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dindjiarin · 2 years

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six doesn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes.”

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

“Is there anything to eat?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

You watch as he stifles a yawn.

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

“I slept enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, noted,” you respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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wiidvw · 8 months

Text

His Bonnie on the Side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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valleyfae · 2 years

Note

aftercare with daddy!six after a rough scene :(

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: daddy!Sierra Six x little!reader

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

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“Yeah? Can’t answer me, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you more, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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elusivewildflower · 2 years

Text

Needy | Court Gentry/Six x Reader

Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x F! Reader

Summary: Court is tired and just wants to sleep, you have something else in mind.

Warnings: pure smut, I’m not sorry. unprotected piv, cockwarming, lil bit of masturbation. 18+ only.

Word Count: 916

A/N: I woke up with the need to write some filth. I hope you enjoy this short little fic. Could kinda be seen as in The Other Fitzroy! verse somewhere in the future. Also not beta’d or proofread so I’m sorry y’all.

MINORS DNI

You had been in bed for over an hour, tossing and turning as you tried to fall asleep. Court was tired, and you knew it, as he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. You, on the other hand, couldn’t get comfortable. Your skin was hot and damp with sweat, and you were undeniably horny. You pressed your thighs together as you laid on your side, trying to give yourself some kind of relief–but it wasn’t working. You needed more. Feeling only slightly guilty about it, you scooted yourself closer to Court’s sleeping form and pressed your hips into his. He knew your body better than you and could have you coming within minutes–something you desperately needed. You were thankful that the two of you had opted to sleep naked due to the summer heat–it made what you wanted easier to obtain. It only took a few circles of your hips on his for him to wake, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as his cock twitched against your ass. His large hand came to rest upon your waist, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder.

“I’m tired, baby,” he murmured into your skin, another groan emitting from him as you continued to roll your hips into his. His cock was growing harder by the second. The hand that rested on your waist gripped you tightly, ceasing the gyrating movements of your hips.

You let out a whine. “Court, please,” you begged. Your clit was throbbing with need, your walls already clenching around nothing.

He hummed softly in response, shifting his hips so that the head of his cock lined up with your slick entrance. “Keep me warm and I’ll fuck you in the morning,” he promised, giving one swift thrust that sheathed him inside of you completely. Both of you let out a moan as he filled you up. You could feel every inch of his thick, veiny, cock deep within you, but it still wasn’t enough. Your velvety walls clenched around him, but Court didn’t react. He was probably already asleep again. You silently cursed him for being able to sleep through almost any situation. You wished you could do the same. But the throbbing desire to cum returned and you couldn’t control yourself. You rocked your hips back and forth, gently fucking yourself on his cock. Court’s hand upon your waist tightened again, halting you. You let forth another whine in response, your hand snaking down your torso and sliding between your folds. Circling your swollen clit with your fingers, you felt the muscles in your lower stomach begin to tighten. Your walls fluttered around Court’s cock erratically, causing him to twitch deep within you.

Court breathed out a laugh as he realized what you were doing. “Really?” He questioned softly.

“Need to cum,” you panted, fingers pressing harder against your clit.

Court sunk his teeth into your neck, making you moan wantonly. “So needy,” he scolded playfully. His hand slid from your waist to under your thigh, lifting your leg up so that he could thrust into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned as his hips snapped into yours, each stroke of his cock brushing against the spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your back arched as you neared your orgasm, your fingers working in harsh circles on your clit as Court’s thrusts picked up pace. Finally, the coils in your lower stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves as Court fucked you through it. Your hand fell to the sheets as soon as your clit became sensitive, but Court quickly replaced it with his own. You let out a cry at the overstimulation, trying to run from his touch. He only pressed his fingertips to your clit harder in response, nipping at your neck once again.

“One more, baby,” he panted against you, soothing the skin that he had just nipped with his tongue.

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. “No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I know you can,” he encouraged, his cock beginning to swell and twitch deep inside as he pistons in and out of you. Your body begins to tense as your second orgasm builds, your fingers clutching at the damp sheets beneath you as you rock your hips to meet his thrusts. It all feels too good, too quickly, and your walls clamp tightly around him. You’re squeezing him so tightly that his thrusts falter as you fall over the edge.

“Fuck, Court!” You cry out, your legs shaking as an intense orgasm courses through you. Court resumes his pace after your walls relax, now chasing his own release. Groans and growls rumble from his chest, increasingly growing in volume as he nears his peak. A few thrusts of his hips later and he’s cumming deep inside of you with a final growl. His cock pulses as rope after rope of his hot seed fills you. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls his softening cock from you, his cum immediately leaking onto the sheets. You make a mental note to throw them into the wash in the morning.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder as his hand slaps your ass gently. “Now let me sleep,” he murmured into your skin. You giggled in response, snuggling yourself into the covers as you finally feel sleepiness overcome you.

#sierra six smut #sierra six #court gentry smut #court gentry fic #sierra six fic #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man fics #the gray man smut #myfics

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castieltrash1 · 8 months

Note

omg. sierra six smut with perhaps choking?? 😊😊

dom!courtland gentry x afab!reader; smut, reunion sex, choking/breath play, mentions of weapons/missions ♡

Courtland’s palm is rougher than you remember it being before he left. When his fingers dig into the side of your throat, restricting the airflow to your brain, you feel less like one of his targets and more like his weapon. The submissiveness of your position is rendered obsolete by the way he grips you, your body becoming an extension of his own. It’s as if he’s imagining the hilt of his knife or the stock of his pistol when he touches you, the sensations of his mission lingering despite the fact that it ended days ago.

His gaze is sharp, icy blue eyes thawing slowly in the presence of your warmth. He’d been overseas this time, the trip back cutting two days out of what was already bound to be a short break. When his thumb presses firmly against your artery, you’re reminded of the fact that even though he always washes off and patches himself up before coming home to you, his instincts don’t leave; the way he touches you is always reminiscent of something more.

You hiss through your teeth as he rests his weight against you, buried so deeply in the heat between your thighs that it’s no wonder your lungs are desperately fighting for air. The sheets beneath you gather under your knuckles and you feel one of your legs twitch helplessly, adrenaline kicking in as your body seeks leverage against the mattress.

“Shhh,” Courtland soothes, his other hand cupping the bend of your knee, holding you still and opening you up to him all at the same time. A gargled sound escapes your mouth when the change in angles lets him sink even further inside you, forcing your sensitive clit to rub against his firm body. The edges of your vision begin to blur before he eases an inch or two of his cock from your throbbing cunt, his grasp loosening. “Breathe, breathe.”

Your chest burns as it fills with sharp, cold air, and Courtland only lets you take a few shuddering inhales before his mouth meets yours, the dryness of your palate wettened by his eager tongue. His kiss goes from desperate to gentle in a matter of seconds, and when he pulls away with the hint of a smile, you know he’s finally come back home.

gosling sleepover

#sierra six smut #courtland gentry smut #courtland gentry #the gray man #sierra six #the gray man smut #courtland gentry x reader #sierra six x reader #gosling sleepover #t: writing #anonymous #answered

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soupfiction · 2 years

Text

Late (NSFW)

Pairing: Sierra Six x Female!Reader

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

Word Count: 3.7K

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

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

Six should be home by now.

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wednesday.”

“About two days? Give or take.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the night you’re inseparable.

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

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

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

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

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

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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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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

2K notes · View notes

ken-dom · 7 months

Note

Thoughts on how Six isn't one to talk a lot but he would SO talk you through it, especially if you're nervous or something? I could definitely see that 👀

Oh god definitely 🫠

(NSFW)

Six is silent aside from his heavy breathing and occasional grunts when it starts. He has you easily pressed up against the wall, pinned in place as he assaults your neck with his tongue, taking his time before sliding into your eager mouth.

His hand wanders to your core and he feels you tremble. He knows it’s not just from arousal. He’s trained to sense the smallest changes in a room, sensitive to every sound, every movement. He knows you want this more than anything; you told him so before he trapped you between the wall and his body, but he can feel nerves radiating from you and he needs you to feel safe before he’s happy to give you what you asked for.

So he starts to talk, and god, in his low, breathy voice that cracks and turns high from time to time with delight and arousal… it’s simply the hottest sound you’ve ever heard.

‘Gonna touch you now. It’s alright, I’ll be gentle.’

You nod.

‘That’s it baby,’ he drawls against your throat as his fingers slip through your slick folds and sink into your heat, ‘you’re doing so good for me, I’m gonna go slow ok? Does that feel good?’

You nod again, humming, biting your lip.

‘You can moan, I want to hear you.’

His fingers gradually speed up, palm grinding against your clit with every thrust of his fingers until your legs are shaking.

He keeps you simmering on the edge like that for what feels like hours, relaxing you more each time he checks in and praises you.

‘I think you’re ready now. Do you feel ready? I’m gonna lay you down, alright?’

You whine at the absence of his fingers inside you, but the way he handles you is almost as thrilling; he’s careful as though you might break, he’s strong, confidently sweeping you up and laying you gently on the bed.

He lines himself up between your thighs as he holds himself up easily above you.

‘You still want this?’ he checks. ‘It’s ok if you don’t. I can just keep touching you…’

For a moment you think you see a glimmer of nerves in him too. But it vanishes when you whine out a needy, ‘Please-’ in response, and he growls, diving down until his lips crash onto yours, and he buries himself in your heat with one swift thrust.

#not s f w 💀#sierra six x reader #sierra six #sierra six smut #sierra six x y/n #sierra six x you #ryan gosling #the gray man #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x y/n #ryan gosling x you #sierra six imagines #ken-dom answers

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

Note

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

Title: It don’t wash clean

Pairing: Sierra Six x Reader

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

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

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

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

You love when it rains like this.

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

Are those headlights?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can.”

——

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

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

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

Blood, gunfire, the sound of people screaming—

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

But still the same Six you remember.

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

“Tired.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, baby. Give it all to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It never hurts any less, though.

“I know.”

—

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

I love you.

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

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

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

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

“I had some calls to make.”

“To who?”

“A friend. A friend with a plane.”

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

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

“Where are we going?”

“Flight lands in Changmai, but—”

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

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

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

“Pack light.”

fin

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#the gray man fanfiction #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #sierra six x y/n #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six imagine #sierra six smut #smut #the gray man smut #boxofbonesfic

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wiidvw · 8 months

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𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡—𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑥(𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔). 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 ! 𝐹𝑒𝑚 ! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟.

𝑨/𝑵. 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑥 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑑.

"Six, please, don't tell my dad." you begged your bodyguard—or babysitter as you prefered to call him. You stood in front of him. "Please, I'll . . . I'll do anything."

Six look down at you. "Anything?"

You nodded. "Anything."

That's how you ended up on your knees, kneeling in front of him, your lips wrapped around the leaking tip of his girthy cock while his hand rested on top of your head, guiding you further down his dick.

"Fuck," Six groaned.

Maybe you should get caught smoking more often.

#sierra six x reader #sierra six smut #sierra six #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader

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dindjiarin · 2 years

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Suspicious Minds - jealous!Sierra Six/Court Gentry x Reader

Anon requested jealous!Six 😩

In my head, this is an addition to Six Days, but I think it works better as a standalone.

TAGS: Jealous Sierra Six/Court Gentry, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst, Fluff, Groveling F!Reader, Happy Ending.

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, rough(ish) sex, men named Josh.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k (y'all I wrote something under 5k. call the press.)

Anon Ask

Hidden in the shadow of a broken light fixture, Six leans against the far wall. His arms are tightly crossed. His jaw works hard - the gum in his mouth not the only reason. He'd been positioned there for several minutes, surveying you through the shifting crowd.

You stand at the bar with a small group of people. Your tight jeans and red top flash him the curves he had missed so desperately. He counts your laughs, your smiles, and the number of sips you take of your amber drink.

He remembers how... affectionate you get when you're drinking, and his gut twists.

An expert in nonverbal communication - and also a red-blooded man - Six knows for a fact that one of your companions is doing his best to sleep with you. His practiced study catches the way the man’s hands twitch toward you, the way the man’s eyes dart to your face when a joke is told. Worst of all, Six's assessment shows him that you are doing nothing to discourage the man. He tears his eyes away for a break in the pain, his lip curling.

When his anguished stare finds you again, the weight in his chest sinks violently into his stomach. With every glance, every smile, and every laugh you give the man beside you, Six rots inside. He had been through every form of torture imaginable, and he could confidently say he'd rather be hooked to jumper cables than see this.

And then, he witnesses the love of his life clutch the arm of his rival. The man's hands gleefully cage you for a moment, helping you keep your balance. Six scowls at the grateful smile you give your savior. It's a brief interaction. You were probably trying to keep from falling, but to Six, it doesn't matter. As stupid as it was, after your inaction against the man’s advances, you'd just relied on the guy to catch you, to save you. The hot lead in his stomach turns molten.

Six had spent a month away, thinking of you constantly. He had missed trading witty jabs, hearing you laugh at your own jokes, and the way your scent clung to him each morning. He had impatiently awaited the moment he could bury his fingers in your hair, hold you, laugh with you, be inside you.

Now, he watches the only good thing he has slip through his grasp. He can't watch any longer.

“Augh," he growls, pushing off from the wall.

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

Whiskey sloshes from your glass as you snatch your arm closer to your body. The firm, calloused hand gripping your elbow does not let go. You jerk around to meet your harasser face-to-face, and you’re shocked to see a bearded, blue-eyed man staring daggers at you.

“Court?” Your face rips into a sappy grin. “You’re here!”

You try to hug the man, but his grip does not release. Though it’s not painful, the angle at which he’s holding you is too awkward to maneuver. In your blissfully inebriated state, you turn back to the people with whom you’d been drinking.

“Hey- guys! This’s Six,” you slur, remembering at the last minute to lie about his name.

You’re only two glasses of Jameson into the night. You’re not drunk, but you are tipsy enough that you don’t instantly identify the black look on Six’s face. Nor do you see the resentful way a member of your party stares at Six's hand on your arm.

A few mumbled ‘hello’s issue from the group. Two men and one woman awkwardly hold their drinks. The woman and one of the men were coworkers you were friendly with; and the other guy… well, you couldn’t remember where he’d come from but he was clearly interested in your female friend.

Your other coworker had been the life of the party up until thirty seconds ago. You got along well with him at work. He often made you laugh during long, shitty days. Sometimes you wondered if he had a thing for you, but nothing had ever been explicitly said and you preferred to give him the benefit of the doubt - chalking up your suspicions to an inflated ego.

“Josh, this is Six,” you introduce, still not reading the energy between the two men.

Josh is in his mid-thirties, a lean build with a tanned face, and a haircut that belongs to the 1920s. You were not attracted to him. Josh was not your type, which is why it refused to dawn on you that Court was crushingly jealous.

Neither man moves to shake hands, and that’s when you finally realize something is wrong with the man you love. You turn, his hand still around your arm, though his grip has relaxed somewhat, and you peer up at his face.

Six wears a small, cold smile. He is staring Josh down, and he is winning.

Jesus, you blink, feeling an inexplicable burst of desire. Court looks positively primal. But you move past it, wondering what other social cues you’re missing.

“The fuck are you doing,” you hiss in confusion.

“Let's go,” Six barely spares a glance at you as he starts to pull you away.

“I don’t think she wants to come with you, man,” Josh speaks for the first time, his voice booming louder than necessary. The clamor of the bar is still greater than your conversation, but nearby eyes turn to look at the standoff.

Six’s eyes turn wicked, and he laughs humorlessly, “Believe me, she does.”

Josh’s face reddens. Sobering up fast, you look between the two men, knowing that if something kicks off, it won’t be Six getting hurt.

“Josh, back off. Seriously.” You’re trying to help him out, and it drives the dagger deeper into Six.

“If you want to stay, stay. He shouldn’t treat you like that. You deserve better.” He’s trying to sound indignant, but it comes across as whiny.

"Deserve better?" You echo, unsure what that even means.

You feel Six's hand fall away at your words, and understanding finally hits you. You know exactly why Six is upset.

You’ve been drunkenly laughing at Josh’s jokes all night, and you’re pretty sure you’d even grabbed his shoulder to steady yourself earlier. It had been completely innocent. You’d never held even a candle for your coworker. Unfortunately, now you know Josh carries a whole torch for you.

FUCK, you want to scream. How long had Court been watching?

Dread knots in your stomach. He didn’t deserve that. He had few pleasures in life and you loved being one of them.

Still too affected by the whiskey, you want to defend Six, “Wait, treat me like what?”

Court treated you better than anyone ever had. He was your best friend, your protector. He had been through hell and it only made him softer. Though it was the wrong time, you felt a loyal desire to vindicate him.

The nauseating flame in Six’s stomach flares. He doesn’t understand what you’re doing. He glares at you for a second, wondering why you’re still talking to this asshole.

Josh waves in a general manner, "Like that. Telling you what you can and can't do," he leans forward. His arm raises but you don't see his intention. "You don't need him."

"I do-"

Your words stop when Josh grabs your other hand and tries to usher you away from Six. You recoil from Josh as if his touch were poisonous. Six instantly plants his right arm diagonally across your chest and sweeps you behind him.

"You don’t have much common sense, do you?" His control starts to slip.

You tug at Court's black t-shirt, "Let's go. Six, please, let's go."

Never in his life had he felt such rage. His head hurt from his clenched teeth. This little whiny punk was openly trying to take you from him. Six had never hurt anyone out of anger, but right now he'd love to change that. He would give anything for this guy to throw a punch first.

But Six lets you drag him away, the oblivious crowd parting for your retreat. As he follows, he remains half-facing Josh, whose eyes trail you like a kicked dog.

Eventually, you reach the edge of the room and he turns his attention to you fully. He seizes your shoulder and firmly guides you into the hall, then immediately shoves you against the wall. His blue eyes are furious.

You feel terrible, and the heat gathering in your core at his intensity makes you feel even more ashamed. Court towers over you, his forearm bracing against the wall beside your head. His thumb and fingers carefully squeeze your jaw, framing your mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is deep, threatening. You can feel your underwear dampening.

“I- I just wanted to go out with some friends, but I didn’t realize-”

You’re cut off by his hand closing over your mouth. ‘Friends’ was the wrong word.

“Your friend wants to fuck you.”

You shake your head vigorously, your eyes wide as saucers, proclaiming your innocence.

Six almost rolls his eyes when he feels the blood rushing to his lower half. He's sick with jealousy; he wants resolution, not to get off. But your doe eyes and submissiveness suggest another way to resolve the problem. First, he needs to know something.

“And you? You didn't realize what you were doing?” He tries to keep the hurt from his voice, but the acid of his words burns you.

So he had seen you touch Josh. Your eyes well with guilty tears. You should’ve known not to relax so much around Josh, not to view him so naively. In desperation to explain, you scrabble at his hand, prying it from your mouth.

"No. No, Court,” you grip his hand in both of yours, just inches from your lips. Your warm breath tickles his palm, the sincerity in your voice unmistakable, and his heart pumps harder.

Continuing, you tell him, “I thought he was a friend. I didn’t know for sure; I really didn’t know until you came over. I’m so s-”

His hand clamps over your mouth more roughly this time. "You didn't know 'for sure'?"

Fuck.

His chest welds you to the wall. The pressure forces some air from your lungs, and when you inhale sharply, it's the musky scent of him.

“You think he can see us?” Court’s voice is dangerously low, taunting in your ear. “You think he’ll come save you?”

The hand not covering your mouth slides up your thigh, up your side, and gropes at your breast. Your whine is muffled. Six's head snaps back toward the larger, busy room. Your eyes never leave his face, enraptured. You've never seen him act like this.

"Oh, he is looking. Let's give him a show." He finally removes his hand to kiss you.

But it's not a loving kiss. It's possessive, angry. His tongue slowly surges back and forth through your mouth like a storm - something you just have to ride out. There’s a hint of gummy sweetness in his mouth, and it’s a precious reminder that this is your Court. When the kiss breaks, you're panting up at him, dumbstruck. His fingers return to your mouth, caressing your swollen lips before covering them again.

"You want him to come save you?" He goads, his eyes shining with cruel amusement at the thought.

The tension building in you whips through your limbs. Can you come from a kiss and a tone of voice? Did he press you up against an electrical outlet? Who was Court even talking about? All you’re able to think of is his prominent erection throbbing against your hip. He releases your mouth to let you answer, but you’ve forgotten the question.

“Take me home,” you beg him breathlessly.

Your face is a billboard of admiration and lust. You were always down to make love to Court but this? This was something feral.

“I don’t think you deserve that,” he fights a smirk. Your honest denials and current behavior are starting to relieve him of his pain, but he’s still mad - he doesn’t want to give you the benefit of a smile. You see it anyway; you know him better than anyone.

If that’s the game he wants to play, you’d beat him at it. You know you’re (mostly) forgiven, so you say something reckless.

“Josh would take me home.”

But you're wrong. It was too soon; he could still feel that asshole’s eyes burning a hole in his head.

Six's face contorts. His eyes narrow and his expert hand wraps around your throat. He lunges forward, his mouth back at your ear, and he snarls, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Please, god. You can feel the wetness spreading to your thighs.

When his weight vanishes suddenly, you nearly fall to the floor. He prods you down the dingy hall. He’s moderating his strength despite his fury. No matter how pissed off he was, Court would never hurt you. He clutches the back of your neck, guiding you into a back room.

It’s little more than a storage room. Metal shelving lines the walls, and there are drop cloths for painting on the floor. The ugly fluorescent lighting adds a sick tinge to what the two of you are about to do. It feels depraved. You have a swelling need for it.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands as he locks the door, his arms folding again. The vein on his bicep always makes you feel thirsty, and it does no differently now.

The ridge in his pants strains as you pull your blouse over your head and your lacy black bra is revealed - it’s his favorite one. When you shimmy out of your jeans, he tuts.

“Why that set? I wasn’t supposed to be home today.” He accuses.

You had no answer for him that he would accept as true (it was just laundry day), so you slip the piece of fabric off and toss it to him. Instinctively, he catches the panties. His eyes snap up from the soaked material to you, and they’re no longer blue. He hurriedly starts to unclasp his belt.

“No one on this earth can do that to me. No one but you, Court.” Your voice quivers lovingly.

You stand mesmerized by the holy scene of him undressing. The metallic sound of his belt coming undone and hitting the concrete floor echoes. He pulls his t-shirt off by the back of the collar, and a hazy smile forms at the sight of him.

It’ll never get old no matter how often you see it. His chiseled chest and arms, the tattoos and scars cataloging his life. He’s beautiful. Your eyes trail to where you can see his boxers peeking out, and it snaps you from your reverie.

You step forward and drop to your knees in front of him. You press kisses along his prominent V-line while you unbutton his dark blue jeans. Above you, his breathing speeds up. You hook your fingers through both layers and his weeping cock springs free.

Admiring his pretty, perfect dick was one of your favorite pastimes, and you don’t hesitate to stroke him now. He grunts with the contact and you toss an intimate smile up to him, completely forgetting that he’s livid with you. He reminds you by snatching your hair in one hand and tilting your head up so that you can’t look away. You whimper as he pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb, opening your mouth. He gently swipes at your lip before pushing himself inside without warning.

You groan, taken aback, but you recover quickly. Wanting to make him forget everything he saw, you focus on going for the gold medal of blow jobs. You flatten your tongue and lick from root to tip, staring up at him. You pepper kisses down his length, licking at the vein you know he loves. When you take him back in your mouth, to the hilt, you can feel the arousal pulsing through him. You hum hungrily, bobbing your head.

Six's eyelids flutter, allowing himself to enjoy it for a moment. He’d wanted this for a month. He smolders down at you, but his sour mood is unabated. Another man wants this view. His nostrils flare.

He pulls from your mouth, secretly loving the disappointed look on your face and the way you look on your knees for him. He takes your hand in a chivalrous fashion, and he helps you stand.

"How gallant -" You begin to tease, but he draws you tight to him in another wet, possessive kiss. A surprised squeak falls from your mouth.

Neither of you can be close enough. His cock strains against your stomach and his lips move frantically with yours. His hands push your hips and you stumble backward, still locked with his mouth. Your back hits a shelf, the paint cans and cleaning supplies clattering. Six's hands are on your face now, tilting you up to give him full access as he licks into your mouth, his lips passionately slipping over yours.

Breathless, you try, "Court -"

"Shut up," he growls between kisses.

Your arousal now coats the inside of your thighs, and you reach for his penis. Your fingers just graze his tip before he spins you around. The shelf rattles again when you grab it to steady yourself. His hands coarsely knead their way around your body until they grip your waist. Your pulse pounds and the tension curling in your stomach is painful.

“Bend over,” he orders in a rushed voice.

He intended on pushing you, but you fall forward before he'd even finished speaking, bumping yourself into him. Six's entire body throbs at your obedience, but you need this as badly as he does. He slides his hand along your wetness, and you keen embarrassingly. He inclines his head to press two kisses up your spine, unable to stop himself.

He teases his erection through your folds and you jerk at the feeling. He lines himself up to your entrance and pushes the tip inside. A short, anticipatory moan leaves your lips. You clench, trying to pull him deeper already.

“You -” His voice is deep and desperate.

He drives his cock into you in one powerful thrust, “Are mine.”

The cry you let out is unquestionably loud, but you have no thoughts to spare for those outside this room. Six leans his full weight into you, wanting you to take all of him. He groans as his hips meet your ass. Your head is spinning from whatever spot he just managed to touch.

“Shit,” you sigh.

One muscle-bound arm curls around your ribs, holding you still while he begins to rut into you. He grunts freely, knowing its effect on you. He’s bent over you, his chest rubbing your back, animalistic in both sight and sound. His other hand digs into your hair. He’s striking the spot that makes your vision blur, and your strained moaning is punctuated by his jolts.

Your arms cling to the one he’s got wrapped around you like it’s a life preserver. The spot he’s slamming into sends shockwaves through your mind. A staccato chorus of gasps and grunts erupts between the two of you; you’re entirely at his mercy and he has none for you. The filthy feeling of his balls slapping where you’re joined, stimulating you, coats him with another wave of your wetness.

“Court,” you gasp. "Please." You have no idea what you're asking him for.

He shoves himself inside, over and over. You can feel him start to sweat with the exertion. Your legs start to shake, and a sharp, cramping pain in your thigh makes you cry out.

"Take it," he grits through his teeth.

Finding some mercy, his fingers work your clit. Your abdominal muscles contract when the electric coil in your core snaps, lighting your nerves on fire. Your arms squeeze his tighter as your walls spasm around his plunging cock. You throw your head back, almost headbutting him.

"Court, fuck," your shrill plea is music to his ears.

A pleased, rasping chuckle escapes him.

Your legs go fuzzy and give out, and his pattern slows as he bears practically your full weight. He sucks and bites at your neck as he works you through it, your limbs trembling.

When your orgasm ebbs, he unceremoniously pulls out. Your legs too weak to stand, he lowers you to the drop cloth-covered floor on your knees. You roll over onto your back, your feet flat on the ground as you catch your breath. You smile dazedly up at his nude, glistening form above you, wondering what he wants now. He strokes himself.

He kneels, pushing your knees aside, and climbs on top of you, grabbing both of your hands in one of his.

“You still want him?" The words are vicious.

Your smile falls, "Stop tal-"

You start to argue, but you break into a gasp as he lines up and impales you in one motion, a heinously wet noise issuing from your body.

It's impossible to hide from him. Impossible to pretend that every part of you isn't screaming for him. Your breasts raise toward his face in hopes that he will touch you there. But his mind is on his earlier promise. His pace kicks up, faster and harder than he’d ever dared. He shifts to hit that same spot that had you floating earlier, and once he sees your mouth fall open, your eyes roll, he doggedly slams into you. Six slaps one hand over your mouth as you begin to cry.

Sweat collects on his brow. His chest is slick with the perspiration that mixes with yours. Six's hand reaches down to cup your knee, holding it away from your body. His pubic bone pistons into your overly-stimulated slit, and your back arches as you come easier the second time. Shattering euphoria courses through you, and the only thought you can form is of him.

Six is glad he’s covering your mouth because he’s pretty sure you’re trying to scream. As you writhe underneath him, feeling as though you must've grabbed a live wire, he grunts but continues his pace. His unnecessary desire to ensure you stay satisfied with him keeps him focused and erect. The hand over your mouth shifts to the floor beside your head, giving him more leverage.

"Court," you take advantage of your freed tongue, but you're struggling to focus when your body feels like one big nerve ending.

"Listen,” your voice breaks.

But he doesn't stop. You start coming down from the high. Your back lowers to the floor, but he hasn't changed a thing and what sent you over the cliff is about to do it again. He grunts in time with his thrusts.

"Please." You're nearly sobbing.

You can smell the sex in the air, hear his quietly frenzied noises, feel the rough smack of his skin on yours, and you close your eyes to fight off orgasm number three.

"Eyes open," he snaps.

You hesitate but obey. Looking into his intense blue eyes, you see the insecurity he'd been masking behind anger, and it makes your heart burst.

Stop fucking me for two seconds so I can explain, goddammit.

Then he leans back and grinds the heel of his palm into your overstimulated mound. You snap a third time, and it's equal pain and pleasure now. You muffle your own scream as your jaw clamps shut. Your legs shake and the intense force of your abs convulsing causes you to violently sit up, essentially throwing yourself at him - anything to stop the overstiumlation. Your arms latch around his neck and the momentum sends him backward onto his ass.

He stretches out his legs and pulls yours around his waist. You both stop moving, basking in each other. Breathing heavily, your muscles still shuddering, you rest your forehead on his shoulder. He’s still inside you, and you wince at the soreness you already feel, but his solid presence between your walls is too nice to complain about.

"I know you're mad at me,” you pant, “but you don't have to kill me.”

Court’s chest rapidly rises and falls. His arms wrap around you, squeezing you to him. One hand cradles the back of your head. You wait a few moments while he catches his breath. You know how he feels about long declarations, so you aim for short and sweet.

"Listen to me, Courtland."

He snorts. "Using my government name now?"

"'Six' is your government name."

He snorts again, louder.

You turn your head and kiss his heated neck, “I hate that I hurt you. You are everything to me and I'll never throw that away.”

You lean back to look into his eyes, "And you don't have to ruin me for anyone else. You ruined me a long time ago."

Those deep blue eyes, always so expressive, flood with a multitude of emotions. Love, relief, contentment. He drops his head to compose himself.

“I love you,” you murmur, kissing his sticky forehead.

He hefts a sigh. You've told him before, but he obviously needs to be reminded. He’s utterly motionless now, and you take the opportunity to rotate your hips and pump him slowly. It stings, but making him feel good is your top priority.

He groans in surprise, his hand flies to your back to stop you, but you move again, dragging him through you.

Your lips brush against his ear as you continue to roll your hips, "Let me take care of you."

He hesitates, but then there's a low, needy sound, and he nods. His arms leave your body to slant back, propping himself up to give you more room. His long legs lock at an angle behind you.

You ride him steadily, clenching at the apex of your rolls. Your fingers trace the hard lines of his torso and you ghost over his scars. He shivers. Court's head falls back weakly and you duck your head to kiss along his collarbones, wondering how you hooked this benevolent Greek god.

You plant a hand on his chest for support as you arch up, his dick virtually out, and fall back down. He groans loudly, his eyes flying open. At the same time, you loose a high-pitched breath at the depth his length reaches. He feels the growing pressure in his lower abdomen, and his balls tighten. You arch again, sliding him along your ridges. His arms flex behind him with the strain. His head tilts to gaze down at you bouncing on his cock, and his eyes are blown with loving desire. Your eyes flick up to his, and you smile the same intimate smile you gave him earlier.

“Fuck,” he exhales.

You place a hand on his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. Your hips keep rolling.

“You’re the best man I've ever known,” your whispering lips meet his, and he groans softly.

Though you’re focused on him, the sensual contact sends aftershocks through you. It was incredible how he affected you. Six believed he was meant to deal out death and punishment alone, but he wasn’t - you could attest to that. All he ever gave you was bliss. Your body automatically works him harder, faster at the thought.

“Ugh, Court,” you breathe your mewling words into his parted mouth. "You feel so good."

He releases a groaning sigh as he comes undone underneath your physical and verbal praise. Court’s body tenses into solid rock before rapidly melting. His muscles contract below your greedy hands as the unrelenting glide of your hips pulls him to his end. With a lasting grunt, he comes, pulsing rhythmically inside you.

You fall forward, your chest against his. His arms encircle you again, and he reclines farther, now prone on the floor. His fingers gently drag up and down your spine.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice coarse.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you kiss his lips.

“Mmm. Me too,” he hums.

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