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flowerxbunnie · 6 months

Note

can you pls pls write about shy reader she and chris are a recent couple and one day he founds out that she likes dirty talk and tries that with her

Dirty Secret

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: SMUTTYYY smut, lots of dirty talk, degradation/praise

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

Tags: @lustfulslxt

Chris’s POV

I can’t wipe the dumb smile off my face as I peek at Y/n’s nightstand, multiple tubes of chapstick covering the surface along with notebooks, pens, scrunchies, and lots of half empty water bottles. Her personality shows in her room so clearly, methodic but carefree.

These past four months have made me nothing but happy. We’ve done a good job at keeping our relationship out of the public eye after agreeing she didn’t want to handle any kickback from my fans yet. I hate that I can’t show her off, but it’s for the best, at least at this point.

I roam around her room with no ultimate goal, just waiting for her to get back from her nail appointment and I got bored. I scan her makeup table, brushes and random products strewn about as evidence that she’d been here hours before. Her jackets and hats hang on a hook behind her door and I run my fingers across the different fabrics, moving closer to inhale the vanilla scent that floods my mind with images of her. Fairly lights twinkle above her bed, something I’ve definitely taken notice of during all our nights tangled in her sheets.

I move to her bookshelf and look at all the spines of her books, some neatly lined up and some thrown haphazardly into piles. There’s collectible figures of the things she likes, crystals, and random little trinkets littering the shelves. I can’t help but reach out and touch the book that’s lying on the shelf at my eye level, running my fingers along all the multicolored sticky notes she’s placed into her favorite pages.

I guess it was a little too close to the edge, because even my light touch caused it to topple over and fall open, landing face down on the carpet below. I breathe out a curse and lean down to pick it up and put it exactly how I found it. I don’t want Y/n to think I’ve been snooping, because I haven’t. I’m just admiring all the little things that make her room feel like home to her.

I close the book and bring it back up to the shelf, turning it around to glance at the cover. Priest by Sierra Simone. I know a lot about Y/n already, but I didn’t know she was into religion. Sounds like a biography from the summary on the back. Something about a priest breaking their vow of celibacy and needing to confess. My interest is growing, I didn’t think she would enjoy this kind of book, maybe I should take a peek?

I pick the first sticky note my fingers brush across, knowing Y/n highlighted it for a reason. An audible gasp falls out of my mouth as a skim across the words on the page.

“Stay the fuck still, or I’m going to come before I want to, and if that happens, then I will take you over my knee and spank your ass until you learn how to listen.”

“What the fuck?” I question out loud.

I flip through multiple pages, each sticky note highlighting incredibly filthy words. It’s a fucking sex book. My cheeks burn at the thought of her reading these while she’s alone in her room, wondering what she looks like as she’s turning the pages and writhing with anticipation. I grab onto a pink sticky note and pull on it, flipping it to the page and reading what she had highlighted.

“But I won’t lie. It makes me hard as fuck knowing that I was the first man to taste you.”

This sticky note has her own handwriting smeared across it. I squint to make out the words.

If Chris would have said that to me…

Ouch, I think?

I’m not a vanilla guy by any means, but I’m not the weird fuck from 50 Shades of Grey either. I think our sex life is great, it’s more than enough to keep me satisfied. We’ve made love in the car, fucked while she was bent over her dining room table, stolen kisses in restaurant bathrooms after we snuck away from our friends. It’s all been so exciting to me, and even better because it’s with her.

I continue flying through the pages, my eyes widening at every line she made a point to come back to. This dude talks so much while he’s fucking this chick.

“No, don’t touch yourself, sweetheart. We’re going to get there together.”

Remind Chris to be more vocal!

It all clicks in my bird brain. I’m a fucking idiot. She’s highlighted almost all dialogue. She wants me to talk more during sex. I’ll admit, I’m not the best at speaking my mind while she’s bouncing on me or sprawled out below me. But why hasn’t she told me yet? I hope she hasn’t been disappointed with how things have been going.

I put the book back and angle it as best as I can remember, moving to lay down on top of her comforter. I stretch my back out and throw my arms behind my head, thinking about what I’m going to do when she gets home.

Y/n’s POV

I take my keys out of the door and lock it behind me, smiling as I see Chris’s sneakers sitting on the shoe rack in my entryway. My nails took way longer than I expected and I’m just so excited to be able to waste the rest of my day away with him. I make my way down the hall after placing my shoes next to his and creep into my bedroom, sprinting and jumping to lay beside Chris who’s stretched across my bed.

“Hiiii baby, I missed youuu!” I singsong before pressing a kiss against his stubbly cheek.

“Mmm, missed you more.” he mumbles into my neck as he turns and molds his body into mine.

His arms encircle me and the smell of his cologne floods my senses, washing a wave of comfort over me. I could lay like this forever.

“Let’s see the nails,” he says as he breaks away from me, suddenly sitting up and grabbing my hands.

I sit up beside him and watch as his large hands hold my own, moving my fingers around and watching the duo chrome polish shift colors in the light. His smile spreads from ear to ear as he takes notice of the “C” I asked the nail tech to paint onto my ring finger.

“Aren’t they so cute??” I squeal, so ecstatic at the way they turned out.

“So cute,” he coos, bringing them to his lips to place a tender kiss on each finger. “I think they’d look even cuter wrapped around my cock.” He says in a low growl as he brings my hand down to his lap, shoving my palm onto the fabric of his sweatpants.

I feel his erection through the layers of clothing, rock hard and throbbing. I can’t help but gasp at his words, I’ve never heard him speak like this before. I watch as his pupils dilate, the black overtaking the blue of his iris as he flickers his eyes to my lips.

“Nothing to say, sweetheart?” He asks almost in a belittling tone.

“N-no I just.. I’ve never heard you say something like that,” I squeak out as he pushes my hand down with more force.

“What, you don’t like it?” He says with a smirk.

“I don’t know.. I th-think so..” I stammer.

“When were you gonna tell me, hm? Such an innocent girl reading such filthy books. Does it turn you on?” His hand leaves mine against his hard on and comes up to caress my cheek.

“Huh, what are you talking about?” I spit out at him, my cheeks igniting red with visible embarrassment.

Has he snooped through my room?

“I saw it all, baby. And it’s okay. It’s okay if you need me to tell you how dirty of a girl you are, or how good you make me feel. You have to let me know these things..” he trails off as his thumb brushes against my lip, smearing my peppermint chapstick onto the corner of my mouth.

“I-I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to think I was weird.” I look down, intimidated by his cold gaze, and he tilts my head back up, his eyes serious.

“It’s not weird. Do you touch yourself to those books baby? Reading about a man talking to a woman like that.. does it make you feel good?” He whispers the last sentence and his free hand finds my inner thigh, caressing and warming my skin.

I nod sheepishly, afraid to speak my thoughts out loud to Chris.

“Use your words. Do you ever imagine it’s me saying those things?”

“Y-yes… every single time.” I say as I release a breath.

He groans and pushes my hair behind my ear, inching closer to me and ghosting his lips over my ear. “Such a naughty girl.”

Shivers fall down my spine as he places a kiss onto the sensitive skin between my ear and jaw, his lips lingering and sucking lightly. He slides the hand on my cheek to the back of my neck, lacing his fingers into my hair and pulling down, my neck exposed to him.

“Look at the way your body reacts to me.” He whispers, placing a finger onto my jugular, and I feel it pulsing mercilessly beneath his touch.

He moves his hand to grip around my throat, his thumb and fingers pressed firmly against both pulse points of my neck. My head begins to tingle, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His lips pepper wet kisses along my jaw, every one of them seeping into my skin and heightened from the constricted blood flow.

“You like that, my hand around your throat? I could squeeze as hard as I want.” he says before constricting his grip.

My core begins to throb hearing his inner thoughts spill from his mouth. My field of vision starts to shrink, a black vignette closing in.

“I’d never hurt you like that, sweetheart. But don’t you like the risk?” He suddenly releases his hold on my throat and all my blood rushes back up into my head. I’m dizzy and completely aroused for him.

I nod furiously before his lips crash against mine, low growls seeping out of his throat and being released into my mouth. He bites and tugs at my bottom lip before pulling away and licking a hot stripe up my chin and back up to my mouth. His lips meet mine again, his mouth open and begging for my tongue. I push it into his mouth only to be dominated, not standing a chance as his hunger grows.

Chris’s hands latch onto my hips, lifting me off the mattress and into his lap, his erection poking at my core. He breaks the kiss and grabs the hem of my shirt, sliding his hands up along with the fabric. I help him get it off, discarding it somewhere in my room. His eyes burn holes into my chest, examining the bralette covering the skin. He grabs the bottom and slides it up, my breasts bouncing as they fall out in front of him. He pushes the excess fabric up to rest on the plate of my chest.

“Fuck, Y/n. If I died with my face in your tits I’d be happy.”

He begins ravaging my breasts, nipping and licking and leaving red and purple marks across the skin. He sucks my nipples while looking so deep into my eyes I start to think he can see the back of my skull. The line of pain and pleasure is completely blurred when he takes one of my swollen nipples between his teeth and tugs on it.

“F-fuck, Chris..” I cry out, bucking my hips instinctively and pressing down onto his throbbing dick.

He lets out a deep moan, gripping my waist and prompting me to stop my movements. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”

I let out a little grin and begin to rock back and forth again, his head falling against the headboard with his eyes squeezed shut. His cock rubs against my clit through the multiple layers of clothing, but the pressure and friction still causes both of us to pant and moan in unison. He brings his head back up and grips my hips tighter this time, my body unable to move.

“Such a dirty girl. Can’t listen to simple instructions.”

He removes his shirt, a layer of sweat starting to form on his skin, then brings my bra over my head, not bothering with the clasp. He throws it across the room and then lifts my legs to remove my shorts before lifting me up and sliding his sweatpants off, all of which meet the same fate as the rest of the discarded clothes. He presses a hand against my chest, my back hitting the bed as he pushes me down. He comes to hover over me, his eyes dark and half lidded. His knee is pressed inbetween my thighs touching my core with a teasing amount of pressure.

“You’ve already made such a mess, baby..” he says with false concern, referring to the wetness that has seeped through my panties and is touching his skin.

“I’m s-sorry..” I whine, fighting the urge to grind against his knee.

“Don’t apologize, sweet girl. I’ll help you out.”

Chris trails kisses down my chest and stomach, randomly sucking marks into my skin on the way down. He circles his tongue around my navel before licking across it, a trace amount of his warm saliva dripping in. He traces his tongue along the lace hem of my panties, his breath burning against my skin as he grips it with his teeth.

“Please, Chris..” I whine and push him closer to the place I need him most.

His eyes show his grin as he dips his face down, flattening his tongue across the fabric covering my core. He licks and sucks at it, humming and closing his eyes as he spreads my legs apart.

“So sweet,” He whispers as he flicks his tongue up and down.

He hooks his fingers into the band of my panties and pulls, his mouth only disconnecting for a brief second to slide them down my legs before his tongue finally connects with my bare pussy. I arch my back off the bed and cry out as his tongue works against my heat. I’m a mess under him- gripping the sheets, tugging on his brown waves, grabbing my own breasts, doing whatever I can to release some of the tension building up in my body.

“You like the way my tongue feels on you, princess?” He asks in a raspy voice as he wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yes.. fuck please keep going..” I pant, not wanting to lose momentum as my climax has started inching its way to the top.

“How about you do what you need? Use my face and get yourself off.”

He leans back down and presses his tongue against me, holding still as he keeps eye contact. I start circling my hips, feeling the way his tongue remains in place as I grind against it. I grip onto his face and pull it closer, moving my hips down so his nose rubs my clit and his tongue rubs up and down my folds. I buck up and down in complete control and he hums against me to the point I feel like my intestines are vibrating. I speed up and increase the pressure as my stomach begins to ache with a familiar feeling.

I nearly scream, tensing up as my body burns through my climax. He remains still just letting me use him as I ride through it and come down, my grip on his hair relaxing and my body falling slack on the bed.

“Taste yourself baby. Let me show you what you did, all for me.” He whispers against my lips after he climbs to hover over me.

I’m still trying to catch my breath as his lips collide onto mine. I taste my own juices on his tongue, sweet and tangy. He presses his hips down onto my stomach and reminds me of his need, humping forward a few times and moaning into my mouth.

“Now are you gonna bend over or just sit there and look pretty?” He growls as he swiftly stands up and pulls his boxers down.

His pink tip is swollen and leaking precum. His grips his hand around his base and squeezes until his knuckles turn white, his head falling back out of pleasure or maybe the throbbing pain, there’s no way to tell. His eyes lock onto mine and he starts pumping up and down on his dick, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

I pull myself to my feet as quick as I can and limp to the end of the bed, my legs like jelly after tensing up so hard.

“That’s cute. Can’t wait to carry you to the shower after this one.” he smirks and licks his lips.

My breath hitches as I turn around and bend over the footboard of the bed. His hands run up and down my ass, jiggling it before giving me a light smack with both hands. I gasp, jumping forward and my ribs hit the wood I’m bent over.

“So fucking hot, can’t believe this is all mine,” he coos, running his fingers down my folds before wiping my juices onto my lower back.

I feel his head against my clit, slick with warm precum. He soaks himself in my juices as he swipes it across my entrance, barely dipping in as he grips my hip with one hand.

“Chris.. oh my god. P-please just fuck me.” I whine, my legs already shaking and twitching.

“Mmm I plan on it, baby.” he whispers before slowly pushing forward.

He slowly gives me inch by delicious inch, my walls stretching around his thickness as we moan out together. He starts slow and stays deep inside me, barely pumping in and out. He runs his hands up and down my spine as he rocks into me, his breathing slow and controlled. My pussy clenches around him as his tip brushes repeatedly over a sensitive spot.

“P-please Chris go faster,” I draw out in a moan.

He listens. His thrusts become rough and rapid, my ribs slamming against the wood with each stroke but my brain seems to tune it out. He keeps his grip on my waist with one hand and reaches around to my face with the other, shoving two fingers in my mouth. I suck on them hard, swirling and lapping my tongue around them.

“Such a fucking slut, so willing to have all your holes filled, aren’t you?” He pants as he hooks his fingers onto the corner of my mouth and pulls back.

“Nhgnh.. fuck..” is all I can manage through his manipulation of my mouth.

“What? Am I fucking you dumb? Can’t even get your words out.”

I moan in response and feel my pussy throbbing around him, my lower abdomen on fire as I climb to my next release.

“S-so close..” I mumble as drool drips down my chin.

He lets go of my mouth and grips my waist, his thumbs pressing into the dimples on my back.

“You need me to cum in you, don’t you? I know you wanna be filled up, so full your eyes start to float.” He pumps as deep as he can go, my eyes rolling back into my head and words failing to form. “Answer me.” He spits with a smack on my ass.

“Please… p-please cum in me. Need it.. s-so bad Chris!”

With that he shoves his hips against me and shoots his hot load into my pussy, coating my walls as I fall over the edge with him. I’m screaming his name as he moans mine, pure ecstasy echoing through my room. I feel his cum leaking down my legs, such a big load that it has nowhere else to go. His thrusts slow down before they come to a halt, his dick still twitching inside me.

He pulls out and hums as he backs up and takes in the sight in front of him. I have no energy to stand, my muscles aching and tired.

“Look at that. God I wish I could burn this into my brain.”

He walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my torso and lifts me, my legs helping very little to hold me up. He hooks an arm under my thighs and picks me up to hold me bridal style. I’m so tired that my head can only manage to flop against his chest, and I hear his rapid heartbeat in my ear.

He starts to walk towards my bathroom but first places a lingering kiss on my forehead. I can feel the smile on his lips.

“Told you I’d have to carry you to the shower.”

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targaryenluvs · 2 months

Text

HIS POWER / TIM BRADFORD

PAIRINGS: Dark!Tim Bradford x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After providing a statement to an officer about a robbery, he seems to be everywhere. Even after you start avoiding him.

WARNINGS: Obsession, stalking, abuse of power, breaking and entering, suggestive content

WORDCOUNT: 3.3K Words

A/N: Just started watching the rookie and I’m in love!!🥰

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

It’d been a normal day at first.

You wanted to run errands through your Monday since you’d been working pretty hard through the last week. But being higher up in the company meant you were able to take days off to work from home when wanted.

You’d been in the confectionary isle since you were throwing a watch party of Harry Potter with all of your friends. As silly as it seemed, you were in the mood for a night of childhood friends and fun.

You had finished up shopping, and as you were making your way up to the register when you heard it.

“Get on the ground, now!”

It was as if time has frozen as you noticed everyone drop to the floor. Luckily your body followed suit and dropped down as well. But you were a minute too late as one of the men noticed you. “Didn’t I say to get down bitch?”

The word sounded foreign in your ears, to the point where you didn’t even realise he was talking to you, until he came over to you.

He pulled you up by your hair as he waved the gun around, “You ain’t talking now huh?” His grip on your hair tightened as you clenched your eyes shut. When you opened them you noticed someone reaching for their phone. You may as well try to buy her time.

You looked over at her as she mouthed, “911.” You acknowledged her by closing your eyes before talking, “What do you want me to say?” You could hear him chuckle, “Now you’re chatty.”

You shuffled until you were able to turn around to face him, taking his attention away from the woman calling the police. “Please, just take the money and go.” One of the other men came back from behind, seeming to have a mass of purses, most likely from the employees.

“I just want to talk to you baby.” Whether it was the nickname or his demeanour, you sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him anymore. So you took a risk.

Kicking him in the crotch.

You could hear him groan before falling to the floor, his gun slipping out of his hands as you grabbed it. You quickly slid it to the woman on the phone with the police before kicking him in the stomach. “You b—,” before he could continue you kicked him in the face.

You remembered there were only two others that had entered the store. One in the back and the other across the store. So you took the time to tie the man up using someone’s scarf, then stuffing his mouth with plastic bags. You had two other shoppers guard him as you took the gun back.

There were four men in your view, you quickly waved them over before making a plan.

“She’s having her baby! Someone help!”

Footsteps echoed through the place as the other man ran to the woman shouting, Sierra, “Who is it?” This man was seemingly calmer than the other you’d dealt with, “Here!” And as he turned you bashed his face with the end of your gun, and as he fell one of the shoppers took his gun. “Good job Jack, two down and one to go.”

“Bad idea, not taking me out first.” The last robber left standing had his firearm to Sierras head, with an arm around her neck. You and Jack immediately raised your guns in his directions, “Go ahead, shoot. Wonder what this pretty girls head’ll look like across the floor. Got nothing left to loose.”

Your saving grace came not only in the sirens outside.

“Put your guns down, slowly.” You and Jack hesitated, which proved to be a mistake as he aimed towards one of the other hostages, aiming and shooting at her leg. As she screamed out you folded, “Okay! Just don’t hurt anyone else.” Jack followed your lead as you put your guns down. The second you did he pushed her to the side, coming for you.

“You ruined my plan. For what? To be a hero?” His breath was heavy against your cheek, spite filled and hot. You shook your head immediately. “Well because of that, you can help me get out of here.”

He had you pick up the guns and stuff them into his duffel bag before leading you to the back at gun point. “Might just have some fun with you while we’re here.” He laughed as he opened the door.

“Hope you’re ready for some fun in prison.” As the two of you exited the store you were met with four cops, the one speaking standing in front of you. As he was momentarily distracted by being caught you turned to push him to the floor before running into the cops arms.

His partner rushed forwards to cuff him whilst reciting his rights. You clung onto the man as he held you, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” You buried your face into his chest, taking a second to breathe before stepping back.

You read his badge, Bradford.

“Thank you, Officer Bradford.” Your smile was small, but more than enough for him. “Call me Tim.” His partner, which you learned was Lucy, eyed him up. It wasn’t everyday the grumpiest guy she knew allowed his first name to be used by a stranger.

“Let’s get you down to the station huh?” You nodded as he directed you to the back of his car. Lucy rose an eyebrow, “Couldn’t we have taken her statement here?” Tim aimed a pointed look her way, which screamed ‘shut up’. “She was actively involved, taken hostage and helped to disable every robber. Her account is more serious than the others and she might need to get checked up on. It’ll be a long statement so we’ll interview her at the station. Anything else boot?”

Lucy shook her head, “Good, now get in.”

You’d been waiting for someone to enter the room, luckily it was Tim. “I’m going to be taking your statement okay? I need you to detail everything that happened since the start of your day. Don’t leaving anything out.” You nodded along as he sat down, offering you a smile.

“Let’s begin.” You didn’t leave anything out as he asked you not to. Tim was nodding along, jotting down key bits of information as you spoke. It felt like time had passed by quickly talking to him, even if you were doing most of the talking. It’d been over an hour already.

“Alright, hang tight in here. You’ll be home in no time, probably best to take some time to yourself to recuperate. No friends.” He stood up, tucking his notepad and pen away before offering you a nice smile as you returned it. “Thank you, for not being rude and actually listening.” Tim stopped in the doorway, turning back around to you. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for more. “Why would I be rude?”

“Just, lately I’ve been seeing about a million horror story cop interactions. And I was scared to be interviewed. But you were really nice, so thanks. If there’s anything I can do, or tell you then let me know.” Before he could respond someone walked past and asked if he’d gotten your information.

“She’s free to go if you have.” You felt a weight lift off of your chest, as much as you liked being across from the gorgeous cop Tim was, you wanted nothing more than to sleep. He nodded as she left, turning his attention back to you. “Well, you’ve done more than enough regarding information. As for something you can do,” You straightened up in your chair.

“You could buy me a drink tomorrow.”

The bar was packed, but apparently Tim was a regular to the point where he had a seat waiting for him. Being the kind person he was, he let you sit on the seat. But the place was crowded so he ended practically between your legs. “So what’re you having Officer?” Tim scoffed at the title, “I’ll have what ever you’re having.” You giggled, “You want a martini?” He cringed at the words.

“Maybe I won’t have what you’re having.” You waved down the bartender, before ordering for the both of you. Whilst ordering you could feel his eyes on you, staring intently, “Is there something on my face?” He shook his head, “You’re just so gorgeous.”

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “Don’t.” He swiped away the hair that fell in front of your face, “Why not, you are. I always tell the truth.” Your drinks were slid over as you both grabbed your respective drinks. Taking a sip, he stared at you as he drank his beer.

The night progressed quickly, the two of you getting lost in easily flowing conversation. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.” You held your thumbs up to him as he walked away, weaving through the sea of people.

Taking a sip of your fourth drink, you noticed that he’d left behind his phone on the counter. You didn’t mean to pry, but your hand had a mind of its own as it swooped his phone up. You wish you hadn’t. His wallpaper was somehow a photo of you and you’d only known him for two days.

If there was one thing you didn’t think you were, it was stupid.

You swiftly swung your purse over your shoulder before making your way out of the bar and outside. It was then that you realised the fact that Tim had picked you up. “There you are.” His voice was quieter than before, now outside and not interrupted by others.

“It was getting stuffy in there, needed to breathe. I’m feeling pretty tired, you mind if we call it a night?” He shook his head, “Not at all, I’ll drop you off.” You smiled before making your way to his car.

“Doesn’t someone need to pay?” You were praying he’d take the bait and leave you to flag down a cab or call an uber. “I’ve got good credit here, we’ll be fine.”

You just needed to get home. That was all. Once you were home you could avoid him and not see him ever again. Just get home Y/n.

The ride home was filled mostly with Tim talking at you and your short replies. You didn’t want to seem suspicious but you were too scared to have a proper conversation with him. All you could see was the wallpaper burned into your mind.

As he pulled up to your apartment you felt a tiny spark of relief, you’d made it home. “You okay?” His hand rested on your thigh, “Yeah I’m alright, just tired.” You pressed your lips into a tight line, you hadn’t looked at him yet.

You wished you hadn’t, he looked pissed.

His hand tightened, “You’re lying. Did you meet someone else at the bar?” Your face scrunched up in confusion, “What? No! You were gone for minutes. How the hell am I striking up a conversation with someone and liking them in that time? I need to go.” You were met with a locked door.

You turned back to him with an awkward smile, you wrapped your hand around his in an attempt to calm him down. “Tim, I promise. Nothing happened. Please let me go inside, you can walk me to the door. I want you to.” Your lie seemed to take, as he retracted his hand to open the door. You grounded yourself by clutching onto your purse, leaving crescent indents in the leather.

His hand came around your waist, holding on tightly as you made your way into the apartment building. You quickly pressed for the third floor, not your own. “Goodnight Tim, I had a good time.” You turned to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before running into the elevator. As the doors closed you could see him, momentarily stunned at the kiss.

You exhaled the second the doors closed. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t be seeing him after this. You’d survived the night, as well as him.

The next few days had been normal, thankfully. You’d been paranoid to a fault, and rightfully so.

Tim Bradford is a cop.

Which meant he had access to so much more than any regular person. He not only knew where you lived from the information he’d collected, but he could search you up. He could find out so much about your life with just a few clicks of a button.

And he did. He utilised his resources to find out as much about you as he could over the week or so since your date. When you’d gone to the bathroom, he’d accessed your phone and was now successfully tracking you. Never leave your stuff with an obsessed cop, am I right?

After the robbery, he couldn’t risk your safety.

But the biggest mystery of all in Tim’s eyes was why you hadn’t called him yet. You’d been working a lot recently, early days and late nights. You needed a break from work. The only places you went which weren’t your workplace or home was your gym.

You were done for the day.

The sweat that you were covered in made you shine in the fluorescent lights of the gym. You couldn’t wait to take a shower, but the gym was currently repairing their facilities so you’d have to wait until home.

If you’d been paying attention to your surroundings rather than yourself you would’ve noticed Tim hovering in the background. You grabbed your waterbottle and made your way to the locker rooms. Patting yourself down with your towel before changing your sweaty clothes into normal clothes. The more laundry the better?

You walked out to your car, blissfully unaware of the shadow following you. As you fiddled with your Airpod case you accidentally let your keys slip through your hands. Sighing in annoyance before bending down to grab them from underneath your car. Not expecting to be met with him once you got up.

“You scared me Tim.” Your hand clutched onto your shirt, over your heart as you rested against your car.

“Sorry. just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am, thank you for asking. I just… I feel like I’m seeing you everywhere. Like I’ve gone crazy.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“For what?”

“To go out with me? Tonight?” You awkwardly laughed, holding onto the back of your neck. “As much as I’d love to, I’m not really in the market for a partner. I’m sorry. And I’m already going out with friends tonight.” His smile was wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No need to apologise, just figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. We had such a nice night last time. You looked amazing.”

You felt bad for turning him down, but again, you couldn’t help but think. He never showed up before, but you see him once and now hes everywhere? It didn’t seem right to you. You chuckled dryly, “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. And yeah, I meant it as a friendly outing.” As you opened your door, it slammed in front of you.

Tim stood closer than before, and his nice smile and sweet voice seemed so far away. His hand rested on your door, having shut it. “You sure as hell didn’t dress like it was a friendly outing. Go out with me Y/n/n.” Your eyes squinted at his use of your nickname, which you hadn’t told him to use.

“I’m sorry, I just— Oh god.” Your eyes widened behind Tim as his head whipped behind, “What is it?” The door quickly slammed shut as you sat in the drivers seat. Tim turned back, you tricked him. He tried to open the door but you quickly pressed the lock.

“Open the door.”

His voice was low, it was a threat.

You pressed the button to start your car up, not daring to look his way. God knows what you’d be met with. You quickly pulled out of the gyms parking lot, mustering up the courage to look into your rear view mirror.

He wasn’t there.

You couldn’t tell if him not being there was more frightening than comforting. But you did need to put as many miles between you and Tim as possible. A night out with friends would help take your mind off it.

As you came home, you couldn’t help but sigh. The night had been totally exhausting as well as exhilarating. It’d been a while since you’d seen your friends, since your marathon had been cancelled after the attempted robbery. And you had also subconsciously taken Tims advice to not have any friends over.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. It was nice to take some time to recuperate and understand what happened before seeing friends. The millions of questions they threw at you tonight were even worse than when they were over the phone.

‘Are you okay?’

‘We don’t have to go out tonight!’

‘We can stay in, order some food?’

‘If you need to talk, I’m here.’

You were definitely grateful to have so many friends that cared about you after something pretty traumatic, but all you wanted was to drink, dance and forget. Which was partially successful. But he wouldn’t leave your mind.

Tim had basically infiltrated your life since you first met him that afternoon. And you had no clue what about you screamed to him, enticed him.

You wracked your brain trying to think about any time you would’ve given him any sort of signal to needing him. To inviting him into your life. And you couldn’t come up with a single sign. Maybe he was just insane?

How could you even get rid of him?

He was a literal cop. When at the station, you couldn’t help but notice how often people talked about him. Whether it was how amazing he was, or how reckless. The overall consensus was that he was a good guy, just a bit odd or impulsive. You couldn’t help but feel bad as well. He’d literally saved you from being hurt, or worse. And when you’d talked to him, he seemed so sweet.

Tim Bradford was respected, and you were just a civilian.

But to Tim? You were so much more. Having you in his arms, fully reliant on him to help save you. He knew you needed him, you just didn’t realise it yet. But he’d help you realise, there was no need to worry. He’d keep you safe, you’d never be in such a situation ever again. He wouldn’t fail you like he failed his ex.

“Had a nice night?”

Your blood ran cold and your bubble of bliss from the night out had effectively been popped. He was in your home. How did he know where you— he’s a cop. He probably knew more about you than you knew. “I did.” Tim stood from your couch, making his way to you.

“Meet anyone?” You shook your head adamantly, “No one Tim.” You needed to play your cards right if you were going to get away from this psycho alive. God knows what he wanted to do or what he was after.

By the time he was in front of you he had you pinned to the wall, right by the hallway. His hands came around your hips, fingers digging in. He smelled your neck, savouring the sweet perfume. “You smell amazing, and you look…” He was practically undressing you with his eyes. “Bet you danced a lot tonight, should take a shower.” Of course you’d love that. Which is what you wanted to say, but with his eyes burning into you?

You couldn’t respond. Not when his hands began to roam, and tug on the strings of your dress. Not when he led you into your bathroom, and let the bath fill up or when he undressed you and himself.

You were practically frozen as he bathed you.

He acted as if it was where he belonged, as if this was a daily occurrence for you and him. You knew you couldn’t get away now,

You were too late and scared of his power.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford smut #tim bradford #tim bradford x fem!reader #the rookie x reader #the rookie #the rookie x fem!reader #dark!tim bradford x reader #yandere!tim bradford x reader #yandere the rookie

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rouecentric · 11 months

Note

AAAAA okay, so I saw that your requests are open... (this is my first time requesting anything so im a bit nervous)

about your post with the lante x grandkid!reader, IT WAS SO GOOD, and yes, i totally understand the family's shock about lante doting on his grandkid. this is the same man who established that familial love is unnecessary, was it not?

we got lante's perspective of his grandkid... but what about the other family members? will they like the grandkid as well? or will they be indifferent / dislike them?

(this is a bit wordy im sorry ☠️)

how would the agriche family react to grandchild!reader being doted on by lant agriche? / headcanons, death, typical things you'd expect from a fic that's about the agriche family, gn!reader.

THE agriche's reactions are mixed, honestly, and they thought that dion having a child was enough of a shock, so to have grandchild!reader being doted on by the lante agriche would mean that the usual "balance" (or what was left of it) in the family would no doubt be thrown out the window.

there would most likely be more hatred and indifference than adoration when it comes to the grandchild, especially once they start taking on some of lante's traits as well, but some of the only people that i could see liking the grandchild no matter what would honestly be maria and sierra, as they most likely took on the role of a maternal figure in the grandkid's life since their mother died while giving birth.

roxana, as obvious as it is, would most likely resent the reader because of how doting lante is when it comes to them, especially since not only did they automatically gain lante's favor, but they also are the child of dion, her brother's murderer. however, she might open up to the reader and eventually get along with them if the reader doesn't exactly idolize the agriche head because of his actions, hell, she might even use the reader against lante.

jeremy's neutral when it comes to the grandchild, honestly, he probably never personally met the child more than twice on his own volition, since he would rather cling to his half sister than interact with some snotty baby. but there is a chance that he would have more encounters with the grandchild once they're around four to seven years old.

grizelda.. it's hard to say on whether or not she likes the kid, really, but the grandchild would most likely idolize her, and grizelda is at least a bit kinder at first when it comes to the kid, so the two of them would possibly be close, with the grandchild seeking out the older woman's attention or help.

however, charlotte hates you without any doubt. charlotte doesn't like you because of how easily you get lante's favor and attention, causing her to usually harass you without lante usually knowing, but she does bite back her tongue whenever there are other people present, however, she mellows out when she's older, and there's a slight chance for her to apologize! but don't get your hopes up, because she's stubborn as hell.

fontaine despises you, as you were not only lante's favorite in th family, but also because your birth reinforced dion's position on the top three candidates for being the future head of the agriche dukedom. hell, he isn't even above trying to get you killed, since all is fair in this household that didn't have any morals, no?

dion, your father, was indifferent towards you, he didn't really care for your mother, either, since it was an arranged marriage orchestrated by lante himself for his own benefit. sure, he may have taken care of you in his free time, but his emotional baggage and childhood trauma definitely wouldn't have made him a good father, most likely being emotionally neglectful, even if he sometimes doesn't mean to be distant.

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leclercdreams · 2 years

Note

Roscoe meeting your child for the first time and him being really protective

𝐃𝐨𝐠'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 ❘❘ 𝘓𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘴 𝘏𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘰𝘯

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader

warnings: Fluff, mentions of pregnancy and birth.

word count: 1.05K

a/n: None of my work is proofread, English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy this anon! I absolutely adore Roscoe🤍

Life.

It was such a simple word that held so much meaning.

You and Lewis had been married for three years, before that you had been his partner for four years. You loved him, you loved his lifestyle as crazy as it seemed, and you loved Roscoe.

You were in no hurry to have children, you wanted to have kids, but you weren't actively trying. So when you had taken a test one day you were both happy about the news. You had your worries about becoming a new mother, but nothing prepared you for Lewis' worries.

It was a break for Lewis, both of you were in your bed, the baby had started kicking the week prior, but you didn't want him to know he missed it. His arms were wrapped around your middle, his head resting on your chest while rubbing up and down your bump.

Roscoe on the other side of you, his head resting on your thigh snoozing away, ever since you found out you were pregnant even before you were sure Roscoe had been glued to your side. Both your boys loved the bump.

"I'm scared."

Pulling your focus away from the pregnancy book you were reading you placed your hand on his back rubbing your hand up and down slowly.

"Scared of what, baby?"

"Of missing our baby's birth. I don't want to miss this."

Putting the book down on the other side of you, your free hand pulling his face up to you. You could see the genuine fear and concern in his eyes.

"Bubs, listen to me. You won't miss it you will be here, and if our little one is early then they'll be just like her dad who is always early."

From that night you would remind him every single day that he had nothing to worry about. You had your trusted bodyguard with you, and you were thankful that your little one had waited.

Twelve hours of labor and pain had brought your little one screaming her lungs out into the world, the sound dying down the moment she was placed on your chest. Your tears streaming down your face and sweat sticking to your forehead, and Lewis still looked at you like you created the entire world, because to him you did.

Sierra Mae Hamilton was his world and she was perfect.

When she was taken to be cleaned and checked he had turned to you giving you so much love whispering to you how much you meant to him and how much he loved you.

When it came to holding his princess his shirt was long gone sat in the chair next to your bed while having the sleeping baby close to him. His hands covered her entire body while he just watched her lovingly. His little girl. You could see the tears reflecting in his eyes with the light shining.

"I love you and your mummy so much, princess. I can't wait for Roscoe to meet you."

You were kept in the hospital for a day before being discharged with your healthy baby girl, ready to go home and get a routine. Lewis had informed your families all of them having a short few minutes of face time to see your daughter.

You had agreed that spending the first two weeks by yourself and getting used to being parents was the best for you. On your way home you sat next to your daughter's car seat who was snoozing with her little elephant stuffy Toto had given to Lewis on the last race of the season.

"Do you think Roscoe will be okay with her?"

"He'll be fine, my love. He loves people, and he's loved her since before we even knew we were expecting."

Sending you a reassuring smile you saw in the mirror that you returned happily. When arriving home Lewis was out of the car and opening your door, taking your hand and putting his arm around you pressing a kiss to your lips. While he grabbed your bags out of the back you walked around taking out the car seat.

Settling in the lounge on the comfortable sofa wincing at the slight pain you held your arms out for baby Sierra. Lewis placed her in your arms while pressing a kiss to her head. Looking at you with expectant eyes you nodded at him with a small smile.

You could hear your husband talking to your first baby, the patter of Roscoe's paws alerting you that they were close. Looking up from the tiny baby you smiled at your husband who took her from your arms.

"Roscoe, meet your little sister."

Roscoe moved closer sniffing her tiny hand that stretched out from underneath the blanket, feeling his cold nose her eyes opening and looking around. A yawn escaped her small lips, Roscoe moving ever closer to the unfamiliar being.

You tried to hold back your tears, but the emotion was far too much to handle for you, and your hormones were still not back to normal. Looking at your family and realising how lucky you were.

Almost three months after the birth of your angel you were on cloud nine. Lewis was the most amazing dad to her, he loved her, and even though she now got more attention than you did you didn't care.

It was a day to have family and friends over who were yet to meet her, you had finally been ready to let people come around, some of the drivers and their significant others joining. You were in the kitchen arranging the snack board the window looking out onto the backyard where everyone was.

George was holding Sierra a look of awe on his face, just as he went to kiss her little cheek Roscoe let out a bark disturbing the baby. You walked out wiping your hands on the cloth and made your way over to him

"Roscoe, no, we've talked about this bud. Sorry, Georgie, he's a little protective over her. Still follows me around everywhere."

"It's not all bad. A grid full of uncles, a second family at Mercedes, a protector, and a seven-time world champion as a dad. She's won the lottery."

Chuckling you nodded your head, looking at Lewis who has now taken her from George's arms and sitting down on the grass next to Roscoe. The young Mercedes driver wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"Yeah, she does have it all. She's a princess after all."

Tag List: @ifancycharlesleclerc @luv4gasly @hungryhungarian @moutnz @honethatty12 @ally4and33 @kii-003

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE PART OF THE TAG LIST!

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sirdindjarin · 2 years

Text

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six doesn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes.”

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

“Is there anything to eat?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

You watch as he stifles a yawn.

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

“I slept enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, noted,” you respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Yes ma'am I am your new neighbor

Chapter One of "This is the Neighborhood Din"

Din Djarin modern AU x Sierra Harris (plus size OFC)

This fic is for readers over 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.2k

Summary: Din Djarin is moving into his new home with his young son Grogu. His next door neighbor decides to introduce herself.

Warnings: Din and Grogu being adorable father and son, nosy neighbor (she's nice though), Oogling (two separate occasions but who wouldn't?!), chill vibes

Notes: This idea of Din being a single father who moves into next door has stuck with me since last year. It was only a month ago maybe that I finally started writing it because I've had a block on other projects. So here were are! Please mind warnings at the start of each chapter. Thanks to @alltheglitterandtheroar and @megamindsecretlair for hearing me talking about this idea for a week straight while I wrote out the first part. ❤️ Divider is by @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist/ Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist / This is the neighborhood Din Series

Moving day wasn’t that bad, it actually went well as Din surprisingly had a few of his coworkers show up to assist with moving furniture and boxes into the three-bedroom house he bought for him and his son Grogu. A new job in the suburbs wasn’t in his plans at all. Nothing really was except his job as a mechanical engineer. It was a cool spring morning and he found himself removing his black hoodie and tossing it over the side of the railing on the front of his home’s porch. Sweat coated the dark blue t-shirt he had underneath with a small cinnamon hand tugging on the back pocket of his gray sweatpants. The soft cotton of his shirt stuck to his back as he turned around to see his son peering up at him.

“Daddy, when are you gonna be done? I wanna play in the yard with you.” Little Grogu asked, poking his bottom lip out with chocolate eyes that matched his fathers perfectly. Din sighed and took his large palm to pat his son’s head.

“Not yet. I at least have to get all our things inside before we play, okay? Why don’t you take in a few of the boxes, and I’ll finish faster.” He suggested, to which Grogu gave a moment of thought and nodded, skipping to the U-Haul truck where two of his coworkers were taking out more boxes. They handed him the smaller and lighter boxes and the group kept unloading the truck.

Johnnie Mae Harris had been expecting her niece Sierra since the morning. “Lord that child is always late, be late to her own funeral.” She was sitting on her couch, with a sleeping four-year-old boy tucked under her arm. She heard some commotion outside and carefully rose from her seat, trying not to wake him. She peeped out of her kitchen window into the house next door. It looked like someone was moving in, there were four men moving boxes and a child carrying small ones. Maybe she would make someone to welcome them later after she figured out who exactly was moving in.

“Ms. Harris, whatcha lookin’ at?” A small voice asked, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t feel her warmth next to him and woke up. He didn’t see his mother or father outside the window so he was curious what else she could be looking for. He then spotted someone who might be his age, the only other kid was his baby sister and she’s two, she’s no fun at all.

“New people on the block Quinton. Not sure which ones though, could be all of ‘em.” It looks to Ms. Harris like the men had moved in all the boxes and furniture. One of them was leaving and three stayed, likely to place the furniture in the house. It was about lunch time, so she made sandwiches for herself and small Quinton. His sister Delia wasn’t awake from her nap yet, so she had a separate sandwich for her in the fridge. Johnnie Mae figured she could go say hello and figure out who was exactly in the house. It used to be her friend Mabel, but after her second stroke, she moved out of state with her daughter and son-in-law because she couldn’t care for herself anymore. Ms. Harris picked up Delia and put on her slip-on sneakers as she was already wearing a royal blue velvet sweatsuit that had capri pants. She did make sure she put on her black bob wig that covered her thinning gray hair. Not dying it helped her hair to stop thinning, but it still wasn’t growing back in as it did say twenty years ago. Now in her early seventies, Ms. Harris felt it was cheaper to have a few wigs than to sign up for all those supplements. Once she put jackets on both children, they made their way outside to see about these newcomers to the neighborhood.

Din was satisfied with where most of the furniture was placed or put together, dishes and silverware were taken out and put away. He wasn’t sure which box had the pots and pans he’d need for dinner tonight. “Dank Farrik…I feel like I set them near the kitchen area but now I can’t find them.” He scratched the back of his head, his soft taupe curls ruffling between his fingers as he surveyed the boxes again. He pauses, not hearing his son’s voice asking him what they’re having for lunch, that boy is always hungry… Din turns and makes his way to the front door, opening the screen door since either his son or his helpers left the main door open. “These guys…” He sighs, he appreciated the help, but he preferred things to be neat and orderly, basically non-existent with a five-year-old and doubly so from the workstations of these two. Tilting his head, he saw an older woman in a blue velvet sweatsuit holding a little girl and talking to his two friends. Grogu was playing with a boy who looked about his age. Maybe they lived here in the neighborhood?

“Why welcome new neighbor! Aren’t you a tall drink of water? I’m Johnnie Mae Harris, I live right next door.” Din watched as her red manicured nail pointed to the dark gray house that had stark white windows. He nodded and reached out his hand with a smile.

“Thank you for the welcome ma’am. I’m Din Dajrin. That is my son, Grogu.” A chuckle left his lips to see Grogo excitedly playing with someone already. Her grip was firm and she released his hand before adjusting the sleepy child in her arms.

“Did ya’ll boys have anything to eat for lunch? I just made the children here sandwiches. I can fix ya’ll somethin’.” Ms. Harris offered, Din was about to decline, but Grogu interrupted.

“Daddy! Quinton said that Ms. Harris has ham, cheese, and spicy mustard. I love the spicy mustard!”

Din was going to apologize but Ms. Harris stopped him and told Grogu to come on over to her house for lunch. The single father’s two coworkers checked in with him before leaving, making sure he didn’t at least need any more help with the furniture which he said he didn’t. Din followed his new neighbor and his son into her home. It was cozy, she had various knick knacks and black ballerinas and some soccer players which Grogu pointed to, and Din made sure he didn’t touch. He didn’t need to be breaking anything in her home. The sandwiches were welcome, and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he ate two of the sandwiches and was looking for a third after downing two glasses of lemonade. Ms. Harris made small talking, asking about Grogo and what led Din to buy a house in the neighborhood. He told her that the schools were good in the area and thankfully it was closer to work and not further away, though he would have made the drive for his son. She wanted to ask about his mother and the very clear absence of both a wedding ring and a tan from one. It could easily mean he didn’t wear one, she knew some people didn’t or he be in one of those open marriages she’d heard about. Ms. Harris decided she could find that out later. She did offer to watch Grogu when Din offered to buy her more sandwich supplies after him and his son apparently had eaten most of hers. She agreed and wished that her niece was here. Once Din departed, she went back outside and watched the three kids play in the yard, Delia was awake now and saw someone new.

“I swear, if she doesn’t meet this man, I’ll have to make up some reason to do a second welcome to the neighborhood. Maybe he’s separated or something.” The caretaker mused, rolling her eyes at her niece’s continued absence.

Din returned with groceries for both Ms. Harris and himself. He assisted her in putting hers away first before taking care of his and thankfully finding the dishes, pots, pans, glasses and silverware in his black Subaru ascent. Having a few moments to himself were excellent. He could put more items away than if he had to worry about what Grogu might have gotten into. Most of the boxes in the kitchen and dining room he was able to clear out as well as in Grogu’s room and a few in his room. Before he realized, it was a few hours, and it was well into the afternoon. “Damn, I should go get him. I just hope he hasn’t broken anything; I know he likes to touch stuff. There’s a time and place, little one.”

Thankfully, Din didn’t have anything to worry about. Grogu was rolling in the grass with Quinton and Delia, the three of the giggling about some pirate king. Din walked up the stairs and took a seat in a rocking chair next to Ms. Harris. “Thank you for watching him, ma’am. He can be rather active, but he’s a good kid.”

Johnnie Mae gave Din a sour face and pursed her lips. “Now Din, don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I know I’m old already. Just call me Ms. Harris. I appreciate that you’re polite though. You married hun?” She asked all in the same breath. Din blinked and she grinned, “I’m just curious. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those jaguars. I at least prefer men in their fifties. They’ve seen some things and might have some retirement money you know.” Her laugh was loud, and Din took a sigh of relief, at least she had a sense of humor. He pulled at the v-neck of his dark blue shirt to fan himself a bit. Given the time, the sun had warmed the air. The kids had long come out of their jacket and even Johnnie Mae took off the jacket of her sweatsuit to expose her black undershirt that said, ‘world’s best grandma.’ His shirt was sticking to him again, he normally did run hot and hated the warm spring days and summers. “You can take it off son. I’m going to go get you some water, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.” As she opened her screen door and walked inside, Din could have sworn she said under her breath, “Looks a helluva lot better than what I normally see though.” This earns a wide smile from Din as he removes his dark blue shirt and drapes it across the arm of the rocking chair. He turns the chair diagonally to face where the children are playing to see his son running around with the other two kids.

It’s then that a blue Nissan versa pulls into Ms. Harris’ driveway. She comes back out with Din’s ice water and hands it to him, nodding as she does. “Thank you, Ms. Harris.” He says before drinking it and she stands at the top of the steps, momentarily wondering what would happen if she was thirty years younger….

A stout woman exits the car and looks up at Ms. Harris, then her eyes widen at the sight of an unknown man who’s returning her gaze from the corner of his eyes. His dark damp curls are stuck to the back of his neck, beautiful bronze skin with a light glisten of sweat coated his body. On his left arm, were three black lines with triangles drawn from each line on his forearm and before he stood up, his back had the skull of some animal with tusks but three blood red lines going through the skull. Rising from the chair to turn and face the new arrival, she was able to see that he had a thin beard, patchy but it suited him as well as a prominent nose and an angled slope to it. He was tall, broad and solid. His biceps and chest were well defined, but he had a soft middle for balance which didn’t hang over the gray sweatpants he was wearing. On the lower right of his abdomen was a helmet she could make out. He adjusted his glasses and put on the navy-blue shirt that had been on the arm of the rocking chair out of view when she pulled up.

“Dear Lord in heaven I am not dressed or prepared to talk to that sort of man any day.” She muttered as Ms. Harris made her way down the stairs toward her, she hugged her, and her arms wrapped around her as well, eyes still lingering on the man sitting on the porch. His sweatpants did not leave much to the imagination. They weren’t tight by any means; one could just trace the lines. Thick thighs and well… heavy in the middle is the most polite way to say it. The only way she can think to describe it while hugging her aunt.

“Hey Auntie Mae, thank you so much for letting me come up here.” The two women hugged for longer still on the verge of tears. In thanking her aunt, Sierra remembered why she was grateful her aunt opened her home.

Peeps who may also need to think of a polite way to say things while hugging a family member and oogling Din 👀: @readingiskeepingmegoing @604to647 @syd-djarin @yorksgirl @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @pedroshotwifey @drawingdroid @katw474 @trulybetty @bitchwitch1981 @soft-girl-musings @syd-djarin @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #grogu and din #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x plus size ofc #this is the neighborhood din

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almostgenerallyalways · 1 year

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where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/? - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradley x y/n #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #tgm fic #top gun: maveric fic #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine

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bullet-prooflove · 5 months

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Stockton!Series Part Four: Sierra - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Marcus Alvarez)

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @expir3dl0v3 @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @thanossexual @lexondeck @weiwei0210 @trublu2u @justreblogginfics @oklahomapeach @keyweegirlie @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @wnbweasley @skyesthebomb @msjava1972 @trublu2u @fleureeee @jp1019 @thiashazzywriting @jeybae

Part One: El Cuchillo - An incident in the clubhouse causes ramifcations for the entire club.

Part Two: Always - Nestor learns about what happened.

Part Three: In the Dark - You and Nestor wake up to find armed men in your house.

Bishop is livid, fucking livid. He can feel the fury chasing through his veins as he stands on the patch of land outside the clubhouse at two in the morning, his eyes fixed on the three men kneeling in front of him, their hands bound behind their backs.

Sanchez, the man who had planned to burn down your house.

Flaco, the man who’d tried to murder you in your sleep.

Ramos, the fucking orchestrator of all this chaos.

Hank and Taza stand on either side of their prisoners, making sure no one gets a stupid fucking idea in their head and tries to run.

It’s fitting in a way that it comes down to the old guard. These were the men who swore to protect you once upon a time. When your father was at his wits end, staring down the bottom of bottle because he didn’t know how to help you. What you don’t know, what you will never know is that they had plans for the list your father made all those years ago. If you hadn’t sought your vengeance first, they would have done it for you.

He hears the roar of the motorcycle in the distance, it tears through the air like a banshee screaming into the night. Noone speaks as the rider pulls up, they simply wait as he climbs off the bike, his snakeskin cowboy boots clicking against the concrete. He’s wearing his kutte tonight, his El Padrino patch showing predominantly in the overhead lights on he strides towards Bishop.

That rage, it seems to simmer. Bishop can feel it radiating from the other man as he draws closer, his eyes glowing like coals from the deepest depths of hell. El Padrino’s out for blood tonight, Bishop can taste it.

“Just these three?” He asks Bishop, indicating towards their captives.

Bishop removes Ramos’s phone from his pocket before handing it to Marcus. The other man studies the messages intently, his thumb scrolling through them as he takes in the details of the hit.

Raze it the ground, he’d written. I want her to burn.

“Smokey wasn’t involved?” Marcus questions, handing the phone back to Bishop.

Bishop shakes his head as he returns it to his pocket.

“I have Riz keeping him company in the clubhouse, figured you’d want to talk to him once you were finished with them.” He says, inclining his head towards the three Stockton men.

“You were right.” Marcus says, withdrawing the Berretta from the waist band of his trousers.

He points the weapon at Sanchez.

“The one that wanted to burn down their home.” Marcus says before pulling the trigger.

Flaco cries out as the blood splashes across his face, the stench of cordite fills the air as Marcus points the gun at him.

“The one who fired an assault rifle into their bed.” Marcus pulls the trigger again and Flaco falls face first onto the concrete.

“And you,” Marcus says turning his attention to Ramos. “The man who can’t let the past just die, who has to come back and rake it up because he can’t stand the fact a dead man was a better Mayan that he will ever be.”

Ramos laughs, it’s a haunting rasp that echoes through the yard as he stares up at Marcus.

“She grew up pretty didn’t she? Javi’s daughter.” Ramos says, a cruel smile spreading across his features. “Just like her mother.”

There’s a flash of steel behind Marcus’s eyes, his hand threads through Ramo’s hair, gripping it tightly before he tugs it back and jams the Berretta right under his chin.

“A bullet is too good for you.” Marcus snarls as he locks gazes with Ramos.

“She was my girl.” Ramos hisses, his tongue running over his lower lip. “Sierra was mine until he rolled up and took her!”

“She didn’t belong to you.” Marcus snaps, driving the gun even harder into the other man’s jaw. “That is something you have never been able to understand. She had a choice, and she didn’t choose you.”

“I had her anyway.” Ramos reminds him and, in that moment, he looks every inch the animal he is. “I took what was his and I ruined it.”

“I should have let him kill you that night.” Marcus seethes as he wrenches the other man’s head back even further. “I should have let him beat you to death, instead of pulling him off you.”

“But you didn’t and now we’re here.” Ramos grins, blood staining his teeth. “I bet her daughter would have tasted just as sweet as she did…”

The words are barely out of his mouth before the gunshot explodes through the scrapyard, his brains spattering across the concrete.

“Take their kuttes.” Marcus says as he stares down at Ramos’s corpse. “We’re heading up to Stockton.”

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#nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva x reader #mayans mc

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heresthestorymorningglory · 6 days

Text

Six of Six

Summary: You probably won't forget again

A/N: The inspo for this one came when I was looking for ideas for my next latest tattoo (possibly Six related xD)

Sierra Six x afab reader <3 Word Count: 3.1k

As per usual, it's NSFW 18+ @ken-dom as always my darling, I thank you for your support and inspiration and late night chats. You are the best worst chosen sister for all things smut related <3

Enjoy my loves <3

Keep reading

“How many?”

You dropped your gaze with a small smile, cheeks burning under his scrutiny. He stood so close his body radiated heat, only making you warmer.

You laughed lightly to yourself, biting your lips together as his fingers teased the hem of your t-shirt. “I forgot, okay?” you shrugged.

“You forgot?” He raised an eyebrow, tucking his finger under your chin; forcing you to meet his gaze.

You swallowed hard but held his eye contact.

“Count them”

You blinked slightly taken aback. “W-what?”

He took your chin in his hand, squeezing firmly. His eyes fixed on you.

“You heard me,” he said sternly “Count them”

His hand moved from your jaw, closing around your wrist, guiding it to the left side of his bare chest.

Your fingers grazed over his inked flesh.

“One” you whispered

Your heart pounded in your chest as he moved your hand to his forearm.

“Two” you continued

You braced yourself against his bare chest, leaning your forehead against his before he dipped his head to claim your lips in a bruising possessive kiss.

You melted against him with a soft whimper, letting his tongue tangle with yours.

He pulled back just enough to let you speak as you felt his hand guide yours to his other arm

“Three” your voice barely audible as your lips moved against his.

Your head swam with the linger of his kiss; he always had this way of making you weak in the knees. You pouted as he put a bit more space between you, holding up his right hand.

“Four” you smiled, pressing your lips to the faded ink.

Six held up his left hand and you repeated the process, pressing your lips to his warm skin before you answered “Five”

Turning his wrist around, your lips brushed against the last one as your eyes fluttered closed; his large hand cupping your cheek as you leaned into his touch.

“Six…” you whispered and you weren’t entirely sure whether you meant the number or the man standing in front of you; but you didn’t particularly care.

“So you do remember” he teased, his other hand holding your waist as he pulled you flush against him once more.

Thankful for the strong arm sliding around your back, your hands held his broad shoulders as the hand he had cupping your cheek disappeared under your hair, bringing your mouth to his as you laughed breathlessly “Yes, Sir” you smiled against his lips before he pulled gently on your bottom lip with his teeth.

He took two giant steps forward, pinning you against the wall, kissing you deeper before his lips moved from your mouth to your neck. You leaned your head back against the wall, his beard scratching against your throat as he tipped his head to suck under your jaw. You unintentionally moaned, your arms draping around his neck as you heard him chuckle against your skin.

He kissed a trail back up the length of your neck, his breath against the shell of your ear calm and even, unlike your own.

“You want it?” His lips dragged over the contours of your ear as he spoke, making you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lips together taking in a deep breath through your nose.

All you could do was nod; and as if he’d known it he laughed lightly against your ear. “Use your words”

Your breath caught in your throat with a small giggle as he deliberately dragged the hand not tangled in your hair, over your hip and came to rest on your thigh; close, but not close enough as his fingers came to a stop.

Brushing them gently on the inside of your thigh, he waited.

“This is cruel” you whined attempting to thrust your hips into his touch; only for him to pin you more tightly against the wall with seemingly zero effort.

You scoffed with protest as your breath grew heavier, struggling against his weight. “God!” you gave up with a huff, slumping against the wall as best you could “You’re evil, this is evil”

He had hardly moved, barely made a sound before he pulled back to look at you; you could feel the hot flush of your skin and knew he could see it just as well. With eyes fixed on yours, his fingers crept slowly up the inside of your thigh.you attempted to squeeze your legs together, to stop him from moving any further and he simply pushed them apart with ease.

For someone who ate, slept, and breathed sarcasm, there was no hint of it anywhere in his rugged features. His eyes intense, somehow more than usual, made your core clench; you almost jumped when he spoke again.

“Three. Little. Words.” His voice hauntingly calm, making your heart pound harder in your chest, thump louder in your ears.

Your lips parted as you took in a shaky breath but you didn’t speak; your eyes never leaving his.

You squeaked with surprise as he grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing hard; you hugged him tighter as he pulled you from the wall, your feet leaving the floor just enough for him to spin you around toward the bed.

The backs of your knees bumped the edge of the mattress, but Six kept you stationary. You looked at him with a pout and he looked back expectantly, one eyebrow arched slightly.

You scoffed dropping your shoulders “Oh come on” you threw your head back dramatically dragging your fingernails down his bare shoulders.

He shook his head “Wrong words”

You let out a heavy sigh glaring at him “I hate you”

That made him snort with a laugh “No you don’t” he smirked; as if to emphasize his point he squeezed your ass harder, making you gasp.

You growled low in the back of your throat and he cocked his head to the side “Are you mocking me?”

You hadn’t meant to, but… “Maybe” you pursed your lips “What are you going to do about it?” you challenged

Before you could blink, all the air rushed out of your lungs as you landed heavily on the mattress; Six’s weight near suffocating on top of you. Your arms were pinned over your head against the pillow, gathered in one of his hands. His nose dragged over the bridge of yours as he leaned in close, too close; your entire body suddenly feeling like you’d been set on fire. You caught your breath as you got your bearings.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do about it” he whispered; his free hand sliding back between your bare thighs. “I’m going to make sure you remember”

You scoffed a nervous laugh, trying to squeeze your thighs together; again to no avail. “H-how?”

He shifted; his weight heavy on your middle as he let go of your wrists; taking your hand in his and bringing it to his chest. He folded your fingers so you were simply pointing with your index finger, guiding the tip of your nail dragging over the faded lines of his tattoo.

“Trace it” His eye met yours briefly before dropping again, watching your nail, guided by his hand trace over lines.

The heat of his body still radiated against your hand; his hand was warm closed over yours; the heat was still there even after he’d pulled away and you continued as instructed.

“What happens if I stop?” you asked, eyes focused on his smooth skin

“Then I stop” he answered, pulling your tank top up to expose your body underneath.

You frowned slightly before you gasped, arching off the bed, the fingers you had been tracing his tattoo with immediately clawing against his chest as his warm, wet mouth closed around your nipple; his teeth scraping gently over the nub.

“Fuck” you breathed and he raised his head with a smirk you wanted nothing more than to slap off his face.

“Only if you finish all six”

You purposefully dug your fingernails into his meaty flesh making him growl low and deep as he dropped his head again; one hand still pinning your arm over your head, his fingers threading together with yours as his other hand teased along the inside of your thigh.

You leaned your head back into the mattress, taking in a deep breath with a small laugh “Fuck”

You dropped your head back down to focus; watching intently as he dropped is head to kiss down your cleavage.

You shuddered, feeling his tongue glide over your skin.

“Hnh” you grit your teeth together trying like hell to keep your focus.

You finished the first, dropping your hand to fist the sheets underneath you as Six’s mouth continued its assault.

He let go of your hand, not even lifting his head as he nipped and sucked across the expanse of your entire body.

You held his hand in front of you, palm out with his fingers spread apart slightly as your slender fingers in comparison traced over the lines of his second tattoo.

You whimpered as his teeth dragged over your hip as you turned his hand over in yours.

You got halfway through the next small one before feeling his warm breath so close to your core against your belly button and then all at once it was gone.

“Six…. please” you weren't begging, but you weren't above it.

“Start over”

Your mouth dropped open “What?! Why?!”

“You stopped,” he said simply “Start. Over.” his voice amplified against your stomach.

The hint of his military training seeping through his command. If you fucked it up, started from the beginning until you got it right.

You did as you were told, tracing the lines of the sunburst where you'd left off.

Six carried on exploring you with his mouth like a treasure map, leaving a trail of bright red hickeys like breadcrumbs as you circled back to retrace his wrist before moving to his forearm.

He crawled over you, the hand he had between your legs braced on the mattress as he bent to suck and lick your neck.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip tracing over the horse on his other side.

He leaned next to your ear, making you shiver as he breathed.

“Focus…” he whispered, dragging his teeth over your earlobe.

You let out a needy moan, but by some miracle, kept your finger tracing steadily.

You could feel him smile against your jaw before he kissed along the length.

“How many?” He whispered in between kisses.

You froze for a beat, genuinely unsure of just what answer it was he wanted. “Four” you guessed, and you were immediately rewarded, his teeth sinking into the divet of your collarbone making you cry out.

“Fuck, Six…p-please”

“Keep going…”

You took his hand, tracing over the five small dots.

Letting it drop, he braced himself on the mattress, trapping you between his arms as you retraced the portrait on his chest. His head dropped, watching your fingers move.

As soon as you connected your invisible line he dropped on his forearms, lifting both of your legs over his shoulders.

Before you had a chance to process, your body lurched forward, your back arching off the mattress as his fingers disappeared into the flesh of your hips, keeping you still as he buried his nose in your core, his tongue licking a hot stripe between your folds as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

You cried out, shuddering in his hands as your heels dug into his shoulder blades in lieu of a mattress, making him groan into your core.

You twisted against his onslaught, one of your hands twisting tightly in his thick blond hair, pulling hard; your other hand pushing through your own hair as you rolled your hips forward.

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a long drawn out moan toward the ceiling.

That only made Six more forceful. He groaned from between your thighs, sending the most delicious electricity through your entire body.

You could hear yourself whimper pathetically but you couldn't do anything to stop it. You shuddered under his hands, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Then all at once he was gone, his mouth had disappeared. You practically screamed in protest, lifting your head to complain, your forehead nearly collided with the bridge of his nose as he pulled you closer, burying himself inside you with one swift movement, his mouth closing over yours, swallowing your moans as his tongue filled your mouth.

Your moans mingled together as your ankles locked around his back and you wrapped your arms around his massive shoulders.

His hips snapped hard, making the mattress groan with the effort.

You tore your mouth from his, taking such a deep breath your lungs burned as you clung to him, his face buried in your neck as you turned to putty in his hands; fingers twisted in his hair as he moaned deep and guttural against your neck, his cheek pressed against yours. His breath heavy and laboured next to your ear.

He relaxed, his weight heavier on your chest as he turned his head, his lips searching for yours.

You kissed him gently as he settled against your chest. Your fingers playing with his hair.

“How many?” He muttered between lazy kisses.

You shrugged with a smirk “I forget”

Suddenly his full weight came crushing down on top of you and you groaned underneath him

“Jesus…Six” you rasped and he made no effort to move.

Instead he reached to brush your hair away from your face before resting his chin on his arm across your chest “Still forget?”

You shook your head

“How many?”

“Six” you answered taking a shallow breath before his weight disappeared off your chest

You took a deep breath as he climbed off the bed, offering you a hand “I can think of better ways to suffocate me to death” you muttered taking his outstretched hand.

He lead you down to the bathroom before drawing a bath; the steam billowed from the tub, you tipped your head curiously, watching as he added a couple things to the hot water, swishing it gently with his hand before he stood straight and turned to face you.

He held your hand as you climbed into the tub, stepping in after you. He moved to put himself behind you before you grabbed his wrist gently.

“It’s my turn”

***

He settled between your legs after turning off the tap, the water threatening to spill over the edge.

You kissed across his shoulder blades before he leaned back against your chest, you slid your arms over his shoulders and down the expanse of his scarred chest.

Leaning forward slightly, you pressed gentle kisses along his neck.

Feeling him start to relax, you took the cloth off the edge of the tub, lathering it with soap, running it slowly over his contours.

Your hand dipped into the warm water, dragging slowly over his stomach and you felt him go rigid almost instantly.

“Relax” you whispered softly, nuzzling into his neck.

He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you could feel his stomach unclench under your fingertips.

Lifting the cloth from the water, you washed his arms next, water dripping down the length of his forearms.

Six reached to take the cloth from you and you let him, moving your hands to his shoulders, your thumbs moving over the seemingly permanent knots there.

“Let me in,” you breathed softly next to his ear; the tip of your nose dragged along his hairline at his neck, your warm breath making his body prickle with goosebumps and he let out a low moan.

Your fingers worked slowly and careful as his head dropped forward against his chest before he leaned back against your shoulder; his eyes closed. It was a rare occurrence when he would let his guard down completely; between his military training and childhood trauma he didn’t talk about, he was always on the defensive.

Six let out another sigh, this one was content; your slender fingers hitting spots he never could reach on his own. It had taken him a long time to trust you, sometimes he wondered if it had taken too long, if you had given up trying or caring. He knew sometimes you still wondered if he had trusted you completely.

He had; even though sometimes his instincts screamed at him not to; don’t trust you, don’t let you in, don’t protect you…

“Six…”

Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts as he felt your fingernail drag over his pec.

He hummed questioningly; his eyelids heavy from exhaustion

“Just counting…” you whispered against his neck, kissing the hollow behind his ear before you pat him gently, the water from your fingertips beading on his chest before rolling down into the tub. “Come on, before you fall asleep; I can’t carry you to bed”

He reluctantly pulled himself to his feet; his limbs felt heavy as he wrapped a towel around his middle before wrapping you in the bigger, softer one; lifting you off your feet, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs draped over his bulging bicep.

“But I can carry you” he spoke softly, kissing your temple as he made his way down the hall.

Setting you on your feet next to the bed you both shed towels before climbing under the covers and you tucked yourself into the crook of his arm.

You both laid quietly; one of your hands absently tracing over the portrait on his chest; the other twisting soft strands of his hair gently around your fingers. He kissed your forehead before settling more deeply into the covers, his arm wrapped protectively around your bare back as he laid on his side, facing you, but also facing the door.

You chuckled softly kissing his broad chest

“Nothing is going to get us in the dark” you whispered in between kisses “Will you relax?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it”

You leaned back enough to look up at him; his blue eyes meeting yours, intense and brooding.

“I love you, you overprotective freak” you craned your neck to kiss under his chin

You grunted as he crushed you against his chest, growling next to your ear, making you giggle.

He eased his hold but didn't let you go; just pressed a kiss into your hair.

“How many?’ he whispered

You smiled against his chest with a sigh. “My favourite number”

“Which is?” His chest vibrating with the question.

“Six” you whispered, letting your eyelids heavy with sleep slip closed; safely wrapped in the cocoon of Six's broad arms. His steady breathing and thump of his heart lulling you off to sleep.

#fic #ryan gosling #sierra six #n sfw #sierra six x reader #the gray man 2022 #the gray man

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xcaptain-winterx · 1 year

Text

Jim Pace (Sierra four) Masterlist

One Shots / Drabbles

Cuddle To Go

#callan mulvey #the gray man sierra four #sierra four #the gray man #jim pace x reader #jim pace x you #jim pace x y/n #the gray man jim pace #callan mulvey characters #callan mulvey x reader #callan mulvey x you #callan mulvey x y/n #jim pace

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skymoral · 6 months

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Bi-Han x b!reader (wife) x features. Their sons

When reader gets kidnapped while bi-Han takes his sons on their first mission. Just to find out once they get home that the grandmistress was kidnapped and him and his sons have to save the reader before it’s too late.

Your ideas hun, are literal plot fuel for me. I’m a definitely experiment with this one. It may be longer than normal 💅🏾

🩵 KIDNAPPED 🩵

Bi-Han x B!F Reader w/Children

Summary: Bi-Han is finally giving his sons a chance on the field. A mission given to them by Liu Kang. Concerning other timeline invasions. As you were at home with your daughters, although while they were gone. Someone from another timeline infiltrated the clan.

Tags: Family, Kidnapping, mission, protective, assault, death, and hurt/comfort

A/N: I know yall gonna love this one!😊

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

“Noooooooooooo! Don’t go dadddy!” his daughter June shouted.

His daughters trying to baracade him, he thought it was the cutest thing. Because he still can leave the room if he have to.

He kneeled in front of his four girls, opening his arms to hug them. One ran into his chest hard, almost taking his breath away.

“I must go little ones, I’ll be back I promise. Then I am all yours.”

“That’s not fair that the boys get to go and not us.” His other daughter May pouted.

“Yea, we’re strong to daddy…” His daughter Sierra chimed in.

“Of course you are, I would expect nothing less. But your duties lie here with your mother, as ours out on the field.” Bi-Han looked at them.

They only pouted more and groaned slightly, You soon intervened pulling the girls one by one of him. Like sticky notes, one of them was a fighter. Gripping him and screaming.

Before you finally got her off, and restrained her. “You should escape why you still can baby, save yourself.” You chuckled.

“I will see my girls again when we return.” He gave you a sweet kiss, making the boys gag and girls complain.

“No! You have to give us bye bye kisses to!” Chi Chi his other daughter complained wiggling out of her mother’s hold.

They gave him another hug and kisses this time, and he returned happily. His daughters now suffice. They went in formation and bowed, “FOR THE LIN KUEI.”

He bowed before finally leaving with his sons.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

Bi-Han was with his Sons, there first mission. Was to infiltrate and obtain intel on the target.

“Now, this is your first mission as children of the Lin Kuei. You are the future of this clan, this mission will test your strength, control, and stealth. As well as to prove to me you can handle any mission alone without me and to protect your mother and sister when I am gone or not around. Do you understand?” Bi-Han explained looking at his sons

“Yes Grandmaster!”

“Good! Now An dong ni will tell us what our plan will be to infiltrate the tower.” Bi-Han said, they all looked at his son An dong ni. Who just held weapon close and slightly nervous

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…”

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

You and your daughters were sitting in a straight line doing each others hair. The youngest doing her Barbie’s hair, she brushed instead of braiding like the others. She didn’t know how to do it.

You phone began to ring, the ringtone “Barbie World by Nicki Minaj ft. Ice Spice”. Y’all were shimming to it before ChiChi got up.

“I got it!” ChiChi threw her doll to the side, the phone stopped ringing and she missed the call.

She noticed it was a text from grandma, she grabbed the phone and brought it back to you.

“It’s Grandma! Is it another barbecue?”

“Haha No. I don’t think I’ll be bringing your father or uncle’s to another one.”

You looked at her message, it was kind of weird the way she typed or spoke.

But you shook it off as her being in a rush, and rushing you on top of it… That part is definitely just like your momma

You got dressed and spoke with Tomas, “Tomas can you watch the girls till I come back from momma’s house?”

“Of course Y/N, I would not mind whatsoever. The girls are a pleasure to be with.”

“Thank you. GIRLS! Uncle Tomas will watch you till I come back!” You put on your coat and grabbed your old house keys.

“Yay!” The girls shouted, running out and grabbing Tomas pulling and pushing him in the room.

“Let’s play pet shop.” Sierra recommended.

“YAY PET SHOP!” They all cheered, Tomas face turned nervous.

“Oh no… Not pet shop.”

The door closed, and already you hear chaos and you shake your head smiling.

You had your friend Liu Kang form you a portal to earth. As you headed to your house, you noticed there were no lights on which was weird.

As you got closer to the door, it was super quiet. You somehow was getting a weird feeling, the same one with the text.

You took out your keys and opened the front door, walking in. “Momma?… I came to pick up my husbands gift?…”

No response… Which was weird you put your bags and items on top of the island in the kitchen and headed straight to the living room.

You saw your family chained and tied up with water, stuck in a water sphere they saw you. Reacting strongly, they were trying to speak but there was no sound coming through the sphere.

Before you could try to go to them, you were pulled back. Mouth covered and muffled by water

“Let’s talk somewhere private, shall we?”

The mysterious man took you somewhere, the spell breaking. Dropping your parents, your parents quickly running. To see them already gone through a portal.

“THAT’S WHY I’M A HAVE MY SON IN LAW BEAT YO DEMONIC ASS! Fucking with my babygirl!” Your mother shouted before the portal close.

“Daddy, bring me my phone. I gotta make a call.”

Your father went back in the house, she worried for her babygirl.

̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

“I told you he was going to get all the praise.” An dong ni whispered to his brother Alex.

“I heard that.” Bi-Han said as they continued walking back home.

“You all did well, a bit sloppy but durable. A little more training could fix that.”

The boys groaned, before quickly straightening up after their father gave them the stare.

As they got closer to home, they heard commotion. Then they saw Y/N’s parents, the boys got excited running to them.

“Grandma! Grandpa!”

“Our little black ninjas! How’s our grand babies!?” There grandmother said hugging the four boys and the other four hugging there grandfather.

“Ya’ll gotten so big.” There grandfather commented. Then your mother stood up walking to hug Bi-Han, he returned. Breaking the hug, holding her close by the arms.

“How did you get here and why?” Bi-Han asked curiously, then he noticed you weren’t around anywhere.

“Where is Y/N?…” Bi-Han asked, with worry slowly rising.

Your parents looked at each other, then back at him. “How about one question at a time baby alright. My babygirl told me you have anger issues…”

“We got here with the help of Johnny boy to get in touch with this little Asian man that opened some big fire portal. To come find you, because our daughter was kidnapped.” Your father answered straight out.

“Kidnapped!?”

“By this random motherfucker, that just walked into my house. Ruining my nice clean floors, and attacked us… forced us to trick my baby to come… or he would’ve killed us, and delivered our corpses to you…” Your mother started crying, putting her hands in her face.

Your father and brother in laws trying to calm her down. “T-They t-took my baby B-Bi-Han. I w-wanted to BEAT that niggas ass… So badly… M-M-My baby…This is my fault!”

To say Bi-Han was pissed was an understatement, he grabbed his mother’s hands from her face as she was sniffling.

“You had no choice, you both are alright yes.”

They both nodded.

“Good, tell me everything. Any detail will be helpful, we will bring her back. Whoever has her, don’t know who they’re dealing with.” Bi-Han said in an intimidating tone. Then he noticed Tomas, and stared confused.

He had a dog collar on, with dog ears and face painted like a dog. “Your daughters.”

Was all Tomas said.

̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

“Now tell me earthrealmer, where is Sub-zero holding his warriors he is building.”

“I don’t know about anything you’re asking? I don’t dabble deep into my husband’s shit, unless he involved me in it.” You responded spitefully.

You were tied in the middle of a dry spot in the ocean. With water parted around you, if he let it go. He will drown you, and you are not a swimmer.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself earthrealmer.”

“Kiss my ass, I already told you. Whether you believe me or not, seems like a personal problem nigga.” You glared, and he returned it

“You really do have a death wish?”

“I could say the same for you Rain. I’ve had enough of sorcerers for one day.” Bi-Han replied, walking with his sons.

“Oh look… You brought your abominations with you.”

“Watch your tongue sorcerer, before I tear it out.” Bi-Han got into a stance.

“I suggest you corporate or your little pet will drown.” Rain showed him where you were at.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I will handle him, you boys get your mother.”

Rain slammed his staff down on the ground, forming water soldiers. As well as letting the ocean suck you in.

“Mother!” The boys yelled.

Alex was thrown into the water by one of his brothers, while the other soldier. To get you, as you swam to reach your son. You couldn’t, Alex caught you already passed out.

He formed an iceberg around you both. To float up easily. Once y’all reached the top, he pulled you both to the surface. You weren’t breathing and the boys got worried.

“DAD!” Shang your son, trying to pump your chest. Bi-Han ran to your side, moving the boys aside. They were trying to refrain from crying, as there father was pressing your chest and blowing air in your mouth.

“You will not die on me Y/N!”

After several attempts, you finally coughed up water. Bi-Han held you close to his chest as you coughed up more water in his chest. You held him tight as he rubbed your back.

“Maybe *cough* I should take swimming lessons.” You chuckled weakly. Bi-Han smiled at you, pulling you into a strong hug.

His face in the crook of your neck, “I am glad you are safe.”

The boys dog piled you both in a big ball hug. As he helped you up, you winced. He noticed your legs were scrapped and you were slightly bruised.

“Hehe… We got a bit physical before he restrained me. You know I was not going down without a fight.” You smirked at him, he loves how strong willed you are.

He then picked you up bridal style, “BI-HAN!” You blushed, arms around his neck.

“You should not walk when you are injured, and we don’t need you delaying our journey home.”

“Wow, okay… What about that water bender dude?”

“We have something special planned for him.”

You saw your boys tie up the bloody man and dragging him.

̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝

When you made it back home, you were greeted by your worried parents, daughters, and brother in laws. Happy that you returned home safely.

Your leg was bandaged by Kuai Liang, you were exhausted from today’s events. Bi-Han ordered everyone to not disturb you while you rest.

Bi-Han made sure you had a guard by you at all times no matter what.

BONUS: Also as promised Bi-Han gave all his time to his girls. And played salon with him, doing his hair

A/N: I LOVED THIS! Such great plot fuel, and I love utilizing other characters to make things more interesting. I hope y’all love it and sorry for the long wait, I wanted it to be good💅🏾

#mortal kombat #bi han sub zero #fem reader #reader insert #bi han mortal kombat #fanfic #black reader #bi han mk #bi han x reader #bi han fanfic #black fanfic writer #black girl magic #black family #family fanfic #lin kuei

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itsthestutterforme · 5 months

Text

Lloyd’s Girl 1/2 (Lloyd Hansen x tech!reader)

Summary: When Lloyd’s team bagged Fitzroy, they found him trying to destroy a hard drive. The hard drive had levels of deep encryption that Lloyd’s techs couldn’t break through. Thankfully, he knew who to call but you two have a history.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, reader is Black, dark themes (stalking, murder, allusions to sex), minors DNI

“I’d rather you punch me in the dick,” Lloyd’s shoulders tense with irritation at the mention of Suzzzane’s name. “I will gladly punch you in the dick, Lloyd,” Suzanne snaps.

Lloyd rolls his eyes and Denny continued to conversation about tracking down Six. He agreed to help Denny and made arrangements to figure out where Sierra Four’s funeral was so he could intercept Fitzroy.

In the meantime, he sent a team to grab Claire. On the plane ride to D.C., Lloyd logged on to a monitoring device he put in your hotel you were currently in. You were in Berlin on a business trip. He watched you through the screen. You were stirring in bed, mindlessly reaching for your phone.

You had lifted your head to check the time. By the way you shot out of bed and frantically tore off your pajamas, Lloyd could assume you were late for the 10:30 a.m. meeting you had. He had one of his employees hack into your work calendar so he could see all your meetings over the course of the year, keen on any updates.

“Sleepyhead,” he clicks his tongue and swiped out of the app while you made your way into the bathroom. Ever since you called the affair off, he’s been keeping tabs on you. Waiting- hoping you would change your mind.

Truth is, you knew he was watching you. You had discovered one of Lloyd’s mini cams in the house you shared with your husband, Conrad. And any hotel or Air B&B you would stay at for any period more than a week, he would put cams in the room.

You were his. He had to knew where you were at all times. But if you had to be honest, you liked that he was watching you. You liked that he longed for you.

It made you feel safe that you had someone as ruthless as Lloyd was protecting you. If someone even lifted a finger to harm you, they would be in a ditch by morning. He made you feel powerful. Conrad was devoted to his work a plane engineer. Lloyd was devoted to you.

“They’ve hit another wall, sir. They said they can’t crack it.” One of Lloyd’s men briefed. The encryption was damn near impossible to get through. It would shut down anyone’s computer who tried to break through it. No matter the angle.

“We need to figure out what’s on that drive and why Fitzroy was so keen on destroying it.” Suzanne states. “Well no shit, Suzanne.” Lloyd’s snaps, looking over when one of the techs slammed the desk in annoyance. His computer was shut down again.

“I can get a tech from the base to come but-“ “There’s no point. You need someone that knows decryption like the back of their hand,” a smile crept on his face. “I have an idea on who to call,” “Fuck no. Anyone associated with you is someone I want to stay far away from,”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. This is your mess I was forced to clean up.” Lloyd dialed your number and left the room for privacy. You were walking back from getting your ass chewed out by your boss for being late to the meeting with the company’s board members. It made you look unreliable despite being the highest earning cyber security rep. Your net worth was climbing into the six digits.

You pulled your phone out of your purse when you felt it vibrate. You stopped in the middle of the walk way once you realized who it was. Hesitating a moment, you finger hovered over the answer button until it clicked.

“Hello?” You answered. “Hey kitten,” your heart skipped at beat at the nickname but tried your best to maintain a poker face. “Lloyd,” you greet. “I need that pretty little brain of yours to crack something for me,” you opened your mouth to say something when someone body checked you.

You looked over at the man and he lifted his hands in annoyance. He had said something in German but you put two and two together and reckoned it was something about you standing in the middle of sidewalk. You swallowed your embarrassment and stepped off to the side.

“Um, what’s in it for me?” You asked. Lloyd went silent for a moment and you had looked down at your phone to see if he was still on the call. A soft grunt caught your attention. You took a step back when you realized what had happened. The man from earlier has been stabbed right before he turned the corner. A pool of blood formed around him, staining his white jacket. Another man dressed in casual clothing was standing over him.

It was obvious he was military. He looked at you and gave a little wave before crossing the street. Your gaze found the blinking camera directly above you and everything started to make sense. “Lloyd?” “Yes, cupcake?” “What’s in it for me?” “Hm, how about a new pair of Louis Vuittons? Red bottoms.” He offers.

“Count me in,” “Great! A car will pick you up in ten,” “Oh, I’m not at home.” You threw out, curious as to what he would say. “That’s cute. Don’t forget to pack a bag.” You hung up the phone and continued your walk back to the hotel, stepping over the rude man from before.

“Care to tell me who is better than my CIA techs?” Suzzane asks when Lloyd reenters the room. “Y/N Hansen,” she reaches to take a sip of her drink. “You married Y/N?” I wish, Lloyd thinks to himself.

“No, she’s my brother’s wife. She was the top of her class and was offered a six figure salary straight out of college. She makes a normal guys salary on a weekly paycheck. If anyone can do the impossible, it’s her.” Lloyd explains, crunching on some chips.

“I didn’t know you were still in touch with her. Sounds like you still have a pant busting crush on her,” “Say that again and I’ll snap your neck,” he casually threatens. He stands and takes out his wallet, dropping his platinum card on the desk of a female employee. “I need you to go to the nearest Louis Vuitton store and find a cute pair of red bottoms. Size 9.5.”

“Yes, sir,” she says softly, taking the card into her hands and gathering her belongings to leave.

Even with taking Lloyd’s jet, the ride was still long. You only got one or two hours of sleep, which made you cranky to say the least. By the time you reached the compound, you were half asleep and hungry as hell. The door was opened for you and you took your weekender bag in your hands.

You stepped out of the car, arching your back as you stretched. Lloyd meets you at the top of the stairs with his arms open. “Kitten,” he greets, giving you a once over and taking his time. You wore a white skirt, a black blouse with a matching black blazer. He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“Lloyd,” you said softly. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound of your voice. It was the first time hearing your voice that wasn’t behind a screen. “No time to get you settled, sweetheart. We need this hard drive decrypted ASAP,” “On it,” he takes your bag from your hands and moves aside to let you walk in front.

“Shit,” you realized you hadn’t zipped one of your black thigh high boots all the way. You bend down to zip it up but Lloyd stopped you. He had bent down and cradled your ankle in his hand, grazing your skin with his knuckle as he zipped the boot up. You let out a breath, your legs had goosebumps from his touch.

You hated how your body still reacted to him after all this time. You were here for an all of five minutes and had the cold-blooded Lloyd Hansen on his knees before you. He could tell you had sprayed your signature perfume on the back of your thighs. And it drove him absolutely crazy. You gasped when he caressed the back thigh. He stood and wiped off the dirt from his pants.

“Let’s get you inside,” he leads you inside the compound and you took off your jacket. “Long time no see, Y/N. Seems like you’re doing good for yourself.” Not knowing what to say that, you walk passed her and watched one of the techs attempted to decrypt the drive. “Still not one for talking, I see,” Suzzane says to herself.

The tech was kicked out of the program and the computer shut off. Mm, this looks like it’ll be fun. You thought. “Alright anyone who is working on the decryption, stop. You’ll just get kicked out again. Go back to your normal jobs and leave the decryption to me,” you announce to the room. The techs stopped and looked over to Lloyd. “You heard her,”

“You mind?” You made eye contact with one of the techs and they stammered to say something. A reaction that Lloyd didn’t like. He crossed the room and took out his pocket knife. Spinning the chair around, he pressed the knife to the man’s throat. “When she speaks, you listen. Got it?” He speaks slowly and calculated. The man shuddered at Lloyd’s intense gaze. “Now get the fuck out of her seat,”

Lloyd pulls away and the man abruptly stands from the chair and you slide into the seat.

After forty minutes of consistently typing an aggressive decrypting algorithm that you had personally developed and sold for $10k a download, you broke through the first layer of encryption.

“Huh,” you linked your arms above your head and leaned back in the chair. Lloyd had just come back from having a ‘talk’ with Fitzroy, wiping his bloody hands on a cloth. You had tuned out his screams so you could focus at the task at hand. “What do you mean ‘huh’? Did you crack it?” Suzzane asks as she approaches.

“Just the first level. There’s a very sensitive Trojan horse tacked on this one. You only have one shot to get the right code.” “And if we don’t?” Suzzane continues. “Everything that was previously on it will be wiped instantly. Someone really doesn’t want you to find out what’s on this drive.” You explain, cracking your knuckles one by one.

“Can you do it?” She asks and you rolled your eyes at the request. “I’m really good at what I do, Suzzane. Give me an hour tops. No distractions,”

You looked over at Lloyd and he winked at you. “Before you do that,” he trails off and comes back with a bag on food with a Post-Mate’s seal on it. Your smile widened when he slid a shoe box over to you. “As promised,”

#black!reader #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x black!reader #thegrayman #ryan gosling #courtland gentry

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drivinmeinsane · 8 months

Text

Crimson Headache

※ Sierra Six x Afab!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You wonder something about Six. Will he allow himself to surrender to what he really wants?

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content

※ Content/Tags: Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut, Protected Sex, Male breast worship (mild), Wound care, Pet Names, No use of Y/N, Fluff. No use of pronouns for the reader, Not beta read (we just die)

※ Word count: 3,337

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: Got too overcome at the sight of Ryan Gosling's tits when he was in the Gray Man. Will it happen again? Probably. This was been sitting in my docs for ages while I poked at it occasionally. So uh... enjoy.

A dog barks in the distance, the sound blending in with the occasional passing car as the noises of the night creep through the open window. The curtains rustle as they get stirred by the crisp, autumn breeze. It’s the perfect kind of night to be tucked into bed under the covers and reading a book by the comforting glow of the bedside lamp. The only way it could be better was if there was a warm body laying beside yours. You were so painfully, desperately lonely in the absence of your companion.

You flip another page of the book you’re holding in your hands. Six had given it to you the evening he was called away on another job. The mission he was recruited for is the kind where he couldn’t disclose any of the details or even take the risk of a phone call while away, secure line or not. As soon as he walked out the door, you would be left in the void of not knowing if he is safe or if he would even be coming back… hence the book. It carries the promise that he will return, that he has to come back so you can talk about what you read in his absence. That was four days ago. You’ve been slowly dragging your way through the chapters. You’ve read sections of the text over and over to savor the meaning of it like a piece of candy melting in your mouth.

You’re so engrossed in the paragraph you’re reading, so captivated in horror along with the characters at the sight of unexplainable creatures moving amongst the branches of willow trees that you don’t see the man in the doorway. Unbeknownst to you, he stands there for a long while, watching the way your lips part and gasp at a newfound twist, the way your face scrunches at a particularly unsettling moment. He savors the sight of you and waits for you to realize that he’s here. Several pages go by, held gently between the pads of your fingers as you turn them, before you pause to reach for the water bottle on your nightstand. You catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the corner of your eye. You startle and miss the water bottle, it falls to the floor with a heavy thud and rolls to a stop against the dresser. You’re scrambling, prepared to scream when you realize you recognize the silhouette. It’s Six.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you gasp, falling back on the bedspread.

There’s a quiet chuckle followed by a decidedly insincere sounding apology. “Sorry, beautiful.”

He doesn’t move any closer, choosing to observe as you mark your place amongst the pages of the book. You set it aside with slightly shaky hands and observe him. You can’t make out any details beyond the circumference of the soft light radiating from the lamp, so you beckon for him to come closer. He hesitates for a long moment before obeying. He moves stiffly but steps right up to the foot of the bed, letting his shins hover mere inches away from the mattress.

You can’t stifle the gasp that bursts from your mouth at the sight of him. He recoils slightly at the sound but keeps his eyes unwaveringly focused on you. He is a complete and utter mess. His shirt is marred with an impressionist's interpretation of a crime scene. It’s dried to a deep, almost brown, burgundy in the areas where the blood soaked into the fabric. His face isn’t any better. It’s a disaster of wet and dried blood, bruises just beginning to purple underneath the gore. You are on your knees all but immediately, fighting to be at the edge of the bed. Your hands uselessly flutter around him. You’re not sure what parts of him are safe to touch. It’s impossible to be certain what amount of the viscous liquid has come from his own body.

“I missed you, Six. I missed you so much.” You’re half sobbing in relief that he’s come home to you. Even if he is bloody and bruised. You’ve barely settled your hands on his broad shoulders before he’s on you.

He bypasses your attempts to soothe him, choosing instead to tangle his hand in your hair. He gives it a firm tug to bare your neck to him before mouthing roughly along the column of your throat. You gasp at the sensation. His facial hair feels like fire lapping against your sensitive skin. The hot heat of his mouth only strengthens the comparison. You yield to him willingly as he manhandles you. A whine escapes you when his teeth nip a little too hard on your delicate flesh. He’s so gentle and tender with you outside of the handful of sexual encounters you’ve shared that it always shocks you how aggressive he is in bed. He seems at his most relaxed when he’s simply spending time with you or letting you roughhouse him, but when it comes to sex… he’s as strangely stilted and tense as he is now, almost as if he’s working his way through a script. It hasn’t seemed that he finds much pleasure for himself outside of the moments when he’s working his mouth between your legs. He never quite manages to look you in the face either while he permissibly degrades you. You wonder…

“Hold on.” He is busy biting a mark into your collarbone and muttering something about you being a good girl for him. The hand not intertwined with your hair has made its home around the base of your throat. The hold is threatening to become a hard press into your esophagus. “Six, wait a second.”

The agent instantly withdraws and the look he gives you is wary. He looks like a scolded dog. You cup his face and rub a gentle thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. He relaxes into your hold, pressing his face into the warmth of your palm. The desperation of being needed, of being touched, is rolling off of him in suffocating waves. It only furthers your growing suspicions about him.

“Do…” you bite your lip, bringing your other hand up in the vain attempt to brush his hair off his forehead. It had tumbled loose and gotten caught up in the blood on his face. You’re sure that there will be streaks of it along your own skin. “Do you even like this kind of sex?”

He goes rigid against you, wrongfooted. “I like pleasing you.”

“Baby, that’s not what I'm asking. Do you like being rough?” You question, hesitation slowing your words.

“Honestly? No.” The blunt confession is given as though dragged out of him, kicking and screaming. There’s a vaguely ashamed expression lingering in his eyes.

“Why do it?”

He’s silent for so long, you almost think he’s never going to respond. “I thought it’s what you wanted. Anyone else has wanted me to be… a certain way. Told me it’s how I should be. Do you not like it that way?”

“I like you in any way you want to give yourself. I just want you to be comfortable and feel good too,” you say sincerely.

He looks stunned by your admission. Six’s life has been nothing but molding himself into the ideal aggressor. There’s no room for softness or vulnerability, not when he is supposed to remain impartial, unattached . His hands are meant for causing harm. As he has said in the past; he was taught how to hurt people, not how to care for them. He shifts uncertainly in place, processing your words.

“I see.” It’s said without conviction.

You let out a soft sigh and stroke the crease that’s formed between his eyebrows. His marginally relaxes under your soothing touch. The injured man allows you to give him a chaste kiss.

“Let me take care of you for once, baby. Please,” you plead.

There’s a moment where you can see him warring with himself but he relents. Six surrenders to the deeply buried desire to be looked after, to be treated as something more than a tool. He allows you to take his much larger hand in yours and lead him into the bathroom.

He looks worse under the bright lights. The shock of red liberally coating him is stark against the white walls and fixtures. You ignore the bile fighting to rise in your throat at the sight and focus on gently extracting him from his shirt. His stomach warms the backs of your fingers while you slowly peel the soiled material away from his skin. He twitches slightly when you graze his side. You suck in a sympathetic breath when you realize why. His flesh is a mottled crime scene of bruising from his armpit to his lowest rib. You help him ease the destroyed shirt over his head. Despite himself, he lets out a pained grunt at raising his arms. It gets tossed to the side the moment he’s free of it.. His trousers are a much simpler affair, one that you’re able to leave him to handle while you turn on the shower.

His touch against your lower back is a welcome surprise. He pulls you against his chest, hands coming to rest on your stomach. He’s fully naked and blazingly warm against your back even though the cotton of the shirt you’re wearing.

“Raided my closet?” He questions softly against your ear. The sensation of his breath sends an involuntary shiver through your body.

“I missed you,” you remind him.

“I missed you too,” he confesses.

He works his bloodied hands, with their split knuckles, under the fabric of the borrowed shirt covering your body. Soon, you’re stepping out of your underwear and pulling him under the warm spay with you. He groans appreciatively at the feeling of the water hitting his back. You spend your time with him, taking the utmost care when rubbing the shampoo into his scalp. The frothy water is tainted red on its journey to the shower drain. There will be a red ring around the edge of the tub that will need to be scrubbed away tomorrow, but for right now, your main concern is the man melting underneath your hands. By the time you’re rinsing him off underneath the showerhead, he’s stooped over in order to press his face into the crook of your neck. His arms are looped tightly around you, one hand resting on your shoulder and the other gripping the softness of your hip.

“You don’t have to pretend to be anything you aren’t, you know… Not with me,” you murmur. He nods.

You turn off the water, careful not to jostle him in the process. He peels himself off of you, avoiding making eye contact. There’s insecurity written across his face and it only grows when you encourage him to sit on the edge of the tub. You gently towel dry him, letting him guide you into standing between his spread knees with his hands on your sides. He rubs circles into your skin while you tend to his injuries. You’re thankful that it’s nothing too terrible. Most of the blood hadn’t been his, but there is a sizable, abit shallow, gash in his hairline that requires the careful application of liquid bandage. There’s little you can do about the bruising. You hold Six’s face in your hands while you wait for the adhesive to dry, brushing your thumbs over the coarse hair of his goatee.

“All done?” He asks. The look in his blue eyes is tender, but there is a glint of something else swimming in the depths..

“Mmhm,” you affirm.

He kisses you, brushes his tongue against the seam of your lips. You open for him eagerly. This is a different kind of possession than the kind he had shown you earlier. It’s not domineering, he’s not rigid and wooden underneath your hands. There’s no push and pull. It’s merely two bodies interlinking. You return Six’s interest. You weave your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck. A low groan rolls through him. It’s enough for you to encourage the man fully up onto his feet, to walk him blindly into the bedroom and to the bed. Your bodies jostle together, naked and damp. He lays down on the bed at your behest. He allows his body to unwind against the yielding surface. He’s a vision in the warm light. Drops of water are beaded on the miles of his skin and it’s taking every scrap of your self-control not to consume him. To lick and bite at him until there’s nothing remaining but the memory of him on your taste buds.

“Do you trust me, baby?” You ask, moving to kneel beside him on the mattress. A shudder runs through him at your proximity. He nods, eyes lidded. He’s fully allowing you to take control of this situation.

You press your mouth against his, once, twice. Priming him for your next movements. He responds to your attention with a hitch of his breath. You cradle his jaw in your hand, grounding him as you make your way down his neck to his ample chest. He’s never let you touch him like this before during sex. He’s always captured your attention with his own actions. Never mind how his own orgasms seemed forced while he was blowing your mind.

His hands shoot to your shoulders when you swirl your tongue around his nipple, gripping hard enough to leave the imprints of his fingers branded into your skin. You pause, letting it pebble between your lips. His grip loosens marginally and you suck gently. The noise he makes is loud enough to wake the dead. It’s an unconstrained growl and his body twists and bucks. Encouraged, you lap at the sensitive skin. It grows swollen and hard at your attention. You drag the hand from his face down to his unoccupied pec. You knead the tissue for a moment before rolling that nipple between your fingers. His chest is heaving under your exploratory teasing. You pull back to observe the effect you’ve had on him. His eyes are focused on you, and his mouth is open slightly, panting. His facial hair does little to conceal his flushed state. You cast a glance downward and he’s starting to get hard.

You skate your hand down his stomach, savoring the way his muscles flex under your fingers. You take his cock in hand, earning another low moan. He’s huge in your grasp. You can’t quite encircle him within the ring of your index finger and thumb. You leisurely stroke him. He throbs in your hold, a warm trail of precum drips from his tip, pooling against the side of your hand. You give him a light squeeze before taking your hand away.

You slide it between your own legs, quickly gathering up the slick at your entrance before you ease a finger inside yourself. Six rolls over to watch you. He audibly swallows at the sight of your pillowy thighs wrapped around your wrist as you open yourself up to take him. You bite back a moan of your own as you sink three fingers home, spreading them increasingly wider. Six is a big man, he’s going to stretch you deeper and wider than you can reach, but at least you can prepare the way for him. You pull out of yourself, the sound is obscenely wet. He reaches for you, intent on taking over. The desire to fuck into you with his much larger digits is written all over his face, but you stop him.

“I want to cum on your cock.” The admission strikes him dead in his tracks.

He lets you rummage in the nightstand drawer for protection. You can feel his gaze on you like a physical weight. You find what you were looking for and turn back to him. You press a hand against his shoulder and push Six down onto his back again. He holds himself still, muscles trembling with the effort of not rutting up into your hand while you unroll a condom over his erection.

You swing a leg over him and pause, hovering over him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is thick, low with arousal.

You line the tip of him up with your opening and brace your hands on his chest. He watches you raptly while you ease down on him. The stretch burns as your body accommodates his girth. You gasp as you fully seat yourself on him. He’s fully sheathed inside of you. You sit for a moment, letting your body get used to the way he fills you. You use the hands on his chest to push off, settling into a steady rhythm. Both of you are letting out noisy gasps. He clamps his hands over your thighs, drags his eager touch to the backs of them. He’s using his grip as a support for your movements. Any tension that he’s had in him during previous encounters with you is gone. He’s wholly enthralled, clearly engaged. There’s nothing being forced here.

“Touch yourself, please,” he pants out.

You can’t refuse him when he asks so nicely. You reflexively clench down around him when your fingers find your clit, He groans at the increase of pressure. It’s wet, sloppy. Your fingertips occasionally make contact with his dick as you ride him. You’re soaking him. You can only begin to imagine the mess that would be pooling at the base of his erection if he weren’t safely encased in a condom.

You collapse forward on top of him. Letting him hold you up and drive his hips against you while you circle your clit with frantic fingers. You’re close, so close. Your mouth finds its way to his chest. You suck a mark into the yielding tissue, a hint of your teeth has him letting out a strangled grunt. You speak between the presses of your mouth to his pec.

“I’m yours.” He makes a sound, low, broken. “I’m yours, Six.”

His grip on your thighs turns bruising. His handprints are going to linger on your skin for days. You’ll feel the phantom of his touch with every step. He’s marked you muscle deep.

“Stay with me,” he begs. There’s a wild desperation on his face and you realize that he means permanently, that he wants you with him indelibly. You’re not just some temporary outlet for him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise. You’re his for as long as he wants you. You’d let him be your forever.

At your words, he moves his hands from your plush thighs and digs his fingers into your hips. The man underneath you grinds you down against his pelvis as he cums. His cock spasms inside you, sudden heat making itself known. It’s enough to push you over the edge. You seize up around him, milking him dry. You sit up and withdraw your cramping hand from between your legs. You rest, thighs relaxing from their chokehold against his flanks. Six is watching you, trying to catch his breath. The expression on his face is slightly awed, vulnerable. He looks hopelessly, helplessly in love with you.

He softens and you ease yourself off of him, letting him slip free. With shaky legs and clumsy hands, the two of you clean up in the bathroom. You steady the agent as needed and he uses the excuse to press close to you. Necessities out of the way, you help Six back into bed. You pull the blankets up over him and he flips over to pillow himself against you. You spread your hands over his back, tracing aimless circles over his warm skin. You massage a thick ridge of scar tissue that disrupts the smooth topography of his shoulder blades, he sighs in contentment.

“How was the book?” His voice is sleepy, relaxed.

#The Gray Man (2022)#Sierra Six #Sierra Six x Reader #The Gray Man Fanfiction #Sierra Six Fanfiction #Courtland Gentry #Courtland Gentry x Reader #My posts #My work

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delopsia · 1 year

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One Day | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB! Reader, unprotected sex, sneaking out with Rhett, mentions of Perry killing Trevor, a very brief instance in which Rhett's truck is shot at (in other words, usage of a firearm), angst if you squint, and brief "I love you's" at the end.

You just so happen to look out the window right as a single-cab truck pulls into your driveway. Four and a half minutes later than you'd expected. From here, it's hard to tell if it's really him or if it's another wayward truck seeking to use your wrap-around driveway as a means to turn around. The little voice in the back of your head begins to count anyway.

One. The headlights shut off, vivid red brake lights illuminating the darkness lurking behind as the vehicle slows.

Two. Your breath catches, unable to escape your lungs, as you watch the familiar frame of a GMC Sierra crawl up your driveway.

Three. There's a dull hum as it inches closer; that old ranch truck has never been quiet. If it was, then maybe your hands wouldn't be trembling as you reach for the doorknob.

Four. The metal is cold in your hands, burning right up into your bones as you struggle to turn it. Has it always been this heavy?

Five. Crisp Spring air rushes in through the door as you gradually push it open, carrying with it a chill that nips at your exposed skin. Maybe a tank top wasn't the best clothing choice; too late to go back and change now.

Six. As the truck comes to a halt, mere feet from your front door, there's a commotion behind you. Heavy footsteps slamming against the hardwood, growing louder.

Seven. From the corridor, you can hear your father's voice; booming across the house.

Eight. The man inside leans across the bench seat, pushing open the door. The hinges squeal as it swings out. You can't remember the last time you've seen that sideways grin.

Nine. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch your dad reaching into his gun cabinet, metaphorical steam already blowing out of his ears.

Ten. Your foot hits the porch just as he gets ahold of that shotgun.

"Come on, come on!" Rhett hollers, holding his hand out. It's only a few steps to get off the porch, and yet by the time you've hit the first of the three stairs, your father is already behind you. Can feel the wisp of air as he swipes out to grab you, missing by a fraction.

Your open hand finds Rhett's. It's hard to tell if you jump or if he pulls you, but your ass hits the cloth seat regardless. Tires kick up a plume of dirt and gravel as the vehicle veers a sharp left. The engine roars like a lion, but even it's not loud enough to conceal the heart-stopping sound of your father's favorite 12 gauge. Two, three, four, five shots, scattering against the tailgate.

Rhett's hands fly across the steering wheel, pulling a hard right out of the driveway. The passenger door swings shut with a resounding bang. You're already turning in your seat, peering through the back window.

"'s it look like he's followin'?" That deep voice rumbles, sounds so loud in this sudden silence.

It's too dark to tell. There's not a single street lamp around to light the path behind you, and even as you squint, you can't make anything out. "I don't think so," but it's hard to say for sure.

And it's hard to focus when you can feel a pair of eyes boring holes into your side, transfixed on the remarkably thin material of your tank top. As you settle back down into the seat, he looks away, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

You really should be focusing on getting that poor excuse of a seatbelt on, but you're too busy leaning over. That two-day-old stubble is rough against your lips, almost tickling as a smile works its way across his face. It's been a while since the last time you've seen his lopsided grin light up the cab of this old truck.

"Jus' one?" He hums, gaze flickering between you and the road. If he had his choice in the matter, you're sure he wouldn't be paying attention to that cracked pavement at all.

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you lean over once more, teeth clacking together because neither of you can break the smiles from your faces. Chapped lips rough against yours, the faintest hint of something...different. "Is that root beer?"

His gaze darts back to the road quicker than it usually does, "y'can taste that?" In the seat, his hips shift, lifting to allow his hand to wander into his back pocket.

Rootbeer-flavored lip balm.

"I didn't think you used those?" You say it as if you're not thrilled to see that he's finally cracked. Those poor lips of his are always splitting, whether it be from his habit of chewing on them or from the elements, you're not sure.

"I didn't," fingernail tapping the side of the plastic tube, "'til my lip started bleedin' when I was kissin' you."

That... happened the last time you saw him, right? How long has it been since then? Two? Three? Four months? It had to have been because you clearly recall those crimson spots staining the perfect, white snow by your feet.

"I almost forgot about that," you hate that it slipped you for so long, too. If everyone around you had any choice in the matter, that would have been your last memory of this cowboy.

The one who quietly tells you that your phone is lighting up in your pocket because you're too focused on his handsome face to notice. The name of one of your friends flashes across the screen; she lives nearby, has heard that 12-gauge and that old GMC tearing down the street, and linked it to you.

You've never understood the dislike for Rhett.

Sure, his older brother is suffering his days in a penitentiary for beating their neighbor to death, Trevor, you think was his name. Royal should be finishing up his six-month sentence for aiding and abetting here soon, but those sentences should have never been allowed to carry over and punish Rhett too.

He'd been with you the night of the murder, curled up in your bed, a forgotten movie playing on your phone, too busy exchanging kisses to pay attention. You and your folks were his alibi; hell, he was invited over that night, no sneaking in required. There was extra breakfast on the table when you woke up, poor Rhett had cleaned all of the dishes by hand because he didn't realize the dishwasher was right next to him.

But, guilty by association.

If Perry was capable of killing Trevor with his bare hands, and their father capable of hiding a body for months on end, then that must mean Rhett is a danger too.

Lips press to your temple, lingering, never quite pulling away, "You're in your head again, sweetie."

You don't recall when he turned off the road, but you're completely off-road now. Stopped dead in the middle of a field that you can vaguely identify as belonging to the Abbott Ranch. Blinding white headlights illuminate the area in front of the truck, revealing a brilliant scattering of wildflowers. Yellow, blue, purple, white, orange.

"Hello?" A bold finger taps the tip of your nose. "'s anyone home?"

Blinking away your thoughts, "Yeah."

But you're clearly not because even as he shuts off the truck and begins to open the door, you're already climbing the ladder, back up into your clouds of thoughts. Wonderings of how long he'll be cast out of this small town. When they'll stop whispering his name like he's some fairy tale monster. How much longer you'll have to keep sneaking around in the dark like lovesick high schoolers.

The world shifts to the left. Big hands grip your waist, dragging you across the bench seat.

"Rhett!"

"'M real sorry," and there he is, standing just outside the truck, grinning at you like he's just won the lottery, "I's just lookin' for 'nother kiss, is all."

You can't tell if he's ramping up his accent, hoping for you to inevitably melt, or if it's naturally doing that on its own. But you're leaning forward regardless, meeting his pouty lips in the middle. Short, sweet little pecks that begin before the last one has ended. If you let yourselves have any more, you won't get out of this truck at all.

"Y'oughta be real cold in this lil' thing," Rhett muses, hands briefly squeezing your waist before he finally lets you go, "'n I don't think I got any blankets."

He says that, but as you round the truck together, you catch a glimpse of a bundle of blankets tucked into the corner. You recognize them, they're the same ones he keeps on the foot of his bed, for the rare instance he sleeps in his bedroom instead of his front seat.

"Are you fuckin—" his tone shifts as he reaches the tailgate, "I know he's just worried 'bout ya 'n all that, but did he really have to shoot my bumper?"

You're not sure what he's talking about until you see it for yourself. Tiny scatterings of round dents litter the right side of his bumper and tailgate, so many that you can't even begin to count them all. Birdshot.

Grimacing, "It could have been worse?"

There's a newfound squeal in the hinges as he lowers the tailgate, one you're certain has been there long before the birdshot pellets made their mark. But it still works; holds your weight just fine when Rhett helps you up into the truck bed. It's cleaner than you remember it being, and the faint scent of soap suggests that Rhett may have scrubbed it before coming to get you.

"Maybe he'll even it out for me the next time," you've got no clue how he manages to hop up so smoothly; no help required. "Thought the sneak-outs woulda stopped once I hit my twenties."

"Says the one who looks forward to said sneak outs," There's a pair of pillows tucked beneath the blankets, and you've almost certain that he hijacked them from his momma's couch.

It's been so long since the last time you've seen him settle into the back corner, one arm extended to you, beckoning you to cuddle up to him. You don't know how you managed to forget how carefully his arm settles around your shoulders, drawing your head down to rest against his chest.

Distantly, you think you catch his heartbeat picking up its pace, pitter-pattering away beneath your ear. Only grows louder when a midnight breeze sends you squirming further into his chest to escape the cold. If you tried, you think he'd let you squirm under his shirt.

But even with your slightly chattering teeth, you're talking again. "How much longer do you think we'll have to do this?"

Rhett's cold nose presses into your forehead as he presses a kiss there. "What? Me sneakin' you out like we're sixteen again?"

"Rhett."

"I wish I had an answer for that, doll," as he speaks, you tilt your head up to meet his eye. He's already looking down at you, a fondness in his gaze that contrasts so starkly with the frown on his thin lips. "This town never really forgets shit like that; I don't know if they'll ever..."

...they'll never forget, will they?

The arm around you drops, sinking lower along your back. Fingers press into your flesh, urging you up and right into his lap, settled comfortably between his legs. His chest is much warmer than his side was, big, welcoming you to snuggle right on into him. But even as he tucks this soft blanket around the both of you, making sure to cover every inch of your body, he can't hide the heaviness in his eyes. Completely drained of the naive hope he once harbored there.

You suppose that yours must look the same.

"We could get out of here," he croaks, "pack up 'n hit the road; find somewhere that don't know who we are." That deep voice of his practically vibrates in his chest. Rumbling into your ear and bouncing all around your head. It's almost enough to distract you from how open-ended that suggestion is.

"So say that one day, we do that," for the hell of it, you'll entertain the idea, "one day, we up and ditch this town. What then?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," Rhett's talking before you've even finished speaking. "Travel, settle down, and have nineteen kids, live a life of robbin' banks and kickin' ass. Whatever your pretty little heart wants."

Your head lifts, incredulous. "Only nineteen kids?"

"So long as you let me take Kevin and Ratchet Strap with us." Surely, he's not talking about the two barn cats, right? The cats that were dumped on the ranch last Winter?

"Didn't Cecelia threaten to call the police if you take her cats with you when you move out?" You say it as if you weren't there for that conversation. Held over a dinner table, served as the perfect opportunity to feed Cecelia's dry meatloaf to the dog curled at your feet.

"Not her cats no more."

"Huh?"

"She got the land in the divorce," his thumb swipes back and forth along your spine as he looks away from you, staring off into space, "Guess that ain't what she wanted 'cause she put the deed in my name 'n left the next fuckin' day."

"She left you?" Cecelia? The same woman who teared up at the notion of her boys moving out one day?

"Without a damn word," and the only reason you know he isn't joking is the flatness of his voice. Rock solid, not an expression on his face. No corners of lips turning upward, no eyes that smile with their devilish excitement. Nothing. "The livestock, the horses, the barn cats, hell, even the damn fruit flies are in my name."

His mouth opens like he's still got more to say, but nothing comes out. Doesn't look in your direction until you reach up, curling your fingers around his jaw and guiding him. There's a glassiness to his eyes, reflecting the light of the moon like it's a spotlight. You know that pressing your lips to his forehead won't fix make it go away; in fact, it'll likely only make it worse, but you do it anyway.

As if a dam has broken, he finishes his sentence. "Was waitin' to tell you in person."

"Do you have a plan about what you're gonna do?" Dumb question. For as long as you've known him, Rhett's always had plans brewing in the back of his head. Always tries to hold himself back when it comes time to suggest them, but can hardly wait longer than a few short seconds.

"Could sell it; use the money to settle down with you," he says, a little too quickly. The widening of your eyes sends him backtracking. "Or—or I could keep the land 'n make somethin' else work."

You hardly know what to say. You've known that he was serious about you from day one. Always has been. But even after all this time, you've never really...considered that he would sell the family ranch just to have a life with you. That century-old tradition truly means nothing when he's got you around.

"I just...wanted to put it out there," he reaches up to cradle your cheek in his big, rough palm, "If you want out of here one day, jus' say the word 'n I'll make it happen."

There are words on the tip of your tongue, but you're biting them back. Just to watch his face grow pale as the moon, the hand on your cheek trembling with spiked nerves.

You've really roped this ol' cowboy in, haven't you?

"Would you still throw away that family ranch of yours if I wanted to move into the tiniest apartment New York City has to offer?" Your attempt at feigning seriousness melts in a heartbeat, devilish smile growing. "Or if I said I wanted to move all the way up to Antarctica and live next door to a family of penguins?"

His eyes roll so far back in his head that you hope they get stuck. "Can I talk you down to the second smallest apartment?"

"I think I can deal with that." Your noses bump together as he leans up, keen on decreasing that gap between your bodies. It's hard to believe that you've forgotten what it feels like when the fingers of his free hand run up your back, slow, so barely there that it tickles. "One day we'll get to start that dream."

"One day?" You nearly miss it. Barely even classifiable as a whisper, mouth barely moving a fraction, an inner thought that only he was supposed to hear.

Oh, how you've missed the sound of that pleased exhale of his, melting into your kiss like butter in the summer sun. So soft and languid that even the rough stubble of his chin cannot distract you from how he hums against you. A smile fights its way into your sleepy dance, teeth clacking together. Whether it's you or him who's smiling the most, you can't tell.

Prying your eyes open, if only for a second, "I really do have you wrapped around my finger, don't I?"

He hasn't realized you're looking at him, doesn't realize that you're busy taking in every detail of him. From the birthmark just above his left eyebrow to the barely-there scar along his left jaw, Ratchet Strap clawed the hell out of him over the summer, the mark has never really left. That grin grows even bigger, "y' sure do."

It's hard to tell when you began slipping, gravity drawing you down so slowly that you hardly feel it, but you're much lower than you were before. Your shoe catches on the truck bed, provides the leverage you need to squirm back up.

Rhett jolts, cracking his head against the glass of his rear window.

"Rhett?" As you say his name, something twitches against your hip.

Oh.

"'M fine," pawing at the back of his head, nose scrunched, "jus' wasn't—fuck."

He's already half hard, straining against the coarse material of his jeans and right into your palm. Experimentally, you trace two fingers up and down him, mapping out his poorly concealed length. Those hips try to rise, but just as quickly, they squirm away; not quite sure what he wants.

"Someone's awfully sensitive," teasing, if only to see the tips of his ears turn red.

"Yeah," one of his hands fall, squeezing the edge of his truck like it's a lifeline, "Cause it's been a—ah, a fuckin' while."

You expect his other hand to come down to cover yours and guide you along like it usually does, but instead, it comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb stroking the skin there. Nearly distracts you from that sharp inhale of air when you arrive back at his oversensitive, leaky tip.

"Damn, Rhett," the moon doesn't provide enough light for you to see it, but you can feel a familiar wetness forming through his jeans. "You're leaking like a faucet."

"How did I know you were fixin' to say that?" He's trying so, so hard to come off as annoyed. His eyebrows knit with the effort of changing his tone, but he can't stop his words from becoming pitcher at the end.

For once, he's not wearing that rodeo buckle; makes it too easy for you to pop his button open and tug on the tiny zipper. Only one more layer keeps your hand away from—

"Don't say it," words blurted before you can even process your new discovery, "'m already mortified as it is."

Rhett going commando definitely was not on your bingo card, but you can't say you're complaining. How are you meant to gripe when you've already got his twitching cock in your hand? You certainly can't when you give him an experimental stroke, and those lithe hips buck up into it.

"Do I want to know?" You chirp, letting go of him just to watch him smack against his pale belly.

"Forgot to grab them before I took a shower," keening high in his throat as you take hold of him again, "and I lost—hah! Lost track of time." He's still trying to talk, but he's panting too hard to get another word out, overwhelmed just by the way your thumb rubs against his wet tip. "I got halfway downstairs before I realized."

Those sweet noises of his have you clenching your own legs together, trying to ignore the heat growing there. "You didn't have time to go back up?"

His head just about thrashes as he shakes out a no. "Was already late leavin' by that point."

You don't know what you want to look at more, the heavy length in your hand, downright glistening under the moonlight, or the veins in his neck as his head tips back, long lashes fanning out against reddened cheeks. Or maybe you should be looking at that chiseled, heaving chest, open blue flannel falling to his sides, leaving nothing but a plain gray t-shirt in its wake.

Maybe if you reach up and...

"Hey!" Jumping like a live wire.

"What?" All you've done is catch one of his nipples in between your thumb and forefinger, and he's already fussing.

"Leave," gasp, "leave those alone."

Unfortunately for him, leaving them alone is the last thing you're going to be doing. No, it's much more fun to let him think you're leaving it alone, that you're wetting your fingertips with your tongue just for the hell of it.

"What?" Reaching beneath his shirt, grazing past that firm, warm tummy of his, "afraid you'll cum from me playing with them again?" He'd probably have a retort if it weren't for you rolling that rapidly hardening bud between your wet fingertips. Poor thing made a mistake when he let you know just how sensitive he is here.

"Hold—ah," his hand shoots down, grabbing hold of your wrist, "'m gonna cum."

Your strokes slow, but they don't come to a full stop just yet, "you don't want to?"

Those eyelashes of his begin to flutter; you know what he's trying to imply here, and on most days, you'd go along with his subtle implications, but today you're playing dumb. You want, no, need to hear him say it out loud.

"Want..." Licking his lips, he pauses as if you'll suddenly understand. "You know what I want."

You just bat your eyelashes, "No, I don't think I do." Impatient hips rise up and down, working on their own accord as he pulses in your hand; you let him go.

There's that fussy little whine. Pitchy, frustrated, that neglected cock laying against his heaving belly, such an angry red that you can see it, even in the dark. His mouth is opening and closing, wants to say it, but he just can't seem to get it out.

"Ride me?" Rushed, words jumbled together, "Please?"

You're already reaching for the hem of your shorts, pulling them and your panties down all in one go, "Attaboy." Only have to look away to make sure you don't accidentally toss them completely out of the truck like you did the last time, but when you look back, Rhett's already wetting two of his fingers with his tongue.

It's a bit confusing, trying to worm your way out from between his legs and on top of his lap; Rhett's trying to help, but his attempts to move his legs out of your way only make it harder. The moment you're settled down on top of him, thighs resting on either side of his hips, he's reaching down between your legs. Dripping fingers drag between your folds, stroking past your clit on their way to their destination.

"Fuck, angel," talking before he even sinks his index halfway into you. Fuck, have his fingers always been this big? "Forgot how tight you are."

And that might have been because you forgot to relax, but you're not about to go voicing it. "To be fair, I haven't had you in me since the New Year."

If you'd known that you wouldn't see him for four months, maybe you would have gotten a hotel room and rode him until you were too sore for another round. Instead of having a quickie in the bathroom of the old country club. A last hurrah before everyone around you decided that they knew this cowboy better than you do.

His finger curls, stroking against your sensitive walls on every shallow thrust. Maybe one day you won't forget how easily he finds the rubbery little spot hidden inside, how he smiles the moment you gasp. Then he's easing back out, much to your dismay, but only to give you that second finger of his.

"Does tormenting me really get you this wet, hm?" Rhett's words are more of an amused hum than anything, but they're teasing nonetheless.

"What can I say?" Biting back a noise as he parts his fingers, gently stretching you, "You moan awful pretty."

You don't know if it's the words themselves or how you unintentionally mirrored the way he speaks, but his face turns a nice shade of cherry red. Reaching down, you grasp his wrist, gingerly pulling his fingers out of you. With this man, no amount of prep can fully prepare you for how thick he is, and you're too impatient to wait any longer.

Big hands rest on your hips as you take hold of his cock, dragging that leaking head between your folds, just like he did with his fingers. Though this time, you can't fight back the noise you make when he inevitably rubs past your swollen, neglected clit.

"Y'sure you don't need me to open you up a lil' more?" He asks, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin.

Still, you keep moving, beginning to sink down the moment he catches on your dripping entrance. Dull pressure blooms as that blunt cockhead eases inside, cunt gradually stretching to accommodate the dizzying girth of him. It's already an uncomfortable fit, always has been. No matter how wet you are or how much effort you put into prepping yourself, it's not enough.

That fat tip finally, finally slips inside, and on its own, your jaw slackens, mouth hanging ajar.

"Are you sure you didn't get bigger?" You're panting like a damn dog, thighs trembling as you sink a little further.

Weakly, Rhett chuckles, "Don't think I did?"

Bastard. Laughing like he's not the reason you're no longer satisfied by the small toys you had before you met him. Too short, too thin, not enough to have you gasping for breath when you've only taken half.

There's only an inch of him left, you're so close that your hips are nearly flush, but you can't breathe. Can't stop quivering around him, rapid little involuntary movements that send Rhett's eyes rolling back. Almost there. Almost there.

You don't think you've ever been more thankful to feel those rough jeans against your ass. Maybe, just maybe, you should have taken him up on that offer to open you up a little more. As if it would have made much of a difference.

A gust of wind blows past, biting at your exposed shoulders with frosty teeth.

Rhett frowns. Already caught on to the cause of your shiver.

You're going to tell him that you're fine; you'll get warm the moment you start moving, but Rhett's already made up his mind. Shrugging his flannel right off his shoulders and working it over you. Even helps you slip your arms into the soft, cozy sleeves.

"Thank you," the sleeves fall down your arms when you wrap them around his neck, using his shoulders for leverage as you lift your hips experimentally.

The ridges of the truck bed dig into your knees, and you just know that it's going to leave horrible bruises all over your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. So fucking full of some cowboy named Rhett that you can't think about anything but him. The way he twitches when you sink back down, the sickeningly wet noise that comes from between your legs.

Beneath you, his eyes are fixated on the obscene sight between your legs. He shifts, and all of a sudden, he's dragging right against a neglected bundle of nerves. There's nothing you can do to stop the noise it rips out of you, echoing out into the quiet night.

"There you go," he whispers, looking back up to take in your expression.

And you think you might melt on the spot.

Because that gaze is nothing but soft. Even as you find your rhythm, the truck swaying and breathy gasps slipping past his bitten lips, it doesn't fade. The stars above your head aren't the cause for the glittering in those deep ocean blues. Fuck, how does he manage to look up at you like you've spent a millennium hanging every star, moon, and planet in the sky?

Even with the world seemingly against you, looking into his eyes makes it feel like everything's going to work out after all.

"Look so beautiful like this," he pants, arms rising to slide around your waist, "fuck, darlin', look at you." Absolutely awe-struck by the way you move on top of him, barely clinging to his shoulders as he drives against that little spot he loves to abuse.

As you lean forward, intending to kiss him, his head down right nails that sensitive cluster of nerves. Leaves you crying out against his parted lips.

His arms tighten, hugging you close. "Shit. Can feel ya spasmin' around me, sweetie."

"Rhett," you don't even know what other word you can say, other than a tangled mantra of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett.

Behind you, his legs shift, feet finding leverage against the bed of the truck. That first little buck upwards is shallow, but it has you whimpering all the same, both of your voices dancing in the midnight air.

"'s that what you need, darlin'?" Grunting as he meets you in the middle, sends multi-colored spots scattering across your vision, "hm?"

There's a coil tightening between your legs as you nod, thighs aching with the effort of your motions. Too soon. Too soon. You need more, need to hear those soft grunts every time your bodies meet, need to move a little faster, but your muscles are screaming at you to slow down.

"I can't," your voice breaks as you shake your head back and forth.

"I've got ya," with his hands firmly on your hips, Rhett surges up, doesn't struggle a bit as he lays you down against the uneven bed of his truck. As soon as you're safely settled beneath him, he's grabbing hold of one of the gaudy pillows he's hijacked from the living room couch and eases it beneath your head.

Thick forearms settle on either side of you, caging you in as he starts to move. If the squelch of your wetness wasn't loud before, it absolutely is now, so goddamn filthy as he rubs against that soft spot within you. You can hardly bring yourself to look down, the sight of that thick cock of his disappearing into your weeping pussy is one that could kill.

"Feel so good 'round me," he groans, nose bumping into your cheek, little incantations of your name tumbling off his lips.

Reaching down between your bodies, the pads of your fingers find your neglected clit, so sensitive and on edge that you involuntarily clamp down around him like a vice. "Rhett!"

"Y'gonna let me cum in ya, darlin'?" Words grunted like they're a promise, fat cock pistoning in and out of you like you've been dreaming of for months. "Gonna let me fill this lil' pussy of yours up with my cum, hm?"

Your eyes can barely open, that coil growing tighter and tighter with every swirl of your fingers, "please." Brain too foggy to figure out how to pronounce a simple 'yes', too clouded with how this cowboy is fucking you.

"Gotta cum around my cock first," teeth nip at your jaw as he coos at you. Those thrusts are getting twitchy, unintentionally beating against that poor little spot even harder. Only sends you clamping down around him tighter, can't fucking tell if those whimpers are coming from you or him. "Come on, beautiful, cum for me."

Heat spreads through your lower belly, a wildfire roaring to life as the edge of that cliff rushes up toward you. Closer and closer, until you're teetering right on the edge. Your hands rise, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.

Lips press to your cheek, and you're gone.

This time, you know it's you who cries out into the open air, back arching as everything around you goes fuzzy. Head floating right off your shoulders and joining the stars above as you spasm around his still-moving cock. Those familiar little shocks ripple all the way down your legs like a shiver, the tips of your toes tingling.

Your eyes open just as Rhett's close, eyes halfway rolled into the back of his head, as he comes to a stuttered stop. The muscles in his back twitch beneath your touch as his orgasm hits him, the sweetest whine rolling off his tongue. His hips involuntarily jolt forward with every rope of cum that stains your walls with white, punctuated with the tiniest of noises.

Those eyes pry themselves open, only to fall shut as one more shock of electricity hits him, still has the tiniest bit to give you. Distantly, you think you can feel his cum already beginning to drip out of you, absolutely no room for it to go but out.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, and he giggles.

"Well, ain't you just as pretty as a peach in June," rubbing the tips of your noses together, because you're both breathing too heavily for a proper kiss.

"Take a picture," now that you think of it, you probably shouldn't give him a reason to add to that private folder of his, but it's too late to turn back now, "it'll last longer."

"I think I just might do that, actually."

God help you.

The worst part about sneaking out to be with Rhett is when he has to make that inevitable drive to take you home. Unlike how he broke every speed limit at the beginning of the night, he drives slow enough to get himself a ticket. One arm slung over your shoulders, resting his head against yours as he tries to prolong this trip that's still painfully fast. Pressing kisses into your temple and stealing longer ones from your lips at stop signs.

And the radio just has to start playing the saddest song it could find as he turns left into your driveway. The crumbling of rocks beneath his tires isn't loud enough to cover it up.

"Looks like this is your stop, baby doll," you hate how that downcast tone sounds on him, how he squeezes you like if he gets you closer, you won't have to go.

You can see your father's frame in the window, looming. Sure can't wait to hear what he'll have to say once you walk through that front door.

The worst part is when he stops just in front of the stairs, as close as he can get, so that you won't have to walk any further than you have to.

Lips press to your temple, "I love you."

"I love you too," and as you meet his mouth with your own, you pretend that you don't feel the stinging at the corners of your eyes. Pretend that you'll see him tomorrow; as if it's not a guessing game of what if's and planning behind everyone's backs.

Rhett has to hold onto the steering wheel with both hands when you reach for the passenger door because if he doesn't, both of you know he won't be able to let you go. Already know from experience that trying to cling to a few more stolen seconds, only makes it that much harder for you to step out into the gravel.

But as your foot finds the uneven ground, something glints through your head. "Hey, Rhett?"

He hums, can't quite speak anymore.

Looking over your shoulder, you voice what just came across your mind, "What if we start that dream now?"

His head lifts, eyes alight with something unnamed that glitters, "Yeah?" And there's that smile. The one that takes up his whole face, brighter than the sun itself. "You'd really want that with me?"

As the front door squeaks open, and your father steps out onto the porch, you find it in you to smile too. "Yeah."

This time, when he reaches across the bench seat, with his hand open for you to take, it trembles with something new. Excited, alive. "Well, what're you waitin' for then?"

This time, when Rhett's foot hits the gas and the truck veers left, sends a plume of dirt and gravel flying into the air, your dad doesn't get the chance to even out Rhett's bumper with that 12-guage. Because you're already out the driveway, the engine roaring as Rhett tears down the road.

And as Rhett's eyes meet with yours, you know that everything's going to work out after all.

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