckling you in carefully and shutting the door before rounding the vehicle until he’s behind the wheel. your forehead is pressed up against the cool glass of the window, allowing it to soothe your impending headache along with the sweat peppering your brow.

“six?”

his hands freeze on the steering wheel, quickly directing his attention to you, afraid that you’re in too much pain or that you might faint or—

“can we stop by mcdonald’s on the way back?”

he coughs. “mcdonald’s?”

you nod against the window and hum your assent. “i really want french fries.”

six stifles the laugh building in his chest before pulling out of the courtyard. “sure, sweetheart. i’ll get you some french fries.”

“with extra ketchup?”

“of course.”

#the gray man #the gray man fic #the gray man fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six #sierra six fic #sierra six fanfic #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six x y/n #sierra six x you #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry #courtland gentry fic #courtland gentry fanfic #courtland gentry fanfiction #courtland gentry x y/n #courtland gentry x you #courtland gentry x reader #ryan gosling

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

Note

Guide + don't be nervous I'll guide you through it with Sierra six? 👀👀👀

Title: It don’t wash clean

Pairing: Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Some things don’t fade so easily—including the way Six feels about you.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, A little Fluff, Mentions of Canon-typical violence, Light Choking, Light Overstimulation

A/N: 👀 i’ve not written for Sierra Six before, but there’s a first time for everything! divider by @firefly-graphics

The rain beats down steadily against the roof, the sky rumbling angrily above it. Water rushes through the gutters, pouring out of the spout near the porch like a geyser, splattering against your now much over-watered roses. The warm mug in your hands steams in the cool, moist air as you watch the world turn to runny watercolor through the sheets of water pouring from the sky.

You love when it rains like this.

It leaves the mountain roads in a thick, impassable slurry of mud and gravel, but you don’t mind it. You lift the mug to your lips but stop halfway, squinting out into the rain.

Are those headlights?

Bobbing in and out of sight through the rain and the trees lining the little road leading up to your porch, you can clearly see two bright lights. You listen hard, and sure enough, underneath the sound of thunder and rushing water, you can hear the engine of a car trundling up the mountain, wheels spinning in the muck. Your heart seizes in your chest, your fingers loosening from the handle of the mug. Hot tea spills over your hands, but you barely feel it in the wake of the sharpness of your fear.

He’d told you no one would no you were here when he’d brought you, that it was secure, safe. You suppose that two years was good, a long stretch of relative safety, considering. The sound of gravel crunching beneath heavy tires grows closer, louder, and you swallow against the terror blocking your throat. You drop the mug, and it rolls to a stop against the bannister, forgotten as you yank open the door.

There’s a sawed off in the front hall closet, and your fingers leave prints in the dust covering the stock. It feels heavy and unwieldy in your uncertain grip, but you try and hold it how he taught you, pointing the heavy muzzle up and out as you take a shaky step back out onto the porch.

The lights are closer now, just around the bend. You can hear the truck struggling through the muck, the gears grinding thunderously as it rounds the corner, and your porch is flooded with bright light. All you can see through the downpour is the outline of the black pick-up, it’s shape looming ominously over your little cabin. The doors swing open, and a figure swings out of the driver’s side, landing with a thud.

“S-stop!” Your voice is barely audible over the rain. The figure pauses, holding its hands out placatingly as it steps closer. “Stop or-or I’ll shoot you!” You pull back the hammer to illustrate your point. “I-I mean it, I’ll—”

He steps through the waterfall of rainwater pouring from your roof to stand, dripping wet on the creaky wood of your porch. The gun goes limp in your hands as tears of relief gather in your wide eyes.

“You’re holding that all wrong,” Six says softly, tapping the double barrels with a finger. “Not gonna kill anybody shooting like that.” A girl peeks out from behind him, her long dark hair slicked down to her skull from the rain. “Come on out, kid.” Slowly, nervously, she does, stepping out from behind him to stare mistrustfully at you.

“Can we trust her?” She asks quietly, and Six chuckles. His gray-blue eyes flick up to yours, and he nods.

“We can.”

——

Dinner is a mish-mash of leftovers you can’t stop apologizing for as the two of them dig in hungrily, still dripping water all over your kitchen floor. Six has come in dripping worse though, and water is much easier to mop up than blood, so you don’t complain. Afterward, Claire insists on helping you clean up, mopping up the muddy water from their clothes with towels.

“So how’d you two meet?” Claire asks as you’re gathering fresh towels and washcloths for the two of them from the bathroom closet. The abject bluntness of her question makes you fumble, almost dropping everything in your arms to the floor.

“On a job,” you say after a moment. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Blood, gunfire, the sound of people screaming—

“Oh.” Claire doesn’t ask for more details, and you’re not sure if it’s because she already knows, or because it’s easy enough to infer. You both know what kind of work Six does. You hand her her towel and washcloth, and exit the bathroom. Six is leaning against the wall just down the hallway, thick arms crossed over his chest. It’s been years since you last saw him. There are new scars on his handsome face now, a notch in his eyebrow that you don’t remember, and a silvery line at his temple that looks less than a year old.

But still the same Six you remember.

“How is she?” He asks, and you rub the back of your neck.

“Tired.”

“We came a long way.” The silence that hangs between you is almost as loud as the storm outside. It feels strange to stand in the same place as him again, especially when as recently as this morning you’d been wondering if maybe he had forgotten you. The emails had stopped a year and a half in, the phone calls around the same time. He had to have forgotten you, you’d decided, because the other option was unthinkable—

Six isn’t the sort of man you can kill.

The proof of which is him standing in front of you now, in the same safe-house he’d left you in three years before.

“I, um. I put your towel on the couch. Claire’s sleeping in the other bedroom,” you reply, and he nods. You almost want him to stop you as you turn and make for the big bedroom, but he doesn’t, and you feel his eyes on you until you shut the door.

—

The steady sound of the rain is maddening. The sound is normally comforting, but tonight it keeps you awake. Maybe it’s the presence of others in the house that’s making you antsy, two other people sleeping under your roof who aren’t normally there at all. You stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

Instead, there’s a quiet knock at your door.

As you shrug into your robe, you pretend that you aren’t sure who’s on the other side, even though you can practically feel him through the wood. You hesitate, your fingers lingering above the doorknob before you turn it, tugging it open. You have only a moment to register Six standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his bare chest before he’s on you.

He surges inside like a tidal wave, his hands tugging at the silken tie to your robe as he shoves it from your shoulders. You relish the rasp of his beard against you as he drags his mouth over the curve of your cheek to find your lips.

“Door!” You gasp against his mouth, and he grunts as he kicks it shut behind him. Six’s calloused hands tug up the hem of your tank-top to skim the skin of your belly. He groans.

“So soft, you’re so soft—” His teeth pull at your plump bottom lip, and you whine. It’s not fair that he remembers you so well, not after three years. You want to be angry at him, even though he’s explained to you a thousand times why it has to be this way, why you have to be a secret—his secret.

“I fuckin’ missed you, baby,” his voice is low and gravelly in the shell of your ear. “You don’t know how bad I fuckin’ missed you.”

He cups your breast, finding your nipple with calloused fingers. You hum low in your throat with pleasure, and he chuckles. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him in easily. It’s so familiar, the feel of his hands on your body, pushing up your shirt, palming the weight of your ass through your shorts.

“I thought you forgot me,” you murmur when he pulls away. You expect Six to belay your fears by dismissing them, to call you silly—he doesn’t. The understanding in his eyes sears you to your core. It is a pain you understand—he would forget you. To keep you safe, he would forget.

Maybe that’s why it took three years for him to come back.

There are no reassurances when he tips your face up to his. Only truths.

“I love you.”

You know it’s true because Six only deals in absolutes, things he knows and doesn’t know, and it breaks your heart. Because his love means he would do anything for you, including staying away for the rest of his life.

“I wish you didn’t.” Your honesty cuts him the same way his does you. “Because then you would stay.” Six smashes his lips against yours, dipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting you like he’s starving for you.

“Too bad,” he growls into your lips, swallowing your choked moan. “You’re stuck with me.”

You love him too. He knows it, but you say it anyway, staring up at the ceiling as he drags his teeth down your throat.

“I love you too, Six.” His laughter warms your skin, his lips moving against your throat.

“I know, baby.”

You hit the mattress with a soft oof, and his body covers your own. In truth, you’d been wondering if perhaps in forgetting, he had forgotten other things too, but he didn’t. His hands still know your body as well as his own, tracing the curve of your hip as he pushes your shorts down. His lips have not forgotten yours, his mouth hungrily pressing against your own. Six’s teeth sink into the plumpness of your bottom lip, and you moan.

He lifts your hips to drag your panties down too, and your cheeks heat at the way his eyes visibly darken at the sight of your pussy. It’s embarrassing, how wet you are without him having really touched you, but Six looks pleased beyond measure as he draws a thick finger down your slit.

“You’re dripping for me, Sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly, and your cheeks burn as his eyes flick up to yours from between your thighs. You whimper as he presses a soft, messy kiss against your throbbing clit. Your thighs tremble as he pulls your tender flesh between his teeth, flicking at it with his tongue. Six wraps his arms around your thighs, pressing his face into your weeping cunt as you writhe.

“Fucking greedy cunt,” he mutters, pressing a finger against your entrance and groaning as it stretches around him. Your pussy sucks desperately at his fingers, and he chuckles against your cunt, pulling away with a pop. “I think she missed me.” You want to stubbornly insist that you didn’t, that you haven’t been waiting for him every day for three years, that you’ve spent your time with other people, let them do to you what Six is doing right now—but it would be a lie, and he would know it instantly. Your contrarian response is swallowed by the choked moan that escapes from your throat as he devours you.

Instead, you whine his name pitifully, your fingers knotting in his hair as his beard scrapes against your inner thighs. You want to be embarrassed at the way you rut against his face, your hips pressing insistently into his mouth because fuck it’s like heaven, and—

“F-fuck, Six, I—” You whine, bucking up against his iron hold as he presses you back down to the bed.

“I know, baby. Give it all to me.”

You do, your entire body jackknifing and trembling as you cum, hard. The blissful tide drags you down, and you go willingly, chanting Six’s name like a sinful prayer. Your hips buck softly against his face, little strained noises building in your throat as he continues to nurse at your clit, scissoring his fingers against your spasming walls. Six fights against you as you try to close your thighs around his head, dull the sensation—but he won’t let you.

He wrings pleasure from you like a limp rag, dragging out two, three more sobbing orgasms from your trembling body. You’re barely able to sit up on your elbows to look at him with bleary eyes as he rises from between your legs, the fruits of his labor practically dripping from his chin. You don’t know why you’re nervous, why you feel like things are different now than they were before. It’s like Six can sense you retreating inside yourself, and he leans down to brush his lips against your temple.

“Don’t be nervous, Sweetheart,” he chuckles as he slots his hips between your thighs. His sandy hair falls across his forehead, casting his eyes in shadow. “I’ll guide you through it.” The weeping head of his cock slides against you, and you shudder, fingers tangling in the sheets above your head.

“See how hard you got me?” He asks as his cock presses against your clit wetly. You nod dumbly, drawing your lip between your teeth. Six pauses to watch as you do it, his eyes hungry. “Been fucking dreaming about you,” he admits, air hissing through his teeth as he begins to sink inside.

The burn of your cunt stretching around his throbbing cock always feels good, but tonight it’s exquisite, perhaps because it’s been so long. You know he feels it too, a low moan building in his throat as he throws his head back. Your hands are on his shoulder and chest, drawing jagged red lines on his skin.

“God, Six,” you whine. It’s like Six is glorying in splitting you open, inch by inch. “F-feels—” The words die in a garbled moan as he seats himself all the way inside you. You’re so full, the sensation of it sending pleasurable tingles up your spine. His thrusts are slow and heavy, and you can feel every vein as he drags his cock out and pushes back in.

“Aw, Sweetheart,” he replies, drawing out only to slam back in with a loud, slick squelch, “Look at you. All fucked out already.” He’s right, you know he is as you stare up at him with glossy eyes. He draws his thumb across your bottom lip, and your tongue darts out to lick the pad. Six traces a wet train down your chin, and rests his hand on your throat. Your oversensitive cunt grips the invading length of his cock like a vice as he squeezes.

More sticky wetness leaks out to coat him as he lays into you. Six allows you a brief gasp of air as he releases your throat, and then clamps back down. His own eyes roll as your walls milk him, tightening around him like a fist. Six’s hips stutter against your own as he speeds up, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. You’re deaf to it though, your ears buzzing with the sound of your blood in your veins as he bears down on you.

You’re cumming again before you even realize it, strangled moans building under the hand on your throat as tears leak from the corners of your eyes. Six is mesmerized by it, staring down at you with dark eyes as he talks you through it.

“Good girl, baby,” he mutters lowly. “Fuck, so good, you can give me another one, can’t you Sweetheart?” He’s not even really talking to you, not really asking as he reaches feverishly between your bodies to thumb at your clit. You sob, shaking your head as you tug at his arm.

“I-I can’t—!” You wail, even as your cunt sucks desperately at his cock.

“You can.” Air rushes into your lungs as Six pulls his hand from your throat, steadying it against your hip. “I know you can.” Despite your protests you can feel it building too, white-hot pleasure so fierce it borders on pain broiling in your belly. You sob as it crests over you, your thighs trembling and back arching up off the bed.

“Good girl, so good for me,” he grunts. Six pulses inside you, his fingers digging hard into your soft skin as his hips still. A low, animal noise leeches out from between his clenched teeth as warmth seeps into you, bathing your overtaxed walls. He pants above you, tawny hair spilling over his eyes, obscuring them in the dark. When Six does finally pull out of you, it’s with obvious reluctance. He settles his much larger body over your own, laying his head on your chest and wrapping his arms around your torso.

You run a hand through his hair as your heart slows, thought and function gradually returning to you like light filtering through a window. The sounds of both your breathing are all you can hear over the rain still beating down on the cabin steadily.

“I have to leave tomorrow.” He says the words against your sternum, and though he isn’t looking up at you, you turn your head away anyway—you don’t want him to see you cry. You’d been expecting it, really. He never stays long, a day, three at most. It’s all he can afford.

It never hurts any less, though.

“I know.”

—

You wake in the morning, and the bed is cold beside you. Tears threaten to gather in your eyes, but you press them back with the heels of your palms. You press and press and press until white spots appear behind your closed lids, dancing against the darkness. You don’t know how long you stay in bed like that, breathing in the muted scent left behind on your sheets while hot tears leak out around your palms.

I love you.

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you sit up, pushing the sheet off. You shrug back into your robe, discarded at the foot of the bed. The bedroom door is ajar, and you push it all the way open, stepping out into the hallway. You make for the kitchen, rounding the corner into the small room. It’s like you’re on autopilot, your body moving without you directing it. Your fingers feel numb as you reach into the cabinet for the box of Earl Grey you keep there, fishing out one of the bags. You reach for the cabinet, your fingers catching the edge of your favorite mug.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

The mug shatters against the wood flooring as you gape at Six, his large form filling your unceremoniously small doorway. You blink owlishly at him, looking from the shattered pottery at your feet back up to his lopsided grin.

“Y-you left,” you say, and then immediately wish you could slap a hand over your own stupid mouth. He laughs.

“I had some calls to make.”

“To who?”

“A friend. A friend with a plane.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Are you… taking Claire overseas, somewhere?” This is more information than you’re generally privy to, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it. Six crosses the kitchen in a few long legged strides.

“Three seats.” His meaning dawns slowly on you, your eyes widening as your mouth falls open. You snap it shut audibly when you realize you’re gaping at him like a fish, and he chuckles.

“Where are we going?”

“Flight lands in Changmai, but—”

“No, that’s, that’s good,” you stammer, disbelief still dripping from your words. “But Six, I don’t… I don’t have a passport.” His brows crease in confusion before a deep laugh erupts from his chest.

“You don’t need it.” He maneuvers you away from the stove, and you jump as a horn blares from outside. Six rolls his eyes. “Damn kid.” You let out a weak laugh.

“I guess I better hurry up.” Six’s lips graze your cheek.

“Pack light.”

fin

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year

Note

For the what if asks: (I am not sure how spoilerly they can get so feel free to skip this) what if the reader didn’t have the miscarriage in You Were the One?

Ahh!! I love this! It definitely would change some things, but would it really change? Or would it just change the process?

What If...He Deserved It

Summary: Your baby was okay

Pairings: Court Gentry X Reader, Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.1K

Series Masterlist

Ask me a What If on any of my series

Lloyd’s thumb runs over your hand. Watching over you when you finally fell asleep. It was good news. He figured in time that he might be okay with the way things were going, but he also knew that you and Court did not need a child. Court couldn’t even face you when he found out. He ran to some other woman, when he should have been comforting you, or at the very least talking to you.

Lloyd looks over at your vitals, and they were steady, but he knew your heart was breaking. He could see the careful veneer of trying to ignore the feelings that were starting to creep up towards him. You loved Court, but you were falling for Lloyd, as was he. There was something in those moments right before he left for the mission that Lloyd realized just how much he was falling. He wanted you to wake up and realize Court was not only holding you back, but he didn’t value you.

He can hear Court’s voice before he sees him. Leaning over to kiss your forehead, lingering his lips there a moment when you whimper, before he heads towards the door, “Move aside, Hansen, I need to…”

“Dani, you mind staying with her while I have a chat with Six here?” Dani gives a nod, and goes to sit beside you. He looks over to Natasha, and shakes his head, “It’s best if maybe you went on home.”

“Don’t tell her what to do,” Court snaps at him.

“And don’t bring the woman you’ve been living with temporarily to your fiancé’s hospital bed. She’s resting, and while she’s resting, you and I need to talk.”

“I’ll talk after I see my fiance, you asshole.”

“And I’m not asking, I’m telling you, we’re going to talk. And if you could keep your fucking voice down. This is the first time she’s slept in twenty-four hours. Funny how it took you so long to get here.”

“I should go,” Nat says, looking at Lloyd with deep sadness. She knew she should have done something more. Begging Court to just go home didn't help. “Nothing happened.”

“Did she tell you how he’s accusing her of sleeping with me? Nothing had to happen. He made his fucking choice, and it was you,” Lloyd grips Court’s shirt, and pulls him down the hallway. Slamming his body up against the wall, glaring at him.

“What is your fucking problem?” Court screams at him. His fists clutch tightly, trying not to swing at him. “What. Is. Your. Fucking. Problem?”

“You! You’re my fucking problem. You parade that woman around the agency, saying my fiancé, my fiance, but you don’t even fucking care! She told you she was pregnant, and what do you do? You run to fucking Natasha’s house.”

“Fitzroy told me she was pregnant, not her. And I needed to talk to someone.”

“Quit your fucking whining and talk to her! That’s all she wants. She wants you to talk to her. And what did you do with Natasha?”

Court chuckles, shaking his head, “It’s not like that with me and Nat.”

“Do you realize how stupid you look? Accusing her of cheating, when it’s you running to another woman?”

“She runs to you!”

“When? On missions? That’s what partners do. I’m her partner because you pushed her away! Is it always someone else’s fault with you? I’ll admit, I think your fiancé is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but I’ve never touched her like that. She needed you, Six. She needed you before she left for this mission, and she needed you today. I had to hold her hand, and she was so scared. She kept crying that she was going to lose the baby, and it should have been you.”

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want kids,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

“What were you using as protection? The pull out method? Then you weren’t doing a good job of preventing kids. You need to wake up, and pay attention to your fucking fiancé, before you lose her forever.”

“To you? Is that a threat? I’m not scared of you. It’s my bed she sleeps in every night.”

“And before this mission, she was sleeping in the bed alone, while you were with Natasha. You’re pushing her. Pushing her away, and you’re about to push her off the ledge, and you’ll lose her forever. It was you she wanted, not me. She’s trying here. And she’s the only one. Tell her I’m going back home.”

“And Court,” Lloyd says, turning his body to look at the man who stands there, “You don’t deserve her. She will find someone who values her worth, if you can’t.”

Court lets those words sink in a moment. He never wanted a family. Never saw himself being a husband, and now here he was, and almost had everything he never wanted. Overwhelmed on what he should do, but one thing was certain, he didn’t want to have a life without you.

He walks back into the room, and you give him a tearful smile, “Court,” you whisper. Eyes bloodshot as he walks in the room. Lloyd wasn’t with him, and it hurts to make this decision. You had been overwhelmed on what to do, and you never once factored Lloyd into the picture. Staring at Court makes this harder. You don’t have the same feelings as when Lloyd was here. “He’s okay.”

“He?” Court asks, walking closer over to you. You give him a nod, and pull his hand over to your stomach. He didn’t touch your belly like Lloyd did. It was like he was hesitant to keep his hand there. There was no warmth in the touch.

“Our son. He’s okay.”

“A boy?” Finally, some emotion in Court’s face. His lip trembles, before he gives you a cold kiss. Even Lloyd’s forehead kisses felt better than that.

“I want him, Court. I’ve always wanted kids. And this little boy is a piece of you. I know what you said. But I want him. And I need you. I need you to be all in. Our son…he…h-h-he needs a mom and a dad,” Court nods his head a bit, but still there wasn’t this true excitement. It felt like he was treating you and your son like a mission. Get the information. Do the mission until it’s complete.

“Kids are a lifetime.”

“I know,” he didn’t. He didn’t get it. You want to give him the benefit of a doubt, because he was the baby’s father. Father. It’s laughable. You didn’t want your child to have a father. You wanted him to have a daddy. Someone that was going to be affectionate, and always there for him. Court couldn’t even bother to get here after he got the news. Instead, he went in and finished the mission you and Lloyd had to abort.

“And I need honesty. You…you left me,” he shakes his head no, but you didn’t want to hear an excuse. “You did. This relationship can’t work, unless you stay and talk. You can’t run off when things get tough. I’m your confidant. Not Natasha, not Dani, not Fitzroy.”

“And Lloyd isn’t yours,” he was still in that mind frame of thinking. You nod, agreeing to that. “So we’re doing this?”

“We’re engaged aren’t we?”

You walk into Court’s office, your belly completely swollen. There was no way that you could deny a pregnancy anymore. “Court, are we ever going to talk about names?” He busies himself around his office, stuffing things into a bag, but he never looks towards you. Your hand rubs over your bump, and your baby boy gives your hand a little kick.

“Court,” you giggle. Looking up at him, but now he was looking at something on his computer. “Court, he’s kicking.”

“That’s nice,” he had promised things would be different. Promised that he was going to be all in with this pregnancy. “Hey, I gotta go on a mission,” finally, he walks towards your direction, stopping in front of you, but he caresses your arm.

“Touch him.”

“That’s your stomach.”

“He’s kicking, and moving. You can feel him,” you stare up at him, vision blurry with tears, “Please, touch him,” with an annoyed sigh, he drops his bag, and places his hand over your stomach. “Feel him? He’s right there.”

“Yeah. That’s kinda weird.”

“That’s your son,” you hated him. This was supposed to be a happy time. And you hated him. Withdrawn from you, and even more so from his son. “You don’t even want to name him.”

“You’ll name him something perfect,” Court knows he had no business getting engaged to you, even less with having a child. It was easier for him to just ignore that you were growing a baby. Until you had popped out. Sex wasn’t the same. He couldn’t enjoy it, and just look at your face, because now there was this thing in his way. It was more of a reality of how bad that Court Gentry screwed up.

“Be careful on your mission, Six.”

“Yeah, I always am. I’ll see you when I get back,” his kisses were distant. It was like something he was forcing himself to do. Leaving with barely a bye, you twist your ring around your finger. Holding your hand out, you scoff. Taking the stupid thing off and putting it in his top desk drawer before you walk out.

Holding in your tears as much as possible. You were leaving. You couldn’t be around Court everyday, and he was so cold to someone he claimed to love. He didn’t sleep with his arm around you anymore. His body was turned the other way. If your bump touched him in his sleep, he made an excuse to go use the bathroom. It was like he waited until you were turned the other way before coming back. He hated his son, and you hated him. Your son was perfect. Growing every day.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lloyd runs to catch up to you, “Where are you going so fast?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Why?” He spins you around to look at him, and wipes away the steady cascade of tears. “Honey, why?”

“I can’t be here anymore,” his hands coast down your arms, until meeting at your hands. Running his thumb across your knuckles, he looks down to see your naked finger. “Lloyd, I gotta go.”

“You remember what I offered you?”

“What?”

His hand presses over your stomach, and he gives you the prettiest smile when the baby kicks at him. Looking down from your face, to your belly, “Well, hello to you, too. What have you decided to name him?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking of Henry or Rhett.”

“Eh, we can think of something. My offer still stands. I’ll raise this baby with you. You’re not married. Judging by your finger, you’re not together. I know he’s always going to be Court’s son. But his mama doesn’t have to be miserable, Honey. I love you, and that’s past my love and respect for you as my partner, and I think you know that. I won't pressure you. I won’t beg you. But a happy mama makes for a happy baby,” with a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, he leans over to press a soft kiss over your belly before turning to leave.

“Lloyd?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you help me move mine and the baby’s stuff out of Court’s?”

“Let’s go. He’ll be on a mission for a while.”

Staying with Court was the hardest decision you had ever had to make. Leaving for yourself and your baby was easy. Lloyd was a lot of things. But he did love you and your unborn child. Was willing to put himself into a war that didn’t concern him because he wanted you and your son to be safe and happy.

Court was most definitely going to get mad at the shot to his ego. But you doubted it was because he wouldn’t get to see his son as much as he would like to. You just doubted anything concerning Court anymore. He had checked out a long time ago, and you had finally accepted that. Was now checking out for yourself, but also for your son.

“I really like the name Rhett.”

“Yeah, but Rhett Lloyd doesn’t sound good.”

“I wasn’t going to name the baby after you.”

“Lloyd is a strong and powerful name. Ooh! How about Floyd. Lloyd and Floyd.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Rhett Hansen Gentry.”

“You just want to piss Court off, huh?”

“Yeah, my goal is now just to piss him. He deserves it.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @bookwormchick91 @whimsyplaty92 @bambamwolf87 @curlycarley @infatuatedharleys @randomagnes0210 @8oopsiedaisy8 @spider-thot0115 @sstan-hoe @xcaptain-winterx @buckysteveloki-me @sgtjaamesbaarnes @writing-for-marvel @alwaysclassyeagle @mrsharringtonmunson @jlc3276 @elrw24 @kattreffic @lettersandsodas @saucy-sassy-sparkly @crazyunsexycool @pigwidgeonxo @dontbescaredtosingalong @royalwritersoftheuniverses @bigphattygyal @seitmai @awkwardgiraffe726

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mlmxreader · 1 year

Text

Saviour | Sierra Six x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: "Hey, hey look at me! Look at me!" m!reader x hurt!sierra six

summary: Six is in bad shape, but luckily, there’s someone who won’t quite give up on him.

tws: swearing, injury, scabs/blood, gun violence mention

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Six coughed loudly, his body jerking as he reached to hold onto his side, his ribs aching and his throat felt like it had been stuffed with cotton; every muscle ached, and every bone seared with pain when he tried to move.

He heard the scabs crack when he tried to move his arm, and resigned himself to staying still for the moment as he looked around the all too familiar room; the off-white walls, the dark coloured bedding, the familiar smell of smoke and energy drinks.

He knew these walls well, and could feel himself relax a little bit when he came to realise where he was, trying his best to remember the events that had lead him there, in that all too familiar bed; he swallowed thickly, his throat and chest itching and his side aching from the harsh coughing.

The last thing he remembered was ringing his boyfriend, desperate and bleeding, after he had gotten himself into a gunfight; of all the places in the world, it had been Bastogne, where he and his boyfriend had gotten into just a little bit more than a good amount of trouble. He couldn’t remember more than that, and he was in too much pain and too tired to even try and force himself to.

The footsteps that he heard nearby didn’t make him flinch, so familiar to his trained ear that he even dared to crack a smile, which did little more than cause the splits in his lips to crack open, blood starting to trickle down to his chin.

He struggled to sit up, but his ribs screamed in protest, and the scabs on his arms started to weep once more, so he huffed, and crashed back down against the soft pillows as he listened carefully; when he caught you out of the corner of his eye, he smiled a little more, and coughed weakly as he attempted to clear his throat.

His jaw stung him in the process.

Faintly, Six could smell coffee lingering on you, and he could tell from your jogging bottoms and t-shirt that you didn’t care much that he was in your bed; it was easy for him to deduce that you had stayed up to look after him, and although he had been mercilessly trained against such a thing, Six couldn’t help but to feel a pang of guilt course through his stomach and chest as he realised that you had not strayed too far from his side since bringing him home - maybe even earlier, probably much earlier than that.

He frowned.

“That’s twice now,” you hummed, sitting by his knees as you laid your hand on his leg softly. “Both times in Bastogne.”

Six rolled his eyes. How could he forget the first time? You always brought it up, always made him promise that whatever mission he was sent on would not be like Bastogne, that it would be different and that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes that he had back then.

Shame that the one time he fucked up again since, it just so happened to be in the same place.

“Hey, hey, look at me! Look at me!” You clicked your fingers, grabbing his attention. “Twice.”

“Shut up,” he coughed.

You smiled, gently tapping his leg as you removed the blanket from him and examined the various stitches, bandages and plasters that nearly coated his entire body. “You’re lucky to be alive, Six. If you hadn’t… if you hadn’t called me when you did…”

“What happened?”

You shrugged. “You said you’d been in a gunfight, that you’d been injured, so I came running. I found you passed out by some bins, so I grabbed you, brought you back here - then I called Ritabhari.”

“Did she fix me?”

“She fixed you,” you nodded, scratching your eyebrow as you frowned. “She told me to keep an eye on you, though. Said you might get sepsis if them wounds aren’t cleaned out.”

Six huffed, shaking his head as he cleared his throat and attempted to sit upright again, but you softly pushed him back down, shaking your head at him as you frowned; it wasn’t that Six minded being near you, it wasn’t that he didn’t want you to see him hurt, but he was acutely aware that if people had seen you pick him up, then it was likely that they could easily track you down.

The last thing that Six wanted was to see his boyfriend get hurt because of him, and as achy and sore and bleeding as he was, he still had the instinct to sweep the grounds and to make sure that there weren’t any threats lurking in bushes or up trees or even in unused cupboards; every fibre of his being was telling him to get up and to move, to make sure that you were safe but… but you looked so worried, and he managed to calm the instinct as he went limp and nodded slowly.

“I know you want to protect me,” you started, “and I know you’re worried but you have to trust me when I say this: you are in no shape to do fuck all right now except rest. I love you, Six, and I’m gonna look after you - but you gotta rest. Please.”

How could he say no?

How could he bring himself to worry you even further when he could see it in your eyes that you were already so overwhelmed?

So he frowned, and he swallowed thickly as he let out a rasping and rattling breath that only made his throat and chest itch even more; but he had to speak, even if it hurt him, he had to speak.

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything?” You asked, getting up and pulling the blanket back over him, making sure that it was nice and snug. “Hungry? Thirsty? Bored?”

“Hungry,” Six grumbled.

“Soup and bread alright?” You laughed softly as you looked away for a second. “I haven’t had a chance to go to the shops for something better yet but uh… I’ll ask Albert if he can go - if you’ll help me make a list?”

“Sure,” he rasped out. “Soup and bread is fine.”

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webbo0 · 1 month

Text

Finally getting around to actually posting all the fanfics I've written lol, anyways here's some Six Angst!

This was an old one, but I still like it!

#ryan gosling #court gentry #courtland gentry #sierra six #the gray man #fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #Sierra Six fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #my writing

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cornishkat · 2 years

Text

Safe Haven

Sierra Six x F!Reader

Warnings: Violence, injuries, mention of rape, blood, angst, fluff

Summary: You were an experienced agent but you had been so outnumbered, now you were hurt and vulnerable and there was only one person you wanted to go to make you feel safe.

Note: First time writing for Six, hope it is ok.

You could taste the iron tang of blood in your mouth as you pulled yourself up off the floor to lean against the cold wall behind you. Closing your eyes, you started to try and regulate your breathing, in through your mouth and out through your nose. You could feel pain blooming across your chest as you did, you were sure it was just bruising though, you knew when you had broken ribs. As your breathing calmed you knew that you needed to get yourself out of here, get yourself somewhere safe where you could check your injuries and work out what had gone so wrong. You had never known the intel to be this wrong, you had never been sent in somewhere without you knowing pretty much exactly what you were facing. But this should have just been a recce for the main operation, simple in and out to gather further information. It should have not been the ambush it turned into; you could hold your own but against that many you had come away more hurt than you had ever been before and you could admit you felt panic in your chest.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself up onto your feet, your body protested, and pain wracked through you. Just needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere to clean up, to rest, to sleep. You knew you didn’t want to go home to your empty house, you were shaken, and you could admit to yourself you felt hurt and vulnerable. There was only one place you wanted to be and only one person you wanted to be with, only he could make you feel safe right now.

Six sat on his sofa with a beer in his hand, just enjoying the rare occasion of not being on a job and having some down time. As he was considering a second beer, he heard someone at his door, and it stopped him. He didn’t get visitors, no one really knew where he lived, he lifted his weapon from the table beside the sofa and headed into the hallway glancing at the security screen he saw you stood on his doorstep.

You were not sure how you made to his doorstep, every muscle in your body ached and your head was swimming. You just kept going, you just needed to get to him, and everything would be alright, he made everything alright. As you pressed the doorbell you forced yourself to straighten up and another wave of pain coursed through you. As the door opened and he stood in front of you, you could feel the relief flooding through you as you knew you were going to be ok, you knew you were safe. You went to apologise to him and then your head started to swim and you started to sway as the black engulfed you.

Lunging forward he caught you in his arms just before you hit the ground, lifting you up he carried you inside and lay you on his sofa. As he stood up he cast his eyes down over your body and felt his heart ache and his stomach lurch. Before he could do anything else he saw your eyes flutter open, kneeling next to the sofa he waited for you to open your eyes fully.

“I’m sorry Six I just….”

“Don’t apologise, just tell me what the hell happened and let me get you patched up”

“I’m fine, just need to rest”

He just raised his eyebrow at you until you nodded silently and closed your eyes again as you heard his phone ring.

“Fitz what the hell happened out there”

“I am just watching the footage now, please tell me she alive”

“She’s in a bad way but definitely alive”

“After watching this I’m not sure how she is”

“Can you send the footage through”

“Are you sure you want to see this?”

“Is the footage that bad”

“See for yourself, she didn’t have a hope it was a complete ambush, but she held her own”

“What the hell went wrong?”

“I’ll find out you just look after her”

“Of course, but should I not bring her in?”

“Six there is a reason she came to you after this”

“What do you mean, she just didn’t want to go to hospital, you know we don’t if we can help it”

“Six don’t, she came to you because she needed you, she trusts you, you are her safe haven. And after what happened tonight, she needs that”

“I don’t understand”

“I think you do, and I think you feel just the same as she does. Also, I think it was someone here who set up this ambush tonight”

“Fitz find them then just let me at them”

Six hung up and opened the video link that Fitz had sent him, he felt the bile rising in his throat as he watch the men grabbing you. Fitz was right you had held your own, but he flinched as blow after blow hit you, as they held you down. As the footage ended, he could feel the rage bubbling inside of him, he had to leave that for now though, you didn’t need more anger tonight. As he walked back into the lounge, he saw you drifted off to sleep but a low whimper that chilled him through came from you as you writhed on the sofa. Kneeling quietly down next to the sofa again he gently placed his hand on your shoulder. Your hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, your eyes snapping open.

“You’re ok, its only me”

As you relaxed your grip on his wrist, he watched the panic subside in your eyes as you focused on him, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“Why don’t you have a shower and then we can have a look at patching you up”

“Thank you”

As you stood up from the sofa you could help the gasp of air that escaped you as tried to straighten yourself. He hovered, waiting to catch you if you fell, as you tried to balance yourself, he stepped forward and hooking an arm under your knees and one behind your back and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. You whimpered quietly as you buried your head into his neck. Carrying you through to the bedroom he gently sat you on the edge of his bed,

“You ok with me helping you out of these clothes, so I can see the damage”

You nodded and dropped your eyes from his as he slowly and gently peeled off your jacket and shirt.

Six was trying to be as gentle as he could but he felt his hands tremble as he ran his eyes over the bruises littering your pale skin. The anger bubbling inside of him was threatening to overspill but as he looked down at your face and saw tears glistening on your cheeks the anger dispelled and his heart broke a little. Kneeling in front of you he raised your chin and gently brushed the tears away with his thumbs.

“I’m…..

“Y/N/N its ok, you’re ok, just let me do this. You go get yourself a shower, I’ll grab the med kit”

Six went back downstairs and grabbed the med kit he kept for such occasions, to be honest it was really only for patching himself up. Placing his hands flat on the kitchen table he exhaled slowly and tried to calm himself. You needed him to be calm and strong, that must have been why you had come to him, that’s what Fitz had meant, nothing else. Sure, he had worked with you over the last few years, you were one of the best he had worked with, and he could honestly say he would trust you with his life. Because of his work he didn’t really have anyone he was close to, just Fitz and Claire but thinking about it now, you were probably the closest thing he had to a friend. As he stood there, he couldn’t stop the glimmer of hope inside of him that you could see him as anything more than a friend.

He could hear the shower running as he went back into the bedroom and dropped the med kit on the bed.

“Y/N/N you ok in there?”

“Y/N/N let me know you are ok or am coming in”

Pushing the door open he scanned the room; you were sat in the bottom of the shower with your knees pulled up to your chest letting the water run down over you. Without hesitating he stepped into the shower and sat down next to you, gently pulled you into his embrace, and letting the water soak through his t shirt and jeans.

Reaching up he switched of the water and wrapping you in a towel he gently lifted you out of the shower. Towelling you dry he carried you back into the bedroom and after changing his wet clothes, he started to methodically clean and treat all of your wounds, freezing though as he saw the bruises peppered across your thighs.

“Y/N/N, did they….”

Turning to look at him you shook your head,

“They tried but I fought them off”

You dragged your eyes up and looked at Six from under your eyelashes, you could see his eyes glistening and you reached out your hand and placed it on his arm.

“I’m ok Six, it just shook me I was so outnumbered”

Nodding he handed you a pair of shorts and a t shirt,

“Just get some rest, your safe here”

“I know…”

He wanted to ask, he wanted to know why you had come to him tonight. Was Fitz right when he has said he was your safe haven. He didn’t think he had ever been anyone’s safe haven but he wanted to be that for you. He watched as you climbed into his bed, and he drew the duvet up over you. As he turned to leave, he felt your hand grab his wrist,

“Please stay, I don’t…”

Nodding, as he understood you didn’t want to be alone when you closed your eyes and he gently climbed into the bed next to you as you lifted the duvet. Before he could think anything else he felt you curl yourself into his side and rest your head on his chest. It felt so good having you next to him, he couldn’t remember that last time he had had physical contact like this. As he let the breath out he was holding he thought you must be able to hear his heart beating hard in his chest, he gently wrapped his arm around you and felt himself drifting off to sleep as he felt your soft breath on this skin.

#sierra six x y/n #the gray man #sierra six fanfiction #court gentry #ryan gosling #sierra six

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rosewritestuff · 2 years

Text

Sierra Six x Reader; plus size reader, daddy kink, oral sex f receiving, face sitting, vaginal sex

ANY HATE WILL BE DELETED THIS IS A JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE DON'T LIKE, DON'T INTERACT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

You shuffled through the bathroom doorway, barely making a whisper of sound. Six stopped scrubbing his shirt, back and arms tensing as he gripped the edge of the sink. "Thought I told you to wait in the bedroom."

You fidgeted where you stood in the doorway, looking down as you bit your cheek and played with the hem of your shirt, the only thing you were wearing. He clicked his tongue and your eyes flew to his back.

"I didn't want to be alone," you admitted softly. Six bowed his head, sighing before dropping the shirt and soap and turning around. He leaned back against the sink and held an arm out. You tripped forwards, stumbling in your haste, and Six moved quickly, catching you before you fell.

"I've got you. Always do," Six winked, then squatted down, grabbing your thighs and wrapping them around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Thank you Daddy," you whispered as Six carried you through the bathroom back into the bedroom, sitting on the bed with you in his lap. You pulled back a little, tracing the scar on his shoulder, down his arm. Six let you explore, fingers running over every bump, every raised mark, every tattoo, ending with the one of your name, on his wrist.

"Like I said, always got you," he muttered softly and tears filled your eyes. You shyly pressed your lips to his cheek, but he wasn't satisfied, lifting a big hand and grasping the back of your head, forcing you to meet his lips in a clumsy kiss before he took over, hand sliding down to your neck. Your mouth fell open and he gently licked inside, tongue stroking yours. His beard softly scraped your face, burning it as he rubbed his cheek along yours.

You sighed and he slowly lowered himself backwards, bringing you with him down on top of him. You tried to hold some of your weight but Six grabbed your wrists, pulling them up so you had to rest against him.

"Daddy's got you," Six growled, turning his head and pressing a biting kiss to the inside of your elbow. "Guess you could use a reminder. Up little one, you know the position."

You flushed red but pushed yourself up as he let go of your wrists. You moved from straddling his hips to hover over his face, your shirt hanging over your tits and pooling at your hips.

Six stared up at you, sliding his hands under your shirt to grasp at your waist, fingers clutching you tight. He guided you forwards and down, until you were sitting on his face, Six groaning into your cunt already.

"Baby, he muttered, as he lifted you slightly, readjusting you so your clit pressed against his nose, his tongue able to go deep inside your pussy. You whimpered, rocking your hips down onto him, riding his face. You could feel him gripping you tighter and tighter, and when he released, you sat up on your knees, letting him take two quick breaths before he pulled you back down.

You squealed, losing your balance and falling forwards, over Six's head. You curved around him, back arching as his tongue licked through your folds quickly. His hands ghosted down your hips to your thighs, grabbing them tight in his hands and rolling you two, so that you were on your back with Six's head still between your legs. Your head hung off the edge of the bed, your throat stretched achingly as you moaned. Your hands were buried in the covers, helping anchor you to the bed as Six began eating you out like you were a feast. He grunted, slurping at your lower lips in the messiest of kisses.

"Daddy....please......oh my god, ohmygod ohmygod!" you chanted as you came, Six devouring your pussy. He didn't let up, spiraling you straight into another orgasm. You humped his face, your shaking thighs tight around his head. One of your hands was fisted in his hair, trying to drag him away but he growled, fighting through and licking you until you were crying with oversensitivity.

Six puled away, panting, and sat up on his knees, pulling you down closer to him. It brought your head onto the bed, dizzy as the blood began rushing back down. While your head spun, Six pressed his dick to your entrance, hot and heavy. He made short little thrusts, barely-there motions that teased you more than anything, until the head of his dick popped in.

Before you could say anything, Six was pushing, sliding his dick inside you inch by inch, letting you feel the drag of every vein and ridge along your walls. You moaned, trying to pull him down on top of you.

"You're always so desperate for more," Six grunted, falling to his forearms as he thrust inside you, slowly. He groaned as you clenched on him, unable to deny it.

"Please Daddy," you whined, nails digging into his shoulders as he sped up, hissing. Six moved one hand and yanked your hips into his, changing the angle and making you scream as he slid past your spot, stroking it with his dick over and over. You sobbed as you came again, squirting past his cock onto his thighs and the bed, your body spasming.

Six groaned, sliding through your sudden wetness jerkily, hips rutting into you as he pressed himself close to you. His pelvis was grinding into your clit, his rutting and grunting near animalistic as he came, spilling hot and thick inside you.

Your whole body was shaking as you reached your hands up, framing Six's face. You weakly pulled at him until he bent his head down, kissing you as he slowed his breaths.

#sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six smut #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #sierra six x y/n #smut #no y/n #reader insert #sierra six x plus size reader

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cadavercowboy · 2 years

Text

𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 / 𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚂𝚒𝚡 (𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚗)

→ COMING SOON

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚛 (𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎)

→ COMING SOON

𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 (𝙸𝚝)

✦ Gotten* (Reader Insert) — Your friendly neighbor is a little bit too friendly...and possessive. — Series

#the black phone #the grabber #the grabber fanfiction #the grabber fanfic #the grabber x reader #patrick hockstetter fanfiction #patrick hockstetter fanfic #patrick hockstetter x reader #it #sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six fanfic #sierra six x reader #the gray man #the gray man fanfiction

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drivinmeinsane · 7 months

Text

Crimson Headache

※ Sierra Six x Afab!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You wonder something about Six. Will he allow himself to surrender to what he really wants?

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content

※ Content/Tags: Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut, Protected Sex, Male breast worship (mild), Wound care, Pet Names, No use of Y/N, Fluff. No use of pronouns for the reader, Not beta read (we just die)

※ Word count: 3,337

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: Got too overcome at the sight of Ryan Gosling's tits when he was in the Gray Man. Will it happen again? Probably. This was been sitting in my docs for ages while I poked at it occasionally. So uh... enjoy.

A dog barks in the distance, the sound blending in with the occasional passing car as the noises of the night creep through the open window. The curtains rustle as they get stirred by the crisp, autumn breeze. It’s the perfect kind of night to be tucked into bed under the covers and reading a book by the comforting glow of the bedside lamp. The only way it could be better was if there was a warm body laying beside yours. You were so painfully, desperately lonely in the absence of your companion.

You flip another page of the book you’re holding in your hands. Six had given it to you the evening he was called away on another job. The mission he was recruited for is the kind where he couldn’t disclose any of the details or even take the risk of a phone call while away, secure line or not. As soon as he walked out the door, you would be left in the void of not knowing if he is safe or if he would even be coming back… hence the book. It carries the promise that he will return, that he has to come back so you can talk about what you read in his absence. That was four days ago. You’ve been slowly dragging your way through the chapters. You’ve read sections of the text over and over to savor the meaning of it like a piece of candy melting in your mouth.

You’re so engrossed in the paragraph you’re reading, so captivated in horror along with the characters at the sight of unexplainable creatures moving amongst the branches of willow trees that you don’t see the man in the doorway. Unbeknownst to you, he stands there for a long while, watching the way your lips part and gasp at a newfound twist, the way your face scrunches at a particularly unsettling moment. He savors the sight of you and waits for you to realize that he’s here. Several pages go by, held gently between the pads of your fingers as you turn them, before you pause to reach for the water bottle on your nightstand. You catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the corner of your eye. You startle and miss the water bottle, it falls to the floor with a heavy thud and rolls to a stop against the dresser. You’re scrambling, prepared to scream when you realize you recognize the silhouette. It’s Six.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you gasp, falling back on the bedspread.

There’s a quiet chuckle followed by a decidedly insincere sounding apology. “Sorry, beautiful.”

He doesn’t move any closer, choosing to observe as you mark your place amongst the pages of the book. You set it aside with slightly shaky hands and observe him. You can’t make out any details beyond the circumference of the soft light radiating from the lamp, so you beckon for him to come closer. He hesitates for a long moment before obeying. He moves stiffly but steps right up to the foot of the bed, letting his shins hover mere inches away from the mattress.

You can’t stifle the gasp that bursts from your mouth at the sight of him. He recoils slightly at the sound but keeps his eyes unwaveringly focused on you. He is a complete and utter mess. His shirt is marred with an impressionist's interpretation of a crime scene. It’s dried to a deep, almost brown, burgundy in the areas where the blood soaked into the fabric. His face isn’t any better. It’s a disaster of wet and dried blood, bruises just beginning to purple underneath the gore. You are on your knees all but immediately, fighting to be at the edge of the bed. Your hands uselessly flutter around him. You’re not sure what parts of him are safe to touch. It’s impossible to be certain what amount of the viscous liquid has come from his own body.

“I missed you, Six. I missed you so much.” You’re half sobbing in relief that he’s come home to you. Even if he is bloody and bruised. You’ve barely settled your hands on his broad shoulders before he’s on you.

He bypasses your attempts to soothe him, choosing instead to tangle his hand in your hair. He gives it a firm tug to bare your neck to him before mouthing roughly along the column of your throat. You gasp at the sensation. His facial hair feels like fire lapping against your sensitive skin. The hot heat of his mouth only strengthens the comparison. You yield to him willingly as he manhandles you. A whine escapes you when his teeth nip a little too hard on your delicate flesh. He’s so gentle and tender with you outside of the handful of sexual encounters you’ve shared that it always shocks you how aggressive he is in bed. He seems at his most relaxed when he’s simply spending time with you or letting you roughhouse him, but when it comes to sex… he’s as strangely stilted and tense as he is now, almost as if he’s working his way through a script. It hasn’t seemed that he finds much pleasure for himself outside of the moments when he’s working his mouth between your legs. He never quite manages to look you in the face either while he permissibly degrades you. You wonder…

“Hold on.” He is busy biting a mark into your collarbone and muttering something about you being a good girl for him. The hand not intertwined with your hair has made its home around the base of your throat. The hold is threatening to become a hard press into your esophagus. “Six, wait a second.”

The agent instantly withdraws and the look he gives you is wary. He looks like a scolded dog. You cup his face and rub a gentle thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. He relaxes into your hold, pressing his face into the warmth of your palm. The desperation of being needed, of being touched, is rolling off of him in suffocating waves. It only furthers your growing suspicions about him.

“Do…” you bite your lip, bringing your other hand up in the vain attempt to brush his hair off his forehead. It had tumbled loose and gotten caught up in the blood on his face. You’re sure that there will be streaks of it along your own skin. “Do you even like this kind of sex?”

He goes rigid against you, wrongfooted. “I like pleasing you.”

“Baby, that’s not what I'm asking. Do you like being rough?” You question, hesitation slowing your words.

“Honestly? No.” The blunt confession is given as though dragged out of him, kicking and screaming. There’s a vaguely ashamed expression lingering in his eyes.

“Why do it?”

He’s silent for so long, you almost think he’s never going to respond. “I thought it’s what you wanted. Anyone else has wanted me to be… a certain way. Told me it’s how I should be. Do you not like it that way?”

“I like you in any way you want to give yourself. I just want you to be comfortable and feel good too,” you say sincerely.

He looks stunned by your admission. Six’s life has been nothing but molding himself into the ideal aggressor. There’s no room for softness or vulnerability, not when he is supposed to remain impartial, unattached . His hands are meant for causing harm. As he has said in the past; he was taught how to hurt people, not how to care for them. He shifts uncertainly in place, processing your words.

“I see.” It’s said without conviction.

You let out a soft sigh and stroke the crease that’s formed between his eyebrows. His marginally relaxes under your soothing touch. The injured man allows you to give him a chaste kiss.

“Let me take care of you for once, baby. Please,” you plead.

There’s a moment where you can see him warring with himself but he relents. Six surrenders to the deeply buried desire to be looked after, to be treated as something more than a tool. He allows you to take his much larger hand in yours and lead him into the bathroom.

He looks worse under the bright lights. The shock of red liberally coating him is stark against the white walls and fixtures. You ignore the bile fighting to rise in your throat at the sight and focus on gently extracting him from his shirt. His stomach warms the backs of your fingers while you slowly peel the soiled material away from his skin. He twitches slightly when you graze his side. You suck in a sympathetic breath when you realize why. His flesh is a mottled crime scene of bruising from his armpit to his lowest rib. You help him ease the destroyed shirt over his head. Despite himself, he lets out a pained grunt at raising his arms. It gets tossed to the side the moment he’s free of it.. His trousers are a much simpler affair, one that you’re able to leave him to handle while you turn on the shower.

His touch against your lower back is a welcome surprise. He pulls you against his chest, hands coming to rest on your stomach. He’s fully naked and blazingly warm against your back even though the cotton of the shirt you’re wearing.

“Raided my closet?” He questions softly against your ear. The sensation of his breath sends an involuntary shiver through your body.

“I missed you,” you remind him.

“I missed you too,” he confesses.

He works his bloodied hands, with their split knuckles, under the fabric of the borrowed shirt covering your body. Soon, you’re stepping out of your underwear and pulling him under the warm spay with you. He groans appreciatively at the feeling of the water hitting his back. You spend your time with him, taking the utmost care when rubbing the shampoo into his scalp. The frothy water is tainted red on its journey to the shower drain. There will be a red ring around the edge of the tub that will need to be scrubbed away tomorrow, but for right now, your main concern is the man melting underneath your hands. By the time you’re rinsing him off underneath the showerhead, he’s stooped over in order to press his face into the crook of your neck. His arms are looped tightly around you, one hand resting on your shoulder and the other gripping the softness of your hip.

“You don’t have to pretend to be anything you aren’t, you know… Not with me,” you murmur. He nods.

You turn off the water, careful not to jostle him in the process. He peels himself off of you, avoiding making eye contact. There’s insecurity written across his face and it only grows when you encourage him to sit on the edge of the tub. You gently towel dry him, letting him guide you into standing between his spread knees with his hands on your sides. He rubs circles into your skin while you tend to his injuries. You’re thankful that it’s nothing too terrible. Most of the blood hadn’t been his, but there is a sizable, abit shallow, gash in his hairline that requires the careful application of liquid bandage. There’s little you can do about the bruising. You hold Six’s face in your hands while you wait for the adhesive to dry, brushing your thumbs over the coarse hair of his goatee.

“All done?” He asks. The look in his blue eyes is tender, but there is a glint of something else swimming in the depths..

“Mmhm,” you affirm.

He kisses you, brushes his tongue against the seam of your lips. You open for him eagerly. This is a different kind of possession than the kind he had shown you earlier. It’s not domineering, he’s not rigid and wooden underneath your hands. There’s no push and pull. It’s merely two bodies interlinking. You return Six’s interest. You weave your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck. A low groan rolls through him. It’s enough for you to encourage the man fully up onto his feet, to walk him blindly into the bedroom and to the bed. Your bodies jostle together, naked and damp. He lays down on the bed at your behest. He allows his body to unwind against the yielding surface. He’s a vision in the warm light. Drops of water are beaded on the miles of his skin and it’s taking every scrap of your self-control not to consume him. To lick and bite at him until there’s nothing remaining but the memory of him on your taste buds.

“Do you trust me, baby?” You ask, moving to kneel beside him on the mattress. A shudder runs through him at your proximity. He nods, eyes lidded. He’s fully allowing you to take control of this situation.

You press your mouth against his, once, twice. Priming him for your next movements. He responds to your attention with a hitch of his breath. You cradle his jaw in your hand, grounding him as you make your way down his neck to his ample chest. He’s never let you touch him like this before during sex. He’s always captured your attention with his own actions. Never mind how his own orgasms seemed forced while he was blowing your mind.

His hands shoot to your shoulders when you swirl your tongue around his nipple, gripping hard enough to leave the imprints of his fingers branded into your skin. You pause, letting it pebble between your lips. His grip loosens marginally and you suck gently. The noise he makes is loud enough to wake the dead. It’s an unconstrained growl and his body twists and bucks. Encouraged, you lap at the sensitive skin. It grows swollen and hard at your attention. You drag the hand from his face down to his unoccupied pec. You knead the tissue for a moment before rolling that nipple between your fingers. His chest is heaving under your exploratory teasing. You pull back to observe the effect you’ve had on him. His eyes are focused on you, and his mouth is open slightly, panting. His facial hair does little to conceal his flushed state. You cast a glance downward and he’s starting to get hard.

You skate your hand down his stomach, savoring the way his muscles flex under your fingers. You take his cock in hand, earning another low moan. He’s huge in your grasp. You can’t quite encircle him within the ring of your index finger and thumb. You leisurely stroke him. He throbs in your hold, a warm trail of precum drips from his tip, pooling against the side of your hand. You give him a light squeeze before taking your hand away.

You slide it between your own legs, quickly gathering up the slick at your entrance before you ease a finger inside yourself. Six rolls over to watch you. He audibly swallows at the sight of your pillowy thighs wrapped around your wrist as you open yourself up to take him. You bite back a moan of your own as you sink three fingers home, spreading them increasingly wider. Six is a big man, he’s going to stretch you deeper and wider than you can reach, but at least you can prepare the way for him. You pull out of yourself, the sound is obscenely wet. He reaches for you, intent on taking over. The desire to fuck into you with his much larger digits is written all over his face, but you stop him.

“I want to cum on your cock.” The admission strikes him dead in his tracks.

He lets you rummage in the nightstand drawer for protection. You can feel his gaze on you like a physical weight. You find what you were looking for and turn back to him. You press a hand against his shoulder and push Six down onto his back again. He holds himself still, muscles trembling with the effort of not rutting up into your hand while you unroll a condom over his erection.

You swing a leg over him and pause, hovering over him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is thick, low with arousal.

You line the tip of him up with your opening and brace your hands on his chest. He watches you raptly while you ease down on him. The stretch burns as your body accommodates his girth. You gasp as you fully seat yourself on him. He’s fully sheathed inside of you. You sit for a moment, letting your body get used to the way he fills you. You use the hands on his chest to push off, settling into a steady rhythm. Both of you are letting out noisy gasps. He clamps his hands over your thighs, drags his eager touch to the backs of them. He’s using his grip as a support for your movements. Any tension that he’s had in him during previous encounters with you is gone. He’s wholly enthralled, clearly engaged. There’s nothing being forced here.

“Touch yourself, please,” he pants out.

You can’t refuse him when he asks so nicely. You reflexively clench down around him when your fingers find your clit, He groans at the increase of pressure. It’s wet, sloppy. Your fingertips occasionally make contact with his dick as you ride him. You’re soaking him. You can only begin to imagine the mess that would be pooling at the base of his erection if he weren’t safely encased in a condom.

You collapse forward on top of him. Letting him hold you up and drive his hips against you while you circle your clit with frantic fingers. You’re close, so close. Your mouth finds its way to his chest. You suck a mark into the yielding tissue, a hint of your teeth has him letting out a strangled grunt. You speak between the presses of your mouth to his pec.

“I’m yours.” He makes a sound, low, broken. “I’m yours, Six.”

His grip on your thighs turns bruising. His handprints are going to linger on your skin for days. You’ll feel the phantom of his touch with every step. He’s marked you muscle deep.

“Stay with me,” he begs. There’s a wild desperation on his face and you realize that he means permanently, that he wants you with him indelibly. You’re not just some temporary outlet for him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise. You’re his for as long as he wants you. You’d let him be your forever.

At your words, he moves his hands from your plush thighs and digs his fingers into your hips. The man underneath you grinds you down against his pelvis as he cums. His cock spasms inside you, sudden heat making itself known. It’s enough to push you over the edge. You seize up around him, milking him dry. You sit up and withdraw your cramping hand from between your legs. You rest, thighs relaxing from their chokehold against his flanks. Six is watching you, trying to catch his breath. The expression on his face is slightly awed, vulnerable. He looks hopelessly, helplessly in love with you.

He softens and you ease yourself off of him, letting him slip free. With shaky legs and clumsy hands, the two of you clean up in the bathroom. You steady the agent as needed and he uses the excuse to press close to you. Necessities out of the way, you help Six back into bed. You pull the blankets up over him and he flips over to pillow himself against you. You spread your hands over his back, tracing aimless circles over his warm skin. You massage a thick ridge of scar tissue that disrupts the smooth topography of his shoulder blades, he sighs in contentment.

“How was the book?” His voice is sleepy, relaxed.

#The Gray Man (2022)#Sierra Six #Sierra Six x Reader #The Gray Man Fanfiction #Sierra Six Fanfiction #Courtland Gentry #Courtland Gentry x Reader #My posts #My work

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valleyfae · 2 years

Note

can you write something for six? 😁

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: dom!Court Gentry (Sierra Six) x sub!reader

Warnings: slight somnophilia, dom/sub dynamic, ddlg undertones/extremely needy reader?? daddy kink, smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, masterbation (female), grinding on top of dick, hand + blowjob, messy spit and balls (lots of spit and balls), and more lol

Summary: Tossing and turning, the future repercussions do not stop you from attempting to fulfill your midnight needs.

Word Count: 1.8k

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Feedback and reblogs are VERY appreciated

Tossing and turning in the middle of the night, sweating and whimpering, hoping to wake up Six. You don’t care about the repercussions; you need him; you need something between your legs to settle your hips from frantically bucking, clenching your legs, and straining your muscles.

Nothing helps that feeling go away, not hastily grinding down on the duvet you’ve rolled from the side of the bed, not vigorously rubbing your clit through your sleep shorts with your clammy palm. Nothing.

Hypnotized by the growing heat surging from between your legs and Six’s perfect sculpted arm lying above the covers, the moonlight seeping through the windows and highlighting his prominent veins.

Cuddling up into the crook of his neck, you wrap your arms around Six’s bicep and strenuously hook your ankles together so your puffy bundle of nerves presses against his wrist.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your teeth pierce the flesh of your lips, incoherently grinding on Six; you muffle out helpless pleas, "D-Daddy, I need you," you sob into the pillow he lays on.

Too distracted to think, a drowsy Six shifts in his sleep, huffing out as you continue to feverishly squirm and whimper, desperate for your Daddy to wake up and use you until you’ve been overstimulated, stuffed with his cum, and completely passed out from exhaustion.

Lost in the fuzziness of your thoughts, the thin fabric of your shorts molds to your cunt, wetness seeping through the cotton to Six’s skin. "Please, w-wake up," you croak. "I’m s— I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry for being a b-bad girl."

So humiliated with yourself, you rapidly kick off your shorts, writhing in desperation, haphazard as you grip onto Six’s forearm, using it as stability so you can start to grind on his thick exposed thigh, your painfully sensitive clit grazing his boxers.

The addictive friction from his leg hair against your folds adds to the frustration of knowing that you cannot cum with your Six’s help.

Erratically letting out restless grunts, voice scratchy and strained, you incidentally dig your nails into Six’s skin. "Daddy," you mumble through gritted teeth. "I’m- I’m sorry—"

Hushing yourself, you bring his hand up and slip two of his fingers past your lips. As he shoves his digits further down your throat, forcing you to gag, significant amounts of saliva dripping down your chin accumulating to the mess, you let out a real, broken sob.

Shame sinks in your stomach, realizing your impulsive decisions to not only touch yourself, not only get off at the same time Six sleeps centimeters away from you, but be so pathetically desperate and uncontrollably hump him, melting into a babbling mess.

Six swiftly opens his eyes in shock; processing, he immediately notices the pool of your juices covering his thigh that you leave behind when you feverishly detach yourself from him and meekly sink into the mattress.

Goosebumps trickle down your spine, your lip quivers, still feeling the impulse to press your inadequate fingers to your throbbing cunt.

"Sorry, Daddy," you sniffle, watching the sheets flatten as Six props himself on the headboard. He runs his large hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts before he manhandles you, so you’re straddling his lap, only the rapid thumping of your heartbeat and pulse stirring in your core, keeping the room from being completely silent.

"Oh, sweetheart..." Six grimaces, trying to keep his grip on his already dwindling willpower and not aggressively flip you over and pound into your cunt before finally giving in and stretching your virgin ass.

Six quietly observes as you sheepishly tug down your unsubstantial tank top, hoping to cover what’s left of your dignity before you wipe your drool-painted face with the back of your hand.

He reassures, "I'm not mad at you; I’m not mad. Can you just explain to me what happened?" Six questions, breaking the silence with furrowed brows and a firm yet soft and comforting tone.

Nerves driving you to rock forward, you open your mouth, comprehending your hips' involuntary bucking, you collapse on top of Six. "I—I’m sorry," you hysterically whimper. Choking on your words, you resort to nuzzling into his broad chest, denied cunt still clenching.

"My pretty little girl’s too needy for her own good, huh?" he coos, soothingly rubbing your back. "You couldn’t wait until the morning? Were you too embarrassed to ask me, too scared to wake me up, so you started humping me and sucking my fingers instead?"

Lifting his hips enough to shift his boxers down, Six guides your shaky hand to his thick cock and strokes it. "Answer me, princess. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me." He keeps his composure, gently cupping your cheek with his free hand to regain your eye contact.

"You poor thing," composing his dominance, Six collects the accumulated spit on your chest, bringing it down and painting his shaft, using your fingers to mix your saliva with his pre cum.

The dark room lights up with overpowering tension. "Are you going to be a good girl?" Six croons directing you to wrap both of your hands around his thick girth.

Hesitantly gliding over the distinct veins that run down his shaft to follow them with your gaze, heart rate increasing as your eyes scan over the trail of coarse hairs that extrude from around his base, the bulging veins on their path up his v-line. "Is that a yes, princess? Are you going to listen to Daddy and be his good girl?"

Detaching his hands from on top of yours, Six swirls his fingers, collecting your drool; he presses his digits to your tongue. "Y-Yes, Daddy," you hum. The taste of his long fingers covered in the tangy combination of his pre-cum and your cunt that hovers over his body is humiliatingly pleasant.

“Atta girl," he praises, letting out an audible sigh when your hands brush over his balls. Finally giving Six the eye contact he’s been forcing, you feebly frown, unintentionally letting out a reluctant mewl. "Oh, you messy girl," he sneers, your wet hands cupping his heavy balls. "Go on and rub all of that drool on Daddy’s balls. Get ‘em nice and messy, just how my slutty little girl likes it."

Six’s words go straight to the neglected ache in your clit, tormenting your every breath, challenging you not to let your extreme arousal defeat your willpower.

Shifting down to lie on your stomach, you stop, "No p-punishment?"

"Don’t get too ahead of yourself; just because I’m letting you be a whore right now, it’s not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows tomorrow." He spreads his thighs further as you get comfortable. "Daddy has to think of something fitting."

Eyes wide, you dip your head down, placing eager kitten licks on his tip. "Spanking?" you question, rubbing your hips back on the sheets at the thought of being pinned down over Six’s knees.

"Nice try, princess." Six pats your cheek twice, slowly stroking himself away from your mouth, positioning himself until you attach your lips to his balls, stifling your whines. "Maybe for a reward after no coming for a week."

Steadily pumping his cock, grunting as your tongue trails down to the ring of tight muscle and back to his base, nestling your noes, barring your faces between his base and balls. An abundance of spit covers your face, and the lewd sounds of whines and moans are muffled as Six holds you down by the crown of your head.

"There's my good girl. Messy little thing sure is needy tonight," he says smugly, his gaze following the frenzy that had taken over you, grinding on the bed with hostility, irked by the lack of satisfaction you are receiving. "Does that feel nice? Humping the air? Can you not wait for Daddy? Are you that restless?"

Detaching your mouth from him, you bite down on your lip, trying to refrain from your vigorous hip movements. Humiliation runs through your body down to the visible patch of wetness you’ve created.

"Come here" Six lays his legs flat, cupping his balls; he lifts his hand in front of your flustered, heated face. He grimaces, "all of this drool from that innocent little mouth." The spit streams down his fingertips, stringing onto his defined abs. "Such a pretty mess all for me."

"Just for you, Daddy," you beam pleadingly, with a soft glimmer in your eyes.

"Open."

Eagerly squeezing your eyes shut, you open your mouth; his firm grip expands his view down your throat, fingers clutching your jaw.

Gathering a large amount of his spit, Six partially sits up, leaning the weight on his elbow, his bicep bulges, pushing against the side of his ribs—anticipation bubbles in your stomach, waiting for him to make his next move.

Harshly spitting on your face, his saliva cascading over your tongue. "Swa— good girl," Six praises. Painfully hard, he gradually pumps himself; your expression fades from content to puzzled as he pushes your hips down on top of his abdomen. You squeal; your lips immediately press against his cock; you instinctively roll your hips, whining, and the hood of your clit glides over Six with ease.

"There you go, didn’t need to act so confused."

Wrapping his hands around your hips, he takes control.

Your tired-out body trembling with pleasure, you stabilize yourself and grip Six’s shoulders as he continues to manipulate your movements. A combination of pain and pleasure, but knowing you most likely won’t be coming for the next week makes the torturous simulation that much better.

"Gonna cum a-again," you wince, ab muscles convulsing; Six forcibly connects the rough pad of his tub to your overstimulated clit. "Daddy, no more, I can’t—"

Letting go for the second time, Six is granted more amusement, "just a little more, come on, you can do it, make Daddy cum, then you won’t have to cum for a week."

Before your whimpers heighten, he lays his thumb on your tongue, immediately pulling a reaction from you. "So close, princess, so close," he grunts, balls drawing up; he clenches his jaw, assertiveness perspiring from his skin, pinning your hips down, growling as he releases.

Rope after rope, Six grunts, his hot cum dispersing over his heaving chest. "Shit," he curses. "So good for me, fuck—"

Lips still wrapped around his thumb, Six tenderly cups your lips, lightly rocking you back and forth as he leisurely descends from his high.

"Daddy, c-can I, um…."

Six chuckles, smoothing his hand over his beard, "Go ahead, princess. Clean up all of Daddy’s cum like a good girl."

End Note: tags for @wi1dflowers and @buckysboobs for responding to my random post. Hopefully, you see this too nonnie :’)

#fran's fics #ryan gosling #sierra six #sierra six x reader #sierra six smut #sierra six fanfiction #court gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry smut #court gentry fic #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man #the gray man fanfic #ryan gosling fanfiction #x reader #x reader smut

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soupfiction · 2 years

Text

In The Job Description

Pairing: Sierra Six x Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, blood, knife wound description and care associated with such.

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: After a rough night, Six stitches you up.

A/N: read part two here!

The metallic tang in his mouth is as familiar as the gum he so often chews. Thicker than saliva, quicker to fall out of his mouth if he isn’t careful enough. He can’t get a single syllable out without a saturated dribble finding its home on his lip, then his chin, then his once white shirt.

Luckily it doesn’t matter, not to him. It would simply blend in with the rest of the red splatters that already littered his clothing.

But Six isn’t naïve. He was trained to be intelligent, both working on its natural presence and the enhancement of it. It only took a few uncertain steps and a look that was just a bit too dazed to clock him in on what exactly what was going on.

“Looks worse,” he tries to assure you, momentarily forgetting about the blood pooling in his mouth. His usually white teeth are gleaming with it, staining his mouth into nothing more than an oozing wound. It mixes in with the swirling water when he spits a mouthful of it out.

In the bathroom mirror, your stance relaxes an inch at his voice; shoulders slumping forwards and arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt at self-comfort.

Only a handful of minutes have passed since the last body dropped to the floor, giving out a final few twitches before it settled into stillness in the safe houses kitchen. The semi-automatic pistol that Six had shot him with was still hot, barrel burning off the remaining scent of the familiar pungent nitroglycerin. It sits next to him on the sink, metal against porcelain.

He tries not to stare, really he does, but the way your shoulders lightly shake has his jaw going taut, muscles jumping out under the facial hair he had let grow out during the past few days. Telling himself it’s just a routine assessment, he lets his gaze travel downwards, taking you in as fast as he can without seeming worried.

The calloused tips of his fingers dig into the sides of the sink when he spots the lower half of your shirt.

What was once a clean oversized shirt (ivory with the name of some college boldly printed) is now wet, sticking to your right side just above where your hip should be. His brain is hardwired to both fight and mend, has been for years, and so it’s little more than muscle memory when he finds himself whipping around and taking a large step towards you.

You visibly flinch at the abruptness, taking a step backwards on instinct. The adrenaline makes your head fuzzy, and though you’ve come to trust Six more than just about anyone, that primal part of your brain still translates the action into something to be avoided. Six makes a note of it, filing it right next to Claire; a reminder of why he does what he does, and the things he will do to keep people he cares for safe.

He doesn’t want to see you like this ever again.

“Relax,” his voice is low, barely audible over the still running faucet. A blood speckled finger points at the space right under your crossed arms, pulling your attention towards it. “That yours?”

Your eyes become saucers, widening so big that they reflect the bulbs above the sink in their entirety. “I--,”

Six doesn’t allow you the time to freak out, stepping forwards until he’s right in front of you. Large palms encompass your shoulders until the slight quake of them feels like his own. “Listen to me, alright?” Softness laces through his usual neutral tone, painting it in a soothing light as he leans down until you have no where to look but at him. Your wild eyes find his, staying in the blue of them. “I’m going to take a look. Is that okay?”

All you can do is nod.

He’d already contacted the team that recruited him, a quick call to someone who sounded apathetic towards the fact that they were about to have to pick up eight dead bodies. It was just another job, another number on a slip of neat paper, yet when he peels back your shirt he can’t help but to feel as if it’s so much more than that.

It’s shallower than he’d thought it would be, but messy. Someone had managed to stab you, however Six guesses you fought back by the way the cut twists instead of looking like a clean in and out. “Do you remember when this happened?” He asks, using his head to guard the wound from your wandering eyes. Your reaction to the blood in his mouth and on his clothing was enough to make you like a deer in headlights. He doesn’t want to know what you look like seeing something like this on yourself.

“Someone—was by the safe room. They grabbed me, but I—I got free and ran in there.” Your stomach dents inwards before a sob escapes. The shakiness in your voice resembles a leaf in the wind, barely holding on until it fully breaks off. “Is it bad? I can’t even—I didn’t even know I got—.” His fingers splay across your hip, squeezing and effectively cutting off your words.

“Adrenaline. Helpful in these situations,” Six explains, speaking from experience. He lets your shirt fall back down, standing tall in the same breath. The hand on your side slides up, until it settles on your back, warm and secure. “Nothing to worry about. I know a pretty good doctor.” The toothless smile that graces his lips doesn’t reach his eyes.

The confusion that passes over your face is a relief from the shell shocked look you had earlier. He presses his hand further into your back, urging you towards the sink. “Who?” You inquire as he swipes the gun from its place on top of the porcelain, tucking it behind his waistband. Still warm.

“Me,” Six deadpans, then nods his head towards the closed toilet lid, “Sit.”

He presses liquid soap onto his hands, scrubbing them under the water as you sit. The lesion is deep enough that you’ll need stitches, and some good pain medication. Morphine Sulfate will do. There’s a half empty bottle of it in the cabinet above the sink, along with a pack of Gauze sponge and bandages. He’s thankful that he’s been trained to pre-plan, or else you both might’ve had to drive the hour it takes to get to the nearest hospital.

You don’t need to know that, though.

Six is more than determined to keep you calm and steady, oblivious to the reality of what intruders meant. They had discovered the safe house, which meant your location was compromised to probably more than one group of mercenaries. You’d both have to pack up and leave soon, tonight if possible.

Again, it’s not something he had to share. All you had to be aware of is that you’re safe as long as he’s around.

Once his hands are free of blood, he grabs the supplies and sets them on the sink. The pills rattle as he turns the bottle and pours one into his hand. “Water?” He asks, watching your face as you take the small, white pill from him.

Your eyes slide to the sink quickly, debating, then you pop it into your mouth, grimacing as you swallow.

“I could’ve gotten you water,” Six remarks as your adams apple bobs a few times, a nearly inaudible huff escaping from him; the remainder of a laugh that dies in his chest. Humor doesn’t feel fitting when he can’t stop thinking about how close that guy got to you, and what would’ve happened had you been slower. Though he’s far past feeling vengeful, he can’t help but to humor the fantasy of finding exactly who it was and kicking their limp body.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. You’ve done enough already, Six.”

The muscles of his thighs flex as he squats down, heels hovering off the ground. He’s tall enough that even now he has a head over you. “It’s in the job description.”

A shaky breath releases from your lungs as he pulls up your shirt, exposing bare skin. Your spine straightens, going rigid as he softly presses the fluffy material to the wound. The gauze sucks in the blood, growing more and more saturated the longer he leaves it there. He goes through three, waits until it’s more spotted than full before discarding them all in the trash.

For the first time, he feels himself regretting his training. His time on Dark Site and the numerous times he’s had to patch himself up have left him with more than ample skill, which meant it only took a handful of minutes to get to this point. Definitely not enough time for the morphine to have kicked in to allow you to not feel what he’s about to do next so much.

He might be accustomed to the pain, but you were far from it, educated guess morphing into confirmation as your eyes catch sight of the small, curved needle in his hand. “Six,” you whisper, hands grasping at his wrist. Not enough strength to stop him, but he stills anyways, letting you hold him there. “You—I can’t.”

Alert, blue eyes travel up your arm to where you’ve got him, fingers clenching hard enough that your knuckles press white against the skin. “You can,” he assures you, pressing a warm hand against the one that clutches him. The contact seems to help, the pressure of your grip relenting. “Either this or a trip to the hospital.”

Sure, they’d have medication that would soothe the pain almost immediately, but by the time you got there the morphine would have kicked in. And so would the bleeding Six had managed to briefly slow down. It would be a useless trip, one that would only end in a later night and more bloody gauze.

Your lower lip trembles before you take it in between your teeth. “How bad is it going to hurt?”

“A bit.” A shaky breath is sucked in, filling your lungs, then released causing a fresh streak of blood to fall down your side and onto your shorts. It seeps into the fabric. Six begins to unwrap your fingers from around his wrist with gentle movements. When you let him, he adds, “Pain medication will help after, though.”

That seems to do it for you, anxiety melting away into mild rationality. When he gets to the third finger, you release all together, pulling your hand back like you hadn’t even realized what you had earlier done. “Sorry.”

“It happens,” he murmurs. The first time someone had sewn him up he had gripped the table under him so hard that his fingers were sore the following day. Though he’s grown used to the pain, he still understands the hesitance that comes before.

It seems more and more that the years can’t take away those memories, as scabbed over as they are.

Your reaction mirrors the one he had all those years ago, fingers latching onto the lid of the toilet as if you’re being pulled under by water and that’s the last buoy. “Fuck!” You bite out, head lolling forwards. It’s a natural reaction to want to close in on yourself, a protective tactic that, while sometimes useful, now only causes your forehead to knock against the back of his head.

A sharp exhale through his nose is the only reaction he gives, letting the momentary burst of pain allow him to get the thread through your skin. The first dip in and out. More will follow, and he lets you recover while dabbing at the leaking blood with gauze.

He’s grown used to unnecessary apologies from you, and the lack of it only attests to your pain and prompts him to ask, “Okay?”

“No.” You don’t miss a beat, blinking rapidly. “How are you so—used to this?”

”Practice makes perfect,” Six replies dryly, ignoring the look you send him that borders closely on pity. Better than jail, he wants to say, but swallows it down, the metallic taste of blood still heavy on his tongue.

The shakiness of your hands has only seemed to amplify, spurred into tremors by the needle. It makes his dinner turn in his stomach. “Only a few more to go.”

You take a page from his book, responding with a heavily sarcastic, “Great.”

Four more stitches and even more gauze later you’re slumping over, arm resting on the sink to hold yourself up. Though he’s washing the blood off his hands again, Six keeps his eyes on you.

Each breath makes your back rise, falling back down slower and slower now that the worst of it is done. The right side of your shirt is bloody and crumpled, keeping the wrinkles from the times he had to grab it and lurch it up so that it wouldn’t block his view. He would’ve asked you to hold it, but the words disappeared every time he saw your white knuckled hands trembling in their hold on the porcelain lid.

After drying his hands on the tan towel that hangs on the wall, he gathers the bandages and last chunk of gauze sponge, squatting back down in front of your folded form. “This part is a lot easier,” he promises, letting you remain while he lifts your shirt again and goes to work, laying the gauze over the stitched wound before winding the tape around your abdomen. Tight, but not enough that it would cause you any discomfort.

You groan into your arm, finally moving back so that he can see your face. Strands of hair sticking to your forehead, and your features drooping in tiredness. It won’t be long until you take a nosedive from the adrenaline and fall hard if you’re not yet already on your way there.

“I’m going to have to go pack, aren’t I?” You ask, voicing what Six had been mulling over.

He nods, tendon jumping in his neck as he cranes it to look at his watch. Just past two in the morning. Although he had called both your father and a clean-up crew, only one had answered. It wasn’t like he needed to get explicit permission before moving you both, but it was definitely something that needed to be known, especially since your father was the one paying his check. The cost of traveling to another secure safe house definitely wasn’t cheap.

Six would rather deal with this now, but watching you sluggishly blink and feeling his own exhaustion seep in is pushing him towards tomorrow—or rather later today. A few hours couldn’t hurt, not when the bodies were still fresh in the other room. Besides, one failed attempt meant a new one had to be formed before any actions were to be taken, and surely this set any mercenaries back at least a day.

Your legs pop as you stand, a grimace settling on your face as your movements prod at the now stitched cut. “When?”

“A few hours.”

“So, tomorrow?”

“Today, technically.”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking around the bathroom as if to find a clock and confirm his statement. While the drop of adrenaline makes him energized, albeit more anxiety fueled than focusing, it has the exact opposite effect on you. He expected this, having read both you and your father’s file before coming onto this job. The whole after of a life threatening situation was new to you, unfamiliar territory that your body didn’t quite know how to handle; which typically ended up being a comatose state as a way to renew the bodies supply.

Your mouth opens in a long yawn, which allows Six to watch you more openly. Eyes shut, chest growing bigger as you take in air, and clothes still bloody. He hopes the shirt wasn’t one of your favorites. “Medication should be kicking in soon. Better to sleep it off, though.”

It’s a small suggestion, one that he could put on the fact that you were yawning. Really, though, the clean-up crew would be here soon. They’d bring in eight plastic body bags and a medic in the small chance that one of them was still kicking. But Six’s training was never to keep them alive, and so none of them were.

You had been spared from the brunt of it when Six had alerted you as soon as he had slipped by your door, two already long gone by that point. The safe room was located where the guest room would’ve been had this been a normal house. Reinforced steel door and no windows, and most importantly, multiple locks that couldn’t be undone from the outside. A safe haven that you unfortunately had almost not been able to make it to.

You were safe now, though, and he intended to keep your knowledge of what had happened tonight to a minimum. No need for you to see the bodies lining the kitchen and living room. If you were in bed then he wouldn’t have to worry about that, about you seeing the reality of what he’s capable of. He didn’t know if you’d feel more secure, or just plain terrified. Better to avoid the question all together.

So, he pushes when you make no sign of moving. “I’ll wake you up an hour before we leave,” Six announces, waiting until you look at him to gesture towards the door. Your lips press into a thin line, hesitating before taking slow steps towards the bathroom door. He waits until you’re almost there, until the words burn on his tongue, before saying your name so softly that you almost don’t hear it.

“Goodnight.”

Another A/N: here’s part two

#sierra six #court gentry #sierra six x you #sierra six x reader #the gray man #the gray man netflix #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six fanfiction

447 notes · View notes

classickook · 2 years

Text

more than a job | sierra six

pairing: courtland gentry (sierra six) x gn!reader

summary: six has been overseeing your safety for a couple of years now, but you’re suddenly wondering if he regrets it and wishes his life was different.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of anxiety, mentions of death, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.1k

a/n: finally watched the gray man and now i’m obsessed with this guy. hopefully i captured his character okay, but i’ll be working on some more fics for him in the future!

six was currently positioned by the window, peeking through the thin gap in the loose curtains of your safe house. he was silent, calculating, observant. it was no surprise to you as this was his typical behavior since he had been assigned to guard you after your father’s passing, but something about the noticeable tension in his broad shoulders felt different.

“six? what’s going on?” you asked, feeling your pulse flutter in your throat.

he slowly reached for the gun strapped to his belt and stepped closer, offering you a brief glance before it jumped back to the window and then to the front door. both were as securely locked as they were the last five times he had checked, but six was on high alert and had apparently deemed your surroundings as unsafe by some outside threat.

he put a strong hand your shoulder and you could feel the intense heat of his skin through your shirt as he ushered you out the back door. “we need to get out of here.”

“what—”

“go,” he said firmly, steely blue eyes flashing in warning.

obediently, you rushed out the door and felt him follow closely, gun arm raised behind him as the other stayed glued to your shoulder, guiding you through the dense woods just outside the safe house.

“who is that?” you whispered.

he shot you a silencing glare and you bit down on your tongue, understanding that this really wasn’t the time or place for questions; you would ask later.

six signaled ahead to a copse of trees and you swiftly stepped toward it, avoiding tripping over any stones or snapping fallen branches that would give away your location.

once hidden from view, six backed you into a tree trunk and covered you with his large form, his broad back facing you as he surveyed the area with his gun still raised ahead.

“six—” you started again as softly as you could muster, his name passing your lips on a faint breath that was swept up with the wind, but it must have been too loud for his liking as he held up a hand to silence you.

he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side, lowering his mouth to your ear. the heat of his breath warmed your chilled skin from the brisk air of the woods. “you see that hill up ahead?” you nodded. “just past it is another safe house, a bit larger and sturdier. when i say go, you need to run up there as fast as you possibly can, understand?”

he noticed the question forming on your lips and shushed you with a brisk shake of his head. “there are three men who have been following us and discovered our location. we need to move ahead before they catch on.” his blue eyes flitted back and forth between yours while still keeping his ears perked at any sudden noise. you could always tell when his attention was split by the way his eyes flickered with a faraway look, turning darker, sharper, and his brows pinched just enough to notice.

“when i say go,” he repeated, annunciating each word as he went, “you run like hell. i’ll take care of the men here and catch up to you. do you understand me?”

you nodded quickly, suddenly feeling the severity of the situation and feeling a twinge of anxiety settle in your stomach.

“good.” he faced forward again and took a single step forward until a branch snapped up ahead and he shifted into action. “go!” he bellowed and you raced off to the hill, dodging around trees and crunching onto scattered leaves and sticks that littered the forest floor.

your heart pounded against your ribcage and the cool air choked the breath from your lungs. this wasn’t the first time you had been on the run and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it never got easier.

gunshots rang out from behind you, one right after another in quick succession, and you practically felt it vibrate through your boots as you ran. birds squawked as the deafening noise disrupted their nests and then the air was filled with chaos and bullets.

you spotted the safe house up ahead, bolting for the front door as shouts sounded from somewhere in the woods. without wasting any more time, you shouldered the door open and then slammed it closed, locking it soundly before hiding beneath the windowsill as you waited for six to join you.

silence and dust filled the air within the safe house, and you had never felt so alone than you did in that moment. your heart thundered as you tried to catch your breath, worried that this would be the moment that six lost, that he would be gone forever and leave you here.

you closed your eyes as tears pricked the corners and you tried to calm yourself down, you really did, but the day had been so chaotic and overwhelming that it all came crashing down on you.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed curled up by the window when you suddenly heard the familiar patterned knock that six had taught you, the one that only he used to let you know it was him.

shooting to your feet, you unlocked the door and shoved it open to see six standing at the threshold, chest heaving and sweat-slicked strands of blond hair sticking to his forehead.

you jumped forward and threw your arms around his waist, relief flooding through your system at seeing him again.

“i thought—i thought that—”

he returned your embrace and ran a hand through your hair as he shushed you with comforting words. “i’m here now. it’s okay. they’re gone. you’re safe.”

six walked you further into the house and attempted to settle you onto the lumpy couch, but you had questions—questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since the two of you first ran off from earlier in the day.

“who were those guys? how did they find us? did my father really have that many enemies? i mean, where did they come from? how did he know them and—”

“it wasn’t because of your father this time,” he interrupted.

your brows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean? i thought that’s why you were assigned to me, i thought—”

“it was because of me, okay? you’re a liability for me,” he blurted out.

you froze, eyes wide and heart caught in your throat. on the one hand, being a liability indicated that you were valuable, that you meant something to him; on the other hand, however, a liability was burdening, suffocating, someone or something that weighed a person down. were you doing that to six? were you weighing him down, holding him back? were you just another job to him?

of course you were, you thought pathetically. he had been assigned to guard you just a couple of years prior and had always taken the task seriously, never questioning anything or perceiving you as a chore, never once condescending or mean. but maybe that had changed without your knowledge, maybe he had hidden his true feelings toward you and this job until it got to be too much. you were too much.

you thought back to the first time the two of you had met, just days after your father’s murder and you were still grieving, though you had your own way of showing it.

“who the hell are you?” you had asked shortly.

“six.”

“six like the number? what, was one through five taken?” you had snorted at the joke.

“yes,” he had replied simply.

“oh.”

“any other questions?”

“not currently, no.”

he had given a brisk nod before turning on his heel. “good, then let’s get going.”

you always joked too much and teased him relentlessly, making light of the tragedy that was your life now: no living relatives, always on the run from your father’s never-ending list of enemies.

maybe six had finally had enough and he was going to leave you just like everyone else in your life had.

you swallowed past the lump in your throat as he continued, answering your silent questions while momentarily glancing between you and the wall like it was difficult for him to look at you for too long.

“there are people out there who will hurt you to get to me, do you understand that?” he paused, and you realized that it wasn’t just a rhetorical question and he was waiting for you to acknowledge the severity of his situation. you nodded your assent, nothing more than a slight tilt to your chin but he took it for what it was.

“i am a cog in this corrupt machine of a world we live in and it is my responsibility to keep you safe, to make sure none of that ugliness touches you. i won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” he said lowly, tone a soft velvet against your ears, “but you have to work with me here, y/n. you have to do as i say when i say it, or—” he cut himself off and you noticed the tick of his jaw before he finished, deathly quiet, “or i might lose you, and i can’t lose you.”

you stared wide-eyed, words dying in your throat as his speech came to an end. you had thought he was going to abandon you, leave you to fend for yourself in this safe house in the middle of nowhere, not express how much he cared for you.

“this is where you say something, y/n,” he muttered, gaze softening.

“i’m not sure i know what to say…” you bit your lip then continued, “i thought you were going to get rid of me.”

“‘get rid of you’? why would i do that?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“i just thought—i thought maybe you had gotten sick of me. that i was too complicated of a job and you wanted out.”

you noticed the steady rise and fall of his chest falter as realization settled over him. six took a cautious step forward, then another and another until he was standing a hairsbreadth away from you. his hand lifted to brush lightly along your cheek, softer and gentler than you would have ever expected from the man.

“you’re not just a job to me, y/n, and i’m far from being sick of you. why do you think i’ve stuck around this long, hm?” he asked quietly, a slight curve to his lips. “i stayed because i like you. you make me laugh and distract me from my demons and change my entire outlook on life. sure, we were both dealt a pretty shitty hand, yeah?” you snorted in agreement and his thumb swiped across your bottom lip, gently tugging on the cushion of it. “you make my life worth living, make it not so bad. i need you… probably more than you need me.”

“i sincerely doubt that,” you whispered. “i’d be dead without you. literally.”

he breathed out a laugh. “yeah, well, life wouldn’t really be sunshine and rainbows without you either, sweetheart.”

your cheeks flamed at the endearment, loving how it sounded coming from him, the velvety baritone of his voice warming you from the inside out.

“so, if it’s all right with you,” he said softly, “i’d like to stick around. how about it?”

you smiled, feeling his thumb pulling from where it still rested on your lip. you nipped it gently and giggled at his reaction. “i’d like that a lot.”

“good, ‘cause i’m not going anywhere. not without you.”

“good.”

his lips lowered to your forehead as he placed a soft kiss there. “what do you say we change out of these clothes? get some food in you, hm?”

you peered down at your muddy boots and tattered shirt, thanks to the jagged branches that had caught and snagged at your clothing as you raced through the woods. “yeah, that would probably be best.”

his lips quirked up into a smile. “there’s a stash in the bedroom over there. grab whatever you can find and i’ll see what kind of canned epicurean delight i’ve got in the cupboards.”

you rolled your eyes at his playfulness, relishing in this brief moment of peace between the two of you. “thanks, six,” you said quietly.

“courtland.”

“what?”

“my real name is courtland,” he replied, almost sheepish. “just thought it was time i finally told you.”

a grin stretched across your face at his honesty, at this little glimpse into his true self that he was sharing with you, deeming you worthy enough to receive it—to receive him.

“thank you for trusting me with it… courtland.”

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