#court gentry

[babyprofessorsharkpalace]

SOMEBODY WRITE RYAN GOSLING SMUT I CANT DO THIS ANY FUCKING MORE

[ken-dom]

Alone Together

Sierra Six x gn!reader

2.4k words

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

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

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

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, amused. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh? Scared?’ 

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

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

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

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

But, somehow, he misses. Spectacularly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six’s jaw clenched as he stared at you.

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

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

‘You didn’t want to win?’ he smarms.

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

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

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

‘You mentioned the haunted house?’

Six’s brow furrows again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Need a break?’ he whispers huskily..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Much,’ you smile back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Six. Come on. You taste like sugar.’

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

‘What, you want my fries instead?’

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

[chaussetteblanche]

the truth

pairing : sierra six x f!reader

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

words count : about 1.7k

warnings : canon-typical violence, swearing

notes : might make this into a series, idk

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« Where are we going ? »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« I’ll answer your questions now, »

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« Look away. » 

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

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

« Let’s go. »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« Yeah. »

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

« You’re gonna be okay. »

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Unfinished Business

Summary: Our boy has some unfinished business

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy my loves! <3

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

“Fifth floor nurse’s station” 

“Hey, you” 

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

“You on a secure line?” 

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

“Somewhere cold” he always kept his answers vague. 

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

“Course” 

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

“Never” 

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

He laughed softly on the other end 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too, sweetheart” 

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

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

“I’ve got all day” 

“No you don’t” 

“Then I guess you’d better hurry up” 

“I love you too” 

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

“Soon” he confirmed before the line disconnected. 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good Morning," you smiled kissing him again 

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

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

"Satisfied?" 

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

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

“Let's fix that then” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Court…please “ you breathed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please be careful” you whispered softly 

He nodded dropping his hand “Always” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your boy certainly does” 

Lloyd.

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

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

“I don’t know-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be gross, it’s unladylike” 

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

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

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

You scoffed “He’s gonna kill you”

“Oh sweetheart, not if I kill you first”

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

[the-purest-wolf]

Those long blonde hairs and the suit are driving me crazy

[mrsducky]

THE GRAY MAN (2022) dir. Anthony Russo & Joe Russo

[dindjiarin]

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six doesn’t respond. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes.” 

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

“Is there anything to eat?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

You watch as he stifles a yawn. 

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

“I slept enough.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, noted,” you respond. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wiidvw]

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.

[comasuart]

Six

twitter: comasuart

[sunvmars]

｡･ﾟ･ღ¸.✻´ fic masterlist `✻.¸ღ･ﾟ･｡

*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | old masterlist

-updated: 01/15/24

-writing and taking requests for marvel, bullet train, the gray man, stranger things

✮ smut | ♡ fluff | ❄ angst | ❀ general romance | ☽ misc.

Bucky Barnes

one-shots:

stars around my scars ♡ ❀

during a day off, you and bucky reminisce about how you met and your past experiences.

sunshine ♡ ❀

you and bucky host a get-together for the team, an expected surprise causes you to confide in steve.

you showed me how ♡ ❀

bucky was never one for love, unsure he was even capable of it- but then there’s you.

Steve Rogers

one-shots:

tangled ♡ ✮

(archived for revision)

honeybee ♡ ✮ ❀

steve knows everything about you, his best friend, and he strives to make you happy. you make the first move and steve wants to learn how to please you in other ways.

sunday morning ♡ ❀

a rainy day ruins your date plans, so steve brings the date to you.

if i could give you the moon ♡ ✮ ❄ ☽

your relationship with steve is nothing more than a string of lies and promises in a hearty affair.

only you ♡ ❀ ❄ ☽

on a night out with the team, only shortly after you and steve’s breakup, you end up drinking a little too much and refuse to go home with anyone but steve.

afterglow

01/20/24-01/27/24

two-shots:

01. fireworks ❀

everyone but you and steve realize you like each other.

02. sparks ♡ ✮ ❀

 just steve fulfilling his craving of you.

01. a quiet hue ♡ ❀ ☽

during an extreme case of art block, you meet steve on your apartment's rooftop. he helps cure your blocked creative flow, and sparks something else along the way.

02. a brighter hue ♡ ✮ ❀

you and steve go on a date, deepening your connection in ways you couldn't have even dreamed of. (01/20/24-01/25/24)

wip series:

bitter sweet series you've grown to resent steve after he breaks up with you and you give him the cold shoulder for weeks. you soon discover you're pregnant and show back up on his doorstep to tell him the news. he tells you the real reason for his leaving forcing both of you to work together and cooperate. will things go back to how they were, or is it forever unfixable?

01. bitter sweet ❄

02. sour ♡ ❄

03. tart ❄

04. citrus ♡ ❄

05. sickeningly sweet ❀ ♡

06-1. as sweet as cake ♡ ✮ ❀

06. fresh start ♡ ❀ ☽

rogue series

01. rogue

timeweaver (mini-series)

01. coming soon

Wade Wilson

one-shots:

i love you, wade wilson ♡ ❀

a simple, lazy weekend with wade. (coming soon)

Billy Hargrove

one-shots:

remember ❄ ♡ ❀

billy's first and only love returns

you're so good ♡ ✮ ❄

you and billy connect, forming a close bond.

Steve Harrington

one-shots:

i missed you ♡

{steve confesses after nancy leaves}

Tangerine

one-shots:

kyoto ✮ ❀

tan stumbles (literally) upon you on the way to kyoto

Ladybug

coming soon

Six/Court Gentry

coming soon

Lloyd Hansen

coming soon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Who’s the Boss? 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Bro, my hip is pinching so tight I feel it in my ankle.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖

Your mother always said you never missed a detour on a straight road. You always think she’s too narrow-sighted. Even if she's right. Your search for the caddy is foiled by your innate curiosity. You end up in the small gift shop, playing with the novelty pens there. You do need a new one…

You find a replacement for Fiona. Of course, no pen could ever live up to her comfortable grip or her gliding ink, but Bailey the Bunny would do just fine. A long pen topped with a pom pom with rabbit ears. You could make it hop as the fluffy ball was attached by a spring.

On your way to the checkout, you grab one of those portable fans that goes around your neck. You never do good in the heat and the sun is blistering down. Coupled with Hansen’s ever burning disapproval, you'll surely need it. Oh and candy.

You finally defeat the dragon and his hoard, leaving the shop with your wares, and heading outside at the direction of an attendant. A row of three carts await you as you pop a gummy bear in your mouth. The breakfast of champions.

Along with the carts, your boss scowls at his phone as his associates chat in the front seat of the middle vehicle. You hop down the steps and apologise as you swallow and shove the package in your purse.

"Uh, I had to hit the bathroom," you lie.

"Just get in," Lloyd tucks his phone away in his cream pants. What's with this guy? Does he like the adrenaline of tempting a stain?

You obey and get in a cart, gripping the wheel with one hand as you search for the key, the slot empty.

"Are you crazy?" Lloyd puts his hand up on the roof of the cart, "move over."

"Ah, right," you shimmy over, disappointed that you won't get to be Silvio for the day.

He drops onto the seat, the cart shifting with his weight. You glance back at the caddy, alone with several tall golf bags in a cart of his own. Why couldn't you ride with that guy? He looks like he has good memes.

The engine putters on and Hansen hits the gas, a slow roll across the green.

The silence is laced with his impatience. You cross one leg over the other and try to stretch the skirt past your thighs. He huffs and reaches over to still your hand.

"You fidget too goddamn much."

"Sir, sorry, sir," you stop yourself and pull your hand back, crossing your arms as you fight not to squirm. His hand lingers on your leg before he retracts it, "I've never golfed before, ya know?"

"You won't be today," he shakes his head as he steers, "take notes and be quiet."

"I'll do my best," you avow, "so how many points do you need to win?"

He doesn't answer as he sneers at the grass ahead. You're just making conversation. No wonder his buddies don't seem very friendly. Not with him, at least.

🖇️

You dodge another backswing, trying to catch whatever Lloyd is blabbering on about. There's too much. Too much green, too much pollen, too much sun, and of course, you can't help but get distracted by the putters in the distance yelling fore, as you resist yelling back five.

Hansen shades his eyes as he watches his shot fade into the sky. You can barely see the ball but whatever. He seems proud of his shot, landing right by the pole, but not in the hole. Right, but isn't he supposed to get it in? Why is this taking so long?

Court whistles, "good shot," he praises, "you know, my shoulder," he rolls his left arm, "I need to stretch it out a bit more," he takes a club and examines it as he pass Hansen, his ball only few feet behind, "you wanna give it a go?"

He offers you the end of the club and you clutch your phone to your chest. You glance past him as Lloyd turns back with a tilt of his head, "you tryna butter me up by losing, Gentry?"

"I don't need to butter you up, Hansen, I'm not the one selling," he insists as he keeps his pale blue eyes aimed at you.

"Oh, I don't know how," you smile, hoping to appease Lloyd with your refusal, as much as you kind of want to.

"I can help," Court wiggles the club at you, "come on. No fair just watching."

"She said no," Hansen snips.

"Because you're a hard ass," Court retorts, "come here."

He gestures to you with two fingers, pointing the foot of the club at the ball. You give a look to Mr. Hansen and shrug. He shakes his head and motions to the caddy for water. Nick smirks as his eyes dart between the two men.

You put your phone away and follow Court. He waves you closer and directs you to turn around. He stands behind you, his long arms stretching past you as he holds the club in front of you.

"Put your hands here," he guides your right then your left below his, "arms straight," he's flush to you, his voice surrounds you like smoke, "feet apart." He kicks your shoes wider, "just be loose, swing back," he angles the stick up, twisting his body with yours, "and down, make sure you follow through."

He brings the club back behind the ball short of touching it. You peek up as Lloyd growls and Nick holds back a chuckle. You don't get the joke.

"Good," Court pulls away, his hands brushing up your arms, "it's all yours."

"Right," you scrunch your nose and focus.

You shift your feet, wiggling your hips as you look back and forth between the club and the hole off in the distance. You take a breath and raise the club and let it swing, nearly toppling yourself with the velocity as it twists you around halfway.

The ball flies off as you regain your balance and Court hums as the other men grumble and squint at the sky. You try to see where it went and finally see the white bounce onto the green. Once, twice, three times before it rolls past Lloyd's and knocks into the hole. 

Your eyes round in disbelief. It's like you're glitching before you suddenly fling your arms up, nearly hitting Court with the club.

"I did it," you hop in place, the skirt flying up carelessly, "yesssss." You stomp down and cock your fist towards the ground, "I did it!"

You spin and raise your hand. Court barely gets his up as you high five him.

"Wonderful," Nick praises, "well, I don't know how I can follow that."

You hand the club back to Court with a smile and go back to the cart, just by Lloyd, "did you see that, Mr. Hansen?"

"Mm, yeah," he mutters, "why don't you stick to your notes, intern?"

You deflate and nod, "yes, sir."

He doesn't even look at you, his shoulders set as he glares at Court. You stick your tongue out at his back as the other men chuckle at the act. You quickly snap your mouth shut as Lloyd peeks back at you.

"God," you say as you grab the box hanging from your neck and flip the fan on, pointing it at your face, "hot out today, huh?"

He scowls and for a minute you think he might snatch the fan. Instead, his hand balls into a fist beneath his glove and he turns back as Nick approaches his ball. You don't get these old men or their dumb game. It wasn't that hard to get the ball in a hole. Duh.

🖇️

You're hesitant to sit down as the men claim a table in the club dining room. You hover behind Lloyd and he snap his fingers, pointing to an empty chair near his. You inch forward as the other men settle in, peeling off their gloves and sighing.

You're a bit overheated but overall, you feel fine enough. You wouldn't have minded a lazy Saturday but those are seeming to be in short stock. You lower yourself into the seat as the server approaches with a beaming request for drink orders.

"Ladies first," Court winks at you, an unexpected gesture.

"Oh, uh–"

"Two mimosas," Lloyd interjects holding up as many fingers.

You don't argue and just nod with a weak smile. Court narrows his eyes and orders coffee as Nick contents himself to a whiskey with coke. You wiggle in the chair, pushing the tail of the skirt under your ass as the wooden frame squeaks. Lloyd grabs your arm and squeezes. You stop and make yourself sit back.

"So, it's a plan?" Hansen begins.

"Well, you got me listening, it's more than I expected," Court counters, "but let's leave that for office hours. You can pencil me in this week, I'll have my assistant check in when they are on the clock."

You try not to send a look at your boss and keep your lips sealed. He chafes at this obvious remark but doesn't argue. 

"Fair enough, we'll enjoy our lunch then."

"I'm starving," Nick intones as he looks over the menu, "how about you?"

You realise he's asking you and you perk up, "oh yeah, I– actually, I got some candy–" you pop open your purse.

"Intern," Lloyd girds.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no dessert before dinner," you shut the clasp and cringe, "sorry."

The server returns, easing you away from the awkward silence and puts down each drink. You stare at yours, your stomach grumbling for actual food.

"Do we know what we want?" The server asks.

Again, Court defers to you, a habit that seems to irk Lloyd. You haven't even touched the menu.

"Uh, do you have grilled cheese?" You go with your gut, "if that's uh…" you glance at the menu and the French words on it, "okay?" Lloyd scoffs and you chew your lip. "Sorry, can I pass? I don't know."

"We can do grilled cheese," the server offers, "cheddar okay?"

"Oh yummy, sure," you grin, "thank you."

"Anything with it? Fries? Salad?"

"Fries. Oh, and ketchup on the side, thank you so much, sir. Er, garcon?"

Court looks amused as Nick sips from his glass. You don't chance to look at Lloyd. The men put in their orders and you tap your fingers on the tablecloth.

"Quit," Lloyd hisses and you once more weave your fingers around each other. "Why don't you have a drink?" He keeps his voice low, "unless… you had your fill last night."

"Hm?" You blink, "what do you mean?"

He clicks his tongue but doesn't answer. You swing your legs under the chair and lean your arm on the rest, propping your chin on your knuckles. 

"You ever think of golf lessons?" Court intones, "you're a natural."

"She's lucky," Lloyd insists.

"They give lessons?" You snort, "I mean it's not science or anything."

"I suppose you're right," Court lifts his mug and you nose a hint of a tattoo peeking out by his sleeve. There's another further down you didn't even notice before.

"Oooo, you have a tattoo?"

"Several," he answers.

"Nice, I was thinking of getting a little kitten tattoo."

"That's cute," he says. "Suits you."

"Does it hurt? I'm a big baby."

"A little but you get used to it," he explains.

"Hmmm, maybe I'll actually do it. It'd be cool."

Lloyd sighs and you fidget. Everything you do annoys him but you're just being friendly. Besides, the guy seems to hate your boss so maybe, just maybe, if you’re nice, it will help whatever they're trying to agree on.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. When I'm hungry, I talk too much."

"That you do," Lloyd reaches to push your drink closer, "so stop."

"Now Hansen, you dragged her out on a Saturday, I'm sure she has better things to do than watch a bunch of old men stare into the sun," Nick pipes up, "take it easy on her. She makes you tolerable."

"Fuck you, Fowler, how about that?" Lloyd snaps.

"You just hate that we prefer her," Court snickers.

"Look, I think we're all just a bit hangry–" you interject.

"Intern," Lloyd growls, "you don't gotta like me, Gentry, but if you didn't like the numbers, we both know you'd be gone by now."

"Well, someone like you needs a worth beyond their personality," Court says flippantly, "looks like the girl could teach you a thing or two about manners. And golf."

"Whatever," Lloyd sits back grumpily and grabs his drink, "she's a fucking intern."

"And yet more professional than you," Court jabs before he directs his attention back to you, "wanna see my favourite tat?"

You peek at Lloyd as he refuses to acknowledge you. You don't know what to do. You can't stand the heat. You're tempted to use the little fan but know that will only annoy him further.

"Uh, sure," you smile at Court, "I'd love to."

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

Bullet for You | Sierra Six

sierra six x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: Six's job is simple—protect you and Claire. It should have been straight-forward, should have been easy. That is, until you fell in love. And love makes us do crazy things, things that make the simple job of protecting very difficult.

A/N: I'm back! I know it's been a while, but I'm on a break from university and I can actually breathe and do the things I love, like writing for a totally new character to me! It's another angsty whump, but what else do you expect? Some authors specialize in smut, others in fluff. I just happen to love the angst. And be honest, so do you. Love and miss you all, keep dreaming 🤍

Warnings: angst, blood, injury, language, happy ending I promise

Word Count: 6033

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

It began with a smile.

I'm not even sure if you could call what Sierra Six's lips made a smile, considering how small and quick it was. I count it, though. After months of being a bodyguard for my sister and I, months of Claire cracking jokes and me forcing Six to sit through comedy after comedy, he finally smiled.

And he smiled at me.

It was oh so brief, so fleeting, so miniscule. And yet, that one upturn of his lips changed something so fundamental and eternally within me. I was in the kitchen, trying desperately to grab the flour from the top cabinet and stubbornly refusing any and all help Six so stoically offered from his silent post in the corner. When I managed to accidentally tip it over, raining the flour down upon me and sending the bag careening to the floor, I looked up just in time to see Six's lip turn up.

And I could never be the same.

After the smile, more of the ice began to crack. He got more comfortable on movie nights, would even joke back with me with that dry, sarcastic humor of his. Sometimes, if it's been an especially good week, I can get Six to take us out on the town. Our mission had always been just to warm up the unflinching exterior of Sierra Six. Claire and I never meant to rely on his protection, his safety, his surprising warmth.

I never meant to fall in love.

And love makes you do incomprehensible things.

"Six, on average, how much do you sleep? Just give me a ballpark number here," I call out, eying the stoic, gorgeously rugged man over my steaming coffee mug.

Six pauses to think for a minute before adjusting the cuffs on his suit jacket, "3 hours on a good night."

"Excuse me?" I sputter, almost choking on the burning liquid caffeine. I set down my mug, my wide eyes catching on the humor buried in Six's smug features, "You have to know how bad for you that is."

"Sleep is for the weak," Six replies plainly, and even though I know he's joking with me I roll my eyes skyward.

"That's why you have the emotional range of a carrot. I would too if I slept that little!"

I almost miss the smile that ghosts his lips. It takes every ounce of strength I have to smother the roaring of my heart at the sight. Six simply stares ahead, his unchanging demeanor giving little away. After the many months he's been watching over us, though, I've learned to pick up on the subtleties in his behavior. The way his shoulders are relaxed and his jaw isn't set, the way his clear blue eyes seem softened, I'd go as far to call him almost...content.

I hadn't realized how much I would be willing to give to make sure he stayed that way.

I find myself studying him for another moment, and I know that he knows I am. I can't bring myself to look away, though. I know what he's been through, and even if my knowledge is only a fraction of his past, I know that peace and rest have seldom been in the cards for him. Sudden, pressing emotion threatens to choke me at the thought of the agent's life away from here. All of the horrible things he has to do, all of the fighting, all of the sleepless nights and days void of joy.

"Six, can I ask you a personal question?"

There's a beat of silence, and I know he wasn't expecting that from me. Neither was I, if I'm going to be honest.

"Technically you're my boss, so you can ask me anything. Now whether or not I’ll answer..." Six tilts his head, his humored eyes meeting mine as the start of a smirk tugs at his lips. He walks over slowly to the breakfast table I sit at, and I almost begin to fear that the pounding of my heart and searing of my blood in my veins is audible.

"Ask away, Y/N." Six says gently, his gaze down at me with a glint of something that he keeps intricately veiled.

And yet it makes a shiver crawl down my spine.

I almost lose my nerve, what with his eyes burning down into me and the closeness of his presence making my head dizzy with a dangerous tangle of attraction and unspoken feelings. Swallowing thickly, I keep my voice calm as I hold his gaze.

"If you had a say in your life, what would it look like?" I almost whisper.

His jaw clenches slightly, his throat bobbing and his body going tense. A faraway look settles into those breathtaking eyes as Six raises his gaze to the window across from us. He's silent for a while, which is characteristic for Six. He always chooses his words wisely, always stays calm, always remains sure.

This is the most unsure I've seen him, and it makes me wonder if he's ever been asked this.

"I don't know," He finally answers truthfully, making something so fundamental crack in my chest. I can't help but stare at his lifted face with furrowed brows and and pain-filled eyes. "I guess I've never really thought about it."

"You've never thought about what you want?" I ask, my voice no more than a breath to hide the anguish that threatens to out my feelings for my bodyguard.

Six sets his jaw, looking down at me again and stealing the breath from my lungs. His eyes search my face, almost as if he's memorizing every feature. In them is more emotion than I've seen in his gaze before. Finally, his eyes meet mine and I remember how much of a goner I am.

"Not until recently."

I don't dare to imagine what he means, but I can't ignore the stumbling of my heart and the overwhelming urge to stand and close the distance between us. I stay unmoving in my chair though, not daring to barely breathe.

"And what do you want, Six?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench tighter together in front of him, almost as if he's...restraining them. From what, I'm not sure. My heart pounds harder in its cage of bones and I feel something shift in the air between us. As my breathing slowly increases and the silence grows thicker, I begin to realize that I can't hold back from him much longer. Six seems ready to answer when the ringing of my phone on the breakfast table interrupts and snaps the moment.

"Sorry," I whisper, finding my breath hard to gather as I look down at the caller ID, "It's work. I have to take this."

I give him a sympathetic gaze, but Six seems to relax slightly at this. He takes a few steps back and nods, giving me another small smile, "Duty calls,"

I smile back, and it takes all of my effort to look away and answer the phone. The call is short and to the point. They're loading me with remote work to finish over the weekend before Monday morning. Once I finally hang up, I let out a long sigh and shove myself to my feet.

"Well, looks like my Saturday just got filled," I announce with a yawn, stretching my arms up before grabbing my coffee mug. I give Six a tired smile as I bring the empty mug to the sink in the kitchen.

"They're working you half to death," Six remarks, turning to watch me as I clean my dishes, "Any more extra hours and I might have to go over there and bloody up my knuckles."

His words shouldn't ignite me as much as they do.

"I’m tempted to tell you to, being technically your boss and all," I respond, and I swear a quiet laugh escapes his laugh. It makes a soft smile grow onto my lips that I don't bother to stop. I finally tear away my gaze and walk towards my room.

"Let me know if you need anything, Six." I call back, meaning every word.

What he says next makes he halt in my step, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Court."

I look back at him, not even having to ask to convey that I don't know what he means by that one word. Six just stares at me in a way that makes me feel undone.

"That's my real name. Courtland, but everyone used to call me Court."

His name. More than a number, more than a title, more than a job. His name. He told me his name.

What Six...what Court has done to me can never be undone. What he has changed within me can never be fixed. I know it as I just stare at him, a smile growing on my lips. I know it as that name clangs around in my mind.

"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, though." Court jokes, his face still so stoic. With my heart pounding in my chest and my mind spinning out of control, I stand staring at him in awe for another moment.

"I'll take it to my grave," I whisper, my heart racing so quickly that I fear it will fail, "Court."

Saying it is one thing, but to hear his name from someone else, to hear his name from me...Something changes in Court's gaze. Something changes between us, something I can't put my finger on and something that makes me come to two realizations as I walk into my room and shut the door.

One. I love him more than I thought love was capable of.

I press my back up against my bedroom door, letting my head fall back and my eyes slip closed.

Two. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn't do to give Courtland every single thing he could ever want.

That second realization is a very dangerous thing to know to be true when the man you'd give everything for is the man in charge of protecting your very life.

|||

Later That Night

I walk out of my bedroom, stretching with a groan. It's nearly two in the morning and I'm just now finishing up with the work that my boss sent over. My tired eyes adjust to the darkness of the house as I make my way over to the kitchen and grab a water from the fridge.

"I guess I'll relax when I retire," I grumble under my breath as I take a swig of water.

I recap the bottle and go to set it on the counter edge, but miss. When the plastic bottle clatters against the ground and I realize that I have to pick it up, I let out another groan. Mumbling under my breath annoyedly, I bend down to pick up the bottle. When I do, I'm not even fully standing before a large, powerful arm is barring my throat and pressing me to the fridge with a massive, warm body. I barely have time to gasp when my wide eyes meet those familiar blue ones and his arm is off of me in the next instant.

"Shit, Y/N are you okay?" Six asks, gently taking my face in his large, rough hands and tilting it so he can examine the untarnished skin of my neck for signs of harm.

I force out a laugh to hide the lowering panic from being attacked and from being so close to Court. Where his skin meets mine burns so intensely that I almost think something is wrong.

"I'm alright," I promise, but he doesn't let go and step back until he has come to the same conclusion, "Unless you count scaring me half to death."

"No one's usually up this late, I thought you were an intruder," Six responds, guilt still coursing through his gaze. I can’t help notice the absence of warmth in my body without his hands on me.

"Well, you're very good at your job but if I were an intruder, why would I stop for some water?" I ask, humor coursing through me. Six shrugs, and I can tell he's scrambling to regain his composure.

"Maybe you got thirsty. Breaking in takes effort"

I laugh softly, which visibly puts Six at ease. He shakes his head slightly, running a hand across his stubble-covered jaw. It's then that I notice he's not wearing professional clothes. Instead, a tight-fitting black t-shirt shows off nearly every muscle in his torso and the sweatpants to go with it make him almost seem...normal. The sight has my mouth dry and my chest tightly constricted.

"I can't believe my eyes," I remark breathlessly, looking up to connect my gaze with his, "You're not wearing a suit."

"They're in the wash," he remarks, making another laugh escape my lips.

"Well, now that you've scared me half to death, I'm definitely not tired anymore."

"Next time, don't go sneaking around the kitchen at midnight," Six advises. I scoff, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Sneaking around? If that was sneaking around then I lied. You must not be very good at your job," I point out. His ever-so stoic face turns smug in a way that sends my heart careening out of rhythm. He takes a step closer and I have to look up to keep my gaze locked with his. His warmth washes over me and suddenly I can't think straight.

"Honey, I'm not good at my job. I'm fucking incredible at it," Six rumbles, and every coherent part of me turns molten.

The way he looks down at me with that stupid smirk on the lips that I've dreamed about for months, the way his body seems to dwarf mine, the way every molecule of air has been sucked away...it's too much for my fool's heart to resist any longer.

We both go quiet, and I think he realizes the tension thick in the air at the same moment that I do. His eyes dart down to my lips so quickly that I almost think I dreamt it, but I know that I didn't and it sends me past the breaking point.

"Y/N," Court whispers. His voice is a warning, a plea, a promise.

I'm about to close the distance between us when the glint of something catches my eye. I dart my gaze over my bodyguard's shoulder just in time to see a singular man with a handgun standing at the entry of the kitchen.

And the gun's aimed at Six, not me.

My eyes widen, and the moment suddenly slows to a crawl. The man's finger is already squeezing the trigger, and in my head I can see the love of my life catching that bullet and crumpling to the ground. Pure horror seizes my chest and I can't even think before I act.

"NO!" I shout, shoving around Six and managing to get my body between him and the man just in time for a gunshot to ring pure and clear through the air.

Time freezes and every second is a handful of years. The pain is instant, but the bite is dulled by Six bellowing my name. I've never even heard his voice get that loud. It seems almost louder than the second gunshot that explodes nearer to my head, one that comes from Six and hits the lone intruder directly between the eyes.

I press my hands to the burning in my chest, and my shocked brain can't seem to comprehend what the thick, warm liquid that gushes around my fingers is. I see Six move in front of me and slowly look up at him, my head growing lighter by the second. His eyes are wild and frantic, not an ounce of calm in sight.

"Court," I breathe, and it's the only word I can get out before my legs give out. Courtland reacts instantly, lifting me in his arms and already moving for Claire's room.

"Hold on, honey. Hold on," He orders, his voice straining for indifferent but betrayed by its tremble. My blurring vision stays caught on the beautiful man who holds me, and for once his stoic nature is broken. In its stead is a panic that he barely keeps controlled.

"Six? Six what happened?" Claire calls out from somewhere in front of me.

"Claire, I need you to grab the keys and get the car started. We need to get your sister to a hospital, alright?"

I can hear Claire frantically rush out a million questions as she scrambles through the house. My vision begins to fade, voices begins to dull, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I feel myself being carried into the garage. I vaguely hear the roar of an engine and the opening of a car door. In the midst of it all, though, my eyes are on Court.

"Court," I whisper, and through the darkening haze I see the love of my life look down at me, his gaze breaking with something deathly close to tears, "Court I'm tired again"

"No baby," he interrupts, his voice breaking on the words so deeply that he has to clear his throat to keep his tone steady, "I need you to stay awake, alright sweetheart?"

I try to nod as he sets my down in the back seat with Claire and shuts the door. I can hear my sister sobbing and speaking to me as she presses down firmly on my chest, trying desperately to keep my blood from gushing out of my body. Then, Court's in the driver's seat and peeling out of the garage and down the road at an ungodly speed. The squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber catch in me as my brain scrambles to hold onto anything and everything.

"Why did you do that, Y/N?" Court demands, his voice so angry and terrified and desperate, all at once showing more emotion than I have ever head from him. “Why did you that?"

I know he doesn't mean for me to answer, but in the midst of it all his voice is my lifeline to the living world. As the pain dulls and I feel myself being dragged underneath by the alluring peace of darkness, Sierra Six's voice keeps me tethered to reality a few minutes longer.

He was just supposed to be my bodyguard. He didn’t even want this job when he first started. He was my uncle’s employee and that was it.

And now, I’ve taken a bullet for him. I’d do it again, too. Over and over and over again.

Oh how things have changed.

"I couldn't let you die." My voice is weak and small, but he hears it through all of the commotion. As he tears down the dark road, his eyes meet mine in the review mirror. In them, I see his heart shattering. I see the guilt mounting and I see his very composure hanging by a thread.

"You should have let me."

Those words are the last things I hear before my world fades away into a nothingness so consuming that I almost welcome it.

|||

The next few hours—or days, of which I’m not sure—pass in a drug-induced haze that captures my mind in a knee-deep sludge.

There’s flashes of white coats and bright lights, needles and monitors, cold metal and blinding pain. Through it all, my mind struggles to keep pace and the confusion muddles every thought and leaves them to die on their way across a neuron to fruition. Eventually, the chaos settles into a blissful sleep.

That is, until the lights turn back on in my mind and this time, I can think clearly.

When I finally manage to get my eyes to open to the soft lighting of a hospital room, I remain still on the bed. I can hear voices mulling around me, and subconsciously I find myself searching and yearning for that one specific voice to grace my ears.

But it doesn't.

With a slight frown etched into my brow, I stir slightly on the hospital bed and turn my head to survey the room. The sources of the voices appear as I sweep my gaze to the chairs at my bedside. A small smile etches onto my lips. It's Uncle Fitz and Claire.

"Hey,"

My voice is barely a scratch of a whisper, but it makes my family go silent before me. They both whip their gazes towards me, and instantly whatever conversation the two were having before is long forgotten. Uncle Fitz and Claire hurry to my side, each speaking over the other to try and talk with me. Tears edge my gaze and I chuckle slightly, the motion making my chest ache painfully.

"One at a time," I manage out, smiling at the two. Uncle Fitz grabs ahold of my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and clutching it in his grasp as if at any moment I'll fade away.

"You gave us both one hell of a scare, kiddo,"

"Yeah," Claire chirps in, slapping my thigh lightly, "Don't do that again, Y/N"

She's saying something else, but my gaze sweeps through the rest of the room and something in my chest falls when I see only a stranger standing in the corner. No trace of Six. An odd spiraling sensation trickles through my chest. This room isn't complete without him.

"Where's Six?" I mumble, turning to look between a now silent Uncle Fitz and Claire. My uncle takes in a long breath and sits up slightly, keeping my hand in his.

"Y/N, this is Agent Williams. He will be watching over you and Claire from now on"

That trickle in my chest intensifies to a downpour, and suddenly someone is wrenching my heart in their grasp. My breathing quickens, my head spins, my soul trembles.

Where is Six? Where is he? Why isn't he here?

"Did you fire him?" I breathe out, my eyes wide and every emotion displayed plainly across my face.

"Y/N," Fitz sighs, hanging his head so to not look me in the eyes.

"Did you fire him?" I repeat, my heart beating so fast it could burst. Then, Uncle Fitzroy looks me in the eyes once more.

"No, sweetheart. He requested to be moved to another assignment."

And my heart, my very soul, fractures.

He's just so easily left us behind? After everything we've been through, after every day cooped up together, after slowly but surely breaking into my chest and stealing my heart, he's gone.

I don’t think so.

I only groan slightly as I sit up against my uncle’s protests, “Give me his location.”

Fitz freezes, his brows furrowing as he stands unsure beside my hospital bed, “Y/N, I can’t-“

“Give me his location,” I repeat, staring down my uncle, “You know it’s safe with me.”

Fitz holds my gaze for a few more moments, warring with himself over whether or not to give into my demands. I know I’ve won when he lets out a long sigh and pulls out his phone.

“You’re not gonna back down, so I guess I have to,” he wearily says. He fiddles around with his phone before putting it away and pulling out a burner phone from another pocket.

Does he just keep those things on hand?

“Here, I sent the location to this phone,” Uncle Fitz informs, slipping the burner phone into my hand, “But you’re not allowed to go until you’re healed up.”

I nod, grateful to take whatever bargain I can. As the day goes on, it turns into two. And then three. And then a week. And then two weeks. Before I know it, it’s been a month, and I’m still clutching the burner phone to my chest. A few more months and I’ll be able to hunt Six down. I’ll find him.

I have to.

|||

A few months later.

The cold wind whips against my cheeks angrily, making my skin nearly burn with the frost it holds. The buildings smattered around do little to break the icy temperatures, and neither does the throngs of people mulling around quietly with their thick coats tugged close. My eyes follow the buildings closely as I walk, and it isn’t long before I come to a pause and pull out the small burner phone Uncle Fitz gave me months ago in the hospital.

I check and then double check. This is it. This is the building.

Anxiety I hadn’t expected blossoms in the bottom of my gut as I stand before the apartment complex. A million doubts rush through my head, but I banish them with the reminder that, if nothing else, I am here to see Court one last time.

Even if that last time is me punching him across the face.

I shove past the crowd and hastily cross the street, getting lucky enough to slip in through the main entrance behind another tenant as they go in. The blast of stifled heat in the dingy, close to trashy, apartment lobby is enough to make me choke, but it’s welcome compared to the icebox of outside. I go unnoticed as I make my way to the stairwell beside the elevators that don’t seem all that trustworthy.

Fourth floor. Room 416. It should be the last one on the right.

I take each step slower than the last, my grit fizzling out the closer I get to the fourth floor. The stairwell is silent, leaving my brain plenty of room to run over and over and over again what could happen. Once again, I silence the thoughts by reminding myself of what spurred me to come here in the first place.

He left. Six left and I don’t think I can keep living like this without him.

What if he doesn’t want to stay with me? What if I mean as little to him as the next target? What if, what if, what if?

I don’t even pause to catch my breath when I reach the massive door marked with the Russian word for four. I shove through it and begin to blaze my way down the cramped hallway. My heart is racing but I don’t dare stop, don’t dare look back. I’ve come this far, I can’t turn around now.

I do pause, though, when I reach the last door on the right. Room 416.

“416,” I breathe, my heart slamming in my chest loud enough to reverberate through my being.

Then I raise my fist, and knock.

And knock.

And then knock again.

By the third round of knocking, it hits me that he’s probably not home. For some reason, that comforts me. I tug in a breath of stifled air and then pull out the pickpocketing kit I’d purchased weeks ago in case of this very scenario. With trembling fingers, I stoop down and begin to fiddle with the lock just as I’d practiced. It’s only a few minutes before I’m met with a surprising click.

It’s open.

I stash the kit and hold my breath as I take the cold doorknob in my grasp. Then, with a heart of both lead and hope, I turn it and enter his apartment. The moment I’m inside and the door is shut behind me, I know that I’ve reached the right place. The overwhelming smell of pine and snow and a hint of gum circulates, and that’s one smell I don’t think I’ll ever soon forget.

Casting my gaze around the darkened apartment, I notice it’s as I suspected. I can’t see anyone in here. I traipse my way into the main area of the small but quaint apartment. There’s a kitchen to my left, a small living room to my right, and a short hallway leading to a door that I presume is his bedroom before me.

I haven’t taken more than two steps towards the door when a pair of large, rough hands grasp my shoulders and shove me backwards until I’m colliding with the wall beside the kitchen. A massive, muscular arm comes up to bar my throat, and once my shock has subsided, I come to realize what’s happening. The familiarity of this is too strong.

Because it’s him. It’s Courtland.

He must be just as surprised to see me, because the moment recognition flares through those gorgeous, deadly eyes, his stubble-covered jaw slackens and so does his hold on my neck. He keeps me there against the wall, seeming to be frozen and uncomprehending of what stands before him. With his skin on mine and his face so close, I almost buckle to the floor as something I’ve been missing these last few months crashes into me. Something only Court makes me feel.

“This position seems familiar,” I finally whisper, breaking the thick, tense silence.

“Y/N” Six mumbles, the very sound of my name coming from his lips making me shiver.

He shoves away from me instantly, taking steps back to put space between us. Six runs a hand over his jaw as his gaze sweeps over me, slowly and scrutinizingly in the way he was trained. Only his gaze doesn’t make me feel like a target, it makes me feel…undone. I see his eyes stick on my upper torso. The exact spot that bullet slammed into me all those months ago. A certain pain flashes through his gaze before, in an instant, his unfeeling and unyielding demeanor returns.

Only this time there’s a difference. I can visibly see the strain it takes to hide whatever emotions are running through him.

“I’m okay,” I manage out, shattering the silence between us. I mentally scold myself for the stupid and fumbling excuse for a first greeting, but I press on nonetheless.

Court nods, his face blank as his eyes pierce into mine, “What are you doing here?”

His words send a dagger of hurt slicing through my heart, but I try to ignore it. Instead, I gather my nerve and say what I came here to stay.

“You weren’t there when I woke up”

I intended the words to be bold, convicting, confident. It surprises even me when they instead come out nearly laying bare every inch of affliction burdening me. My words are quiet, but they hit Six so hard I see him flinch the slightest bit.

“I’m just glad you woke up,” Six averts, but his words ring with truth. I feel tears I knew would come but desperately hoped wouldn’t begin to prick behind my eyes.

“Why did you leave?” I ask directly. I’m done beating around the bush.

“Y/N, it’s not as simple as-”

“Why did you leave?” I repeat, my words stronger and trembling only slightly at the end. Six sighs, clenching his jaw before he manages a response.

“I had a job, I failed at that job. When that happens, that usually means you don’t have that job anymore.” He sounds almost automated, as if he’d memorized those words.

“That sounds pretty simple to me,” I shoot back, anger I hadn’t anticipated beginning to burn in my gut, “But I’m calling bullshit.”

There’s a moment of silence and I can tell from the shift in his gaze that he’s going to tell me the truth.

I just hope I’m prepared for what it means.

“It is-,” he stops abruptly, barely reacting except for the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists before him as he tries again, “Was my job to protect you. I couldn’t do that when you were willing to put yourself in danger around me.”

“You left me because I made you incapable of doing your job correctly?” I exclaim, my tone incredulous.

“It’s not about the damn job!” Six suddenly outbursts, and I go silent immediately. I’ve only ever heard him raise his voice now twice.

And the first was when he saw blood pouring from my chest.

“Protecting you,” Six continues, his normal volume returned but his voice strained, “It goes beyond the job.”

I don’t seem to have a response for that one. I don’t need to find one either, because Six can’t stop himself from taking a step closer to me.

“You once asked me what I wanted,” He murmurs, and even though we’re a few feet apart the air is electric. “Well, what I want can’t be near me if all she’ll do is put herself between me and a bullet.”

I’m fairly certain that my brain short-circuits, because his words won’t process.

What he wants.

What he wants.

Me? He wants me?

“You mean you-”

But just as quickly as his emotion has exploded, it’s gone. Court’s face hardens and he turns around, walking off back to where he was before I broke in.

“Your new bodyguard is good. He’ll take care of you.”

"Wait, Six. I-"

"I've got a job to take care of here, so I probably won't see you or Claire again. Keep her safe for me." His voice is so monotone, so careless, so...so strained to make it that way. I watch in utter shock as he mills around his apartment, grabbing a phone and a gun as he clearly prepares to leave.

"Six, don't shut down like this. We need to talk about what you just said." I insist. He acts as though I haven't spoken at all.

"If you'll excuse me," Six says curtly, pulling a suit jacket on and brushing past me and towards the door to his apartment. A certain panic grips my chest so tightly that my legs nearly give out.

He can't leave me, not again. I can't lose him. I can't.

"Six, wait!" I exclaim, trailing him towards the door. He doesn't turn around, "Please, just talk to me."

Six makes it to the apartment door and swings it open. As he does, despair that threatens to suffocate me invades my chest. I'm slowly beginning to realize that this is it. He's going to walk out that door and everything that has happened in the time I've known him, everything he's become to me, will be over.

"Court, please. Don't leave me,"

Six freezes in his step, the door still in his grasp and his frame halfway through the opening. My heart slams into my throat, hope making it pick up its pace as he stands with his back to me, his body clearly heaving with breath.

"If you meant what you just said," I falter slightly, only slightly, before I throw all caution to the wind, "Then you have to know that I want you too, you have to know that. Shit, Court I more than want you. I-"

My words die as Six is suddenly moving, storming back into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. I stare with wide eyes as he suddenly approaches me, and the next thing I know his hands are cupping my face and his face is so close to mine that all thoughts leave me. His eyes search mine as he pauses, no emotions held back this time.

"This isn't safe for you," Court rasps. I can hardly focus as his eyes drop to my lips with a desire so strong in them that a shiver runs down my spine.

"I'm safest with you," I assure. Court shakes his head slightly, his thumb running across my cheek.

"You just had to go and say my name," He murmurs.

Then Court connects his lips to mine, and for the first time in my life I know what it is to live.

His lips move in perfect harmony with mine, his warmth overwhelming me and overheating me. His large, calloused hands on me are everything and not enough all at once and when one slips into my hair and tugs me closer, I know.

He is danger, he is the dark, he is everything I was warned about as a child. And he's the love of my life.

"No more jumping in front of bullets for me," Court orders once he pulls back. My lips twitch up slightly.

"No promises."

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Listen. The fact that he was a whole adult before I existed on this plane of the earth is attractive to me, okay?

[soupfiction]

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.

[melwilson]

deserving

bodyguard!courtland gentry x reader

warnings! mentions of injury and trauma

“you’re late.”

“i know. i’m sorry. got tied up.” the blonde hums as the front door shuts behind you. his eyes raked over your frame to looking for any new bruise or signs of injury. “you didn’t have to wait up for me,” you say as he comes to stand in front of you.

six rolls his eyes, taking the pile of shopping bags from your hands. “it’s my job.”

“i really hope my dad pays well,” you utter under your breath. you don’t mean for him to, but six hears you. he always does. he doesn’t respond though, mind wandering to the offshore swiss bank account that is collecting his check every week. he doesn’t need the money. when he was approached by the balding politician, he was skeptical, but it was an out- a means to the end of sierra six…even if it meant being the personal bodyguard of twenty-year-old you. it wasn’t glamorous, but it allowed him to live without looking over his shoulder and it provided him with more than enough money to take care of claire and himself.

you follow him to your room, watching as he subconsciously checks all the windows and doors that he knows are locked. occupational hazard, he would say. trauma, you would argue.

“i really am sorry for keeping you up this late,” you apologize when your eyes read the time on your bedside analogue clock. half past twelve. “we obviously did some damage,” you gesture towards the shopping bags. “had a couple drinks. lost track of time.” your best friend had suggested a shopping trip. how could you turn it down? six had insisted on going, in fact, if your dad found out that six hadn’t gone, he would lose his mind. however, you convinced the bodyguard that you would only be gone until nine. nine…conveniently turned into twelve thirty.

the glare the blonde gives you is hard enough to make you want to dig an early grave. his blue eyes are intense, staring right through you. “you’re not old enough to drink.”

you brush past him into your closet to change into your usual tee shirt and spandex. “if i can sign up to die for my country, i think i can have a drink every once and awhile.”

court doesn’t argue with your point, he simply replies with, “you should’ve called me, y/n.”

when you exit the closet, you’re met with concerned eyes. “i’m okay, court. one night without you didn’t kill me.” he raises an eyebrow and you send back a begrudging look. “i promise to call next time.”

he nods, satisfied. you both know you are very capable of protecting yourself, but six took your safety seriously. the first month of his stay included you learning about situational awareness and the basics of krav maga. you were strong, more than able to overtake the average sized military aged male. six was hired, however, because the people who wanted to hurt your father were relentless and better than the military. they were men like him. machines. killers. you couldn’t handle yourself against men like him and that is what six was scared of. he cared about you just as much as he cared about claire. and vice versa.

you had taken a liking to your short-lipped, blonde shadow. after a year of him being around, he had become the closest thing you had to family. he had truly seen you at your best and at your worst. he celebrated your birthday with you, listened to you vent about celebrity drama, held you when your sister left, became a punching bag when you were angry. he was the only person who knew where your birthmark was and snuck you out when you wanted to get a new tattoo. the first one had been a crescent moon on your left shoulder. the most recent was the number six permanently etched into the smooth of your wrist. the blonde thought it was a joke and proceeded to lecture you the whole ride home when he realized it wasn’t. he said it was foolish. you thought it was touching. that was your first argument. what he failed to realize was that he was everything your family wasn’t. he was present, available, he listened, made stupid jokes, gave terrible advice, but he was always there for you.

“we’re staying in tomorrow,” six informs heading for your door. he intends to check the the grounds one more time.

“wait.” his shoes making a squeaking sound on your hardwood floors as he stops. “i got you something.”

six watches as you dig through the pile of massive shopping bags on your floor. the first thing you throw at him is a four pack of gum. “island berry lime, watermelon wave, pineapple twist, splashing mint. what happened to perfect wintergreen peppermint?” 

“discontinued,” you mutter finally finding what you were actually looking for.

six hums in surprise. “i kinda liked that one.”

“well, i hope you like this a little bit more.” your usual mischievous glint is replaced with one of adoration. six is skeptical, but takes the small black box from your hands. you rock back on your heels, nervous.

“y/n,” six says, “what is this?”

“what do you mean? it’s a watch.”

“a really expensive watch,” he shoots back. hublot, orlinski titanium, $15,000.

“whatever,” you shrug, “look at the back.”

VI ; six

the cardinal number between five and seven.

a small smile creeps onto his lips as he reads the engraving. “what is this for?”

“because i like seeing you smile and because you deserve something better then the crappy one you’re wearing right now.”

the word deserve was one that six battled with. he had never felt deserving of anything in his life. he had always thought that the people he had been sent to hunt truly deserved to die, but what about him? what did he deserve? for years he existed in a world beyond the walls of normal life where the word deserve didn’t exist. but now as a civilian, he could think about the things that he wanted and the life he wanted to live. you were apart of that life- not romantically of course, but rather as a reminder that he deserved good things.

he shakes his head trying to hide his smile and sets down the watch. “c’mere.” you raise a skeptical eyebrow and he insists, “come here.”

he opens his arms and you step into them, humming as he wraps you in his warmth. “thank you,” he utters softly. “i mean it.”

you lean back to place a soft kiss to his jaw. “you deserve it, court.”