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drivinmeinsane · 7 months

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Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows.

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed."

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look.

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area.

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown.

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway.

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands.

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves.

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is.

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt.

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged.

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister… and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion.

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got."

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family."

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning.

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.”

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six.

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers.

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s.

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted.

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night.

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare.

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well.

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate.

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids.

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you.

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again.

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you.

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family.

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved.

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil.

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six.

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart.

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so.

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.”

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers.

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel. You don't want to push the issue.

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now? Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat.

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it.

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you.

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch.

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand.

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door.

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house?

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up.

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?” He must mean Six.

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men.

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking.

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head.

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage.

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration.

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.”

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire.

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh.

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response.

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together.

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either.

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.”

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well.

“I’m out.” He says, resigned.

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist.

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you.

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.”

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go.

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up.

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone. He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg.

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room.

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong.

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm.

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep.

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face.

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself.

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you.

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving.

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing.

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…”

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example."

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous.

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you.

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later.

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends.

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

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ken-dom · 3 months

Text

Alone Together

Sierra Six x gn!reader

2.4k words

∘₊✧ Summary: you take Six to the carnival for your first date, hoping he’ll relax a little

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: this was written for @heresthestorymorningglory’s birthday! Thanks for being my best goose, I hope you have an excellent day when it eventually rolls around 💖 (we were too excited to wait to post our birthday fics). It was SO hard writing Six without sending it to her to check it was Sixy enough!! If you haven’t read her Six, thoroughly recommend.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: fluff, first date, kissing, mild peril?!, mention of clowns

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Six’s arm is secure around your shoulders, almost swallowing you up in his embrace as he keeps you close.

And keeps you safe, of course. Even during his rare downtime, Six was on high alert. You’d never seen someone play a ring toss challenge with such laser focussed eyes and tensed shoulders before, but he got every single one, winning you a red love heart shaped balloon that bobbed along above you as you strolled through the fairground.

It was cute of him to choose the balloon over an annoyingly large stuffed toy, but you know it was partly (mostly) so that if he lost sight of you, you’d be easier to locate in the crowd should anything go wrong. But, really, what did it matter? You’d never felt safer than when you were with him, and your first date is shaping up to be just about perfect; except that you haven’t stopped to eat yet.

The aromas of deep fried doughnuts and roasting onions make your mouth water as you move through the fair, and you fully intend to drag him off for a hot dog or fries when you see a ring the bell game and stop in your tracks, considering it.

Six looks down, seeing your eyes light up, and smiles. But he feels you sigh as you glance at the arm around your shoulders and look back in the direction of the food stalls, forgetting it.

‘Hey, let’s have a go?’ he encourages, lightly squeezing his arm around you.

You huff, amused. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘No.’

‘Nah, it’s huge. And you’re huge!’ You squeeze his bicep. ‘Far too easy, and where’s the fun in that for either of us?’

Six takes a deep, even breath, slowly sliding his arm from around your shoulders as he thinks on it. ‘How about we make it interesting?’

You raise an eyebrow in his direction and he remains apparently unfazed, with both his hands free he pops a Skittle or two into his mouth, chewing leisurely. There’s no urgency in him at all and you realise he’s started to relax. Just a little.

‘If you ring the bell before I do, you choose what we do for the rest of the night.’

‘I fully planned to do that anyway,’ you smirk playfully.

‘Even the haunted house,’ he offers with a tilt of his head, as though it’s a very attractive deal.

‘Oh? Scared?’

‘Terrified,’ he quips, tossing another Skittle onto his tongue and sucking for a second before giving in and crunching the sugary shell.

‘Whatever, you just want to show off,’ you wink.

Six grunts, shoving the candy bag back into his pocket, and confidently strides over to swap a five dollar bill for the mallet, assuming the position.

He swings the mallet down to the base with such force that you’re sure will send the little red puck right up to the top of the ten foot pole and send a triumphant ring through the fairground.

But, somehow, he misses. Spectacularly.

The second time, the mallet conveniently – and comically – slips out of his hand before he swings it, and falls to the ground behind him.

He tilts his head in defeat, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

You glare back, annoyed that he’s doing this to let you win. There’s no way Six, with all his precision and skill can’t manage to wield a simple carnival mallet.

The third time he brings the mallet down, the puck shoots up to just an inch below the bell and drops back to the bottom again without a win. There’s that precision.

With sparkling eyes, he catches your gaze and mutters, ‘Too distracted, I guess. Your turn.’

You narrowed your eyes at him as he leant against the side of the nearest trailer, folding his arms over his chest and trying to appear casual.

You grip the mallet, squeezing your fingers around the handle to brace yourself, and bring it down hard. The little puck shoots up, and you don’t reach the bell, but you’re so close you could kick yourself.

With much less effort this time, you do it, and the bell rings loud and proud through the chatter and music, and you were offered a range of ridiculously large stuffed animals to choose from and take away with you.

Six stayed propped against the trailer, smirking again but blatantly this time, as you picked out a huge panther plushie.

‘That one. Reminds me of him,’ you smile, throwing it immediately over to Six.

He catches it easily. It looks so much smaller in his hands and you laugh at the frown he reveals as he lowers it.

‘That thing’s yours now. You’ll need to name him.’

‘No thank you,’ Six retorted, holding it back out toward you.

‘I rang the bell, I make the decisions, remember?’

Six’s jaw clenched as he stared at you.

‘Fine. Bruce,’ he eventually grunts, reluctantly sliding the thing under one arm as you slide your arm into the other.

‘You let me win, Six. You’re not getting away with it that easy.’

‘You didn’t want to win?’ he smarms.

‘Of course I did. I just didn’t want you to pretend to lose for my benefit.’

Six sighs resignedly. ‘Hungry?’ he suggests, hoping you can forget about the stupid ring the bell game over a bag of sugary doughnuts together, but an idea lights up in your eyes and you drag him away in the opposite direction.

You pass the stunt cage and watch a peroxide blonde mount a motorcycle, making a mental note to return to here later and catch the next show. But for now, you had other ideas.

‘You mentioned the haunted house?’

Six’s brow furrows again.

‘Oh, impatient are we? I apparently had to win a biassed game to get what I wanted, so I’ll take it at my leisure, thank you.’

Six rolls his eyes and drops back in defeat, leaving you free to stop off at the sweet stall for a big cloud of blue cotton candy on the way.

He watches you as you excitedly point to what you want, still clutching your balloon as he clutches Bruce. He’s in awe at the way you move, the way you laugh with the vendor as though you’ve known her your entire life, the glee on your face as you return to him with the ball of pure sugar.

You reach up to pop a handful into his mouth, fingertips brushing briefly against his bottom lip. He almost lets out a hum at how your gentle touch tingled, but manages to stop it before it erupts.

‘How’s it taste?’ you ask innocently, tearing off a chunk of blue for yourself.

Six blinks away, inclined to answer with something like Not as good as I bet you do, but worried it would be too much. So he stayed silent as you shared the rest of the floss with him.

‘Will that keep you going?’ you ask teasingly, not waiting for an answer. ‘Haunted house next!’

You grab his hand to pull him toward the attraction, your knees weakening slightly as you feel how big it is against yours. You’ve noticed the size of his hands before; big, warm looking palms and long, surprisingly elegant fingers.

‘I’ve never actually been in one,’ you admit excitedly as you stop by the little ticket office to admire it in all its stereotypical horror film beauty. ‘But I’ve always wanted to. I love a bit of a spook!’

Six takes care of the tickets and follows your lead. You step inside and drop his hand as you venture first. A skeleton pops out to wave and you laugh, but then there's a second, unexpected skeleton, and you jump, grabbing his hand again.

Six’s cheeks turn hot at how you find safety in him, but you can’t see the blush colouring his cheeks in the gloom of the spooky corridors. He’s thankful for that.

You move closer when the winding path through the house grows darker, sickly smelling smoke making it hard to see very far ahead of you, and eventually you’re so close to Six that his breathing catches in his throat.

The haunted house doesn’t phase him one bit; he predicts almost every movement before it occurs and has absolutely no fear of the dead and creepy; it’s an occupational hazard that he’s much more concerned with the living and creepy. But having you cling to his arm feels nice somehow. It makes him feel safe and wanted, which is new, and surprisingly pleasant. He doesn’t want you to let go and hopes there's a while before this comes to an end.

A group of ghosts sweeps past and you giggle, but the bizarre gust of wind that accompanies them chills you to the bone. Before you can quite recover, a clown appears right in your path, and you jump enough for Six to automatically pull you closer. Feeling you tremble with the after effects of your surprise, he quickly seeks out a particularly dark, undisturbed corner and tugs you toward it, setting you in front of him so you’re facing away from whatever else is going on in the haunted house for a moment.

‘Hey, you doing ok?’ He sounds lighthearted, but you can tell he’s forcing it, concern lacing his tone.

‘Yeah! Yeah, it’s fun, it’s just…’ you trail off.

‘A little jumpy,’ he nods, as though he agrees, but you know he isn’t phased.

As your eyes adjust in the darkness, they find his piercing blue gaze intense on yours and your heart races a little faster.

‘Need a break?’ he whispers huskily..

You can only nod. The thrill of being scared out of your wits is all part of the fun for you, but being so close to Six after the adrenaline rush, alone together in the dark, renders you speechless. You’ve been drawing closer by the second and now you’re mere inches from his face, can feel his warm breath on your cheek, smell his peppery cologne. Bruce nudges you in the chest and six drops him.

You can’t recall how it started, you just know that your lips were trembling one moment, and pressed to Six’s the next. His muscular arms snake around your waist as his strong hands glide up your back, pulling you flush to his chest and finally letting out that hum he tried to suppress when your finger grazed his bottom lip earlier. It vibrates against you and you think this might be as close to reckless abandon as Six might get and smile against his mouth.

You feel his tongue, hot and wet, trace the join of your lips and you instantly part them, eagerly inviting his tongue to slide against yours. It’s languid and needy, and the taste of the cotton candy you’d shared hits you first. It tastes different on his tongue than yours — more blue somehow — and then the artificial sugary fruit of the Skittles he’d been periodically chewing on all night follows. It’s sickly sweet, but so him you can’t help but find it delicious.

The groans and cackles and clanks of the haunted house fade into nothingness behind you, and it’s just him. Just Six, and you, hidden away. Secure and yet adventurous, safe and exciting. Your grip on the balloon he’d won you loosens and it floats up to the ceiling, somewhere in the dark, ready to be discovered when the carnival moves on.

He shifts a little, suddenly impatient, and deepens the kiss with a quiet moan that sends butterflies soaring in your stomach, and when the fingers tenderly rubbing at the nape of your neck slide up into your hair and scrape against your scalp you all but swoon, thankful he has you pinned against his chiselled frame within those thick arms to keep you upright.

The kiss slows to a stop, and Six pulls back for breath, sighing almost dreamily. He’s smiling at you, but it’s not playful or jokey this time. It’s warm and soft, and unlike any expression you’ve seen on his features before.

‘Better?’ he breathes, already fumbling in his pocket to retrieve yet another Skittle and drop it into his mouth.

‘Much,’ you smile back.

He drops his gaze, coy, and nods. ‘I’m excellent at distraction techniques.’ And with that, his mischievous sparkle is back. ‘Now can we please get some food? Skittles will only sustain me for a few days.’

You roll your eyes spiritedly, and one corner of his mouth twitches, pleased he’s calmed you enough to be mock-exasperated with him.

Six holds an elbow up as an offer for you to tuck yourself under his arm again, and you accept, pulling his forearm up gently to cover your eyes. As cute as the ghosts and skeletons had been, that final clown jump scare just about finished you off.

After collecting discarded Bruce, he carefully guides you back out into the bustle and bright lights of the fair, the familiar melodies of carnival music and the sizzle of the nearby hot dog stall flooding your senses again, and you pull his arm away from your eyes.

‘Thank you,’ you mouth, reaching up to stroke his cheek with a tender caress.

His eyes slide shut and he leans into your touch for just a moment, but he’s quick to snap his gaze back to his surroundings again. Force of habit, you supposed.

You drop your hand and look around too, getting your bearings. ‘So what can I get you? My treat.’

His gaze is already trained on the doughnut stand before you finish the sentence. Laughing, you nod and head over without waiting for his confirmation, bringing him back a bag of four deliciously golden doughnuts dusted in thick sugar.

Six eyes you suspiciously as you hand over the little paper bag. ‘I didn’t give you my order.’

‘Didn’t need to; I saw you eyeing them. To be honest, even if I didn’t, I could’ve guessed.’

Six, paused with a doughnut half way to his mouth, raises a questioning eyebrow at you.

‘Six. Come on. You taste like sugar.’

Six blushes deeply. He’d never considered how he might taste. He felt exposed, but in a good way? He wasn’t sure how to explain it. You see it this time, and smile inwardly.

‘What, you want my fries instead?’

‘No, no, I’m good,’ he protests, taking a bite big enough to tear the first doughnut clean in half and mumbling through a full, sugary mouth, ‘thank you.’

#sierra six x reader #sierra six fluff #sierra six fic #sierra six #the gray man #the gray man fic #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fluff #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fic #court gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry fluff #court gentry fic #ken-dom writes

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j4desblurbs · 5 months

Text

HURT YOU

sierra six (courtland gentry) x fem! reader

this man has been running laps in my brain since august so hope you enjoy 🫶 thank you to the loml @retrosabers for helping me with this

summary: six comes home wounded, and seeks comfort in your presence.

warnings: kissing, touching, description of injuries

word count: 1.2k

it had never been this bad.

sure, six had come home with injuries before. it was a part of the job, something that was expected, that you learned to get used to when you started dating him.

but the sight that confronts you now is something that you’d never imagined.

there’s a slight limp to his walk, like he’s favoring one side and doing his best not to show it. his nose is bleeding and looks broken, and there’s probably more under his clothes.

he stumbles through the doorway, trying his hardest to hide the true extent of his injuries. but even his bravest face can’t disguise the great deal of pain he’s clearly in. immediately, you rush to him, gingerly taking his face in your hands. you can feel him relax a little bit into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut at the relief of being home. of being back with you.

even though he was the one who was battered and bloodied, he took the time to ask, “you okay?”

you manage a feeble laugh, looking over him. “i’m fine. but you don’t look okay.”

“i’ll be alright.” he says, wincing slightly.

“court.”

he knows better than to deny you the truth when you use his real name. he lets out a heavy sigh as you lead him over to the bathroom.

“got ambushed in bogota.”

you sigh, helping ease his clothes off him as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. you look over his injuries, clocking the bruises all over his torso and legs.

you know your way around his body. many nights spend tangled between the sheets, committing every inch of him to memory. you know something doesn’t feel right, no need to look at the blossoming purple on his side.

his rib is definitely broken.

“jesus christ.” you breathe out, trying your best to remain calm. you’re of no use if your hands start shaking.

you busy yourself by digging through the cabinet for the first aid kit, deciding to focus on the things you can handle. six knows you well enough to see through all your nervous ticks. his hand is warm when it wraps around your forearm, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. it’s a delicate gesture that stands in harsh contrast to the way he sits before you.

“hey.” he says, his tone soft. “it’s okay.”

you close your eyes and let out a puff of air through your nose. his other hand comes to rest against the back of your knee, gently nudging you closer to him.

“promise me that you’ll be more careful next time?”

you both know he can’t promise that. but he always promises it anyways. if it helps you sleep just a little bit better tonight, he would do just about anything.

six nods his head a bit glumly. “i promise.”

you then take care of all the smaller scratches and cuts and bruises, and it’s not long before all that’s left to cover is his broken nose, and the long bruise along his left side, purpling as time passes.

you hesitate to touch it again, recalling the way he flinched earlier. it’s like court can read your mind. he can tell from the wrinkle between your brows that you’re frustrated and unsure.

“there’s nothing you can do.” he tells you softly. “broken ribs just need to heal on their own.”

you frown. “but you won’t have ti-”

“i know i won’t have time.” he moves his hand from your shoulder to your hand, squeezing affectionately. “i just have to be careful, that’s all.”

tears well in your eyes. you hate that he has to do this. that he has to throw himself into mission after mission with barely any time to heal from the last one. knowing that the people he works for view him as disposable. you can’t fathom having anyone but six by your side, and it cuts you to your core knowing the people who put his life on the line don’t view him the same way.

his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

he says your name softly, gently moving your face to look at him.

“i’m okay.” he reassures you once more. your bottom lip trembles unwillingly, and it nearly brings tears of his own.

“i’m okay.” he repeats for a final time before your resolve finally crumbles. you collapse to the floor between his legs, and you let go of a wrecked sob.

you do your best to reign it in, not wanting to come undone, but you can’t muster enough energy to try.

this breakdown is just because of tonight. it’s been weeks, months even, of having knots in your stomach at the thought of six never coming home. never again being in his arms, never getting that sliver of softness he reserves for you, and only you, ever again.

he wraps his arms around you and hold you close to his chest, in spite of his injuries. he could deal with the pain of a broken bone. he didn’t think he could deal with the pain he feels responsible for.

“sweetheart.” he whispers, trying to get you to calm down as he wipes your tears with his thumb. “look at me.”

with tears still blurring your vision, you look up at him. even with your glassy eyes, you could see he was hurting just as much as you.

one of his hands reaches around to rub at the nape of your neck. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“six-“

“listen to me.” he’s a bit firmer now, but not mean. he knows it’s the only way to snap you out of it sometimes. “it’s going to take a lot more than a broken rib and a bullet hole to keep me away from you, you hear me? nothing could keep me from coming home to you.”

of course, the rational part of you knows that. six is too good at what he does to die, even if he does get injured regularly. despite this, you can’t help the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the constant fear that the next time you see six is in a body bag.

you don’t want to let that fear control you. not right now at least. there may only be a few hours left in today, but you’re going to make them worthwhile.

you pick yourself up off the floor, reaching for six to lead him to your bedroom. you know that you should probably clean up the first aid supplies, but frankly, you couldn’t care less. six rests on the edge of the bed as you find him a shirt, making sure not to disturb any of his wounds as you help him slip it on.

he slides under the covers, pulling you in the bed with him. as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, six presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, resting his chin there for a minute.

“i love you.” his voice is gravelly.

you place your hands over his, gently rubbing your thumbs in soft circles on his wrists. “i love you too.”

he pulls you even closer, cocooning his body around yours and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. you love moments like this; soft, domestic ones that you don’t get to have often because of how much six is away.

you hope that one day, these moments won’t be so fleeting.

#ryan gosling #the gray man #sierra six #sierra six x reader #sierra six smut

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chaussetteblanche · 1 year

Text

the truth

pairing : sierra six x f!reader

summary : sierra is hired to protect you after your publish a controversial book going against multiple governments and something goes wrong during the night

words count : about 1.7k

warnings : canon-typical violence, swearing

notes : might make this into a series, idk

The sound of gunshots downstairs pulled you from your peaceful trance. You hurriedly put your book down and, as quietly as possible, slipped out of the warm and soapy water of your bath. Watery footprints followed you as you went to pull your robe on and grab the gun hidden in the bathroom. In all your years in the field, you’d come to know your way around the weapon and even though you hated using it, you weren’t opposed to it if it meant saving your life. Just as you were around to run into the safe room, as you had been instructed by Six, someone barged into your bedroom. You fell to your knees behind the bathtub, feeling the bruises and your heart hammering inside your chest

—————————

You thought back to how you had gotten yourself in this situation. It had all started months ago, when you’d published your first book.

Being a journalist with purely political interests and works, you were quite well known around the journalism and political world. Your honesty and carelessness of consequences made you popular amongst the public and you were often invited to talk-shows. You had often been warned about what your wrote. Your boss was always worried about your safety and had insisted that you follow self-defense courses. But no one was safe when rightfully accusing nations of corruption and illegal projects. You were never really safe, and you knew it.

After spending seven years on an ongoing project, you finally published your first book : The Truth. You denounced the corruption of the European Parlement, the illegal projects of the government of the United States and the unpunished crimes of multiple other nations. All accompanied by pictural and written proof, signed and delivered by yours truly.

The reception of your book had been a catastrophe, as you had expected. No one, save for your publisher, knew about your project. It had been a shock to the whole world. Suddenly, your assistant was getting calls from all kinds of governments and organizations requesting meetings and such. You never answered.

You didn’t realize how serious it all was until your publisher, a close friend of yours, was brutally murdered in his apartment one night. It had been a shock to you and no matter how much you wished you could have prevented it, you couldn’t. The Truth was out and nothing could stop it as it sold millions of copies worldwide.

The day after you publisher had been killed, you were in the kitchen making an omelet when someone violently knocked at your door. You whirled around, spatula at the ready when your door was broken down and a dozen of men dressed in black suits swarmed your apartment. Without thinking, you threw a raw egg at the man the closest to you and reached for your pan, brandishing in front of you as one would a sword.

« Who are you ?! What is this ?! » you cried, ignoring the man wiping off egg next to you. A blond man with dazzling blue eyes stepped through the cloud. You noted the way his lips twitched upwards when he saw the egg on his colleague. With a single finger, he gently pushed down your frying pan until it hung by your side.

« We’re CIA. » His badge flashed in your face. « We’re here to keep you safe. We’re bringing you to a safe house. Pack a bag. We leave as soon as we can. »

You had done as you had been told and packed a bag. In the big black SUV, you turned to the man who had addressed you previously.

« Where are we going ? »

When the man didn’t answer, the man sitting on your left took pity of you.

« We’re heading to a safe house. Your apartment isn’t safe for you anymore. »

« Oh. » You thought for a moment. « And why are you protecting me ? What’s in it for you ? I didn’t hold back on the USA chapter. » The blond man’s lips twitched again.

« I can’t tell you that. Someone will meet you and explain everything. »

True to his words, once you’d arrived at the safe-house, a huge villa right in the middle of Nowheresville, you were greeted by a woman in a burgundy suit.

« Hi, I’m Suzanne. » You shook her hand even though you already knew who she was. Just like you had a guess about who the blond man worked for. You knew the process, but we’re shocked to find yourself at its centre.

« Y/N, » you introduced yourself. After preparing both of you a coffee, Suzanne sat down on the opposite end of the table and joined her hands.

« I’ll answer your questions now, »

« Why are you protecting me ? What do you want from me ? » you asked immediately. The blond man, who hadn’t left your side and was now standing near the door, made a small sound, but played it off as a cough. By the time your eyes landed in him, he was staring out into the hallway.

« Your knowledge is useful to us. We know you didn’t put everything you know into that book. And we’d like to put your and your abilities to good use. » Suzanne spoke in a way that made you believe she’d practiced exactly what she was going to say, or that she’d said it multiple times before.

« Putting my abilities to use, what does that mean ? »

« It means we’re offering you a contract, Y/N. We’ll keep you alive and you will give us information on what we ask. When the whole scandal will have blown over, we’d like you to work for us, gathering intel and such. »

You scoffed. « And here I was thinking you were offering protection by some kind of moral compass, but I guess your priorities lie elsewhere. » Silence. « And so I guess that you don’t care about all the illegal stuff, right ? Because I think we both known I didn’t stay within the law to learn what I learned. » Suzanne shook her head. After a moment of silence, during which Suzanne seemed to really enjoy her coffee, you finally nodded. « Fine. I’ll take the deal. » You were no good to anyone dead. Knowing you wouldn’t survive when there was a price on your head, you decided this was the best option.

Since then, it had only been you and Six in that big house. You thought maybe you’d become friends, but he proved to be quite difficult regarding that aspect. He wasn’t particularly talkative and even though his eyes betrayed his feelings most of the time, you still had trouble reading him.

—————————

You tried your best to keep your breathing silent as the man slowly trudged around the admittedly large bathroom. You gave yourself away when you gasped after he shot at the bathtub. White porcelain flew, a piece slicing your cheek. Hands barely shaking, your raised your weapon to retaliate but the man was too quick for you.

His arms were around your neck in a second and you desperately tried to elbow him in the stomach as you struggled for breath. He chuckled and pulled your gun out of your grip. Thinking quickly, you rammed your hand into his crotch. He doubled over, groaning in pain and effectively setting you free. You scrambled to get your gun but he kicked your ankles and you fell to the floor with a thud. Your head hit the marble with a dull sound and your vision blurred for a moment. You coughed and winced as he stood over you.

« Bitch, » he snarled as he slapped you across the face. Your head flew to the side and you saw stars, feeling your lip burst.

« Though you could get away, huh? A bit too optimistic if you ask me, doll, » he taunted, leaning over you. Panicked, you looked around you and took ahold of your gun. Before he could register what was happening, you’d uncocked the safety and aimed at his shoulder. You didn’t want to kill him, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did. You took the shot and he screamed, falling to the ground. Red painted your silk robe as you scrambled to your feet. You raced down the stairs with shaky legs, running straight into Six. He wrapped an arm around you and let out a small breath. Little did you know he’d been through all the men in the house, hoping, praying you were in the safe room.

His face was bloodied and you were pretty sure his T-shirt was wet with blood in the middle. He pulled back, keeping his large gun in one hand, and examined your face.

« Are you okay ? » he asked, pushing his fingers under your jaw to tilt your head to the side. His eyes scanned the rest of your body and his brows furrowed when he saw the blood on your robe.

« It- It’s not mine, » you stammered, holding on to his bulletproof vest. He hummed, a low noise in his throat. Suddenly, he stepped in front of you and pointed his gun at the man leaning on the handrail at the top of the stairs, clutching his bloody shoulder with one hand and his gun with the other. Unconsciously, your grip on your own weapons tightened.

« Did he do this to you ? » Six asked over his shoulder passively. His eyes never left the man. You nodded once.

« Look away. »

You did as he told you, turning to look the other way, one hand still holding on to the back of his vest. You gritted your teeth as several gunshots rang out. You heard the sound of a body rolling down the stairs and shuddered.

Six turned back around, his larger body shielding your from the traumatic view.

« Let’s go. »

He guided you out of the house, shielding you as much as he could of the horrid sights. When you finally reached the car, he hurriedly ushered you inside before getting into the drivers’ seat.

Once you had arrived at another safe house, Six pulled you to the bathroom. You pulled yourself up on the counter with wobbly arms and Six steadied you by the hips. You licked your lips, wincing as you tasted copper, and leaned back against the mirror behind you. Six pulled out a first—aid kit and started rummaging through it.

He started cleaning up the cut on your lip and you did your best not to grimace in pain. Even though he was being particularly gentle, everything hurt.

« Did you do that to him ? » he asked as he applied a numbing cream to your bottom lip. You waited for him to pull away. You hated the way you reveled in the way he stared at your lips for a few more seconds.

« Yeah, » you croaked. « I shot him in the shoulder. » Six cracked a semblance of a smile and you chuckled.

« Good girl, » his deep voice praised. Your knees felt weak and you were thankful to be sitting down. You giggled.

« Did you hit your head ? » Six asked, seeing your unusual behavior. He examined the crown of your head with his fingers, lightly pressing. You hissed in pain when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

« Yeah. »

« Follow my finger. » You did as he ordered and followed his finger from left to right, right to left, up to down and down to up.

« You’re gonna be okay. »

#sierra six x reader #sierra six #sierra six fluff #the gray man #the gray man x reader #ryan gosling x reader #court gentry #court gentry x reader

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heresthestorymorningglory · 5 months

Text

Unfinished Business

Summary: Our boy has some unfinished business

A/N: Listen y'all this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….just don’t okay?

As always, the inspo is thanks to the Goosecord and my beautiful partner in crime @ken-dom who constantly receives messages from me in the dead of night needing reassurance or "Hey what about if THIS happened?!"

Bless you my new found chosen sister for putting up with my antics!

This is a continuation of the first part Hello Nurse which you guys absolutely raved over and I am SO flattered (no really some of your messages really had me tearing up)

Like I said last time, this won't be the last you see of SIx

Enjoy my loves! <3

You let out a heavy sigh massaging your temples as you sat at the nurse’s station; the fluorescents were giving you a migraine and the phone had been ringing off the hook all night long. It rang again for the four hundredth time and you picked up the receiver

“Fifth floor nurse’s station”

“Hey, you”

Your face broke out into a grin and you sat back in your chair twirling the phone cord around your finger recognizing his voice immediately. “Hi”

“You on a secure line?”

You scoffed with a small laugh “You know I’m not” you went through this every time he happened to call, and yet, he always asked. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere cold” he always kept his answers vague.

“Being safe?” you asked, reaching over the desk to take a clipboard from a coworker

“Course”

“Are you lying to me?” You asked, with a smirk cradling the receiver on your shoulder as you typed the information on the clipboard into the system.

“Never”

You stopped typing paying more attention to your call “You better come back to me” you said with an air of seriousness to your tone. “In one piece”

He laughed softly on the other end

“I’m not kidding, all your fingers, toes and…appendages”

This caught the attention of your coworker who tilted her head curiously with a raised eyebrow; you just shook your head, hoping she’d get pulled away before you’d have to answer questions.

“Hmm, well I’ve got some bad news sweetheart…”

“You better be joking” you dropped your voice to a whisper

“Would you love me any less if I weren’t?”

You huffed with annoyance rolling your eyes “No, you idiot; now come home…I miss you”

A page overhead for you caught your attention and you sighed “I gotta go, be careful, please” You knew better than to hope for that, he was never careful, everyone else came first. “I love you”

“Me too, sweetheart”

You hesitated holding up a finger to a coworker motioning overhead “Court”

He sighed and you could practically see the look on his face

“I’ve got all day”

“No you don’t”

“Then I guess you’d better hurry up”

“I love you too”

“I’ll see you soon?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give you a concrete answer

“Soon” he confirmed before the line disconnected.

You swallowed hard, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as you pushed up from your chair. You had signed up for this, you knew that, but the knot in your stomach never untwisted itself completely until he was standing in front of you; admittedly usually covered in blood and bruises, but here and alive.

***

It had been six months since that fateful night on the staircase; and Six had been gone for three of them. Thankfully you had managed to keep yourself busy with work, keeping your mind off of it, most of the time.

Then you crawled into bed, alone, or he called to check in and that knot in your stomach just tightened.

You did have to admit that when he was just a fleeting stranger who had saved your life once, and occasionally darkened your doorstep it had been a lot easier and you worried significantly less, but you wouldn’t trade that man for anything.

You had to keep it relatively secret; it was safer that way Six had said, you were in less danger. You disagreed but he would rarely listen to reason on the topic; or he had fallen asleep before you had gotten the chance to broach it again.

You laid in bed that night after work, wondering for the first time in a long time about Six’s past. Even though you had convinced him you didn’t need a 24/7 bodyguard and could in fact take care of yourself on occasion, and you had been….”together” for the last six months; the personal details you knew about the man were very few.

You knew that was by design, but the thought of your parents immediate disapproval made you giggle to yourself; would be just like you ending up with the ex-convict who would end up on the wrong end of a gun one day because he showed up on your doorstep one night looking like wounded puppy.

Not that Six would even entertain the notion of ever meeting your parents so it didn’t really matter.

***

He unlocked the door before putting the key back and quietly slipping inside before locking it behind him.

He stumbled up the front steps, weak with exhaustion; the house was dark, but your car was in the driveway. Checking his watch, it was creeping into the one o’clock hour.

He shook the spare key out of the bottom of the ceramic goose you kept on the front porch; he had told you at least a hundred times that was an awful idea and you had reasoned if someone was going to break into the house, they weren’t going to use a key to do it.

He slid his boots off, shedding his t-shirt as he climbed the stairs. You were curled up in bed sleeping peacefully, on his side.

He smiled to himself, stripping off the rest of his clothes before gently shifting you to your side, you hadn’t even stirred until he climbed in behind you; arms wrapping tightly around you as he kissed your shoulder.

“Hey,” you turned over, voice thick with sleep as you wrapped your arms around his neck “You’re home”

He kissed you properly before you nestled against his chest “I missed you”

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you against him as you drifted back off almost immediately and he followed suit.

The next morning he stirred awake, the sensation of your lips across his bare chest and up the side of his neck to his face and finally landing on his lips; your weight heavy on his midsection.

"Good Morning," you smiled kissing him again

He smiled, reaching to tuck a chunk of loose hair behind your ear, his large hand cupping your cheek.

"All in one piece" you smiled, your cheeks had started to hurt from doing it for so long.

"Satisfied?"

"Not for months" your lips moved against his as you deepened your kiss.

With minimal effort he flipped you on your back, pinning you to the mattress underneath; wrists on either side of your head.

“Let's fix that then”

Before you had a chance to respond, his lips were pressed firmly against yours, strong hands gripping your wrists as his hips made languid movements, his hard cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, your legs dropping open with ease.

You hummed into your kiss as his tongue tangled with yours before kissing down your neck and chest.

A small gasp escaped as his warm wet mouth enveloped your nipple. Your back arching off the bed, needing more, wanting more.

He sucked gently, tongue grazing over the hard bud, making you shiver before trading sides and administering the same treatment to the other side.

His hands slid from your wrists, over your sides and came to rest on your hips momentarily as he dipped lower, settling between your thighs. Your fingers pushed through his thick blond hair as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His breath hot against your core made you moan, leaning back into the pillow.

“Court…please “ you breathed.

Like an answered prayer, he licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry out, pulling hard on the hair trapped between your fingers, making him grunt against your clit before sucking you into his mouth.

You writhed in the sheets, heels digging into the mattress.

His hand sliding from your hip, two thick fingers pushing inside you with ease, pumping slowly as his tongue teased your clit.

Your sighs and moans were like music to his ears. A glance up from between your thighs, your eyes were closed, face contorted in sheer pleasure, mouth open as you whined to the ceiling.

Your entire form shuddered under the hand holding your hips steady.

Your breathing came more laboured and shallow as he watched the flush creep over your naked body, his tongue flicking a little harder, fingers pumping a little faster, hand pressing firmer on your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he kept you from twisting out of his grip.

Your muscles clenching around his calloused fingers coated in your arousal as your orgasm tore through your body; pulling his fingers from inside you, tongue lapping up everything you had to give. Shudders wracking your entire form, your clit sensitive and overstimulated.

You collapsed, completely spent as Six crawled back over top of you, kissing you deeply as you panted against his mouth.

“My turn” you smiled breathlessly as you shifted, Six propping himself against the headboard as you put yourself between his knees.

Without hesitation, you swallowed down his length, slick with precum. A loud groan of approval over your head as you bobbed slowly, sucking gently as you felt his hands find their way into your hair.

A loud thud, what you were certain was his head making contact with the headboard.

His hips bucking up, forcing him further down your throat.

The soft “Fuck” assuring you, you were doing something right.

You moaned around his shaft, relaxing your throat to take as much down as you could manage. You let him take control as much as his position would allow letting him fuck your mouth hard and fast.

Grunts a mixture of effort and pleasure as he slid with ease between your lips.

His massive form twitched and he stopped abruptly, the hot, thick rope hitting the back of your throat, swallowing what you could before it became too much to handle, the excess spurting from the throbbing tip as you released him to take a breath.

You moved to wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and Six’s hand snapped out, closing around your wrist.

You looked up and he was shaking his head. “Don't”

You tipped your head curiously with a smirk as he pulled you closer, you climbed in his lap, arms draped over his neck as he kissed you harshly, tasting his release on your tongue as he was sure you could taste yours on his.

He scooted back down, lying you on his chest as you sighed with a satisfied hum. “God I missed you”

He chuckled softly, taking a deep breath, breathing you in, your scent invading his senses, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too sweetheart”

He sighed, your eyes saying the things your voice wasn’t.

Six’s time at home had been fleeting this time around; he had been here and gone again within a day and a half.

A quick kiss and he tried to fly down the stairs, unsuccessfully because of the hold you’d had on his wrist. He stopped turning to look at you.

He pulled you against him, burying his nose in your hair as he kissed the top of your head; your arms wrapped tightly around his back as you fought to keep your composure.

“Two weeks, tops” he whispered into your hair; you only hugged him tighter, knowing he couldn’t possibly know that for sure.

“Make someone else go” You muttered against his chest “You just got back”

He laughed softly, big hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I can’t…” he pushed you back gently so he could look into your eyes “This one is personal”

Your brow creased as your frowned “What do you mean personal?”

His shoulders dropped as he let out a heavy sigh and it clicked “Lloyd…” you sighed

He nodded “He won’t stay in one place very long”

A strong finger under your chin lifted your head and you sighed looking up at him, the worry clear as day on your face.

You let out a slow breath swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat; eyes dropping to look at your shoes.

You had never met this man, but the stories were enough to never want to and even those weren’t many. He had injured someone in Six’s care, and was the reason the only person Six had even remotely considered family had died. He was a monster.

“Please be careful” you whispered softly

He nodded dropping his hand “Always”

You scoffed “Not always” You reached up to cup his cheek “You better come back to me”

He didn’t answer, just leaned forward, claiming your lips in a gentle kiss as the tears you had been fighting to hold back slid silently down your cheeks.

He pulled back and you sighed with a sniff, wiping the tears from your face. “Promise me”

When he didn’t say anything you closed your eyes taking a breath “Just this once, promise me, if it goes sideways, you will get out…please”

You stood eyes locked with his, seeing that emotionless mask crack for the briefest moment before he nodded. “I promise, just another Thursday.”

You huffed pulling yourself against him, burying your face in his chest. “No it isn’t, and you know it”

He pulled away then and you let him go; you knew if he was going to catch this bastard he had to leave and he had to leave now.

“Here,” he undid the watch around his wrist, holding it out to you

You shook your head “I can’t take that; it’s too important to you”

“Then keep it safe for me” he wrapped it around your wrist, having to do it up on the last available hole in the band so it would fit around your wrist.

He took your face in both hands, giving you one final bruising kiss; whispering a barely heard ‘I love you’ against your lips before he was down the stairs and gone.

You turned, going back inside, the door closing heavily behind you as you locked and leaned against it. A flurry of emotions bursting through the dam in your chest as you finally let yourself cry. You slid down the door, settling on the floor with a hard thump covering your mouth with your hand as the tears streamed freely down your cheeks. The fear, the sadness, the sliver of hope that he hadn’t just walked down those stairs to wherever, and you’d never see him again.

You cried so hard you nearly made yourself sick before you got yourself under control and pulled yourself to your feet.

You took a deep breath, wiping the tears out of your eyes and off your face as you made your way to the kitchen.

You stopped halfway through the threshold, breath catching in your throat seeing the man you didn’t recognize sitting on top of your counter with his arms folded and ankles crossed in front of him.

“Hiya Sunshine,” he smiled in a way that made your skin crawl as he hopped off the counter and your heart slammed in your chest.

“Can I help you?” You fought to keep your voice even as a thousand thoughts raced through your mind one after the other; trying to place this man.

“You really are easy on the eyes, aren’t you?” he asked, ignoring your question, advancing forward and you instinctively took a step back,

“Do I know you?” you asked, mentally cursing yourself for never counting how many steps were between your kitchen and front door, but not daring to turn your back and bolt.

“Your boy certainly does”

Lloyd.

Your blood froze, you were sure all the colour had drained from your face then.

“Based on the doe eyed bambi look on your face, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say you’ve heard of me”

“I don’t know-”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes with a dismissive wave of his hand “Don’t pull the ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ card, it’s just disrespectful”

You didn’t answer, just kept moving slowly backward into the living room as he moved closer across the kitchen.

Your eyes scanning his form, not seeing any blatantly obvious weapon easily within reach.

You took your opportunity and turned swiftly on your heel and raced for the door.

In a flash your hand gripped the doorknob and had it been unlocked you would have been free. Instead, Lloyd shoved you against the door, his body pinning you to the unforgiving surface as he laughed maniacally next to your ear; a fistful of your hair in your hand as he pulled your head back hard, making you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut briefly

“Oh no, no, no, no, no” he shook his head “We’re gonna get more acquainted; see if I can figure out what it is about our boy that you like so much”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, voice strained as you turned your head as much as his grip in your hair would allow; he was watching you with a raised eyebrow waiting for you to finish. “He’s got a massive-” Before you could finish, your head banged hard against the wooden door and Lloyd scoffed with disgust.

“Don’t be gross, it’s unladylike”

You scoffed with a laugh trying hard to ignore the instant throbbing headache “That’s your mistake for thinking I’m a lady Lloyd”

Your composure was quickly slipping away as you were running out of ideas for an escape.

“And the lady has me at a disadvantage,” Lloyd spoke slowly, his breath hot against your ear making you cringe. “I don’t really need to know your name anyway, doesn’t matter much, you’ll scream all the same”

You scoffed “He’s gonna kill you”

“Oh sweetheart, not if I kill you first”

That was the last thing you heard before it all went dark.

#fic #ryan gosling #the gray man 2022 #sierra six #courtland gentry #court gentry #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #lloyd hansen #chris evans #God that's a lot of tags

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dindjiarin · 2 years

Text

Six Days, Part I - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

Being stuck in a room with Sierra Six for a week causes more drama than you thought.

This was a 16 hour fever dream. It's probably going to be a two-parter, but this one ends satisfyingly anyway! I had to get this out of my head because ✨️Sierra Six deserves a lil kiss✨️ 😌

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

TAGS: Smut, One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, blood/wounds/death, poor knowledge of wound care.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

The knife slashes diagonally across your upper thigh, cutting deep enough you see … yellow? That’s probably not good, your mind flashes. You stumble forward, holding the wound.

The man who had just given it to you tries to grab you again; he was careless where the knife in his right hand went, as long as you weren’t killed. His gloved hand snatches at your left arm, but his attempt ends abruptly. You feel his body fall to the floor with a thump. You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, but there in front of you appears a disheveled Six, his firearm still pointed down the hallway behind you.

His eyes drop to your hands clutched around your bloody leg, and he closes the distance between the two of you in a second.

“You’re okay. Can you run?” He sounds calm.

One hand reaches out to gingerly touch the side of your face; he tilts his head to peer into your eyes. It won’t cross your mind until later that he’s trying to keep you from panicking.

“I-” your voice breaks. “I think so, yeah.”

Six nods, thankful that your adrenaline has taken hold; even he'd be making noise with that kind of injury. That wound was certainly going to require several stitches.

“Hold on to me.”

He indicates his belt, wanting to keep you close behind him but needing to keep his arms free. You comply gladly, curling your fingers through a belt loop. Though still scared, your body responds automatically to the protectiveness emanating from the man who has watched over you for the last four months.

He sweeps through the house, following the escape route he’d had planned from the very day he got here. You try not to see but the specter of death is unavoidable. Black-clothed, anonymous bodies lay strewn across broken glass. Debris extends throughout the house, but mercifully the kitchen is corpse-free. Six guides you across the room, and he reaches out for the garage door. As it swings open, Six curses.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper to his back.

He hesitates, then states, “A friend did me a favor.”

He doesn’t move toward the broken body lying next to the vehicle - it’s clear by the angle of the man’s neck that he’s beyond help.

“We’re even,” Six solemnizes over the man.

He says it so quietly that you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear. You feel a prickle in your nose like you’re near tears. You don’t know if it’s the situation or the fact that you’ve never seen the reticent man show any strong emotion, but you scrutinize the back of his head, trying to understand what’s inside.

“I’m sorry, Six,” you breathe. You drop your hand from his belt to give him space.

Six doesn’t respond.

You can’t really tell the difference between the man lying there and the other bodyguards that had been rotated through over the past week. Six had hidden the fact that he knew the man well; you’d never seen them interact.

He steps over to the driver’s door cautiously. You wince as your adrenaline starts to fade and the distraction of Six’s body is gone. Ensuring no joy-riders are hiding in the backseat, he climbs in and starts the car. As the engine springs to life, he observes you standing still in the headlights and deadpans, “You stayin’ here?”

*****************************

The two of you burst into the tiny apartment, not initially noticing the fact that it’s shockingly small: one chair, one bed, one bathroom. Without warning, he scoops you up into his arms and heads into the bathroom, flicking on the single bulb. He sets you gently on the countertop. He bends to grab a first-aid kit from the cabinet, and you wobble without his support, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion. His hands steady you and he stares into your eyes, willing you to be composed. You blink twice, realizing his face has never been this close to you - ever. You smile shyly, and he frowns. Clearly, he thinks you’re in shock. Your heart is racing but it has very little to do with the night’s events.

You’d been half-expecting an assault for some time now, and you’d prepared yourself as best a normal person could. Sure, you were scared - nothing would ever be the same now. But you had survived, thanks to Six, and the cold, animal part of your brain knew that was all that mattered. No, the thudding of your pulse was the fault of the ever-present magnetism you felt for the man working before you.

“I’m going to cut your jeans,” Six states.

You nod, mind racing with thoughts too silly to vocalize. He pulls a folding knife from his pocket and gingerly slices away the front half of the already-cut pant leg. You’re left with what resembles a pant-mullet and you giggle a little hysterically at the ridiculous thought.

He peeks up at you, now certain you’re in shock, “Lean against the mirror.”

You obey, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you recline. Six rises from his hunched position, standing so close that you can still see his face out of the bottom of your vision.

“Tell me when you need a break.” His voice is gentle, but you notice his jaw clenching. His hands settle on your skin. “Deep breath.”

Then the pain blinds you. You’d been silently crying in the car, the constant burning feeling in your leg causing you to grind your teeth, fidget, do anything you could to distract yourself. But the bite of the needle through your torn, pained flesh as he stitches you back together is much worse.

You slam your palms down against the edge of the counter, gripping tight - your sheer willpower the only thing keeping you from thrashing against him. You take deep breaths as he instructed, trying to leave your body behind.

Your mind wanders to earlier in the night, before chaos reigned, when Six had actually agreed to play a video game with you. You’d let him pick the game, and he’d chosen a first-person shooter (because of course he did). You’d still beaten the trained assassin. He’d sat beside you on the couch, his body heating your right side, and when you won the match, you’d sworn the side of his mouth turned up a little at your gloating. You’d spent most of your time together trying to make the man laugh, so you’d take anything he gave you. When he beat you in the next round, you’d been a sore loser - accusing him of cheating. You had poked his side, gently, and he had actually laughed. Okay, you checked yourself, it was more like a snort, but it counted.

But then he had admitted to it, “Gotta use everything to your advantage. I could see your location on your side of the screen.”

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

“A what?” He scoffed. “There’s a name for it? And not even a creative one.”

“Yeah, for cheaters who screen-look.” You glared.

He’d rolled his eyes, then met your stare with his own, much more intense one. His face might be guarded, but his eyes expressed his feelings. He always tried to hide it, but everything was written there among the blue. Your heart had lurched, your breathing requiring thought. For God’s sake, he was so close. His eyes weakly flickered down to your parted lips; but then he had stood, walked a few paces away from the couch.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Rattled, you followed his lead. You knew he wanted you in your room; he always did his rounds once you turned in for the night. You had stood and stretched upwards, relieving your back. You never saw the guilty way his eyes followed the curves of your body as you moved, nor the way his jaw ticked as you bent to turn off the gaming console.

When you’d turned around, he had been perfectly composed. You had passed by him as close as you dared, close enough to hear the gum he was chewing, and muttered, “Goodnight, cheater.”

“Goodnight, loser.” He’d said, shrugging at you as you closed the bedroom door. You’d laughed at that, and as soon as your door had closed, he’d allowed himself to smirk.

He stuck the needle through a particularly sensitive section of your leg, and you were thrust back into your new reality. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore, and people had died because of you. Including Six’s friend. He’d probably request an entirely new team now; one that would replace him. He’d be free of the assignment he’d had for too long. You’d heard him say once that most assignments don't last longer than a week, and he’d been stuck babysitting you for months.

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

He stops, “I'm just over halfway. You need a break?”

You shake your head, “Get it over with.”

The next stitches are as painful as the others. But then you feel his hands leave your skin, and you hear something fall in the trash can - bloody material, maybe. You hear Six wash his hands in the sink next to you, then dry them with a towel. Exhaustion tinges your every thought, now. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d slept.

Tears fall from your closed eyes, unbidden. Gently, but quickly, his fingers wipe away the liquid, and your eyelids flutter open at the contact. The ugly light causes you to squint, but you see Six lean toward you. His right arm slips under your legs, his left snakes around your back, and he lifts you from the counter. You softly cling to his neck. He’s careful not to jar your leg as he maneuvers out of the bathroom and across the room. The bed dips with your weight as he sets you down on top of the covers. Instead of moving you again, he lays a different blanket across your body. He leaves your wound uncovered.

“Don’t let that touch your leg. Need to keep it as clean as possible, and the last time these were washed, cell phones still had visible antennas.”

“Yes, sir.” You say sleepily. It’d been a long day, a longer night, and though your leg was still paining you, the temptation of the abyss was greater.

Six watches you fall asleep from the red wingback chair in the corner. He was grateful it was thickly padded - he wasn’t sure he could sit in a plastic chair with the bruises he had. There was no couch, and only one bed, but he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

He wanted to believe that this safe house, two hours away from the previous, was off-the-books enough for his enemies to have overlooked it.

We’re fine here, he was nearly chanting to himself, willing it to be true. But he wasn’t going to relax, wasn’t going to get complacent. Not when he had a job to do.

*****************************

Six’s entire body ached. He hadn’t moved from his chair except to use the bathroom. He was completely still, his arms folded across his body. He wanted to check the perimeter; he wanted to see what was going on outside. Maybe they were setting up for a raid out there. Maybe they were already on their way inside. Or maybe they had one or two agents doing recon, trying to get a confirmed sighting of him or of you. And if it was the latter, him exiting the building would be the opposite of helpful. But god, he hated sitting here feeling useless.

His eyes kept dancing over your sleeping form. You’d slept fitfully at first, but you seem peaceful now, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon. Six wouldn’t dream of waking you unless necessary. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face.

How could he have found out? What didn’t I do?

He couldn’t carry the heaviness in his heart. His whole life had been about protecting others; his brother, buddies in prison, strangers, and now you. It’s all he knew, it’s all he wanted to do. Now, because of him, Denver was dead.

Six had asked him to help beef up security for a few days. There’d been word that something was likely to go down soon and Six had looked to one of the few men he truly trusted for help. He grimaced, mourning the dead man; he’d saved Denver’s ass three separate times, each one becoming a joke between them about life debts. Six wished he could’ve been there a fourth time, but he also knew he wouldn’t have altered a thing.

You hadn’t been asleep like he’d assumed so he had broken the pattern in their established rounds to find you. He’d felt nearly panicked searching the house, and when he recognized what he was feeling, he’d grunted, trying to shake it off like a broken toe or a stab wound. It had hurt nearly as badly. He’d shot two men and gotten into blows with a third before finally seeing you at the end of the hallway as you left the bathroom, and of course, he had shot the fourth: your friend, the knife-wielder. Six would never forget the way his body had sagged with relief at finding you.

No, even if he had known that he had a choice that night between you and Denver, he wouldn’t have hesitated in his answer.

And there’s the problem. He somehow knows my answer, too.

*****************************

You sat up quickly, knowing you’d slept longer than normal as the golden light streamed through the small, frosted window. Hoping to neutralize the hunger pains, you threw off the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the new pain.

“Well, don’t undo all my hardwork.” Six’s favorite tone with you was exasperation; like a man whose patience was always at its limit, but never beyond.

“It’s fine, doctor,” you toss back sarcastically, “I just forgot about it.”

“You - forgot - about the gash in your leg?”

“...yes.”

He rolls his eyes, a hand passing over his face. You’re about to thank him for stitching you up, since he’s apparently sensitive about it, when your stomach growls.

“Is there anything to eat?”

“Yeah.”

You bite your lip and narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, I guess I will make us some food.”

He doesn’t move except to pick up a book from the shelf.

You hobble over to the kitchenette and see the world’s worst pantry. Canned peaches, olives, green beans, and chicken - the latter of which you gag over. There’s a mini-fridge on the counter next to the hot plate. You open that and see a carton of eggs. Wonder how old those are. The carton seemed new, so you open it and are pleasantly surprised by twelve fresh eggs.

A few minutes later, you’ve made two chopped olive omelettes. There are no plates, but there is a roll of paper towels. You walk slowly toward the chair Six has taken up residence in, an omelette on a makeshift paper plate in your hand. He sees the movement and looks up from the book. He stands and leans forward to take it from you, with a curt, “Thank you.”

“So, what do we do now?” You ask. Your mouth is half-full of egg and you’re nearly unintelligible.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.”

“Mmm.” You nod, still chewing. “Okay, then what?”

He looks up from his own food, answering, “We move. Further away.”

“Okay. And by ‘we’, you mean you’re not leaving?” You keep the nervousness out of your voice.

“What-? Where would I be going?” Genuinely not anticipating your question, Six’s eyebrows knit together. He blinks, gears turning in his head.

It finally clicks for him and he frowns; you’re a little confused how your question could irritate him, but you can’t stop the satisfied grin blooming on your face. The soulful eyes, the little curl of hair resting on his forehead, Six is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met, as well as a good friend, and the thought of leaving you apparently never even crossed his mind.

“And now you’re smiling?” He’s now totally bewildered.

Six is doing his damndest to put distance between the two of you emotionally, but you seem to be happy about …him staying with you? After assuming he’d leave you in this mess? He is speechless, his food forgotten momentarily.

“Nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. I just woke up, I’m still loopy.” You awkwardly smile again. You realize he’s not going to be satisfied with that, but you’re definitely not admitting your thoughts. So, you edit and try again.

“Okay, well, I figured since the original team is gone, a new one would be coming. Also,” you pause, knowing he’s against emotional oversharing, “I am very sorry about that. I know it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but I feel terrible. How do you get used to a life like this? People dying for you? My project wasn’t that incredible. There are more intelligent, more experimental chemists than me. There is no way my knowledge was worth that.”

You set your partially-eaten food down beside you, no longer hungry.

“You don’t get used to it.”

He answers your first question in the rawest voice you’ve heard from him. His eyes bore holes into the floor, desperately wanting to come clean, to relieve you of your guilt. They didn’t die for you, they died for him.

You try to catch his eye, to raise him from whatever mood suddenly snagged him, but he won’t look at you. He’s conflicted. Not only is he hiding the truth from you, but you still believe he’s capable of leaving you at the first bit of trouble, that he’ll give you up to another protection detail at his earliest opportunity. Six decides he cannot sit any longer. He rises, still avoiding your face, checks his gun, and walks to the door.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check; probably be gone ten minutes. I’ll knock in that pattern I showed you.” He pauses then adds, “If I don’t, there’s a trapdoor in the bathroom.”

“Alright,” you say quietly, your eyes on his back. Confused by his behavior and unable to let him leave in that manner, you can’t help but stage-whisper, “Please be safe, Six.”

You can’t see the way his throat constricts, the way he closes his eyes and lets your words soak in. Then he’s gone.

You mark the time with the analog clock on the bookshelf, and busy yourself by exploring the infinitesimal room. Your college dorm had been larger than this. The bathroom door is closed, and when you open it to find the trapdoor - just in case - the door hits the toilet bowl.

“Wow,” you wonder. “How did we both fit in here last night?”

You crouch to explore the grimy linoleum for the hidden seam, but you don’t see anything. Your eyes strain and your head bobs from side to side, trying to see something. But you find nothing. Maybe he’s confused this place with a different tiny, foreign safe house. Unwilling at the moment to actually feel around the gross floor, you’re content to just believe he’ll knock in the correct pattern.

You turn back into the main room, and pick up the book Six had been reading off the chair. A trashy bodice-ripper? How in the hell had he kept a straight face? You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. There’s no way he’d actually even read the title. He - for sure - had been trying and failing to seem preoccupied while you cooked. You’d get even with him for that.

You sprawl out on the bed, the book still in hand. You skip to a third of the way through, hoping to find the good parts, and sure enough: pure bodice-ripping. Again, you laugh out loud at the absurdity of the emotionally-repressed man you know reading this. Feeling this.

That sparks an idea in you; it had been a good long while since you’d been allowed to be completely alone. The waistband of your mangled jeans is loose enough to slip your hand down, and you engross yourself in a particularly dirty passage.

You're totally absorbed by the filthy story when the front door flies open and Six barrels through, shutting it as quietly as he could compared to his violent entrance. He flinches at your aborted scream, watches as your hand rips out of your jeans and you scoot up against the wall, trying to seem like you were not doing what you were definitely just doing.

The two of you stare at each other for a breath too long. Knowing he won’t - or can’t - you break the silence, “See anything?”

He short-circuits for a second, “No, you’re wearing jeans.” And then he realizes what you were actually asking about, “Oh, no. Nothing.”

His face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes anymore. You’re under the impression you’ve mortified him, but he knows if he keeps looking at your excited, glowing face for a second longer, he’ll make a decision you could both regret.

“I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you knock?” You titter at the ridiculous situation. But you’re less embarrassed than you thought you’d be. It hits you suddenly that Six has always made you feel safe in a multitude of ways, and maybe... maybe you don’t mind being caught by him.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Hence the busted door.”

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

He doesn’t make a reply, so you question, “Why were you pretending to read this?”

“Hm?” He settles his firearm back in its holster.

Six takes a long, calming breath, then meets your eyes. He’s as stoic as can be - except, now you're starting to wonder if it’s a front. You’d long felt like there was an electricity between the two of you. You’d seen Six’s eyes on you more than they should be, you’d feel his hand hover over your lower back sometimes when he walked you to your room, sending chills through you. He was reliable, protective, witty - he was also kind and selfless, though he let few people see it. But only in your daydreams could you believe he had any real feelings for you.

…so why did he just react that way? Wouldn’t a normal bodyguard apologize (right or wrong) and move on? They wouldn’t have to stand there and collect themselves, surely.

Or I’m just seeing what I want to, you chastise yourself.

“I know you were not actually reading this.” You tease, waving the book in the air.

“And how do you know that?” It’s clear he doesn’t even know what the book is about. He folds his arms across his chest and you attempt to discreetly ogle the vein on his bicep.

The smirk on your face warns him that you’re about to say something he’d rather not hear, “You wanna know how I know you weren’t reading this book of trashy erotica?” You heavily emphasize the words, and his eyes go wide. “Want me to read some aloud?”

He lunges toward you and snatches the book. “No. No, I do not.”

He absolutely cannot let you read porn aloud to him, he would lose all semblance of control. Six was already losing it, and that thought has him grumbling under his breath. Unthinkingly, he glances at the page you had open and he groans. This is what you were masturbating to? Fuck, shit. He shouldn’t have looked. His teeth grind together.

Oblivious, you bounce off the bed onto your good leg and say, “Since there’s no one out there, we need food for dinner. Is a store nearby?”

“I’ll go." He immediately takes the diversion. "Gotta find a new doorknob, anyway. You stay here, and listen for my knock.” He pins you with another exasperated look.

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

You want to push him, ask him for the book back, ask him if you’re allowed to continue, but you can see he’s on edge. So you let it go.

He tosses the book unceremoniously on the highest shelf which you can’t reach. You glare at his backside, but he’s gone without turning around.

Six doesn’t get surprised. He doesn't let emotion get the better of him often, and in the past hour you’ve done it twice in two very different ways. He takes a deep breath, and swears again to build one more wall. He can’t let you continue being in danger because of him.

But, part of him knows there’s not much he can really do; leaving would only make you vulnerable and leave him lost. He couldn’t leave your fate up to strangers. No, he knew staying was still the best option. He just needed to stop entangling himself in you. Six’s best chance at protecting you long-term was to convince everyone else that you meant nothing to him. That meant getting through this current shitshow, and disengaging from you. You deserved a normal, boring life. A life where you wouldn’t be hunted, used as a pawn, just to hurt him.

*****************************

Six didn’t speak to you again the entire night. He hadn’t been able to get much with the cash he’d had on hand, but dinner was satisfying enough. You’d handed him his portion on another paper towel, and he had nodded his thanks, but that was just about the only communication he gave you all night. He’d fixed the door and you’d teased him about being handy, but his only response had been to stick his palm out for one of the screws you'd been holding.

He then picked up a book, pointedly avoiding his earlier choice, and actually read all evening while you snuck glances at the way the light from the dusty reading lamp caught his fair hair, his tense face. He had pretended not to notice, but each time your head tilted toward him, he realized his feelings might not be quite so one-sided.

Sure, he knew you were attracted to him; after all, he was trained to notice the little things. The difference between your genuine smile and the polite ones you gave the other bodyguards; the way you unconsciously broke his personal space, brushing past him, poking him; and the way you tried to take care of him. He'd never had that, never had someone bring him glasses of water while he sat at his laptop, ask him how he felt about a certain song, what his favorite flavor of gum was.

But he was afraid it was more Stockholm Syndrome, or boredom, than genuine affection. You were a good person, and bringing someone a glass of water wasn't a Declaration of Intent. So, he had ignored the numerous times you turned to him - written them off as restlessness.

Now, the sheets scratch your face and you rub your eyes, sleep calling you once again. You roll over to face Six, still in his chair, to ask him to join you. Not for anything nefarious, but because you know he must be exhausted. The past thirty-six hours had been stressful, and your method of coping with humor had been at his expense.

Your eyes adjust with the dim lamplight and you see the book drooping from one limp hand, his eyes closed and head tilted to the side. Happy he was finally getting some rest, you shuffle off of the bed, take the book and mark his place before setting it on the shelf. You grab the plush blanket he had given you last night and drape it over his much-larger body. It didn’t fully cover him, but it’d do.

You gaze down at him, admiring his vulnerable form. Six meant more to you than you cared to tell him. No family, a workaholic with coworkers for friends, you’d let yourself grow fond of the reserved, self-sacrificing blonde man with the affinity for chewing gum. It was the closest you’d been to a person in over a year. No matter what he considered you - a client, a ward, a burden - you considered him a friend.

“Thanks for always being there, Six,” you whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear. You softly kiss the top of his hair, then get back in bed. The abyss welcomes you back. You must’ve been dreaming when you heard what sounded like a defeated groan.

*****************************

III

You wake the next morning to Six seated on the opposite corner of the bed, his gun in pieces. You prop yourself up on your left elbow and watch as he painstakingly cleans each part.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

He lowers the barrel in his hands, turning to you. You’re backlit by the small window on the far wall, and he curses inwardly. You look sleepy, domestic. Something pure and stable that he knows he’ll never have.

“Yeah, I can.”

He twists a little in place to fully face you, and you crawl a little closer to see the parts. He picks up a piece and hands it to you, extremely careful not to touch you.

“This,” he explains, “is the slide. It’s what chambers a new round and ejects the old casing.” He hands you a paper towel, again obviously avoiding your skin. “I like a softer cloth, but I don’t have anything blood-free. Gently rub the interior.” He instructs.

You do as he asks, working in silence. You hold it up to him for inspection, a smile, disproportionately proud of your simple task, beams on your face. He responds with a faint smile, and places the slide on another towel designated for finished parts.

“Can you show me how to-” You falter as he turns his heavy eyes back to you. “Like, if I needed to, how to use it?” You hesitantly ask, hoping you weren’t bothering him. You’re not a fan of firearms, they’ve always made you nervous. But if push came to shove, you’d prefer not to be using the gun as a club.

Six is not quite so nervous around guns, and he nods, agreeing that you should have every possible manner of defending yourself.

“Sure.”

You watch in silent admiration as he puts his weapon back together faster than you’d ever be able to, meeting his eye at the end and giving him a dramatic, impressed look. He smiles again, a shade more than earlier.

You slide over to sit beside him, your legs dangling off the bed. He spends the next few minutes helping you find your way around the gun. He still refuses to touch you, and it gets more noticeable with every second. He even sets the gun on the bed for you to pick up rather than hand it to you. You wilt a little at that, sure now that you’ve pushed him away even further than you thought. You can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. He’s never been a touchy-feely, overly-friendly person; why did you make him so uncomfortable yesterday? You want to kick yourself.

You watch as he stifles a yawn.

“Didn’t you sleep?” You ask incredulously.

“I slept enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Six sneaks a quick, longing glance at you, replaying last night’s feeling of your lips on his hair. How he’d woken up at your touch. How could he have slept after that? He’d warred with himself about climbing up beside you, holding you close. But Six didn’t want to push this now. He knew there was a power imbalance here (although most of the time it felt to him like you were the one in control) and he didn’t want your feelings out of gratitude or survival. He’d compromised with himself by letting his mind free; he imagined your breathy sighs as you slept curled against him, how perfectly you’d fit alongside his body, the feeling of your hair between his fingers. He tears himself away.

“Please take a nap. You’re no good to either of us dead on your feet like this.”

“For a corpse, I think I look pretty good.”

“Six, for god’s sake, it’s daylight and it’s been silent for days. I promise I will wake you at any noise.” Your voice drips with earnesty, “I promise.”

He rubs his brow, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes are intent upon you, “You promise.”

You nod twice in quick succession and he makes a face like he’s accepting a plea bargain. He stands, then all but collapses onto the same side of the bed where you’ve been sleeping. You take up vigil in his chair, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

After an hour, your legs begin to cramp, and you start pacing the tiny apartment. Still feeling a little guilty for yesterday, you wonder if there’s any gum nearby. Maybe a vending machine? You assess Sleeping Beauty: still breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to the door and unlock it. Six’s rhythm is unchanged by the sound of the deadbolt, so you slowly pull the door open. Peeking your head out, you see a featureless, white hallway; several other plain-looking doors leading to God-knows-where; and there, at the end and nearly out of sight due to the alcove it’s in, is a glowing vending machine. You pat your pocket and find two coins. Should be enough, you hope. You’re unfamiliar with the local currency, and honestly you’re not even totally sure which country you’re in. You prop the door open, just in case, and cautiously step out into the hallway.

Ears straining for any noise at all, you begin your trek. Keeping your feet as close to the baseboards as you can, you make as little sound as possible. Eventually you reach the vending machine, and you’re right - you have no idea which country this is as you don’t even recognize the language. But you can identify a pack of chewing gum anywhere. It’s only one of the coins, so you pop it in and get your reward. Uneventfully, you return to the room, quietly slipping the door closed, and deadbolting it shut.

Six sleeps for another few hours, while you spend time making lunch for when he wakes up, and reading some of the other, mostly boring, novels scattered around. One novel piques your interest with a convoluted plot which helps time pass. The book makes you feel uneasy, makes you start to wonder about your own situation. It really doesn’t make sense for Six to still be assigned to you over some biochemical project that never even made it to the testing stage. The fact that someone had actually attacked you made even less sense. None of your research was on your person, and it’s not like you had memorized every single formula. Maybe Six knew more than he’d told you.

Thinking about Six makes you grow lonely, wishing selfishly he would wake. You’re debating getting in bed and taking a nap with him, your only inhibitor being your promise, when he stirs. He shoots up like a dead man raised from the grave, his hand going to his side where his weapon usually rests.

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

“Mmph,” he grumbles. You’re trying not to stare at him, but he looks so uncharacteristically soft, you can’t help it. He pretends not to notice, thankfully. Six tosses the covers off, and picks his gun up from the nightstand. He walks to the door and listens. Satisfied, he turns around and sits back on the mattress.

“I can make lunch-” he starts to offer, but you cut him off.

“I already made you some,” you swiftly grab the sandwich from the mini-fridge and deliver it to him. After he takes it, you pull the gum from your pocket, extending it towards him, too.

His eyes jump from you to the gum and back again twice. “Where’d you squirrel that away?” He jokes, thinking you took it from your previous residence. Then he remembers the machine outside. His face tightens, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”

“... don’t be mad at me,” you begin slowly, dropping your hand to your side.

“Dammit.” Six hisses. “Dammit, you promised.” He’s off the bed again, towering over you.

He shakes his head, disbelieving. He’s still in the hyper-alert mode he has been used to for twenty years. But his eyes keep catching on your pouting lips. He’s finding temptation difficult to ignore when all he can think about is how those lips would make him feel.

“I upheld my promise! There were no noises!” You know it’s not a real defense.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind on the problem. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”

“No to the first, and honestly, I can’t answer the second.”

His mouth opens to retort, but he closes it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He raises his hands in supplication and slowly states, “You can’t go out there alone.”

“I wanted to do something nice.” You explain. “But I am sorry. I was trying to ease some small amount of stress for you, not add to it.”

Six snorts and looks away. You'd put yourself in danger to make him happy. How was he supposed to react to that?

When he turns back to you a moment later, he reaches to take your wrist. Goosebumps appear down your arm, but he tries to ignore them. You loosen your grip on the small paper package, allowing him to take your peace offering. You don’t want him to let go of your wrist, and he doesn’t. His hand is hot, his thumb rubbing languidly across your skin.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But shockingly, you take priority over gum.” His tone deepens and he orders again, “Do not go anywhere alone.”

He’s not trying to turn you on, but with his rough hand holding yours, his authoritative face inches from your own, and his protective demands, you feel the tension coiling.

“Mhm, noted,” you respond.

Your blood feels hot. Surely he can feel your pulse thrumming? You try to shake yourself out of the rising heat you feel. Take a cold shower, you thirsty bitch, you mentally jar yourself.

“You wanna relax? Make my job a little easier? It’s like you’re trying to kill me yourself.” Six accuses playfully, finally releasing your wrist, where - yes - he had been enjoying your quickening pulse.

His soulful eyes dance between yours. You feel flames licking up your body, your stomach tightening in anticipation. Am I killing him? The way he’s killing me? Your heart is hammering, body screaming for him to touch you again.

“Little dramatic,” you snort, surprised it comes out in a normal tone of voice. Turning away from him, you walk towards the bathroom.

And you’re not sure what possesses you, you’re half-sure he can’t stand you, but still you hear yourself say, “I’m going to shower. Am I allowed to do that alone, Six?”

His head snaps, his intense stare nearly stopping your breath. You watch him swallow hard and you wonder what he’s thinking. Your chin tilts upward, eyes locked with his, confirming every pass you’ve ever made at him.

And well, he tried, didn’t he? Six is a strong man. He’d been stabbed, shot, he’d fallen from great heights, been pepper-sprayed - and through everything, he’d kept on fighting. But this? The slow drip of you over the past few months had been bad enough, but stuck in this room with you nearly begging for him? He wasn’t strong enough for that.

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

He crosses the room in two strides, his arms enfolding you. He grunts as he lifts you up and backs you into the wall; at the same time his lips come hard against yours, months of repressed feeling apparent in his grip, his fevered kiss.

Your legs curl around his waist, tugging him closer, and your hands move down him - everything you can reach, you want to feel. Your hands press in his hair, his beard, they caress his throat before dropping to feel the beat of his heart through his wide chest. Your frenzied movements send him wild. He had no idea giving in would feel this good; he’s already forgotten about the shower.

You feel the wall disappear as he moves toward the bed. His knee bends on the soft surface as he lays you onto the blankets. You feel his weight pressing into you, grounding you to him. His left hand slides up your shirt, breaking his kiss to remove it fully. He tugs his own off by the collar, and the sight of his bare chest makes you gasp. Intensely defined muscles riddled with scars and tattoos decorate his body. He's lived a hard life. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving, and he makes a lustful noise at the sight. He unclasps your bra, replacing it with his mouth.

“Oh,” you throw your head back at the feeling, and he makes another deep, rumbling sound at your approval.

His pants go next, leaving him in dark red briefs. He pauses and regards your pants, your wounded leg.

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.

He moves his hands appreciatively along your sides, stopping when he reaches your waistband. Six’s beard scratches your sensitive skin as he plants kisses lovingly around your thigh. He’s hoping you understand it’s his apology for not killing the man before he ever touched you. He unbuttons your frayed, fucked-up jeans and places a large hand over the cut on the outside of your leg to protect it while he pulls the material down, your underwear also going.

As he leans back over you, you can’t help but admire him, your eyes brimming with fondness at his care. His burning chest presses into yours, and you can feel his muscles flexing as his hands grope your body.

Your hands go to his hair once more, clutching him to you. His tongue skates over the hollow at the base of your throat - you inhale sharply at the sensation. His thigh shifts between your legs, and the pressure on your most sensitive area causes you to tilt your hips back and forth, riding him a little. Six notes your reaction greedily; he presses his thigh into you harshly and you whine. He places a large hand around the base of your throat, and continues his mouth’s path upward until he reaches your jaw, spurred on by the obscene moans you’re making.

“Sweetheart, you’re making me blush," his breath caresses your ear.

One of your hands cradles his chin while the other snakes along his body, pushing his briefs down - he kicks them off. The feeling of his thick, naked thighs against your own nearly distracts you from your goal. But you find him quickly - you knew he would be big there, too - and you relish the way his powerful body goes slack at your touch. In your peripheral, you can see his biceps shake at the tension building in him. Your thumb brushes over a vein, and you shiver as he lets go of the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard him make.

You lean up to capture his lips and swallow the sound he just made. His hand plunges into your hair, cradling your head while the other palms your lower back; he grunts as he leans back onto his heels, easily taking you with him. His mouth connects with yours, and his hand slides to the curve of your ass.

Your thighs straddle him in this kneeling position, and you grind along his smooth erection. His hand on your ass encourages your rhythm. His other arm falls from your hair to wrap around your midsection, holding you tight to him. Six’s kisses are deep, desperate, but tender somehow. It makes you want him everywhere - you want to know nothing but him. You rock forward far enough that his tip catches at your center.

He stills your movement, keeping you in limbo. He leans his head back to see you. You can feel the strength in his muscles, so you don’t even attempt to fight him for the friction you’re craving. Artlessly pushing back the hair that had fallen in your face, he then rests his palm on your cheek, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.

He shifts his body for a better angle, then slowly - so slowly - pushes up into you. Six’s eyes are almost entirely black, the smallest bit of blue rings his blown pupils as he drinks in your whimper. You didn’t think you could be more turned on, but the look in his eyes is so hungry. He sucks a line of kisses up your neck and the sensation of the warm trail cooling on your skin causes you to clench down on him; he grunts again at that.

You sigh in relief when his hip bones sit flush with yours. You’ve been so ready for this man, the considerable stretch doesn’t hurt in the slightest. You breathlessly laugh; utter bliss surging through you. You don’t try to move, knowing instinctively that he’s in charge.

“Mmm,” he hums gruffly, running a hand through your hair.

You feel him twitch inside you, and you want to ask him what he just thought about, but he pulls out and thrusts up into you without warning. You cry out, but he’s not done. He does it again, then again, snapping his hips brutally. You’re getting what you wanted, he’s driving up into you and it is overwhelming; Six is destroying you, piece by piece. His arms flex as they hold you still, his stomach muscles jump at the strain underneath your slack hands. Sweat begins to shine on both of you; the slick reward for his exertion somehow making you wetter elsewhere. A lock of dirty blonde comes free, swinging against his forehead; and you’re mesmerized by the masculine beauty of Sierra Six.

His pattern slows briefly to lay you both back down. His right hand finds its home in your hair, before he begins a deeper, more sensual pace. You gasp out his name at the new feeling, the intimacy. He’s weakened your body so thoroughly that he is absolutely fucking you senseless into the mattress despite his slower pace. You grasp at the bedsheets above your head; you can hear the bed creaking with the force of him. His lips press against your forehead, breathing heavy. One hand cradles the base of your skull while the other plants against the wall for leverage. He tilts his head to rest against yours, and it’s clear he’s all but making love to you at this point. The knot in your stomach gets more tenuous with each and every one of his touches.

You try to reign in your gasps, your cries, but his left hand falls between where you’re joined, and your attempt at being quiet ends entirely.

His lips brush your ear and he growls, “Should’ve known you’d be as loud in bed as you are every other fucking day.”

“You love it,” you choke out, smiling smugly.

His voice is heady, “It is that obvious?”

You’re in sensation overload, the feeling of Six pushing inside you, the rhythmic motion of his hand, and that look in his eyes has your body taut as a bowstring. Your hands reach up to frame his face, wanting to hold him, when you're surprised by the tension in your abdomen snapping viciously. You writhe up beneath him, fucking him back, never breaking eye contact. You feel yourself repeatedly clench down as you come apart for him, finally closing your eyes when you breathe out his name. Six possessively parts your lips with his, groans echoing in the space between kisses as he lets go, too. His hips begin to stutter; his abdominal muscles jerk as he buries himself deep within you, spending himself nearly as powerfully as you did.

His head drops to your collarbone and you press another kiss to his hair. Six raises up on his forearms, memorizing the way you look underneath him. His lips meet yours again softly before he carefully eases himself from you. He wraps a muscle-bound arm around you, tugging you to him. Six scoots both of you a few inches onto a pillow and throws the covers over you.

Diffused, indigo light from the window indicates that sunset has just occurred, and you can’t help but hope tomorrow doesn't come. Staying here in this comfortable, intimate twilight world was the only place you cared to exist. You feel Six’s chest press into your back then retreat, and his exhale tickles your ear. The tattoo on his left forearm lay across your naked breast, and you don’t stop yourself from tracing it.

“That feels wonderful,” his sigh is gravelly. You shift further into him and he responds by pulling you tighter, settling you flush against his body.

“I won’t stop, then,” you promise him quietly.

He sighs, and within a few moments, you feel his breathing deepen. You keep your promise until you drift away, too.

#sierra six #sierra six x reader #six #the gray man #the gray man fanfic #the gray man fic #court gentry #sierra six fanfic #ryan gosling #rg #personal #my fics #courtland gentry #smut #sierra six smut #lloyd hansen #chris Evans

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wiidvw · 8 months

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His Bonnie on the Side

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦/𝑆𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑆𝑖𝑥 𝑥 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 ! 𝐹𝑒𝑚 ! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡—𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑣 𝑠𝑒𝑥. 𝐶𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑑𝑘 𝑗𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑏ℎ. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑐 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑡 1 𝑎𝑚.

𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚, 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗧 𝗦𝗢 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗. Six was hired by your dad to protect you from people trying to hurt you, not to fuck you while he's asleep in the next room.

Six's strong hands pushed your hips into the mattress below you as the tip of his hard cock teased your sopping cunt. "Six," you whined rather loudly.

He quickly shushed you and covered your lips with his hand. "You want your father to hear you, hm?" Six kissed your neck as you shook your head. "That's what I thought."

"Be quiet for me," he told you, removing his hand from your lips and sinking his cock into your cunt. Inch-by-inch his girth entered your pussy, stretching your cunt to an amount you thought you'd never get used to.

"Shit," he groaned as you squeezed his cock. "Need you to relax for me."

You threw your head back into the pillow beneath you, a gasp escaping your lips. You tried to relax, breathing in and out your nose, but, god, Six was big. As his pelvis was flush against yours, he gave a moment to adjust to his size before pulling all the way out. "Hold onto me," he said, and at first you were confused until his cock entered you again with a rough—almost forced—thrust into your cunt, causing your body to jolt up. You immediately gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

You attempted to silence the moan begging to escape your lips by digging your teeth in your bottom lip; unfortunately, that wasn't going to work with the way Six had started pounding into you.

"Fuck, Six," you moan especially loud, and as a result he bit your neck, making you gasp and clench around his cock. He grunted and thrusted harder than before, grinding his hips against yours. He removed a hand from your hip, which you're sure you're going to have bruises there in the morning, and started kneading your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb while his hips brushed against your clit. You whimpered at his movements; then, he slid his hand down your stomach and began to rub harsh circles on your aching bundle of nerves.

Six started to move again, his thrusts as rough as before, they were getting faster. Soon, the bedroom was filled with the sound of clapping, the bed frame banging against the wall, and the sound of your moans—almost sobs.

You were so focused on your pleasure you didn't even think about whether your dad could hear you or not.

Six's cock was hitting that one spot that made your walls flutter around him, and each time he did, you feel yourself getting closer to your release. You could Six was too because everytime you clenched around him, he'd grunt, and his thrusts would become unsteady and more feral.

"Six . . . Ah-" You started to warn him about your oncoming orgasm, but he started to nibble on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. "S-Six, I'm close."

He groaned against your collarbone as the thumb on your clit quickened, causing your walls to squeeze his thick cock.

"Come," he murmured against your brown skin, and that's all it took to send you over the edge. You opened your mouth, nothing coming out as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Six pushed his hips flush against, groaning, "Fuck," as he came inside you.

He gave you a moment to recover before pulling out, causing you to whimper from the loss.

"You think my dad heard us?" you asked, turning to Six.

"He heard you," he replied, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and got out of bed.

#sierra six smut #sierra six #court gentry #ryan gosling #ryan gosling smut #the gray man #the gray man 2022 #sierra six x reader #sierra six x black!reader #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x black!reader

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anitalenia · 11 months

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━━━ 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 ₓ˚. ୭

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. just thinking about what it would be like if the gray boys wanted you to have their kids. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

pairing: Courtland Gentry, Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader

content includes: darkish content in Lloyd’s part, unprotected sex, p in v penetration, overstimulation, breeding kink, pet names such as baby, pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, choking but the sexy way, dirty dirty talk, fucked dumb!reader, cervix fucking, squirting, back scratching, reader calling Lloyd daddy, slight dumbification, clit rubbing, soft sex, stomach bulge

warnings: sexual content 18+, cussing + nasty words, darkish content in Lloyd’s section

authors note: I been thinking about this for a few days now… and I don’t even want kids 😜🫰🏻✨

LINKS ੈ♡˳·˖✶ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 | 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒔

✧ ˚ LLOYD HANSEN　· 　 .

⋆˙⟡♡ Lloyd could only grin at you, amused with the way you could barely form a sentence, amused at the way you held onto his shoulders like that could really stop him. Your nails dug into his skin and drool pooled down your cheek; Lloyd could only groan hotly at the pleasurable sting of his skin breaking under your fingertips.

His cock, thick and hard, still after cumming twice in you already, was sliding in and out of your throbbing pussy with ease; you were still so wet even after the several orgasms Lloyd had effortlessly forced out of your limp body. You were almost cross-eyed it hurt so damn good.

Lloyd had you shoved into the mattress, sheets ripped off the corners and blanket discarded on the floor. He was panting above you, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, your hair clinging to the sweat on your forehead as you let him take you however he wanted. You were too weak to fight, too fucked out to argue that your back was sore and your pussy ached.

You moaned at another hard thrust into your wet hole, his balls smacking into your ass as he laughed into your ear, hot and breathy and arrogant. The headboard banged into the cracking wall of his bedroom, worn down from the many sleepless nights and afternoons and mornings Lloyd couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“Fuck, Lloyd!” You gasped out as he pulled out and then slammed back into your sopping cunt, eager for his dick and the feel of it stretching her out and bruising her in. Another pulse of painful pleasure rang through you, had you arching your back and thighs tightening around him.

“Aww, was that too hard, baby? My mistake, daddy’s so sorry… but he has to make sure all his cum gets into that little tummy of yours if you want his kids, doesn’t he?” He cooed in your ear sarcastically, his mustache scratching against your cheek as you rested your forehead against his muscle next to your head. You whined at that, eyes closed tightly as you gasped against his skin. He was so big, so much thicker than any cock you’ve ever had.

You could admit he was right, you wanted so badly to have his shithead kids because you were that deluded by his charm. He had fooled you, molded you into the perfect wife who sucked his cock any time he asked and gave him her sweet pussy anytime he wanted. He wasn’t going to ever let you go, he was going to ensure your devotion to him with the one thing that would keep you tied to him forever.

You were tired of it, mouth dry from moaning so much but pussy hungry for more and more and more. You were just his little cumslut, his doll bred to be his perfect girl that would happily take whatever he gave you. And he wanted to give you his cum, all of it, see your belly round with his children and your tits full and flush of milk and fat.

Your pussy squelched and leaked around his cock, his head in your neck as he took a hand off the headboard and traced it down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, until he was rubbing your soft tit under his hand like a bowl of jelly.

You let out a heavy sigh at the feeling of it, your skin hot and tingly and stuck under him. Then he slid his hand back up, palm grazing your sensitive nipple and sending a jolt down your tummy.

He snickered, cocky and self-assured, as he wrapped his hand around your jaw and twisted your face to look at his, fingers digging into your hot cheeks. You whined weakly at the force of it, his cock slowing down inside of you like he was focusing on the feel of your wetness wrapped around him, like he needed you to focus on his words instead of the feeling of him fucking into you.

“Mmm, my pretty baby. This pussy is just begging to be filled with my cum, isn’t it? She wants me to give her all the cum she can take, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Lloyd smiled deceivingly sweet at you, looking into your eyes with sweat gathered on his hairline.

You nodded blindly at that, hips bucking up into him for more, to bury himself deep inside your pussy until you didn’t know where you began and the base of his cock started. Your toes tightened and thighs tingled as he gave you what you wanted, not because he was satisfied with your response but because he loved that look on your face when he’d thrust into you, your furrowed brows and wet parted lips as a soft moan would sound from your breathless lungs.

“Can you imagine our kids, pretty girl? Hmm? One with your pretty little eyes and one with mine. Two little brats running around calling you mommy… god, I can just imagine how big those pretty tits would get. Tell your daddy, is that what you want baby, huh? You gotta tell me…” He grinned into your ear, gripping your jaw to keep your head straight as he picked up his pace, the tip of him slamming into your cervix and sending painful throbs down your thighs that had your hips bucking away from him. Your cries were cracked and uneven from the force of his thrusts, his thighs smacking into you and his grunts and chuckles breathing across the skin on your cheek.

You babbled agreement like a dumb slut, not really listening to a word besides the sound of his balls slapping into you, a fresh batch of wetness gushing out onto the sheets and soaking your thighs with your own juices.

“Yes, yes, please, please, daddy. Please cum inside me, please please please…” You begged as your stomach tightened like someone pulling a rope around a tree, your nails drawing blood from his back that dribbled down his shoulders. Your pussy clenched around him so tight he grind his teeth trying to push back in, feeling his balls tightening at your compliance.

He mouthed at your neck, tasting the salt, being uncharacteristically sweet as his hips stuttered from the pleasure ringing through his dick and thighs.

“Fuck… yes, baby, I’m gonna cum inside that pretty pussy… daddy knows how bad you want it… come on, pretty… that’s it, that’s daddy’s girl…” He coaxed in your ear as you let out a wail and squirted around him, your cum going on the sheets and his thighs as he talked you through it.

He followed soon after, your pussy squeezing around him so tight he could barely push in. He managed, balls deep as he let out a grunt, dropping his head in your neck as he came inside you.

You felt his cum shoot inside you and it had your tired body tensing from the sensation. You breathed heavily as he collapsed on top of you, his hands coming down and gripping your waist to center himself.

He kissed your cheek, mustache tickling your skin as you leaned into him.

“I think…I think it worked…” You murmured breathlessly into the air, eyes closed as you caressed the skin of his back.

He chuckled, just as tired as you, his limp dick still inside of your wet hole as neither one of you wanted him to pull out just yet. You enjoyed feeling full of him, your warmth pulsing around him as your thighs trembled every so often.

“You’re gonna make daddy happy, aren’t you, baby?” He murmured sweetly, a satisfied smile on his face as he felt you nod against him.

He took his hand and rubbed your belly, knowing that you would indeed.

✧ ˚ SIERRA SIX　· 　 .

⋆˙⟡♡ It was a rainy night, thunder and lightning flashing in the dark sky and rain pattering on the windows when Six had mumbled it into your neck, sleepy and groggy like he was just speaking from his mind and not from fact.

“Have my kids…” His voice was so soft, overpowered by the storm, that you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly. So you asked him what he said, eyebrows furrowed and phone thrown to the side as something else had caught your attention.

“I want you to have my kids…” He said it again against your skin, his eyes closed and his arm around your waist like he’d been sleep talking. You knew him though, knew that when spontaneity hit he would use it, but not unless he didn’t meant it. He was genuine and serious, thumb rubbing your stomach like he was already imagining it swelled up. You felt your tummy tighten at the thought, wetness plaguing your lower lips as you imagined what that would be like.

That’s how you ended up here, laying on your stomach with Six’s broad body on top of your back, a hand intertwined with yours as you grasped the dark gray sheets above your head, his other hand digging into the sheet next to you to balance himself.

His cock was big and long, thrusting into you slow and surely, pushing his cum into you and making sure you felt every single inch of him within you. He breathed against your neck, heavy and hot, as you gasped into the sheets, hips perked up so he could fuck into you easier.

“Does that feel good, baby? Me deep inside you like this?” He muttered into your ear, pushing into your wet hole with a soft squelch until his balls were hanging by your clit. You felt so full, so good, a pleasurable pulse ringing through your legs that had you whining into the dark, a flash of lightening illuminating the room.

His hand tightened around yours as you clenched around him, letting out a high pitched uh-huh in agreement.

You felt the ends of his blonde hair tickle your shoulder as he thrusted into you a little quicker, but just as sensual. He was always the type to make sure you got off before him, ensured that you cum before he even thought about his own release.

He took his hand that was wrapped around yours and glided it down your arm, sending tingles down your heated skin and a fluttering in your stomach. He brought it down to your tummy as he thrusted back into your tight pussy, gritting his teeth at the warmth squeezing around his cock.

He pressed down on the space just above your pelvis, feeling the tip of his cock bulging in your tummy where he was gonna cum. You keened at the pressure of him pushing down on your stomach, your juices flooding out of you in an unexpected jolt of pleasure and marking the sheets with a dark patch.

“I’m gonna cum right here, make sure you’re full of my cum so you can have my kids. You want to make me a daddy? You wanna be a mommy, hmm?” He hummed into your ear as he pressed down harder on that spot that had your toes curling and pussy tightening. He loved the idea of you pregnant with his children, your skin glowing and your stomach full. He could picture it in his mind, could only imagine how much beautifuler you’d look pregnant, and it made his balls tighten and dick stick up straight.

He pushed into your sopping cunt, pulsing around him as you sobbed into the sheets, tears welling in your eyes at the indescribable pleasure coursing through you from the feel of him. You felt him, all of him; felt every vein and every ridge, felt his tip rubbing up against you and bumping into your cervix. He didn’t stop there, forced himself inside and went even further.

“Oh my god…” You cried as he slid his hand down with a grunt, pushing into you as his hand quickly found your sensitive clit. He took his middle finger and slowly pushed down on it, his finger soaked with your juices as he rubbed it like it was a precious diamond he was trying not to ruin.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby. I’m not gonna let you leave this fucking house after I fill this tummy. You’re not gonna lift a finger… I’ll do everything for you, baby. I’ll do anything…” He moaned, voice raspy and thick with arousal, always so sweet and generous to you. He was only pulling out halfway before thrusting back in so he could stay inside of you, his muscles flexing with every thrust into your tight pussy like he was forcing his way in.

You felt your thighs shaking from the way he was rubbing your clit, skilled fingers rubbing the wetness in your slit and making you moan louder than the rain that pounded on the windows. You wanted him to give you his kids so bad, wanted him to come inside of you even worse. You felt hot and surrounded, but comforted by his larger body on top of yours, always shrouded over you like the protector he was.

He groaned into your skin, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he felt his need to cum tighten the coil in his stomach.

You couldn’t stop it, too blinded by the pleasure to notice the liquid that squirted over his thighs and creamed around his cock, your thighs almost numb as your knees shook and your hips fell into the bed like your muscles gave up.

“Ohh, baby…” You whimpered helplessly as you gushed around him, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit as you finally came around him. He furrowed his brows in concentration, his hand leaving your pained clit and giving you some relief as he thrusted into you faster, rhythm faltering as he pictured how big your tits would get during your pregnancy, how he could stuff his face between them and leave purple marks on them.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum… you gonna take it for me like a good girl?” He mumbled into your ear with gritted teeth, ignoring the way your sensitive pussy squeezed around his dick almost painfully, throbbing and sore from his dick repeatedly pounding into it without stopping.

You hummed an mmhmm, sounding needy and weak, completely overstimulated as he kept fucking into you, close to his release the more he heard your sweet whimpers.

“That’s my girl…” He grunted, pushing into you one last time before he burrowed himself deep inside of you, biting your shoulder as he came inside the deepest parts of your pussy with thick ropes of white cum that shot out of his pink tip.

You moaned weakly at the feeling, lips chapped and head ringing as Six waited a beat before pulling out of you with a soft grunt, his limp dick falling out of you easily. You couldn’t move, feeling empty and cold as he picked himself up from you, looking at your gaping hole with cum drizzling out like sweet icing.

He breathed heavily as he laid back down next to you on his back, then reached over for you so you could lay into him. His arm slithered around your waist, eyes running over your glistening skin.

“come’ere.” He uttered with a scratchy voice, helping you turn around as you flipped onto your side, cuddling into his hot skin with a sigh.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, catching your breaths as Six held you into him, staring at the ceiling with a content face, his mind filled with the image of your kids running around, your pregnant belly and your twinkling eyes, your radiant skin and your beautiful smile. He’d knew you’d make the best mother and he couldn’t wait to experience it.

You were thinking of the same as your fingers softly tapped against the hardness of his chest, staring at a scar there with your head rested in his neck.

“You really mean it, Court? You really want kids?” You whispered almost bashfully, not wanting to have all this hope fluttering in your chest just for him to crush them under his trained fists.

Six cracked a small smile, “I think I made that pretty obvious, don’t you?”

You felt the wetness between your thighs as a sticky reminder, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you cuddled closer into him.

“Yeah, that’s true, too.”

#˚ ༘♡.𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙝.˖⁺.#sierra six x reader #sierra six #courtland gentry imagine #courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x fic #Chris Evans

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glitterpeachtree · 8 months

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Found this on Pinterest....

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ken-dom · 1 month

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currently thinking about six (maybe reader and him live together, he still goes on missions though) and maybe they've only slept together a handful of times, and one night the reader's just really in the mood but doesn't know how to ask for it/doesn't wanna be a bother, but since six is trained to pick up on the smallest shifts in someones behavior/energy, he kinda figures it out? just pure dominance i guess 🤯

Anon, I am SO sorry it's taken me forever to get to this ask! I wanted to give it some thought because it sounded so delicious, and I'm not sure why but tonight I just felt in a Sixy mood and a little imagine spilled out. I hope you enjoy it!

Sense

∘₊✧ Sierra Six x gn!reader drabble ∘₊✧ 300+ words

∘₊✧ NSFW, kissing, teasing, very soft dom Six vibes, suggestive but not explicit

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

One moment, you're sitting on the sofa watching a movie tucked safe beneath Six's arm wondering if that’s his eyes you can feel on you, the next he's flipped you onto your back, the weight of his body on yours both comforting and exciting.

'Yeah?' he asks simply, raising an eyebrow, his eyes gazing into yours expectantly.

'Yeah!- I mean... yeah, but, how did you- you- hmmnn....'

Six simply chuckles at your eager questioning, which quickly declines into a low whine as he leans down and places a gentle kiss to your throat, feeling you squirm beneath him as your fingertips drive hard into his shoulders.

'Because,' he slurs, hot and wet against your skin, 'I could sense it.'

He rolls his hips, his heavy, hard cock dragging deliciously over your aching core through far too many layers of fabric.

You moan, loud, and he huffs out another satisfied laugh.

'You could sense it?' you manage, voice and breath shaky.

'Is there nothing that will keep you quiet for even a minute?' he shakes his head, smiling to himself as he pulls up to press his lips to yours instead.

His hair falls over down over his face and it makes him even sexier somehow. He catches you checking him out and averts his gaze, bashful at how much you desire him, focussing back on answering your burning questions.

'And yeah, I can sense it. I'm trained to pick up on the slightest shift in a room, mood included. My best guess is that you're feeling horny, and, no offence, baby, but you're hardly subtle with that at the best of times.'

You slap at his shoulder playfully, scrunching your face up in mock annoyance.

'So, I can almost always tell when you want me even when you have no idea how to ask. But what I can't do is read your mind. So...' Six's voice turns husky and he licks his lips as his eyes rake over your clothed form. 'Where do you want me to start?'

#not s f w 💀#sierra six x reader #sierra six imagines #sierra six smut #sierra six #the gray man #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling smut #sierra six fic #ken-dom answers

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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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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Safe With Me

Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.

Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.

A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.

When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.

Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.

It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.

Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.

“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.

In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.

Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.

"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.

He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.

“You alright?” He asks.

You're not, but you nod anyway.

“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.

You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.

“Yes.”

“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.

You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.

“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”

You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.

At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.

“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.

"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.

“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.

“Where is she? Did they-” you start.

Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.

He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.

“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.

You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.

As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.

You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.

“Hen.”

You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.

“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.

“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”

You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.

“Just the face.”

“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.

When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.

You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.

“You a doctor now?” You ask.

“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.

He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.

“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”

“What about you?” You question.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.

“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.

He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.

Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.

“Let me help you.”

“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.

“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.

You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.

Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.

A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.

You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.

“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.

“Not half bad, doc.”

You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.

“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.

There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.

You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.

“Six…”

He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.

“You should go check on Claire,” he says.

“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.

He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.

"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."

He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.

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