#the gray man 2022

[frecklystars]

inspired by this post ☀

[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.

[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.

[everglow-ing]

RYAN GOSLING as 'SIERRA SIX' in THE GRAY MAN (2022)

[dindjiarin]

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

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

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

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

IIII

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

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

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

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

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

Where's Six? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIIII

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

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

“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially. 

“No,” you plead. "No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little birdy told you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You ask, perplexed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me see your hands.” 

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

IIIIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shower or bath?” He asks.

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

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

“Shower.” 

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

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

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

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

“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.

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

You raise your eyebrows and frown at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always want you, Court.”

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

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

[proper-goodnight]

Fandom: The Gray Man

Pairing: Court Gentry/Reader, Sierra Six/Reader

Words: ~3K

Type: One-Shot

Title: Into The Woods

Six didn’t talk much, you noticed.

Since he’d been assigned to protect you per your father’s very infuriating insistence, he’d never said much beyond simple introductions. Besides walking in circles around your house and looking at his shoes, he’d done as promised and stayed out of your way. Any further attempts at conversation only left you feeling more confused than when you’d started.

You didn’t mind his presence in your life. After all, he did his job, and he did it well. And that’s what you were: A job. What else beyond that were you meant to ask? He liked to chew gum and had a habit of always giving vague, short answers. Beyond that, he was a closed book, bound and wrapped ten times over with a promise that he would never open.

His secrets would stay locked away from you. You didn’t even know if he had an actual name.

One day, when you’d prompted your father about him, he’d only called him disposable. If something happened to him, nobody would notice. However, that wasn’t completely true. You’d notice. You didn’t think that men like him died and nobody noticed. Sickening suspicion suggested that he probably thought that nobody would mourn his passing, and he would be wrong.

Six possessed a sense of humor underneath all of that passive neutrality, and you wondered if he’d find the concept funny; if he’d find it funny that you’d found it comforting having him at your house, just the two of you while your father was away on a business trip. You’d never found peaceful silence anything comforting, always needing to fill it with conversation, but with him, it just worked.

And when the threat had come, twenty to one were stupidly impossible odds that he’d defeated. Then, he’d whisked you away to a safehouse in the mountains that were too damn cold, and the silence he left between you even colder.

You didn’t think he didn’t like you, but you didn’t really know what he thought about you at all.

Next to the window of the cabin, Six sat in companionable silence, arms draped over his knees and appearing none too bothered by the cold. He didn’t look any different after having killed all of those people, his expression always thoughtful, and always contemplative. If you could, you’d crack his head open and see what sat inside, but you very much liked it intact.

Blankets were drawn tight around you, but it didn’t matter. You were still freezing. Your skin felt clammy, reeking of sweat, bruised and miserable about it and he was acting as if ending lives was like any other day of the week. He had his track jacket, thin and probably not very warm, but you didn’t see the slightest trace of a shiver through the tightly wound cord of muscle on his arms.

He glanced over, just catching your eye before you ducked your head. With a fierce blush, you realized that you’d been staring a hole into him.

“You should get into some different clothes.” He said, only sounding a little amused.

The two of you had jumped into a river to escape the house, your clothes further hindering your ability to get warm. When the attack had started, you’d been walking through the halls and Six had rounded a corner, covered in blood–albeit he’d told you later that it wasn’t his blood and that still hadn’t been a comforting answer. You’d just barely managed to get the words out ‘ Oh my God. What are you–’ before he’d moved past you, telling you to follow him, to keep your head down and not to ask until you were both out.

You figured there was danger, and he hadn’t grabbed you, so you’d had no choice but to stumble after him. Outlines of men, bodies , on the floor, tucked back into corners had barely been discernible through the dark. If it hadn’t been for Six knowing the house better than you did somehow, you doubted that you would’ve made it very far on your own.

You had an affinity for scared, lost things that looked tough on the outside–your father had a tough time convincing you to rehome the animals you brought home–but you knew that was stupid. Sitting there with Six as he draped a musty smelling blanket over your shoulders, even after everything that had happened, his hands were steady.

He was a murderer–good at it in fact–and you believed that he should probably be in jail, but you were safe with him. You trusted him and he was probably the only person in the world besides your father that held the honor.

“Did that bother you?” You asked. You looked up as he shifted back to the window. He wasn’t looking at you, and although you were sure that it was part of his job–keeping watch–he was avoiding your eyes for some other reason entirely. “Back at the house?”

His answer was immediate. “Just another Thursday.”

So was yours. “It’s Tuesday.”

Six cracked a smile, the barest upturn at the corners of his mouth, but you took great pride in that.

“I know that you had to kill those people, but when did it start getting easier? I think about it, seeing them like that , and I just can’t imagine…” You couldn’t finish it, feeling as if you put a foot in your mouth already. Your eyebrows drew down. You hugged the blankets tighter.

“I do what they tell me to do.” There was no edge in his voice–never was. He didn’t lean on any of the words. He probably didn’t know anything else. Not anymore. You wondered what his life was like before all of this.

Maybe it’d been so long that he’d forgotten.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized. “I’m sure it’s not something that you want to talk about–”

He shook his head, and once again, his attention was back to the window, at anything but you.

You couldn’t help yourself, the possibility permanently embedded at the back of your mind, suffocating until you got it out of your system and into the open–hoping for an answer that wasn’t as vague as Six himself was. You squinted, scrutinizing his appearance. “If it wasn’t because of me–I mean if you weren’t protecting me, what would you be doing?”

“Prison, maybe.”

“Oh. ”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

You were, but you couldn’t let him know that. You quirked a small smile. “You look the type.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He sounded so awkward that you tried not to laugh. It wasn’t that it was funny, but you’ve come to know what hysteria feels like and you’re verging on the edge of whether if you don’t laugh, you’ll start crying.

You wondered if he had a preference.

Six looked relieved to have this aspect of the conversation over, however. It was snowing, heavy, flat flakes coursing through a darkened sky. Wind howled through the trees. It was beyond you how he saw anything at all, the idea that he was looking out for some other reason only further cemented in your subconscious.

“Do you think they followed us up here? That they made it through the pass?”

He shrugged. “If they did, they won’t get far.”

You didn’t think that they would. Hours ago, you were driving through it while he hung outside the passenger window and blew their pursuers to pieces. It’d been difficult to manage a car up a bumpy pass while the sound of gunfire raged in your ears. You remembered screaming, high pitched but also guttural and blood curdling; screaming so loud that you nearly took your hands off the wheel and let fate sort itself out. You may have been ready to just let them take you. Kill you. You could have been collateral damage if that wouldn’t hurt Six’s career in the process.

Water had soaked the driver’s seat, your hair and clothes plastered in frost while your teeth chattered hard enough to bounce out of your skull. You’d been shaky and nauseous when you finally made it, but he was ushering you inside before you could find your feet, the squelch of your boots and wet socks following you into the cabin. Your stomach had lurched and nearly vomited up everything you’d eaten, and everything you planned to eat later.

You lost time after that. It could have been hours ago, and yet somehow it felt like lifetimes.

Trying to make conversation with Six had that effect on you.

“Is this your place?” You prodded further, attempting to fill the silence with something.

“Something like that.” He looked at you, really looked at you now. Even after witnessing him put so many people into the ground single-handedly, you didn’t flinch. He’d never had that kind of power over you, and he didn’t want it. In the dim light, his looks hadn’t changed. Same facial scruff and blonde hair that you had come to know so well after the last few months. Six didn’t look soft to you, and you didn’t think that he was supposed to, but he didn’t look any less human either. He also didn’t look tired. Maybe there was some kind of release from mowing your enemies down.

You wouldn’t know, but that didn’t sound like something you should ask.

You gathered the blankets a little closer; looked around. The cabin was small, barely space for one. There was a small dining area, a couch, and shelves stocked with essential supplies that looked as if they had been gathering dust for a long time. There was a sleeping bag though, and a closet that you held a sneaking suspicion was full of guns.

Knowing Six, you were dead certain that’s what it was.

You shivered.

The lamp was lit, but it was dim and barely cast a shadow. You thought that maybe that was all Six could handle for now, too cautious that someone unsavory would see, and would find them, and they’d spend the next few hours trekking in the freezing wilderness again with scarcely anything except his intuition that he knew where they were going.

You just barely caught a glimpse of Six before he was standing in front of you, holding out a stack of neatly folded clothes.

“It’s dry.” He said, his smile dry and a little wan, but you took solace in anything you could get from him. Your heart picked up its pace a little, but you shoved that aside for now.

You took them, looked around awkwardly and saw nothing resembling a private space to go change in. He was still standing there, and you were acutely aware of that. “Can you…” You moved your finger in a circular motion, unsure how to voice the question.

His face switched seamlessly from simple confusion to realization. He nodded, turned and faced the wall, avoiding the reflection in the window before maneuvering off into the small kitchen. You heard the sound of water running, and the wrestling of tea bags. It was startlingly endearing; Six being who he was somehow still polite and understanding how such a thing would be awkward.

Nonetheless, you undressed. The blanket dropped to the floor as you peeled off your shirt; filthy and you begrudgingly realized that it would never take back its vibrant colors again. Next was your jeans, and although you felt awkward, you stopped being childish and removed your underwear. Six wasn’t looking at you anyway, and even if he did, you doubted that you’d be the first woman that he saw like this before. The last thing was your boots. You tossed them off to the side and flexed your numb toes, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sight of socks in the pile. It was the little things sometimes.

Inside the cabin had become quiet and still while you changed, the flurry of snow outside and the tension in Six’s muscles underneath his shirt. You flexed your numb fingers next, wondering how warm they’d be against him, the warmth that was sure to come if you buried your head in between his shoulder blades and absorbed what he had to offer.

You’d shimmied into one of his track suits, a hoodie and some socks: black and red because that had come to be recognized as his colors. Everything was way too big, but it was warm. The material was soft, and it smelled like him.

Your hair was another story, but thankfully you could throw that up if you really wanted.

“You can turn around now.”

He did, albeit slowly, as if he was giving you a final few seconds to cover up, two cups of tea in hand.

You earned a little half-smile when he saw how badly his clothes fit, his absence of words expected but still a little disappointing. You settled onto the couch–It smelled musty and wet and completely and utterly disgusting, but it was comfortable–while he brought the tea over and handed you one.

He leaned back against an end table to drink his own.

You looked down at your reflection in your cup, fingers skimming around its circumference. “Why do you think that they tried to take me instead of going after my father directly?”

He hovered by the couch, more focused on his own tea than your questions. “Leverage most likely.”

“So, if not for me, then they’d have no leverage against him.” You sipped, the tea scalding your tongue. Both of you had an understanding about that. You knew by his sudden change in expression. He got it. You’re a liability.

“It wouldn’t matter either way, I think.” Six said earnestly.

“Why not?” You asked. “Because without me, they would find a way to hurt my father anyway?”

He frowned, looking as if he wanted to say something, but stopped. He looked down at his mug.

You drew the blankets tighter around yourself, feeling more secure within your little barrier. The little heater was trying its best to warm the place up but between the weather, and Six’s silence, it was failing miserably.

“You can sleep if you want.” For the first time, he sounded uncomfortable.

“I don’t think I could.”

He didn’t tell you that you should, or it was what was best for you, or how he’ll watch out for you. Instead, he grabbed the remaining sleeping bag and sunk down on the couch himself, long legs splayed out in front of him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, through his hair, closed his eyes for a long moment and you’re almost certain that you heard him humming the first few notes to an old record–one your father played a lot in his study. You wondered if there’ll ever be a time when Six no longer surprised you. If you’ll ever come to understand why he is the way he is.

“You know, I care.” You said and that edge was back.

He opened his eyes and glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Whether you were safe.” You clarified. “My father called you disposable, but you’re not.”

“That’s the whole reason that I’m here,” he said, and you could hear the certainty in his words, how strongly he’d meant them. “Because I am.”

“I meant to me.”

He didn’t say anything, and you were grateful. Things were fucked up for the both of you; complicated and you weren’t completely sure what you wanted him to do with that information anyway. You thought that maybe people like him didn’t have the capacity to think outside the current. “I guess … I guess I’m just glad you were there. That you’re here .”

You shivered violently then, the heat doing nothing to warm you and the copious amounts of blankets even less. You’re freezing, whether from the snow outside or the emotions you’re just expended you don’t know, but you were moments away from turning into an icicle.

He looked you up and down, and then he extended a hand across the couch.

You’d think about the consequences of it later, giving up the cold safety of the couch for the reckless warmth of him. Teeth chattering, you moved over and sunk into his side, laying your head against the crook in his shoulder. He shifted to accommodate you.

You don’t talk. Not for a long time anyway. You bundled under the blankets and sleeping bags and he held you close with his cheek against your head, and you listened to the wind outside, the cracking of trees in the distance.

He sighed out through his nose, and you hoped that meant that he was relaxed.

“You feeling better?” He asked eventually.

You nodded. “Much.”

You felt his smirk more than you saw it, imagining how his mouth twisted slightly at the edges. It would be gone before you looked.

You didn’t turn; didn't want to ruin the moment. For the first time that day, you felt content. You pressed closer, breathed gently into his neck, felt his pulse jump.

“They didn’t choose you because of your father.”

You let the moment stretch, refusing to give much thought to where it was going or why. You allowed yourself the time to absorb this new revelation, to understand it. You guessed it changed everything, but nothing. You didn’t know what to do with it either way.

He looked like he might say something, like he was searching for the words in his head but couldn't find them, locked somewhere else. Six was violent in most aspects of his life, and you wondered how this could be any different.

You looked up at him, fully expecting him to say something about needing to go back to work instead of talking to you. You waited for it, steeled yourself for the disappointment that was sure to come your way. He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned into you, closed his eyes, covering your hand at your waist with his own. You waited for him to part his fingers so that you could slide yours between them.

“So what you’re saying is that there are a lot of people pissed off at you?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it’s good you’re like a super soldier, then.”

“After expenses, I’m more like a soldier of the middle class.”

You smiled, laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. The silence in the cabin didn’t seem so strained. It was you, and him, suddenly much warmer than you ever thought possible. You still felt as if you didn’t know much about Six, most certainly not, but something about the moment made you believe that you were headed in the right direction to figuring it out.

For now, that was all that mattered. Once the two of you made it out, alive and well, then… then you would see.

[danime25]

Jingle All The Way

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Six and his wife take on their first mission as a married couple. Shopping for their beloved daughter Claire

*Content/Tags: Fluff, Couples Taking Things Way Too Seriously, Shopping

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

“So I’m just going to meet up with Jenna and Ashley in the food court. I’ll text you if we go anywhere else.” Claire told her dad

“Okay, love you. We’ll meet back up at 3.” 

“Okay. Love you too.” Claire made a little peace sign with her fingers and made a run for the food court. Meanwhile her father and mother turned around and pulled out a map of the mall that his wife had in her purse

“So we need to hit… Barnes and Nobles for those books Claire likes.”

“On it.”

“I’ll go to Kohl’s and get some sweaters.”

“Then we take on Gamestop together?” Six asked her, looking up from their pre-planned route

“Then we can go to Sephora.” She nodded, her eyes still fixated on the paper

“What do we need from there?” Six raised an eyebrow

“Well I wanted a perfume…” She started, “You bought it for me already didn’t you?”

“Can’t say, sworn to Santa secrecy.”

“That only applies to Claire.” She huffed but shook her head. “Okay, let’s break.”

“Break.” He replied and they went in opposite directions in the mall. He sprinted past people who were on their phones, arguing about what color to buy a toy for their kid. He scooted around teenagers waiting in the mile long line for Starbucks all in an effort to get to the bookstore. The employees gave him a weird look as he dashed into the store from the mall entrance but he made a straight line to the Young Adult section for Claire’s books. He thumbed through the dividers until he found the last name of the author he’d been given by his daughter. There were books written by him that weren’t the one Claire asked for, but he’d definitely seen in her room. Finally, the series seemingly popped out in his line of vision and he grabbed every book from the shelf. He held onto them and carried the stack up to the register. The employees begrudgingly rung the total up for him and he flashed his credit card up against the machine. He flipped through his phone for a second to see where his wife was on the agenda.

“Stuck in line. Sweaters. Go on without me.”

With that, he made a beeline to Gamestop.

---

“Going to…”

“Do you really need to tell your dad everything?” Claire’s friend rolled her eyes as she waited for Claire to finish typing.

“Yes.” She replied, not lifting her eyes up from the screen

“Why?”

“Because… my parents are on a mission.”

“A mission?”

“Yeah.” Claire sighed

“Is that why they’re using maps like weirdos instead of looking up the mall map on their phones?” Claire’s other friend asked

“Yeah.” Claire shook her head, “Mom thought it’d be more fun.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. I know.”

---

Six had made it to Gamestop when he saw his wife making a run for him. He held his arms out as she basically landed into him

“Hi Honey.” She smiled, “Managed to get out of there with more time than I thought.”

“Good.” He smiled back at her and kissed her, “Ready?”

“Ready.” She replied and let go of her husband. She got in the line to buy a system with a game face on, ready to deck a Karen if it meant getting a system for Claire. Six couldn’t have been more proud of his wife if he had tried. She smiled at him and waved as she waited. He waved back to her and thumbed through the games. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he checked it. Claire was moving from the food court towards Kohl’s, which would put her right on their path. He makes a gesture saying that they either needed to buy the system or get out of Gamestop right now when she makes it to the counter. She quickly buys the console and they hide behind the clearance bins as their daughter passes by.

“I don’t think she saw us.” She sighed out of relief

“We should be clear.”

“Anything else we can get here today?” She asked Six. He pulled the map out from his pants pockets and took a quick glance of his notes

“No, we’re good.”

“Okay, you go to the car and get the presents in the trunk. I’ll go run my errand.”

“Okay. Love you.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek

“Love you too. Whatever you do, don’t move the car. That parking spot is gold.”

“I know.” He nodded as she went off on her own. Six decided that this would be the perfect time to go buy her her gift.

[listenbuckaroo]

Flowers - Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x Reader

Warnings: guns, blood, canonical violence, not too graphic or nothin 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: your high school sweetheart appears unannounced in your apartment

a/n: im back friends :) hope you like this one!

Juggling the keys and grocery bags you had just picked up you trudge through the halls of your small apartment building. Carefully you tried to soften your footsteps so as to not wake your neighbor, who had a habit of yelling at you when you came home from late shifts for making too much noise. 

Unfortunately this evening she was already waiting for you outside of her door, maybe it was the obnoxiously loud music you had to blast on your way home from work so as to not fall asleep but you were about to find out. 

“Hi Mrs. Cross, how are you tonight?” you attempted to start on a good note before she laid into you.

“Your boyfriend has been in there for the past hour beating and banging on things and it keeps waking me up!” She said in her shrill voice. 

But tonight her shrill voice wasn’t the one that was bothering you, the fact that someone was in your apartment and had been for the past hour was. You didn’t have a boyfriend, not since high school and that was a long time ago. Fearing the assumed robbers were still in there right now and not wanting Mrs. Cross to report it you just sighed and said, “Don’t worry I'll handle him. Have a good night!” 

Waiting until she was inside and door locked you placed all your bags right outside your door and pulled your small handgun from your purse and pushed on your door. Whoever was in there had left it unlocked, probably assuming no one was going to come back tonight given the hour it was. 

The smell of blood hit you before you saw anyone, looking down at the floor bloody boot prints marred your wood floors in a jagged pattern meaning someone was probably bleeding out in your apartment. For a moment you considered that this may be too much, even for you, but shook the thought out of your mind. 

And not a moment too soon, a body came barrelling at you from your bathroom in an attempt to tackle you. Sliding forward and tripping him you quickly clamored on top and pinned his arms to his sides so he couldn’t attack again. 

“Jesus I’m gonna get so much shit for being topped by a girl.” You heard him wheeze out, as you flipped the nearest light switch in the hall. 

Looking down and seeing who you had now pinned to your floor was one of the last people you thought you might ever see again, Courtland Gentry. The pure shock that went through your body caused you to freeze and nearly drop the gun you were holding a few inches away from his face. He looked like he had been in a bar fight with 20 different people in the past few hours, bruises littered his face and neck and the weeping cut on his eyebrow was threatening to gush blood into his eye.

His face contorted into one of confusion, and then blanched like he had seen a ghost, “Y/N?” He questioned in a whisper.

“Courland what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” You said not moving the gun from his face. 

“What am I doing here? You live here?” He wheezed, glancing around your sparsely decorated apartment, which only made you squeeze his arms into his body further.

“Okay, that's a fair move.” he whined. 

“Talk, then I’ll move.” you said getting comfortable on your new seat. 

“Hmmm, that's classified” he groaned as you jabbed a knee into his side.

“Nice fucking try, you’re supposed to be in prison.” You spat at him.

The pure anger and resentment on your face must have shocked him. He stopped squirming underneath you and looked you in your eyes. You liked to believe that you had kept a front up pretty well. Ever since Courtland had left for prison in highschool, you felt like he took a part of your heart with him. 

You two were nearly inseparable, both being from lower middle class families you lived near each other and always hung out every summer which eventually led to you dating in highschool. He was the most gentle person, especially with you before everything happened, and you thought you would never see him again. The last time you saw him he was being dragged away in handcuffs and threw a wink over his shoulder at you. 

Your father wouldn’t take you to see him at the trial so you tried on multiple occasions to go yourself, always being caught by school security. It felt like true love, but you eventually came to terms later that you had been swooped up in a summer love affair with a murder and had no busisness missing him. 

So you stopped. You stopped fighting, you never tried to go visit him in prison once you got old enough because you knew it'd be too hard. He was probably a deeply changed person and one that you wouldn't recognize or have the heart to actually break up with since you hadn't when he had first left. 

"Get to it Gentry I don't have all night." You said moving around on top of him shifting the slightest bit of weight towards his ribs.

He winced and wriggled out of your grasp, done with you annoying his clearly fractured ribs anymore tonight. He grabbed your thighs and shoved you off of him, even though he was bulky you didn’t expect the speed that came out of him. He had your hands pinned and your gun tossed away from you before you could really register what had happened.

"Oh, eat shit." You huffed out finishing it difficult to complete a full sentence with his new found body weight on top of you. 

He didn't say anything but slowly put a hand over your mouth as you listened to whatever he thought he heard. You tried to move around and get out from his weight but he gave you a glare that made you immediately stop. Focusing on quieting your breathing you looked back up at Courland.

He had aged, but to be fair it had been 10 years since the last time you had seen him. His dirty blonde hair was longer than you remember, but it suited him. The goatee however, you were on the fence about, you could maybe get used to it. His shoulders were about twice as broad as the last time you had seen him, and he stunk. That was what stood out the most. 

After a few seconds you heard footsteps outside that sounded heavy and they were moving with a purpose. Hoping Mrs. Cross didn't step outside to yell at them when they ran by you and waited until Courtland told you it was clear. It was obvious he had extensive training with some organization, but you still didn't know how he was out of prison.

He dropped his hand from your mouth and sat up to his knees in front of you. Still in a haze of panic you back up to grab your gun and aim it back at him. The confusion coursing through your mind made it difficult to process everything that was happening. 

He looked down at you sadly almost, he gently lifted his hand and pointed the gun down towards the ground. You let him take it out of your hands and turn the safety on. You stared at him and the blood pulsing down his face from a cut that he had recently acquired.

“Courtland Gentry, what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” you said once again hoping you wouldn’t have to kick his ass for answers, although you’re not sure if you would win considering how much he had beefed up.

“I swear I'd tell you if I could.” He looked at you, almost as if he was trying to memorize the new freckles and lines on your face.

“Okay, well how did you get in?” you questioned hoping to get some kind of information out of him.

“Window.” he gestured to your living room fire escape and misplaced furniture that was now there, “it looked vacant that's why I came in.”

You glanced back over at him and couldn’t help but smile, he had always given you shit for your subpar homemaker skills when you were younger. You couldn’t cook, cleaned the bare minimum and when you did you somehow did it wrong. Surprisingly, he knew more than you and taught you a lot those years you had the privilege of knowing him.

Your smile quickly faded as you took in the man in front of you. Very far off from the boy you knew and watched go to prison for life. In all honesty you weren’t mad at him for what he did, you would have done the same for your sibling, you were just mad that your best friend was stripped away from you without warning. And without a doubt now you definitely did not know this person. He looked battle hardened and exhausted, far off from the vibrant sweet boy you remember.

“I hate to ask but can I shower here?” he said, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

“Oh yeah, do you need help?”

“No, I think I know how to shower.”

“I meant with the cut you perv.” you said, pushing his shoulder as you stood to grab a towel for him.

He giggled and nodded at you as he loudly ripped the elastic of what appeared to be a bullet proof vest that he was wearing. 

“Mrs. Cross is going to file a noise complaint if you don’t shut the hell up.” you said throwing a towel at him.

“I’ll get her some fucking flowers if it gets you out of this dump.” he said kicking his shoes off in the hallway, and you missed the following eyes of your former best friend as you made your way to the bedroom. 

10 minutes later he was standing in your doorway in the sweatpants you had set outside the door and fresh blood was leaking from the cut on his eyebrow. You grabbed the first aid kit from under your bed and made your way to the bathroom.

“Sit.” you said and pointed at the edge of the bathtub.

He happily obliged and waited on you. Removing the antiseptic ointment and sticky gauze you had planned to use on the cut you turned your attention back to the man in front of you. Being as gentle as possible you pulled his chin up so you could see the cut in a better light. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches so what you had here would be fine. 

Reaching back to grab your supplies you tenderly helped Courtland, something you hadn’t been able to do in years. He surprisingly accepted it, you’re not sure if it was the exhaustion that he was suddenly wracked with or the fact that 10 years had really changed the people you both were. Nevertheless as soon as you finished he offered you a soft, “Thanks honey.” in his tired state.

Making your way to your bedroom you offered him the bed, and you were headed to take the small futon that sat in your living room. 

“You can stay here too, I won’t go anywhere near you.” He said as you got up to  leave.

“Courtland it's been too long I don’t..”

“Just shut up and lay down.” He said seeing the exhaustion on your face as well. 

You snuggled tightly on your side, almost feeling like you were in the same bed as a stranger, but then again you weren’t. You shifted towards the middle of the bed giving the all clear that if your bodies made contact on your small bed that night you would be okay. Then before you knew it, a strong arm was slung over your midsection dragging you into a deep sleep.

—

Cortland knew leaving this bed with the love of his life would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do. When the sun began to peak through the window in Y/N’s bedroom a deep sense of dread came to life. He didn’t mean to break into her apartment, it did look vacant to him, and now he was worried he may be putting her in danger.

But if he said he was happier than this beforehand he would be a liar. He had never felt more at peace and rested after a single night than this in a long time. Slowly unwrapping his arms from around Y/N’s sleeping body he tried his best not to wake her. 

Hoping he could slip out of her small apartment without waking her, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, hell, he never knew when he would see anyone from his past life that would solely call him Courtland instead of Six ever again. Grabbing his boots and vest he made his way to the kitchen and looked around. 

He had no money to buy her a halfway decent couch but he could leave a note and steal some wildflowers flowers from the field outside. Scribbling a few words on a notepad she had lying on the counter:

Morning honey,

Please don’t be mad at me for leaving without saying goodbye, I’ll fall into your tiny apartment again soon.

-CG

Placing a stick of gum next to his note and tiny flowers, Six slipped out the fire escape and back into his normal life once more. 

[vellicore]

Chris Evans as Lloyd Hansen

The Gray Man (2022)

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Make It Better

Summary: Put those big hands to use ;)

A/N: The Goosecord came together in all our RG glory and decided in celebration of the man who brought us all together to do a big ol' Goose fest extravaganza and do a mass birthday fic share in honor of Ryan's 43rd (🤨 seems like a lie but that's what google says) birthday. From what I can tell none of us doubled up either so enjoy my loves ❤️

As per usual, I've got an NSFW 18+ on deck with the CIA agent who lives rent free in my brain on the daily. And as always, an extra big love squish to my partner in crime @ken-dom who is nothing but a terrible influence and often helps the boys kick down the door to my brain. I couldn't have done it without you.

You leaned against the kitchen sink, dishes ignored as a twinge of pain shot down your neck for the third time.

You reached trying to rub it away, fingers not quite able to reach where you needed. 

You jumped slightly when a strong hand closed over yours and a warm body pressed against your back. 

"Need some help?" 

You sighed, relaxing against him, head leaning on his shoulder as his thumb worked the knot on the base of your neck. 

"Mmm" you hummed as his other hand massaged the other side. 

He took a step forward, pressing you against the sink with the weight of his own body, his head dropping to kiss your neck gently, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You giggled softly as his hands slid from your shoulders halfway down your arms before they moved to settle on your hips. 

"Six…" you whisper, but tilt your head slightly as he kisses down the length of your neck. 

"Hmm?" He hums the question, hands sliding from your hips up under your t-shirt just enough for his fingers to dance across your bare stomach underneath, but his assault on your neck continues; you let out a gasp as he sucks gently. 

"You can't just-" your voice catches in your throat as his assault carries to the other side of your neck and you swallow hard letting out a breath trying to reformulate your thought. Instead of words, you whimper, holding the sink in front of you a little tighter. 

"Can't what?" His voice low and husky against your ear, his hands working open the button on the front of your jeans; his fingers disappearing just below the waistband. 

"That's not," you start again, trying to ignore his teeth nipping gently and failing miserably "Not fair" you whisper, turning your head to look up at him as you leaned back. 

"Who said anything about playing fair?" He asked, pulling back just far enough to look at you before his lips pressed firmly against yours, his tongue immediately slipping between your lips. 

One hand still braced on the sink, you reached the other behind you, tangling your fingers in his thick hair, moaning against his mouth. 

His hands plunging deeper into your open jeans. One hand resting on your bare hip, the other  pushing under the waist of your panties, two fingers slipping between your folds making you moan louder into your kiss. 

You break your kiss long enough to let yourself be turned around and smirk, noticing the impressive hard on tenting inside your favourite grey suit pants. 

"Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me?" You tease, hands making quick work of the closures as he pins you against the sink, claiming your mouth again; his hard cock free and pressing against your stomach. He kicks off his own clothes before giving your jeans a tug and kicking them out of the way as you step out of the nuisance they had become. 

You squeak with surprise as his hands grip your hips, lifting you to balance on the edge of the sink briefly before shifting you over to the open counter space. 

He sinks to his knees, now nearly eye level with your core. His fingers reach, curling around the waistband of your panties. 

"Don't you da-" Is all you manage before the thin lacy fabric is torn away, the useless scrap discarded on the floor. 

"Oops" he smirked before pulling you to the edge of the counter. 

Your next thought immediately forgotten as he spreads your knees apart, his breath warm on the inside of your thighs before he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

You gasp, throwing your head back as your hands find their way back into his hair, legs draped over his massive shoulders. Your body shudders every time he slides his tongue over that bundle of nerves. 

Your grip instinctively tightening as he slid a finger inside you. 

Pumping agonizingly slowly at first as your moans grew more desperate. 

His free hand reaches to hold your rolling hips still, making you groan with frustration. 

"God, Six, please"

He moaned against your core, the finger buried inside you moving faster, curling in just the right way making you cry out. Your legs start to shake as the swirl of sensations from both his pumping finger and unrelenting tongue push you over the edge as your orgasm flooded your entire body. 

Six slipped his finger from inside you as he got to his feet, he watched you catch your breath before running that same finger along your bottom lip, coaxing your lips apart, you sucked gently tasting yourself as you sucked it clean. 

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric apart with a force that caused the small buttons to pop and scatter across the tiled kitchen floor. 

“Oops” you smiled coyly as Six shrugged out of it, dropping it at his feet as you hastily pulled your own shirt off over your head, reaching around your back to unhook your bra, casting it aside. 

Your hands sliding over his exposed chest inked and scarred as he claimed your lips in another possessive kiss, hands guiding your legs around his naked waist, hard cock pressing against your thigh. He reaches between you, guiding the head to your entrance. 

You roll your hips, trying to meet his, trying to force him deeper inside, but it's in vain. You whimper before breaking your kiss, dropping your head to catch your breath, his large hands on either side of your hips, holding you still. This wasn't going to be rushed, this was going to be on his terms, at his pace. 

His glacial pace. 

You winced with a moan as he pushed his cock further, stretching you wider for him. 

“Six,” you whimpered, your arms hooking around his bare back as you moaned against his shoulder. 

“Shh” he soothed, his hips finally flush with yours and you relaxed against him, his hips moving slowly at first, breathing heavy next to your ear. “So good for me” 

You moan, meeting his thrusts, fingers curling against his shoulder blades. “Not fair,” you mutter, kissing his neck. 

"I don't play fair sweetheart" he thrust his hips hard making you throw your head back moaning loud toward the ceiling, nails digging into his warm flesh making him moan deep in the back of his throat, muscles flexing under your fingers. 

He lifts you off the counter with one swift movement, sinking to his knees on the tile floor. You gasp, clinging to him as your bare back comes in contact with the icy tiles. 

His hips picking up speed, keeping rhythm; a breathy "Fuck" against your ear making you shiver. "So good," he moans "So tight"

You moan, his quiet praise, making your body ache with need. 

You wrap your arms around him tightly, moaning unapologetically with each thrust of his hips. 

"Don't stop" you breathe. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat, despite the cold floor underneath you. Strands of his blond hair sticking to his forehead as he braces over you, watching as you bite your lip. 

He leans forward, closing that distance with a bruising kiss, your legs still locked around his waist squeezing hard as you return his kiss with as much urgency and passion as he gave, tongues tangling with needy moans. 

His thrusts become erratic as he let himself succumb to his primal need. 

Hands splayed flat on the sleek tiles on either side of your head, his growls of effort only spurring you on further, making you moan louder, clench around him tighter, making him moan louder, thrust harder until he stopped abruptly making you gasp into his mouth as he came hard, dropping down on his elbows, his body heavy on top of you. 

He was mindful not to drop his entire weight on you as he peppered your overheated face with kisses, still buried inside you, his warm release coating the inside of your thighs as it slowly dripped from your still throbbing core. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he slowly pulled from between your legs and got to his feet. 

He grabbed your extended arms, gently heaving you up from the floor, your bare feet finding purchase and leverage on his stationary feet as he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you against him, guiding your arms over his shoulders. 

"How's that neck now?" He asks, kissing along your shoulder, sucking on the tender flesh of the hollow of your collarbone. 

You only hum in response as his teeth nip your skin gently, but hard enough to bruise. "Leaving your mark isn't going to help a pulled muscle" you mutter, eyes slipping closed.

"No," he agreed, lips moving against your neck "But it will remind you you're mine" 

You smiled into his shoulder; you loved when he got possessive like this. "Your favourite mark"

"My favourite mark" he confirmed with a nod; a strong hand lifting your chin to claim your lips in a reaffirming kiss. 

[greenandsorrow]

A fic about Six you say…can we know what it’s about? 👀

Fictional man being pathetic is all you need to know. It's not gonna have smut (at least this time) but hurt, comfort and underlying feelings.

Six is definitely a character I will write for many times, so don't be upset this won't be smutty!

I hope you're all gonna enjoy it because I'm very proud of my idea💖

Anyone that wants to be tagged on it??

[everglow-ing]

Julia Butters as Claire Fitzroy and Ryan Gosling as Sierra Six THE GRAY MAN (2022) dir. Anthony and Joe Russo

[dindjiarin]

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

Anon requested jealous!Six 😩

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

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

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

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

Anon Ask

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do-" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your friend wants to fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take me home,” you beg him breathlessly. 

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

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

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

“Josh would take me home.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you try, "Court -" 

"Shut up," he growls between kisses.

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

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

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

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

“You -” His voice is deep and desperate. 

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

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

“Shit,” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

"Take it," he grits through his teeth. 

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

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

A pleased, rasping chuckle escapes him.

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

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

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

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

Your smile falls, "Stop tal-" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Listen,” your voice breaks.  

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

"Please." You're nearly sobbing. 

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

"Eyes open," he snaps. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Listen to me, Courtland." 

He snorts. "Using my government name now?"

"'Six' is your government name."

He snorts again, louder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he exhales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. Me too,” he hums. 

[proper-goodnight]

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You

Type: Multi-Chap

Words: ~4K

Tags: @pyrokineticbaby , @medievalfangirl , @biblichorr

Into the Gray

Interrogation:

You’d been listening to the clock ticking, every change of a second pounding against your ears like gunfire, for the better part of the last hour. That, combined with the absence of sound and the harsh overhead light positioned to glare directly onto you, made you assume that this was their attempt at pressuring you. If you didn’t tell them what they wanted when time ran out, then something would happen to you. The clock was a symbol of that, a warning ticking precariously toward your fate. 

That didn’t deter you from holding your silence, their attempts to get you to talk pointless, but something you humored. That little bit of control that they thought they had over you kept them from twitching in their seats, sitting as hazy shadows on the opposite side of the table, continuously asking questions to hide just how uncomfortable you made them feel. 

Your eyes swept from one to the other, the glaring lamp above your head hardly proving any kind of obstacle. 

“Where are you from?” The first, a twitchy man with glasses too round for his face had asked most of the questions thus far, but when you’d looked at him, the thin sinew of muscle visibly tensed underneath the seams of an expensive suit. He was shaking, something telling you that he was more prevalent with computers; office work–he didn’t have experience dealing with things like you. 

“Around,” you answered immediately. 

“Do you have a name? An alias? Are you foreign or American?” The second man was stockier, older and more experienced at this kind of thing–that made him brash, and prone to aggression. That didn't matter, either. You couldn’t be scared into submission, and something in you suspected that he knew that. It kept him glued to his chair, the urge to lash out at you trapped inside the buttons of a suit too small. 

You almost suggested the two of them switch, and you swallowed your smile despite yourself. “That’s subjective.”

The stocky one grimaced, and bit back a retort.

Something about that was oddly comforting, that even in your current situation, you could still have that effect on people. The cogs turned, and if you looked close enough, you’d see smoke. The two interrogators exchanged a look, but just like the past hour, they would have no idea how to approach you. After all, they knew nothing. You didn’t have connections, or attachments, nothing that they could use to turn the tables in their favor. As far as they knew, they were at your mercy until a trade could be made. 

There was nothing that you wanted. Not from them, specifically. 

The thin one adjusted his glasses, straightening papers on the table that they’d given up referring to shortly after the interrogation had started. You suspected that it was some kind of outline, a list of questions that would detain the most pertinent information. There’d been nothing to write, and the neat print from a computer was glaring out at them, a lack of handwriting to meet it. “You killed several of our operatives when we tried to bring you in. Something tells me that wasn’t your first.”

“It wasn’t.” You didn’t remember his name, but you remembered that your first was a Don of sorts. He’d breathed out a warm, slimy puff of air against your neck before he’d collapsed back against red, satin sheets. Your hands had pressed over his mouth to muffle the sounds as he’d choked, his blood seeping through your fingers, thick and grimy. 

Most of all, you had remembered his expression of slack surprise, his dead eyes holding a fading look of doubt that someone at the tender age of fourteen could have accomplished such a feat. Something about it had been poetic. So much red in a space that was once white with purity.

“My first was a practice target. Someone manageable if they tried to fight back.”

“Why?” The psychologist you suspected, the twitchy one, might have been interested in the mental implications, but it wasn’t personal baggage that you were willing to unload against men that you obviously didn’t trust. 

You turned your head to the interrogator, and you saw him flinch.

“Maybe they thought that if the first kill was easy, then the rest would be too.”

“Mentally?” Came the psychologist’s hesitant question, sitting up a little taller, leaning his body toward you. “Or physically?”

You leaned back, ignoring the subtle pinch of discomfort in your wrists where the handcuffs had rubbed them raw. It was nothing compared to the protest that the rest of your body made, a pained gasp shoved to the back of your throat. You refused to let them believe that you were at their mercy because you weren’t.

You never would be.

You smiled, small and barely distinguishable, but it was there in the dim light of the interrogation room, like a shadow across the wall. The psychologist straightened his glasses and turned his focus down, an audible clearing of his throat signaling the other to speak. 

The interrogator however looked at you with a renewed curiosity that replaced his nervous anxiety, and the other’s cautious twitching. If he believed that you laid awake thinking about it, he was wrong. You held his gaze, appreciating that he didn’t try to be your friend or sympathize with your cause. 

They were interested because they had reason to be, and they treated you as what you were: a threat.

“What were the others? The other kills?”

“Sierra.” 

His expression cracked, and beside him, the psychologist nearly choked on his own spit. He leaned forward, hands clasping together. When he spoke, he kept his voice low and even, as if they were sharing a secret. “There aren’t many people who know about them.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s tightly classified information within the CIA.” He clarified.

“Hardly,” you retorted, leaning forward with your hands clasped, matching his posture, his tone. “They’re not exactly subtle.” 

“What can you tell us about them?”

“What do you want to know?”

Despite Lloyd’s earlier suggestion that you cooperate so that the two of you could have a conversation without bars getting in the way, you were beginning to regret it. You weren’t going to negotiate for privileges, not to them. They weren’t worth anything to you.

“If you’re telling the truth, they are arguably the world’s most successful assassins,” the interrogator said, a dryness creeping into his otherwise scratchy baritone, doubtful of your bold claims. “They’re rehabilitated convicts that we exchanged loyalty for freedom to. Whatever you can tell us, what you know outside of that, we might find very valuable.”

“I don’t think that any information I give you would matter.”

“And why is that?” The interrogator asked.

You looked over your shoulder, towards the one-way mirror where you were sure their director was watching. When you answered the question, you directed your words to him: Denny Carmichael. “They’re all dead.”

“How do you know that?” The psychologist asked quickly, perhaps a little too eager, earning a glare from the interrogator. He sunk into his seat, and even out of the corner of your eyes, you could see the subtle contempt flash between the two. It was an observation you noted for later should you need it. 

Your mouth was dry from lack of hydration, but you didn’t work to correct it, refusing to betray any sign of discomfort. You pressed your mouth together in a tight-lipped smile that made the other two tense, appearing ready to leap out of their suits at any time.

“I’m the one who killed them.”

There was a moment of silence, then just as you’d wanted, the door to the interrogation room opened. 

Carmichael stepped inside, his expression unreadable as both the psychologist and the interrogator scrambled up to greet him. He motioned for them to leave, and they did so, practically stumbling into the door upon their exit. You looked at him, and his full attention was on you. “Why don’t you start at the beginning.” It wasn't a question, but you didn’t take it as one. 

You looked up, the edges of your mouth holding steadfast, albeit with a razor sharp edge. “That may take time that you and I both know you don’t have.” You wouldn’t tell him everything–but you’d slip just enough to pacify him. Some things–a lot of it–he didn't need to know.

“This may be a new concept to you, but you’re wrong. You see, I think that you and I can come to an agreement.” He pulled out a chair, the legs scraping the floor. He settled into it, straightening his tie. Both of his forearms settled against the table, and with a vague hand gesture, he motioned for you to start.

It didn’t matter. In the end, you’d won. So you did. 

After that, they confiscated your clothes during your medical exam. 

The CIA reveled like smug children, and had purposely voiced no outright promise that any of your belongings would be returned. You’d spent the last several hours sitting in a room–not a cell finally, but a room–picking at the bandages that had replaced them. You were given a stack of folded replacements, but they sat undisturbed on the edge of the mattress. Such little pleasures were tempting, but you didn’t trust them. 

You’d been cornered and brought here. Sleep was a possibility, but a vulnerability that you didn’t want to pursue. Even as your eyelids fluttered and your injured limbs begged for that momentary reprieve from this hell, you didn’t succumb to their prodding insistence. Better use of your time had been secluded to looking for cameras. Carmichael and a woman–Suzanne, you thought her name was–had promised there weren’t any. 

That didn’t stop you from looking. Every small crevice did not go unnoticed, every nook that you could manage to squeeze a hand into, you did, and it didn’t take long. It wasn’t as if it was a penthouse suite with everything you would need. The foundation of the room had been carefully molded to avoid the possibility of escapes, but even with that knowledge in mind, your hand dove into vents, and you checked for cracks and small holes in the tile. You’d climbed onto a chair and checked the ceiling trim, the floor, then you’d spent the better part of half an hour trying to pry it apart with your nails.

The only thing at your disposal, your bag, had been searched and emptied. Now a sad pile of leather fabric on the floor, the seams cut and tore apart, the only thing left was a few toiletries from a hotel that you’d taken for the road, and further examination told you that nothing had been stashed inside it for surveillance, either. 

Ultimately, you’d settled on the floor, your back to the wall and staring a hole into the mattress and the clothes across the room–the only two things that you hadn’t checked. You only hoped that they hadn’t put anything inside you, all food given to you having been properly examined before you’d so much as tasted it.

Lloyd Hansen had been the only name that you’d come to trust–rather, respect. 

He had come to heel for no one. Moments before your capture, having warded off other agents–his teammates–gun drawn and threatening to ‘shoot their entrails all over the goddamn pavement’ if they moved toward you, he’d issued a command to Carmichael before shoving you into an unmarked van. The latter hadn’t blinked. 

“This one’s mine.” 

When the sudden knock at the door proved to be that same man, you’d felt in yourself the urge to fall in. You hadn’t taken orders willingly in a long time, but it was a habit that had been drilled into your head since you were small. After all, you couldn’t run–not as you were–and everything in you warded against staying. They weren’t breaking you, but with a stationary room and clothes and other basic freedoms you had never experienced before, they were on their way.

You’d do what you were told. Temporarily.

“They respect you.” He’d finally concluded, never prying further into your background. He didn’t care about that much–he cared about the mystery–and neither did you. “But they don’t know what your loyalties are, or who you belong to. Naturally, they’re suspicious.” 

“Nobody,” you’d said simply, shrugging, as if that solved everything.

Lloyd Hansen lasted only a few short months after that, and he’d been killed by the last Sierra a few years later. 

Your first encounter with Six was on the opposite side of a one-way mirror. He had become something of a star in the world of private operators, and a legend amongst covert operators and the rest. His personal ethic had been to only accept contracts against targets that he felt had earned the punishment of extrajudicial execution. It was a small post-it-note in an otherwise empty file, a thin manila folder that held no confidential information worth locking up. 

That much about Sierra Six was public, and as far as you knew, that was all that ever would be. A killer with a conscience was a humorous concept to you, but the morality of it didn’t matter. They’d buzzed Carmichael through the door several minutes ago, but your focus was on the man handcuffed to the table–the same table, his pensive stare bleeding through Carmichael around a wad of chewing gum. 

Your lip twitched. 

Carmichael’s back was to the mirror, hovering over the table, flipping through an evidence folder–the folder that he’d adjusted. Every fuck up that the CIA had made over the course of the last several months would be pinned on Sierra Six; a scapegoat. Fitzroy’s program hadn’t been about second chances. 

It was easier to place blame on convicts.

For the duration of the interrogation, you’d settled in the back of the room, your shoulders pressed against the hard metal of the wall and let the cold of it keep you grounded. 

Carmichael slid the folder between him and Six, opened it with precision, then flipped it towards Six. Every action was taken with practiced restraint, his hands moving to fold on top of the table, leaving the folders' contents exposed in their macabre glory. It was all a show, you knew. They needed this for records, to say that it had been investigated and closed. The cuffs on Six’s wrists were placed there for the CIA’s own peace of mind. He was in no condition to fight, and you didn’t think that he wanted to until he figured out where they had transferred Claire. 

Six didn’t spare the file a glance. 

“If you’re going to charge me anyway, can’t we just…” Six waved a vague hand gesture over the table, one brow taking on a high arch, the movement of his hands limited with his restraints. “Skip this part? I’ve played this game several times and it's never worked out.”

Carmichael pivoted his head to the side. “What makes you think it won’t this time?”

A corner of Six’s lip twitched. “Because you don’t care what I have to say.” 

Carmichael then really did laugh, exposed to the truth and unable to deny it in all of its honest sincerity. His posture mirrored Six’s, the brunt of his shoulders pressed back against the harsh metal of the chair, arms crossed. “Then confess.” He invited. “You’ll take the fall either way, but it makes my job a lot easier if I get it in words.”

“Confess to what?” Six’s eyebrows raised, and only then did he cast a glance at the folder. “That,” he pointed down at the file. “Wasn’t me.”

“You didn’t kill Lloyd Hansen either, I take it?” He pushed against the edge of the table, his chair grinding against the floor. 

“Actually, I didn’t.”

While Carmichael rose, he circled around the table to stand beside Six, who appeared less than inclined to have him in his space. He had an ominous look about him, his hands braced on the table beside Six, leaning in, leaning down so that they were barely inches apart. “You’re a dead man to the world and nobody will be able to argue in your defense. Other than that, you’re a rogue agent. What advantage do you think you have?”

“The one that makes your job a little bit harder, I guess.” Six answered without missing a beat, smug despite his position in it all. “Should probably get started on that paperwork. It’ll take you a while.” A shrug, blatantly honest despite himself. As far as you knew, he hadn’t told a single lie during the whole thing, his blunt demeanor waning only by his need for sarcasm whenever possible. 

You saw Carmichael’s nostrils flare, his teeth clenched as his rage stayed contained in its most primitive form. When he rose, it was stiff, and slow, his unsettling gaze sweeping over Six in the chair one more time, only to slide away and follow his body’s trek toward the door. 

It slammed with more force than necessary. 

Six looked at the mirror, and your eyes unknowingly met, only for him to ask no one–you suspected–in particular, shaking his hands inside the cuffs: “Can someone come take these things off? I really have to piss.”

You didn’t oblige his request, taking Carmichael’s exit as your own.

Carmichael’s need to yank a confession from him didn’t matter to you. You weren’t looking for recognition, or a place next to Denny Carmichael at the head of the table. His only regret about the entirety of it all had been losing Lloyd as an asset, uncaring about the chaos that followed suit to cover the agency’s secret following the destruction of the drive. He’d been so sure after Six had been taken into custody that he could be controlled, but he was wrong.

When you left Sierra Six for the first time, you left him talking to no one inside the mirror except himself. ~~~

You lost track of the times that the two of you were alone–with him more unaware than you–interrogation after interrogation, all pointless but it gave you something to do in between assignments. He was injured, but he maintained his sarcastic spirit through hours of answering with the same truth: it wasn’t me. The interrogators were losing their patience, much like they had with you, but oftentimes they left you on one side of the mirror and him on the other, with his head leaned back over the chair and his eyes rolled as far back into his head as they could go.

Observation and extra training was your excuse to Carmichael, and to Suzanne, and you convinced yourself that was what it was, aside from a curious intrigue even less innocent than you were. 

He was nothing and no one, much like you. There was something to that, something that urged you to watch and listen, see if any of his answers would differ day by day. They didn’t, but you thought that you were getting an understanding of his mannerisms, and his quirks. He didn’t pretend to be anything, or anyone when it best suited him–a measure of himself that was as infuriating to everyone else as it was interesting for you. 

How he’d survived this long, you didn’t know. 

You lied and manipulated to survive, and he endured on skill alone. 

So when you’d learned that he’d broken free of his restraints and executed a number of their best operatives on his way out, you weren’t surprised. 

“You’re punishing yourself,” you’d said to Dani shortly before you’d left, resorting to stark statements if you weren’t allowed to ask questions.

“The Sierra agent,” she’d said by way of explanation, having spent the better part of the last few hours bruising her knuckles against punching bags. Sweat drenched her hair, grimy and disheveled as muck seeped through her clothes, turning her regular perfume into something sour. It did little to deter her momentum, fueled by emotions coiling around her pertaining to the asset. 

“Sierra Six,” you’d confirmed. 

“He escaped the hospital,” she’d huffed, breathless, another fierce punch landing a definitive and resounding tap, echoing out across the abandoned silence of the gym and nudging you back on your feet. “He’s on the run. Probably going to find Claire.” 

“This upsets you?” 

“But not you?” Another tap, then another. Part of you was glad that you hadn’t decided to practice one-on-one this time around if an escapee was enough to get her fired up. 

“Should it?”

Dani slowed down, then stopped altogether. You let go of the bag, the resistance of holding it still the last few hours made your palms feel raw, a tingling sensation traveling from your palms to your fingertips. She turned around to grab a bottle of water, wrapping a towel around her shoulders. 

“You can never give a straight answer, can you?” Her words were lost on a long swig of water, shoulders rising and falling with the continued adrenaline rush, slowly filtering down until she only looked exhausted. “I was using Claire as leverage to keep him safe from Carmichael. Now he’s going to shoot up the countryside until he finds her.” She shook her head. “That might seem okay to you, but it’s not.”

“It’s not okay,” you’d corrected. “To him, it’s probably necessary.” 

Dani’s low-browed stare only further cemented the confusion behind your support or disapproval of the asset. You hadn’t needed to explain. Carmichael had grabbed the two of you for busywork immediately after that. 

You hadn’t told anyone when you’d left that you were going to pursue his contract alone. 

The Gray Man’s moniker stemmed from his ability to keep a low profile. It’d taken you a few months, but you’d found him. Six had no record, inside or out. He’d been a liability, a scapegoat should blame ever need to be placed. That much of his file was open to you, and that much of his file was accurate after being filled with most of Carmichael’s bullshit.

You’d thought that he would have a more sporadic schedule, or be constantly on the move, switching hideouts and being like other typical textbook deserters that you had pursued before. He proved to be the rare exception. 

Having settle in a small neighborhood in the outskirts of Tallahassee, Florida with deceased senior CIA official, Donald Fitzroy’s daughter: Claire Fitzroy–Claire–you’d spent some time before advancing on the target to map out his schedule, only to come to one conclusion:

His schedule was very mundane, and you would even consider it domestic.

All of his time was spent keeping up with Claire, and that included things that you believed had been beyond the program’s realm of teaching. Aside from cooking, he did relatively well for himself, having adopted a new identity with a steady supply of odd jobs to keep him stable financially. Six, who was renowned for being characteristically stoic, stone-faced, and preferring dry-humor, looked the complete opposite now; an approximation of happiness that only someone like him could get.

The agency had said that Claire was the leash to bring the wolf to heel, but you weren’t morally unethical enough to consider kidnapping a kid, let alone using one for your own personal agenda. You remembered what you’d told Dani: His actions following his escape had been necessary. If you were in his position, you strongly entertained the idea that you would have done the same.

For now, you considered a different approach, positioned at the peak of a hill with binoculars and taking note of his day-to-day. You’d been careful not to approach the house, to keep as low-profile as possible and ask people that came into contact with him down to the most vague detail that you could manage. As expected, nobody had any idea aside from the fact that he was a recent move-in with who was presumably his daughter.

You didn’t send in any of your notes. A location was enough to bring in a whole team–albeit as many as the agency had wouldn’t be sufficient–but you’d taken extra time to ensure that you pinged Claire’s pacemaker’s signal to different parts of the states, not too close to the sunshine state’s lines, but close enough in the surrounding areas that the distance traveled didn’t appear too far-fetched. 

It would throw the agency off the trail for now, and until you could find an adequate approach to the Sierra agent, you were left reverting back to the stone-age of personal recon.  Observation cameras, GPS trackers, public information, drones, social media–all would be naturally ineffective against someone as familiar with watching his back as you were. 

You’d counted day sixteen when Carmichael finally caught on. You’d settled down on your stomach on the hill, binoculars having become a permanent fixture to your eyes, and draped in a poncho because of an inconvenient storm–knowing Florida weather, you knew it would be clear in a few minutes anyhow. A resounding buzz emanated from your pocket. Wiping your hand dry on your poncho, you grabbed your phone, knowing the caller without having to look.

“I’m working.” You said, flat.

“I’ve got another job for you,” came Carmichael’s calm baritone over the phone. If you didn’t know him and his less than endearing quirks, you could almost see him in an 1800 Regency Period romance drama. He had the voice and the looks for it if he kept his mouth shut. “How do you like the beach?”

“I don’t,” you answered absentmindedly, binoculars still held in one hand; hovering. “What’s the job?”

There was a moment of pause, as if he genuinely considered your words before finally pointing out the obvious. “I don’t remember you mentioning that you were pursuing another contract. Aren’t those supposed to be approved through me?”

You looked through the windows where Sierra Six had disappeared into the bedroom, panning over to the adjacent window to watch him rifle through some drawers, yanking his shirt over his head in favor of another one. You noted his well-muscled frame, his shirt catching on the bulging muscle riddled with deep scars–his own private collection of imperfection. “I’m making progress.”

“I expect a full mission briefing, but I’m going to need to pull you out. We’ve located our target, Sierra Six.”

“Have you?” You managed to keep your voice level, but the amusement rumbled just underneath the surface. “I’m surprised. I thought it’d take you a little longer.”

“He is to be our highest priority until he’s brought in.” Carmichael went on. If he had any tips on your sudden change in demeanor, he didn’t mention it, but you knew that he was marking your exchange in a private file for later. “He’s been filtering between the border of Florida and Georgia, but there’s a middle point that we believe may be a safe bet to where he’s hiding. I’ll send you the location. Meet me there ASAP.”

“Understood,” you said and ended the call. 

With no other choice, you rose to your feet. There would be enough suspicion against you already if you didn’t meet Carmichael, but approaching the target was your first priority. With less urgency than you likely should, you traversed down the slope, your feet slipping in the mud during your descent. Compared to your training the first few months, it was basic child’s play, a trail winding downward guiding you the safest route for the most part. 

You picked the lock with relative ease, slipping through the front door with a silent grace that you’d been taught in your youth. Efficient study of the house and mapping out its interiors led you to be able to traverse through the dark with little difficulty, noting the minimal furniture, and the lack of pictures on the walls. 

Even after the last few months since his escape, Six wasn’t getting comfortable. He was ready to run at any time. 

You’d turned as a light to your left flicked on. Six’s stark outline stood in the entryway to the hall, and the light that illuminated his face almost made him look soft if his neutral expression didn’t already appear so deadly. His eyes were focused and searching but not showing any sign of the suspicion and sudden security that you were sure he felt. He’d glanced around, but there was no one. 

Just you. 

And him, with a gun aimed at your head.

[danime25]

Wrapped Up In You

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Six and his wife wrapped up gifts for Claire. Nice and simple.

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Gift Wrapping, Fluff, Domestic Fluff

*Status: Drabble/Complete

“Come here.” His wife beckoned to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, only him and his wife were stirring he made sure Claire was asleep.

“I did my rounds. She’s out.”

“Okay, let’s do this.” She nodded. “I’ll get the gifts, you get the paper.”

“Got it.” He hummed and ran for the closet with any and all present supplies. Since Claire was that age where she had a lot of birthday parties to attend, his wife had set aside a dedicated space for any kind of gift wrapping, ribbons, bows that her daughter may need to slap onto a present. Too bad almost all her friends wanted gift cards now. They met back at the table and Six let the rolls of paper fall.

“Okay we have 25 presents for Claire.” She double-checked her count, “Then I have some presents I want to wrap up for my friends.”

“Sounds good. Is this going to be a divide and conquer situation or you wrap and I put the bows on it?”

“Who said anything about me wrapping?”

“Well you normally do it…” He looked her dead in the eyes

“Maybe I don’t want to.” She matched his gaze before breaking and grabbing a roll of red and sparkly paper to wrap up Claire’s first gift

“Did we get everything off her list?” Six asked, taking the quickly wrapped package into his hands. He waffled between a silver ribbon and gold for a moment, before ultimately choosing the gold. She nodded quietly, not taking her eyes off the box of a skincare set she was wrapping up

“It was easy. I got all her shopping done before black friday.” She pumped her fists. He matched her enthusiasm with a tiny fist pump of his own. She grinned and kissed his cheek before saying, “You’re cute like this.”

“I’m not cute.” He protested

“No, you’re adorable.” She double downed and pressed her lips onto the tip of his nose. He pulled her away from the table and closer to his arms. He gave her a proper kiss on her lips and looked into her eyes. He leaned his forehead up against hers and picked her up.

“I’m adorable, huh?” He smirked

“Well now I’m thinking about some other adjectives.” She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck

“Which ones?”

“Well the first one that comes to mind is definitely sexy.” She bit down on his lip lightly. He put her back on her feet

“We need to wait. Presents first.”

“Tease.” She huffed and got back to wrapping Claire’s presents. They managed to get her presents wrapped in a short amount of time, wrapping related gifts in the same type of paper. Six took the presents and laid them down underneath the tree before falling onto the couch. His wife sat at his side and ran her fingers through his hair before quietly saying,

“We did it.”

“Yeah.” He let out a little sigh, “You still gonna do your friend’s presents?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I just need a couple of minutes to rest.”

“You think she’ll like them?”

“I hope so. And if not, I have the gift receipts.”

“Thinking ahead, love it.” He looked over at her. He waited a moment before his hand reached out and wrapped around hers. “Like I love you.”

“I love you too.” She replied back, “Okay I’ve rested long enough. I’ll be back.”

“Okay, love you.” He replied, letting his eyes flutter shut.

---

“Six! Wake up!” Claire shook her father awake. He rolled over to face the tree and see the sunlight of the morning peak through the windows

“Where’s…” He looked around

“Merry Christmas.” His wife entered the room and sat down next to him. He leaned in and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Let’s open presents.”

“Okay.” He smiled at her. With her and Claire by his side, he had all the presents he could ever ask for in his life.