#courtland gentry smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingdumpster · 2 years

Text

apology

pairing: Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, p in v, fem receiving oral, cream pie, squirting, showering; canon level violence, kidnapping, electrocution, minor blood, guns.

word count: 3,000

summary: You are kidnapped by Lloyd. After Six saves you, the two of you have comfort sex in the safe house you go to. no spoilers.

masterlist

Six had never been in this position before. He was currently tied to a chair in an abandoned factory while being tortured. He wouldn’t have said he was scared, it wasn’t an emotion he really felt anymore, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of his predicament just yet. Lloyd reached for the jumper cables again. Six tensed up, preparing for the next round of questioning. Lloyd leaned down in front of Six so he was level with Six.

“Where is Fitzroy?” Lloyd asked, looking Six dead in the eye.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know,” Six said through gritted teeth.

“Wrong answer,” Lloyd replied. He jabbed Six in the stomach with the cables. Six jolted violently as the electricity ran through his body. Lloyd pulled the cables away and Six coughed loudly.

“Unless you want me to lie, torturing me isn’t going to change my answer,” Six spit out.

“No? Well, it’s a good thing I brought someone else,” Lloyd said smugly. He gave a nod to one of his men and suddenly you were being pushed through the doors at the end of the room. You had a cut on your forehead and duct tape over your mouth. The men sat you down on a chair and tied you to it. Six could hear your muffled shouts as you met his eye. He pulled against his restraints trying to reach out to you.

“Let her go!” Six bellowed.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Lloyd taunted. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he started. “If you don’t give me an answer I like then I’m gonna give Princess Six a little jolt with the cables.”

“I don’t know where he is!” Six shouted.

“That’s not what we were looking for,” Lloyd said. He approached you.

“No! No! Stop!” Six shouted. Lloyd paused.

“Why? Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asked. Six looked down at his feet and then up at you. You shook your head at him, trying to keep him from giving in.

“I can call him,” Six said. “I don’t know where he is, but I can call him.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?“ Lloyd grinned devilishly. “Get me a phone,” he said to one of the armed men.

“Untie her first,” Six demanded.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Lloyd said. “And if you don’t tell me the number then I’m sure we can work out a punishment for your little girlfriend.”

“She’s my wife,” Six snapped back.

“A nonexistent man with no name and he has a wife. That’s a new one,” Lloyd joked. One of Lloyd’s guards walked in with a phone. “The number?” Lloyd asked, looking at Six. Six relayed the phone number to Lloyd. Lloyd flashed you a flirtatious grin and then put the phone to his ear as he headed out of the room. You were left in the room with Six and one guard. You met Six’s eyes.

“Duck on three,” he mouthed to you. You nodded. You watched as Six quietly mouthed out the count and then you threw yourself to the ground. Six ripped the ties around his wrists with a knife he had concealed and then stood and threw it over where you were lying on the floor to hit the guard in the neck. The guard pulled the knife out, took two steps forward and then fell to the floor, quietly bleeding out. Six raced across the room to you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Six muttered in a hushed tone. He lifted you from your position on the ground. “We’re gonna get out of here.” He carefully pulled the tape off of your mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Is Fitz going to be okay?” You asked, ignoring his question. Six reached up and gently ran his thumb over the cut on your forehead.

“Are you okay?” He repeated. You nodded.

“I’m okay,” you said.

“Good.” Six let out a relieved sigh.

“What about Fitz?” You asked again.

“He’ll be fine, honey. Right now we just need to get out of here,” he said. He undid the ties around your wrists and you threw your arms around his neck at once. Six raised his hand and gently stroked your hair. You let out a sob that was muffled by Six’s shoulder. “We’re okay.” He soothed you for as long as he could allow, stroking your back softly and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. He pulled away and kissed your forehead.

“Stay here.” Six was gone for only a moment before coming back with a gun. He approached you again.

“Okay, I want you to close your eyes. You’re going to hold onto my shoulder and follow me while we leave,” he said.

“Shouldn’t I have my eyes open? Won’t it be safer?” You questioned.

“No, baby. I don’t want you to see any of this,” he told you.

“Court, it’s okay,” you said. His lips just barely twitched upwards at the sound of his name on your lips. You were the only one who called him by his name anymore. You were the only one besides Fitz who even knew it.

“It’s not. Keep your eyes closed, okay? Promise?” He requested. You nodded.

“Promise,” you agreed. Six headed for the door. He looked back at you.

“Eyes closed, sweetheart. It’s all going to be okay,” he assured you. You gripped the fabric of his shirt over his left shoulder and then shut your eyes tightly.

For the next six minutes you were silent as you listened to gunshots and yelling around you. Your hand held tight to Six’s shoulder until you felt him reach behind himself and give your other hand a squeeze.

“You can open your eyes now,” he said. You opened your eyes and found you were in front of a car. Six pulled open the door. “Get in,” he told you. You ducked into the passenger seat and he closed the door behind you before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Six took off the moment your seat belt was buckled. After he had gotten onto the freeway he reached over and took your hand in his.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked.

“They knocked me out when they kidnapped me, but that’s all,” you said. Six glanced over at you and noticed a bruise forming over your eye beneath the cut on your forehead.

“We should get ice on that,” he said. “I’ll find us a place to stop,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “You don’t need to stop just for a bruise.” Six grimaced. “What?” You asked, noticing his expression.

“I just don’t want you to get used to this,” he said. “I want you safe.”

“I am safe,” you said. “I’m with you.” You gave his hand a squeeze. “Where are we going?”

“Safe house,” he said. “London. We’ll drive to Paris and then take the train,” he explained. You nodded.

By the end of the day you were in a small flat in East London. Court checked all the exits and ensured they were all locked before he retired to the bedroom. You had already gotten in the shower. He climbed in with you, taking the shampoo bottle from your hand as you picked it up. He squeezed some into his hand before gently rubbing it into your hair. You hummed in appreciation.

“Are you okay?” You asked after rinsing the shampoo from your hair and turning to face him. He nodded solemnly.

“I’m with you, darling. I’m always okay when I’m with you.” You nodded and reached up to shampoo his hair for him, standing on your tippy toes to reach the top of his head. He smiled down at you softly. His hands found your hips and he began rubbing slow circles on your bare skin with his thumbs. You looked down at his hands, but something else caught your eye. You looked up at Court with a smirk on your face.

“Something turning you on?” You teased.

“You,” he said with a small smile. He leaned down to kiss you but you spoke before he could.

“On the bed,” you said. Court nodded. He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and turned off the water. He grabbed your hips and pulled you off the ground making you gasp. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down on the sheets gently before climbing over the top of you. He put a hand on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. You reached up and ran your fingers over the stubble on his jaw. Court leaned down and kissed you. His kiss was needy and desperate. He was often like this when he got back from missions. It was like the physical connection reminded him that he was human, and not just the killing machine the CIA had intended him to be. He moved his lips to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses against the tender skin there.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your neck.

“Don’t be sorry,” you replied, running your fingers through his wet hair.

“I want to be,” Court said. “Let me apologize to you.” He slid down your body, nudging your knees apart as he did. You leaned back against the pillows as he began leaving kisses down your stomach and thighs. He settled onto his stomach in front of you and looped his arms around your legs, pulling your thighs apart. He didn’t waste any time, leaning down at once to lick a stripe up your slit.

“So wet,” he murmured.

“I did just get out of the shower,” you joked.

“Not what I meant, princess,” he said before leaning back down. Court circled his tongue around your clit slowly. You let out a small hum of pleasure, but he wanted more. He was a quiet man, but he loved when you got loud for him. He dove his tongue into your waiting hole earning a sharp gasp from you.

“Oh, Court,” you moaned softly. He reached up and ran his fingertips along your folds at the sound of his name. You only used it when the two of you were alone. You’d known him for three months before he had told you his real name, so it felt sacred to use it. Court moved his lips back to your clit, sucking harshly as he slid a finger into you. You let out a breathy moan as he began slowly thrusting in and out of you. He hit the spot inside you that always had you screaming for him and you moaned loudly, closing your thighs around his head. He leaned back slightly so he could speak.

“Keep ‘em open for me, honey,” Court instructed you. You whimpered but grabbed hold of your knees, prying your legs back open. “Good girl,” he praised before leaning back down. He slid a second finger inside you this time, curling them upwards to press against the soft part of your walls. You let out a long high pitched moan. Court groaned at the sounds you were making and began grinding himself slowly against the mattress, seeking any relief. He built a steady rhythm with his thrusts and he began sucking more harshly. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers and he knew you were close.

“Faster,” you moaned. He complied at once, always wanting to give you your every need. He curled his fingers up once more before you were falling apart around him, moaning loudly enough that if the walls weren’t sound proofed, the whole building would have heard.

“Good girl,” he said as he leaned away. He stuck his fingers in his mouth after pulling them out of you. “Taste so good, baby.” You blushed and covered your face in embarrassment. He grabbed your hands and pulled them away from your face. “Don’t do that, you know I like looking at you,” he reminded you.

“Come up here,” you called down to him. He gave you a soft smile before climbing back over you. You spread your legs wide to make room for his body. You reached down and grabbed his cock causing him to groan. You slid his tip along your soaked lips a few times before he pushed into you.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. You gasped roughly at the feeling of him inside you. He was a big man, in more than one way and you never seemed to get used to the way he would stretch you out.

“Good?” He asked quietly. You nodded.

“Go ahead.” Court started to move slowly, his thrusts slow and deep, letting you adjust to his length. He let his head drop into the crook of your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered against your skin. “I could die in this pussy.”

“Don’t though,” you joked. He chuckled lightly. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging so that he had to lift his head. He met your eye and you leaned up to kiss him, sliding your tongue into his mouth and tasting the remnants of the watermelon flavored gum he had been chewing earlier. His thrusts were still torturously slow.

He liked to have you like this every now and then. Slow and sweet and loving. You whined when he lifted one of your legs so he could get just a bit deeper.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Court,” you moaned up to him. He moved his hips a bit faster when he heard your words. “Ah! Yes! Like that!” You moaned when you felt the new speed. He reached down and rubbed back and forth quickly over your swollen clit. Before you could register what was happening you were coming again, screaming out expletives as you pulsed around his cock. He pulled his hand away after he’d pushed you through your orgasm. He was still inside you, but he wasn’t moving.

“Can I give you another, baby? I want to give you another,” Court said. You nodded, completely cockdumb by that point.

“Only one more though,” you said. He nodded and kissed your lips lightly. He began thrusting again, faster this time. Your moans were louder now, still sensitive from your first two orgasms. You dug your nails into his shoulder blades leaving red scratch marks behind. Court leaned back and lifted both your legs so that they were in the air, resting against his shoulders. He kept one hand on your calf and the other steadying your hip. You moaned pornographically. “I’m close.” Court pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of your calf.

“Me too, baby. Hold on just a little longer,” he said.

“Harder, Court,” you cried out. He smirked but followed your instructions, thrusting into you more harshly. You were contracting around his cock as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

“Fuck, baby. You’re pulling me in,” Court groaned.

“Come inside me, Court. I want it,” you whined.

“I’ll give it all to you, princess. Give you all my love,” he moaned back. He leaned down so your legs were pushed above your head. You cried out in pleasure and came around him.

“Woah,” Court murmured. You were too lost in the pleasure to ask what he meant, but he thrust into you faster because of whatever he saw and after a few more strokes you felt his warm cum filling you up. He groaned softly as he pushed himself all the way inside you to make sure he pushed his cum in nice and deep. Your legs fell away from his shoulders so they rested against the mattress. Court made a few more lazy strokes, but you put a hand against his chest.

“Too sensitive,” you whimpered.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t handle another apology,” you said. Court chuckled and kissed your nose.

“You gotta get up so I can change the sheets,” Court said, rolling off of you. You whined disapprovingly and tried to grab onto his arm.

“Can’t we do it in the morning,” you complained. He looked down at you like you were missing something obvious. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Baby, you squirted,” he said. You looked down. between your legs and saw the large wet spot on the sheets.

“Oh,” you said. Your cheeks heated with embarrassment. Court chuckled.

“Don’t be embarrassed, it was really hot,” he said. He tugged on your arm. “C’mon, you can get in the shower again while I change the sheets. I think we need another one.” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Has to be a bath, Court. I don’t think I can stand for that long,” you said. Sure enough when you stood to get off the bed your legs buckled underneath you. Court grabbed you so that you wouldn’t fall. He chuckled lightly.

“Arms around my neck,” he told you. You wrapped your arms around him and he placed one hand beneath your back as he lifted you beneath the knees to carry you into the bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the tub and started the water. “I’ll be right back, honey,” he said. He started to head out the door.

“Wait!” You called after him. Court turned back to look at you. “Can I have a kiss?” You asked sweetly. He grinned, something you only got him to do on the rarest of occasions, and stepped back towards you. He took your face in his hands and tipped your head up as he pushed his lips against yours. You hummed in the kiss, completely content, the rest of the day now long forgotten.

“Love you,” you murmured against Court’s lips. He smiled as he pulled away.

“Love you too, baby,” he said. You were the only person he ever said it to anymore and he didn’t want it any other way. You were all he needed, and you felt the same.

#courtland gentry x reader #court gentry x reader #sierra six x reader #six x reader #the gray man x reader #court gentry smut #courtland gentry smut #sierra six smut

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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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bisexual-magnus-bane · 10 months

Text

Sierra Six x Reader *smut*

“Are we ready to begin?”

His voice, deep and strong, reverberated off the walls and echoed into my mind. My legs shook from my nerves, anxiety through the roof at this point. He was dressed in a simple black shirt with a relaxed fit grey suit jacket and grey dress pants. A downright daddy, perfect for the part I guess.

I softly nod my head yes. This is an awkward situation I’ve gotten myself into and now I don’t even know how the hell to get out of here. He raises his eyebrow at me like I’m supposed to guess what’s up. “Words, use your words.”

Fuck. Fuck. “Yes I’m ready to begin.” My voice is quiet and I’m scared you can hear the tremble in it. He doesn’t seem to pick up on it, which I’m thankful for. “Why don’t we start off with something simple, I would like you to sit on this pillow beside me. Then you’re going to pass me the remote for the TV okay.”

At first I am shook, what the hell! Am I a slave? I don’t know but I also sort of enjoy it. I slink over as sensually as I can and plop down on my knees. “Being a sub, means always thinking about what could benefit or make your dom happy.” He speaks these words to me calmly, like this is an everyday sort of conversation. I feel my face on fire as I hand him then remote, my ears burn and I’ve never been happier to not be able to see myself. Thinking back to his words I proportion myself so that when he looks down at me he’ll get a great view of my tits. He gently grabs my chin all of a sudden causing a short breathy moan to fall from my lips.

“Perfect. See you’re a natural, you just need a little help getting there.” He is pulling my head into his lap, I try my hardest not to get as close to his cock as I want to. This meeting isn’t supposed to have any sexual contact in it, however I find myself craving it. I want to make him feel as good as he wants, I want him to order me around. His dick is pressed against the fly of his dress pants, I will not touch it unless I’m told to though. A sudden groan drags me out of my daze, causing me to realize I’ve been heart-eyeing his crotch the whole time. “Mmm baby girl you’re staring at my cock like it’s candy. I know we’re not supposed to be doing sexual contact until a few more meeting but would you like to have your first fully controlled blowjob?”

My small gasp is all the confirmation he needs however he waits until words seal the deal. “Oh god, yes Sir I would love to!” Ugh I’m desperate, but I can’t help it. My hands shake with nerves and fear of fucking up as he sets my head in his lap and goes to work with his pants.

It’s beautiful, red and raw. Just waiting to be loved by someone other than his hand. He takes hold of my head by using my hair, I moan with need for him at this. He pulls me to his cock and his warmth fills my mouth, as quick as it went in it was gone. Closing my eyes I let myself fall into the feeling of being degraded. He was rubbing his cock around on my face, tapping my cheeks and forehead with his thickness. To make it even more disgustingly hot, his cock had a sheen of my drool on it, smearing my face. “Why don’t you take off your shirt and bra?” I sighed at the loss of contact but did as I was told. He tells me he loves my perky breasts as he shovelled his manhood back into my mouth. Praises fell from his lips as I ate him, he told me that I was a good sub, a good girl, we were going to have so much fun together. I didn’t even pay attention to my own wetness, just focused on sucking, licking and rubbing his dick all up. He let me get messy and I let him tell me to. I had spit dripping down my chin, saliva and pre cum smeared on my cheeks and here I was rubbing his dick in between and all over my tits. They were completely soaked and oiled up from my spit and pre cum. He called me his good dirty whore while I did this and I mewled. He ended finally by calling me daddy’s filthy little girl and came right on my tongue. I swallowed some and then let the rest drip down onto, what are now, daddy’s breasts. He grabbed me by the hair and had me rest my head face to face with his soft red cock and we watched TV. I honestly wasn’t paying attention, I was thinking about how hopefully next time my daddy would pound my little pussy and make it his.

#pinterest #pinterest aesthetics #fandom #fanfic #sierra six #courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #sierra six x reader #Sierra six x reader smut #sierra six smut #the gray man #chris evans #ryan gosling #courtland gentry x reader smut #sierra six x you #sierra six x y/n #smut #pure filth

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someplace-darker · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 1: Floor Sex | Sierra Six x Reader

Pairing: Sierra Six x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+, PWP, floor sex, no protection (wrap it!!!), blood, canon typical violence, reader is afab but no pronouns are used, maybe slight choking?

Summary: After being attacked you and Six find yourselves alone in a safehouse together that has a surprising lack of furniture

A/N: I haven't written in months and i have worked nonstop lately so this is late and a bit rushed! but i hope you like it there is a serious lack of Six fics out here

You’ve never seen shit hit the fan so fast in your entire life, which is saying a lot considering the long track record of carnage you’ve seen in your time on this planet. Quite honestly you think you blacked out during most of it, only catching bits and pieces of what was happening along with the bits and pieces of bad men being splattered across your face.

It was going to take weeks to get the smell of blood out of your nose, and even longer for the taste.

You glance to where Six now sits in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall to get a better view out of the window, and you want to push the stray blood crusted hair out of his face. “Does Fitz at least know where we are?” you question, pulling your legs to your chest as if to make yourself smaller to create more room for a conversation. Six wasn’t a very talkative person, you knew this from the months you had spent together. But fuck if you didn’t want to make him speak, make him say something to break the silence that had gone on since the moment he grabbed your hand and tugged you away from the crime. It’s wishful thinking.

“No.”

He seems perfectly collected, body relaxed with his legs stretched out on the carpeted floor, eyes attentively flicking back and forth between the laptop camera feed and the window. The only thing slightly out of place was the brief flicker of his jaw tensing, twice in succession. Six was raised and trained to compartmentalize any overwhelming feeling that he may feel, but the months you’ve spent with him and the time you’ve taken to analyze every movement he makes tells you that despite his demeanor, he’s livid.

You don’t particularly feel like poking the bear, but you’re scared and covered in blood that (mostly) isn’t yours, so you think you have the right to be curious. Unstretching your legs, you push up and onto your knees so you can hobble closer to him, waddling to his corner of the room so you can sit to his left. “Okay. Does that mean he won’t know it at all?”

“Maybe.”

He’s fucking exasperating.

The tension in the room builds with each second that passes, your annoyance and his silence combining into a thick, unswallowable cocktail. You sit like that for the next several minutes, occasionally glancing at him as the sun outside the window sets behind the mountains and the moonlight falls over the walls that surround you. Surprisingly it’s Six who reaches out first, palm finding its place on your thigh, the blood in your cheeks burning hotter when his fingers flex.

“I know you want answers, and the truth is that I don’t know them yet,” he speaks, voice low and focused. It takes a few structured breaths before you can look at him, lifting your head to level with his stare. There’s always been something between the two of you, something unspoken and untouched left to collect dust beneath the surface of whatever facade you had put up. But now that he’s looking at you with a heaviness you haven’t seen from him before, you know it’s different.

“It’s okay,” you manage to murmur, breath catching when his eyes flit to your mouth and his fingertips press harder into your leg. The leftover adrenaline from the night's events pushes through your veins with a renewed vigor, moving you forward until your mouth meets his, a sharp inhale coming from both of you.

Part of you wonders if this is how Six’s targets feel. He’s all consuming, plucking every single coherent thought from your head until it’s all him. How his mouth moves against your lips, his hand grips the back of your neck, how he guides you back until your shoulders hit the carpet. There’s a push and pull that has you grinning against the chase of his lips, and you know he can feel it.

No words are spoken as clothes are shed, frantic hands tugging at blood-soaked cloth before his hand slides under your back so you arch, giving his fingers room to undo your bra. You should be put off by the amount of red stains resting on your skin but nothing else seems to matter when Six’s focus turns to the button on his pants as you shimmy your shorts off.

The dim lighting in the room doesn’t give you the satisfaction of being able to look at him properly, the most of what you can make out is the outline of him as he leans back to toss his jeans, fingers reaching out to skim along the scars that indent his skin. Six seems to freeze at this, struggling to decide between what you assume to be fight or flight. After a moment he grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the skin of your palm, his free hand tugging your body closer to him and readjusting your legs to wrap around his hips.

You can feel his cock against the inside of your thigh, moaning softly when he grabs himself in his hand and repositions to press against your entrance. “Hey,” Six grunts, the control being held in his strained jaw “I need to know that you want this. That you want me.” Shimmying your hips closer, you hum with thinly veiled satisfaction when Six groans, hand planting itself beside your head. “I want this,” you assure, shifting once more “I need you.”

That’s enough confirmation, and he takes no time pressing into your cunt, something akin to a whimper escaping your lips. You had known that he had to be big, just with the way he carries himself, but fuck this is much better than anything you could’ve prepared yourself for.

Your legs tighten around him as he thrusts into you a few times, gritting his teeth when you clench around him. “Fuck, honey,” Six grunts, leaning down to catch your lips once more. It’s less pretty this time, more knocking of noses and biting of lips, he inhales your gasps as he rocks into you faster, your back scratching against the carpeted floor and it’s so much.

“You make it so fucking hard to stay away from you,” he speaks breathlessly, huffing out a laugh when you cry out his name and dig your nails into his shoulder blades. “Years of training to be indifferent just for you to smile at me and not blink an eye when I have to do my job- jesus christ you’re taking me so well,” you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, words blinking out of your vocabulary as his cock presses to the most delicious part of you.

Six rolls your nipple between his fingers before dragging them down the middle of your stomach, finally reaching where you need him most when his thumb presses down onto your clit. Pinpricks line your skin, legs trembling “Six, please, please.”

“C’mon honey, let me see it, want you to feel good,” he groans, leaning back to look at your face when you finally come, gasping as he fucks you through it. All of it is overwhelming, the wave of chills that wrack your body seemingly the closest you’ll ever get to tasting paradise. You can tell that he’s close when his hand presses to your throat and his head drops, fucking into you faster than before but with less rhythm.

“Inside,” you manage to speak, though your voice is hoarse. Six looks at you, searching for some hint of hesitation on your face but finds none. He follows soon after, laying his weight on top of you as he comes with a strangled moan. You lay like that for what seems like years, collecting your scrambled thoughts and running your nails up and down his back.

“Hey Six?” you say, smiling when his chest rumbles against your own.

“Yeah?”

“We should probably shower.”

He pulls back to glance between your bodies, sweat covered and bruised with some hints of blood “duly noted.”

#kinktober #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #courtland gentry x reader #the gray man six #the gray man #the gray man fic #Six x reader #sierra six smut #the gray man smut #lloyd hansen #Sierra six #courtland gentry #my writing #no y/n

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holy-minseok · 2 years

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Me doing my daily rounds of praising writers for dropping my jaw with their fics <3

make sure y’all like, reblog, and comment on writers posts. Don’t be afraid to share your thoughts and praise because we gotta keep the backbone of our fandoms running !! ✊🏾

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slutforsilverfoxes · 2 years

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OH MY GOD can you please write sierra six smut i will literally pay you

Here at the house of slutforsilverfoxes, your pleasure is our payment 🫡

A/N: I am so sorry this took 84 years to write but I hope it lives up to expectations. I rewatched the movie for the third (!) time last night and this man makes me absolutely feral. I hope y'all enjoy 🥰

Tags: @buckysboobs

___

You strolled rather leisurely down the streets of Prague, admiring the orange hues painting the sky from the setting sun, the slight spice of smoke and cannabis pervading your senses and reminding you of home. Or rather, what you once considered home. Did people in your field really have a place they called home?

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you deftly hopped over the wrought iron fence of your target's overly expensive mansion, making quick work of the hedge maze you had memorized the night before courtesy of aerial recon. You watched from the shadows at the entrance to the maze as, like clockwork, the evening protective detail swooped in to replace the day team. You had told Denny you'd take this op under one condition: the target's wife and child had to be out of the country. Less guards, less collateral. You may have given up your life and body to the CIA, but you would cling to your own perverse sense of morality until your dying breath.

Even if you were still tying up loose ends from the shitstorm Denny and Suzanne had let wreak havoc across Europe over a year ago.

Approaching the measly crew guarding the maze under the cloak of falling night, you slipped your trusty weapon from its holster, screwed on the silencer, and fired two shots within the span of mere seconds, the sound of thudding bodies overlapping as the guards dropped lifelessly to the pristinely trimmed grass. Confident that the coast was clear and the rest of the protective detail were at their stations inside the mansion, you glided across the expansive yard, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the cursive letter mowed into the lawn. You would never grow used to the hubris of men like this target, who wanted to remain quiet oligarchs but lived in the biggest houses with the most ostentatious gardens and obnoxious (read: ugly) artwork and enough money to brand their grass with the first letter of their last names.

Perhaps you were bitter, or perhaps they were compensating. Creeping along the exterior of the house, you decided both scenarios were equally likely.

A curse fell from your lips as the lights went out, cloaking you in complete darkness. Snagging the windowsill above you, you pulled yourself up to see that the interior lights were out as well, save for a measly glow in the nearby hallway presumably powered by a generator. You could hear shouting in the distance, your target’s security detail assessing the impending threat and gathering to protect the man who signed their paychecks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end alerting you to a presence at your six. Either this person was shit at their job or they were a friendly. Letting your body drop to the ground as you whipped around, you hissed out, "Who are you?," gun trained on the spot dead center between a pair of striking eyes that, had you not been working an op, would’ve stolen the very breath from your lungs.

"That’s a loaded question. Who are any of us real-"

The man merely blinked as a bullet whizzed by his ear. Glancing at the chunk of wall gouged out inches from his face and then back at you, the ghost of a smirk flitted past his features. "So I should change our relationship status to It’s Complicated I take it."

"It’s only fair for me to inform you that I don’t give second chances. Who are you?"

"Consider me the cavalry. I support you on this op, you get the collar, take the credit, we never see each other again. Job well done by all parties considered."

You cocked your head to one side, your gun mimicking the angle. "You’re Sierra." It was a statement, not a question.

"Once upon a time," he conceded nonchalantly. Realization dawned on you and your eyes flashed with recognition. Sierra Six. The silent assassin. The Gray Man. Every agent had heard whispers of his infamy despite the fact that the Sierra program, let alone the man standing before you in the flesh, simply did not exist.

"They let you back in this city after the international stunt you pulled last time?" you asked wryly, one eyebrow raised.

"You think they know I’m here? You wound me." He had an easy way about him that was equal parts unsettling, given your shared line of work and his supposed nonexistence, and incredibly attractive. "So now that we've been acquainted-"

"Hardly," you interjected with a slight smirk of your own.

"-what's your plan to breach, Agent Y/L/N?"

"You’ve done your homework," you nodded appreciatively, your playful banter coming to a dead halt as his words soberly reminded you of the task at hand: assassinate the target, collect the drive, and eliminate anyone standing in the way of priorities one and two.

You explained the layout of the mansion to him, detailing the number of entries and exits, hidden corridors, and possible ambush sites. Deciding that you would begin in the east wing and gradually make your way across the mansion, Six eased his magazine into his semi-automatic with a satisfying click as you slid your knife out to play.

The two of you approached the nearest entryway, your back to his as he expertly picked the lock. The door swung open with a soft creak and you tapped his shoulder twice to signal you were ready to breach. "I’ve got your six," you muttered, trying and failing to hide your cheeky tone.

He threw a look over his shoulder and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face at his silent confirmation of your earlier deduction before you followed him down the hall, light on your feet.

You moved in a silent dance, perfectly choreographed without having to so much as make eye contact, his movements sharp, yours fluid, his bullets flying, your knife singing. It was complementary and harmonious and downright beautiful how your bodies morphed into a single killing machine. Within minutes, you had reached the opposite end of the villa and effectively incapacitated the entire peripheral security detail. Crossing back into the heart of the building, you flanked the large wooden doors leading to the massive study, your target’s home headquarters and his current hiding spot from the mayhem.

Swiping the flat of your blade across your thigh to remove the evidence of your previous triumphs, you smiled at your impromptu partner. "Ready for round two?"

He shot you a wink in response. "Let’s get loud."

The doors simultaneously flew open with a bang as your feet made contact with the heavy oak. A series of shouts, muzzle flashes, and expertly placed cuts later, your first task was complete.

Nonchalantly stepping over the bodies littering the floor, you asked, "So what inspired you to leave the glorious Cunt Incapacitators Anonymous?" You snapped a picture of your recently departed target for your employers’ confirmation, thumbs flying across the screen to encrypt the image.

Six quirked an eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth imperceptibly matching its angle in amusement. "You’ve gotta workshop that one, kid."

"You understood what I meant so it’s not that bad," you rolled your eyes. "And don’t dodge the question."

"Palm trees," he answered simply, rifling through paperwork scattered across the desk before you.

You huffed in annoyance at his measured response. "Seriously? Clearly you haven’t retired."

"What is this, Y/L/N, twenty questions?" The rebuke was enough to have your mouth sheepishly snapping shut. "I’ll check his body while you scan the furniture."

"Hey," you grabbed his wrist as he reached for the breast pocket of the target’s suit, the juxtaposition of the rough fabric of his glove and his surprisingly soft skin sending a jolt of electricity through your body, "don’t forget this is my op. You’re the self-proclaimed cavalry."

He stepped away from the body with his arms out in front of him, "We’ll switch then, Your Highness."

You offered a satisfied nod before beginning your thorough search, unfurling pockets, checking for custom made hiding spots, patting down to feel for items tucked away from plain sight and prying eyes.

"Unremarkable on my end," you called out. "Got a fancy pen that’s probably worth more than I have in savings, some mints, and a family picture," you dumped the items on the desk in front of you as you listed them.

"Didn’t peg him for the sentimental type," Six shrugged, popping up from his evidently uneventful search of the drawers. "No false bottoms here, either. Where next, my liege?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," your eyes rolled on instinct to join your biting comeback, missing the way his jaw ticked in response to your bratty display. Following the deceased’s line of sight to a painting on the wall opposite his desk, a catlike grin spread across your face as you stalked towards the art. "Only one painting in this big ass room? Rookie mistake." You turned back to Six and dramatically swiped at the frame behind you. "Is there a safe? There’s a safe, isn’t there?"

The sliver of moonlight streaming through the window offered you a glimpse of what you presumed to be a visage of respect.

"Don’t be too impressed, I do have three years of this under my belt," you teased, attaching a device to the electronic lock that offered hassle free entry.

"Three years? You’re like, twelve."

"I know you’ve read my dossier," you retorted as you triumphantly pulled the drive from the safe and placed it in a special containment setup with a faraday cage, "and I know you know I’m twenty-five."

"That’s quite the talent, managing to make me feel old in a mere four syllables."

You turned to answer him and felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked up to find his sharp gaze trained on you. With the small bit of light the moon was offering, you could see now that he had several fresh cuts and scrapes dotting his cheeks and chin, a deeper gash on his forehead. Had he come straight from another op to help you? Swoon. Physically shaking your head to keep that train of thought at the station, you let the playful lilt return to your voice, coming off much more grounded than you felt at present. "Well it’s nice to see you can still move, old timer."

You both turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows of your target’s study at the sound of approaching sirens interrupting your banter, faint blue lights dancing across the floor. "I’m guessing getting arrested by the Czech police isn’t covered in your exfil, Y/L/N."

"How astute of you, Six," you snorted, moving to the adjacent bookcase and running your fingers along its shelving for a hidden latch. "Come to think of it, should I still call you that?"

"You get us out of here without the Hansen special of blowing up half the city, you can call me anything you like."

Smiling triumphantly, you tugged on the bookcase and revealed a hidden hallway. "Anything?"

Your eyes widened as a glint of metal whistled past your face into the dark hallway behind you, just shy of the apple of your cheek. Turning, you found your knife- when had he taken it from the strap on your thigh?- embedded in the forehead of the last guard standing whose hands were still raised in a width that you suspected matched that of your neck. "Nearly gave me a haircut there," you joked, bending down to wrench your blade out before returning it to its rightful sheath on your dominant leg.

"Nah," he gently tugged at a strand framing your face, "it’s nice at this length."

A faint blush dusted your cheeks at the unexpected compliment and you were suddenly very grateful that Six had cut the power earlier.

You cleared your throat and stepped into the cramped tunnel, "So revisiting this whole ‘Anything’ concept before we were so rudely interrupted…"

He shrugged easily in response, following you into the dark space before swinging the fake door closed behind you, the inky black darkness swallowing you both immediately and blocking out the heavy footfalls infiltrating the mansion. "What can I say," his smooth voice oozed over your skin like warm honey, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine, "I like a bit of adventure in my life. Don’t you?"

"Six," his pseudonym tumbled from your lips in a whisper. You couldn’t see a thing in the pitch black tunnel, but your every sense was heightened to his presence. His smell. His stature. The power radiating off of him that had the air positively crackling with charged energy, a current flowing between your bodies just daring one of you to act on it.

So you did.

Down there in the dark, the full force of the Czech police mere feet away from you cordoning off the crime scene, you kissed the Sierra Six like you were drowning in an endless ocean and he was beckoning you up to the surface, up to the light. Your hands snaked their way into his blonde locks as his fingers pressed into your hips, backing you up, deftly stepping over the guard’s limbs until you crashed against the crude tunnel wall, his mouth greedily swallowing down your moans.

Feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen and his heady kiss, you reluctantly pulled back to suck some air into your lungs. His forehead pressed against yours, warm breath fanning over your face, arms protectively locked around you. "Can we- Should we- ugh," you groaned softly at your own hesitation. Your body count was more along the lines of murder than sex, and a sudden bout of nerves trapped the words in your mouth until you felt gentle pressure against your hips, spurring you on. "Can we spend the night somewhere, pretend to be normal people for once?"

"Like we didn’t just commit multiple counts of homicide?"

You merely grunted in response, taking his remark to be a rebuff of your offer.

"Hey," he laughed softly, gently removing your dominant hand from his hair and shaking it in his own. "I’m Court." His voice had a harshness to it as he said his name- his real name- aloud for quite possibly the first time in years.

You pressed your lips back against his, your mouths curving upward in twin smiles. Barely pulling away from him, you offered in kind, "Y/N."

———

You leaned leisurely against the doorway of the small hotel bathroom, arms crossed as you drank in the sight of Six-no, Court- shirtless, scrubbing the blood of the day from his palms and underneath his fingernails. You could think of no better word to describe him than beautiful, his blonde locks catching the light just so, his big, broad, purely masculine shoulders tensed with the weight of the day, the muscles in his arms rippling with the repetitive movements, the artwork adorning his upper body, the light smattering of hair along his abs that teased you with the promise of more beauty to unearth just below. He was a brute, an expert killing machine, a wall of pure muscle, yet goosebumps erupted over your skin at the memory of his gentle hands caressing your curves in the darkness during your hidden tryst.

His gaze met yours through the mirror and heat bloomed across your cheeks knowing that you had been caught blatantly ogling his body. But then his eyes scanned from head to toe and back again, systematically assessing your figure, clad in only shorts and a sports bra after your post-mission shower, in the dim hotel light. His lips, still a shade darker than their normal tint from your earlier assault, quirked upwards in a smile- you were even now.

You watched as he plucked his previously discarded shirt from the countertop and ran it under the faucet before wringing it out and bringing it to his face to address his most recent wounds. Pushing yourself off the doorframe, you ran your fingers along the mottled pink flesh on his shoulder, following in their wake with butterfly kisses. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you reached into the shelf beneath the sink and pulled out a fresh towel. His eyes tracked your every move as you draped the fabric over his hand and instructed, "Use this like a civilized human being."

"What part of this," his eyes flitted down to his body decorated with scars and a rainbow of bruises, "says civilized?"

You merely chuckled in response, relenting and tossing the towel aside before hopping up to perch on the sink counter. You slipped his black tee from between his fingers and delicately touched the cloth to the inch-long gash on his forehead as he smiled down at you, amused. "What?" you mumbled, tongue peeking out between your lips as you concentrated intently on cleaning the wound without applying too much pressure.

"I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this." His voice was low, almost haunted, and you found yourself wondering which tragic backstory the CIA had plucked him from. Collecting kids from broken homes or prison seemed to be their preferred modus operandi.

"When’s the last time you let them?" you challenged softly, daring to sneak a peek at his stormy grey-blue eyes and finding them already trained on you.

His nimble fingers, roughened by callouses from years of grueling combat, gently wrapped around your wrist, dwarfing your hand in his. He moved your arm from its spot between the two of you, then released your wrist and let his thumb come up to rub over your bottom lip as you splayed your hands across the taut muscles of his back, closing your eyes and trying to memorize the hard planes of his body.

"Court," you breathed out, feeling a shiver run down his spine at the sound of his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Not Six, not Agent, not You’ll Kill Who I Tell You To Kill Because That’s All You’re Good For, but Court. No one had ever said his name like that before.

Your nails gently scraped down the stubble dotting his cheeks and his eyes flew open. "You still with me?"

He nodded almost imperceptibly before surging forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his teeth tugging harshly along your bottom lip and eliciting a wanton moan from the very depths of your soul. For the second time that night, your arms wound around his neck to pull him closer to your body, fisting your hands in his hair as you shamelessly rutted against his quickly hardening length. His hands slipped under the curves of your ass, lifting you off the countertop and massaging your flesh through the thin fabric of your shorts as he walked you to the bed before gently laying you across the mattress. He stood at the edge of the bed, his glistening chest rising and falling as he watched your mirrored breaths almost reverently. You beckoned him down to you and he kneeled in the space between your legs, ever so slowly lowering his head to press kisses along your stomach. Gradually moving upward, he paused at your sports bra, tucking his fingers into the elastic band. "Can I-"

"Please," you cut him off with a whine, desperate to feel the roughness of his beard against your sensitive skin. The fabric was up and over your head within seconds, his mouth working on one breast while his hand massaged the other before the soft thud could even alert you that your clothing had landed on the other side of the room. The feeling of his lips and teeth and tongue and beard was absolutely sinful, causing you to involuntarily arch up into him and gasp at the size of him.

"Now I see why you’re so casual with big guns," you mused with a grin, your comment causing him to pause in his ministrations and smirk up at you.

"You handle them pretty well yourself," he countered, thumb lazily brushing over your nipple.

"Yeah but," you pushed at his shoulders until he fell onto his back beside you, offering you leverage above him, "I like my knife," you flicked open the button of his pants, "because it offers," you pulled the zipper down, slipping your hand inside to stroke his cock, "close contact."

"Fuck," he hissed out between gritted teeth, the single syllable causing liquid heat to pool between your thighs. You slid back off the bed and tugged his pants and boxers down with you, sitting up on your knees to press kisses against his thighs. Leaning up on his elbows, he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head. "You don’t have to-"

With a quick swipe of your tongue, you stole the words from his mouth. "Consider it a thank you," you muttered between kisses along his length before taking him fully in your mouth.

The strangled groan that left his lips was raw and guttural and quite possibly the most incredible sound you had ever heard. You wanted to hear it over and over again, so you hollowed your cheeks and took him even deeper until the tip of his cock was pressing against the back of your throat. He growled out your name as you eased back up, gentle and torturous, heaven and hell. You gradually worked your way up to a steady pace, one hand coming up to stroke the base of his cock, the other scratching lines into his thighs as he shivered under your touch. You could easily overpower a man twice your weight and a foot taller than your small stature, but nothing would ever make you feel as powerful as reducing this archetype of masculinity to putty in your hands.

You felt his fingers work their way into your hair, gently tugging you off of his cock. You sat back with a whine and he simply winked in response, moving to switch spots with you. He slid your shorts and panties off your legs before gently taking one foot in his hands to kiss your ankle, his beard deliciously scraping against your skin as he worked his way up your calf until your knee was hooked over his shoulder. You arched your hips upward, hoping to entice him to put his mouth where you so desperately needed his attention, but he placed one firm hand against your stomach, holding you down, taking his own sweet time working his way towards your core, your eyes fluttering shut at the onslaught of sensation.

"Y/N," he growled softly, deep voice bringing you out of your reverie. You picked your head up to find his gaze locked on yours, the sight of his lust blown pupils and reddened lips causing your breath to come out in sharp pants. "Eyes on me."

Your mouth fell open emitting a high pitched keen at the command seconds before his tongue slipped past your folds, forcing you to bite your lip to stay alert and obey him. "Fuck, Court," you moaned unabashedly, fisting your hand in his hair and trying to bring him impossibly closer.

"That’s my good girl," he praised softly as his fingers replaced his tongue and his lips moved to suck on your clit, the heady combination of his words and the way he was expertly working your body causing you to clench around him. The pads of his fingers gently massaged your walls as his tongue swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves, your fingers sharply tugging at his short strands of hair in response to his assault of your senses. You called out his name in a whine as the familiar promise of ecstasy bloomed in your lower stomach, your legs beginning to shake with the pressure of trying to hold back your impending orgasm.

"Stop fighting it," he mumbled against your clit, the rumbling vibration of his voice sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. "You’re safe with me, you can let go." A single tear trickled out of the corner of your eye at the intensity of it all and the force of his words; you couldn’t remember the last time you had let your body relax, let your muscles unwind, let yourself simply feel.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and Court allowed his thumb to take over for his mouth so he could kiss you freely. Maintaining a steady pace with his fingers as his thumb languidly circled your button, he brought his other hand up to grip your chin, swallowing down your moans as you scraped your nails along his back and finally gave yourself permission to let go.

Stars exploded behind your eyes and you pulled back to catch your breath as Court gradually slowed his movements, drawing out your orgasm. Cupping his cheeks between your hands, you pulled him down so you could trail your teeth up his throat and along his jaw, ending with a searing kiss.

Letting your leg slide off his shoulder, you patted the space next to you to indicate he should lie down. The head of his cock brushed against your still sensitive pussy as he shifted his weight back and you whimpered at the contact. Unwilling to wait any longer, you straddled his lap and ground your hips down against his as soon as he was settled, his thick cock easily sliding through your slick folds. "Y/N," he gritted out, curling his fingers around your throat and squeezing ever so lightly causing your eyelids to flutter shut, "don’t tease."

You lifted your hips just enough to guide the head of his cock to your entrance, then lowered yourself inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to his size. Your head fell back, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut at the exquisite stretch, just on the border between pain and pleasure. You rested your palms against Court’s pecs, grounding yourself in reality and feeling his hands come up to cover your own. He squeezed your hands gently and you opened your eyes to find his locked on yours, his cheeks flushed, lips parted letting out soft pants of air. Beautiful.

The blush decorating his cheeks darkened and he mumbled, “You think so?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled in response, the vibration rumbling from his chest through his body to where you were intimately connected, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath at the sensation.

You leaned down to kiss each of his tattoos, then his burn marks, then his scars, and finally his lips as you lifted your hips before dropping back down, slipping your tongue into his mouth as he moaned.

His lips curved upward in a smile at your little power play which ended as soon as his fingers worked their way around your throat once more. He swallowed your high pitched whine as he won the battle for dominance, mapping out the sensitive areas of your mouth as he planted his feet on the bed and rocked his hips up against you. His grunts and your mewling blanketed the sound of skin slapping skin as you met him beat for beat, his heart steadily thrumming under your fingertips as you clawed at his chest.

His pace became almost brutal as he fucked up into you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. For once, you welcomed the bruises that you would no doubt wake up to tomorrow.

"Court," you panted, feeling him twitch inside you and sensing that he was close, "I want you to cum inside me."

"Y/N-" he began protesting, ever the gentleman despite the way he was absolutely ravaging your body.

"Please," your voice caught as his head brushed against your cervix, stealing the very breath from your lungs. "Remind me that we’re still human, that we still have feelings," you begged, leaning down to mark his neck so that he, too, would have a reminder of you in the days to come.

Your teeth grazed against his pulse point, causing his hips to stutter and pushing him over the edge as he called out your name, his hand splaying across your belly so that his thumb could rub your clit and send you hurtling into oblivion right behind him.

You kept your hips moving as you kissed him again, neither of you wanting or willing to move.

He brushed your hair back from your sweaty forehead, smiling at you as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. "Was that enough feeling or do you need more? Cause we’ve got all night."

You snorted out a laugh against his skin, his fingers trailing along your spine and his warm chuckle like a blanket on a cold winter’s night.

Not one to back down from banter you countered, "Give me some more feeling and I’ll make a shirt- I survived sex with Sierra Six!"

"Smartass."

"I win," you hummed contentedly, running your nails along his beard as you pressed gentle kisses to his jaw.

Your phone buzzed nearby followed by a string of incessant notifications on his own device, effectively breaking your spell. With his lips against your forehead he mumbled sadly, "Duty calls."

You checked your new assignments and dressed in silence, the two of you slinging your go bags over your shoulders before walking to the door. He stopped with his fingers on the handle, catching you by surprise with one last sweet kiss. You let your thumb trace along his lips, committing them to memory before you both crossed the threshold of your sanctuary, returning to the real world.

After parting ways at the end of the hall, you abruptly turned on your heel and called out, "Court?"

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, eyebrow raised in question.

"What if I need my cavalry again?"

His eyes lit up and his mouth morphed into a familiar smirk. "I’ll find you."

"I could be halfway across the world tomorrow, how will you even know where to look?"

"Trust me, I’ll find you."

Satisfied with his response, you indulged in a smile. "Be careful out there, old timer."

He winked at you in return. "Make sure to watch your Six."

#sierra six #sierra six smut #sierra six x reader #sierra six x y/n #sierra six x you #court gentry #courtland gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry x y/n #court gentry x you #courtland gentry x reader #courtland gentry x y/n #the gray man #court gentry smut #court gentry x female reader #Sierra six x female reader #assassin!reader #agent!reader

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marcsburnerphone · 2 years

Text

sleepless (sierra six X f reader)

Warnings: smut (in future chapter) ,masturbation, eavesdropping (i don't know) hot sexy six.

Sierra six was assigned by your uncle Donald Fitzroy to watch over your younger sister Claire and yourself (22) six (36) has taken a strong liking to you, and not the way he likes claire. he's strictly business but can he keep that moral when he catches you in the act of pleasing yourself?

Part two

You had woken up in the middle of the night again, as of recents you hadn't been able to sleep tossing and turning as your mind racks a million possibilities. you were trained to be a sierra but your uncle never let you actually pursue the job so now all you had to do with all the training you'd gone through was protect claire and since that didnt make Donald the happiest cause you are also his niece he had hired sierra six to protect the both of you.

Getting up out of bed you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water trailing in the dark trying to be as quiet as possible before you could reach for a glass six had spotted you.

“Cant sleep.” you were beyond startled, grabbing a knife from the counter as an instinct and turning around ready to stab someone before you'd seen him with his hands raised in surrender.

“Holy shit you can't sneak up on me like that, and no i can't sleep.” you breathed out pointing the knife at him before settling it down. Six was always in a suit or a black shirt and beige pants. I mean he was incredibly attractive and even more so mysterious he had become a bit more familiar around you and Claire loved him and you guys got along well.

“There’s melatonin in that cabinet if you want it.” he offered with a half low smirk, eyes focused on the computer in front of him. You stared for a second admiring the man before you, not leaving this house often was doing something to you and you had that well to known feeling in your body.

“y/n you okay” he was looking at you now eyes wandering your face and for a second you could have sworn he was checking you out but that was also probably your delusion.

“Yes yes i'm sorry and no thankyou i don't like to deep sleep i'll just find some other way goodnight six.” you'd spoken before retrieving some water and heading back to your room on the other side of the house.

Laying back down your mind wandered and all that you could think about was six his veiny hands and his half rolled sleeves, the stupid fucking toothpick in his mouth and before you could think about it your hand was slipping down to your pajama shorts without a second thought.

Now there was a rule in the house and it was to never fully shut the doors they can be mostly closed but never fully except for the restroom just in case someone made it past six or any intruder situation it was for safety and if needed privacy all you had to do was let him know.

As six was making his 20 millionth round around your home out of paranoia he heard something almost like whining whatever it was he was going to investigate.

He had found the source of the noise in your bedroom and as he was just about to walk in to see if you were alright he realized the movement under your blanket and the soft stutters from your mouth, you were pleasing yourself and he had seen. That was alarming, yes but what came after was even more.

“Six please” he was startled had you caught him catching you. No that wasn't the case your eyes were still shut your beautiful face contorted in pleasure wait wait you were touching yourself to the thought of him.

He slowly backed away from your door feeling the growth in his pants dammit. he had thought of you that way once and he stopped himself right when it happened and said he'd never let it happen again i mean you were beautiful and strong hed watched you train once and he'd watched how you took care of claire and you always looked at him like he was normal.

No he thought to himself he could never have you that way it wasn't right he was a live in body guard that was it even though claire always told him he was family and you'd always treat him like it he thought he wasn't good enough for you.

Once you had finished your activities you rolled over in bed and your eyes landed on the door shiittttt no he couldnt have heard you wouldve heard him come to your door right, RIGHT.

Your post orgasmic haze wasn't going to let you ponder too long cause as you thought more they just sounded like whispers and sleep overcame you quickly.

Six sat at the table his head in his hand and his mind was replaying it involuntarily the look on your face his name in your mouth is a sexual way the sounds of your needy whines and the erotic noises of your wetness.

He threw his head back shaking it hoping to shake the thoughts of you but to no avail he sighed adjusting his pants he had no time to ease himself especially not at night he grabbed a drink wondering how he could look you in the eyes at breakfast or any other time without wanting to fuck you sensless.

---------

this is base basically and most definitley a part one;)

i have the major hots for him and there isnt enough fics,

if you have any requests please send them<3

please leave feed back its so motivating and appreciated.

#ryan gosling #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry #the gray man #sierra six smut #sierra six imagine #sierra six x you

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foxdev1l · 1 month

Note

you need to share more of your thoughts because i know they are good tell me tell me tell me teeeell meeeee

thank you so much for this sweet message. since it's kept vague, i wasn't sure what kind of thoughts you wanted to hear, but i've recently spent a lot of time thinking about and writing down notes about a/b/o headcanons for the rg characters which you might be interested in. i've got notes for basically all of them, but Six's headcanon kind of grew a mind of its own. if anyone's interested in more, feel free to let me know

◇Sierra Six – Shed Skin◇

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54652036

Wordcount: 2.507

Summary: Six does not feel comfortable in his own skin

A/N: much love to @hollandstrophyhusband for helping me brainstorm and beta reading this for me. i hope you guys enjoy my little spin on Six and the omegaverse. might write a second part one day, who knows. there was some talk about six/colt...

Content warnings: nsfw, canon typical violence, self-destructive behavior, rough sex, dub con, identity issues

He presents unusually late, at the age of fifteen, and without any prior warning. It's almost like he's grown a second skin, one that is simultaneously too large and too tight on his scrawny body.

Courtland expects to feel relief. He's an Alpha, after all, the only child to follow in his father's footsteps.

His mother is born an Omega, awfully timid and quiet, and too afraid to raise her voice. His brother has presented as a Beta young, too gentle and too defiant at the same time. His father has always resented them both for different reasons.

So Court should be relieved, to have dodged a bullet, to escape his father's cutting disappointment.

But then his father takes one look at him, his ragged features contorted into a strange expression, something almost akin to pride. He sweeps his gaze over Court's haggard form, breathes in the heavy stench of a newly presented Alpha, and smiles. The smile is twisted, foreign, wrong; like the newly grown skin pulled taut over his frail bones.

Court feels nothing but repulsion.

“I don't think it fits,” he tells his father.

“It doesn't need to fit,” his father says, the contentment on his face turning sharper, more dangerous. “Just wear it like you own it.”

And so he does.

He tells himself things can be different. That it is still about choice. That his second skin does not come sodden in blood. He can learn to be comfortable wearing it, can accept his status, and still reject society's expectations. He can grow up to be a better Alpha than his old man ever was.

It's only when he's standing above the dying body of his father – the powder burns from his gun tainting his fingers black – that he's struck with the sudden realization that he's always been destined to inherit the violence of his father; that this blood-lusting rage is so deeply carved into his DNA, he cannot have one without the other.

He hardly gets any time to think the first few years locked behind bars. He's too busy avoiding becoming a target. He makes himself bigger than he's ever been, plays his part as the aggressive and strong Alpha, and it feels wrong, sickening, but it doesn't matter because this is not about his comfort but the mere act of survival.

He doesn't experience a proper rut until the CIA has him catching the chain. The abuse and trauma he physically and mentally had to endure over his lifetime have taken a toll on his system and fucked with his hormones enough to suppress any prior ruts.

Though he's never experienced one, he's heard of it. How it takes over one's body and mind, burning up the insides with a maddening fever of raw lust.

Court mainly feels pain.

The CIA pairs him up with an Omega. Court is far too gone to protest at that point, but he doubts it would've mattered anyway. The CIA doesn't seem to care much about his autonomy.

He doesn't know the Omega's name, can barely make out their face past his blurred vision. But he knows what's expected of him.

The Omega is nothing more than a piece of meat for the CIA to dangle in front of him, not much unlike a gnarled bone thrown in front of a starving dog. He's supposed to claim them, feast on them, gorge himself on their willingness to submit.

The Omega tells him it's alright, that they don't mind his roughness, the bruises he leaves behind no matter how much he tries to hold back. Court almost wishes they wouldn't have said anything at all.

His rut ends eventually, the fever subsiding without him ever finding relief. The Omega is taken away quickly afterward. Court never sees them again.

The CIA has provided him with a soulless room in a depressing, gray building, and he's allowed a break, an undisturbed couple of days to gather himself back up.

He takes a shower to try and wash away the last traces of his rut, turns the heat all the way up. It burns him worse than the rut but he doesn't step away from the water. Instead, he uses his hands and nails to scrub, scrub, scrub his skin raw, till it's red, red, red, but still there. Despite everything, it's still a part of him no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

He wants nothing more than to shed his own skin, peel it away until it detaches from his flesh, tear it apart, so all that remains is a bloody and shredded framework of bones.

What he once reluctantly accepted and exploited for the sake of safety and survival, he's now grown to outright despise, to reject.

He showers multiple times a day over the next week, rubbing and clawing at his skin until it's stung and irritated. It doesn't make him feel better, only leaves him aching and longing for a different life.

Once his break is up, the CIA gets his training underway. It's brutal and laborious and keeps him busy once more, but it also makes everything worse. The once scrawny, lanky boy has grown into a strong, deadly man who seems to fit every stereotype he's sworn to dismantle.

His hands seem to be constantly coated in blood nowadays. He has to stop looking into the mirror when his reflection keeps twisting into the wilted image of his father.

At least he gets put on heavy military-grade suppressants. It berefts him of his ruts and fucks with his pheromones enough to dampen the aggressive smell of his Alpha; but above else, it mainly makes him numb. Court doesn't complain. It's better than the alternative.

He tries to keep to himself, avoid other Alphas at all costs though that's not always possible. He hates it, feels so out of place, uncomfortable, and strangely alien when he's around others.

Rumors begin to spread like wildfire, and as much as he tries to stay unbothered, it makes his hackles rise. They assume he's an omega because why else would he be so tight-lipped, act so odd and deflective whenever the topic gets brought up.

He doesn't know what to think of that. The word Omega doesn't feel as scalding as its counterpart, but it still doesn't fully seem to fit.

It's a bitterly cold winter night when Six makes the decision to hook up with an Alpha for the first time. He finds him in a seedy bar, his cheeks flushed and lashes wet from the snow.

He's freshly off a mission. The gun has left indents in the palm of his hand and he believes he can still feel the sticky, crawling sensation of blood despite the hour-long shower he took.

The alpha is leaning against the beer-sodden bar when Six spots him, nursing a cheap whiskey with one big, calloused hand. He's tall, taller than the Sierra agent, a burly, broad frame with a handsome, aged face.

The stranger turns, then, meeting his gaze dead-on. Six's pulse ticks up, his insides twisting. He isn’t quite sure whether it's from arousal or repulsion.

His instincts are reeling deep below his sternum but he's feeling daring, still drunk on the adrenaline-fueled high of his most recent kill and desperately chasing for more, to break through the heavy, numbing haze of the suppressants.

He ends up with his face shoved against the rough wall behind the bar. The stranger doesn't grant him the comfort of a bed, merely tugs down both of their pants as far as necessary and kicks Six's feet apart. Six thinks he prefers it this way.

The man's merciful enough to work Six open, though it still hurts when he pushes inside. They have nothing but a condom, and Six has never done this before, is hardly prepared to take a single finger, much less the thick cock of another fucking Alpha.

The Alpha's obnoxious scent is filling up the entire alleyway. It's thicker than the smoke of cigars, impenetrable like the billowing fumes of the streets. It clogs up Six's nose, lays heavy on his tongue, sharp and bitter all at once.

Everything about the experience is uncomfortable; the fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling and pressing his cheek into the sharp bricks; the hand on his hip, digging into his bones, squeezing bruises into his flesh; the mouth on him, panting against the shell of his ear, licking and biting up the side of his throat.

Six flinches away when teeth scrape over the skin just below his scent gland but he doesn't get far. The Alpha crowds him further against the wall, keeping an unbreakable hold on him as he relentlessly thrusts into him from behind.

A grunt escapes Six's bloody lips, gut twisting in fear but when the stranger reaches out and grabs his cock, it's already painfully hard and it doesn't take long for him to spill all over the Alpha's sweaty hand.

The Alpha doesn't stop, taking more pleasure than he draws from him, and Six is left to moan against the cold brick wall. He's cold and his legs are trembling by the time the Alpha finishes and pulls away.

“You're not an Omega,” the stranger acknowledges and Six just shrugs because his lungs have yet to fill up with oxygen again.

“And neither are you a Beta.”

Six shakes his head.

The man regards him with a flat, unreadable expression, “I didn't peg you as an Alpha.”

Six simply spits a glob of blood onto the dirt-stained pavement, the inside of his cheek sore where he's bitten through it. Then he shrugs once more and stumbles away, out of the alleyway and back into the shadows.

It becomes a common occurrence after that. The CIA keeps him on a short leash but Six still finds time to slip away every few weeks. He goes looking for meaningless fucks with willing Alphas every chance he gets, in the dark corners of whatever shabby bar is closest to him. He keeps seeking them out no matter how uncomfortable they make him feel.

It's painful, shameful, to be reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess under the aggressive grasp of another Alpha, but he cannot help himself. There is a certain thrill at being forced to give up control. It's strangely alluring, addicting.

He doesn't get off on the pain. In fact, he deeply despises it. But there is a certain sense of detachment that comes with it. It's still not enough to chip away his second skin, but it makes it less restricting, more bearable, gives him something else to focus on.

And then Lloyd comes along and ruins everything.

Lloyd manages to do something no one else has ever done before – he takes one look at Six, gasping and writhering where he's pushed into the wall, chin forcefully tilted back with the muzzle of a gun, and sees right through him.

“Ohh,” he croons, “What a little, pathetic Alpha you are.” He leans in, nuzzles at the column of Six's throat, digs the gun deeper to expose more of the heated flesh.

Gritting his teeth, Six keeps himself deathly still. He swallows down a rising growl, not willing to give Lloyd the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Or,” Lloyd continues, “Is it Omega?” His smile is full of teeth, his leer predatory, and Six does the only thing he can think of.

He fishes for the grenade safely tucked in the pocket of his pants, and pulls the safety pin.

In hindsight, he should've killed Lloyd then and there.

What follows isn't Six's fault. He is aware of that even though it doesn't stop the guilt from eating away at him. His handler is dead, his protégé traumatized, and Six just yearns for a fucking nap.

He's never felt such deep-rooted anger like he does for Lloyd. The Alpha is loud and arrogant and violent, and Six would've torn his fucking face off if Suzanne hadn't stopped him in form of a bullet to his thigh.

The next few weeks are a blur of heavy sedatives and strong pain medication. He's used to feeling trapped but the cuffs binding him to the hospital bed make him sick to his stomach. He finds great satisfaction in ripping them apart.

Tracing Claire's whereabouts is easier than expected and it pisses him off because the CIA obviously doesn't care enough to provide a proper safe house.

He steps onto the property, the smell of blood of his guards at the hospital still sticking to his clothes. The violence of his actions, though necessary, has torn something open deep inside him, a festering wound he fears will never heal again.

Perhaps he is his father's son, after all. Perhaps he's never been anything else.

He feels like a stranger, not only in his skin but his very own bones as he gets closer to the safe house.

His body aches, most of his injuries still not fully healed but he sets his jaw and pushes forward. Breaking open a window at the back of the building, he heaves himself up onto the ledge.

As soon as both his feet are flat on the ground, he goes to work, not daring to waste time. The suppressants have dulled his scent enough to stay hidden as he puts down the vinyl cover and a sloppily written note.

Incapacitating the guards hardly takes any effort. It doesn't bring him any satisfaction, only further rips and gashes at the wound inside. But it's worth it in the end, when all is done, and the blood has begun to dry, and Six pushes open the door separating him from Claire.

Being reunited after being forcefully pried apart feels a bit surreal. Claire looks tired, worn, but her smile is sincere as she clings to him, her nails sharp as claws where they dig into Six's shoulders but he doesn't have the heart to step away.

Instead, he buries his face into her hair, catching the subdued but familiar scent of a young Alpha; intense but gentler somehow, softened by the sweet and mellow taste of wild flowers dried by the sun.

Claire.

The scent slips below his skin easily, effortlessly, soothing the ragged edges of the wound beneath.

Claire is still so awfully young. Too young to be burdened by bearing the weight of her status. And yet, she does not seem to let it drag her down. Despite being impressionable and at the mercy of her biology, through all the illness and grief and trauma, the brutality of the last few weeks – she's remained unchanged.

Her eyes are still kind, her touch still gentle, and her heart untinged.

Six presses her tighter against his chest, his grip white-knuckled where it's clutching the back of Claire's shirt. He takes a moment, then, allows himself to linger, to breathe in the soft, calming scent of his protégé. For once, it does not feel like he's suffocating in the confinement of his own skin.

#sierra six #ryan gosling #the gray man (2022)#the gray man #courtland gentry #sierra six fanfic #sierra six smut #n.sfw.#omegaverse

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minilpark · 2 years

Text

sierra six got me giggling and twirling my hair like a fucking high school pick me girl someone help me

#in conclusion i need more fics rn #and not just smut yall #the gray man #courtland gentry #court gentry #sierra six

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writingdumpster · 2 years

Text

spoken for

pairing: Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, alcohol, daddy! kink, spitting, male receiving oral, ball sucking, slapping, orgasm denial, fem receiving oral, fingering, mild ass play, p in v, creampie

word count: 2,500

summary: When Carmichael hits on you, Court gets jealous and fucks you in the plane on the way to his next mission.

masterlist

You sat at the bar nearest to the CIA headquarters in Langley. Six had a meeting with Carmichael which even he considered unusual. You were going to meet after his meeting when they sent him off to wherever he was going next. You sipped your drink quietly as you waited.

“Hello, gorgeous.” The voice speaking to you was distinctly not Six’s. You decided not to acknowledge it at all, but to your dismay the owner of it sat beside you. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said shortly. The man smirked.

“I’m Denny. What’s your name?” He asked. You finally glanced over at him. He was quite handsome, which was different for the type of guy who was usually this bothersome. You didn’t care. You had Six. But you didn’t want to be rude, so you reluctantly told him your name.

“Y/N,” you said shortly.

“Drinking alone?” Denny asked.

“No, I’m waiting for someone,” you said.

“A friend?” He asked.

“My boyfriend,” you said.

“What does he do for work?” He asked. You turned your head to glare at the smug expression that this man had. You sighed before repeating the cover story Six had told you to use for this trip.

“He’s a mechanic,” you lied. Denny grinned.

“So, I guess you have to work too,” he said. “I can promise you wouldn’t have to with me.”

“I’m a teacher, and I enjoy it,” you said.

“But I’m sure he doesn’t make much.” Denny said bluntly. You pursed your lips.

“Well, his boss doesn’t pay him fairly,” you said.

“You wouldn't have to worry about that if you left him. I am the boss, darling,” Denny said with a smirk. You ignored the arrogant man. “What’s his name?” Denny asked.

“Eric,” you lied again. You exhaled deeply wishing desperately that Six would show up. You glanced at your watch.

“Is he late?” Denny asked.

“No, I’m just wondering how much longer I’ll have to talk to you,” you retorted. He chuckled.

“You’re not adding much to the conversation, dear,” he said.

“Don’t call me ‘dear,’” you snapped.

“Hey, honey.” This time the voice belonged to Six. You turned over your shoulder to see Six standing behind you. You grinned widely. Denny’s expression fell.

“Oh, good,” you mumbled under your breath. Six strode over to you and kissed you roughly. His hand stayed around your waist as he leaned away.

“Carmichael,” Six said coldly.

“His name’s De…” you trailed off. You met Six’s eyes and glanced between the two men. “Oh,” you said softly. Carmichael smirked.

“Our meeting ended 30 minutes ago. Can’t believe you made a beautiful thing like this wait so long,” he said snarkily.

“I had to speak to Agent Miranda,” Six said.

“Then I’m glad. Gave me and y/n a chance to speak,” Carmichael said.

“She’s already spoken for,” Six’s voice was solid and low.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing when you showed up," Carmichael replied. Six’s jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened.

“I’d love to threaten you, Denny, but my girl and I have somewhere to be,” he said.

“You’re taking her with you? Don’t think that’s safe for a girl like her. You should leave her here. She can stay with me,” Carmichael taunted.

“She doesn’t have to fear for her safety around me,” Six said and pulled you out the door. He dragged you towards the car. His hand fell to your thigh as soon as the car was on, gripping the flesh there tightly.

“Where are we going this time?” You asked, oblivious to Court’s anger.

“Why were you talking to him?” He asked, ignoring your question. You glanced over at him and saw the stiffness in his expression, more than the usual amount.

“He came in and sat down next to me. I just didn’t want to be rude,” you said.

“And you didn’t know it was Carmichael?” He asked.

“You’ve never told me his first name,” you explained. Court pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. You lifted your hand to rest on top of the one he had on your thigh. “You okay?” You asked sweetly.

“It’s a private plane. We’re going to Prague. It’s going to be a long flight for you,” Court said. You heard the edge in his voice and knew what you were in for. Court was a very naturally jealous man. You were one of the very few constants in his life and he took all threats to that very seriously. He trusted you, of course, nevertheless he couldn’t stand it when anyone so much as looked at you for too long. You pressed your thighs together tightly, seeking relief at the tingle that had already begun to develop in your nether regions. Court chuckled.

“Already fucking horny and I barely said a word,” he growled. You whined in response. “Don’t whine,” he snapped. “You’re in trouble, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do anything! He talked to me!” You defended yourself.

“Yeah, and you know better than to talk to strangers,” Court replied. You closed your mouth and sighed. “I don’t want to hear any complaining tonight,” he said, as if reading your thoughts. “None of those little sighs once we get on the plane.”

“Okay,” you muttered.

“Excuse me?” His voice was harsh. You cringed as you realized your mistake.

“Yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy,” you obediently replied.

“That’s better.” When you got on the plane, Court instructed the pilot not to bother you and then turned to where you were sitting on one of the couches against the wall of the plane.

“You remember our safe word?” Court asked as he approached you. You nodded.

“Yes, daddy,” you said.

“Good girl,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to use it.” You smiled softly. He was always so sweet to you, even when he was being rough, he always wanted you to be comfortable. “Okay?”

“Yes, daddy,” you repeated.

“Good. Now get on your knees,” Court ordered. You smiled softly as you fell to your knees in front of him. You reached towards his belt and carefully unbuckled it. You pulled down his pants and boxer briefs to find he was already hard. His response to jealousy with you was always the same.

“Open your mouth,” Court instructed. You opened wide as he leaned down over you and spit into your mouth. “You know where to put it,” he said. You spit a mixture of your saliva onto his waiting cock before sliding your hand around him. Your pace with your hand increased after a moment. You knew you were about to be reprimanded for not putting him in your mouth when you leaned towards him. You took one of his balls in your mouth, sucking firmly.

“Oh, that’s a good fucking girl,” Court groaned. You smiled as you pulled off of him with a pop to immediately take his other ball in your mouth and give it the same treatment. When you were done you took his cock in your mouth, taking him as deep as you could without gagging for a few pumps before Court gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail and began pushing you down further. When you gagged he pulled back just a little.

“Loosen your jaw, sweetheart. You can take it,” he said. You complied, taking a deep breath before opening wider. “Good girl,” he praised. He began thrusting into your mouth, holding your hair to keep your head steady. He was sliding down your throat roughly when you reached down to slide your hands beneath your dress. Court saw at once. He ripped your head off him and pulled your hand away. Court slapped you lightly, gripping your jaw in his hand as he made contact.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” he growled. You whimpered as he squeezed your cheeks in his hand.

“I’m sorry, daddy. Just so horny for you,” you moaned.

“You’re pathetic,” he told you.

“Please, daddy,” you whined.

“‘Please’ what?” Court mocked.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you whimpered causing him to smirk. He pulled your dress over your head and tore your underwear off. You threw your bra off as well just for good measure.

“Bend over on the couch,” he ordered. You put your knees on the edge of the couch leaning against the back on your forearms. You glanced over your shoulder to see Court falling to his knees behind you. Before you could question him he was pulling apart your ass cheeks and diving his tongue into your pussy. You moaned but shut your mouth remembering where you were.

“No, princess, you let those moans out. Make sure the pilot knows exactly what we’re doing on his plane,” he encouraged you before pushing himself back between your legs. He licked and slurped at your pussy, totally lost in you. You were panting when he leaned away. Suddenly the pad of his thumb was against your asshole. You gasped. Court paused, clearly waiting for you to tell him to stop. When you didn’t he pushed a bit more firmly. He leaned down at the same time and slid his tongue back between your folds as he put a gentle pressure over your asshole.

“Mmm, daddy, feels so good,” you cried. Court began flicking your clit with his tongue as he pushed the tip of his thumb into your asshole. You let out a decadent moan. “Fuck, yes! I’m almost there!” You were at your tipping point but suddenly Court stopped. You snapped your head to look over your shoulder and saw he was now standing as he smirked down at you.

“What the hell?” You cried.

“Oh, princess. Don’t give me attitude. This is an overnight flight, I can make you wait for hours,” Court chastised you. You clamped your mouth shut. You turned around and got down on your knees in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, daddy. I’m sorry for talking back and I’m sorry for talking to another man,” you said sweetly. “Will you please make me come?” You batted your eyelashes up at Court. He smiled softly, leaned down and kissed you gently.

“No,” he whispered. You whined a bit until you felt his hand against your cheek, slapping you lightly once more. “Sit on the edge here,” he said as he got down on his knees again. You flipped around and moved so that you were balanced on the edge of the couch. Court lowered himself in front of you and threw one of your legs over his shoulder. He raised his free arm, pushing your leg out and instructing you to hold it open. He looked up at you, his blue eyes looked stormy and wild. A few strands of hair were stuck to his forehead with sweat. He kissed your thighs while maintaining eye contact and then licked a stripe from your asshole to your clit. You made the prettiest sound Court had ever heard and threw your head back against the back of the couch.

“If you let yourself come before I say, I won’t touch you for a week,” he threatened. You whimpered but nodded. He raised his ring finger to your waiting slit and slid it inside you, making twisting thrusts into you a few times before adding his middle finger as well. He thrust in and out of you over and over, flicking his tongue against your clit and bringing you to the edge just to leave you hanging there four more times before he leaned away.

“Please! Please! Court! I can’t anymore, please, daddy, please!” You begged desperately. Court pulled his fingers out of you causing you to gasp loudly.

“Lay down,” he ordered. You shifted so you were lying along the length of the couch. He rose from his knees and climbed over the top of you. He didn’t waste a moment, sliding into you at once. He moved in with ease, having gotten you soaking wet from all his earlier ministrations.

“Fuck, honey,” he groaned into your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last long.”

“Are you gonna let me come this time?” You whimpered, terrified the answer would be no.

“Yes, baby. You can come anytime you want now,” Court told you. You let out a little moan of pleasure purely at his words.

“Thank you, daddy! Thank you so much!” You cried. You raised your legs, hooking them around his hips so that he would hit you at a deeper angle. You both moaned loudly. The pilot was more than aware of what you were doing by this time. You dug your nails into Court's back leaving red scratch marks along his shoulder blades. He thrust quickly into you driving himself as deep as he could. The tip of his cock was just barely brushing your cervix and you could feel him in your stomach.

“You take my cock so well, princess,” Court muttered. “Squeezing me so tight.” His words made you clench down even harder around him and he groaned loudly. He reached down and began rubbing your clit in tight circles.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.” Court growled against your skin. You let your head fall back, arching your back away from the couch as he drove into you once more. You felt his cum filling you up as you pulsed wildly around his cock.

“Oh my god, Court!” You moaned. He leaned down and kissed you as your body shook beneath him. You felt tears pricking your eyes and your legs twitched as you slowly came down. The two of you lay with your bodies pressed together as you caught your breaths.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Court’s voice was soft this time. His arms were around you, stroking gentle lines up and down your sides.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed. “It was good. Really good,” you said. He chuckled.

“You did a good job, sweetheart,” Court praised as he leaned up to meet your eye.

“The flight better be long enough that I can take a nap now,” you joked. “I’m not gonna be able to keep up with you otherwise.” He laughed.

“You can take a nap, sweetheart. I think we can take one together.” You hummed happily.

“Go find us a blanket,” you ordered. He chuckled.

“So, you’re the one giving the orders now?” Court teased.

“Only when I’m cold,” you said with a smile. Court leaned down and gave you a peck. He climbed off of you and came back with a blanket, sliding onto the couch behind you. He pulled you against his chest and threw the blanket over both of your bodies.

“I love you, princess. You’re mine forever.” You smiled softly. You could hear the slight insecurity in his voice.

“I love you too, Court,” you assured him. “I’m always going to be yours.”

#court gentry x reader #courtland gentry x reader #sierra six x reader #six x reader #the gray man x reader #court gentry smut #sierra six smut #courtland gentry smut

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dindjiarin · 2 years

Text

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

I wrote this because ✨️Six deserves a lil more than a kiss✨️ 😌 I read the first The Gray Man book, and some characterization is based on it, but mostly this is movie-based. Let's pretend Lloyd Hansen survived his ordeal, shall we?

A/N: I had not yet read Ballistic (Book 3 of The Gray Man series) before writing this so the unintended similarity between Ch 36 and my work here was unintentional. I'm gratified to know Court Gentry so well lmfao. 💀 My bad, Mr. Greaney.

Lil Spotify playlist I listened to while feverishly typing. (Wipe Your Eyes is a Sierra Six song, I said what I said.)

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, mention of rape (rape is not threatened nor occurs), drugging, blood/wounds/death.

WORD COUNT: 8.6k (yeah, I'm REALLY sorry)

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IIII

The room is dim when you wake. It can’t be later than six o’clock, but the bed is empty, cold where he should be. The bedsheets rustle as you twist to read the green-lit clock on the bookshelf. Your face ticks in confusion at the numbers spelling out 9:09 a.m.

Must be a cloudy morning. Too bad I can’t see out this fucking frosted window, you grumble internally.

Sitting up, you pull the sheet a little tighter to your naked chest and squint at the bathroom door, bringing it into focus despite your sleep-laden eyes. It seems completely closed, but if Six is in there, he’s unusually quiet.

You drop the sheet and leave the bed, looking for your clothes on the floor. On Six’s chair, a pile of material catches your eye. Your hand trails across the folded, new clothing; you pick up the top item, the tags still attached. A smile splits your face in two. He’d laid out a pair of plain white underwear, denim shorts, and a green t-shirt. You quickly locate your old bra and underwear and throw away the bottoms. You’re too uncomfortable without the support of a bra, so you put it back on despite its desperate need of a wash.

Once clothed, you knock on the bathroom door but it swings open with the contact. It’s dark and unoccupied. A sudden wave of fear hits you and you take a step back.

Where's Six?

Irrationally, your mind taunts you: Did he leave me? Get what he wanted and cut his losses? A small sound escapes you at the intrusive thought, but you remember the way he had held you all night, the gentle yearning of his touch, the devotion in his sapphire eyes. You silence the unhelpful worries. No way. That’s not him.

Shit, shit, did something happen? Oh, my god, I hope he’s okay. The fears cycle through your mind. He’d never left without telling you before. Not back at the original safe house, not here, not ever. Unease settles in your chest like a virus.

It was evident he had left and come back this morning to bring you new clothing, but where was he now? You move into the bathroom, quickly flipping on the light to try to dispel some of the dread. You drop to your knees and begin feeling around the floor as grime and dirt pile along your fingertips.

Oh, god, I bet it’s under this disgusting-ass flooring.

You lean left to grip the rough edge of the linoleum where it lies underneath the sink. Pulling at the aged material, it comes up easily enough, and you’re rewarded by a discolored section of hardwood floor. The linoleum slips from your dirty fingers, and as you reach to grab it again, a loud crash booms behind you.

The front door bangs open. You spin around, knocking yourself on your ass. Your heart fears it’s an intruder, but your brain expects it to be Six, mad at you for not hearing his knock.

As the door swings wide, you’re faced with an unfamiliar man, clad in a blue patterned shirt and slacks, standing with a firearm in his right hand. It’s the first thing you see, but it’s not pointed at you. The man looks relaxed - happy, you notice.

“Hey, doll. Been lookin’ everywhere for ya.” His voice is upbeat yet menacing.

“Whatcha doin’ to that floor?” He marches over to you, roughly grabbing your upper arm.

As his fingers dig into your flesh, you stare at the stumps where his little and ring fingers should be. He hoists you to your feet. You don’t even struggle as your brain tries to play catch-up.

“Who- the fuck are you?” Your voice trembles despite your efforts to the contrary. Your heart is throbbing, painful aching in your veins; your worst nightmare is coming true.

“You haven’t heard of me?” He sounds surprised. “Well, isn’t that hilarious. Mr. Moral Compass has been keeping secrets from you.” He makes a mockingly sympathetic face.

“Where is he?” Your voice cracks and pain pricks in your eyes, your vision watering. You’re petrified of this man’s answer.

To your great discomfort, the man laughs. It’s a terrifying laugh: somehow, all of his features seem warmed by his mirth, like he’s energized by your distress.

“That's supposed to be my line, buttercup.”

He makes a condescending gesture, “Someone saw you clomping around this hallway out here. Not very smart, are we? And wherever you are, Six is sure to be trailing like a sad puppy. But I’m not too worried about where he is right now; he’ll follow us, and that saves me quite a bit of effort. Not to mention bullets and bruises.”

It takes a second for his words to find you through the panic, but when they do, you’re nearly lightheaded with relief. You’d thought you managed and processed that first night well. It had given you confidence in your ability to persevere. But standing here, face-to-face with a man who seemed to know things you didn’t, who exuded the dangerous energy of a wild animal, you were frozen in fear. However, if Six was still out there, still okay, you had some hope. You had every hope in the world, in fact.

Six. Six, please. Please walk through that door. All your wits could offer was to repeat his name like a prayer.

“Let’s head on out, shall we? Car’s waiting.”

His grip on your arm tightens painfully, and you still don’t fight him. He steps toward the bed and, with a flourish, places a piece of paper on top of your pillow.

“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining.

You know you can’t win a physical fight with this much-larger, armed man, but the dam in you breaks as he pulls you toward the exterior hallway. You’re already leaning forward from the way he’s holding you, so you aim at your closest target. Your right fist slams just below the zipper on his slacks and he exhales with a yelp, doubling over. He recovers too quickly, though, and whirls you around, leveraging your throat with his forearm. He squeezes and wins a pained, high-pitched rasp from you.

“Do it again and I’ll leave your dead body for him to find instead of that paper,” he says through gritted teeth.

You shiver and try to swallow, panicking when you can’t. He loosens his grip enough for you to shuffle along, and when he tries to walk you both through the door a second time, you let him.

You were right, the sky outside was blanketed by wooly clouds threatening to let loose a deluge. The old city you’d holed up in was quiet for the time of day, and no one saw the well-dressed man toss you into a waiting black SUV. Your cheek smacks the faux-leather gray seat, and you push your arms underneath your body to reorient yourself.

The air inside the vehicle is artificially cold and smells new. The pleather squeaks as the two armed men who had been waiting outside your room seat themselves on either side of you. You hadn’t seen them until the well-dressed man had dragged you from your shelter out into the sterile-looking hallway. It seemed to you that they were reasonably sure you were alone. There was no way he wouldn't have sent an entire team in if he’d thought the two of you were together, right? This man didn’t dress like it, but maybe he didn’t have the funds for a whole team. Six had mentioned to you once how expensive one mercenary could be, and the going rate for a whole group could feed a small country for a week.

A thumb and forefinger pinch your nose, and your mouth drops open automatically. Your hands shoot upward to fight off whatever assault is beginning, but then the agent to your left pops something small into the back of your throat. You try to choke it out, but he had thrown it skillfully, and you accidentally swallow. You lurch forward violently as the driver accelerates.

You gag but nothing comes up. Coughing, you ask, “What'd you give me?”

The kidnapper’s smooth voice answers you from the passenger seat, “The ineloquent call it the ‘date-rape drug’.”

Utter fear shocks through your body at his blunt words. You’re a chemist, you know exactly what it is he gave you.

He turns a little to face you, “Sugar, you look nervous. Don’t worry,” his voice is jovial, “This is a date, not a rape.”

You shrink into your seat as best you can, trying to protect yourself. City blocks quickly turn into dilapidated housing, then farmland since Six’s safe house was close to the outer edge. You don’t know anything about the country you’re in, so memorizing the now-green scenery would be useless. Instead, you decide to evaluate and catalog the men next to you.

The man on your right is tall and tan. With his ironically trustworthy face, you would’ve never given him a second glance if you passed by him on the street. He’s holding what you believe to be a submachine gun, and a pistol butt pokes out of his waistband.

Your friend on the left is his friend’s polar opposite. This man makes you feel like the kidnapper does, and your hands shake just by looking at him out of your peripheral vision. His sharp, pale features keep anger at the forefront. His dark eyes, though rarely on you, twitch with menace. He’s carrying the same weapons as his partner, but you see an added hunting knife hanging from his black cargo pants. Unconsciously, your weight shifts to your right side, trying to put as much distance as you can, though, of course, you know the other man is truly no better.

Heavy exhaustion suddenly falls on you like an anvil. Lethargy places immense pressure on your limbs. Your world goes startlingly black for a second, then you realize you’ve closed your eyelids. You try to lift them, but it’s so difficult. Straining, you see a sliver of blurry light, but your eyes return to darkness. It feels like a weight is pressing on your chest - like Six did last night. Delirious, you half-smile at the recollection. Your head drops to the side with its own weight, and your final conscious thought is that you hope you fell to the right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life, Six had woken that morning on his side with your head on his right bicep. You were asleep facing him, your right calf sandwiched between his thighs, your hand curled on his chest. If he didn’t include every other time he looked at you, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Six felt a sense of possessiveness surge through him; he was never going to let anything take you from him. If you wanted him, he would be there.

Six had never told a woman that he loved her. Certainly not romantically. He wasn’t completely confident in how it all worked, but he no longer wondered what it felt like. Six knew by the way he wanted to care for you as you did him. It was evident in the way he found himself pulling your favorite mug from the cabinet each morning before you’d even woken; it was evident in the way his body thrilled as he counted your not-so-sneaky glances at him. Six knew how powerful love was because he felt all other aspects of his life drop in priority to you. He didn't pretend to be good at it, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

In a matter of excellent timing, you rolled away, tucking your head down and off his arm. He extricated himself from the bed, intending on performing a quick errand. He was incredibly energized; after yesterday’s long-awaited activities and then the full night’s sleep he’d gotten, he felt sure he could do anything.

After showering, he located an old, plain black tracksuit set that he’d hidden years ago in the bathroom closet. It wasn’t exactly clean after all this time, but it wasn’t the disgusting shirt and pants from the past few days which was all he cared about.

He thought about leaving a note, but it was so dark outside that he knew you’d still be asleep when he returned. And also, he had no pen. Nimbly, he moved to your side of the bed where he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his feather-light touch never waking you. You sighed into his hand as it curved down your cheek, and he felt himself twitch at the familiarity. He quickly decided that he’d be keeping you in bed today; his high energy would be put to good use.

Six casually moved out onto the streets of the old world city. It was just past eight-thirty. The air was nice: warm and breezy, hinting at the coming storm. It wasn’t a bustling locale, but its population was large enough to provide some cover. Six’s furtive yet discreet searches around the area told him that all was well, so he trekked through the city to a store he knew supplied women’s clothing. He figured your old clothes were no longer suitable - he himself had torn them off in more ways than one - and he had nothing in his cache that would be practical for a woman. He was still cautious, still calculated. If he needed you to run, you couldn’t be tripping around in too-long pants.

The brightly lit store didn’t have much, so he purchased the first items he saw that best fit the summer weather, making no guesses as to your size since it was something he’d memorized for this exact situation. He thanked the shop clerk in his native tongue, then took a shortcut back to the room.

He returned as the green numbers glowed exactly 9:00 a.m. to find you still sleeping as he had suspected. He laid the pieces on the chair and then moved to the kitchenette. His jaw set as he realized the food was entirely gone; there wasn’t any substantial meal to be eaten, and canned peaches weren’t going to satisfy the both of you. Grumbling, he took another survey to confirm your slumber, then exited once again, locking the door as he left.

On his ten-minute jaunt to the corner store, Six felt uneasy. Now he believed the electricity in the air had nothing to do with the impending thunderstorm. He felt the breeze rustle through his blonde locks and tried to relax a little. He had a few - well, he couldn’t call them friends - in this general part of Europe, but only one lived in this area. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him; or you, considering the man might know about the situation.

He’d run out of cash, and his nearest stash was about a four-hour drive away in Latvia, so he was forced to steal a loaf of bread and two chunks of meat. Six left his not-inexpensive watch as payment, but he regretted being forced to this level. He’d never stolen anything in his life (except the odd vehicle, those almost couldn’t be helped) and he hated it. He was paid well for his services; he never needed to steal. Every bit of decency he could afford, he performed. If you hadn’t been waiting, he would’ve contented himself with the peaches for the next few hours, but you were injured, and moving on to Latvia could wait one more night.

His walk back from the store was circuitous by habit. He took two extra turns and an alleyway before opening the glass-paned door to the building. The room you two had been sharing was the very first on the ground floor, and something was horribly wrong.

Groceries fell to the floor, replaced instantly by his gun. He swept into the room, then the bathroom, already knowing you weren’t there. A sharp intake of breath sounded as he realized the linoleum had been disrupted.

Thank God, you’d gotten into the safe room.

He grunted as he pried open the heavy trapdoor, already beginning to tell you everything was okay, when the dusty hole gaped empty beneath him. The breath heaved out of him. He cursed loudly and slammed the door shut with such force that it reverberated throughout the lower floor. He spun around and his eyes snagged on the paper positioned on the pillow you’d occupied only moments earlier. He snatched it up.

- Do you miss her like I miss my fingers? -

Below the handwritten taunt was an address. Six needed no further information - he sprinted out of the building and up the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggy and unsteady, your left eye opens a little before your right. Warm light streams from a small round window at the other end of the room. It’s dusty, and motes float about in the beams. Your hands chafe at the handcuffs, but the most uncomfortable aspect is the rickety chair you’re roped into. Your shoulders ache and your neck is pained at the position you’d been unconscious in.

Fear rises in your throat, bubbling like lava in your chest. But it’s mutating with another emotion you’re not sure of just yet. You rock forward violently and shift the old chair forward a little, trying to move toward the window. The impact of your weight rattles the rafters, and you realize that endeavor is hopeless if you want to remain alone. You try to scoot, using your untied feet to pull you along, but the chair catches on a warped floorboard, and you’re left stuck.

Panting from the claustrophobic panic and the exertion, you begin taking some calming breaths you’d read about once for test anxiety. It helps, but then you hear the creaking of hinges as a trapdoor falls away a few feet from you. The ladder slides down smoothly, and moments later the head of a man appears. His fit, sweater-wearing body follows. He glares at you.

“You got bits of ceiling plaster on my sweater.”

“What’s going on? What do you want me for?”

You expect him to say something about your job, to demand access to the research, to complete some of it yourself; maybe he wants you to oversee a project of their own. You have no idea and you’re not prepared for what he answers.

“I don’t want you at all, honey. Sorry, you’re not my type. I like women who don’t punch me in the dick.” He says testily. “No, I want your boy, and I want him to be sad. I had no idea you existed ‘til a friend snapped a few pictures of the two of you getting cozy.”

He unfolds three photos from his back pocket. The first is through the large glass backdoor in your original safe house, the telephoto lens capturing Six’s hand nearly touching your lower back, your head turned to smile at him. A second photo was taken from a distance through a window, and it shows Six sitting on the couch beside you, talking. The man holds up a third photo, this one of the two of you outside, Six’s face glows with that reluctant smile he favors, though it's much larger than usual; facing away from you, he looks downright joyous at something you must’ve said or done.

The emotion you’d had trouble naming finally identifies itself as you spit, “Fuck you.”

The man backhands you hard enough to split your lip, but he doesn’t knock you over. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, and you yelp. The moment this man had stepped through your door, you’d done your best to prepare yourself for physical pain. You were still surprised, still shocked by it.

The man crouches in front of you, his eyes level. Your upper lip curls into a snarl.

“I know Sierra Six. That man is a goody-two-shoes. Although, apparently he’s been lying to his lady love. See, I did do my homework: your employer’s security contract with Six ended a month ago. He’s been bunking with you because I sent him those photos the day before termination. If he stayed with you, I knew it was genuine.” He pauses, then jeers, “He doesn’t allow himself to get attached to people.” The man smiles, perfect teeth flashing behind pink lips as he waves the photographs, “But I found the one he has.”

Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening, you just stare. You’d been through quite a few emotions over the past twelve hours and the tumult in your head was raging. Your admittedly hands-off employers had never told you when the protection detail’s contract ended, they probably had just assumed Six would leave of his own accord. The house had been furnished with anything you would’ve needed so you’d kept on working, and your employers kept getting what they paid you for. As long as the status quo remained, no one would’ve questioned each other.

“So, you’ve got me here in this dry-ass attic because you don’t like Sierra Six?” Your confusion manifests with righteous anger. This man is using you, not for your brain, but to get to someone you care about.

He sharply raises his left hand as an example, “I fucking hate him, actually.

“Don’t your manicures cost less now?” You hiss venomously.

Your chair nearly tips when his hand connects once again with your face. You spit out blood, but you’re weak and it lands pitifully on your shirt.

Your mouth already open, you ask one last question, ”And when Six comes for me… you’ll kill him?” You are still angry, but your worry over Six causes your voice to break.

“All part of the show, babe. I’m not monologuing to you.” He shrugs, smiling as if he wasn’t just monologuing to you. He stands and jogs forward-facing down the ladder. You hear his rich voice say something about a knife, and your body goes rigid. More pain. Your heart rate skyrockets and traitorous tears fall.

Calm down, get calm, I can’t be calm, just be calm, this is insane, deep breaths, it won’t help, you’ll be fine, your thoughts race uncontrollably.

Stressed wood and hinges ring out from the ladder as he reappears with a switchblade. He squats and ties your ankles to the chair legs with little effort, despite your kicking. Then he pulls another chair from the far side of the attic to face you.

“Oh, I’m Lloyd, by the way.” He grins as he slices at your already-injured leg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though he’d brought a comfortable chair, Lloyd didn’t stay long. He made a few cuts, watched you scream and squirm a little, but then his stomach had growled. He stood, wiped the bloody knife on your denim shorts, and folded the weapon as he left the attic. He made a little quip about letting bed bugs bite, and then the trapdoor squealed as it shut, as he left you in darkness.

The window across the room is dark blue, now. You beg your mind to relive the previous sunset, but the pain in your wrists and your leg are agonizing. Lloyd had cut a shape into your leg, and you didn’t want to see it. You’d not looked as he worked, and you were unable to do so now. Maybe it’ll be gone by morning, you childishly wish.

Again and again, your mind returns to Six. As much as you may have had a right to be, you didn’t have the capacity to be upset with him. Certainly not right this moment, as all you wanted was to be secure in his arms, and it was unlikely you’d be too pissed later, either. Six was your friend. Sure, he was generally reserved, closed off - but those were his natural defenses, and it was impossible not to feel his sincerity, his regard. Six had stayed on without payment for an entire month. He’d asked for extra men, probably calling in a favor instead of offering a reward. Just because he wanted to protect you. If he’d felt it was best to keep the truth hidden, then the truth was probably best kept hidden. After all, the man was the best tactician around; even you knew he had a near-mythological reputation.

Simply put, you trusted the man unequivocally. You just wished that he would both hurry and stay away. If this lunatic managed to kill Six by using you as bait, you weren’t sure you could live with the guilt. Six spent so much time walling himself off from everyone, and you’d purposefully broken down those defenses. Now you were both in danger. Six was all you had, all you’d wanted, and now that you had him you were about to lose him.

You sat there as time slipped by, in the dark, crying, until your body exhausted itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIII

A splitting headache wakes you. Your neck is screaming at the position it’s been in for hours, and you feel a little nauseous. The strong light from the round window allows you to clock the time at late afternoon, and you regret waking. Your body straightens when you realize that the sound of the trapdoor opening is what woke you. The sound sharpens and you tense, waiting for more pain.

As expected, Lloyd’s face beams at you. Immediately, you’re on edge: if Lloyd is happy, you shouldn’t be. He finishes climbing the ladder, and when he does, he motions to someone else to come up.

“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“No,” you plead. "No.”

“Mhm. ‘fraid so.” He couldn’t possibly smile wider.

A blonde head that you’d recognize anywhere materializes. He’s shoved by someone else you hate to see: the pale man on your left. The pale man looks terrible. His face is swollen and bloody. Since the ladder rises away from you, you don’t see the prisoner’s face until the pale man roughly turns him around, but you knew it would be Six. He’s slammed into his own rickety chair. His beard is sticky with blood, and a cut near his right eye oozes more blood. His black tracksuit is filthy and torn, and his hands are bound in front of him with zip ties. The instant he faces you, he holds your tearful gaze, and he winks. Your eyebrows constrict briefly in confusion, but you return to utter despair quickly. Lloyd was never going to let you go if he captured Six, and you’re pretty sure he never even offered that lie up to you. Now you were both going to watch each other die. Your chest heaves in sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is a hoarse whisper, but Six frowns and shakes his head. His attention is forced away from you, however, when Lloyd steps in front of him.

“Wow, Lloyd, you should’ve squeezed the CIA for a better patch job. You look like shit.”

Lloyd laughs, “Aw, don’t make me kill her already. I was just getting excited.”

“Did you do that to her face?” Six asks conversationally.

“It wasn’t the only thing I did,” Lloyd answers suggestively. And though you can’t see his face, he grins at Six who barely keeps a leash on himself. He files that comment away for later fuel.

Lloyd begins to speak, cajoling as Six flexes his jaw, his expressive eyes never leaving the threat. “The CIA didn’t ‘patch’ me up. They’ve pinned that whole … situation… on me. Rather unfairly, wouldn’t you say?” He doesn’t give Six time to answer before he continues, “I have other powerful friends who aren’t hunting me for war crimes. But they don’t matter. They support my little personal revenge mission, although they’re not funding it.” He holds up his hands, “Don’t be offended I didn’t send a whole squad after you, Six. I’m pretty depleted after all your shenanigans. But anyway!” He claps his hands, “Don’t you wanna know how I knew?” He sounds thrilled.

“A little birdy told you?”

“Your friend Denver. Now isn’t that just the worst? He sold you out. ‘Six has found himself a girl.’ His plan was to live that night, but hey, can’t win ‘em all, right?”

Lloyd moves to grab his chair, and you’re able to see Six’s reaction. His face doesn’t change, but you know those eyes. He’s not completely shocked, he can’t afford to be in his line of work, but you can see the betrayal, the sadness pooling there.

Since he has line of sight on you, again, he takes advantage and the corner of his mouth quirks up quickly. The smile is gone before you’re even sure it existed - but that’s the second time he’s signaled you. Trying to keep me from panicking, as always, you reason. You give him an answering smile, but it’s sad, and he grunts in frustration.

Lloyd has his chair in hand, and he looks animatedly between the two of you - back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to choose. The pale man, still standing next to Six, laughs. Your disgust evident on your face, Lloyd makes his choice and sits directly in front of you.

“Did you miss me, honey?” He purrs. You know from his tone that everything this man is about to do has one purpose: to twist a dagger into Six’s soul.

“Didn’t really get a chance, asshole,” you pour every bit of rage and hatred you can into your voice. This man might break your body, but you’re pretty sure this level of anger will protect your mind.

“Let me see that six.” He orders, which stops you right in your tracks.

“What?” You ask, perplexed.

“The six! The six I gave you.” His bottom lip pouts, “You didn’t even see what I gave you?” And he points at your thigh.

Amidst the blood, you finally see the pattern he had carved into your leg. He hadn’t cut as deeply as your other wound, just deep enough to ensure scarring.

“You said something about wanting a six, right?” He plays dumb. “If that one’s not big enough, here, I’ll do another.” He lifts the knife quickly and you start at the sudden violence.

Behind him, you hear Six grunt, then an unfamiliar, more pained-sounding grunt. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate before he jumps behind your chair and sticks the knife against your neck. As he does so, you see the body of the pale man drop to the floor, his submachine gun in Six’s freed hands. Your chin tilts up as high as you can to avoid the blade.

“You brought a knife to a gunfight, Lloyd.”

“Quite the party foul of me, huh?” Lloyd rejoins. “Oh, well. That’s where your bitch comes in handy.”

Six doesn’t react. Lloyd's using you as a shield, but he is much larger than you. One good shot would knock him back enough that Six was confident he could reach you before Lloyd recovered. Six starts to squeeze the trigger when the knife leaves Lloyd’s hand, aimed directly at his heart.

Six bats away the shining switchblade with the gun, which sends him a little off balance. Lloyd uses his chance to rush Six. Like the football star he had been, he tackles Six to the floor. Six groans in pain as the wind is knocked from him, and a scream tears from you. At the last second, you remember that the other man in the car, the one on your right, was probably somewhere below. Surely he had heard the thumping, right? Why wasn’t he coming?

Six quickly gets the upper hand, kicking out from underneath the other man, smashing the gun into Lloyd’s face twice as he did so. Six is loath to shoot the man outright because he really wants to beat the shit out of him first. Lloyd gets to his feet at the same time Six does.

Frantically, you knock the chair over, and try to wiggle sideways towards the knife Six had hit. It was several feet away, very close to what now looked like a standoff. Six hears what you’re doing, and circles a little more to his right, putting himself between you and Lloyd. He thrusts the butt of the gun at Lloyd’s gut, but Lloyd grabs hold of it. Six immediately ejects the magazine faster than he’d ever made the move before. He releases his hold on the weapon, knowing it won’t make a difference. Lloyd gives him an eyebrow raise before tossing the gun down the ladder.

Your chair scrapes with every inch, but your desperation gets the knife into your right hand right as you hear the gun fall. You saw at the ropes around your body, then once free of that, you cut the flimsy material around your ankles. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed to the chair’s armrest. Keeping the knife in hand, you lift the old chair and slam it against the floor, once, twice. Thinking better of that, you sit down and jam both heels on the underside of the armrest, hoping to force the slim piece from its spindles. That worked. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed.

Six waits for Lloyd to swing first, and when he does, Six puts every play he’s ever learned into action. He swings haymaker after uppercut at Lloyd, most of them connecting viciously. Lloyd gets in several licks, but each time Six shakes it off with a growl. Hoping to shorten this dance, you hold up the knife, hoping it’s Six and not Lloyd who sees what you have to offer. They both notice.

As Lloyd starts to run at you, Six leaps forward, grabbing him around the throat by his forearm. He uses the momentum to slam Lloyd down to his knees. Lloyd twists and claws at him, but Six is stronger. To Lloyd’s endless consternation, Six has always been stronger. You gawk on in horror. You’d seen Six kill a man before, but this was different. This was personal, angry, justified. Six is silent as his arms strain, pressing every bit of strength he has into Lloyd’s windpipe. Lloyd is gagging, gurgling. It was terrible.

“Go!” Six commands through gritted teeth, and though he wasn’t looking at you, you obey. You didn’t want to see this.

You flee down the ladder, knife still in hand. Subconsciously, you take in your surroundings: a vacant, crumbling mansion. The white hallway was cracked, and moldy. No furniture could be seen. You could still hear Lloyd’s death throes above you, so you stumble along the hallway, desperate to end the nightmare.

Your right leg, so damaged, gives out and you hit the floor. You see stair railings a few feet away, but you can also see the attic entrance from where you fell, and you weren’t going anywhere without Six. So you drag yourself up against the wall and try to slow your labored breathing as you wait.

A few minutes later, a man dressed in black climbs down. Your heart pounds at the sight of the blonde hair. You stand, wobbling, and drop the knife. As he reaches you, he wraps an arm around you. His hand presses your head to his chest.

“Let me see your hands.”

You hold up your cuffs. He unlocks them with a small key you can only assume he got from one of the bodies upstairs. He nudges you forward, and you start down the hallway, then down the stairs. When you get to the bottom of the wooden steps, you see why the other man never came running. He lay bloody on the floor of the foyer. Six had killed him first.

“Didn’t know where you were in this big old house, so I made my entrance known. Lloyd would take me wherever you were. Amateur.”

Stepping around the body and out the front door, you hysterically giggle at the stolen car Six had parked normally. “You literally walked in the front door?”

“Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIIII

Lloyd had taken you over the Latvian border by several hours, so while you were in the right country, you were still a couple of hours away from Six’s cache. As he drives, you curl up on the back seat, trying to relieve your sore muscles and your stinging leg.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Six pulls to the curb a block from his newest safe house. The streets were bustling with people enjoying their evening, and it wasn’t difficult to blend in. In the darkness, no one could make out your bloody leg, his bloody face.

Six breaks the padlock off the abandoned-looking building’s side entrance, then steps inside, ensuring it was uninhabited. There’d been no actual threats to your life besides Lloyd Hansen, your company hiring Six as a precaution over rumors, but Six was never going to take a chance again when it came to you.

He ushers you through the door, then tucks you into his side as he opens another door. It’s pitch black, and you cling to his jacket. You hear the door shut behind you, then you hear the sound of his hand sliding along the wall trying to find the light switch.

He succeeds and the room is illuminated in warm, artificial light. It’s another ground-floor apartment, and it’s similar to the previous minus Six’s favorite wingback chair. He takes your hand and guides you into the bathroom where you see the biggest difference yet. The bathroom is clean, spacious, and it has both a bathtub and a shower.

“Capital cities have the best safe houses. More people to maintain them,” he replies to the question in your mind. “Strip.”

Your head jerks up to look at him. He unzips his track jacket but leaves his pants. You pull the hem of your shirt over your head and drop the bloodstained fabric to the floor. Six crouches in front of you and unbuttons your shorts.

“I’m a professional,” he whispers, trying to lighten your wordless mood as he covers your new knife wound with his hand and pulls your shorts down.

He takes your hand to balance you as you step out of the bottoms. As he touches you, he looks for a sign of disgust, fear, something that will break his heart but make sense after what you’d been through.

He grabs a washcloth from the counter and wets it. He crouches in front of you again and begins softly cleaning the blood from your thigh, leaving a wide gap around the actual wound.

You’re a little unsteady after the lack of nutrition and the stress your body has undergone the past day, but you steel yourself for a moment: you focus on not freaking out, not crying just yet in order to take stock. You watched him kill someone. How do I feel about that?

In your heart, you know that it doesn’t change anything you feel about him. Six killed bad men - always had, always would - and you’d known that when you met him. Your torso shakes, nearly hyperventilating. No, the worst is that you could’ve died, you could’ve watched him die. You collapse onto his shoulders, your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He says, the timbre of his voice letting you know that he means it for all that has occurred. For what Lloyd did to you physically and probably emotionally. For not telling you the truth, but mostly for putting you in the situation in the first place.

Too emotionally distraught to check the words thoroughly, you try to relieve his guilt: “’s not your fault someone loves you, Six.”

Still not noticing your own words, you bury your face in his shoulder, and your tears fall freely. The noise he makes under his breath sounds affectionately amazed.

He stands, picking you up, and your legs wrap around him automatically. Your cuts are nearer the outside of your leg, but it still sends a jolt of pain down your limb when you use it to latch onto him. He sets your bottom on the countertop. One hand rubs your back while the other nestles into your hair.

He knows you’re in shock, and he knows you didn’t mean to tell him you loved him like that. It’s good to hear, and he can’t help the sunrise in his heart, but his primary concern is consoling you. Or distracting you, if possible. Early in his career, he had learned that the best way to move forward was to stop overthinking. Distractions worked well for that.

“Shower or bath?” He asks.

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, and you’re more than welcome to answer with neither. But in his mind, if it comes to it, he could try to make you forget today for a little while. You sniffle as you pick your head up off his shoulder to see his face.

He’s looking at you like you just saved him, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed.

“Shower.”

You’d love nothing more than to be warm, bloodstain-free, and staring at Six naked. Without another word, he drops his pants and unclasps your bra. You push your underwear off. You latch around him again, and he carries you into the shower. You drop your legs and stand while he adjusts the temperature. The shower’s wide enough that you don’t feel the water at all as it warms up.

As the water begins to steam, Six looks over at you and holds his hand out, palm up. A smile touches your lips and he answers with his own as he pulls you to him underneath the showerhead. His hair soaks instantly. He rotates so your hair can rinse free of all the shit it had gone through in the last week.

Six takes a clean, soapy washcloth and stoops to finish cleaning your leg. He tries to ignore the shape that those cuts are in, but it’s still torturing him. He’d tried to forget it the moment after the words had left Lloyd’s mouth, but now he was face-to-face with the physical consequences of his feelings for you. He straightens up and lets the water get the rest of the blood.

You watch as his expression twists, and he won’t meet your eyes.

“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”

“Yeah, right into my fucking name.” He begins washing himself as a means to avoid your face.

“It’s not your name." You cup your hand to his cheek. "Hey, ‘Six’ is not your name. Those marks will heal, and even if I’m still able to see the number, it doesn’t bother me.” Your voice rises with each word. You’re trying to tell him that it’ll be an incidental scar, and even if it mattered, it’s the pseudonym of the man who rescued you.

His stormy eyes meet yours finally, skepticism clouding them. “It doesn’t matter to you that you were tortured and permanently scarred," his voice acerbic, "because of me?”

“It does matter, but it wasn’t because of you, Six. It was because that guy was insane. He was unstable. He hated you and I was useful.” You're pleading with him to hear you. Your hand slides up from his cheek into his drenched hair.

You decide to gamble a joke, “Always wanted a man’s name tattooed on me, anyway.”

Your eyes shine up at him fervently, hoping the joke corroborates your apathy over the wound. Because that really didn’t matter to you. The physical scars were nothing - they would heal without issue. If anything, you worried about being separated from Six. How would you ever feel safe without him again?

Your gamble works. He snorts and leans his forehead to yours. Stray water droplets collect in his facial hair.

“But you’re right, that’s not my name,” he murmurs, then carefully presses his lips to yours. He’s gentle, but pain issues forth from your split skin, anyway. You flinch slightly, and Six murmurs, "Sorry."

Angry at the reminder, you decide you’re not letting Lloyd take any more seconds of your life, so you deepen the kiss. Your lips part to allow him in, and at the first touch of his tongue, a spark of tension flares.

He hums deep in his chest at your enthusiasm, your reassurance. Six’s right hand curves around the back of your upper thigh, underneath your ass, and he half-lifts/half-pushes you into the icy wall of the shower. You hiss in surprise, but his warm body follows with a grunt a split-second later, and you’re no longer thinking of anything but him.

Your hand drops to stroke his velvet length against your thigh, and Six’s groaning mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw and drops to the hollow he knows you love. His hands caress your curves, one hand traveling to grasp your breast as the other hand slides between your legs.

You gasp as the friction of his rough palm, then his fingers, send a jolt right to that coil in your stomach. He squeezes your breast gently, and his thumb rolls over your nipple as Six drops to his knees.

“You don’t have to -” you start, but change your mind instantly as you appreciate Six below you: his hair drips into his profoundly blue eyes; water runs down his well-defined body, and his thighs flex as he shifts closer to you and sits back on his heels. His large hands wrap around your hips. You feel your breath hitch as he angles forward and his breath touches your tender skin a moment before his heated mouth. His tongue flattens against you before flicking at the perfect pace; he alternates between the two patterns. The heat floods through you in a deluge - your eyes slam shut, your head rolls back, and when your stomach constricts, your legs go weak.

He makes a pleased guttural sound that vibrates into your skin, and he plants one firm arm upward along the inside of your hip, his hand on your ribs, to keep you upright. His other hand on your hip welds you firmly to him. Your cries of pleasure echo in the space, and he feels himself growing painfully hard.

Your body having been stretched to its limits in so many ways means the euphoria you feel now has you coming easily. Six feels the tension in you splinter, feels the shuddering in your legs. The pride it gives him is unmatched as he holds you still. You moan into the steamy air, and he knows could do this forever.

He continues at the same pace, but in a moment of lucidity, you miss him against you. You pull at his shoulder, and he obliges, standing. His right hand grasps the underside of your knee, palm on the outside of your leg, and he fits himself right against you. You can feel him twitch with expectation. An aftershock of your first orgasm ripples through you, and has you clenching around nothing. You shiver, already anticipating how good he will feel.

“Please, Si-” you beg him, unnecessarily.

He makes a sudden decision, cutting you off, “It’s Court.”

Your eyes fly up to his. But before you have a chance to speak, he steadily shifts up into you. His quiet groan is punctuated by your gasps. His eyes close involuntarily at your tight warmth. Your nails dig into his biceps where you’d braced yourself. The stretch hurts a little this time, but you're too satisfied with the closeness to care. Relishing the unique intimacy of being inside you, he skims one hand down your side before he drags himself unhurriedly out, and thrusts back in.

He begins to slowly increase his rhythm, and with each incredible entrance, you both let the sounds spill out from your mouths uninhibited. Before long he is driving into you so unrelentingly that all you can do is hang onto him. He never neglects your lips for a second, his deep, messy kiss the only thing keeping you sane. You feel white-hot; it’s nearly painful, but it’s so good.

Tears leak down your face. His left hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the salty liquid. He can see you’re about to snap once again by the way your face pinches, then begins to unwind underneath his hand. He drops his hand to work you over further. He never knew life could be so sweet. Reserved, isolated his entire adult life, he knows that he’s never going to be happy if he’s not coming home to this.

“Don’t say Six,” he begs. It’s never mattered to him before. He was the same person no matter what anyone referred to him as. But he wanted you to know, to have the purest version of himself. The version no one else had.

He looks down into your eyes as he asks, and when the understanding hits you, it’s the final nail in your coffin. A sob echoes in the small room as your walls constrict around him, fluttering. He revels in the image of you falling apart against him.

He kisses you again, then lets his lips hang open over yours as you both breathe heavily from the wicked roll of his hips. He’s blurry through your tears, and you blink a little to better understand what you just saw flashing in his eyes. What you’d seen there two days earlier, too. He loves you, your mind supplies unasked.

Court’s rhythm changes to deep, passionate thrusts as he tries to bury himself in you. His desperate grunts send aftershocks throughout your thighs. He’d never stop if his body would allow it. He gradually slows his movements, still working you through your own high. He finishes with a low, animalistic noise and closes the small gap between your mouths. Neither of you move, panting.

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of tears at the emotion between you two. He kisses you, hard - full of everything he'd wanted to say for months. After several moments, he lets go of your leg, and removes himself from you.

Unwilling to stop touching you, though, he takes you by the hand as he exits the shower. You twist the knob to shut it off as you walk by.

He wraps an old, gray towel around his waist, and hands one to you. You squish your hair, then wrap it around your chest. He’s quiet, uncomfortable for some reason, so you take his hand again, and back him up against the counter. He barks a reluctant, low laugh at you pretending to be able to keep him pinned. He rests his hands on your waist.

“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.

“I’m not the one who was just crying,” he deflects with a quip.

You raise your eyebrows and frown at him.

Remembering that he wanted you to know him, he cautiously answers in a halting undertone, “I would like a calm life.” He stops, thinking. “Maybe with you...”

It's almost a question, and he doesn’t say what he means exactly, but you understand. You're his chance at a normal life. A happy life.

“Maybe not a calm life, no, but you could have me.” You phrase it as a potential, though it’s not one. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months. You'd do anything if your reward was this man.

His face doesn’t change, so you try again, “You already have me; so, it’d be nice if you’d accept it.”

“Oh, I don’t even get a choice, now?” He smirks faintly, his thumbs rubbing along your hips through the thin towel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy without you,” you confess your earlier thought. Your hand traces over the tattoo on his chest. “I know I wouldn't feel safe."

He sighs heavily. “I can’t say nothing will ever happen,” he says honestly, “but I can promise I'll be there." He pauses, trying to figure out how to express himself. "If you want me, then-"

“I always want you, Court.”

You cut him off, speaking his name for the first time. When when he smiles, it finally touches his eyes. His grip tightens on your waist. He's contemplative for a moment as his look turns mischievous.

He lowers his voice, “About that book you tried to kill me with: I think I remember a page or two -” he breaks off as he bends faster than you’re capable of reacting to, and throws you expertly over his shoulder, smiling at your laughing shriek.

#sierra six #the gray man #the gray man fanfic #court gentry #courtland gentry #my fics #smut #fluff #ryan gosling #lloyd hansen #chris evans #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man fanfiction #personal #I have a deformed finger and my dad makes that manicure joke all the time fyi #the gray man 2022 #sierra six x you

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dreamingofbucky · 2 years

Text

Updating Keep You Close this week.

I barely post updates on here and keep it to my Wattpad but y’all deserve updates too.

I recently graduated (one week ago) with my masters. I got it in 10 months while working full time and doing a part time internship. My body and mind are exhausted and I really needed this past week of doing nothing.

I can’t wait to get back to writing and posting updates for everyone ❤️‍🔥

#james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #steve rogers fanfic #james barnes smut #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #bucky barnes fanfic #sierra six x you #sierra six x reader #sierra six #sierra #courtland gentry #notes from grace

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companionjones · 10 months

Text

We’ll Always Have Cuba

Pairing: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Reader

Fandom: The Gray Man (Netflix)

Summary: After the events of The Gray Man, Claire and Six run off to Cuba because it doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the USA. There, they meet you. You are staying in the same apartment building as them for the summer. Over that summer, Six falls for you.

Warnings: None that I can think of, I skip over the smut

*******

“You’re staring again.”

Claire’s voice snapped Six out of the trance he was in as he gazed out the living room window. “Am not,” he childishly defended.

“Are too.” Claire plopped down on the couch with her newest record folder in her lap. It was currently playing. Claire’s eyes scanned the words of the folder. “Is Y/n home?”

Six turned away from the window. He glanced at the young girl as he headed for the front door. “Maybe,” he vaguely informed.

“You’re a stalker!” she called after him as the door shut.

He was far from that, he thought as he descended the stairs of the five-story apartment building. To be a stalker, one must follow a person places, and Six hadn’t done that in a couple months.

Yes, he knew that sounded bad, but he was only checking to make sure you hadn’t been sent by the CIA to hurt him or Claire. His mental alarms were set off when you didn’t bat an eye at his code name, which Claire had presented to you as his real name. You just kept the same sweet (and beautiful) smile on your face and thanked them for welcoming you to the building.

Six tried not to trust you after that. He followed you to stores and to the beach, looking for any sign that you weren’t the kind, gentle, and loving person that Six came to know you to be. He found nothing to contest what his instincts were saying about you. So, Six stopped following you, and consigned to only keeping a close eye on you while you were at the apartment building. Maybe too close an eye for what you warranted.

“Oh, you’re a life-saver,” you smiled at Six as he started to help you with your bags. “One thing I won’t miss about this place: the five-floor walk-up.”

He smirked at you. “It’s not so bad when you’ve got someone to talk to. That’s why I’m here.”

You tried to hide a smile from Six, and that made his heart skip a beat. Because of that, the bags he was carrying seemed light as air.

“You know, this was my last grocery trip here,” you pointed out as you and Six walked into the apartment you were staying at.

Six’s brow furrowed when he felt his heart drop slightly. “You’re leaving at the end of next week, right?”

“Yep.” You put the milk away, and opened the next bag. “I think the owner of this place told me that I’ve been at this Airbnb the longest out of his customer. A whole summer...And I really want to thank you and Claire for helping me feel more at home.”

“No problem.” Six glanced at the ground to hide the sincerity behind his words. “Well, if that’s all you need...”

Your eyes grew wide. “Oh! Yeah, you can go. I’ve got it from here. Thank you again!”

“No problem,” Six repeated under his breath. He felt he needed to get out of there, or else he would end up saying something he would regret.

“Hey, Six?”

He turned around at the sound of your voice just in time to duck his head out of the way of a box. Of course, Six caught it. He read the English words on the box.

Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum

Six smiled.

“I, um...found that at the store for you...I hope you like--”

“I love it,” he interrupted you to say. “Thank you.”

That put a smile on your face as well.

Six popped one of the pieces into his mouth, and exited your apartment.

“You’ve got it bad...” Claire teased as soon as Six came back into their living quarters.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, “No, I don’t,” before moving to the kitchen to put away the gum.

“Oh really? Then what’s that?” Claire leaned over the back of the couch as she referenced the present you had gotten Six.

“None of your business,” Six warned with no real malice.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Come on, Six. That’s just proof they’ve got it bad for you too. Why don’t you do something about it?”

Six leaned on the counter and sighed. “You know why I can’t.”

“Why? Because they’re leaving? That’s more of a reason to take the jump now, before you never see them again. And who knows, maybe they’ll--”

“Not with the life we lead, Claire,” reminded Six.

At that, Claire just shook her head. “You can’t let that hold you back forever, especially from stuff like this.”

“Somewhere between getting kidnapped and running away to Cuba,” she shrugged.

Six stood at the counter, contemplating for a moment more. Then, he figured he should go now before he talks himself out of it. Six marched toward the door, and yanked it open.

And there you were.

Both you and Six were shocked into silence.

You were the first to speak. “Um, I know I have a couple weeks left, but I was wondering if you and Claire would like to come over for dinner, so I can properly thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

Before Six said anything in return, Claire was off the couch and heading for her room. She gave a fake yawn. “I’m actually pretty tired. I think I’ll head to bed early tonight. You two kids have fun, though!” Her bedroom door shut behind her.

“What was that about?” you said over a laugh.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Six smiled, hiding his embarrassed. “You sure you want to make dinner?”

You answered as if it were obvious. “Of course I’m sure. Plus, I’m going to miss you-guys,” you clarified. “Why not start the goodbye now?”

Six could feel his heart clench in his chest, but he hid it well. He closed his front door behind him, and followed you to your apartment.

A couple of hours later, Six couldn’t remember ever being as relaxed as he was right then. There was just something about you that put him at ease.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked as you sat down next to him on the sofa, two refilled glasses of wine in hand.

Six couldn’t find it within himself to lie to you. “You,” he answered sincerely.

You blinking, obviously taken off guard by the response. You tried to hide your nervousness. “What about me?”

He smiled as he elaborated, “You brought me here to thank me, but I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.” Six informed, “You showed me...that life can be normal.”

“Can you tell me what you mean by that?”

Six hesitated. “My life, my whole life...has always been...less than normal.”

You smiled, “I know, Six. I’ve always known when it comes to you.”

That threw him off guard. It even scared him a little. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I can’t guess the details, but I always figured you and Claire have lead less than easy lives. It’s in how you carry yourselves, and how you treat each other. I mean, come on, your name is Six.”

He chuckled. His worries were somehow put at ease by you somewhat understanding his past.

“I’ve lived a life, too,” you admitted, “Let’s just say there’s a reason behind why I ran away to Cuba for a summer.”

Six’s interest was peaked, but he wasn’t going to ask about it if you didn’t want to know about his past for the moment.

You took a drawn-out sip of your wine. “I really don’t want to go back. This summer has just been so amazing. Plus, there’s you and Claire.”

A part of Six wanted to ask what else was keeping you from going back, but he surprised both you and himself by what he said next. “Stay.”

Your brow furrowed a little as your soft voice questioned, “What?”

Six put his glass down on the coffee table. “Stay with me, with Claire.” He took your glass from you and put it next to his Six took your hands in his. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go.”

“Where is this coming from?” came your worried question.

“It’s coming from what I’ve felt since the moment I laid eyes on you. I’m sorry, I just can’t keep this inside anymore--mmhh.”

You had cut him off with a kiss.

Six relaxed against you, but he tensed up again when a thought crossed his mind. He broke the kiss. “I’ve killed people.” He bluntly stated. He couldn’t let the night go on without you knowing.

“I know.”

He realized you had guessed as much as you caressed his face between your hands.

“That don’t change anything for me.” You pulled him in to kiss you again, and this time, Six accepted it wholeheartedly.

Hours later, you and Six were curled up in your bed together, with you in his arms.

He kissed the top of your head. “You know, my real name is Courtland Gentry. Court.”

You smiled, “That’s a nice name.”

He went on. “I actually prefer Six.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “Because, for the longest time, it was tied to my purpose in life, the CIA. The name Six helps me kill bad guys and help good guys. And it doesn’t help that my abusive dad gave me the name Court.”

“But?” You had guessed correctly that that word was coming.

He smiled, “But...I don’t know. I’m not a part of the CIA anymore, my dad’s long dead, and I got a new purpose in life now.”

“Taking care of Claire?”

“And you, if you’ll let me.”

You bit your lip and nodded, cuddling closer to him. “I think I like Court. Courtland Gentry.” You tested the name out.

Court smirked. “I definitely liked the way you said that.” He put a hand on your cheek and guided you back to his lips.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more stories over on my page, you should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#sierra six #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #the gray man #the gray man x reader #the gray man netflix #ryan gosling #companion jones #we'll always have cuba

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gracescor3 · 5 months

Text

Hello, my name is Grace and I am a fanfiction writer. I am new to writing and I kind of enjoy it when I have time to do it.

The Umbrella academy

Diego Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Viktor Hargreeves (Platonic)

Five Hargreeves (NO SMUT)

Klaus x Dave

Alison Hargreeves (Platonic)

Ben Hargreeves (Any season)

Marvel

Tony Stark’s daughter x Character

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson (Platonic)

Loki x Mobius (No smut)

Stucky

Sam Wilson (Platonic)

Rebelde (Translated in English)

Andi Agosti

Rebelde x you

Other Characters I write for

Micheal Bryce (Ryan Reynolds)

Nolan Booth (Ryan Reynolds)

Adult!Adam Reed (Ryan Reynolds)

Courtland Gentry!Six (Ryan Gosling)

Lloyd Hansen (Chris Evans)

Steve Kemp (Sebastian Stan)

Jack Sparrow (Johnny depp) (NO SMUT)

Ledger!Joker (Heath Ledger)

AUs I write for (So far)

Mafia!Stucky

Dark!Stucky

SD/SDBF!Stucky

SDBF!Bucky

Secret Relationship!Any character listed

Secret admire!Any character listed

Avengers!Bucky/Steve

Tattoo Artist!Bucky/Steve

Rape ; Underage Sex ; Piss ; Scat ; Being used as human bathroom ; Abusive Bucky/Steve/Any Character unless it’s past abuse from someone else; Pedophilia ; Pederast ; Blood Related Incest ; Suicide ; Self Harm ; (More may be added)

My request are open!

Please be 18+ only on certain posts others can be 16+ (I will put warnings)

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slutforsilverfoxes · 2 years

Note

can you do part 2 of the sierra six smut where they meet again?? I absolutely loved it !!!

A/N: Wild Child by the Black Keys is such a perfect outro for The Gray Man- I also think it’s perfect for describing Six & reader’s relationship. This fic admittedly wrote itself over the past couple of weeks, and it just kept getting longer and longer 🥲 I don’t know if I like how it progressed because I’ve finished bits and pieces of it at odd hours whilst in the hospital, but I hope y’all like it! It’s got a lil dash of every genre thrown in there (ya girl loves her flavor 👩🏾‍🍳) Also I apologize in advance if anything seems OOC for Court, I did my best but I’m still nervous about writing for him 🙈

Tags: @ejhpmarvelsimp

———

“Contact?”

“Negative,” you readjust the comm device in your ear and pull your lipstick out of your handbag, pursing your lips in the car’s rearview mirror to apply a shock of red. “Oasis is too smart for that. Just tailing for now.”

“Timeline?” your handler follows up bluntly, pulling an eye roll from you in retaliation.

“Can you speak in more than two syllables? You know, sometimes you’re the only person I speak to for weeks at a time.”

“Do you have an estimated timeline?”

You sigh, muttering out a, “Thank you,” for the technical adherence to your request before laying out the details of your proposed op. “…and that should give me the in to confirm that she’s distributing Rainbow,” you conclude. “So at least three weeks to make contact, get comfy, and catch her in the act.”

“Can we accelerate that to two weeks?”

“No,” you make a face in the mirror, grateful that the conversation is audio only. “I’m going to need a little more time to catch a soccer mom by day, cartel head by night.”

“Affirmative, Agent. Carmichael wants a status report in 72 hours.”

The line goes dead with a soft click as you mock your handler under your breath, “Carmichael wants a status report in 72 hours. Yeah? Well, Denny can suck my left tit, fucking-”

You continue grumbling as you climb out of the car and sling your purse over your shoulder before dropping your features into a bored expression and tucking a pair of stupidly expensive sunglasses into your hair- more of a statement piece than protective eyewear, really.

Snagging a shopping cart from just outside the entrance, you step into the grocery store and begin cruising down the aisles on the hunt for your target. You eventually find her by the fresh produce, judiciously sniffing limes in an apparent search for freshness. Your facial muscles twitch with the urge to frown at the odd display, but instead you suppress your natural inclination and force a smile as her gaze lifts to meet yours. She flashes her pearly whites in return, none the wiser, and you direct your eyes toward the aromatics. You don’t want her growing suspicious, and you’re fairly confident not even Oasis would have the balls to be openly dealing Rainbow in the produce section of the only grocery store in town.

She turns her way down an aisle and you toss some parsley and thyme into your cart with a shrug before easing into the parallel aisle, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips at the sight before you.

Who but Sierra fucking Six is standing in the middle of the bakery and breakfast section, arguing about the merits of chocolate versus fruit-flavored cereal with a teenage girl, a box of each dwarfed in his large hands. Having apparently relented to the young girl’s whims, he tosses both boxes in their cart before leaning against the handle as he plans out his next tactical move, easing a scrap of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. You can’t help but follow the movement of his nimble fingers as they search his pocket, marveling over the way the denim hugs his muscular legs and the curve of his ass. Letting your gaze travel back up, heat floods your cheeks at the way his t-shirt stretches over his taut muscles, the fabric looking almost comical, the seams practically begging to be let out as they suffocate on his biceps. He smooths a hand over his goatee as he laughs at something the teen said, the movement drawing your eyes further upward. His honey-blonde hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, still neatly trimmed but now with a few loose strands falling across his forehead. Despite physically looking the same, there’s a different air to Six. He seems almost… comfortable.

Domesticity suits him well (and somehow manages to make him even more attractive), and you find your thoughts wandering to his role in this girl’s life. Is he a single dad? Uncle? Is she his latest protective assignment?

The duo disappears in the blink of an eye and you half-wonder if your target slipped some of her product into the veggie sprinklers causing you to hallucinate. There’s no way you’re seeing Six stateside in a grocery store in the middle of Nowhere, USA after spending eight months traipsing across Europe.

Clearing your thoughts with a slight shake of your head, you catch up to your target and continue following her around the store, absentmindedly tossing grocery items into your cart and stopping to peruse the wine rack as she does the same.

An alluring mix of cologne and distinct masculine musk wafts over you sending your sympathetic nervous system into overdrive, your heart thudding against your ribcage.

Evidently you hadn’t been drugged.

“That white pairs great with a good branzino,” an all too familiar silky voice drapes languidly across your body causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin.

Without looking up, you retort, “Thanks for the advice, but I won’t be enjoying it. It’s for my boss.”

“Does your boss have a Prada purse,” he murmurs by your ear, his sheer proximity making you shiver, “because she’s looking this way.”

“I’m sure everything in this town with a pulse is looking this way,” you shoot back, still unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Then let’s give them something to look at.” You register the teasing lilt to his voice moments before his fingers are tucking under your chin, tilting your head up to press his supple lips against your own.

The bottle of wine remains in your hand as you throw your arms around his neck in an attempt to get as close as physically possible, your eyelids fluttering closed as memories of your night together pervade your senses.

“Y/N,” he growled softly, deep voice bringing you out of your reverie. You picked your head up to find his gaze locked on yours, the sight of his lust blown pupils and reddened lips causing your breath to come out in sharp pants. “Eyes on me.”

And then his mouth was on you, consuming you from the inside out and trapping you in a world of him until the only discernible word falling from your lips was his name.

“Nice to see you again, old timer,” you whisper against his lips, pulling back with a smile, finally opening your eyes and instantly drowning in a sea of blue.

“Told you I’d find you, kid,” a triumphant smirk has the audacity to grace his beautiful mouth.

“Uh no,” you hold up a finger in contradiction, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Oasis is still in sight, “technically I found you.”

“But were you looking for me?”

“Shut up,” you place your hand against his chest and shove, only succeeding in moving him a few inches but enough to ease the wine bottle into your cart. The man is more tree than human and the unbidden image of you climbing his body flashes through your mind.

“So,” he breaks you out of your lustful thoughts, leaning against your cart handle and offering you the perfect window to track your target as you talk- she’s suddenly very interested in the white wine, her eyes darting over to the two of you every so often- “what’s your boss got you up to these days?”

“Mergers and acquisitions, the usual,” you shrug easily. Murders and asset retrieval.

“New business in town?” He cocks an eyebrow out of curiosity, fingers slipping into the front pocket of his jeans before returning triumphantly with a piece of gum.

Your mouth goes dry as he wets his lips before snagging the rectangle between his teeth, torturously pulling the pink gum into his mouth bit by bit. “A colorful one,” you rasp out, subtly keying him in to your operation surrounding the quiet expansion of Rainbow.

He nods in acknowledgment, chewing thoughtfully. “So I’ll be seeing you around.” He presses a kiss to your lips, turns on his heel, and disappears in a wave of woodsy cologne, the faint taste of watermelon gum, and a parting wink thrown over his shoulder.

———

Days later you’re parked in the school carpool lane gathering intel on Oasis and her teenagers, your sedan four vehicles behind her massive SUV. You let your head rest against the cracked driver-side window as your eyes scan the parents and guardians milling about. Your eyes continue cataloguing faces as your brain checks out, thoughts drifting to your friendly neighborhood blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sinfully-tongued former partner in crime. You haven’t seen him since that day in the grocery store, and even though you’re grateful that he hasn’t been around to distract you, you can’t help but expect him to be walking along every corner you round. Although, truth be told, you’d be very surprised to see Six at the establishments that Oasis frequents.

Your mind drifts back for the umpteenth time this week to a moment you shared at HQ with Agent Miranda after you picked up your dossier for this op. “Quaint little town, nice change of pace,” she smiled as you crossed paths in the hall. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she tacked on, “Watch out for Six!”

You’ve spent one too many brain cells analyzing and overanalyzing her words- surely she meant Watch your six, and happened to mix up the idiom. But Dani was nothing if not intentional with her diction, and you swore you’d heard her correctly. If that was the case, had she and Six stayed in touch since his curious departure from the agency? Had the Sierra Six, the Gray Man, the expert silent assassin, Mister No Worldly Possessions or Connections been…asking about you?

Your passenger door suddenly flies open, the hulking form taking up space in your mind rent-free folding its way into your car, the familiar whiff of cologne forcing your coiled muscles to relax- marginally.

“Put the safety back on, cowgirl.”

“Why?” you demand, no patience for pleasantries.

“Because I like my face intact. Nails look pretty,” he juts his chin to indicate your fresh manicure, courtesy of your target’s weekly visits for fill-ins.

“No,” you refine your question coolly, retracting your trigger finger and replacing the safety on your weapon, “why are you here? In my car? Potentially blowing my cover?”

“Came to pick up my Claire, saw you,” he shrugs as if this is an everyday occurrence for two highly trained operatives, glancing at passerby and students on the sidewalk to ensure no one’s taken an interest in you two.

“Your Claire, hm?” You raise your coffee cup to your lips and take a long drag, the combination of the caffeine and heat sending your neurons buzzing.

“Kind of my niece, kind of my little sister,” he elaborates, keeping an eye out the window for her. “She’s Fitz’s niece, but y’know how our life goes,” he shrugs again, the only semblance of emotion he’ll allow himself to show. “So she’s my Claire now.”

“Court,” your lips pull into a frown and you reach for his hand on instinct, catching the subtle lift of the corner of his mouth in response. The simple gesture is enough for him to understand what you’re trying to say.

“Kid and I have a pretty good thing going here, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a lady friend in her life,” he muses softly, studiously watching the middle schoolers fly out the front doors and avoiding your gaze as if you’ll be able to see all of his vulnerabilities and insecurities in his stormy eyes.

Sensing an opportunity to break down another one of his walls, you cry out, “Why, yes, Court, I will marry you!”

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head, playfully knuckling against the soft skin of your cheek as your mouth twists into a wry smile. “Let’s start with dinner first.” He eases the passenger door open and steps out onto the sidewalk, offering you a slip of paper between his index and middle fingers through the crack of the window.

You unfold the paper to find a local address in his scrawl, calling to his retreating back, “What time?”

“Guess.”

———

You rock back and forth on your heels on the doorstep at six in the evening, a fresh bottle of the fateful white wine in your hands. The paneling detail on the front door is suddenly fascinating, allowing you to hyper-focus on anything but the nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’ve taken out corrupt diplomats, toppled drug cartels, faced some of the most dangerous men and women that the devil himself would shy away from, all by your mid-twenties, yet you’ve got butterflies in your tummy at the prospect of failing to earn a teenage girl’s approval.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure why you’re nervous. Operatives don’t have the luxury of falling in love and playing house. Sure, you enjoyed your time with the Sierra and the sex was incredible, but you both know that nothing more could ever come of this. Y’know how our life goes, Six himself had said, and he was damn right.

“You must be Y/N.” You lift your eyes to meet the brunette’s sharp gaze, her eyes quietly scrutinizing you as she does a subtle once over.

“You must be Claire,” you offer your hand in greeting and she shakes it firmly, all business.

She spots the floral tattoo on your shoulder and the corner of her mouth lifts in a manner matching that of her guardian, “I like your ink.” Claire cranes her neck to gaze further into the house and you hear a huff in response to her unspoken question.

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“Nope,” Six comes into view and pulls the door open further, beckoning you inside.

“Regretting adding that lady friend to her life?” you tease as you step through the doorway, toeing off your shoes in the corner of the foyer as Claire grumbles on about almost an adult and annoyingly overprotective.

“Not quite yet, but I’m sure we’ll get there,” he smirks at you, enjoying the way your nose scrunches indignantly in response. You follow the two of them into the dining room, your mouth immediately beginning to water at the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. “When’s the last time you had a proper home-cooked meal?” Court asks with a smile as he places your proffered wine bottle on the table.

“Properly? Ten years, give or take,” you shrug, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper as you busy yourself playing with the hem of your shirt. You honestly can’t remember the last time you had a nice dinner with enjoyable company, not at a group home or hostel, not on a honey-pot mission, not memorizing a dossier on a shitty hotel couch while forcing down a frozen meal before heading out under the cover of night.

In a surprising display of affection that makes your chest warm for reasons you don’t have time to unpack, Court presses his lips against your temple, bringing you back to the present. “Then I sincerely hope you enjoy this one.”

“And I sincerely hope you didn’t go through all this trouble just for me.”

You follow him into the kitchen to help, taking the plates Claire passes to you from the cabinet as she quietly confides, “We definitely ordered in but someone was very particular about the menu.”

You and Six fall into a comfortable silence as Claire chats about her day, setting forks on the placemats as you gently lay the plates down behind her. You watch, mesmerized, as the blonde nimbly uncorks the sweet wine and divvies it up between your glasses. Something about setting the table together, doing such a normal nuclear family activity, humanizes the two of you, and you’re surprised that the motions have come back to you so naturally.

Six eases your chair out and you smile up at him as you take your seat. Dinner progresses with easy conversation, but then the agent in you senses the shift in the air and you know the teen is gearing up for trouble.

“So…” Claire drags out the word, flaking off a piece of the immaculately cooked fish, “how did you meet Six?”

“Work,” the two of you rush out in unison, meeting each other’s gaze across the table. Claire smirks knowingly at her guardian and Six makes a face at her in response, mouthing something you can’t quite catch.

Raising an eyebrow and looking between the two of them you ask, “Am I missing something here?”

“Don’t answer that,” he threatens playfully with a pointed finger at the youngster.

She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, and you can’t help the grin that appears on your face from their shared mannerisms. “Are you gonna let me try the wine?”

“For the second time this evening, absolutely not.”

“Fine,” Claire smiles angelically, turning her full attention towards you. “Courtland’s been talking about you nonstop for the past couple weeks.”

He growls something unintelligible and your hand flies to your mouth, hiding your chuckle in a cough.

“Don’t choke,” Court admonishes, his tone implying that he wouldn’t be too upset if you happened to suffer for just a moment.

“Thanks for your concern, Courtland,” you simper.

“As I was saying,” Claire clears her throat to redirect your attention, a smug smile gracing her features, “some days I still can’t get more than three words out of him, but suddenly he’s thinking about you and turns into quite the conversationalist.”

“That’s interesting,” you pause to sip your wine, an eyebrow arching in Six’s direction, “because he was very vocal when we first met.”

His jaw ticks and his eyes narrow at your innuendo, and you both know you’re thinking about his low grunts and growls as he fucked you all those months ago. Nothing if not consistent, he merely grunts now in acknowledgement.

“What’s the matter, Court?” you smile easily. “Cat got your tongue?”

He clears his throat and stands from the table abruptly- a bold move considering his dick is already stiffening at the thought of your soft skin beneath his fingertips once again. “Dessert, anyone?”

“You know I’ll never turn down ice cream,” Claire grins.

You scoot your chair back from the table, gathering the plates as you stand. “I’ll come help.”

“Oh, I bet you will,” the blonde grumbles under his breath, subtly adjusting his pants as he walks to the kitchen.

You purposefully brush up against him on your way to the sink and he bites back a groan. “Do you not have work to do tonight, Agent?”

“Drug pushing mommy’s gotta sleep,” you shrug, rinsing the plates off, “and so do I.”

“Just sleep?” he murmurs in your ear, gliding his nose down the curve of your neck and pressing his body against you so you can feel the full weight of his question.

You let your head fall back with a sigh offering him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Court,” it’s a whine, a plea, a gentle nudge in the right direction.

“Suspiciously quiet in there!” the teenager calls from the dining room, earning herself a low, chastising, “Claire…”

“You’re quite the daddy,” you test the waters with your compliment, relishing the way his eyes flash at the title and filing that tidbit away for later.

His gaze drops to your parted lips and he licks his own before pulling away and opening the freezer. “Vanilla or chocolate?” he asks calmly, appreciating the cold snapping him back to his senses.

“Chocolate,” you hum, unable to resist the urge to slap his ass as he’s bent over perusing the shelves. He jumps at the sudden contact and you laugh delightedly at your ability to keep arguably the world’s greatest assassin on edge. “I’m not a big fan of vanilla.”

———

Your earpiece crackles to life later that night, your handler’s tinny voice coming through with, “Where the fuck are you, Y/L/N?”

“Little,” you breathe out, “busy right now.” Court grins wickedly, languidly kissing down your nearly naked body and dragging his stubble against your sensitive skin before nipping along the meat of your thigh.

“That’s not an answer. Why is your heart rate skyrocketing?”

“Oh, y’know,” you suck in air through your teeth as the handsome devil nuzzles your folds over your panties, forcing you to bite down on your hand to avoid becoming a little too familiar with your handler. “Went for a run.”

You tug sharply on Six’s locks to get him to stop, but the feeling of your nails against his scalp serves the opposite purpose. He yanks the frilly fabric covering your core down with a vengeance and presses the flat of his tongue against your folds, your hips rising of their own accord to meet his mouth halfway.

“Do you have an update for Carmichael?”

Your eyelids flutter shut when he nuzzles your clit with his nose, darting the tip of his tongue just past your wet folds. You force your eyes open and turn your head to the nightstand, focusing on the glaring 10:17 looking back at you.

“Can I get you a report in the morning?”

“Do you want to piss Denny off?”

“God, you’re annoyingly persistent,” you huff at both your handler and the blonde between your legs looking up at you with a sinful smile. “This operation goes a lot-” your voice catches in your throat and your head drops back against the pillow as Court plunges his tongue inside you, “deeper than I initially thought.”

“Elaborate.”

“I’m getting an intimate view of her soldiers,” you rasp out, subconsciously clamping your thighs around Six’s head as he eats you out like a man possessed, fingers digging into your skin to keep you down against the bed. “Need some more time to figure out their pecking order.”

“And then you’ll infiltrate?”

“Mhm, yeah, I’m close!” You hurriedly end the connection and release the wanton moan that’s been growing in your throat throughout the infuriating conversation, enjoying the way Court growls against your pussy in response. “I was serious,” you half laugh, half cry out, “about being close, Court.”

“I can feel it,” he rumbles, “so give it to me.” And then his tongue is spearing in and out of you, mapping out your most sensitive spots, curling in the most delicious of ways, devouring you, consuming you. He splays his fingers across your stomach to hold you in place as he feasts on you, his thumb moving to trace tight circular patterns around your clit and pushing you over the edge into sheer ecstasy. You cover your mouth with your hand as his name repeatedly falls past your lips like a prayer, keenly aware of the sleeping teen just down the hall.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Court sighs almost reverently, leaning on his elbows to brush his lips against yours as he smiles down at your blissfully fucked-out face.

You let your tongue slip into his mouth and tangle lazily with his, the fact that you can taste yourself on him making you delirious with desire. Trailing your fingers down his bare back, you tuck your hands under the waistband of his pants and squeeze his ass before shoving his remaining clothing down his muscular legs. He chuckles against your mouth at the sensation as he kicks off his pants and boxers, moving to kiss along your jaw as he eases his deliciously hard cock between your folds, teasing but not yet pushing into you. “Please,” you whine out, wrapping your legs around his lower back and pressing your heels against the taut muscle there, urging him to give in, to fill you up.

You confess around a gasp, “I’ve been thinking about this for the past eight months,” as Court mercifully slots himself between your thighs. He cups your jaw and presses his nose against the hollow of your throat as he rocks against you, drawing out a whine from the very depths of your being. Your heart flutters in your ribcage as he returns his lips to your own, your tongues tangling unhurriedly in a sensuous dance as he curves his hands around your shoulders and bottoms out with each gentle thrust. You realize, somewhat terrifyingly, that this doesn’t feel like your previous encounter when you were desperate to connect with another human and feel alive again. He’s taking his time with you, kissing you like his life depends on it, gently guiding you both towards orgasm. This man is leaving a brand on your soul, and you’re suddenly glad that your life is one of solitude because, you know now with an earth-shattering sense of clarity, no other lover will ever compare to him. Your chest swells with an uncharacteristic warmth at the thought as the coil in your belly snaps and you tighten around him, encouraging him to please fill me up, Court, please.

Last time, he made you feel human; now, he makes you feel whole.

You tuck yourself against his solid form, sharing lazy kisses as you card your fingers through his hair and bask in your afterglow when you suddenly sit up with a start, something Claire said over dinner having poked through your subconscious. “How long have you been keeping tabs on me?”

He rises slowly, brushing your hair onto your shoulder and pressing kisses to your neck. “Hm?”

“Court,” you admonish softly, “how long?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, now nibbling along your jaw in a blatant attempt to distract you.

“Claire said you’ve been talking about me for weeks. I’ve been here for eight days. Fess up.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh my god,” you smack his chest with the back of your hand as another realization dawns on you and he winces playfully. “You knew I was getting this op before I did!”

He falls back onto the pillow, folding his arms behind his head to watch you put the pieces together and making you want to forego your interrogation in lieu of wrapping your legs around him once more. “Did I?”

“And,” you force yourself to focus, “you have been tracking where I am through Dani, which means I’m not crazy and she really did say ‘Watch out for Six’!”

“Did she now?”

“I’ve been trying to convince myself she said ‘Watch your six’ for longer than I’d like to admit.”

“Loud guns have been known to cause hearing loss.”

“Courtland,” you growl out, “that is such a gross breach of confidentiality.” You huff, crossing your arms before begrudgingly admitting, “But it’s also weirdly sweet.”

“In that case,” he smiles angelically, “I’ve been checking on you since you walked down that hallway in Prague.”

“You could’ve called. Emailed. Relayed a message through Dani. Sent a fucking pigeon or something.”

“Y’know, the kids call it ‘tweeting’ these days.”

“You are-”

“Hilarious? Charming?”

“Infuriating,” you grumble, tugging the bedsheet up over your body and purposefully lying down facing away from him. He wraps one arm around you and effortlessly pulls you closer, your smaller form perfectly slotting into the curve of his large body. “I don’t like you.”

“Yeah? Glad we cleared that up,” he counters easily, slipping his arm under your head and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Courtland.”

“I will forever regret telling Claire my name.”

———

You wake the next day with a smile on your face, enveloped by the slightly spicy, woodsy scent that you’ve subconsciously come to associate with a sense of security. Rolling onto your side with a groan, you find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt neatly folded into a pile in place of Court’s body. You wash up in the bathroom before donning the change of clothes, cuffing the pant legs to fit your petite frame. Following the scent of brewing coffee, you head into the kitchen and are greeted with the sight of Court in a strikingly similar casual outfit, hovering over the stove.

“Morning,” you hum, slipping onto one of the barstools and leaning your chin in your hands.

“Good morning,” he answers over his shoulder in return, stealing the very breath from your lungs with a dazzling smile. “Clothes fit okay?”

“Okay enough,” you laugh, sticking your leg out from behind the island counter so he can admire your handiwork.

“Good,” he nods once in approval, then turns his attention back to the stove. “Got some scrambled eggs and bacon going, coffee should be finishing up.”

You hop off the stool and snag two mugs from the cabinet, filling them nearly to the brim with room for a dash of creamer and enough sugar to satisfy your sweet tooth. The two of you move as easily through preparing breakfast as you had on your mission eight months ago, the memory bringing a smile to your face. Claire joins you in the kitchen a short time later, dropping her backpack onto the stool you’d vacated earlier and sharing a smile with her guardian as he slides a plate in front of her. “You two enjoy your sleepover?”

“Hey,” Court snaps his fingers with his eyes narrowed playfully, “eat your breakfast and get your ass in the car within the next fifteen minutes, Fitzroy.”

“You’d think you’d be in a better mood this morning, Gentry,” she shoots back, a gleam in her eye as she scoops up a forkful of eggs.

“Incredible, it’s like pay-per-view,” you mutter delightedly over the lip of your mug.

“You should hang out here all the time, we’re very entertaining,” Claire offers nonchalantly, and Court turns to you with one eyebrow quirked.

“What’s this whole thing you’ve got going on?” you question, pointing to your own brow. “Does that mean you concur?”

“I was gonna offer myself, but I wanted to talk to the kid first,” he shrugs with an easy smile. “I’ve stayed in enough of the agency’s sad apartments to know that our place is a substantial improvement.”

It turns out to be much more than a substantial improvement.

Over the next three weeks, you find yourself seamlessly blending into the household, using the two of them as your cover on family outings to track Oasis and her family. You and your once impromptu partner team up again on Friday nights, going on dates at the restaurants your target and her husband frequent- and God, does the blonde clean up nicely, a simple pair of slacks, a tight shirt, and a jacket accenting his muscles in just the right places. Most days, you return from your time ingratiating yourself with Oasis’ right hand men to Court and Claire either working at the dining room table or spread out on the couch watching a movie, a spot under the blanket calling your name. Court has taken to making your coffee just the way you like it every morning (all the while ribbing you about how it’s arguably more sugar than caffeine) while you prepare three lunches for the day ahead. He waits for you to return home every evening so you don’t dine alone, and you climb into the king-sized bed together every night, sometimes exploring each other’s bodies until dawn breaks, sometimes cuddling and talking about anything and everything until you drift off to a suspiciously restful sleep.

You find yourself lulled into a level of domesticity that you could get used to, a thought that both scares and excites you to your core. It’s the closest you’ve come to being part of a family in years, and the idea of losing it when this op ends makes your heart ache with a pain you swore you’d locked away the day you joined the agency.

———

“I’ve got the popcorn!” you sing, inelegantly flopping onto the couch and tucking your legs under you with the bowl in your lap on your fourth weekend at Casa FitzGentry, as you’ve come to privately call it. Court takes up his spot next to you, Claire settling into his other side before situating the large blanket across your little group and nodding for you to scoot the snack into Court’s lap. You reach forward to press play on the remote, starting yet another cheesy heist movie that you and the former Sierra enjoy critiquing as thunder rumbles in the distance. Halfway through the film, the power flickers momentarily and you and Court share a look, his hands almost imperceptibly tightening their grip around the two of you. Claire huffs quietly, used to the agent’s slight paranoia from a life spent looking over his shoulder, but she tucks herself further into the crook of her guardian’s arm nonetheless. The rest of the movie progresses uneventfully, and Claire lets out a yawn before bidding the two of you goodnight, smiling as you both insist that she lock her door- at least for tonight.

Assured that the teen is safe in her windowless room, you and Court decide to take up residence on the couch for the night, the living room being closer to Claire than the master bedroom down the hall.

“Court?” you whisper into the darkness, absentmindedly pulling his hand into your lap and tracing random patterns along his rough palm as you watch the hallway, the former Sierra’s eyes trained on the front door.

“Hm?”

Genuine fear- not for yourself, but for the young girl you’ve come to appreciate as a friend and the closest thing you’ve got to family- roils in your gut, rearing its ugly head and reminding you why operatives don’t form connections. “I’m sorry for bringing this home.”

A flash of lightning illuminates the ranch house, and you hone in on a figure clad in all black in the hallway, your eyes narrowing, jaw setting, heart rate kicking into gear. Court squeezes your hand in acknowledgment before you part, and you creep silently down the hall, an animalistic growl escaping your throat when you recognize the door the intruder is gearing up to kick down. The point of your elbow connects with the soft flesh of his throat, reducing his shock to nothing but a soft gurgle as his hyoid bone gives way with a sickening crunch. He falls to the floor gasping for breath and you take the advantage to climb on top of his body, straddling his hips as he weakly tries to fight you off. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and bodily slam his head against the hardwood floor once, twice, three times, your breath coming in sharp intervals through your flared nostrils.

A strong pair of arms twists around your waist and you turn sharply, ready to fight for your life until a soothing, “Easy there, easy,” floats over your ears in the pitch darkness.

Your heart rate immediately starts slowing and a vague memory about a reflex in the aorta flashes unbidden through your mind from a high school science class. “I’m good,” you nod with a sniff, shaking out of Court’s grip.

“Yeah?” He flicks the hallway light on, raising an eyebrow at the crimson scene painted before you. “You usually don’t get this messy.”

“My targets usually don’t threaten my family,” you respond coolly, dragging the body away from Claire’s door before leaving to call your cleanup crew. Mind racing with tactics to accelerate your endgame and annihilate Oasis for this blatant attack, you miss the smile that flashes across Court’s face at your mention of your little crew as family.

You turn at the sound of crunching gravel as you end your call, the sight of the still-half-asleep teen splayed across Court’s back causing warmth to rise in your chest again, a feeling that’s occurring a tad too frequently for your liking around these two in particular.

Feelings make you weak, weakness makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability ends with a trip to the morgue.

Court drapes Claire along the backseat of your sedan, tucking his jacket under her head as a pillow before slipping into the passenger seat as you fold yourself behind the wheel. You take a circuitous route to your assigned rental apartment to ensure you’re not being followed, and you carry the minimal luggage Court hastily threw together as he piggybacks the teen upstairs. After getting Claire situated in the small bed, the two of you sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor at the foot of the bed as she sleeps, both your eyes and your silenced weapons trained on the apartment door.

As the first streaks of sunlight bathe the room in warm hues, Court allows himself to nod off knowing that you’ll keep his Claire safe, his head lolling against your shoulder. You press your lips to his forehead, whispering three words that you haven’t uttered in over a decade, tears welling in your eyes at the realization that you can, in fact, still feel such depth of emotion. A renewed sense of purpose grows within you as the sun rises, and by the time your two sleeping beauties awake, you’ve made up your mind.

———

“Oasis has proven herself to be a greater threat than we originally anticipated. Permission to execute.”

“Negative, Agent, we need her alive and in custody to connect the dots on the expansion of Rainbow in other areas throughout the Midwest that you’ve uncovered.”

“Terry,” you rarely address your handler directly, hoping your use of his name forces him to understand the weight behind your words, “she’s willing to go to extreme lengths to protect this operation. She sent a hitman after my- to my apartment,” you recover quickly, cursing yourself for allowing a semblance of idyllic family life to affect your judgment. How had you managed to make such a mess of things?

“Christ, Y/L/N,” his sigh crackles through your earpiece. “Any idea how your identity got compromised?”

“None,” you answer honestly, disappointed in yourself for not only failing to complete your mission cleanly, but also for putting the people you’ve come to care about at risk. “What’s the exfil plan here?”

“Y/L/N? It’s Carmichael.” Oh joy. “Proceed with the op as planned, but accelerate the execution phase to tonight. Bring her into custody and then report to HQ tomorrow morning so we can figure out how exactly you fucked this up.”

“But she knows who I am, knows what I look like.”

“Are you saying you can’t get it done?”

“No, I-” you pinch the bridge of your nose and release your breath in a slow exhale. “I’ll figure it out and report back to you when I have her detained.”

“Good girl.”

———

You slip back into the apartment just after three in the morning, peeling off your jumper soaked through with blood, sweat, and rain, slumping against the door with a sigh. After a few breaths to compose yourself, you shuffle further into the apartment and are met with Court sprawled across the small couch, his arm draped over his forehead. He mumbles something under his breath and you move closer. “What’d you say?”

“Asked if another cunt was successfully incapacitated,” he repeats, the shock of his question and impeccable memory causing an incredulous giggle to escape your lips.

“Fuck,” you hiss through your laughter, instinctively grabbing at your smarting ribs. “That bitch is lucky my directive was to have her detained. Otherwise she’d be six feet under with her boy toys right now.”

You lift his legs up, easing your sore body onto the couch before laying his legs back down across your lap. “You don’t have to go, Y/N.”

Your eyes dart to meet his baby blues, piercing through your soul in the darkness. “I didn’t say-”

“You made up your mind this morning. I could hear it in your voice.”

“Courtland,” you sigh, pushing your hair off of your sweaty face.

“Don’t government name me,” he grumbles, moving to sit up and pull your head against his chest. You’re shaking, but you can’t pinpoint whether it’s from exhaustion, fear, or a mix of both. “You’re a damn good agent, but you don’t have to be a CIA pawn for the rest of your life. You can go into private work, too.” His fingers trace a gentle pattern along your spine, encouraging you to take as deep of a breath as you can muster in your present condition.

“I haven’t done my time, haven’t helped enough people. I mean, Christ, Court, you were in the game for how many years and they still wouldn’t-”

“Hey,” he cuts off your panicked rambling with a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “You know there’s no contingency plan for people like us. You either kill the bad guys or you die trying, and that used to be good enough for me until…” He trails off, looking toward the door Claire is fast asleep behind.

“If anything, anything had happened to you two because of me-”

“I know,” he placates softly.

You lick your lips and open your mouth to speak before thinking better of repeating your confession from the morning out loud. Instead, you let Court guide your body down on top of his, snuggling against the warmth of his skin and allowing the steady rise and fall of his chest to lull you into a much needed rest. “In the morning, you’ll go to your debrief, and then we’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “And kid?” You stay quiet, trying to control your breathing despite the fact you’re sure he can feel your heart pounding through your chest in anticipation of what he’s about to say. “For the record, I feel the same damn way about you.”

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