#Court gentry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wokeupinmars · 7 months ago

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“I'll go wherever you go”

Pairing: Sierra Six / Court Gentry x Reader

Summary: Tender truths come to light when noisy neighbors cause Six and Claire to seek refuge at your place.

Warning: None. This part contains crumbs of Six and Reader's previous relationship and insight into the domestic life they're beginning to lead with Claire.

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: This is the second part of the Playing House series.

Part One: The Pretty Nurse Who Lives Down the Hall

Part Three: The End of Beginning

Please comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed this!!

RG Masterlist

Your body moved on autopilot, working four twelve-hour shifts this week had drained you completely. All you wanted was a nice hot shower, followed by eating whatever leftovers were in the fridge and then hitting the sack.

The last thing you were expecting the night to bring was company but when you spot Six and Claire at your door, you knew a wrench would be thrown in your plans. You remove your headphones, “Everything alright?” you ask, once you get close enough to see the dark circles under both of their eyes.

“Oh thank god,” Claire breathes out, leaning into you immediately. You instinctively wrap your arm around her and look at Six, your eyes filled with concern, “What’s wrong?”

Whatever it was you knew it couldn’t be good. A few months had passed since they had moved in and while the three of you had fallen into some sort of routine, you knew Six was still reluctant to lean on you. Weekly dinners, movie nights, running any and all errands together, as well as spending the majority of your free time with them did little to chip away at his self-reliant nature. It wasn’t something you held against him, you knew him well enough to know that it would take some time for him to adjust to having someone willing to help him carry the weight of the world.

So for him to show up at your door like this, it must have been serious. He lets out an exasperated sigh and nods his head towards the door, “Can we sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” you reply, stepping away from Claire to fish through your bag for your key and open the door. Claire walks through the door first, b-lining for your couch, you stand aside and wait for Six to enter but he motions for you to go in first, “Can you please clue me in on what’s going on? You both look like you could collapse on the spot.”

Six locks the door and glances back at you, “You know those two guys that live next door to us?”

“The college students?” you ask.

He nods, “Well one of them went away for the weekend, and the other has had his girlfriend over the entire time. They’re either arguing or having loud makeup sex.”

You grimace at that. “It’s so much worse than that,” Claire grumbles out, “The people that live above us decided that 2 a.m. is the ideal time to rearrange furniture.” You give them both a sympathetic look and gesture for Six to sit in the armchair. He leans his head back, allowing himself to sink into the chair.

“You should’ve texted me. You guys could’ve crashed here since I’ve been working the night shift,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

He knew you had been working the night shift for the past four days, your work schedule was something you always kept him updated on. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he murmurs, “his roommate was supposed to come back, I thought it would be over…nothing could have prepared to hear a three-way.”

Your eyes widen at that, “Good god.”

Claire begins to lull away, you crouch down to face level and rub her back gently, “Can you stand up for me, Sweetheart?” She nods her head and sits up, pausing for a moment, and then pushes herself up onto her feet. You guide her down the hall towards your room, letting her crash there. She looks up at you, her eyes barely open as you lay her down on your bed, “Thank you,” she whispers, as you unfold and drape one of your blankets over her.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

—

“She okay?” his voice was gravelly as he spoke.

“Out like a light,” you assure him. You set down extra pillows and blankets on the coffee table and start taking the cushions off the couch, “You okay with sharing the pull-out with me?”

He helps you pull the metal handle and unfold the bed, which makes a creaking noise that pierces the room, “And you’ll behave?”

“Haven’t I always been a good girl for you?” you tease, prompting Six to give you a look that you can only interpret as his sleepy attempt at a glare.

You leave him in the living room, heading to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. The hot water beats against your skin, the exhaustion you had been feeling for the past few days seeping into your bones. You try to let your muscles relax and relieve all the tension stored in your body but you’re still a bundle of nerves.

Six was still awake when you got out of the shower, “Strawberries,” he murmurs.

“What?” you question, walking into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and scanning the shelves for something to eat. Six trails in behind you, “Strawberries,” he repeats, “You have strawberries on your shorts.”

Your lips form an ‘o’ as you put what remains of the pasta you made a few days ago to heat. The dish was steaming when you took it out of the microwave and set it on the table. You didn’t think Six would sit at the table with you but much to your surprise, he does. You press play on your answering machine and listen your voicemails instead of waiting idly, for the food to cool. Most of them were unknown numbers, your typical scam calls, the one that did catch your attention was from your former real estate agent. The message itself began playing halfway through, it was clear she hadn’t waited for the beep to start talking, “...I know you wanted to stop looking but the asking price for the house on 73rd you liked dropped by a lot…” her voice starts to break up and the voicemail stops.

Six raises his eyebrows at you, “I didn’t know you were looking at houses.” The confusion of his voice made it seem like more of a question than a statement.

You shrug it off, “That was before.” You feel the side of the container with the back of your hand to determine if it has cooled down enough to finally eat and sink your fork into the pasta, “You know you can go to sleep right?”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “I know…why’d you stop looking at houses?”

You were blowing on the forkful of pasta before bringing it up to your mouth, you held up a finger, telling him to give you a second as you ate. “Why do you think?” you answer.

A quiet hum leaves his lips, “Left the job after they hired you to take me out and now this…I’m starting to think you’ve got a soft spot for me.” You scoff at that and point your fork at him, “In your dreams.”

“If only you knew.”

You recognize quickly that he’s probably far too tired to realize the shift in his demeanor. This felt like old times, back when the two of you would shack up in between jobs, it was nice and you wanted to revel in it but just like then, you knew it was only temporary, that you would have to let go even if you didn’t want to.

It wasn't until he started speaking again that you realized you had gone quiet, “Are Claire and I actually the reason you stopped looking at houses?”

“Yeah,” you don’t even bother denying it, “I kept telling myself it was just until you guys settled in. We’ve walked away from each other so many times before, I figured it would be no different this time around. I guess I didn’t think I would get attached…but now…I make sure I never have a night shift on Fridays so I don’t miss a game night, keep three different kinds of hot sauce in my pantry, and have essentially half of Claire’s things scattered around the apartment.”

He goes quiet and you’re almost certain you had gotten a little too touchy-feely for his liking, but then he starts to talk, “No one else uses the mug you always use when you come over. It's just yours...and Claire doesn’t actually like tea, we only buy it ‘cause we know it’s your favorite.”

You smile softly at that, your heart warms at the small gesture, “You do?”

“We do,” he confirms.

—

You finished eating and opted to leave the dish to soak, telling yourself it was a problem to be dealt with in the morning. You head back into the bathroom to brush your teeth and complete your skincare routine.

You watch in the mirror as he appears in the doorway a few minutes later, watching as you complete the steps of your skincare routine, “You know I’ve already got a shadow right?”

Six sighs heavily, stepping into the bathroom, and leans against the counter, just observing you, “What is that?”

“Moisturizer,” you answer, working the product into your skin. “Want some?”

He didn’t have a chance to reply when you pumped some of the cream onto your fingers and started applying it to his face, “Is it supposed to be cold?” his hand rested on your waist. You shush him and rub the moisturizer into his skin.

He lets out a quiet “Thank you” and waits for you to leave the bathroom before following suit.

“You want me to build a pillow wall between us?” you tease as you lay down. You expect him to lay beside you but he just stands at the foot of the pull-out, you pat the spot beside you, “Why are you just standing there? Come to lay down.”

“Move over,” he instructs.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “Why? What’s wrong with that side?”

“Nothing,” he states. You’re about to press further to understand what the issue is but he answers your question before you even have the opportunity to ask it, “This side,” he motions to the side you were lying on, “Is closer to the door.”

You huff out a sigh and reluctantly roll over onto the other side. He was right, the side you laid on was closest to the door. You didn’t think it was that big of a deal but you knew better than to try and fight him on this one. He flicks off the lights and waits a few seconds to let both of your eyes adjust to the darkness. The springs creak under both of you as he gets in. Silence fills the room as the two of you lay beside each other. You turn on your side to face him, only to find he’s already looking at you. “I missed you, you know? Don’t think I’ve said that yet,” you say quietly.

Six doesn’t say anything at first instead he stretches his hand out and rests it on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. You could tell he was testing the waters, you weren’t expecting any other kind of acknowledgment beyond that but you were pleasantly surprised when he snaked his arm under you and pulled you to his chest by your waist, “Miss you too,” his words coming out in a low rumble.

You lift your head, “Yeah?” you ask, unable to suppress your grin.

His hand comes up and pushes your head back down to his chest, “Don’t let it get your head,” he mutters. You let out a breathy laugh and zeroed in on the loud thumps of his heartbeat under your ear.

You soak in the moment, you know that it isn’t going to last forever, but you allow yourself to indulge in the comfort that being held by him brings anyway.

According to the glowing numbers of your cable box, only ten minutes had passed. The tranquil silence that washes over the two of you combined with the feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back soothes you, “Court?” You whisper.

He lets out a groan, letting you know he’s listening. You take a deep breath, “I know it's a bit outlandish but if I did move would you and Claire come with me?”

Your words hang in the air for a second, ‘Would you want us to?” You could hear his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly as he spoke.

“Yes,” you affirm, shifting and nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint scent of his body wash.

“I'll go wherever you go,” his voice hushed,“We can talk about it more in the morning with Claire, she’ll be ecstatic.” A content hum escapes your lips, it was the answer you wanted to hear. You inhale deeply and let your body completely relax against him on the exhale. You stop trying to fight off your drowsiness and let your heavy eyes close. There’s a delicate pressure against your forehead before you finally doze off. A kiss.

—

The repeated clicks of a camera are what woke you up. Your face was smushed against Six’s chest, and your eyes fluttered open and immediately squeezed shut when you were blinded by a flash. Claire’s giggle rings in your ears. You sit up and rub your eyes. You blink repeatedly before your vision becomes clear. Claire was standing on one of your dining chairs, her Polaroid camera in hand, “Good morning,” she chirped.

“Morning kiddo,” your voice was hoarse as you spoke. You stretch and let out a yawn. You turned to the side to look back at Six’s sleeping form and brushed a few strands of hair that fanned across his forehead.

“I’ve never seen him like this before…so at ease,” she whispers, stepping down from the chair. A soft smile appears on your face as you continue to look at him, “Probably been a while since he’s gotten the chance to sleep in,” you say, matching her volume.

Claire taps her chin with her pointer finger, “Sure…but don’t you think it might be for another reason?” You knew what she was getting at but you chose to dismiss it, “Nope, definitely the sleep.”

“And not who he’s sleeping with?” she questions, tilting her head. You avert your eyes away from Six and back to her, “How do you feel about pancakes for breakfast?” It was a terrible attempt at changing the topic but when her eyes lit up at the mention, you knew you were in the clear. “With chocolate chips?” You nod and instruct her to go brush her teeth, letting her know that there are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet under the sink.

You wait until you hear the door to the bathroom close before saying aloud, “I know you’re awake,” as you continue to play with his hair. He opened one eye, peeking up at you before rolling over onto his stomach, lazily draping his arm over your lap. If you had to guess it was likely that he’d been awake from the second Claire dragged the dining chair from the kitchen and into the living room.

With a soft pat, you lift his arm just enough for you to throw your legs over the side of the pullout and stand. “You want chocolate chips in your pancakes too?” He makes a noise which you take as a yes.

Claire was out of the bathroom and eager to help by the time you were adding the wet ingredients into the dry, she stood beside you as you focused on getting rid of any lumps, “Can I add the chocolate chips?”

You point to the bag, silently indicating it’s time. She sprinkles the chips into the bowl of batter, watching from over your shoulder as you fold them into the mixture. “So you’re off for the rest of the—” she starts only to cut herself off when Six enters the kitchen, “Nice of you to join us in the land of the living.”

“It’s too early to deal with you two,” he mumbles, clasping his fingers together and holding them over his head to stretch. His shirt rises and you’re able to catch a glimpse of his happy trail. He tries to reach his hand into the bag of chocolate chips Claire’s holding but she's quick to slap his hand away and hold them away from him and scolds him, “You haven’t even brushed your teeth!”

—

Claire knew something was up just from the way the two of you sat across. “You guys look like you’re about to tell me you sent the family dog to live on a farm upstate and that he’s in a better place now,” she jokes, uncapping the bottle of syrup and dousing the stack in them.

You and Six exchange glances before he clears his throat, “We do actually want to talk to you about something.” The firmness in his voice makes her wary, a worrisome expression spreads across her face, “Now I’m nervous.”

“How do you feel about moving again?” The question makes her slump into her seat, “Why? We’ve been doing so good here, I like it here.”

“You like her,” Six corrects. The corner of your mouth curves up when he says that, you knew Claire had grown attached to you but it felt good to hear. “And you don’t?” Claire counters, “I don’t understand, we both like it here…we have someone here, why would we leave?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “We should have practiced this….I’m moving and—”

The frown on her face deepens as she interrupts you, “You’re moving?”

“I am, but,” you emphasize the word, “Six and I talked about the possibility of you two moving with me. Same area, just out of these crummy apartments and into a house.” You watch as Claire perks up, “Move in with you? For real?”

Six nudges you with his elbow, his nonverbal way of saying “I told you so.” He nods his head in confirmation. Claire is beaming. “So you’re okay with the three of us living together?” you ask her.

She shakes her head ‘yes’ profusely, “This is great, we get to live with you, I got pancakes, and Buster’s well.” Six’s eyebrows crease and confusingly repeats the name. “The family dog? God, Six, you gotta keep up,” she retorts, cutting into the pancakes, a grin graces her face when takes a deep breath and sighs.

—

Part Three: The End of Beginning

#sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #ryan gosling x reader #sierra six #sierra six x you #sierra six fic #court gentry imagine #court gentry x you #court gentry #the gray man fic #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man

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the-marshals-wife · 11 months ago

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Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watched it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."

#sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man #six x reader #sierra six x y/n #courtland gentry x y/n #court gentry x y/n #sierra six x you #courtland gentry x you #sierra six imagine #courtland gentry imagine #the gray man imagine #the gray man fanfiction #ryan gosling #sierra six #courtland gentry #court gentry #my writing

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lostinwildflowers · 2 months ago

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The 4 Times Sierra Six Almost Kisses You, and the 1 Time He Does

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Sierra Six almost kisses you on four separate occasions. However, one time is different, and you both know it.

Word Count: 14.2K

Warnings: mentions of parental death(mentioned as a plot point but not described/elaborated on; mother), almost panic attack because of grief, minimal angst, swearing, Six has some self-deprecating thoughts at the end but not bad, mentions of canon-typical violence/guns/wounds/blood/etc., just LOTS of pining and yearning for thousands of words, idiots to lovers but also friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, and Six being so husband at the end~

A/N: Hello my darlings :) I'm back with another fic for Six and I have loved every minute of it. I've missed writing so much and the brain rot is never-ending. I've always wanted to write one of these types of fics, so please enjoy and lmk what y'all think!!! :) - Birch <3

The first time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you convince yourself it is just a part of your imagination.

You had just finished up a long mission abroad - weeks away from the States and the comforts of your home. Six, your mission partner, was ready for a break as well.

The two of you had successfully eliminated an international intelligence officer and were boarding a flight to head back to America. A private flight, thankfully, but it would be hours until you were in the comforts of your home.

The sky was dark, the sun having set hours ago. It had been a long day, and the dreary feeling of the rainy night had exhaustion creeping throughout your body.

Now, with yellow-toned lights shining off of the rain sprinkling on the runway, you could catch your breath. The flashing red lights coming from the plane in front of you released tension deep within your body, a silent promise that peace and quiet were mere moments away.

The stars were trying to twinkle and dance around the sky, fighting through the light rain as you and Six finalized your plans to get home. You were thankful for the coolness the rainy night brought, it helped to calm your heightened instincts after the thrill of the chase.

Your belongings had already been taken aboard the plane while you and Six regrouped, your assignment to go home ringing in the back of your mind. Clouded with fatigue, your footsteps seemed to drag up the steps leading into the belly of the airplane.

"I'm so ready to get home," you grumble to Six, the tall man just two steps behind you, patiently waiting for you to haul yourself into the aircraft despite being splattered with unrelenting rain. You can hear him hum lowly behind you, an agreeable sound that indicates you know that he's tired as well.

The sound of someone's voice calling your name through the pitter-patter of the storm halts you in your tracks just as you begin to duck inside the plane. A frown tugs on your features as you glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice, but dropping to look at Six.

The agent momentarily glanced over his shoulder to see who was calling to you, but after realizing they didn't want him, turned back to you. You can see the lingering question in his gaze, one that you had bouncing around your head.

Who could possibly need me?

You sigh and fully turn around to face the outside air, scrunching your face as a gust of damp wind whips across the expanse of the jet walk. You shuffle to stand off to the side of the stairs, making room for Six as he pauses beside you.

You open your eyes from where they had snapped shut from the wind, slowly trailing upwards from his dark boots to his tracksuit pants. Your vision swirled around the red and blue colors of his tracksuit jacket, the raindrops racing down the water-proof material.

When your (colored) gaze finally reaches his face, you have to squint up at him. Your eyes blink rapidly to deflect the droplets falling from the sky, attempting to focus on his angled features instead.

The question still lingers on Six's face when you lock onto him, and he quirks an eyebrow as he murmurs, "You gonna see what that's about?" A sigh slides through your nose as you shrug and grumble, "I suppose so."

As you begin to slip past Six's broad form, you call over your shoulder, "Save me a seat by the window!" You can hear him scoff, and his squeaky footsteps disappear into the plane.

You begrudgingly make your way down the slick steps of the plane back to the tarmac, water pooling on the not-so-level areas of pavement. There are a few CIA-adjacent men who helped coordinate your movements that are waiting for you a few yards away.

Your squinted gaze lands on the man who had called your name, and you make your way over to him stiffly. You are tired, wet, and your body is sore from the exertion of the day.

What could these guys possibly want?

The man is wearing a boring black and white suit, his hands crossed in front of him as he awaits your approach. You come to a stop a few feet in front of him and gesture with one of your hands, "What do you need?"

The man shuffles uncomfortably before clearing his throat with a shake of his head, "Agent, I regret to inform you that your mother has suffered a heart attack and has passed away. I am sorry for your loss."

The world stops.

The whirling call of the wind grows quiet, as well as the hushed whisper of the rain. Jet engines that had once seemed to roar fade into silence, the only perceivable sound now the blood rushing through your ears.

The man's words hit you like a grenade detonating. The air seems to be sucked out of your lungs as time stands still. He simply nods at you and states formally, "We are just following protocol, agent. You may board your flight. There will be officers at the destination's airport to arrange transportation for you to the hospital."

He walks away a moment later, leaving you to stand alone with tears and rain burning at the edges of your vision. You can't breathe. You can't... breathe.

Your chest begins to heave as you watch the agent disappear into the dark of the night, panic starting to flutter in your gut. You know you're going into shock, but you have no choice but to turn back toward the plane, where the crew and Six await your return.

A shaky hand finds its way to your mouth, where it clamps down to keep sobs from escaping your lips. Your body feels like it's vibrating, unknowing on how to solve this system-wide pain.

Unbalanced footsteps start leading you back toward the aircraft. Your feet, already heavy with exhaustion, feel like lead as you take each step.

Your right hand grabs onto the slick railing, the metal cool and wet to the touch as you climb up the stairs. Your mind is at war - trying to fight your emotional, human, nature while the training instilled in you is telling you to remain steadfast.

Once you make it to the top of the stairs, you release your hand from your mouth as you take a shaky attempt at a deep breath. You use the back of your hand to wipe at the wetness coating your face, and blowing air through puffed cheeks, you ready yourself to face Six.

The flight crew was already in position as you maneuvered toward the middle of the private jet, quickly closing the hatch behind you as they readied the aircraft for takeoff.

You keep your (colored) gaze focused on the floor as you make your way to the middle of the jet. You can hear Six's muffled movements, and you recognize that the agent is pouring himself a cup of water.

He casually glances over at your approaching figure once as he pours, then rapidly darts back as he reads the emotion etched in your body language.

Slouched shoulders, not from the rain or wind. Downcast gaze. A slight hitch to your breath. Something was wrong.

Six immediately sets his cup down and faces you. To an outsider, they would say he was the image of stoicism, a neutral expression on his features as he regards you.

To you, his mission partner of countless years, you could see the concern written all over his face in one glimpse. You rush to try to avoid his gaze, but Six knows you better than that.

"What happened?" he probes gently, leaning back against the bar, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. He took his wet tracksuit jacket off. The movement distracts you from your thoughts for a moment before the pain of realization sets back in.

You force yourself to look from his chest up to his face, your eyes vulnerable and slightly timid as you note the softness in his. You open your mouth to respond, but your voice catches in your throat.

Six can feel his heart lurching in his chest at the silence that falls between the two of you, and then he starts to piece it together. He sighs and looks off to the side, his gaze clouded as he mumbles, "Who died?"

The question would have been harsh and crass if not for your line of work. You know that the words weren't meant in a careless way, just that it was the nature of life. Some were created to live until it was their time, while some were created to die before the choice was made for them.

You shut your eyes tightly as you managed to croak out, "My mom," and the floodgates opened. A sob rips out of your throat from deep in your chest, and your hands come up to cover your face as it twists in pain.

There is movement behind you, and you turn to see a flight attendant through the cracks in your fingers. You know that she's coming to tell you the plane is getting ready to take off, but Six's voice cuts in, "Give us 5 minutes," and she disappears without a trace.

Six pushing off of the bar draws your attention again, another wave of tears flooding down your cheeks. He stops in front of you, his eyes laced with deep sorrow and a crease in his brow.

Opening his arms to you slowly, he whispers, "C'mere." He doesn't have to repeat himself, and you all but lurch forward into Six's embrace as it hits you.

Despite being a CIA agent with little to nothing in your file, there was one agreement you had made with the government before you started working. You would become one of their "dirty" agents, but you would get updates on your mother, the only family you had left, if anything major happened.

Now, with them following through on their word, you couldn't help but regret that choice.

His muscular arms lock around your waist as your arms fold around his neck. Six tucks your head under his bearded chin, and he slowly works his fingers up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

Your tears are soaking into the soft material of Six's t-shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is warm and firm under your frenzied touch, which you are grateful for.

You barely hear him when he quietly says, "I'm sorry to hear that," your fingers fisting at the nape of his shirt as you weep.

Then, Six shuffles and there is a brush of something over your forehead, making your crying cease for a moment. It was feather-light, a barely there touch that just seemed to tickle your skin.

You could have convinced yourself it was just a piece of hair on your forehead from your body shaking, stuck there with rainwater. It could have been your imagination - a fleeting touch from your mother, saying everything was going to be alright.

But maybe... maybe it was Six's lips grazing your skin so tentatively. So very tenderly. So very lovingly, to try to ease your pain.

You don't have long to dwell on it, as Six pulls back a few inches from you. He catches your teary gaze and with a small, sad smile, he whispers, "I saved you the window seat."

A huff leaves you, a crinkle of a smile on your lips as you give him a nod, "Thanks, Six."

The words weren't just for the window seat. He slowly pulls himself away from you, handing you the water that was meant for him, and gestures to the seats.

Wordlessly, you take your position at the window, sipping at the cup your hand was clenched around. As the plane starts to move and the stars seem to blur into the night, you trace the spot on your forehead, wondering if the whole thing was a dream.

The second time Sierra Six almost kisses you, the two of you are working undercover. You weren't the biggest fan of covert undercover missions, but when your higher-ups told you that Spain would be your destination, well... you didn't complain.

However, you were internally wrestling over the details of the mission. You and Six had cover stories for the mission - not an uncommon thing for your line of work. The inner turmoil came with the grounds of you and Six posing as a newlywed couple traveling abroad for your honeymoon.

Deep down, you knew the mission's goal was of the utmost importance. But, you can't lie. You had been surprised at the notion of being fake-married to Six.

After mulling it over for a while, you supposed it did make sense that the two of you were selected for this mission. You had worked together for so long that you knew you could trust each other in any scenario. So despite your initial reservations and Six's usual stoicism, you put on your big girl pants and doubled down for the mission.

The mission left you and Six in the middle of Spain at a dimly lit bar. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette smoke and the heat of the day, making it a little hard to breathe.

Set in the rampant and colorful streets of Madrid, Six was on alert. You could feel how tense he was next to you, despite wearing a loose cream-colored button-up and some matching slacks to go with it. You knew he was on edge, his gaze remaining sharp as he scoured the busy bar for the target.

"Take a breath," you murmur quietly as you sip at your water. You feel Six's gaze flash over to you as you focus on the opposite entrance through the bottom of your glass.

Six shifts to try to relax his body as he leans in close to your ear, "I don't like this." You finish your sip and set the drink down, your hand delicately coming up to your mouth to fix your lipstick.

You turn to face him, giving the agent a knowing look as he finally gives you more of his attention. Six lets his blue eyes flutter from your dolled-up face and hair down to your revealed collarbones.

His gaze seems to slow when it reaches the curves of your light blue sundress. There are flowy sleeves that stop in the middle of your bicep, patterned with small white line art of flowers.

The dress cinches around your bodice, not uncomfortably tight though. You can't lie, the girls look good. From there, the dress flows out around your hips, the material light and airy to beat the heat.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, coughing as he looks down at his feet and then allowing his gaze to sweep over the crowd. He shuffles and rubs his hands together once, his gaze flashing back to you.

Confusion pulls your eyebrows together as you rest your hand on his shoulder and ask, "Everything alright?" The frown on your face eases as Six holds your gaze, clears his throat, and whispers nonchalantly, "Uh huh."

You leave him to his thoughts for a second, the warmth of the bar sending heat waves through your body. You shiver with some kind of anticipation, and you move to stand up off of your stool.

"I'm going to use the restroom real quick," you say lightly to Six with a kind smile, one that you know people won't see through. Truly, any smiles you share with Six come naturally. But, you are supposed to be pretending, right?

Six is almost flush against you the second you stand up straight. It makes your heart lurch in your chest at his sudden proximity, but you take a shallow breath to calm yourself down.

His right hand comes to rest on the side of your waist, his eyes sharp as he pinpoints the location of the restroom. "I'll walk you there," is all he says.

Six turns and starts to guide you around the edge of the bar, his hand shifting to rest on the small of your back. The warmth his touch brings combined with the smell of alcohol and smoke makes you dizzy.

Any other day you might say his hand drifted too low to be casual, but then you remember. He's pretending too. You take a deep breath as you reach the bathroom, turning toward Six with a practiced smile.

You let your hands flatten against his chest slowly, testing the waters. You can feel his pecs tighten on reflex but then quickly relax, and you move to straighten out the fabric of his shirt. With a soft blink you chirp, "I'll be out in a minute."

At that, you step back and push through the bathroom door. You gravitate toward the porcelain sinks, catching your reflection in the mirrors lining the walls. You grip the edge of the sink as you attempt to straighten out your line of thought.

He's just pretending. It's all for show. Focus on the mission. Don't let your desires get in the way.

Desires? Where did that come from?

You take a deep breath to center yourself and then you glance up at your reflection in the mirror. You see where your lipstick is still a bit smudged, so you reach for a paper towel to tidy up the line of your lower lip.

The air conditioning helps cool the sweat starting to form at the back of your neck, and you pat your face with the clean side of the paper towel to remove any excess oil. You throw the paper towel away and quickly wash your hands, remembering that Six is waiting outside for you.

You pull the door open, your (colored) eyes finding Six's broad frame almost instantly. You see his gaze snap over to you, his eyes once again slowly trailing up the length of your body.

He's not checking you out. He's making sure you are still put together. He's making sure no one laid their hands on you.

You pause beside him and motion with your head toward a free table. "Want to go back in?" Six just looks at you blankly for a second as thoughts race through his head.

No, I don't want to go back in. I want to take you back to that bathroom and -

He stops himself. This is you. He can't be thinking about you like that. This is work. Even if he has to pretend to be married to you, he can't think like that.

But God, he wants to.

"Six?" you question, stepping closer to him as a woman slides past the two of you into the restroom. Six seems to snap out of his thoughts at your proximity, and quips quickly, "What do you want, sweetheart?"

The pet name rolls off of his tongue before he can stop himself, and his stomach drops when he realizes the implication. He should have asked you before you went into the field if anything was off-limits.

But, when that smile of yours slides back across your lips, he knows everything is okay. You giggle for a second, selling the love-sick look of newlyweds as you rest your hand on his chest again.

"Can we get some food?" you ask with a dreamy sigh, and Six's lips tug into a smile as he nods, his hand finding its place on your back again.

As he guides you in the direction of the free table you had motioned to, he stops in his tracks and pulls you to the side quickly. He ducks down close to your ear as he rushes out, "Target is at the table in the corner on the other side of the bar."

His lips and goatee brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you just giggle and let your hand come up to the back of his head, pretending he told you a funny joke.

Your hand threads through the dirty blonde locks as you lean into him and whisper back, "I see him. I'll sit down, go order me a drink or something over there."

Six nods briefly into your neck, pulling back ever-so-slightly but positioning himself in front of you. The only time Six has ever been this close to you was when he hugged you on the plane.

You swear you can almost feel his breath on your face, and your heart stops when he leans in. Every movement he makes is calculated and slow, giving you plenty of time to move.

His lips land on your right cheek, gentle but firm. You could have seen sparks shooting out of the lights on the wall at the electricity humming through the air.

Six pulls back, a slight twinkle in his eye as he nods, "Anything for my girl." At that, he steps back, shoots you a wink, and walks through the smoky atmosphere to the other side of the bar.

He leaves with such a swagger to his walk it makes your knees weak. You can't help but let your powerless gaze follow him before you see movement coming from next to you.

It's the woman who slipped into the restroom after you. She catches sight of Six walking away, and with a friendly jibe she says, "You are one lucky girl!"

She doesn't wait for your answer, instead disappearing into the other side of the bar. Your hand comes up to brush your cheek where Six's lips had been moments before.

Your heart was finally slowing down from beating erratically at Six's intimacy. A puff of air pushes through your lips as you force yourself to walk over to the free table, your mind racing as you replay the fleeting touch on repeat.

Once you sit down, you close your eyes to regain your focus.

The mission. I need to focus on the mission.

And so, you push down any feelings bubbling in your stomach, your eyes flickering to the door you had originally been watching from the bar.

There will be time later to think about Six's actions.

The third time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you are on a mission following the fake-marriage ordeal. There hadn't been much time to think about Six's actions, because you were exhausted and on a flight with said man sitting next to you.

This time it was a standard, run-of-the-mill operation. Nothing too crazy or high stakes, just get in, eliminate the target, and get out. Thankfully, your higher-ups were kind enough to give you a night's rest in between the missions.

Truly, you believed it was so that you and Six could plan out your movements and be prepared, not so much as to catch up on rest. But, you weren't going to complain about catching up on some sleep.

The flight goes by silently, and after a short car ride, you and Six are left at your hotel for the evening. Apparently, there must have been an event in town that night, as the hotel lobby was crowded with people waiting to get their rooms.

Always one to pack light, Six had one medium-sized duffle bag slung over his shoulder and was standing in line just a step ahead of you. He was silent as he grabbed for his traveling card, his eyes scanning the crowd looking for threats.

You also had packed light, with just a small backpack hanging off of your shoulder and your traveling card already in hand. While Six is on alert, you can't help but let your tired eyes wander down the figure of your companion.

He's standing right in front of you, how can you not look at him?

He's tall, but you knew that. His shoulders are broad, and not even the loose tracksuit jacket he loved could hide that. Despite the flimsy material, you know there is hard, thick muscle covering his back from his meticulous workout routine.

Just as your eyes land at the bottom of the jacket towards his hips, the line moves forward. This seems to help pull you out of your thoughts and taking a step closer toward Six, you shuffle slightly off to his side.

The two of you hadn't talked about the mission you had just finished, and you were afraid to bring it up to the stoic man. You shift your weight as you glance over at Six, who now has secured his card in his hand.

His blue gaze is slightly downturned, tired, but still on alert as always. He looks over at you as you come into his peripheral vision, and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question of, What's up?

You shrug, "Waiting, same as you." The words come out a little hollow, but Six doesn't push. The interaction is slightly awkward, and you bite your tongue and pull your backpack higher up onto your shoulder.

Six sighs through his nose as his head tips back, rolling his neck to loosen some tension. Your mouth runs dry as you get a view of the tendons and ligaments flexing and releasing under his tanned skin.

It looks so inviting. So soft. So... kissable. You almost slap yourself as the thought rolls over you, you tear your eyes away from Six to look at the front desk.

Thankfully, Six doesn't seem to notice, and you rush out, "Looks like we're up," and take a step forward toward the front desk. You give the receptionist a tight smile as you start, "Hi, two rooms, please. One bed in each."

The receptionist takes both of your traveling cards to swipe you into the system, working as fast as she can. She turns to you and replies, "Here are the key cards to your rooms, top floor."

The walk to the elevator is quick but quiet with Six leading the way. It seems as though the crowd from the front desk dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

Six presses the "up" button and steps back to resume his place next to you. You rock back and forth on your heels for a second, waiting for the elevator to make it to the ground floor.

"Antsy about tomorrow?" Six's voice comes, low and barely audible. Your head just about whips around to face him, but his gaze is still trained on the elevator.

You turn your head to look straightforward again, clearing your throat and replying softly, "Not really, just been a long week." This gets Six to look at you, a frown pulling his eyebrows taut.

"Hopefully not because you were stuck with me," he tries to joke lightly, but there is a very small hint of unease to his voice. You swear a million thoughts run through your head at his words.

No, I loved spending the week with you. I wish we could have spent longer in that fake, perfect world. Yes, it was a long week of pretending. But I wasn't really pretending, was I?

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You use the opportunity to step forward, head ducked down. Six's arm darts out, grabbing onto your bicep to hold you still.

Your heart jumps to your throat at the contact, and then he's pulling you back against him. A second passes, and a little girl and her mother walk out of the elevator, sharing a kind smile with you and Six.

You internally groan at your own stupidity, and you hear Six murmur, "That desperate to get away from me?" You pull away from him, only to turn around and glance at him.

You frown at the uncharacteristic insecurity Six seems to be displaying, and you quickly grab his hand that had pulled you back. You sigh, exhaustion settling on you as you reply, "I'm sorry, I'm just not paying attention. I'm glad you're here with me, Six."

At the end of your words, you gently squeeze his hand. His palm is warm against your own, causing heat to bloom all across your body. This seems to ease his doubts, and now he's the one to move, pulling you into the now-empty elevator.

It takes him a second to release your hand, the doors to the elevator sliding closed behind the two of you. He silently reaches forward, pressing the button for floor 20.

There is a quiet jingle humming through the speaker, but it does nothing to ease the obvious tension between you and the CIA agent. You could kick yourself for your actions and lack of words, and you open your mouth to speak at the same time he does.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable-" "I'm sorry if I made you feel-"

You both clamp your mouths shut and Six gestures for you to go first. You turn to face him, uncertainty lacing your features as you gush, "I'm really sucking at talking tonight, but I'm sorry if I made you feel like I don't want you here."

You take a quick breath and continue to blurt out, "I'm honestly really glad it was you on that mission and not some random agent. I don't think I would have been comfortable with anyone else and you were just so reassuring and kind to me."

You hold your breath as you try to gauge Six's reaction. You don't realize your body goes rigid as you wait, your attention focused on Six's face.

It goes from being blank to a softened, kind look that lets you exhale. Six nods once in thoughtful understanding before stating, "I was just going to say I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable on that mission with anything I did. I should have asked if you had any boundaries before we got thrown in."

You shoot him a grateful smile, butterflies welling in your stomach at the level of concern he had for making you uncomfortable. It's quiet for another moment and you mumble, "I appreciate that. But I don't think there's much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you."

Heat burns across your cheeks and ears as you finish your words, facing back to the front of the elevator as it dings for the 20th time. Quite literally saved by the bell, you step out, this time making sure there is no one in your way.

Your eyes start scanning the hallway for room numbers, looking for room #2007. You hear Six move behind you, positioning himself next to you as the elevator doors slide shut, descending to a lower floor.

Six clears his throat, seemingly trying to distance himself from the conversation in the elevator, and asks, "What room are you in?" You blink and look at your room key even though you know the answer and stutter, "Uh, 20- 2007. What about you?"

Six sighs and grunts, "2045, I guess I'm down the other hallway. I'll walk with you." He doesn't give you much of a choice, starting down the hallway with the lower numbers.

You feel your stomach flip again, the feeling of butterflies making you teeter nausea. You move to follow him though, shuffling the backpack on your shoulder and taking another breath you release as a sigh.

It only takes a few moments to find your room, and you quickly swipe the key card, deposit your stuff on the bed, and check the main room for anything hidden or suspicious.

Six had a similar thought, checking the bathroom for you before stepping back out into the hallway. You step out with him, leaving the door propped open with the door stopper.

"Thanks for seeing me to my room," you voice, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You raise a hand to your face to stifle a yawn, and you see some emotion wash over Six's face.

You can't quite pinpoint what it is exactly, but you try not to think about it as you wipe at your eyes. Six steps closer to you, his duffle bag plopping to lay on the floor near his feet.

His hand slowly comes up to your face and you instinctively drop your hands to your sides to give him access. Your breath catches in your throat and the lull of exhaustion is seemingly gone as a rush of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

The air is suddenly thick and it's hard to breathe. His hand settles under your chin, the supple touch making you shiver. He tilts your chin up ever so slightly, his gaze dark as his eyes flit around your face.

You try not to notice how they linger on your mouth for a second, but then you realize your lips have parted at his touch. You can't stop yourself from whispering, "Six, I-"

And he steps back.

His hand falls to his side and he quickly reaches down to grab his duffle. Not making eye contact with you, Six nods and dryly states, "Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

At that, he turns and walks down the hallway, steps even and methodical. You stand there, dumbfounded for a second until you see his figure turn into a small dot at the other end of the hall.

You lean your head back against your door, a solid thud sounding out. It may have hurt a little, but what the fuck was that?

Only when he disappears from view do you slide into your room, shutting the door with a click. You make sure to turn the lock and fasten the deadbolt, but with your mind racing, you can hardly focus.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and recognition sets in your brain that it's late. You go through the simple steps of your night-time routine, your head swirling with thoughts of his touch. His gaze.

Just, Six.

That night, you went to bed even more confused.

The fourth time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you need him more than you care to admit. The mission had gone south, fast. Too fast.

One second, Six is next to you, firing shots toward enemy men. The following, he is getting sucker punched out of nowhere, leaving your flank uncovered.

A lone gunshot rings out, and a second later pain erupts in your thigh. The bullet grazes the outside of your right thigh, causing you to cry out as agony starts to crawl through your system.

Your yelp must have caught the attention of Six, who is in a hand-to-hand tussle with another enemy soldier. He quickly smacks the butt of his gun across the face of the man, sufficiently knocking him out.

As you regain your bearings through your bleary pain, you hear another shot ring out. This time, you locate the source of the shot instantly.

It was Six.

He has his gun pointed at the falling figure of a man who had been hiding behind boxes on the balcony above you. The now-dead man had been the one who shot you in the leg.

With the last of the targets eliminated, you slowly hobble over to Six, hissing as you shuffle around fallen weapons and men.

"You good?" you wheeze out, trying to put the throbbing sensation of your leg out of your mind as you look him over. You can tell he is mainly unharmed. He's got a cut on his forehead leaking blood down to his eye and some light bruising to go with it, but otherwise no major injuries.

Six finishes one last sweep of the room with his eyes before they lock onto you. His blue gaze darts around your face first, checking you over for wounds.

When he doesn't see anything on your head, his eyes scan the rest of your body and they freeze on your thigh. He ignores your question as he asks gruffly, "Can you walk on this?"

The material of your tactical pants has been blasted away by the gunpowder from the shot, the area now wet with dark red blood. You stumble a bit as the pain wells up, and Six's free hand flies out to steady you.

"Y-yeah, I can," you groan, and then pant, "I may need a bit of help but I can walk out of here." Six moves to stand behind you, leaning you back to rest against his chest while his hands release you.

Fingers working faster than you can comprehend through your pain, he reloads his weapon and wraps his arm around your waist. He offers you silent support as the two of you maneuver out of the room and to a planted, but safe, vehicle.

Six helps you get into the car before hopping into the driver's seat, setting off for an unknown destination. It's all a blur, though, as you flicker in and out of consciousness due to blood loss, pain, and exhaustion.

Time smudges by as trees whip past you, everything becoming a haze of blue skies and indistinct greenery. You don't realize the car has stopped until Six opens the passenger door next to you.

"We're here," he grunts as he bends down toward you, motioning for you to start shifting your way out of the car. You nod and shuffle toward the edge of the seat, your arms reaching for Six.

The Sierra agent is there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around your torso to help haul you to your feet. Pain soars through you as the movement, your leg screaming with a sharp pulsing.

"Gah!" you yelp angrily, your weight shifting onto your left leg which is unharmed. Six slings your arm around his neck, his left hand wrapping around your waist. Another hiss of pain slides past your parted lips, and then you grumble out, "Where are we?"

Six starts guiding you toward the small building and muttering, "Safehouse, we should be good to get you cleaned up here." Your head nods in relief, your whole body feeling a wave of relaxation at the thought.

It does make you slump against Six, but he doesn't say anything as he shifts your weight to press against his hip. His fingers fumble under the railing leading up to the building, reappearing a moment later with a hidden key.

This gives you a moment to give the safehouse a once-over from the outside. It's small, no bigger than two or three rooms. The outside is simple, unassuming, and not entirely in style.

As Six unlocks the door and does a quick sweep of the place, he leaves you gently at the entrance of the house. You take a second to glance down at the throbbing in your leg, seeing dark red liquid slowly oozing.

Six reappears in front of you, grabbing your attention from your leg. He stops next to you and gives you a silent thumbs-up.

You grip the doorframe tighter as you shuffle and start, "Can you-" "Yeah, I got you," Six cuts in, moving next to you again before instructing, "The bathroom is just up here and to the right."

"Thanks," you wheeze out as Six's arm regains its place around your waist, pulling you toward what must be the smallest bathroom you've ever seen. There is hardly enough room for both of you to stand comfortably, with Six basically flattening himself against the wall to try to give you space.

"I'm sorry, there's not much room in here," Six mumbles, his voice getting quiet as he flicks on the light. You reach forward to grab the counter and you huff through clenched teeth, "It's gonna have to do unless you want to get blood on the carpet."

Six scoffs at your forced joke, slipping behind you to a cabinet above the toilet. He fishes out some medical supplies, and you stumble as you lean back against the counter for support.

"So, uh," you start, your voice catching in your throat. You clear it, trying again, "How are we going to do this? I can put the lid down on the toilet and sit on it, but that won't leave a lot of room for you."

Six glances over at you as he sets the supplies on the very edge of the counter. He lets a sigh out through his nose, his blue gaze sliding to the minimal remaining counter space and then back to yours.

You raise an eyebrow at him, your mind swirling as you picture how to get up there. "You think that'll be best?" you ask with uncertainty, and Six gives you a nod with a quip of, "It's gonna have to do unless you want blood on the carpet."

A smile tugs on your mouth as he throws your words back at you, and you playfully go to swat at his shoulder. He easily catches your punch, moving closer into your personal space.

"I'll help you up," he says gently, his free hand sliding under your thigh. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him to brace them on the counter behind you as you give the bearded blonde a nod of confirmation.

"1, 2, 3," Six counts before lifting you onto the counter, his hands firm but gentle as he sets you down. You have to awkwardly avoid the faucet, but you manage to shift until your back lays flush against the wall.

A groan quietly slides through your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as a new wave of pain washes over you. Six's brow furrows as his hands slide from underneath you to the side of your thighs, being careful to not touch your open wound.

"You alright?" he asks lowly, trying to keep the energy in the room calm as his right hand works small circles on your uninjured leg. You hiss as you shift, "Y-yeah, I'll be good. How about you? You didn't answer me earlier."

Six mentally curses at your observation skills. Even despite your pain and wounds, you were still thinking about his safety. He turns his attention to the medical supplies and tuts, "I'm doing better than you, there's nothing I can't clean up."

Without making a big deal of it, Six gently parts your thighs to give himself more room. He does it slowly and methodically to avoid your wound hitting the coolness of the countertop, centering himself as he starts to rip open the supplies.

"Let me help you," you urge, sitting forward and biting your tongue to keep a grunt of pain at bay. You move to grab a washcloth, but Six is one step ahead of you, swiping one from the rack next to you.

He quickly dabs at the blood running down his forehead near his eye, his sharp gaze focused on his reflection in the mirror. You take in the angle of his jaw, the slope to his nose.

You let your eyes wander over the face you know as Sierra Six. His cheek is a little busted from where he got sucker punched, and you know it'll be sore in the morning.

You reach up and skillfully swipe the cloth out of Six's hand, the agent's eyes widening in surprise at your movements. You turn the cloth over in your hands to find a part not smudged with blood, and you flick on the sink to wet the material.

Six moves to grab the washcloth out of your hand again, but you quickly tug it toward your chest and light-heartedly snap out, "Let me help you!" The Sierra agent knows there isn't any malice in your voice, and that you are stubborn as hell.

He sighs and glances up into your (colored) eyes, slight but playful annoyance resting there. Six leans forward, resting his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, waiting for you to move.

After waiting another second to make sure Six is going to let you work, you slowly bring your hand up to his face. Brushing his scruffy cheek with the back of your hand first, you feel his warmth just by the simple touch.

You then spin your wrist, allowing for the dampened cloth to make contact with the trail of drying blood on his temple. Six's gaze is almost piercing as he watches you, and suddenly you wonder if this is what Six's enemies feel like before they die.

You swallow as you pull your gaze from his, your fingers delicately swiping the cloth over the blood trail until it is gone. You then flick the washcloth to another clean side, softly bringing it up to the cut on his forehead.

When the material makes contact with the cut, he flinches in surprise, his hands moving from the counter to grab at the meat of your thighs.

In his haste, he brushes against the wound on your thigh, making you whimper in pain. Six steps back rapidly, his back thudding against the wall as he removes himself from your personal space in a flustered rush.

Surprise and guilt flood his features as he rushes out, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" "It's alright," you cut in, setting the washcloth down next to your leg, "I know you didn't."

Six swallows and tries to redirect, "I can step out if you would feel better cleaning yourself up alone." You roll your eyes at him, trying to bring the lighter mood back as you jibe, "Yeah, okay, Mr. Gentleman, Sir."

Unfortunately, Six doesn't find your joke nearly as funny as you do, and you sigh and mutter, "Sorry, can't help it." You point to your leg and continue with a softer tone, "I could use some help, though."

Six glances from your injured thigh back to your face and he gestures to your pants, "Those are probably going to need cut off or taken off to get full access to that blast wound. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You groan and lean your head back against the wall with a thump, "For goodness sake, Six, help a girl out!" The desperation in your voice is what finally gets Six's resolve to crumble. He steps forward from the wall, still uncertain, his hands reaching for the scissors next to the supplies.

"You tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?" Six pushes, not wanting to overstep. You reach forward and grab his free hand the best you can, and giving it a squeeze you whisper, "I will. There's not much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you, remember?"

Six shoots you a quick, but more assured smile before turning his attention to the blast on your leg. He gently works the scissors around the fabric, cutting the material loose to give him access to the bare expanse of your right thigh.

You shiver as the metal of the scissors brushes against your skin, your fingers moving to curl around the edge of the countertop. Six does his best to work efficiently, cutting your pant leg completely off to reveal the wound.

He takes a moment to look at it, scanning it for any debris or dirt chunks that need to be plucked out. After not finding any, he glances up at you and murmurs, "Just gotta clean this up and you'll be good."

You give him a nod, resting your head against the wall again as a shaky breath falls from your lips. You knew that no amount of mental preparation would brace you for the sting of alcohol against your open wound. But, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, forcing oxygen into your body in an attempt to calm your nervous system down.

Six glances at you again, his gaze kind as he looks over your figure. You were waiting on him to bring the alcohol wipe over your leg, and you both knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Ready?" he asks as he finishes ripping open the packet containing the alcohol wipes. His fingers gently rub at your uninjured thigh, trying to distract you for a moment.

You take a quick, short breath and chirp out, "Yep, get it over with." Six doesn't waste a second, tenderly brushing the alcohol wipe over your wound. It immediately stings.

A gasp of pain forces its way out of your mouth, and your face scrunches in agony as your right foot swings out and then slams back into the cabinets below the counter. The reflex is one you couldn't have controlled, and you clamp your teeth down on your tongue as tears rush to the edges of your vision.

Six somehow avoids your involuntary kick, trying to work as fast as he can as he bloodies wipe after wipe. His blue gaze is focused as he works, and he murmurs after a moment, "You're doing good."

He grabs a new alcohol pad, applying it directly over the heart of the wound. You cry out hoarsely, your body crumpling forward toward Six's.

He holds pressure on the wound, not allowing the alcohol wipe to slip despite your wriggling to get away from the pain. Your forehead lands at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you brace yourself against him as tears slide down your cheek.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes, his free hand continuously rubbing circles on your unharmed leg. When his soft touch doesn't seem to help or distract you, he kneads at the flesh instead, trying to draw your attention away from the intense burn.

This seems to help a little more, but you can't stop the sob that jumps out of your throat as waves of pain work through your body. Six is patient as he waits for you to settle down, his hand sliding up and down your left leg in another attempt at distracting you.

Only when your hand clutches at him, does Six stop. Your fingers try grabbing onto the material of his shirt, grasping for anything solid to ground you.

Six slowly turns his head to look at you leaning against his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His hand moves steadily as he runs it over the back of your head and over your hair.

You hear him clear his throat and mumble, "Are you alright? I know this sucks."

The burn of the alcohol is the only thing your mind seems to fixate on. You want to answer him, but it feels like your blood is on fire. You open your mouth to reply, but you can only let out a strangled hiss.

Six frowns as he glances down at you, now bringing his hand from the back of your head to gently cup your cheek. The rough texture of his hands initially distracts you, your vision blurring as he pulls you away from his chest.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and you can barely make out Six's figure as you hear his voice wash over you, "Hey, hey, eyes on me. Eyes on me, okay? Do you trust me?"

Six's fingers gently tilt your head back, his thumb pad brushing away your tears as he looks over your dampened cheeks. You blink a few times, trying to focus on the man in front of you as the burn of your wound begins to ebb away.

You nod and sniffle, "Y-yeah." Your voice is weak and quiet, deprived of energy. Six gives you a warm smile, his fingers moving from cupping your cheek to quietly brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You suddenly realize your proximity to the Sierra agent has decreased rapidly. Your face is only a few inches away from his own, and he is the only thing you can focus on.

With your vision focusing, you can now see the concern lacing his stormy gaze. There is a furrow in his brow that you know is there because of you.

Six is holding you so tenderly, so patiently. It makes your heart flutter and a lump form in the back of your throat. A second passes and you swear you can feel Six's breath on your face as he silently waits.

Waits for what? You aren't really sure. He is staring at you, calculating.

Then, he leans in slowly. You swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest as a strand of his hair tickles your forehead. At the last second, he shifts and turns his head.

Six's lips land on your cheek softly. You can feel the tickle of his beard against your skin, and it makes your fingers tighten their grip on the material of his shirt.

You feel like you could vomit, your nerve endings are in pain, confused, and happy? You are instantly brought back to your senses as he lingers close to your skin, painstakingly slow to pull away from you.

He pauses as he pulls back, now only an inch or two away from your lips. Six's eyes had fluttered closed, but now, they flicker open, gauging your reaction.

Your eyes are half-lidded. From pain? Maybe. From pleasure? ...you aren't really sure. Six is so close to you, you can't think straight. You have never felt this way before, both excited and terrified.

You know all you have to do is tilt your head and you could close the gap. But you are hardly breathing. And when Six's hand slowly removes itself from pushing your hair out of your face and cups your cheek again, you think you're going to have a heart attack.

A moment passes and Six leans into you ever so slightly, the two inches now becoming one. He subconsciously tightens his grip on you, his fingers holding your face pulling you closer.

At the same time, his hand holding the alcohol wipe on your thigh also increases in pressure unconsciously. A new, fresh wave of pain roars through your body, tearing you out of the dream-like state you had been in.

You involuntarily gasp and drawback as pain floods your system, a pang of hurt flooding over you at the way Six immediately pulls away from you.

His face is instantly stone-cold with no emotion, and he pulls his hand holding the alcohol wipe off of your thigh.

The silence is painfully loud.

You can hear every movement around the safehouse. The wind is knocking into the roof and the heater attached to the wall is creaking. Otherwise, it's just the quiet rustle of medical supplies as Six silently finishes patching you up.

He puts an ointment on a gauze pad, avoiding eye contact with you, before placing it over your clean wound. You bite your tongue as hard as you can to avoid making any noise, and you try to not move or shift as he works.

Your heart rate is slowing down, but you are left with an uncomfortable feeling of hurt, guilt, and something else you can't place.

Six finishes patching your wound by wrapping your leg with a pliable gauze and taping it off. You know the wound will need to be redressed in the morning, but you don't want to think about it.

As Six throws away the used supplies and starts to gather up the clean stuff, you clear your throat. Your voice is shaky and quiet with uncertainty when you offer, "I can-, I can finish cleaning the cut on your head."

You gaze at him nervously, your hands having released him and now lay awkwardly in your lap. Six doesn't spare you a glance as he finishes putting the supplies away and mutters, "No, I'll be fine. You should go get changed, there are clothes in the bedroom."

His words are straight to the point and very matter-of-fact. You sigh and nod, forcing yourself to move despite your leg protesting. With wobbly movements, you hop down from the counter and begin inching toward the bedroom around the corner.

Six had slipped out a moment before you, heading toward the kitchen across the hall. You grunt with effort as you latch onto the door handle of the bedroom, and this makes Six pause, turning around to look at you.

Whatever silent treatment you both shared in the bathroom seems to have dissipated. He motions toward you and prompts, "Just yell if you need help."

You know he's offering as a courtesy, but you can't help but crack a grin and call over your shoulder, "I will, I don't want to get blood on the bed too, you know. Unless you're into that sort of thing."

You don't wait to see if he responds, instead slipping into the bedroom with as much grace as you can muster. You shut the door behind you, leaning up against it as your eyes flutter shut.

On the other side of the door, Six is left with pink flooding his cheeks. He walks to the kitchen, and leaning over, grabs the countertop with both hands.

He huffs out a deep breath, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his... muddled thoughts. After a moment, he can't help but let his head drop as a chuckle falls from his lips.

A pleasant smile sits on the curve of his mouth as he replays the scene over and over in his head. Gosh, he was ruined by you. However, his smile quickly fades as he starts to mull over the interaction in the bathroom.

What a pussy you are, he thinks to himself.

Similarly, you aren't much better. What kind of wuss am I? you ask yourself as you push off the bedroom door toward a small closet tucked around by the window.

You sigh as you unbutton your pants, trying to carefully shimmy your way out of them. Thankfully, your heart seemed to have calmed down. You weren't sure how Six was going to take to you resuming your normal banter, but you hoped it would ease the obvious tension.

The tension?

It was all you could think about. And now? You knew you needed to confront whatever feelings you were experiencing. Because after today?

Sierra Six was driving you insane.

You slept on and off that night, fits of restlessness followed by sheer exhaustion that pulled you under. It was a rough night, to say the least.

The combination of your injuries and the torment of your interactions with Six left you flat-out tired. So when your body finally gave up and forced you to sleep around 3 a.m., you weren't complaining.

Six, ever the gentleman, slept on the couch in the living room and gave you the bed for the night. It was an unspoken agreement - you had basically collapsed on the bed after getting changed and didn't move.

Six knew this, and figured that he would be up for a while as the events of the day replayed in his mind. Not wanting to disturb you, he knew the couch would be his solace for the night.

The following morning, Six woke up early out of natural instinct. His muscles were sore and stiff from being crammed on the small and uncomfortable couch, but it wasn't anything a good stretch and walk couldn't fix.

With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, which read 6:25 a.m., Six knew he had a while until you woke up. You hadn't come out of the bedroom since you had disappeared the night before, and he didn't want to bother you.

So, Six makes a quick pot of coffee and does a couple of stretches to loosen his body and wake up his mind. Pouring the coffee into a sealed thermos, Six makes his way to the front door.

He slides on his boots and shrugs on a jacket that he had left on the coat rack. It was pretty cold outside - a sharp wind that cut to his core and knocked the snow off of the branches of the large pine trees around the safehouse.

A sigh falls from Six's mouth as he takes a sip of his coffee and sets out to do a perimeter check. He can't be too careful, not when you are basically out of commission. So, he does a quick scan of the vehicle he parked outside before setting off toward the edge of the property.

With the cold air biting at his cheeks, Six can't help but let his mind wander to you. You. You were... irritating to him, to say the least.

You just had to be the best thing that had ever walked into his life. From the moment he met you, Six knew that you were going to change him. And you certainly did.

His feet crunch over the snow as he walks the tree line, his blue eyes darting in and out of the wintery trees. Six watches two white-haired rabbits jump around in the snow 30 feet in front of him, pawing through the frozen flakes toward the hidden grass below.

He can't help but smile at the small animals as his mind drifts back to you. He knows you would love their cute whiskers covered with snow. Hell, you would probably try to chase one and pick it up.

The bearded blonde pushes forward, skirting around the rabbits and taking another sip of his coffee. The sun is just barely over the horizon, the woods still dark with the chill of the night. There is enough sunlight illuminating the snow that Six can easily navigate through the deep dawn, his eyes scouring the nature around him.

Six's smile fades as last night's memories flood his brain as he walks. He had been a coward. Truly, he had been a coward for a lot longer than last night.

There had been seemingly countless times when he had wanted to tell you how he felt. Deep down, Six knew you would listen to him make a fool of himself.

You were his best friend.

He didn't think he would ever have one of those, but then you showed up and flipped his whole world upside down. You were kind, reliable, and always quick with a bad joke.

You loved to banter with him, playfully jibing and quipping at each other until you got Six to smile. You had seen him through tough missions where things almost went south. You had had his back when he miscalculated things, picking up the slack like it was second nature.

You had the biggest heart despite being a part of a cruel, cruel profession. He knew he wasn't special to you when you smiled or said something kind. That was you, being you.

Six knew this from the beginning. And yet he still somehow found himself falling for you, even after telling himself he wouldn't jeopardize your partnership and friendship like that.

So now, here he was, having almost kissed you four separate times. And it was driving him crazy. It irritated him. He knew he was being a coward.

You deserved a good, kind, brave man. And Six wasn't any of those things. He lived in a kill-or-be-killed world. He didn't get to settle down and live a white-picket-fence kind of life. You deserved that.

But damn it, you had his mind bewitched. He couldn't summon the courage to tell you how he felt because he didn't want to ruin your friendship.

He knew you would be sweet about it when you let him down easy. He can picture the way your face would twist into a sad, apologetic look as you told him you didn't see him that way.

And he can't stand that.

But then another part of his brain says that you feel the same. Six knew you found some comfort in him. That was proof of when you crashed into his arms after finding out your mom passed away.

He knew you trusted him when you followed his lead on the mission in Spain, letting him guide you as if you were truly in love. Then when he helped you at the hotel? His self-restraint had barely kept him composed.

Then with last night looming in his mind... Six knew he was fucked. He had to get his shit together and tell you. It was going to eat him alive until he did something about it.

Maybe, just maybe, things would go his way. If they didn't? ...well he would figure it out. You may ask to get reassigned or pretend that nothing happened.

Six didn't want to think about that, though, and instead forces himself to continue on his walk around the perimeter of the safehouse.

Inside, you had woken up. You had heard the front door swing shut, despite Six trying to keep it from closing with a loud thud. It was slow-moving for you to get out of bed, but you carefully took your time to avoid causing yourself excessive pain.

You figured Six was probably securing the perimeter, so you didn't think it was a bad idea to get a shower and try to make breakfast.

Surprisingly, getting in and out of the shower was pretty easy, and redressing your wound seemed to breeze by. However, getting to the kitchen was a bit of a struggle, with your thigh now aching from being used and the fresh sting of ointment.

You have to hobble and hop to get the short distance from the bathroom to the kitchen, but you are immediately drawn toward the cabinets around the coffee pot.

You grab a glass from one of the cupboards above you, fiddling with the faucet to pour some water into the plain cup. You take a quick sip as you peer out the window above the sink, the sun slowly sliding up over the horizon.

The snow is tinged with pink and orange, casting an illuminating glow over the peaceful scenery. A sigh falls from your lips as you set your glass down, putting your attention on trying to find something to eat.

There probably isn't anything fresh in here, it's a safehouse for goodness sake, you think to yourself as you start rifling through the other cabinets. Inside one of them, you find a box of pancake mix that hadn't expired.

You smile at it and huff, "This'll do!" You set to work, finding a bowl to mix the batter in, as well as an old cast-iron skillet to cook with. As if it's second nature, you pour batter onto the skillet, carefully watching and flipping the pancakes as they turn golden brown.

Just as you start digging through the freezer, you hear the front door creak open. You swivel on your uninjured leg as you turn to face the source of cold air swirling into the house.

Six is standing at the threshold of the front door, surprise evident on his features as he gazes at you. You note the thermos in his hand and the heavy jacket he has covering his shoulders.

As he moves to step inside, you sheepishly smile and mumble, "G-good morning! I'm making some breakfast, if you want any." Six makes quick work of his boots by the door, shuffling out of his jacket a moment later.

"You should be resting," his voice comes out low and firm, and hearing it makes you realize how much of a comfort it brings you. You turn back toward the freezer as you try to ignore his words, but he doesn't seem like he's going to let it go.

Six moves into the kitchen with a couple of long strides, the smell of pancakes hitting him as he stops next to you and sets his thermos down. He gazes down at your shy figure digging through the shelving of the freezer, and he crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"You should be resting," he repeats pointedly, "Not digging through an ancient freezer." You ignore him for another second before smiling at something you pull out of the rusty ice box.

You finally turn to face him, shutting the freezer door by taking a step closer to the bearded blonde. You try to push down the wave of nerves you feel at the closer proximity, images of last night flashing through your mind.

You offer him the package and remark, "Then you, also, should be resting. Not taking adventures around the property in the snow." Six's gaze hovers on you for a second, a look on his face knowing he'd been beaten by his own logic.

Instead, he focuses on the frozen package you hand him. He recognizes it as a bag of frozen breakfast sausages and glances back up at you with a question in his gaze.

You shrug and motion to the stovetop, "Wanna help me? The pancakes are almost done." You start hobbling past him, a quiet grunt sliding across your lips as you stop in front of the pancake skillet, flipping the bready goodness over with relative ease.

Six can't help but watch you for a moment, his fingers growing cold with the bag of frozen meat in his hand. His heart warms as he realizes you don't hate him for his cowardice the night before.

You want his help, and damn it, he's going to help you. He moves to stand next to you again, waiting for you to finish with the pancakes.

As you pour the last of the batter into a final, very large pancake, you smile up at Six with a glance and a chirp of, "My dad used to always do this with the leftover batter. He would always eat it, no matter how ridiculously large it ended up being."

Six lets a small, close-lipped smile pull across his face as he listens to you recount the memory. Setting the bag of breakfast sausage on the counter next to the two of you, he says, "That sounds nice."

Your smile fades as you watch the pancake start to form bubbles, and you shrug, "It's just a faraway memory now." Six watches you silently for a moment before pointing at it and mumbling, "I'll take it."

Your (colored) gaze makes its way over to Six, and you see a kind look resting on his face. It makes you feel better, calming the swirling thoughts in your mind.

You give him a nod before focusing back on the large pancake, flipping it over with more difficulty. Without looking away from the pancake, you ask, "Could you open the bag of sausage and grab 2 plates for us?"

Six, without hesitation, replies, "Yes ma'am," and cuts open the bag of sausage with his pocket knife. He leaves it next to you before beginning to look through the cabinets to find the plates.

After a minute of digging around, he returns with two plates and sets them near the coffee pot. You pluck the large pancake off of the skillet and slap it down on one of the plates.

You and Six continue to quietly and comfortably work through making breakfast, with Six cleaning the used utensils while you finish frying the meats.

After the food is made, eaten, and cleaned up, Six nods his head toward the bedroom and states, "I'm going to grab some clothes and get a shower. Just yell-" "if I need help", you finish with a smile, "I got it."

Six lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth before he backs up and disappears from view, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You breathe a sigh of content as you are left alone with your thoughts.

That was... surprisingly pleasant, you ponder as you shuffle toward the living room on the other side of the kitchen. You let your curiosity get the best of you, skimming through the simple decorations and furniture.

You are drawn to the small side table next to the couch, and you see a blanket piled up next to one of the pillows. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings when you realize Six slept on the couch and let you have the bed.

You hadn't even thought to ask him about the sleeping arrangements. You try not to dwell on it, though, and focus on trying to find something to do.

Your eyes catch on a few books on a shelf near the wall, but you don't quite feel the energy to read something. Instead, you are drawn to a deck of cards poking out next to a small book.

Faulty footsteps eventually lead you to the shelf, where you easily pluck the box of cards up. You maneuver back to the center of the small living room, ungracefully plopping yourself onto the floor and positioning yourself with your back to the couch.

You lean back against the cushions and slightly grimace at how firm they are. You were going to have to apologize to Six for making him sleep on these all night.

Focusing on the cards in your hands, you fish them out and fumble with them for a minute. You had never been one who learned how to play cards, so you initially struggle to shuffle them. After toying with the crisp cards for a second, you start to get the hang of it.

Triumphantly, but still awkwardly shuffling the cards, a smile eases across your face. Just then, the bathroom door swings open and Six steps out, freshly dressed and showered.

Your smile widens when you see him and hold up the cards to show him your find. Six is running a towel over his head as he notices you, and he shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes before asking, "Where'd you find them?"

You point toward the bookshelf and shrug, "Just sitting over there by the books. I don't really know any card games though." Six slings the towel over his shoulder, his face thoughtful for a minute before he offers, "I can show you a couple."

The cards almost fall out of your hand at his suggestion, but you cover it up with a wide grin and a giggle of, "That would be great!" You turn around to lean against the couch again, fiddling with the cards while Six hangs up his towel.

He joins you a minute later, flopping down on the ground next to you with a groan. You snicker at him playfully, and he shoots you a glare with no malice behind it.

Six reaches over and plucks the cards from your hands, and in doing so, makes you pause. His knuckles are busted, something you hadn't noticed before. There are a couple of scrapes across them, as well as bruising around several of the joints.

You frown and reach out, gently grabbing his hand. Six stops his movements, looking over at you as you turn his palms over to look at the angry red skin on the other side.

"You're hurt," you mumble, the frown on your face deepening as a crease forms between your brows. Six lets you run your digits over his own, enjoying the soft touch of your skin on his.

Six is quiet, not uncommon for him, and you look up at him with concern etched into your features. The bearded blonde is taken aback by the intensity in your (colored) eyes, and averts his gaze, shrugging, "I've had it worse. Nothing to get upset over."

Your grip tightens on his for a second, but then you release his hand and shift to face him. You lean your elbow on the hard cushion of the couch and prop your head in the palm of your hand.

"If you say so," you reply quietly. You give him an apologetic smile and murmur, "I also owe you an apology for letting you sleep on this couch last night. This thing is terrible."

You finish your words with a giggle, your hand slipping from propping your head up to whack at the stiff material. Six brings his blue eyes to watch you, a soft look on his face. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and this time it's you who has to look away.

He clears his throat and turns to shuffle the cards as he says, "It wasn't that terrible. As long as you were comfortable last night." There's a double meaning to his words that is so subtle you almost miss it.

As his fingers flip through the cards to shuffle them, you reach out and rest your hand on his bicep closest to you. Your features have relaxed, and you whisper, "I was comfortable last night. I- I wasn't sure if you were."

Six pauses halfway through shuffling the deck. It's quiet in the safehouse, again. While you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, this time it's not the kind of silence that makes you want to scream.

It's the kind of silence where you want to see what happens next.

He sets the cards down on the ground next to him, still not meeting your eyes. You shuffle so that you are sitting facing Six, with his back leaned up against the couch.

The bearded blonde is quiet, pensive. You slide your hand from his bicep to the hand now resting on his lap, gently grasping for it. He lets you thread your fingers through his own, and you continue quietly, "Last night, I- I thought that maybe..." and your voice trails off shyly.

"Maybe, what?" he whispers, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb across the back of it. He glances up at you, catching your gaze. You see an unusual expression there - one of vulnerability that you hardly ever see.

It hits you with a wave of butterflies so hard that you look away and try to backtrack, "I-I don't-" "Just-" he cuts you off, his voice still gentle as he urges, "Maybe, what?"

You sigh as you feel heat burn up your cheeks and start curling down your neck. You want to shove your face in your hands, but instead, you tighten your grip on Six's hand as you mumble indistinctly, "I thought that maybe last night there was a change. A, a shift or something."

You chuckle dryly as you try to pull your hand away from Six, but he holds you there in place. His grip tightening on your hand finally makes you look at him, and your wave of nerves hits you all over again.

He swallows thickly, his blue gaze stormy as he replies, "There was a shift, I felt it too." You hold your breath as you wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn't come.

Six takes a moment, his mouth parted as he tries to come up with words. He sighs in frustration, his free hand coming up to rub at his face before he mutters, "Fuck it."

Before you can ask him what he means, Six is pulling you into his lap, letting your legs delicately straddle either side of his hips. He releases his grip on your hand to grip the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair and pulling you down to him.

Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize what's happening. Your hands fly up to brace yourself on his chest as his free hand finds its place on your hip.

Despite all of this being completely new, you can't help but feel comfortable and almost as if you were made to sit on his lap. He doesn't give you long to think as he pulls you down to him.

Only when your mouth is hanging open in mild surprise, inches from his own, does he slow down. His gaze is half-lidded, but now when you search for the name of the emotion on his face, you can place it.

Six whispers hoarsely, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop. We can pretend this never happened." You slide your right hand from his chest to the back of his neck, letting your fingers slide through the drying locks there.

Your (colored) eyes flit between his blue ones, and you whisper back, "It's all I've ever wanted, Six." And that's all it takes for him.

With electricity crackling in the air, Six closes the distance between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat the second his lips meet yours, and you can't help the soft gasp that you let out as sparks shoot up your spine and your eyes flutter closed.

Your hand unknowingly tightens its grip on his hair, and Six lets out a throaty groan as his mouth starts to move in sync with yours. Butterflies that had once bloomed with nerves now flutter with excitement as your lips chase his, moving in perfect synchronicity.

Six pulls you closer with his grip on your hip bone, angling your head with his hand tangled in your hair. He deepens the kiss, his soft lips slotting over yours in ways you never could have dreamed of.

Your nose bumps against his as you take in the sweet taste of his mouth, something that is minty but reminds you of home. His kiss is soft and gentle, accompanied by the tickle of his facial hair on your chin and cheeks.

You find yourself becoming desperate when your lungs start to burn, but you don't want to stop. Not now, not after so long. Six seems to be in agreement, his mouth hungrily chasing after yours despite knowing you are both running out of oxygen.

The bearded blonde gives into the burn, though, and pulls back just long enough for the two of you to gasp for air. You can't stop the fire burning in you, and you lunge forward, crashing your lips against his without respite.

He catches your kiss eagerly, his hand resting on your hip sliding up your back and pulling your chest flush against his own. The angle causes your legs to burn, but not because of your wound.

Your mouth falls open at the pain, and Six seizes the opportunity to let his tongue swipe across your lower lip, testing the waters. When you willingly open your mouth for him to explore, Six swears he is in heaven.

His tongue gently explores your awaiting mouth, trying to memorize the taste of you. A soft whine pulls from the back of your throat, and Six slowly brings the kiss back from hungry to tender with his hand moving from your hair to cup your cheek.

His hands are rough on your skin, but you don't mind. Not when he is kissing you senseless. You follow his lead, though, and slow your mouth and heart down as you pour every ounce of affection into the kiss.

Six is the one to pull back, but not far. His chest is heaving, as is yours, leaning his forehead against your own. His nose brushes yours tenderly, and his blue gaze flutters open to meet yours.

Your cheeks are burning with heat when you finally make eye contact with him, and you are hit with a sudden wave of shyness. You go to glance away, but Six's hand keeps you right where you are.

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and gentle peck, sending another wave of butterflies through your body. The hand resting on your back gently rubs up and down your spine, and you look up to meet Six's gaze for the umpteenth time.

When you gaze at him, you suddenly have names for all of the emotions you've been feeling and seeing.

But Six beats you to it.

"I have wanted to do that for so, so long," he starts, his voice scratchy but tender. He sweetly brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes before continuing, "But I have loved you for even longer, Y/n."

Your heart swells in your chest at the simple confession, and you bring both of your hands up to cup his cheeks as you smile up at him. You giggle once as you hold him close to you, basking in his words before replying, "I've wanted that for a long time, too, you know."

Six smiles at that, but you keep talking before he can respond, "I love you, Six. I- I didn't want to read too much into things and ruin what we had."

The bearded blonde gives you a grin and chuckles out, "Well I think we might have ruined what we had, there's no going back for me now." You smile at the meaning of his words and nod in response, "I suppose you're right. You could've been kissing me like that for years."

Six's grip tightens on you as he all but growls out, "Guess I'll have to make up for lost time," and he crashes his lips against yours without another word.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold on. It may have taken Six a while to get his timing right, but you weren't one to complain now.

After all, Six would make sure he made it up to you.

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finnestra · 9 months ago

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Some ryan gosling character charts because you truly can't have too many.

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hederasgarden · 10 months ago

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no thoughts just Six with a breeding kink.

i think a part of him is scared because he doesn’t think he’d be a good dad but i also think he simply can’t help himself

You guys are coming for me tonight with these asks and I love it.

Warning for lots of pregnancy talk, breeding kink, and everything in between. We also have a little angsty chit chat before getting to the good stuff.

I agree Six has a breeding kink but I also think he's deeply conflicted about it. He may not see himself as a bad person but he did spend most of his adult life doing the CIA's dirty work. Because of that, when it comes to the reader and any children they may have together, he probably feels like he's tainting them in some way. He would always be worried about the possibility of his past catching up to him and putting his family in danger.

Then there are his complex feelings and concerns about whether or not he'd be a good dad. His only example growing up was an abuser. I suspect and hope that in this AU - if Fitz is alive - Six would draw a lot on that relationship when it comes to being a parent (which isn't exactly healthy either). I have a LOT of thoughts on this topic, especially if he ever had a son instead of a daughter, because you know he'd be terrified of repeating the cycle of violence he grew up with.

Anyway, angsty thoughts aside, let's dive into some horny ones. That is, after all, why everyone is here, right?

Prepare yourself for lots of questionable thoughts below. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Six is an observant man and picks up on everything, so he definitely knows your cycle. Probably even better than you do, and although he’d never admit it, he finds himself wanting you even more during your fertile window.

He also thinks about getting you pregnant more than he cares to acknowledge. Sometimes, he finds himself fantasizing about how your belly would look all swollen and round with his child. He especially likes to think about how that means everyone would know he did that to you. It’s a visible signal that you’re his, and speaks to that deep-rooted, primal part of himself he tries to ignore.

When it comes to fucking you, he loves having you on your back, laid out under him, so he can see absolutely everything. When he's about to come, he'll grab the back of your thighs and shove himself as deep inside as he can. Afterwards, he likes to lay his body over yours and have you cockwarm him to make sure his cum is inside you as long as possible. He definitely enjoys watching it leak out of you too, but he always pushes it back inside with his fingers.

I don't see him as a big dirty talker outside of an errant, "Let me fill you up," or "I got what you need," if he was really lost in the sauce. He would certainly talk you through sex in general with lots of things like, "That good, sweetheart? Yeah? You like that? I got you. Mmmm let me hear you..." etc.

Once he does manage to knock you up and comes to terms with everything, he is even more obsessed with having you 24/7 – especially when you're further along. He loves to take you on your side, thrusting into you slowly while he cradles your belly. Having you on your hands and knees would be another favorite of his because he can press his chest to your back and get nice and deep. He loves stroking your stomach and letting his fingers drag down to where he disappears inside you.

Unlike before, sex when you’re pregnant isn’t something desperate and hurried. It’s a slow affair. Six wants to savor and draw it out.

Thanks for sending in the ask, anon! And a big thank you to @ryebecca and @gettingvetted for looking this over! Also, thank you @elusivewildflower for letting me scream in your DMs about this.

#sierra six #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #court gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry x you #the gray man #is

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yesmaddyposts · 10 months ago

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Happy Father's Day to Ryan Gosling's father figure characters!

We love you even if you're a little unhinged 💕

#Ryan gosling #gif set #drive 2011 #the nice guys #the gray man 2022 #the place beyond the pines #driver #holland march #Sierra six #court gentry #Luke glanton

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comabite · 1 year ago

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Six

twitter: comasuart

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notthecutesttrash · 8 months ago

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Vanilla Ice Cream

Content: Sierra Six is your newly appointed bodyguard. You only want to make his life a living hell so he can leave. That is until unfortunate circumstances make you feel closer to him, and eventually like his company.

Warnings: Lil bit of angst, reader's a brat, fluff, inebriation, blood, vomiting, language, death

Word count: 6.8k

When you saw him, all you could think was how it was just another pointless bodyguard who might fail to do their job. Apparently, you were notorious for being a spoiled brat, as your father so explained, and no one else wanted to work with you because of it. Your lips twitch in irritation at the thought. You? Spoiled? Please.

“I don’t need a bodyguard! It’s not even a bodyguard anyways, it’s a babysitter! I’m so tired of being watched every day! Can’t I have some goddamn privacy?! I’m like 25!” You yell out to your father who is as usual, too busy calmly packing things into his neatly confined suitcase.

“Enough (Y/n), you’re going to have a bodyguard because you can’t seem to sit still for once.”

“Oh, maybe because, again, I’m 25 DAD! I’m so sorry for wanting to go out and have fun!”

“I have a target on my head, your mother has a target on her head, therefore YOU have a target on your head. What do you not understand?” You’ve heard this quote a million times at this point so you just wave it off.

“Yeah, and? That target has gotten us nowhere but money spent on these so-called body guards and given us senseless paranoia. Nothing has ever happened, and nothing will. Just relax already.” Maybe you knew you were being selfish, but you didn’t care, it was true.

“I am going to be gone for not just a day, not just 2, not even a full week, but almost 2 months.” He emphasizes. “I need the best security there is for you, do you understand? Someone is bound to try something.” He gives you a finished expression and then glimpses to the maid. “Margaret open the gates for Sierra six.” Your father says. She nods and briskly walks off.

You roll your eyes and huff, “dad!”

“He’ll be here any minute now. Introduce yourself, be nice, and we will see you in 2 months.” You open your mouth to speak and he holds up a finger.

“Don’t give this poor man any trouble than he needs, or at least enough that I have to hear about it. I don’t need yet another bodyguard that refuses to work with us because of you.” Your father rubs his fingers at the bridge of his nose to display his exhaustion.

“What do you mean because of me?” You cross your arms and huff, “I don’t do anything to any of them.”

“Don’t play coy.”

You shake your head, “i’m not.” You kind of were. Just kind of.

“You are. Don’t act like every guard so far hasn’t wanted to reverse the contract and shoot you themselves.” You cross your legs and turn your head.

“They start it.” That was also most definitely not true.

A brooding man makes himself known at the doorway. A tall figure, blue grayish eyes, sandy dark blonde locks, and somehow a face and demeanor that could make a mother proud.

“Another fit pretty face.” Was the first thing you say and your father instantly gives you a look that says don’t.

Pursing your lips, you hum begrudgingly and step in front of the man. “My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you.” A clear fake smile burns into your features, and you stretch your hand out. Sierra Six doesn’t say anything, he remains stoic and silent. He then places his hand into your own and firmly shakes it. His hand felt warm and rough like he was born fighting every day, and you made a note to remember that.

“Have a safe trip Dad!” You speak with honey, tiptoeing on your pretty little expensive slippers. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you give a side eye to six. A sadistic joy twitches into the edge of your lip, and you give him one last look before he turns to his side to let you pass through the doorway.

Fitz told him it was going to be a trip, and he believed it. For the past few days all you were trying to do was tick him, to break him, to over-exaggerate every little opinion you had, to make sure he’d want to get up and leave himself.

“I despise ketchup with my fries, why can’t we just have some alternative, what do you think Mr. Sierra six?” You would complain about one moment. Then the next moment you went on about how chocolate was better than vanilla, about how winter sucks because you can’t use your lavish pool, why red is better than yellow, why Pepsi tastes better than coca cola, and so on.

“So what’s your real name mr. six?” you ask him, your legs crossed over one another as you sat by him. His fingers were expertly working at the computer ahead of him, and he only gives you a split second of a look. “Nothing?” You inch closer, your red heels dangling near his legs.

“Why are all you guards so boring? Hm? It’s been like 3 days and you can’t say more than 2 words.” Throwing your head back, you groan out loud. Finally, you thought of an idea, and you glance back at him, grinning.

“Well then you wouldn’t mind if I invited my friend over would you?” A giggle escapes. “No. Of course not.” Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts and grin.

“You’re not supposed to have anyone over.” Finally, Mr. Special Sierra Six speaks. You wave your phone and laugh.

“It’s just one friend pretty boy, come on now, don’t be shy. She won’t give you as much as a bite… though.. she might try to get into your pants.” Snickering to yourself, he gives you that same blank stare. You click on your friend Cacie, and she answers the phone just as fast. Smiling wide, you’re already pulling it to your ear and telling her to come over.

“There’s a little special surprise for you. This one is good this time.”

“Can’t wait~” she says with that little mischievous snicker at the end of her words. She hangs up and you know she’s already on her way.

“Hey pretty boy, do you like wine? Wait don’t answer that. You strike me as a.. on the rocks type of guy. Let me guess.. bourbon? Scotch?” Six doesn’t respond, and you tap at your chin. “Whiskey!” Six gives you a glimpse, and you know you got it.

“Let me guess, “I can’t drink on the job,” you mimic him, “just one little glass wouldn’t hurt.” Already pouring the whiskey into the glass, you shoot him a side look. He’s still working at his computer, and at this point a guard might be sighing, rolling their eyes, or shaking their head. But he’s quite diligent. It was impressive.

You set the glass in front of him, and he doesn’t even eye you. “Just a sip for me, pretty please?” You give him the sweetest orbs you could muster, but it wasn’t very good knowing you. Eventually he gives you a look, and this time it stays. You couldn’t know what he was thinking with his expression at all. “Come on, please? I won’t bother you at all after this.” You tilt your head, and your eyes glimmer a certain sadism that screams out your lies.

“I’m good.” Sierra six speaks, turning back to his screen, and you create a fake pout.

“That’s no fun.” You take the glass you poured him and take a sip. Your gaze lingers on him. He knows you’re staring, you know he knows you’re staring, but you still do it. The nails of yours tap onto the glass one finger at a time, and you rest your free hand at your cheek. Still stuck in your peering, you don’t realize the doorbell rings.

“You should probably get that.” Six states, and you smile sarcastically. You should’ve made him get up and do it himself for that smugness.

A swift smirk dawns on you when Cacies pretty face is revealed. Her red lips are stunning, and her blonde coils are wrapped up. She wears her velvet red slim-fit dress, and you know she always wore this one to seduce the prettiest of guards. “Cacie dear, meet Sierra Six.” Cacie walks up to him right away, a burning intrigue in her light blue orbs.

“You are quite the pretty one, aren’t you? Older, though. You could probably be my dad… but lucky for you, I like that.” She sways her hips to the side and giggles. There is a little flicker of annoyance inside of you that you push down. Six glances up and says nothing, he doesn’t even give a reaction, no visible sigh, no rude comment, not even a linger over her body to show he secretly enjoyed it. Cacie was more than intrigued by that though, and you knew she was 100% willing to break him by the night’s end.

Cacie turns her back to six, and she unclips her hair and rolls her head slowly, pulling her fingers to her scalp to massage out the little bumps while her hair rolls evenly at the end of her back. Cacie pulls out her phone and loud music begins to blare out. Six doesn’t flinch, but he exhales a barely noticeable sigh that finally showed irritation. It was subtle, but you knew. You take a sip of the whiskey and giggle. Cacie breaks out into a little dance, and Sierra Six closes his laptop and gets up.

It was getting late so he carries his little flashlight and shines at the glass windows to make sure no intruder was around the corners. You roll a lighter in your hands and flick at it, igniting a small fire that you raise to your cigarette. Taking a deep inhale, you blow a trail of smoke in front of you and stand.

“Dance with me (Y/n), you know you love this song!” Cacie shouts, moving her hand into the curves of her ass. Your gaze lingers over to your bodyguard and you flick your cigarette to the floor. You take another swig of whiskey, and Cacie turns to you with a bottle of champagne in her hands. A big grin stretches her lips and yours do the same. You break out into laughter and she mimics, pouring a generous amount into your glass. She was more of a wine girl, so she’d always have her little special bottle that she’d love to get from some handsome cashier to share a long sip with you. You place your glass down and begin to move your body with the music.

“You’re free to join too,” Cacie throws a wink at six, and he gives a glimpse before getting back to work.

Throughout the night Cacie sends every little flirt, any little comment, even a flash of her tits to six, and alas no response. You on the other hand couldn’t care less and once Cacie leans down all drunken to six and tries to touch him, he finally speaks. “Don’t touch.” You take this moment to finally pause the music. Falling to the couch with a sigh, you unbuckle your painful high heels and chuck them off to the side. Your stomach felt like it was violently churning.

“Why? Afraid I’ll mess up your work? Get you fired?” Cacie chuckles, turning to you.

“I don’t understand this guy. He’s more boring than watching paint dry.” She grumbles. Huffing, you lean back to the couch and clutch your stomach. There’s a swirling that rushes to your throat, and you bite back the nausea.

“I really don’t care Cacie, just stop bothering him,” you mumble off, unsure if you were even inteligible at this point. You pull your hair out of its restrictive tie and let the locks fall into your face. The headache that was beginning to brew pounds into your ears. Lines of haziness muddle together fast.

“What is wrong with you?” Cacie gives you a look of disgust as if it was just blasphemous what you uttered. You mumble into the leather, dragging your tired face into it. Your head lulls to the side, everything was too heavy.

“Are you okay?” Six asks from his position, his head turned over his shoulder, brows furrowed.

“She’s just drunk,” Cacie rolls her eyes, gesturing towards you. You lean your head onto the curve of the armrest, and the way the light blares down into your sight has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. Breathing raggedly, you follow Six’s movements toward you, a sickness hits your chest again and you close your eyes, sucking in a pained breath. Six scans the half bottle of champagne, and then you. Suddenly a hand presses to your forehead and you attempt to flutter your lids open. Beads of sweat drip down your skin, and your hair becomes so wet it clings to your cheeks.

With a sudden sternness six asks, “What was in the champagne?”

Cacie throws up her hands and scoffs. ”How the fuck am I supposed to know? Champagne? I bought it at the store.”

Six rotates the bottle, attempting to find any language or label on the glass. “From who?” Cacie sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “I don’t know. The fucking cashier, who else?”

“Did you say anything to them? Like how you were going to be alone?” Six asks, staring up at Cacie who quiets, a certain guilty look on her face. He raises his brows and she throws up her hands again.

“Well… I didn’t think it was gonna be a big deal. I just told him that her dad was finally going out of town for more than just a few days, and he gave me that from behind the counter.” She holds a slightly worried expression as six gives her a blank look. You groan out loud as the pain in your stomach swirls. The bile was reaching your throat, the acid, the nausea, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You violently hurl over the leather couch until your stomach expels every ounce of liquid it can. Before you knew it you were carried away and forced to sit in a car seat before you passed out cold.

When you woke up you are met with a hospital ceiling, and upon turning, you find six at the corner, standing. Pulling your arms to your sight you see an IV in your wrist, alongside other needles. Anxiety spikes, and you gasp, rushing to get out of the bed.

Six rushes to you, gesturing with his hands to calm down, “Hey hey, lay back down, relax." You hesitantly ease back in.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Your friend gave you a poisoned bottle of champagne.” He states blankly. Rolling your eyes at the paranoia, you cross your arms.

“I’m sure I was just drunk.” Sighing, you look out at the window nearby.

“Do you normally puke out blood when you’re drunk?” He says, tilting his head, and you turn to him.

“Only when I’m having a good time,” you can’t help but joke and smile to yourself, eyes now glued to the outside.

Six was quiet, and you shift your focus on him. He has a straight face like usual. You had a deep feeling that maybe if you weren’t purposely attempting to annoy him for the past few days, he might’ve liked you as a person.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

He raises a brow, and you go on a nervous rant. “I just never get to be alone, so I get angry. So far every guard has quit, and that was always my intention. But..” The words were at the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t bear to say thank you, that he saved your life of course, a feat no guard has ever done, and probably never would’ve.

“I understand if you will.” It is quiet for a moment, and you sigh, keeping your gaze just stuck to the window. You swallow sharply, and it feels like razor blades scratching down your throat.

“I won’t. It’s my job.” Sierra six states like some automated robot.

Pushing your head into the pillow, you scoff. “Even when you got a girl who’s trying to make your life a living hell?”

“I’ve been with worse company.” For just a moment, you can see a shimmer in his eyes, and there’s just the smallest prettiest little curl at the edge of his lips. Grinning widely, you make out a laugh. Though, it’s not for long before you cough out a gross chunk of phlegm, or even blood maybe.

“You okay?” He asks, moving to you as you nod weakly.

“Yeah…” You trail off tiredly. “Can we go home now?” He finally chuckles, and you turn to him, embarrassed, a slight blush burning in your cheeks.

“Not yet.” There’s a frown from you, and you sink into the bed, your eyes closing. Six’s gaze lingers over you for a moment before he gets back into his past position, his hands folded neatly over each other.

It’s been close to a month, and the only company you ever had was six, and you hated to say.. you were starting to fall in love with him. Maybe it’s because you were desperate for any social contact. Or maybe because he's the only one who actually broke your facade and you feel comfortable to be your self around him... Or maybe it was just.. something about him.. the way he would smile just slightly, his soft chuckles whenever you finally did make him laugh, his ability to remain so calm.. it was so peaceful and reassuring in your boring days.

“I mean seriously though, why isn’t there an alternative to ketchup? It’s not like I’m just gonna put mustard on my fries, so you can’t say that’s one. It’s either ketchup or fries alone. You know?” You complain while shoving a fry into your mouth, huffing. Six removes the attention from his computer, his brow raised.

“Are you done?”

You nod absentmindedly. “You’re right, mustard sucks too.”

He lets out an impatient exhale, but there is just the slightest little twitch that nudges his lips into a smile. You find yourself grinning whenever you manage such a feat. Maybe he was annoyed at you, sure, but you knew he couldn’t deny that the mindless banter was enjoyable, and even he couldn't help but join in it every now and then.

Six looks up at you with a stern but playful expression, “I like mustard.”

“Hm. You do seem like a mustard guy.” You raise your spoon to him accusingly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stops typing completely now, gaze locked onto you.

You circle your spoon and gesture to all of him. “It just screams.. you, you know?”

Six hums. “Is it the hair?”

“Yes! It is the hair!” You point to him and six nods, resuming his typing. He then shakes his head, and chuckles after a moment of silence. Smiling, you continue eating and snicker to yourself, well that is until a wonderful idea hits you.

“You should teach me how to fight!” You shout and he gives you a blank look from his computer.

“Why?” He asks.

“Well, what if someone breaks in and you need help?” He smiles only slightly, and your stare remains fixated on him. His beard compliments the frame of his sandy hair, and the blue of his eyes that glance your way. You loved picking those features out every now and then.

He averts to his screen, “I won’t need help. Trust me.”

“But what if you do.” You retort.

“I won’t.” He shakes his head.

“But what if-“

Six sighs, “Alright, I’ll teach you. Happy?” Hand resting against your cheek, you giggle. Six glimpses when you walk off. Then his gaze remains for a second too long.

Surely when he wasn’t looking around the same spots, exits, and corners every moment, he could relax in a way that still made him feel like he was working. That’s what you hoped at least when you dragged him outside beside the pool and forced him to teach you his martial arts, or whatever.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he reminds you right off the bat.

You playfully gasp, pressing your knuckles to your hips. “What if someone bursts into my room and attempts to knock me out, hm?”

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to retort and he puts his hand up.

“Don’t.”

You whisper the words “but what if it does?”

You would’ve believed him and even called yourself paranoid, but considering you just had an attempt of murder on you, unfortunately, the idea wasn’t out the window anymore.

“Hit me.” Six gestures, and you step back instinctively, a bundle of worry in your chest.

“Anywhere..?” You press your lips nervously into another.

“Anywhere.”

You dive your balled-up fists at him, and he swiftly moves to the side. It was some impressive reflex, and you did it again only to watch him repeat. You take a step back and smile, breathing through your words. “So, I guess my father doesn’t hire useless people.”

The more you try, the more useless it is, but you’re determined until finally he grabs your wrist and holds it. “You’re too predictable, you can do better. Come on.” A huff escapes, and you swing directly at his eye, but he dodges just in time.

“Better.” Six pauses, and moves to you, grabbing your fist. “Like this.” He moves your hand in the direction, imitating the movement, and once he steps back, you copy. “Good,” he compliments, and you step back, smiling.

Six makes a gesture with his hand, directing it to him as if saying to keep it coming. Taking a deep breath, you move to punch him, and he dodges. You do the same movement several times and he all but does the same, except each time you notice you were getting just a little closer to his window.

Eventually, you pant and hold your hands to your knees. “This is a lot more tiring than it looks.”

Six looks around at the daylight slowly diminishing. “You should eat, it’s dinnertime.”

“You cooking?” You ask, taking a deep breath.

“Not unless you like cereal.” He jokes with that blank tone as he walks away, but you give a small chuckle before following him.

There was a question you were itching to ask as you sat down, and you gave him several glances to determine his mood. Then again there was never anything that showed what he might be thinking, so you purse your lips and look down at your food again. “What?” Six speaks up, and you turn to him, quietly staring.

“Nothing,” you mutter, eating a forceful spoonful of your rice.

Sierra Six hums, his gaze lingering over you, and you stand, getting up to walk to your freezer. “There’s no more ice cream,” you pout.

“Good. I won’t be able to hear about how chocolate is better than vanilla for a while now.” You turn around to Six who has a little playful glint in his eye, and you fake pout, moving to sit back down.

“You didn't enjoy my talks?”

“I would’ve if you chose vanilla.” He jokes, and when you laugh he can’t help the small smile that tugs his lips.

You rest your hand on your cheek and find yourself gawking at him. Six eventually speaks through the strange tension. “You look like you have something you’re wanting to ask, so what is it?”

Biting your lip, you look away for a moment and eat another spoonful of bland rice. Life without your fancy chefs was definitely a depressing one.

“Nothing I haven’t already asked you.” You say in a small mumble, and six hums, stopping his movements at the laptop.

“You’ve asked me a lot in these past few weeks. Like what icecream flavor is my favorite, if I like ketchup better than mustard, if whiskey is better than bourbon, if-“ Cutting him off, you sigh.

“What’s your name?” Six gives the same blank neutral expression, but as if he’s thinking. “Unless.. you don’t have one.. but you’ve got to right? You weren’t born an agent.. were you?” You ramble on, and six eventually lets out a small exhale, tilting his head.

“Court.” He states and you quiet, keeping your eyes on his. Suddenly you smile, then it turns into a grin, and you laugh. He looks confused this time, “what?”

“Nothing… I’m just.. happy you told me.” A giggle escapes you, and there’s a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. Court raises a brow and gets back to work, his side gaze lingering on you as you move to put your dishes into the washer.

“Goodnight Court,” you sing with a little giggle and wave.

“Good night (Y/n).” He says, his focus back on his screen. Yet as you walk away the smile he held within him escapes fully.

Throughout the night you found yourself tossing and turning, your head filled with thoughts of six- or Court. The house felt safer with him, you admitted, and on many nights when you were scared, he soothed you to sleep with his presence that you bothered to have near you.

“Six?” You call out, making your way out of the bed with your little nightgown on. No answer and your heart leaps up into your throat. He always answered the first time. What if someone actually did intrude and he wasn’t there, or worse, he lost? God you were starting to sound like your dad, no way that’d happen… But what if it did?

“Six..?” You call out quieter, tiptoeing around the door frames like a scared little child. There were no lights on, and the windows displayed only the inky blackness outside. It must’ve been, what, 2 am? Now you were beginning to get very worried, and your heart began to beat so fast it was drowning out the quietness of your large house.

“Six..?” you call out yet again, and no response.

When you turn a corner, there’s the body of an unfamiliar man on the floor which makes you jump back. Your toe pokes at him, and he doesn’t move. Your anxiety is now fully spiked, and you rush around the hall to call out for six. You find yet another black outfitted body, blood leaking from their chest onto the floor. Although, you didn’t notice that part until you tripped and fell on it. Groaning out in pain, you clutch your head, and call out one last "S-Six!".

Suddenly you hear glass breaking and a silenced gunshot which makes you jump. There's a heavy thud at your feet, it’s the body of another man, and when you look up, it’s Court who stands above you, alive and on his two feet.

He lets out a breath, and you ogle up at him, unsure of what to even say. Court gestures his hand to you and you take it. He instantly pulls you to your feet and you tiptoe silently around the body in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, but his focus zones behind you.

Something is moving in the corner of your sight and you shriek in reflex, instantly rotating to punch the assailant. "Ow!" They hiss in pain and recoil, holding their nose. You stare, wide-eyed, and when the man removes his hand from his face, his eyes narrow onto you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you contemplate running for a moment but you are more than determined, so you hold up your fist and muster up the same expression.

Suddenly an object flies over your shoulder, it nearly grazes your cheek before it lands deep into the chest of the man who is knocked back. Turning, you see Court who has a serious expression on his face, possibly the most you've ever seen.

You don't have much time to breathe out a word as another man comes behind him. Court rotates just in time and lands a loud sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The attacker stumbles back and gasps, attempting to grab at his pistol that Court more than easily undoes and the magazine falls to the floor. Court lands another hard hit, and you can visibly see the blood that leaks from the attacker’s nose as he repeats, and repeats.. and repeats to the point where you might as well feel guilty for the poor guy.

Cringing, you turn away, and you assume Court is finally finished when he lets out a breath and walks towards you. You study his movements as he nears the man beneath your feet and yanks the blade out from his chest. He takes a rag nearby and begins wiping the blood from it. You notice there is also blood running down his arm and without thinking your hands quickly roam to find the wound.

“Are you okay?” There was pure concern in your voice, and he scans you as if deep in thought.

He answers after a few seconds, shrugging, “I’m fine, just a little graze.” You frown and he adds, “You should be sleeping,” breaking you from the focus on his arm.

You huff. “When did they come in?”

“Now.” Court continues wiping the blade, not even looking at you.

“I told you I wouldn’t need any help.” Court continues in his monotone voice and you’re breathless in pure astonishment. You wanted to gasp out a “You’re unbelievable," but in reality, you say what you know annoys him.

“But you might've.” He cracks just the edge of a smile at you.

Your knuckles are a bruised red and you can't help but smile as you add, “Did you see the punch I landed? I did more than help, are you kidding?" Court chuckles and god even at a moment like this your heart flutters.

"Really? That's weird, I feel like I remember teaching you that punch. When was it..?" He looks to the ceiling as if just struggling to remember, “Just earlier today?" You were stuck in your smile, and your head tilts like a lovesick puppy, eyes glued to his. He gives you a sweet smile, then examines your dress which now has a puddle of red in it from when you tripped.

“You should go change.” He comments as if trying to shift the moment, and you hum, looking down at the bodies on the floor. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen this, considering the line of work your father was in, but the shake of six possibly getting hurt, or that they were coming for you upset you more than anything.

“I couldn’t go to sleep.” You now change the subject, looking up at him. He doesn’t respond, so you touch his hand and gently grab the knife that he was working at and place it on the counter. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Rarely. I can’t really afford to, considering,” he gestures to the bodies, “someone might break in.”

“What if I stand watch, and you sleep?” You offer, and he laughs for a bit. When he notices you’re serious, he gives you a look as if you just said something ridiculous. He scoffs and you pout.

He shakes his head, “That’s not your job.”

“No, it’s not. But my job as a host should be to make you feel comfortable and well-rested in my home.” You tilt your head, giving the best puppy eyes you could muster.

“Interesting character development.” He jokes and you pout.

“Come on, please? Starting tomorrow, you can take the best nap of your life.” You hold his hands that were once cleaning the knife and squeeze gently. Blue meets (e/c), and for a quiet long moment, it remains that way. Six doesn’t say anything, he just stares, and you do the same. Eventually, he decides to speak.

“I should probably clean this up.” You look around and take a step back forgetting to remember you’re an inch away from a pile of blood.

“Oh.. right.. yeah.” You trail off, giving him one last look as he does to you, before you nod, and walk off.

“Good night (Y/n),” he says and you turn back and smile.

“Good night Court.”

The closer you got to the time of your dad coming back from his trip, the more a big twinge of disappointment would hit you. It was almost 2 weeks left now, and you felt a sadness thinking of it. It would mean no more Court, and he would go on his way to other missions, or worse, even become a bodyguard to some other girl who’s conveniently all alone in a big house.

“Are you okay?” Asked Court who was, as usual, typing on his computer while you ate.

“Yeah.” Responding, you stab sadly at your eggs and let out a sigh. He wouldn’t like you anyway, not with how bad you treated him the first few days. There was no way.

Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving soon, so you could just be on your way and stop being so lovesick. Sooner or later another guard will come and you’ll go back to making their life a nightmare.

Court stares at you from the sides of his eyes, and hums. “I’ve been with you long enough now to know what’s wrong, so tell me.” He pushes his computer out of the way and directs his focus onto you. “What’s on your mind?”

Your lips purse, and for a moment you think of lying or not telling him anything, but you finally decide, that if he wasn’t going to be here after these 2 weeks anyway, then what was the point of keeping it to yourself?

“I’m just.. disappointed you’ll leave soon.” Court tilts his head, probably not even sure how to respond to that.

“You’re the only guard I’ve liked. So far I’ve made all of them quit, or even want to kill me themselves. My dad probably expects that you’re already gone or wanting to blow your own brains out by now. But… you’re here.” Awkwardly you finish your statement, refusing to stare at him in the eyes.. until finally you do. He gives you this questionable expression, and truthfully all of his emotions have been at least a tiny bit readable, but right now, you’re truly unsure of what he’s thinking. All you seem to notice is a glimmer in his eyes, maybe something sad, happy, mad, you really couldn’t tell.

“Yes.. I am.” He trails off like he wants to say more.

“Why?”

Court shakes his head for a moment and glances down, then he shrugs. “It’s my job.” Exhaling, you push yourself back into your seat.

Thinking of what to say and biting back a disappointment, you muster out a painstaking gratitude. “Well… I thank you for doing your job. In 2 weeks, you won’t see me again, and I’ll be back to making someone else’s job here hell. So.. you’re almost free.” You joke, but in a way that hurts you. A small fake smile is all the reaction you want to give, but the humor that makes its way to your words is almost nonexistent.

There’s a harsh jab that hits your heart that you’re attempting to push down. You knew he wouldn’t like you, it’s outlandish, but still, the tears that force their way to your eyes made it hard to show no emotion. Court sees it, and his attempted stoic gaze remains on you, but you can see he’s feeling emotions he’s unsure of, or like he’s thinking hard. His mouth opens to speak after a few seconds but you don’t want to hear it, not the words that you’ve been dreading, not the confirmation that’ll break your heart.

“I’m going to shower.”

He nods, and you purse your lips, turning away from him. Once you are sure he couldn’t see you, a few tears fall to your cheeks.

You put your hair up in a clip and decide to give yourself a nice bath instead. Undressing yourself, you lock the door to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, adding in a scent of your favorite soap. The bubbles rise to the top, and you watch, spacing out as you wait for the water to fill the spacious tub. Once it’s done you dip your legs in one by one and slowly sink yourself in, enjoying how the hot water settles your nerves. Once Court is gone, you’ll go back to normal, surely. Your eyes close and you let out a relaxed exhale.

You must’ve stayed there for longer than you thought, because there was a knocking at the door, and you mumble unintelligibly to yourself, rubbing your eyes awake. Muttering tiredly, you ask, “Yeah..?”

“It’s been a few hours. Are you good in there?” Court calls out, a slight worry in his tone.

Humming lazily, you draw yourself out of the bath and swing a robe on, your hair partially wet in its bun. “Sorry, I.. must’ve passed out.” You nearly whisper, opening the door to see Court’s face. He nods, and you both share a longing gaze.

“Right um… I’m going to get changed.” You cut off the awkward moment, walking off before he could see the light blush that dusts your cheeks. The way your heart beats, betrays the nonchalant thoughts of him leaving and reminds you painfully of the attachment you have. Once again, the idea of him vanishing right when your father arrives causes a pure sinking pain in your heart.

You throw on whatever’s comfortable and let out a sigh. Grabbing your hairbrush you tiredly begin brushing your hair while a sad pout glues to down turn your lips.

A knock on your door alerts you. Courts at the doorframe, his hands folded over one another, his blue orbs holding a certain sweetness when he views your form.

Nervously finding yourself caught in his gaze again, you pull away clearing your throat. “Hi…”

“Hi.” He responds, remaining still. It’s another awkward moment as you slowly brush your hair.

Court suddenly starts, “I’m not going to leave.” You stop, your attention shifting to him. He adverts his eyes for a moment and shuffles his legs, then focuses back.

He speaks with his usual neutral tone, but there’s a slight mix of something unreadable in there. Your attention is now stuck on him and every word he has to say.

“As tempting as it is to no longer have to hear about.. chocolate being better than vanilla,” you both share a small chuckle, “I don’t want to be “free” from you.” Court peers longingly, and you’re not sure what to say, you’re barely even blinking, your heart is leaping into your throat and you swallow roughly. You’re unsure of what exactly he means by this.

Court continues. “The only way I’ll leave is if you want me to leave,” he pauses, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” you whisper, eyes glued to his.

He walks towards you, slowly and steadily. “Then I won’t leave..” Court trails off, and you avert your attention.

“What about when it’s no longer your job?” He takes a seat beside you and uses his thumb and index to hold your chin gently, making you gaze back into him.

“It’ll always be my job.” He practically whispers.

You scoff, “To be my bodyguard?”

“No, to protect you,” He says surely, and your cheeks instantly turn a soft pink.

This time you mumble back, a small frown on your features. “Even when you have to leave?”

“Even when I have to. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever.”

Your eyes keep staring directly into his blue orbs, and you aren’t sure if it was his face that got closer, or yours, but eventually, your lips touch, and your lids close peacefully. He tasted sweet and was softer than you’d imagine. Upon separation, your gazes remain fixated on one another, and a genuine smile tugs at both your lips.

You speak without thinking, “I like you. You know that?” Court hums, breaking out into a laugh. His lips spread wide into a grin, and your heart skips just a little beat.

“Just like?” This time you chuckle.

You bite your lip and coyly tilt your head. “You gotta earn that second part.”

“And how do I do that?” Court asks, his voice soft. His fingers dance over your cheek, and you go weak at just the idea of his face so close to yours that you almost can’t even respond. He’s returned your feelings, and this makes you ecstatic. Your breath hitches when he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips.

“Just like that?” He asks, smug, and you nod, breathless, moving to touch his dark blonde beard that frames his features so well.

“Just like that,” you whisper, and he smiles, moving in to kiss you again.

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff x reader #the gray man #court gentry #court gentry x reader #reader insert #x female reader #x brat reader #the gray man x reader #sierra six #sierra six x reader

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elusivewildflower · 19 days ago

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The Compound Incident | Sierra Six x F!Reader

Pairing: Sierra Six x Agent! F! Reader

Summary: You and Six are sent on what was supposed to be a simple mission. Things go south and you get hurt.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence for the Gray Man. Mentions of blood, gunfire, dead bodies, and gunshot wounds.

A/N: Another Goose Groupies writers' club submission! I paired the prompts "I had it under control. You didn't need to do that" and "I just thought you'd be lighter without all of that blood." from here.

Also, I think I'll make this a short lil series. I have another "incident" in mind for these two, but I'd love to hear some other suggestions!

“I had it under control. You didn’t need to do that.” Six scolded harshly as he applied pressure to the gunshot wound on your left shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Under control, my ass.” You gritted out through the pain. “I just took a bullet for you.” You reminded him.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Get in, kill the target, get out. But things don’t always go according to plan.

The first two steps went swimmingly, but it was the last one that got you into trouble. You knew you wouldn’t have much time to get out of the compound unnoticed, Six had estimated a total of ten minutes from the moment you stepped foot into the estate before guards would notice. Unfortunately for you, it was more like eight.

Once one guard found you, it was a matter of seconds before others followed. There was no way for you to escape except to shoot your way out, and that only alerted more guards to your position. Six had remained outside for a scenario just like this. He’d be able to come in from behind and take them out along his way.

His bail out attempt had been going well. The two of you met up near the center of the estate completely unharmed with over a dozen bodies dropped. Six was planning the best escape route, his head turned for a split second, when another guard appeared out of nowhere and fired off the first shot. You had just enough time to throw yourself in front of him and you did it without hesitation.

You heard Six return the gunfire immediately as a searing bolt of pain radiated from your shoulder. The momentum from jumping in front of him and the force of the bullet caused you to lose your footing. Your other shoulder slammed into the cold tiles seconds before the side of your head followed, the impact causing your gun to slip from your hand. You let out a groan as pain shot through the other half of your body. It took a few blinks to clear your blurry vision as you fumbled around for your weapon instinctively.

And that’s how you got here. With Six knelt beside you, the palm of his gloved hand pressed tightly against your wound.

Six merely shook his head at your reminder, knowing that continuing to argue would only waste precious time. It didn’t matter that he had heard the click of the enemy’s gun as he rounded the corner to your position and that he probably would’ve shot the guy first if you hadn’t thrown yourself at him.

“Alright, we’ve gotta move. We’ll fix you up back at the safe house.” He ordered, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist to haul you back up to your feet.

Six dropped his hold on you the second you were standing upright and you secretly missed the feeling as he began leading the way out of the estate. You fought through the pain that coursed through you, breathing in and out deeply with every step. It was a raw, grinding agony with every miniscule shift of your arm and you knew that the bullet was still buried deep in your shoulder. But there was no time to deal with it now. You kept your left arm tucked tightly against your torso, your right arm slightly extended as you carried your gun, prepared to fire at any moment.

With Six’s guidance, it didn’t take long for you to escape the building. Now, you just had to make it out the same way that you came– by vaulting yourselves over the fence. There was a getaway car parked about half a mile away, hidden in some brush. Your shoulder throbbed at just the thought of climbing back over the fence and you fought back a grimace. This wasn’t going to be fun. But honestly, what part of your job was?

Taking a moment to pause behind some trees and shrubbery, Six cast a glance towards you and then to your planned exit. “You good?”

“I’ll survive.” You responded with a huff, keeping your eyes peeled for any other guards roaming the property. Your shirt was completely soaked with blood at this point and you needed to get something tied around it soon to help stop the bleeding. However, the first priority was getting the hell out of here.

You realized that you must’ve killed the majority of the guards on the compound when you didn’t spot anyone nearby. Well, not anyone alive at least. Six had dropped the two that were manning the closed gates and four others on his way into the estate. Their bodies were scattered around the yard.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, you two made a run for it.

At that exact moment, two headlights came speeding down the drive and crashed straight through the metal gates.

“Shit,” you both cursed and dove for cover as two men hopped out of the SUV and released rapid fire.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to hide behind except for shrubbery. As you returned fire, you felt another bullet sink into your skin. This time, it was your upper thigh. The burning hot pain caused your knee to give out and you collapsed to the ground for the second time with a cry.

Your final shot hit its mark, though, as did Six’s. Both men and the driver were now just as dead as the others.

Six cursed once again as he realized you were down, closing the gap between you. “Seriously?” He questioned, his tone somewhere between exasperation and worry.

“Yeah, I must’ve pissed somebody off upstairs or something.” You muttered through gritted teeth jokingly, or as well as you could muster it.

The new wound just barely lessened the pain you felt from your shoulder, but now you were losing twice the amount of blood.

Six took off his belt in record time and wrapped it around your upper thigh, pulling it as tight as he could. You’d been hit closer to your outer thigh, which meant it shouldn’t have nicked your major artery. That was good news, at least.

“We’re literal assassins. I’d say that ship sailed a long time ago.” He deadpanned.

His response caused the corner of your mouth to upturn ever so slightly as you breathed out a short laugh.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before you get shot for a third time.”

You didn’t have time to try and stand on your own before Six’s arms slid beneath you. It took longer than you liked to realize that he was lifting you up into his arms. You’d been partnered with Six for, coincidentally, six months so far and this was new.

A noise of surprise slipped from you before you could stop it, but you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively.

You took advantage of being so close to Six and finally noticed that he had been hit in the face with the butt of a gun, as dried blood streaked down from his temple. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and although you knew he could feel you staring at him, his eyes never met yours. They remained alert, scanning your surroundings as he made a quick get away through the gate that had just been blown open.

It was only about a ten minute walk to where your getaway car had been parked, but you were sure that Six hadn’t planned on having to carry you to it.

About half way there, you could tell that his breathing was becoming labored. His adrenaline was probably beginning to subside, making the task of carrying you more difficult. He was incredibly strong, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard work to carry someone. Especially after a mission. It made you feel bad, even as your own adrenaline wore off, making your wounds ache and the blood loss made your head feel fuzzy.

“I can walk the rest of the way.” You offered after a moment, your guilt finally eating away at you. It wasn’t his fault that you got shot twice. Sure, you might’ve saved him from the first bullet, but the second was all you. You should’ve been better than that.

Your words brought Six’s attention towards you for the first time since he picked you up. A tingle ran down your spine as his blue eyes met yours.

“No, I can carry you.” He stated firmly, before the corner of his lips curled up into the faintest smirk.

“I just thought you’d be lighter without all of that blood.”

Any ounce of guilt faded the second his teasing words reached your ears, a look of annoyance crossing your features as you scoffed. “You’re such an ass.”

Six didn’t respond, didn’t even laugh, but you saw the way his eyes lit up mirthfully as he returned his focus to getting both of you to safety.

#sierra six x reader #f! reader #sierra six #sierra six fic #court gentry x reader #court gentry #court gentry fic #court gentry x f! reader #the gray man #the gray man fic #my fics

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Killing Time 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Your frustration mounts as you click the permissions again to allow the camera and microphone access. It’s so annoying! It just keeps running you in circles. Great. This is off to a good start. Late for the interview. That’s always the best first impression.

When at last your firewall stops blocking the call, you flinch at the sight of yourself in the corner. You’re further jarred by the man staring back at you. Your mouth opens and for a moment, you’re frozen. You were so focused on troubleshooting, you forgot about what was waiting on the other end.

“Oh, hi,” you squeak. “Sorry, I--” you look around, glancing through the clear walls of the library study room. It’s the first time you’ve been to this branch but you didn’t think the clutter of your apartment would make a good backdrop. “I was having issues with my camera.”

“Quite alright,” he responds with a grin and a lilted accent. He sounds as professional as he looks.

He wears a grey jacket over a muted teal shirt that lights up his eyes, even over the screen. His short hair is combed back neatly and there’s not a speck of stubble on his jaw. Under the structure of his attire you can tell he’s well-built.

You resist the urge to look down at yourself. A white blouse. Boring but professional. It gets the job done. Hopefully.

You force a smile.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he begins through your nervous silence. “I do appreciate your time and I would hate to waste it. So, we can hop right in.” He looks unflinchingly into the camera, “oh, let us not go so far past courtesy. I am James, we’ve been corresponding, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, I remember. James.” You gulp.

He says your name with a keen inclination. “This is rather not the position which requires those cliche questions so I won’t trouble you with asking what animal best reflects your personality.”

You cough out a humouring chuckle and fold your hands on the desk.

“Forgive if I should seem to the point. You see, it’s a very practical position. I think it’s best we go over what is expected before we go into the finer details; expenses, relocation, dates--”

“Mm,” you squeak and put a finger up, “s-sorry, um, I thought we were interviewing but it sound like you’ve made a decision?”

“Well, yes, I’ve reviewed your CV and your submitted profile and your answers to the questionnaire were acceptable. I didn’t think there was much else to consider,” he intones. You shift and try to hide your surprise.

“No, of course, that makes sense,” you say. “Thanks, I guess I was confused.”

“Not to worry. I find that written communication can often lack clarity so I thought it best we have a face-to-face in this circumstance,” he looks down as if he has a book or paper before him. “So, did you have any questions before I proceed?”

“No, no, really, I'm sure you’ll answer them all.” Your cheeks bloom in a half-smile. You were so nervous about getting the job but you’ve already got it.

“Right then,” he sits back and once more stares down the camera. “It is a very old property but the upkeep has been consistent. There should not be any glaring necessities for maintenance, this more of a custodial position. So, you would be the one to keep the place clean, make sure it is aired out, tend to the lawns but we do employ a grounds keeping service that comes fortnightly to trim.”

You nod. It’s intriguing. You were sent photos of the property but you’re not quite sure of its purpose. Judging by the clustered pines in the background, you would guess it’s remote. A getaway that could be a goldmine for those wanting a vacation from the urban jungle.

“You would have a roster, you see, of those you could contact for service so you will not require any specialisations. You are the day-to-day and would be expected to bring in the appropriate support for higher-touch difficulties.”

“Right,” you try not to show your anxiety.

“Albeit I should warn you that the reception in that location is not the greatest so if you cannot call out, you would need to keep trying. It will eventually catch but uh, not to mind, as long it is attended is what matters, not when,” he says.

“Mhm, that makes sense. Um, can I ask what the property is? Is it like a summer home or...”

“Ah, family inheritance,” he answers primly. “I’ve not much use for it past the sentimental value and I thought of leasing it for traveling parties but I’ve heard horror stories. Right now, I’m merely sitting on it until I figure out exactly what to do with it.”

“Oh, right. Wow. Quite the inheritance.”

“Hm, yes, my uncle did rather adore me. I was the only one named in his will but he was a bit of a curmudgeon.” He laughs. “Now, I must ask the most important question--”

Before he can, the door swings open and you jump in your seat. Your heart sinks. You signed the room out for ninety minutes. You thought it would be more than enough. Surely it hasn’t been that long.

Shoot. It’s him. How did he find you? You deliberately went out of your way so that he couldn’t.

“Jake,” you stand and turn to him, trying to block the computer. “What are you doing?”

“There you are,” he touches his chest as if he should be the one so afraid. “You didn’t come home--”

You growl and cross your arms.

“Jake, go away,” you grit out. “Not right now. Please.”

“I had to make sure you’re okay,” he steps into the room and you push yourself back against the table. “Who else is going to look after you?”

“I will scream, alright,” you warn. “Now leave me alone. I’m tired of telling you.”

He sighs and his jaw squares. “I don’t get you. You act like I’m such a bad guy and I haven’t done anything to you. I never hurt you but you hurt me. You just spit in my face--”

“Pardon,” the voice rises from the speaker at your back. “If I may, she is occupied and you are interrupting. I have a mind to contact emergency service should you persist.” Your mouth falls open and you turn to look at your laptop. James leans forward to glare at the lens, “Not sure who you are, fellow, but the lady has been clear.”

“Who-- who is he?” Jake sputters.

“Please, just go,” you plead. “Or I will call the police.”

Little good they will do, you think, but that doesn’t need to be said aloud.

He frowns and his eyes glint dangerously. You stare back at him, tense, fingers curling and uncurling nervously. That man on the screen won’t stop him and you don’t know if anyone would hear you from the desk.

“Fine, guess I’ll see ya around,” he relents and backs out.

You don’t move until he snaps the door shut. You hurry over and twist the lock on the inside. You don’t know why you didn’t do that before.

“Are you alright?” James asks, drawing you back to the desk.

You sit and look at the keyboard, “I’m very sorry. I...”

“He doesn’t sound like a friend,” James says. You shake your head. “Well, then, it does sound like you’re in need of a fresh start. I do hope this can be that for you.”

You look up and bat away the glimmer on the brims of your eyes. You’re not just afraid, you’re embarrassed. His kindness is as comforting as it is unexpected.

“Thanks, um, anyway...” you exhale, “you were going to ask something.”

“Yes, uh, yes, I was,” he reconfigures and puts another smile on. “When can you depart? I would of course arrange travel to be sure you get here safe and sound.”

“Oh, when... whenever is best. Not to be too desperate but as soon as possible,” you say.

“Wonderful,” he praises, “absolutely wonderful. Is tomorrow too soon? Pardon my own desperation.”

“Tomorrow?” You utter and shake your head. “Tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow.”

It's sudden and scary but it’s good. The sooner you go, the less time Jake has to figure out what you’re doing. The less chance he can follow. It’s an escape. Not a perfect one but it’s all you have.

🩸

You spend all night packing. You parse down what you have to the essentials and put the rest in bags. You don’t care about the furniture. You say as much in your email to your landlord, telling him to use your deposit for the disposal.

You whittle your life down to three bags. A large suit case, a knapsack, and a single purse. You have it ready to go by the door.

You feel uneasy about it. You stare at your luggage, the lights off, windows closed. Your phone buzzes and you put it to silent, ignoring the messages from your personal pest. You’ll be done with him too. You wonder if you should just toss your cell.

You don’t sleep. You can’t. You still can’t believe you’re getting out. You hope you haven’t given the game away.

There’s a tap on the window. You nearly roll onto the floor. You look over and hear it again, a harder impact. Are you serious? He’s throwing stones. He could break the damn glass.

You shake your head. You won’t fall for it. Not again. You remember when he came to your door and cried until you opened up. He even smeared ketchup on his face to make you think he was hurt. It’s hard to tell the difference through a peephole.

Almost there. Almost out. You just need to make it a few more hours.

As you ignore the incessant tapping and the light of your phone glowing ever few minutes, your thoughts turn bitter. You should message everyone who turned their back on you and tell them exactly what they’ve put you through. Somehow, you think they’d care as much as they did before.

Sleep eludes you but a foggy daze comes over you as the windows soften with the early morning. There’s no more pebbles bouncing off the pane. Just you and the buzz of the sleeping city.

Your alarm chimes and you get up as your head pulses. You’re used to the constant fatigue. It will ease up and you’ll just feel a bit heavy. When it’s normal, you don’t notice as much.

You get ready and have an instant coffee by the door. James messages just before nine. Your car will be there in ten. Oh, early. You don’t mind about that.

You won’t go out and wait. You’ll stay here, where it’s safe.

When your phone goes off again, you expect it to be Jake. It’s James. Whew. You’re so close, you can’t believe it.

You grab your knapsack and purse, and drag your suitcase out behind you. You lock the door and throw the key through the mail slot. You hurry down the hall and take the stairs over the elevator.

You don’t look back or anyway but forward. You look at your cell. 'Black Jaguar’ followed by a plate number. Jaguar? Holy moly.

The tinted window rolls down and reveals the same face from the Zoom call. You didn’t know he was coming himself. You assumed he was sending a cab or something. You slow as you come out the door. He smiles and pops open the door.

Before you can come forward, another figure appears, blocking your way.

“Hey, I've been calling all night,” Jake says. You stop short and nearly yelp. Of course!

“Jake, move.”

“Where are you going?” He looks at your bags desperately. “Wait, you can’t--”

“Pardon me, sir, is there some issue?” James strides up behind him.

Jake turns to face him and stiffens, “and who are you—wait, you’re that guy from the computer.”

“I’m none of your business, as is her life,” James insists. “Now, seems you’re used to picking on those smaller than you but let’s see how you do against me?”

James steps closer. He’s a few inches taller than Jake. You can’t move as they stare each other down. You wait, expecting chaos.

“I was only talking,” Jake shows his palms and shrugs. “It’s whatever. She’s a bitch anyways.”

He turns and snarls over his shoulder at you. You back up. As Jake turns, he’s knocked off kilter as James hurls his fist into his jaw. The shorter man staggers and falls to one knee, catching himself in the grass.

“Well, that was a lovely chat,” James smirks and beckons to you, “shall we?”

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zsuo · 10 months ago

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Ryan Gosling as SIERRA SIX in The Gray Man

#ryan gosling #the gray man #sierra six #court gentry #courtland gentry #zsuoedits #userzsuo #filmedit #movie edits #movie edit #film edits #film gifs #movie gifs #film edit #film #netflix #tw blood

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wokeupinmars · 3 months ago

Text

The End of Beginning

Pairing: Sierra Six / Court Gentry x Reader

Summary: Six is forced to face his feelings as he struggles to make amends with you after lashing out.

Warnings: Angst with fluff. Flashbacks/memories are italicized. The backstory of what originally made Six and Reader fall out. Claire trying to be Six's wingwoman (she just wants her parental figures to be together). A bad date(?) and Six groveling.

Word Count: 3.6K

Author's Note: Thank you to @elusivewildflower for allowing me to essentially lose my mind in her inbox over planning this. I really appreciate it <33

I also might change the same of this part. My heart is fully set on this title but we’ll see if I come up with something better! (Edit: Title has been updated from Laying Down Roots to The End of Beginning).

This is the third part of the Playing House series.

Part One: The Pretty Nurse Who Lives Down the Hall

Part Two: “I’ll go wherever you go”

Please comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed this!!

RG Masterlist

A thin layer of sweat coats Six’s forehead as he sets down the last of the boxes and grumbles, “Your apartment was so small, how the hell did you manage to cram so much shit in there?” You roll your eyes at him, “I’m hearing a lot of complaining from a man who insisted that we didn’t need to hire movers because “I could do it myself.”

The sound of Claire’s laugh echoes through the kitchen, earning a frown from Six. “You’re supposed to be on my side kid,” he huffs out. “You’ll live.”

You handed him a cold bottle of water. “What do you guys want to order tonight?” It’s like you can see the gears turning in Claire’s head, “Can we get pizza?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart. Six?” You watch as he nods his head in agreement and uncaps the water bottle. The plastic crinkles and crunches in his hold as he downs about half of it in big gulps. You nod in response and turn your attention to the set of boxes he had brought in. You pick the top one off and drag the blade of your box cutter across the taped seams.

The remaining afternoon consisted of the three of you unpacking as many boxes as possible and reassembling furniture from your previous apartments. It was until the grumble of Claire’s stomach made its presence known that you all called it a night.

You didn’t think the first night in the new place would be spent in a misshapen circle with two pizza boxes in the center, but you couldn’t say you were mad at it. “This is really nice,” Claire voices as she reaches for another slice.

Six lets out a little hum while you just smile and allow the room to fall silent. He found himself just looking at you, noting how your smile didn’t reach your eyes. This was the kind of quiet that Six usually reveled in, but tonight he felt uneasy. You were doing such a good job at pretending everything between the two of you. Several days had passed since your fight and the guilt of the situation was still eating away at him.

It kept replaying in his head, the panic he felt waking up and realizing Claire was gone, only to have the two of you walk in through the apartment door with a box featuring the logo of a local bakery. He remembers the smile on your face and how quickly it faded once he opened his mouth.

—

“Why would you take her without telling me?” His voice was booming as he snapped at you. At that moment he hadn’t registered what you were saying to him. He remembers seeing your mouth moving, but the ringing in his ears prevented him from listening. “I’m not doing this playing house bullshit with you! I didn’t want it then and I don't want it now! You aren’t our family and Claire isn’t your kid. You had no right to take her anywhere without asking me!”

The sound of Claire yelling his name was what finally got him to stop laying into you. The sight of your face was burnt into his memory. You just looked so…sad. Your eyes had glossed over and the second you made eye contact you averted your gaze. It was eerily quiet until your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen and then mumbled a quiet, “Got to go.” You left, giving Claire a kiss on the head on your way out.

Six felt awful as the realization of what he did finally sank in and the pit in his stomach only deepened when Claire anger seeped through. “Why would you say that!?” He’d never heard her raise her voice until now. “How could you do that? You know I’m safe with her.”

His voice softens as he speaks to her, “You left without telling me. She’s the adult in this situation; she shouldn’t have taken you anywhere without my permission.”

“It was a surprise!” Claire exclaims.

“A surprise for what?”

There’s a visible slump in her shoulders as she opens the bakery box to show him the frosted cake with the words ‘Home Sweet Home’ written in icing. “The closing date got moved up by a few days. She closed yesterday afternoon.”

He just stares at the dessert. “And I guess it doesn’t matter to you, but I see her as family. Closest thing to a mom I’ve had in a long time. You didn’t need to make her feel like an outsider,” Claire added.

Six knew he needed to apologize and with the help of Claire, they came up with a way to do so.

It was close to midnight when you got back to the apartment. Claire had spent the evening with her eye pressed against the peep hole waiting to see you pass by. They were both expecting you to knock on the door just to pop in and wish Claire a goodnight like you usually did on nights you worked late. He could hear the conversation unfold, being the two of you, as he made sure everything was set perfectly at the table. He could hear your comment about Claire's get up as she was sporting one of Six’s blazers with a mustache drawn on her face, “Please tell me that’s not permanent marker.”

“It’s dry erase,” she assured before slipping into an awful French accent, “Please follow me this way mademoiselle.” She steps aside and opens the door wider to let you in. “Claire, it’s late. I just want to go to bed. Speaking of which, why aren’t you in bed.”

“Six let me stay up and if you come inside, you’ll be able to see why,” she attempts to use your curiosity as a way to get you into the apartment.

“Sweet–” You stopped, in the moment he wasn’t sure why, but he later learned from Claire that she had given you her best puppy dog eyes. He listened to the heavy sigh you let out “What happened to the accent?”

“It just wasn’t me.”

Six stood tall by the kitchen table as you entered with his hand clasped together in front. He watched Claire nudge you and you take the hint to go and sit down. He could feel your eyes on his hand, you had noticed the subtle way he fidgeted with his watch which prompted him to stop. He waited for you to set your bag down and sit before taking his seat across from you.

Claire approached the table handing the both of you a sheet of paper. “Welcome to Claire’s.”

Your eyes scan the paper. At the very top the word ‘menu’ was written in big bold lettering. The paper was divided into three sections; entrees, dessert, and drinks. The only thing listed under entree was ‘lasagna,’ under dessert was ‘cake’ and ‘cookies (burnt)’ with a frowny face beside it. Drinks were simple with the only option being water. It was obvious to him that you knew Claire had a hand in this and didn’t want her efforts to be wasted, so you played along. “So many options, I don't know how we’ll be able to choose.”

A smile starts to stretch across her face, but she composes herself, “Take your time.”

The unmistakable sound of foil wrap crumpling fills the apartment. Claire passes the kitchen table with two plates in hand both containing a slice of lasagna, “Don’t mind me,” she chirps as she puts one of the plates in the microwave.

Your knee bounced as you avoided Six’s gaze. Claire breaks the silence, “How come your home so late? Did you work overtime?”

“Oh uh, no. Dropped by the house to clean a little before we start moving our stuff in.”

“Should’ve called us. We would’ve helped,” He speaks up. It was the first thing he’s said since you got here. You shake your head and dismiss him, “Wasn’t necessary.”

The microwave beeps and Claire sets the first plate in front of you before returning to her spot by the counter to heat the second plate. You pick up your fork and poke at the food. It doesn’t take long for Claire to repeat her steps, this time placing the plate in front of him. She walks away once more but returns less than a minute later with two glasses of water. You thank her and she nods, turning her attention to him and not so quietly whispers “Do not mess this up for us.”

You watch as she makes her exit into the living room. “So…” you begin, “What was that about?”

“She’s worried that I fucked everything up and you’ll leave without taking us with you.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.”

He notices your focus shift and he follows your gaze to the poster board taped to the fridge with a drawing of the Eiffel tower on it. “I assume this was all her idea?”

“Making you dinner was my idea but after you didn’t get back at your usual time and we burnt the cookies Claire took some…creative liberties.”

“I can see that…you told her about Paris or was this just a Paris is the city of love kind of situation?”

“The latter. I think disclosing anything that happened between us in Paris would scar her for life.” It was his attempt at lightening the mood and in any other instance he was certain you would’ve cracked a smile. Tonight, however, you just nod.

“I’m sorry.”

You only hum in acknowledgement, “You don’t have to save face. I won’t stop you from moving in with me or anything like that.”

He felt sick. Did you honestly not believe he was being sincere? “I’m serious. I should have never lashed out at you like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” your voice quiet as you speak, “You were right. You and Claire aren’t my family–”

He cuts you off, “We are a family.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues talking, “At least I want us to be. I panicked when I woke up and Claire wasn’t here. I got frustrated and it…” He was trying to find the right words. He had never been one for feelings, and it seems that this painful lesson that he’d been teaching you again and again. “I didn’t mean it,” are the words he settles on. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

You shook your head, “I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I was being an asshole to you.”

“Six–”

“Court,’ he corrects. “I only ever want to be Court with you.”

“I should get going. Thank you for going through the trouble of cooking for me. We can tackle the logistics of moving in the morning.” He doesn’t stop you when you get up and sling your bag back over your shoulder. You were visibly tired, and he knew pressing the issue had only exhausted you more.

Claire’s head popped up from behind the couch when she heard the chair scrape against the floor. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Have a good night. I’ll be over in the morning.”

She bids you a goodnight as you open their door to go. He follows close behind you, but you stop him, “You don’t have to walk me back.” You don’t give him the chance to object as we're already walking down the hall. He stands at the door with the tiniest bit of hope you’d look back at him.

You don’t.

“So…I’m guessing you guys still aren’t okay.”

He brushes off her question. It was more than clear where his relationship with you stood. “It’s late, kid. Go get some sleep.”

Claire ignores him and starts to take down the poster, “I really thought Paris would work. I mean she has a mini-Eiffel tower keychain.”

—

He didn’t know how to make it better.

The few days that had passed with you keeping your distance and only speaking to him when you felt necessary left a lot of time for him to do the one thing he was dreading; processing his feelings.

It was clear to him that he was starting to slip; to relax. It was a feeling he’d been anticipating since the night you spoke at the table. He had been trying his best to ignore the familiar feeling that arose in his chest every time you were near. He knew there was no use, you always had this effect on him. He just thought he had a little more time before the fuzzy feeling started to consume him.

But now…now he was living with you. Sure, you were spending the majority of your time with each other before, but this was different. You’d be evading his senses completely now. Everything he was feeling was shifting into hyper speed and the worst part was, there was no way for him to stop it.

A part of him believes that's why he snapped at you the way he did. A form of self-sabotage to ruin the bridge that you’d both be working to mend. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something like that to you.

Claire picks up on his gaze and puts down the slice, “You know…I’m actually really tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.” You squint your eyes at her sudden declaration, “You sure? You never really go to bed this early.” She lets out a yawn and stretches her arms over her head, “Yeah, all this unpacking has been...” Another yawn prevents her from finishing her sentence.

You nod despite being able to tell she was lying. If her exaggerated movement didn’t give it away, it was the skeptical look on Six’s face. You stand up and reach for the pizza boxes, “Are you also done eating?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

You take the boxes and head into the kitchen. Claire waits till you're out of sight before she starts whispering, “Talk to her. I’ll go to bed, and you guys and talk and make up.”

“Claire, she doesn’t want to talk to me.”

She crosses her arms, “That’s why you'll talk, and we hope she listens. It sucks that you guys are being so weird. I miss when you’d stare at her when she’s not looking, and it wasn’t sad.”

“I don’t stare–”

“Yes, you do. All the time. Everyday.” Claire leans back and tries to get a glimpse of you through the doorway wrapping the leftover slices in foil wrap. “Just try. Please. I miss how we were before and it’s obvious you do too.” She doesn’t wait for him to address what she said, instead she gets up and heads into her new room.

It takes a few minutes for him to work up the nerve to talk to speak to you but once he does, he enters the kitchen in search of you. Except you're not there. He makes his way down the hall to the main bedroom; the door was open a bit, but he still knocks. “Come in.”

You were kneeling on the floor looking through some of the smaller boxes. You spare him a glance before returning your attention to the box in front of you. He sits down beside you, his shoulder knocking into yours. He opens his mouth to talk but his voice gets caught in his throat once his eyes land on the box's contents. Keychains, a few knickknacks, and a photobooth strip.

He recognized everything in the box. Keychains and trinkets from every place the two of you had met up in over the years. He used to poke fun at you for insisting that you had to pick up something each time but now he’s glad you did. He picks up the photo strip. He knew exactly where it was from. A mission had gone sideways, and he had been laying low in London. He ended up calling you on his second day there from a burner phone. You were between jobs and being the lover you were, joined him. The pictures were taken two weeks into his stay there; you had convinced him to venture out into the city with you after the food supply in the safe house began running low. On your outing, the two of you passed a photo booth at the entrance of a cafe. You dragged him into it. He remembers arguing with you, emphasizing how reckless it was for him to be seen let alone have his photo taken. You simply told him to suck it up and that it would be safe in your possession.

The first photo was simply, you perched on his lap, your lips curved into a smile and his chin resting on your shoulder. There was the smallest trace of a smile on his face, one that grew bigger in the next photo. The second picture was a little blurry, you both had the idea to kiss the other on the cheek and it ended with you bumping noses. The countdown ended and captured you giggling and him grinning at you. The third photo was of you cupping his face and kissing him. The fourth and final photo was nearly identical, with the expectation of him leaning into you. This photo was the only tangible evidence of your previous relationship, another version of him and you, a happier version.

“The day we moved in wasn’t the first time I saw you after we stopped talking.” It was a confession you weren’t expecting. You weren’t facing him, but he could see your eyebrows knit together. “I saw you in London a year after we stopped talking. Fitz managed to set me up at a decent hotel for a night and I saw you. Barely caught a glimpse of you going into your room. I smelt you first. Your perfume was lingering in the elevator. Thought it was some sort of punishment for letting you slip through my fingers. But…but then I saw you.”

He shifts his gaze back to the photo, “I ended up standing in front of your door for a few minutes before leaving. I wanted to talk but I just froze. You were right there. All I had to do was knock.” A dry laugh escapes his lips, “I couldn’t justify talking to you. You thought I didn’t love you; I made you think I didn’t love you. I hurt you so much. I didn’t deserve to talk to you then, I don’t deserve for you to be so welcoming to me now, not after I made a mess of us.”

His voice is hushed, you can hear the small crack as he bears his heart. “I’m so sorry,” he comes out in huff. “For everything. I’m sorry for what I said and how things ended. I would take it all back if I could…I’d give anything to go back to that night in Havana.”

That night in Havana was the last time you saw him before he moved in down the hall. It was a night that remained hazy in your memory. Now years removed from it, you almost found it humorous how an absentminded inquiry had crushed the delicate little fantasy you conjured up in your head.

“Have you ever thought about leaving the CIA?” It was pillow talk. You didn’t think it would snowball the way it did. “Why would I do that?” That response alone should’ve been enough for you to move on to a different topic, but you didn’t. “You’ve never thought what it would be like? The thought of leaving this all behind and living in some coastal town somewhere never crossed your mind?”

“Has it crossed yours?” Answering a question with a question, you expected nothing less from him.

“It has.”

Your memory gets fuzzy from there, you remember him asking about, “Yeah? Tell me about it?” But you failed to remember the tone in which he said it. It was more than likely he was being sarcastic, but you were too sleepy to notice, so you answered. “I think since we both have money stashed; we could easily pool it and get a little house somewhere. Just us…maybe a cat…maybe more. It would be a boring and peaceful life but it’s a life I’d like to live with you.”

“We?”

“Yeah.”

“I would never want that.”

You know your drowsy state has warped your memory of the night, but his response felt instantaneous. “Oh”

“That’s the kind of life you live with someone you love. That’s not us”

“Oh.”

You’ve suppressed everything that unfolded after that, but you knew that you two fought and it ended with you waving your white flag and leaving early the next morning.

“I wish I didn’t let you leave,” his voice draws you out of your head. “I wanted that life; I just didn’t think that it was a life I could have or deserved.” He puts the photo back in the box, “I think I’m always going to wonder about what would’ve happened if I was honest.”

The room falls silent. The weight of his admission weighs heavy on both your head and heart. You close the box and push it under the bed. Your knee knocks against his as you change into a crisscrossed position.

“I’d like to think we would have been happy,” you whisper.

“I think we would’ve been.”

You started picking at the skin of your nails, unsure of what to say. His hand reaches over and stops you digging into your cuticles any further. “I think we’re living a version of that life now,” he divulges. His thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. “Might not have a cat but if you were willing to...I’d like another chance to do things right; to make you happy.”

You lay your head on his shoulder and quietly say, “I’d like that, Court.”

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