warnings: minor gun violence + being threatened with a knife. stalker six just wants to keep you safe
you thought you were imagining it at first, or at least vastly overreacting.
everywhere you went, a figure would linger. always at a distance, not watching- justā¦being near you
ā he wore a cap, low enough on his forehead to shade his eyes. on colder days heād wear a thick jacket that covered up his jaw and partially obscured his mouth.
ā at the cafe, in the park, heād be there across the way. never watching, justā¦existing near your space.
ā maybe you shouldāve been more alarmed, and you were in the beginning, but after a while the sight of him became some sort of sick comfort. you sought out his shadowed figure in the side streets, in crowds, across roads and rooms.
ā one night, walking home from your job, youāre stopped by a group of men who demand your belongings, gesturing with knives as you shuck your bag off your back and throw it at the floor. you have little money to your name, but you decided these men would not see that reason enough to leave you alone
ā they allow you to escape off home, and when you make it a street away, you find yourself searching in the darkness in hopes youād be met with a familiar silhouette.
ā it isnāt until then that you hear it, in the distance, thereās yelling, and what sounds like a gunshot. you run the rest of the way home and curl under your covers with your shoes still on.
ā that morning you sit in your kitchen, nursing a small mug of coffee as you debate on how to inform your boss youāve lost your laptop, when there is a short knock on your front door
ā you stare at the wood like itās a monster, and creep along to retrieve a knife from your counter. itās stupid, youāre too clumsy and scared to ever be able to defend yourself, but it eases your panic just a fraction.
ā you open the door slowly, only to find nothing but your bag, and when you bring it inside, youāre surprised to see it exactly as youād left it when you packed it after your shift the night before.
ā minutes later, when you work up the courage to peer out onto the street, you see a retreating figure in the distance, a cap pulled down on their head.
ā later, when you turn on the news, a story detailing the men found with gunshot wounds on the street youād been robbed on. non-lethal, they report, and you donāt quite feel relieved. but you feel safer in the knowledge that someone out there is looking after you.
ā the first time you hear him speak, he gets close enough to touch, pressing a hand tight to your back.
ā āact normal, donāt look at my face, just lean into my side and smile like weāre reuniting.ā his voice is calm, almost sweet, and he stops you with that hand, urging you into his chest. itās crazy, and youāre heart is thumping so loud you hear it in your ears, and yet you embrace him all the same.
ā āthereās men following you. friends of the ones who robbed you.ā he informs you, resuming your walk, falling into step perfectly in time with you.
ā you donāt question him, even when you know you should. but his presence alone is comforting, you feel safer than you ever have, and you allow the man to wordlessly walk you home as if heād done it a million times. you suppose he had.
ā from then on he gets just a fraction closer each time, more open with his watchful eye. he doesnāt acknowledge you, and you donāt approach him. no words are exchanged, just the silent agreement that you will be safe as long as heās near.
ā one day, it hits you that you havenāt seen him in a week, and you spend all your waking hours wandering aimlessly, ducking your head to peer down alleyways, checking behind trees, scanning crowds.
ā heās gone, and you suppose you should be relieved, most people would when their stalker disappears. but you arenāt.
ā you seek him out as if youāre chasing a ghost. no one you mention him to has any recollection of ever seeing such a man during your hangouts, and you begin to doubt he was ever there at all.
ā one night thereās a knock at your door, and that same uptick of your heart has your blood pumping in your ears.
ā on your doorstep is a single red rose. itās delicate and sharp all at once, and you liken it to him in your mind. caring for you, yet willing to hurt others to keep you safe.
ā you keep it on your bedside table until it begins to wilt, and then you hang it up to dry.
ā thereās no hint or confirmation that it came from your mystery man, until you see him a few nights later.
ā frozen in place, you stare at him across the dark street, visible only by his choice to stand under a lone street light.
ā you open your mouth to call to him, yet no words come out, you simply stare and stare and stare, until he nods- once, final, before slipping back to disappear into the darkness of night.
ā you never see him again, but sometimes you still feel him close. watching, waiting.
BTW i see these posts all the time like "ohhh i dont know what to comment on fics.." and every response is "keysmashes! or hearts!! anything works :3" and thats GREAT!! thats helpful!!
but: consider. if u genuinely like analyzing writing.. do u know ur just allowed to go through and quote your favorite parts and ramble abt what they mean to u and the author will LOSE IT WITH HYPE?
genuinely. i felt SO WEIRD the first time i did it.. but like. holy shit authors love it. its crack for authors. the first time i did it, it was on a fic that hadnt updated in half a year, give or take, and the author made 3 updates that month BECAUSE OF MY COMMENT.
LIKE. as an author every comment is INCREDIBLE!!! but also, dont feel like your comment has to be short or otherwise ur invasive or smth!! authors ADORE long comments more than ANYTHING.
Summary: Ryland's taken you out to one of your dream date locations, out in the country, away from the world. He worships you, and he wants you to know it. However, this time is different. He makes a promise to you that starts to heal a grief deep in your chest.
Word Count: 2.0K
Warnings: NSFW content (18+ ONLY PLEASE), p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, bulges, MAJOR angst, infertility, mentions of pregnancy/trying for a family, implied breeding kink
A/N: Hi friends... it's been a while since I wrote something. Life has been kicking my ass, but I bring you this... So. Uhm. Yeah. This is my submission for the @goosegroupiechallenges Fairytale Writing Challenge. This isn't what I had in mind when I created the challenge, but this is what the brain came up with. So... enjoy? Also I'd written this out with OCs and flipped it around so if it's a little wonky that would be why. And if you're wondering, this is one of those times art imitates life. If you can relate to this, I'm sorry, darling. But I get it. - Birch<3
Please proceed with caution!!! NSFW BELOW THE CUT!!!
You've got your face buried in the white and blue checkered picnic blanket. You're not sure how you ended up with your ass in the air and Ryland's cock sinking in and out of you, but you're not complaining. What started as a simple date out in the country has turned into one of your dirtiest daydreams come true.
Truthfully, a quick glance at the calendar would tell you that you're ovulating and that your body's desire to get pregnant is higher than ever.
Out here in the countryside, there's no one. Nothing. It's just the grasses swaying in the breeze, the rustling a simple white noise that fades to the back of your mind. The sun shines down upon you, peeking through the trees and casting everything in a warm, golden glow as it sinks towards the horizon. Birds sing their songs in the nearby trees, and the faint chirp of crickets can be heard in between the sounds of skin slapping skin and breathy, loud moans filling the air.
The scientist has got your mouth parted with moans of pleasure and drool spilling down the side of your face as he fucks you into the soft material of the picnic blanket. Your dress didn't even get taken the whole way off. One minute, you'd been softly kissing and giggling, and the next, your panties had been plucked from your hips and your ass shoved into the air with a firm arch in your back.
You're not complaining one bit.
Ryland's got one big hand in your [colored] tresses while the other is balled up in the soft white material of your sundress. The hand he's got on your dress is using it as a grip to hold you just where he wants; a handle so he can keep you from straying when he pulls out of your cunt just to ram himself back in with a hard thrust.
Ryland's drilling into you with firm, calculated snaps of his hips. The scientist is grunting praises into your ear about how beautiful and perfect you are, blue eyes fluttering as he watches you take everything he gives without complaint. He's even groaning about how good you feel wrapped around his cock. How he's never had such a pretty girl who's so good for him. How there will never be another like you.
You're moaning like a bitch in heat - you are - as he fucks into you. He hasn't even toyed with your clit and you can feel your first orgasm creeping up like a freight train. When it does start to wash over you, you can't even give him a warning. Your mouth just falls open with a dumb, fucked out expression covering your face as pleasure explodes throughout your body.
But Ryland's nowhere near done with you.
So, without slipping out of your leaking pussy, he guides your limp body the whole way out of your dress and sets it off to the side of the blanket. Gently and with ease, the scientist gets you flipped over underneath him so he can see his lover face to face.
And he's on you without hesitation.
How beautiful you look underneath him like this.
The sun's dying rays paint you golden. From your soft skin to the [colored] threads of your hair sprawled under your head like a halo. With pink lips parted with moans of content from your first climax, your beauty is punctuated by the fireflies starting to light up the grass around you in a slow flicker. The world is quiet and you're panting, trying to get your breathing under control from the pleasure Ryland's brought you.
It's as you're returning to him that Ryland takes one of his big hands and cups your face, leaning down to give you a long, slow kiss that's bruising and deep. He ensures his cock is buried the whole way inside your cunt with small, shallow thrusts until he can't reach any further.
He's desperate for his own release, but this is more important.
You are more important.
That hand on your face drifts when he pulls back from the kiss, slow to rest his forehead against your own. The air is thick and heavy, a silent intention known to Ryland but unknown to you. His deft digits trace over the smoothness of your skin - down the length of your jawline to the life blood in your neck.
Further those fingertips travel - across the lines of your collarbones before veering down to his favorite breast to play with. This one he squeezes softly, before the digits slip across the valley between your breasts to brush over the second one and he swirls his finger around the budded nipple.
You just watch him move, wondering what he's thinking.
All the while, your body is responding to his touch - revving up for another round and aching for him to take whatever he wants from you. You'll be good. You have to be.
Then, that pretty hand of his explores each rib before flattening over your lower stomach, warm and all encompassing. Ryland leans down to your ear, head tilted and voice thick and husky, "Let's make that family, baby."
Where the hand of the scientist rests, the outline of his cock can be seen in the form of a distinct bulge in your lower belly. Your hand is following his when his words click in your mind.
He's going to give you what you've always dreamed about.
A lump forms hard and fast in your throat, and your smaller hand settles next to his, trembling. Ryland makes room where his hand is laid so that you can feel where his cock is buried inside of you. And he waits, inquisitive eyes scanning your face as you start processing everything he's saying and what he's not.
That bulge of his cock can't replace that of a swollen womb, but this is the closest you'll ever get to experiencing that beauty of the human body.
Growing another life.
"Feel that, Y/n? That's where our family is going to grow. Right there, sweetheart. Right inside of your womb."
With your hands side by side over your abdomen, Ryland presses his forehead against yours, noses brushing and lips nearly colliding. The scientist starts rolling his hips, pumping his cock in and out of you an inch at a time. Slowly. Gently. Tenderly.
He lets you feel him. He lets you feel his cock. He lets you feel his heart. He lets you feel the loss. He lets you feel the pain. He lets you feel every emotion that you need and want to feel.
Because the emotions come and they come fast. He knew they would. That's why he waited for this moment.
Tears are welling up in your eyes, and you wrap an arm around Ryland's neck to hold him close to you. You can't bring yourself to speak on it. What you're sharing is raw and sensitive. A pain you hold close to your heart. An acceptance Ryland has that seems as vast as space. This pain you feel, he feels it too.
It's a grievance over the life you won't get to have.
But you know it's okay.
He knows it's okay.
You'll both be okay.
Each thrust of his has Ryland's lips brushing over yours, soft moans slipping out of his lips as he holds himself back. He has to serve you first. This is about you tonight. He uses that hand on your lower abdomen to press down on the bulge in your stomach as he completely engulfs you.
"I'll give you everything," he whispers against your mouth, stifling a moan so he can tell you this clearly. You deserves to hear this unmarred by his pleasure. "My darling, you can have whatever you want. Whenever you want, sweetheart. All you have to do is ask."
You can't fight the tears streaming down your cheeks, mouth brushing against his. A shaky breath is sucked in through your mouth before you whimper back, "I- I want a baby."
"I'll give you one." There's an urgency in his voice. His reply was near immediate. "You want a baby boy?"
You shake your head up and down. Yes. You work at staving off a sob as Ryland continues to pump his cock in and out of your cunt, each movement slow and deliberate. He's right there, never letting you go. He's giving you what you want. "You want a baby girl, too?" he asks, lips curling into a small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I can give you a baby girl, sweetheart."
You can only nod again, whispering, "I want them," another set of tears streaming down your cheeks. Those [colored] eyes flutter shut, willing the tears to stop.
"I'll give you however many you want, my love." Ryland gently leans down, kissing your tears away as he repeatedly drags his cock in and out of your walls. Each movement carries a promise. He'll give you a boy. He'll give you a girl. He'll give you the whole family. A litter of kids to keep track of. He'd do it.
If only he could.
Only when your tears have dried does Ryland pull back from where he's resting against you, hips still working to bring you closer and closer to the edge. He sits back from where he's draped over you so he's kneeling, dragging you with him so your ass is in the air and his hands can slip underneath you to support your back.
"You'll look so pretty full of my babies," he hums before panting once, watching the way your cunt greedily sucks his cock in and the way your belly swells each time he's completely buried inside of you. "So pretty with a belly growing our children. They'll look just like you."
His pace grows a little faster and his hands grow a little firmer as he plunges into your pussy, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. "All of them will be just as- as gorgeous as you, my love." One of Ryland's hands finds your belly again, flattening over the appearing and disappearing bulge with a groan. "You'll be such- such a good mother-"
Your pleasure grows the more he talks you through it, and you're doing everything you can to fight off the sobs in your chest. It's nearly too much. Exploring a fantasy that will never be a reality. And Ryland knows it, so he lowers your hips back down until you're settled against the soft material of the picnic blanket. Just like that, he's covering you again, putting himself back into your focus as he brings you both closer and closer to climaxing.
"Let's make that family, baby," Ryland murmurs again, this time his own desperation creeping into his voice. "Let me knock you up tonight, Y/n/n, let me give you the family you want."
All you can do is nod eagerly, brokenly, as your cheeks are permanently stained with tears.
Ryland's hips roll and snap, and with a few pants from him and a long, needy moan from you, you both chase the release you've been looking for. You each moan the other's name as you cum, and Ryland gives you everything he can. Your cunt clamps around his cock, milking him of his seed and painting the walls of your pussy white. With one final groan and thrust, Ryland seats his cock as far inside of your cunt as he can to keep his seed from spilling out of you.
It doesn't matter it's all for not.
For tonight, he's getting you pregnant and giving you the family you want.
Just get in, leave the cash on the table, and get out
You come home to find a painfully familiar man on your sofa, and heās come to āthank youā for your help.
warnings: 18+, NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written with a penis but no other physical descriptions. no use of y/n. blood mentions, minor blood play, frotting, coming together, dom!court, belt as handcuffs, court is still an asshole out of fear. lots of mentions of spit/+ other bodily fluids. touch-starved court gets a little fucking weird with it. finally. vaguely happy ending (but just for tonight)
a/n: i could write for HOURSSS about how i see courtās relationship with intimacy. itās so special to me. tried to show how he uses his training as a buffer so he doesnt have to think about what heās doing. oh tortured man whoās not even sure heās fully human and capable of love anymore. being an asshole because itās the only way he feels in control and safe. oh bud. .. as usual not fully betaād (but shoutout to my bf for checking the first half! love u!!!!) i wrote most of this on a beach, and then the rest on the train home. scenic fic writing is my favourite. if thereās issues anywhere please let me know. i struggle with bad brain fog that makes me mess up words sometimes, and my disability makes typing difficult. spell check wasnāt working on the train so excuse any mistakes for now, ill fix them in the coming days , i just wanted to get it out <3
"We've gotta stop meeting each other like this." You'd barely locked the door when the voice sounded, and your heart leapt out of your throat as you turned, seeing an almost familiar body draped across your sofa.
"Get the fuck out!" Your hand instinctively wretches the drawer by the front door open, only to find it empty.
"Did you start keeping a knife by the door before or after you met me?" His head tilts to the side with a small smile, and you have to narrow your eyes at him to realise who he is. Holy shit.
"Jim?" He falters a little at the name, wincing almost, and for a moment you see the pained man you'd met.
"Six." He corrects you now, and you just nod, it seems irrelevant in the current situation, there are more pressing matters at hand as far as you're concerned.
"Why are you in my house?" His grin returns, and he gives an amused shrug.
"I was in the area, thought I'd drop by and say thanks." He speaks all too casually, slipping the knife in his pocket and reclines back, throwing his arms on the sofa behind himself.
"Yeah-Uh-" You glance back at the door, you'd spent so long convincing yourself that it was all some insane dream spurred on by a lack of sleep, so the fact he was once again in front of you was proving to be more than a little overwhelming. "How did you get in?" You think back to a minute beforehand, the door had been locked, and you stare down at the keys in your hand.
"Oh, here," He roots around in his pocket for a moment, before tossing you another set of keys that hits you squarely in the chest and drops to the floor. Your heart thumps so hard you can feel it in your throat, and you really need to leave this time. The man sat like he owns the place is hardly the same wounded one you'd barely been safe with before, and you really doubt you'd get a home field advantage in this fight.
Innocent men don't typically get stabbed and then go anywhere but a hospital. Innocent men don't typically demand the shirt with their blood on it and then sleep with a gun under their pillow before disappearing in the middle of the night.
"Your landlord really doesn't give a shit, I just said I was your boyfriend and I'd lost my set of keys and he gave me a replacement- you need to find a new place." He narrows his eyes at you. "There are much more dangerous men than me that could use that to their advantage."
"You seem dangerous enough to me." You regret the words as soon as you say them, and he gets a flash of that anger you'd seen before, his eyes darkening as his jaw locks in a grimace.
"I'm not here to hurt you." He hisses, and he nods towards the coffee table as if he's pointing out the obvious.
There's a wad of cash on the table, more than you'd ever seen in one place in your life. "You might wanna spread out depositing it, they'll flag it as fraud if you do it all at once." He relaxes again, smiling- he seems to be the king of hot and cold reactions.
"Six I-" You debate leaving, calling the police maybe, but you know that that wouldn't stop him, he'd be gone before you finished dialing.
"Come here." He curls a finger at you. "Please." He tacks on, head tilting to the side like he's sizing you up again, but this time the smirk tugging at his lips suggests it's a different type of dangerous.
"Six." You can't deny you feel some sort of way towards him, and you're instantly reminded of sight of him as you knelt in front of him. The way he'd looked at you, the way he'd cradled your head and then your hands, keeping you in that position- below him.
"What?" His lip quirks up again, voice playing innocent, in a way that's painfully charming.
Six stares at you with a look he hoped conveyed some sort of hunger, and internally fought with the fact he had no clue what he was doing. He'd intended on doing a quick in and out, dropping the cash on the table before dipping back out, maybe scribbling a note to warn him about his shitty landlord before pushing the keys under the door. But he hadn't. He'd become entranced. Watching you for the last few months had been a hobby he couldn't quite afford, but had scraped through anyway. It had been just his luck getting a job in your city, and it had only furthered when Sid had allowed him a short break from work, he deserved it, apparently. Knowing him, it was some setup for a job that would no doubt end as awfully as all the others. He couldnāt trust the man as far as he could throw him, but at times like these, heād take the odd act of kindness when he could.
āI donāt-ā You stumble over your words, and he watches the nerves twitch across your face. He finds it cute, and immediately reprimands himself for finding attraction in your fear- heās trying to be moral here. āFuck it.ā The way you relax makes the stress melt from his shoulders, and the kick drum beat of his heart ramps up to 10 as you approach slowly.
Six isnāt particularly good at the song and dance to tempt someone to be with him, but the second theyāre hooked he moves like a well oiled machine. Heās not -trained- in seduction, but based on how you reacted last time, the standard rules of his usual business apply. He knows how to be in control, he knows how to guide people into exactly what he wants.
āThere we go.ā He hums, a lilt of praise that makes you grin bashfully. āHere.ā He sits up just a fraction, getting himself close enough to hook a boot around your ankle, drawing you forward until his hands can find your hips, though he doesnāt drag you down to his lap like he so wants to. āTell me I can.ā His gloved thumbs dance slowly under your shirt, watching as you shiver at the cold leather against your skin. You just nod at him, and his chest burns painfully as he shakes his head back. āUse your words.ā
āYeah-Yeah. Please.ā The way you ease into his hold has his spine thrumming, and he decides to allow himself to fully give in to the cravings that have been building since the night he met you. It feels stupid, he has no business experiencing such carnal desires for anything other than personal gain, but something about you makes his brain too buzzy. Youāre too soft and gentle and too sweet to him that he wants you all, to hell with his training.
"You want to be a good nurse and check on your work?" He teases, and he hopes you don't notice the wince at his own comment, but he can hardly regret it when a second later youāre nodding, already moving to take your place between his knees.
It feels unnatural to him, to be in this situation, but the thrill of someone submitting to his whims so easily makes him dizzy. Having someone under his command without even using a weapon is a power he loves to wield on occasion, and it does help when they were as easy on the eyes as you were.
āJi-ā You go to say, before quickly correcting yourself with wide eyes. āSix.ā He nods, allowing himself the luxury to bask in the mild panic on your face. Youāre someone who wants him. Despite it all.
āYeah?ā There it is again, the falter of a sudden wave of insecurity. He rolls around a few pet names on his tongue, so rarely used when encounters to cater to his own desires are few and far between. He wants to call you something that will draw you out of your shell, have you eating out the palm of his hand and crawling into his arms. He wonders then what you might call him, how you might react when he orders you about. Itās a dynamic he knows all too well, but seeing it in this context is electric, and each touch of your gentle hand against him as you settle to your knees has his skin sparking.
āBaby.ā He settles on- sweet and normal, so painfully human and almost domestic, everything he didnāt consider himself to be. But tonight? He was allowed to pretend. He could do away with the bravado and act that he carried as The Gray Man. All the violence and biting anger that had him feeling more machine than man melted into something burning deep in his chest. A fire was lit, and he was determined to keep it aflame.
āCan I?ā Youāre asking him now, all gentle as you fiddle with the hem of his black shirt. It makes him feel insane, crazy with the high of being treated like a person. In a field of work like his, autonomy was hard to come by, his body was simply equipment, and no one cared for the brain piloting it. He was a machine, something to own, as much as his heart fought that he was a man of flesh and blood, his handlers had never quite shared the same sentiment.
But there you were, waiting with tender hands that brought no violence, your touch would arrive soft and pleasurable. It was something he seldom had, and heād started to believe he didnāt deserve.
āYeah, go ahead.ā His hand gravitates to you like he got a mind of its own, and he wraps his fingers loosely around yours as you shove his shirt clumsily up his abdomen. āHere, let me help you.ā Pulling away almost feels painful when heās so near to your warmth, but he does so for the sake of yanking his shirt off and tossing it somewhere off to the side. He knows your apartment now, this isnāt the first time heād been inside it, and the simple act of seeing his shirt lay on the floor like it belongs there almost has him doubling over with a painfully sick feeling- though it stems from nothing but the desire for a normal life.
He ends that train of thought before it could continue, Courtland Gentry will never have a normal life, he will never be free, and he will never know such tender care outside of these fleeting moments. So for now he cannot dwell, he cannot do anything past what his body is aching for, he simply succumbs to baser instincts and watches with a buzzy delight at the way your hands twitch nervously before flattening against his thighs.
āYou did so good.ā He praises, watching your sweet face as your eyes settle on the scar, uneven and jagged in his abdomen. Another person may have been annoyed at the mess of it all, the way the stitches were uneven and carved a mess into what was once- a long time ago- smooth pristine skin. But to him it was a reminder, and he often found himself seeking the feeling of it out, tracing the hacked lines, just to affirm to himself that sometime, somewhere, someone found it within themselves to be gentle with him.
His brain short circuits as you suddenly make a move to lean closer, pushing his legs open wider to get to an angle where you can crane your head down, dipping it low towards his hips. āFuck.ā He feels painfully easy now, and he should be embarrassed at the way his brain stutters at the sight, and practically melts when your lips press to the skin there.
Heās once again overtaken by the desire to taste you, and in turn make you taste him. He wants to bring you up to his mouth until youāre both panting, breaths mingling and spit swirling together on your lips. He wants to watch it drip down your chin, mixing with the sweat beginning to bead across your face.
Your mouth is hot and wet against him as you pepper gentle kisses to the sensitive skin, and moments later your tongue slips out past the seam of your lips, the tip of it warm as it traces back and forth along the length of the scar, pushing into the ridges of the uneven tissue, following where youād once hastily stitched him up.
Youāre probing at him, tasting deeper than what should be comfortable, and part of his brain screams at the sensation, still prickly and on edge where his nerves continue to knit together, but the way spit is slicking across your chin and down to your jaw has any sort of complaint swallowed easily.
āSix.ā Youāre barely audible with the way your lips are practically fused to his abdomen, and the slow rumble that echoes through his body as the name vibrates against his skin almost has him bucking up into nothing. Self control. He allows instead for his hand to push to the back of your head, drawing you impossible closer, enough that a foot can shift and bully its way between your thighs, parting them just right.
Heās obsessed with how malleable you are, he decides then, and wonders what other ways he could bend you just the way he wants. The first willing participant in his games in a long time, you donāt seem to mind the way he toys with you. After all, youād stuck by him even through the night in the hotel. He still remembers the feeling of your forehead beneath his lips, the way that even asleep, you leant into his touch.
Youāre lapping at the scarred skin without instruction, and he groans heartily above you, fingernails scraping into your scalp as a warmth settles in his lower stomach. āSo good, savinā my life like that.ā Your eyes flick up from where theyād previously been blissfully closed, and he wants to openly moan at the sight, rolling his head back on his shoulders. āCome up.ā He expects you to sit normally, but you trail your tongue up his chest as you move, licking a stripe up to his collarbones, shuffling onto his lap. āFucking hell.ā He feels like his breath has been knocked from his lungs as you settle your knees either side of his broad thighs.
āLet me thank you.ā His method of thanks was admittedly very selfish, because it involved drawing your mouth to his own as a hand cups the back of your neck, the other snaking down to your waist. āYou want me to, baby?ā Heās moving to hold your cheek now, his thumb pushing against your lips, probing past them just enough to have your jaw falling slack in his hold. You nod quickly, probably too fast, and he has to bite back a groan at the way you shift on top of him, palms pressing to his chest.
You feel so soft, too gentle again, and he wants to spiral into the feeling, pull you into his arms and stay there forever, pretending that just for once, he was safe. He canāt feel such an attachment to you, but he was already too far gone- heād passed the line when he committed your identity to memory for āinsurance purposesā but then immediately used that information to find you. Heād spent too many nights stalking you like he would any other mark, and a sickly feeling had built up. You were too pure and unaware, but he felt so good to be the one to look after you. He meant in the best way, at least he tells himself he does, you were just too sweet to be out there wandering alone, without him there to care for you, to pay you back for all your help.
āSix?ā Your voice cuts through his tangent, and he blinks at the confused expression on your face, brows tugged gently together, lip pierced between your teeth. āHave I done something wrong?ā Heās not sure why youāre asking, and itās his turn to frown, tilting his head to the side.
āNo, no you havenāt.ā He has that hazy look you remember from before, but thereās no blood loss to cause his spaced out attitude.
āYou-You zoned out there.ā
Something about your observation makes him feel panicked, and his heart kicks into gear like a caged animal. He canāt look weak-not here, not with you. He doesnāt even care that you wouldnāt be able to hurt him even if you tried, but his training forces him to spike with a sudden aggression. As much as he tries to fight it, heās reminded again what- and who- he is, he canāt afford to let his soft emotions show.
His teeth grit, and he doesnāt even notice the way your eyes widen before heās moving, arms tightening around your waist to haul you up into the air when he stands. āSix!ā You yelp, wrapping legs around his hips as he pivots, your hands practically clawing at his back to keep you upright. He debates internally what in the everloving fuck heās doing for a moment, before settling on spinning to drop you down onto the sofa where heād just been sat.
He lays you across it, a large hand finding your wrists to push them above your head, holding them against the armrest as he swings a knee over your hips, pinning you down. Itās a painfully familiar position for him to be in, and he hopes you donāt notice the way his empty fist clenches at his side as he resists the trained urge to slam it into your face. Youāre too prone beneath him, too easy, itās unnatural for such a man to have someone submit for anything other than a beating. Heās out of practice- but the argument could be made that he never was in the first place.
āSix.ā He canāt help but notice your pupils are blown, glassy eyes wide as you blink up at him.
āItās okay.ā He overcorrects his outburst with an unnatural softness, and once again he winces. It all sounds so unfamiliar to his ears.
āAre you sure-ā He canāt stand to face the question, and instead cups your cheek with the hand that had previously been balled into a tight fist, hoping the tender action could counteract all the evil heād done, before he leans down to kiss you.
The sensation almost burns him, your lips so soft and gentle against his own, his last encounter this delicate had hardly been recent, and until now, he seemed to have forgotten the feeling of it all. He had to bite back the monstrous feeling when you relax in bliss beneath him, his brain sparking in response to the prone body as if heād just completed a successful mission. But no, the way you writhed under him just moments later, blood pumping hot under your skin where he holds your wrists reminds him that he is capable of much more than just hell and violence.
The familiar taste of copper floods his mouth, and panic pricks at his heart as he pulls rapidly back, heaving breaths as he stares down at you. āIām okay.ā Your eyes are still closed, and a small smile tugs at your bloodied lips, plump and splitting.
āFuck.ā Is all he can pant, licking across his own lips with hunger, and he can only imagine how crazed he must look, eyes settled solely on the small stream of red running from the corner of your mouth. He wants to lap it up, your blood just seems that much sweeter. Itās an injury born of passion and some warped version of love- the taste is addictive, he wants to pierce your swollen lips with his teeth until youāre both a mess of gore. āYouāre so pretty like this.ā He realises how insane it sounds as soon as he says it, but he can hardly care, not when he dips down to slide his tongue across your chin and back up to your lips before you can even mumble a response into his open mouth.
Your body reacts under him like youāre a man starved- as if you havenāt been touched like this in years. You whimper his name, only for it to be swallowed by his mouth passing over yours. His fingers bite into the flesh of your wrists, pulse thumping a feverish rhythm against his palm. He mumbles what sounds like praise between your tongues mixing, and the hand on your head begins to slide a dangerous path down your chest. He curses as your hips jolt involuntarily into his, the mere friction maddening.
Deft fingers travel as far as he can reach, blunt nails scraping at the soft skin of your navel before snatching at your shirt to drag it painfully slow up your torso. He moves away to pull it off over your head as if the loss of contact physically pains him, a deep whine vibrating in his throat in the second it takes before he can latch onto you again. āYouāre so fuckinā soft.ā His words are muffled as spit slicked lips trail down your chin, palm smoothing up and down, from your ribs to your hips and back again, as if heās trying to commit your body to memory. āCome here.ā He moves quicker than you can even process, a tangle of limbs as he pulls your arms down and wraps his own around your chest again, and you brace to be hauled up into the air, lifting your hips to grab at him with your thighs.
But he has other plans, and as soon as your back is off the seat youāre both crashing to the floor in a way that almost knocks the wind from your lungs when you land on top of him, but Six appears to remain unphased. Heās just as rabid as he was moments before, tugging you down tight until your chests press together, moaning at the skin on skin contact it rewards him with, grabbing at any part of you he can reach, squeezing flesh in his thick fingers.
āYouāre so good, baby.ā He hums, hands pressing harsh at your lower back to keep you steady as he slowly grinds up into you, as yours brace against his scarred shoulders. Everything melts away, his anger seeps into the floor of your shitty apartment beneath you both as your sweat mingles with a mess of spit on your skin. He feels dumb with lust as he fulfills what he considered one of his greatest wishes, and tilts his face just enough to lick a stripe up across your cheek, up to your temple where sweat is beginning to dampen your hairline. Fuck. He feels insane as he does it, and heās so clouded and buzzy that he barely registers it. āYou taste so good.ā
An animalistic greed takes over as he wants to devour you whole, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you pressed against him, all soft and malleable under calloused hands- he wants to kiss and lick and fuck you like a man starved. He doubts heāll ever be satisfied with another drop of any drink in the world now heās tasted you.
āSix-ā You break through his haze, pulling up just enough to rest your foreheads together, his hair now damp and sticky against yours. āI need-ā Youād happily spend the next few hours being slowly pulled apart by the man hellbent on marking your entire body with his spit, but the coil in your lower stomach is becoming too overwhelming to feel anything other than burning, and each swipe of his tongue sets your skin alight. āI need- please just do something.ā You whine, and you would be ashamed of your pathetic tone if it didnāt draw such a n immediate reaction from him- because heās pushing you upwards in order to reach your belt buckle before you can even catch your breath back.
Skilled hands make light work of getting your trousers open, and he wastes no time in pushing them as far down your hips as they will go in the odd angle before pulling the belt out. āHands.ā You sit back on his thighs, and thoughtlessly hold out your wrists towards him, much to his enjoyment. The belt is looped around your wrists and tightened in a way that tells you heās done this a million times, and you try desperately not to dwell on that in favour of giving yourself up to him wholeheartedly. You shouldnāt trust him- and you doubt many people do- but youād hazard a guess that youāre the first person to look past whatever persona heād built up in whatever line of work he was plagued by. The man beneath you is hardly the demon heās convinced he is. And so you watch him work with a feverish anticipation, rutting gently against his black cargo trousers. Addicted to the way he tries to bite back groans, his scarred abs tightening as he attempts to hold himself back.
Having you tied up allows him to sink fully into his new role, silencing the thrumming of deeply engrained defence that takes hold each time you move in a way he canāt predict. Itās safer this way, he reasons with himself, and it does help that you seem to be as into it as he is, attempting twice to pry your arms back open, sighing contently when the leather simply squeaks and holds its restraint.
One of his broad hands settles at your waist, and yours ball into fists when the other presses a thumb over the wet patch that had formed on your boxers. āCan I?ā Heās seeking out your permission again, as if your answer could absolve him of all the times heād grabbed and bruised despite screams and cries. If he can just be gentle with you, if he waits for your nod and cried permission, then he isnāt the monster people say he is. A contract killer on a moral streak- itās almost comical, and heās sure any other man in his profession would not offer the same grace. If heās kind to you, then maybe thereās good in him after all- maybe part of his soul is redeemable.
āPlease-ā Your voice cracks as you keel forward, already overwhelmed as he begins to massage the tip. āFuck, Six.ā Heās overtaken again by the desire to tell you his real name then, and his head spins as he thinks about the way it would sound from your puffy lips, the way youād choke it out through a moan. He wants to beg for it then, for someone to make him human again, to do away with codenames and address him like heās something more than just a killing machine, an object to do their bidding. He wants the control of an identity that had been so violently stripped from him under the guise of helping him.
āYeah? You like that?ā He forces out a line that makes him want to recoil, but it appears to have the desired effect as you nod with a desperate need, attempting to tilt your hips to chase the friction of his hand. āGood.ā He hums, and he means it now.
āPlease.ā You repeat your desperate cry, and he wants to be taunting, to play with you until you bend fully under his will, but as you blink down at him with teary eyes, he reminds himself why heās here. Heās thanking you now. Some part of him that he should kill quicker than it forms, eases his desires with a promise to himself that it wonāt be the last time youāre like this under his hands. He shouldnāt. Finding you out a second time was more than he ever shouldāve done. He knows better than that.
āOkay, baby.ā He grins wickedly, complying to your wishes with his fingers probing into your boxers, pulling them down enough to release you properly, listening to the chorus of whines and whimpers you can barely control. āThere?ā He taunts, and you canāt even speak as you nod desperately, drool pooling in the corners of your mouth before you clamp down with sharp teeth to your lower lip. āHarder.ā He orders, and his eyes settle solidly on the puffy pink skin, and he watches in delight when you do so without question, scraping your incisors into the cut as you tug your lower lip into your mouth. He groans shamelessly when blood pools to the surface. This is insane, heās sure your mind supplies when he catches a flash of panic in your eyes as it beads up and drips down against your bound wrists, but the sight seems to make Six feral all over again.
āGood boy.ā He hums, beginning to jerk you off slowly, whilst using his other hand to pull your hips forward to settle once more over his own. āYou wanna do something for me?ā He groans at the awkward angle his head tilts at, the action pulls at sore muscles all across his shoulders. He allows himself to wonder, for a brief moment, that if this were a relationship, you would offer him the comfort of a massage. What a world it would be if he could come home to your tender touch each night. Fuck.
Whether itās to ease the discomfort, or just to stop his mind from racing once more, he begins to change position. He wants to be on top of you again, pin you down to the floor to watch you lay vulnerable beneath him. He can keep himself in check, if he just falls into place- if he becomes the man the world believes him to be.
He manhandles you without a care, brows tugging deep into a frown, jaw clenching as he forces you onto your back, bullying his way between your thighs before you can even process whatās going on. āHands above your head.ā Itās nothing short of a snarl, and you do exactly as he says, flinging your bound arms up to rest on the carpet above you. You feel more open and vulnerable this way, and Six allows himself to revel in it. Heās at his best when thereās someone at his mercy. Context seldom matters.
āIām gonna jerk us off together, yeah?ā Once more he doesnāt wait for a response, not that your hazy brain could supply one past a quick wide-eyed nod. āGood, glad you agree.ā His grin is wolfish, and lacking almost all of the warmth it had previously held, but it didnāt stop the coiling heat in your stomach. The fear youād initially had of him had melted away into white hot desire.
He leans back, just enough to unzip and shimmy down his trousers to mid thigh, though his eyes donāt leave your body, assessing the way your chest is rising and falling. Fuck. Pathetic is too kind a word for the way youāre writhing about, hips bucking up into the empty air above you, desperate to seek some sort of friction. The sheer sight does wonders for his ego, and heās glad to find that such honest desperation can come from something other than the will to stay alive. Youāre fighting and crying out for his touch, a release only he can give you.
The second your cocks bump together as he spreads your thighs wider with one hand, youāre practically a mess, and he laughs at the pre-cum already dribbling down. He wants to hiss something about desperation, but he doesnāt trust his voice to stay level, not with how violently his heart is thumping in his throat, so he settles for a groan of your name. āFuck.ā He follows it up with, reaching one hand to collect the spit and blood from around your mouth before pushing the fingers inside, basking in the heavenly feeling of your tongue swiping across the digits.
With a spit slicked hand he pulls back, just enough to wrap it around both of your cocks at once, beginning a slow taunting rhythm. āSix!ā He watched the way your back begins to arch off the floor, ankles coming to link at his lower back.
āYou want it faster?ā You nod desperately, and for that moment heās grateful for the training heās suffered through, because he so effortlessly sets a punishing pace that has you mewling and shaking on the floor.
āFuck- Six.ā Youāre way too easy, and he almost wants to laugh at how quick youāre brought to your peak, and he offers a small mercy of allowing you to lift your bound wrists back up in an effort to grab at him, leaving scratches across his chest where your nails find purchase.
āIām gonna-ā He cuts himself short to rattle off a groan, head hanging low to watch where your cocks thrust together, both wet with a slick mix of spit and pre-cum, your tip seeping and red. āIām gonna let you come- as a thank you.ā He pants out, slowing down just enough to rub his thumb along your slit, collecting as much as he can to smear across his own. āMy perfect little nurse.ā His hips continue to snap up almost in time with your own, and the feeling becomes so overwhelming you clamp down again on your lip, and the sight alone is almost enough to send him over the edge.
āCome on, come for me.ā He orders, his free hand that has previously steadied itself on your shoulder came to cradle your cheek. Almost tender, again, and he hopes you donāt notice the way he softens just a fraction. āCome on, come on.ā He repeats, collecting the blood dribbling down your chin on his thumb, before pushing it back into your mouth, groaning at your muffled whimpers.
āFuck-ā You gasp around his fingers, body spazaming as you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. āSix-God, Six-ā You can barely keep up with his pumping fist before youāre coming over your joined bodies, spurts dribbling down his hand and wrist, mixing with the spit and blood in a way that makes his head spin.
Fuck. He comes alongside you with a surprisingly controlled cry, his movements continuing for several moments until your cuffed wrists push at his shoulder to stop. āSix-ā His brain had gone hazy, and he felt like he was outside his body as he pulled apart through his aftershocks. āSix.ā He barely notices the way youāre practically sobbing now, and it isnāt until you dig your nails tight into the flesh of his arm that he snaps back again.
āOoookay.ā He soothes quickly, suddenly terrified at the possibility of causing you any type of pain. Itās ironic, for a man of his profession, but the thought of hurting you makes his chest tighten, and he once again overcorrects into a part of him heād never seen before. āIāve got you, itās okay baby.ā One hand gently pats your cheek, wiping away the tears that collect under your eyes with his knuckle. āItās okay, itās okay.ā He repeats like a mantra, and heās not quite sure if itās more for you, or himself. āIve got you.ā He makes quick work of unbuckling the belt around your wrist, and he feels a rare pang of guilt at the angry lines cutting into your delicate skin. āThere we go.ā He hums, smoothing a thumb across the marks, and he surprises even himself when he drags them up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss there.
In that moment he doesnāt care about the life he leads, whether or not heās just broken the one rule of leaving no trace, he simply cares for the way you soften around him, allowing him to reveal a tender side of him that heād once considered gone.
Courtland Gentry isnāt a monster in this moment, heās not a killer or a violent man, heās a lover, sweet and kind, hellbent on keeping you safe and happy. Court Gentry is a protector- not of money or property, but of you. Right now as he hovers above you, lips dragging across your wrists, he feels your pulse thrum against them, and heās human again. Heās no machine, heās no asset to order about- to set on a stranger like a rabid dog. Heās gentle, and kind. Everything he had once been in a time long gone by.
So he revels in it, the way you don't flinch away, you donāt pull back like heās some sort of evil you want to escape from. You seek him out, leaning into his touch, shuffling in an attempt to get into his arms. You want him for all he is, scarred and battered, you donāt care as you sit up, linking your arms once more to loop around his neck. āSix.ā Youāre still panting, your hot breath dancing across his throat. Heās human. Heās human. Heās human. He repeats in the back of his mind. Flesh against flesh, heās clawing his humanity back with you in his arms.
āIāve got you,ā Itās unnatural, but not unwelcome he decides, and it all comes crashing down as he realises that this cannot happen again. Never again can he seek out your gentle touch, your caring eyes and tender words. He cannot allow himself to soften, he cannot become weak and fickle, he cannot sink into something so vulnerable. Heās not permitted to. Heās not trained. ājust for tonight." He whispers into your scalp where heās sure you canāt hear, and he promises himself he will be gone by morning.
Heāll allow himself just this night. Just this night.
3 hours you lasted, before you rang the number heād given you.
You go to meet march at his ā¦apartment above the comedy club?
Warnings: 18+, NSFW minors do not interact. reader is written with a penis, but no other appearance descriptions. no use of y/n. plot what plot? blowjob, frotting (YAYYYY). holland mentions his wife because heās stupid. giving and receiving hickeys (these boys like to bite), drinking. healy makes an appearance
a/n: boss makes a dollar, i make a dime, thats why im writing porn on company time. most of this was written at work because they do not pay me enough. once again i havenāt posted smut properly since i was 13. be gentle with me . I LOVE YOU JACKSON HEALY
Listen, Holland had made some questionable parenting choices over the years, but fucking hot-bar-guy-stranger in the same house as his daughter would be bad...even for him.
But he was lucky, and just as you hummed your proposal into the phone, he twirled the cord around his finger, and settled his eyes on a set of keys laying abandoned on the counter. BINGO. He was a genius- no one could compare, he was the best in the world.
He'd rattled off the address with a proud smirk on his lips, and slurred a shout to Holly that he'd be back in an hour or two, and not to do anything he wouldn't do. -Which quite frankly, didn't leave a lot of things.
10 minutes later he was leaning against the wall of a comedy club, cigarette pinched between his lips as he kept making less than comfortable eye contact with the bouncer, along with the line of strangers waiting to be let in. He winked at the bouncer with a teasing grin, spinning the keyring around on one finger, which only earnt an eye roll in response.
"March!" You had a beaming grin on your face now, and your sheer drunken glee at the sight of him did little to quell his up and coming ego problem, and he almost lost the cigarette out the side of his mouth when he beamed back at you.
"Looks like I owe you on your bet now." He mused, stubbing his cigarette out onto the wall, and raising an arm to loop through yours at your approach.
"Mhm, but I think we can find some alternate payment." You barely stayed on your feetĀ as you leant right into his side, humming giddily into his ear.
Another wink to the clearly disapproving bouncer, and you were in and up the stairs in no time, both scrambling, an excitement bubbling up that neither could ignore. You barely made it to the door without throwing yourselves at each other, and March couldn't tell if it was the booze or the adrenaline that was making it virtually impossible to stab Jack's stupid key into his lock.
"So is this like- your work apartment?" You both all but fell through the door, and despite how much you wanted to get right to performing literally any sexual act on the man beside you now that you weren't confined to the dirty club bathroom, you allowed yourself a quick look around. It was tidier than you'd expected from Holland, who still looked as dishevelled as when you left him, though he'd copied your act of a quick trouser change. Blue this time, you had to admire his commitment to a good look.
"Yeah-Yeah it is." He leant against one of the walls with his elbow, and you tried to pretend that you didn't see him slip and nearly go careening sideways to the floor as he did so. "You want-want a uh-" He leant back to look around the room he was standing in, looking awfully confused as he did so. "Fuck- there's gotta-" He dipped out of view, only for a series of crashing to follow. "Fuck yes- I knew I could count on you, Healy." He appeared again, holding two bottles of beer, a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. "You're up to two drinks you owe me now." He laughed at his own joke, passing you one of the bottles, eyes following a little too closely as you lifted it to your lips.
"Can I like- suck you off?" There were definitely smoother ways to go about it, but you figured this arrangement didn't exactly require much flirting, namely on account of the fact that as soon as you said those words, Holland was very rapidly crossing the room.
"You know that's like my favourite question ever?" He sounded genuinely excited, all semblance of a cool composure melting into absolutely nothing but pure joy. "They say eyes are the window to the soul but like- I'm pretty sure my dick is- no- I meant like- your mouth is ..."
"Shut up- I beg of you." He was all too happy to let you push him down onto the sofa, and you'd hazard a guess that if he was any more drunk he'd actually start crying tears of joy as he placed his bottle down.
"Yeah-Yeah I can do that." He spoke like man who definitely couldn't do that, and you swore a cigarette materialised in his hand the moment you glanced away to put your beer on the floor beside the sofa. "I can be sooooooo shut up you would not bel-" In an effort to stop what you knew would be a barely comprehensible ramble, you moved to the floor, making light work of undoing the front of his trousers. "Fuck- yeah okay-fuck yeah." You watched him as his head all but rolled back limp on his neck, a trail of smoke crawling up to the ceiling.
"Shit- Y'want a drag?" With your mind still buzzing, intoxicated and sweet, you felt yourself drift slightly, and you rested your head against his thigh. "Here." He spun the cigarette around between his fingers, offering it down to you, helpfully positioned right in front of his crotch, much to his clear enjoyment.
"Mhm, thanks." Your hands found his thighs as you leant forward, taking the cigarette between your lips. It felt obscene and filthy- sleazy, just like everything with March seemed to be, and you revelled in it, blinking up at him and watching the barely concealed lust on his face.
It became very clear how March felt about the situation when he pulled the cigarette away from your mouth, and gently pushed his hips up, almost meeting your lips. He whistled lowly when you pressed a kiss to the strained fabric, moving until your teeth caught the waistband, listening to him hiss above you. "Fuck- it's so much better seeing it from this angle." You didn't let yourself think too much on the fact that he was definitely about to launch into another porn anecdote, and instead decided to shut him up the best way you knew how.
Getting March out of his trousers had proved to be no easy task, as far as you were concerned, they may as well be plastered to his thighs. "Shit-" He mumbled, almost catching his own hair on fire with the end of his cigarette as he shuffled about in an effort to help you shimmy them down.
"Fuck." The curse passed your lips before you could think, and you glanced up to see an embarrassed flush cross over March's face. "In a good way." That seemed to settle his sudden nervousness, and he rewarded it by settling his free hand atop your head.
"Be careful with those fuckin teeth of yours- don't think I've forgot." He slid the hand on your head round to your cheek, just enough to probe his thumb along the seam of your lips. "Little vampire." He mused, pushing it in enough to part them, trailing the digit across your teeth once more.
"Nah March, I was just planning on biting your dick clean off." You licked across his thumb, leaning back enough to talk, before reaching out for his other hand, catching on his wrist to pull the cigarette down towards your own lips. His eyes tracked its movement into your mouth with an almost unnerving intensity, his lips curving up into a smirk, watching you take a drag once more.
"I think I'd let you anyway."
Following on with the rather unceremonious tone the evening had taken, you wasted no time in getting right to it- and the shocked face March made when you moved to instead wrap your lips around him was entertainment enough. Plus, you'd spent the last few hours since you left the bar bathroom imagining this exact scenario, so a little self indulgence wouldn't hurt.
"Jesus!" His voice rose in pitch, and you attempted to muffle the snort that bubbled from your throat by taking him just a fraction deeper, which to your great enjoyment, did not make him any quieter- especially not when you dug your fingers into the soft flesh of his thighs. "You're gonna kill me-you're gonna fuckin' kill me and I'm gonna let you." His hand found the back of your head, guiding you hesitantly forward as you attempted to relax your throat. He was oddly tender, compared to the riled up, hellbent-on-making-you-cum version of him you'd been with a few hours ago in that bathroom stall. You kind of wished he wouldn't be so gentle.
He began to rut further and faster into your mouth, and you learnt the beautiful fact that March was a whiner. His head alternated between being thrown back as he whimpered, or grunting and whining weakly as he stared down at you, cigarette crumpled in the corner of his mouth as his other hand slotted over your own on his thigh.
"I don't wanna-" He trailed off, seemingly fighting himself to slow his pace back down, hips jittering as he panted. "I don't wanna cum in your throat yet- you know I-I can actually be a real giver- if you'd let me." His hand found the back of your neck despite the awkward angle, and he squeezed with his thumb and index just enough that your head spun. "Off, c'mon." You came off with an obscene pop, and March groaned filthily. "You are like- fucking incredible at that- jesus- I feel like I should be paying you-" Through his ramble he helped you back up to his feet, cigarette since abandoned, dropped into a glass sat by the floor.
"Take your pants off." He retrieved his drink, reclining back with an almost childish grin, gesturing to your waist with the bottle.
"Oh I-" You paused, hands finding your own waistband.
"C'mon! Get your dick out for me! Don't be shy, I've seen plenty! Plus- from what I felt earlier, you have nothin to hide." He punctuated it all with a wink, and you wondered whether he was this charming sober, or if this was a special dizzy treat you were getting.
Either way, his eyes on you were almost as intoxicating as all the booze flowing through your system, so it didn't take much convincing for you to shuffle out of your pants, letting them pool around your ankles and-
March whistled lowly, immediately moving to clutch at your waist, dragging you towards him. "March!" You yelped, unsteady on your feet, but it didn't falter his apparent mission, because he used your wobbly state to pull you down onto his lap.
"Yeah baby, that's my name, don't wear it out." He looked down at where your bodies were now almost flush together, his cock red and leaking against his stomach, yours in a similar fashion. "Or uh-or do wear it out- y'know- if it means you're enjoying this." A sudden crack in the persona he'd been wearing, a nervousness crawling up his skin as he tensed beneath you.
"Im loving it, March." One hand steadied you against his shoulder, whilst the other tapped at his chin, urging his eyes back up. "You're my man, if you can't do it, no one can." You repeated his earlier words to him, leaning down to pepper his face with kisses as you laughed softly, feeling him relax once more, one of his hands trailing to your ass.
"Maaaarch." He snorted, squeezing the flesh under his hand, watching you react immediately, much to his delight. "Woah you weren't kidding huh? And now seeing as we're both dicks out, what's a little proper frotting between two hot guys?"
His hand found your dick before you could even register what he'd just said, and his own pressed up against it, fingers curling around both at once, eliciting a soft gasp. "Fucking lube-" He paused, glancing around for several moments before you watched his eyes light up, following his gaze towards his discarded bottle.
"If you pour beer on my dick, I will bite yours off, March." He had that same shit eating grin again, and he didn't let you think before that same hand was at your mouth.
"Open wide then." Marched seemed to be largely enjoying your willingness to let him stick his fingers in your mouth, and he groaned softly as your tongue glided against them.
"You know- I think we could make a good little...experimental film together.." He used the fingers in your mouth to hook behind your teeth, thumb pressing to your chin so he could manipulate your head up and down in a nod. Fucking hell. "Glad you agree."
Once you'd slobbered enough over his hand for his liking, he returned it to your cocks that we're still bumping together, chuckling at the spit that dribbled down your jaw. "Fuck porn, I could get off just from that sigh for the rest of my fuckin life. You're a gift- baby, I'm telling you." It was your turn to whine as he began to jack you both off slowly, the friction setting your skin aflame. "I've always wanted to try this- sadly my wife didn't exactly have a-" You tried not to recoil at the words.
"Please don't talk about your wife whilst my dick is in your fucking hand." You leant forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder, nuzzling his open shirt enough that you could kiss lazily across his collarbone.
"Sorry. Does this make up for it?" He tilted his head just enough to catch his lips against the side of your neck, biting down softly as his thumb pressed to your slit.
"Bastard." You hissed, and you could feel him grin into your skin, swiping precum messily around as you both thrust into his hand.
"I can stop if you want." His movements ceased, and you responded by sinking your teeth into the taught skin of his shoulder, listening to the groan it caused, vibrating against your throat.
"Don't you fucking dare." He resumed his movements, jerking you both off together at an almost feverish pace.
You could feel your release building, and judging by March's incoherent whining muffled against your neck, he was close too, thrusts uneven and sloppy. "C'mon, fuck- c'mon." He panted, desperation clawing at his voice, high pitched and needy.
"March- shit-" Your fingers squeezed at his shoulder where you'd been steadying yourself, nails digging desperately into the muscle. "Fuck." You were practically slobbering over his collarbone, jaw slack against him.
You just about managed to open your eyes as you came, and March seemed to do the same as he choked out a moan, spreading your cum over you both before coming himself with a blissed out cry.
"Was that better than porn?" You panted, hearing him laugh softly beneath you.
"Fuck yeah." He nuzzled back up against you, hissing as both your hips shifted.
"Do you have anything to.." You trailed off, and March shuffled in his pocket, passing you a pack of cigarettes.
āLight me one, and weāll use my vest.ā You wanted to question why the hell he wouldnāt just go to his bathroom to get a towel, but he shut that thought up when he pushed a cigarette between your lips.
āHow charming.ā You slid carefully off of his lap to sit beside him on the sofa, rummaging in your own pockets to retrieve your matches.
āOh I am a romantic, doll.ā You rolled your eyes, lighting the cigarette.
You revelled in watching him unbutton his shirt, exposing the bite marks trailing across his shoulder, and when he lifted his vest over his head, your eyes flicked down to his toned stomach. āHere, babe.ā He grinned at you, cleaning himself off with his vest before doing the same to you, chuckling softly when you whined at the feeling of the fabric brushing against your sensitive head.
āA real romantic you are, March.ā He tossed it lazily to the floor, reaching over to snatch the cigarette from your lips, giving you a moment to pull your trousers back up, though you left them unbuttoned, March mirroring your actions.
āI bet-ā
The door swung open so hard the hinges squealed, and you jumped about 10 feet into the air at the sight of the man in the doorway. āShit!ā March screamed next to you, cursing again when the cigarette fell from his mouth and landed on his leg.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Don't tell me you're seriously- oh my god- March this is low even for you!ā He slammed the door behind him, jabbing a finger at March, who held his hands up in defence.
"What the hell are you doing back so early?! You're-You're supposed to be gone for another 2 days! If anything- this is- this is on you!" He scrambled to his feet, though he made no move to go at the other man, instead blocking you from view.
"Who even is that?" The unknown man peered around him, eyes wide in disbelief.
"He's uh- He's- You know I don't actually know his name I-" He had a stupid smile on his face, shrugging casually as you sent a small wave to the other man, one he mirrored for a moment before turning back to glare at March.
"You are fucking unbelievable March I-Fucking this fucking stranger in my apartment!" He paused for several moments, leaning around him once more. "Actually, my apologies uh- I can imagine he lead you to believe this was his place, listen- my anger is only with him, not you uh- you- you seem like a lovely young manā he's despicable but uh-you're blameless here." He forced an awkward smile, a hand grasping Marchās shoulder, eliciting a small yelp.
āJackson Healy- this is uh- this is my apartment, actually.ā He held a hand out, and you stood up to shake it, eyes widening at his harsh hold. Hello.
āNice to meet you- Iām really sorry, and you uh-you have a lovely apartment, for what itās worth.ā Jackson seemingly forgot all about his shirtless business partner, genuinely smiling at you now.
āWell thank you, itās a good little spot yāknow? Reasonably nice part of town, Iām a lucky guy.ā You nodded along, glancing over at March, who looked guilty as sin, a grimace tugging at his lips.
āIāll uh- I think Iāll leave you both to it. It was nice seeing you again, March. And uh- lovely to meet you, Jackson, sorry again.ā He just waved you off dismissively, a reassuring smile that it wasnāt your fault.
āSee you around, doll.ā Despite the death grip on his shoulder and his friend now staring at him like he could kill him, March still managed a smirk and a wink at you, and you couldnāt help but think that this wouldnāt be the last time you saw either of them- and you didnāt quite mind.
HOLY MOLY?? UR GRAY MAN FIC OMG. OMG. giggling and kicking my feet. You are an AMAZING writer holy moly. also, in the first bit yk gun in mouth "ur okay" bit inspired by the place beyond the pines perchance?? very similar scene in that movie :PP
But yeah just wanted to say ur writing is GREAT!!! <3
THANK YOUUU<33 aw im so so glad people are liking it YAYYYY!!!!!!!!!! this is such a sweet ask <33 THANK U!!!
AND YES IT IS !!!! i was wondering if anyone would notice thatšāāļøšāāļø
A gun slots neatly between your lips, and within seconds your quiet night in devolves into something you could never imagine. You have to make a choice: die for your old crew, or pray the gray man kills them before they find you sold them out
The Gray Man pays you a visit, and he leaves with a new kink.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. gunplay, canon-typical violence, dub-con (but not really, youāre way too into it even despite the power dynamic), no solid physical descriptions of reader aside from having a penis, boot worship lowkey, boot humping/dry humping, coming in pants, spit as lube, anal sex, court discovers dacryphilia for a moment there, minor blood mentions, protected sex, intense power dynamic, court calls you good boy a few times, praise. top! court, bottom!reader
a/n: this was a request from the lovely @aichmoph0bia !!! oH MYGOD. this was so fucking fun to write . THANK UUU <3 i hope it lives up to ur expectations ^_^ also shoutout to my bf for indulging my questions and helping me figure out if certain positions were possible as a tall guy. anyway i locked in to finish this at 10:30pm and itās currently 4am and the sun is rising. the things i do for gay porn xx wouldnāt trade it for the world
"Shhh." You barely hear the hum before a hand covers your already closed eyes, stretching to apply pressure to the apples of your cheeks with a thumb and forefinger, the back of a hand pressing to your forehead. "Shh shh shh." The voice whispers, and you lay rigid beneath their hold. Fuck. "Open your mouth." They hiss, voice harsh, and something sparks in your mind to make you comply, dropping your jaw open, still barely there, brain clouded with sleep. "It's okay, it's okay." It would be comforting in any other context, the way he then hums gentle and calm, though the familiarity has your stomach twisting in knots.
The gun makes a soft *clack* as it knocks against your teeth, your lips pulling back in a grimace, blinking blindly against the curve between their fingers, desperate to peer at them. Even if his voice sounds familiar, you can't place it. "I want you to keep that there, okay?" Despite your better judgement, you ignore any self-preservation skills that had once been present in your work, and you nod as much as you can in their grip, teeth biting down on the muzzle. "Good, good." They soothe in a way that should be mocking, but instead sends a thrill of something down your spine.
"Who-" You barely manage to speak around the gun, and it comes out more as a gargle, your tongue pressing up against the cool metal. You can taste the gunpowder residue, -it's been fired before, and it simply affirms that the man above you will have no issue with putting a bullet straight through your head.
"Thats non of your concern." He sounds almost condescending as he peels his hand away just enough for you to get an eyeful, though you can barely make out any features in the low light.
The man towering over your prone form is much larger than you could ever even dream of being, and you don't fancy your chances at hand to hand if it comes to it. That had never been your speciality.
So for now you accept his word, and nod slowly, compliant to the mystery man currently holding your life in his rough hands.
Even in the darkness you see his eyebrow quirk up as you wrap your lips just a fraction tighter around the muzzle, an impulse you're too tired to fight against. Something about a deep-seated reaction to submit to any man that presses something against your tongue. "Now," He starts, voice so controlled it puts your current whining and whimpering to shame, and for an awful moment, you decide you'd let him keep the gun in your mouth until the end of time if it means he'll keep talking to you that way. "I'm in need of some information, okay? I'm after some of your old associates." You should pull back as he crouches at your side, but every fibre of your being wants to shift closer to him, your body drawn to the heat of his.
He shifts the gun from between your teeth, instead slotting it flush with the inside of your cheek, the stretch beginning to split the plush of your lower lip. "Now, I know you know these men, alright? So don't you try and play innocent with me." The way his words drag from his throat makes your stomach clench, and you have to hold yourself still to stop from literally writhing on the sofa. There's a scolding, in the back of your rational brain, reprimanding yourself for acting like the fool you currently are, because there's no way you should be biting back the urge to curl around the man at your side, you should know better than this- but your lower body decides that it doesn't care.
"C'mon, sit up." His voice shifts just a tone gentler, and he pats your cheek twice, almost as if he's attempting to wake you up from whatever spell he's cast over you. "Atta boy, there we go." He almost teases, and you want to whine at the praise, nuzzle against his hand as he shoves the gun back between your teeth, but you resist. It's possibly the only smart choice you make now, and you have no idea how long it will last before your resolve cracks and you give in to your baser instincts. Probably shamefully quick.
"On your knees." The way he delivers it is so sure and commanding that it has you moving without a thought, and you wonder if he can sense the waves of need radiating off of you, despite how much you fight against it, pressing your thighs together. "Hands behind your back." You clasp them at your lower back at a speed that would be mortifying for any onlooker, and you stare up at him for approval, chest thrumming when he nods.
You can't quite decide whether you want him to notice your squirming or not, as you readjust your position in a pitiful attempt to scrape back some sort of dignity. But luck is not on your side, and the friction from your movements has you momentarily keeling forward. Not the time not the time not the time- you chant desperately in your head, and your eyes roll up for a moment before you squeeze them tight. Not now. Not here. Not with him. Whoever he even is.
"Listen to me, alright?" You struggle to imagine a scenario in which you don't listen to the menacing, and extremely handsome murderer, and nod- too eager again, but you hear him hum in approval. The warmth in your lower belly coils into something much nastier, and if it continues on like this, you're not sure how long you'd be able to hold on. "You're a loose end I can't have running around, but if you tell me what I want, maybe you'll get lucky." You hear his boots squeak as he moves to crouch in front of you, so close that his breath fans over your face- but it's gone as quick as it arrives. "Open your eyes."
You see the exact moment he notices it, with the little light glowing from the lamp across the room, you watch his eyes track down to your lap. "Are you..?" He starts, before trailing off, and you expect him to pull away, maybe pull the trigger and end it all- but he doesn't. He stands back up and frowns, brows tugging, casting harsh shadows over his face. He should look more menacing like this, but the adrenaline coursing through your body just makes your pulse beat harder at the sight of him. "You like this?" He speaks like he can't quite decide whether he wants to judge you or not, and his gloved hand reaches to catch your cheek, tilting your head upwards, just enough for him to see the spit dribbling down your chin. "Fuck." He curses softly, and mostly to himself, shaking his head. You're absolutely fucked.
"You like this?" He asks again, and you nod quickly, tears beginning to bead in the corners of your eyes. Whether you're crying from the pain of your lips stretching around the muzzle, or whether it's the shame and fear of it all, you don't know, but the man doesn't seem to care. "Use your words." Something seems to shift in the air around you as he speaks, and the sight of his tongue rolling across his lips makes your chest tighten. He's staring in a different way now, and through blurry eyes you can almost see a smirk tugging at his mouth when you try to speak around the gun.
"Okay-" He takes in a deep breath, and so far in your short interaction, it's the only time you see him falter. His eyes close for a second longer than needed, he rolls his shoulders, and his neck follows. He's uncertain, that much is clear, unsure on the change in dynamic this meeting has taken. If you were smarter or quicker, you could use it to your advantage, but instead you gaze up at him with a stupid lust, and before your brain catches up to your first sign of potential freedom, he snaps back again.
You both spend several moments just staring at each other, tears sliding down your cheeks as his lips curl back into a smile. "You gonna do something about it?" He cocks his head, angling it down to speak at you like you're nothing but a dog at his feet. He's teasing now, mocking in a way that just amplifies the coil of heat low in your stomach.
"Mhm?" You can barely even manage the whine around the gun, and your lips split further with the movement, a fact that seems to have taken his attention.
He hums above you, and a leather clad finger swipes across your chin, smearing the mix of blood and spit into your skin. "Messy." He comments, and he visibly relaxes, he's no longer forcibly shoving the gun towards the back of your throat, it simply rests on your tongue now, but you don't try to pull back regardless. "Now, are you going to do something about it?" You feel dumb with confusion, your brain swirling with such rampant need that you can barely think straight. "C'mon." He urges, sliding a hand to the back of your head again, drawing you closer to him as he raises a brow expectantly. "You're a smart boy, aren't you? Smart enough to dig up all that information on those jobs back in Rio? You were the one who sent those brainless muscle fucks after my contract right? Figure it out." He pities you for a moment, and sticks out his right foot in front of you.
His shiny combat boot glistens, and you can just imagine him buffing them with practiced hands- hands that are currently holding your entire life in the balance. You can think of much more appealing things they could be doing- but a boy can dream. "Go on." He's getting impatient, an audible sigh as he rolls his eyes. "You're that fuckin' turned on from having a gun in your mouth, so do something about it." He kicks your knees apart, almost knocking you forward if it wasn't for the grip on your head and the gun still in your mouth.
The toe of his boot presses just enough to your crotch to have you mewling, the pressure so intense you can barely focus. "There?" He pushes his foot down again, and you have to squeeze your fingers together to stop yourself from reaching out and shoving him away. It's so overwhelming your head spins, and you bite down so hard you swear your tooth cracks. You don't even care. A fat glob of spit falls from your mouth when he pulls the gun almost past your lips, before pushing it back in, and he tracks it down to where it lands on his boot.
"Clean it." You swear for a second you misheard him, but then he repeats it again, and he seems angry now, as if he just remembered that he came here to kill you, not get you off. Shit. "Clean it, come on." The growl that pairs with his words is definitely supposed to come off as menacing, threaten you in a way the gun clearly doesnāt, but rather than fear, he's simply rewarded with a more desperate rut up against the sole of his boot. "Clean." He bullies it between your legs now, hooking under your ass to pull you close enough that if he holds the gun flush to his own crotch, your head is forced to tilt as your cheek rests against his thigh.
"There we are, there's still some brains in you after all." He clamps a hand on the side of your face, holding you tight to his thigh, nose just inches away from his crotch. It's painful- to move in the position he's wrangled you into, neck straining as you begin to shift back and forth across his boot. But it's addictive, and soon the pain blends into nothing but pleasure as you chase a high you definitely shouldn't, feeling his foot lift up in time with each desperate grind.
"You close?" You can barley answer as is, slackjaw around the weapon, so your response comes out as a garbled mess of whines and groans, nodding as much as you can whilst you're held in place. "Come." The speed at which you comply to his order is embarrassing, and even in your hazy state, the thought that you may very well die to his hands with a mess in your jeans flashes through your mind just a few quick seconds after. Fuck.
You can barely see with the tears clouding your eyes, and you feel boneless against him, panting wildly as he continues to press up into you, pain pricking through your body as overstimulation sets in. "Tell me who they are." He pulls the gun out suddenly, spit stringing to it and wetting your face when he presses it to your forehead. "Tell me." The fingers on the hand anchoring you to his thigh grab at your jaw when you go to clamp it shut, but his thumb forces its way in. You go to bite down, but he's quicker, taking several steps back until you're slipping over, held up entirely by your head as you reach out to steady yourself on his legs when he stops again. "Bite me, and I'll pull the trigger." He warns, gritting his teeth as he stares down at you, lower body splayed out uselessly across the floor.
"They-They'll kill me." You manage to squeeze out, panting through your words.
"By their hand or mine, you take your pick." He huffs, and your brain is still too cloudy to think properly, because your answer is nothing more than gibberish, as you blabber desperately against the fabric of his trousers, squeezing your eyes shut.
"I'll tell you where- I'll tell you where they are, if you promise not to kill me." You hear him laugh softly above you, and he smooths his thumb across your hot cheek.
"Good, good answer." He praises softly, and your dumb brain thrums with warmth, urging you to press closer to his legs again, pushing yourself up back to a kneeling position. "Are you telling me because you don't want to die, or because you hope I'll let you come again, huh?" He's laughing at you now, but you don't have it in you to care- because you're not even sure of your own answer. You don't think it matters. Especially not if he will make you come again.
"Tell me everything I need to know, and I'll consider it, okay?" Your chest is tight as you nod, and something twists within you, a fiery mix of dread and desire.
And so, you rattle off the information you knew, pointing to a desk shoved against a wall, a lock glinting on one of the drawers in the low light. "Key." You mumble, reaching down into your shirt to retrieve the key that had hung around your neck every day for the last 4 dreadful years of your life, and something close to relief washes over you when he snatches it.
"Thank you." He hums, before pulling it so hard the chain snaps, your head hitting harsh against the butt of the gun with the force of it jolting your neck.
"Are you gonna-" You trail off before you finish your thought- there was no way the man in front of you would keep to his word, especially not when his identity hits you full force, memories of all those nights trawling through details all coming back. āThe Rio job.' You should've realised sooner, it should've clicked then, but it hadn't, and you'd just spilled your guts out to a man you had no business ever talking to.
The Gray Man stares down at you.
"Stand." He ignores whatever nonsense you were no doubt about to cry, and he crouches slightly, just enough to hook an arm under yours to help you to your feet, the gun sliding across to your temple, not leaving your skin even for a moment.
At least if you died now, it would be after doing something you loved- getting off. What a silver lining.
The arm slings around your stomach, holding your back almost flush against his chest, but leaving just enough room so you can both walk over to the desk. Your legs feel like jelly as you go, and he has to wrestle to keep you moving until you reach it, only for him to push you down against it when you do. "Stay." He orders, and you have no plan to disobey, tears still falling as you press your cheek to the wood, angled just so that you can watch him unlock the drawer, your hands either side of your head. "Good boy." He mocks, gun now pressed to the back of your head, and you swear you feel something hard press against your ass when he cages your body in with his own, his other hand wrenching the drawer open.
"Good boy." He repeats again as soon as he flicks through the documents, yet he leaves them there in favour of stroking a hand down your spine. "That's gotta be rewarded, huh?" He muses, and the oddly tender touch turns harsh again when the gloved hand rips your shirt up, dragging it over your head to be discarded on the floor somewhere.
Your entire body feels like it's set ablaze as you hear him hum in what you hope is appreciation, hand smoothing over your back, squeezing at your shoulder before pressing into the base of your spine to push your hips gently against the edge of the desk. You mewl at the friction, and he laughs in a new satisfaction, reaching up to pet your head.
"Tell me you want this." In a move you didn't expect, he seeks your consent, backing off just a fraction, his hips no longer pressed against your ass, though he makes no effort to remove the gun from where it's still angled at your skull. "Tell me you want this." He repeats when you don't answer quick enough, and you can still barely think properly- you shouldn't be doing this. Not with him, not with the man who's holding you fucking hostage.
"Yes- Please." You whine before your brain can catch up, and you find yourself not regretting that answer when he immediately rewards it by grinding up against you.
"Good. I'm gonna fuck you, alright?" He doesn't wait for another response before his hand is sliding down your stomach, reaching quickly for your waistband- and you thank everything in the universe that you're wearing a pair of jogging bottoms, because he pushes them, along with your boxers, down with ease.
The rough fabric of his combat trousers scratches against your bare skin, and your heartbeat quickens so violently you can feel your pulse throbbing once in your cock. "Shit." He curses to himself, and seconds later you listen as he spits filthily, leather clad fingers pulling you open just enough that you feel it dribble down. "There we go." He hums, suddenly all too casual, and you jolt when he presses a thumb to your hole. "Shh shh shhh." He's crowding you now, kicking your feet further apart before leaning over, just enough to drag his teeth across your shoulder.
"I can't believe you were so desperate you sold out your crew just for the chance that I'd fuck you." He hisses, teeth grazing where your neck meets your shoulders, biting softly when he finally stops circling and pushes the digit in. "Right there?" He teases when you gasp, humming in approval at the way you begin to writhe as he stretches you open.
"Fuck!" You all but yelp when he swaps his thumb for his index and works in the middle one alongside it almost immediately.
"You're so tight." He praises, standing back to full height, but only in order to spit back down onto you again, easing the friction and burn his fingers are causing just a fraction. "There we go." He lets the gun leave your head briefly, but only to trail the cold, still damp metal up and down your spine, watching the way you arch up into it. "One more." He warns, though he allows you no time to prepare before another finger joins the others, and the feeling has you crying out.
"So loud, you hoping someone will hear and come rescue you?" He taunts, and suddenly the gun is back at your lips, taking advantage of the way you're slack jawed, drooling madly against the table, making it perfect for him to slip the weapon past your lips once more. "Hold on to that for me." He quips, still stretching you open for a few more moments, before he pulls out, leaving you gasping around the gun, feeling almost unbearably empty.
He stays silent and unmoving then, but you can't crane your neck back enough to stare at him behind you. "Do you have protection?" His tone is almost as serious as when he was interrogating you, and it sparks an urgency in your brain.
"Th-There-" It's barely audible, muffled by the gun, but you throw out a hand to point at another drawer, which he swiftly opens.
"You get fucked here this often, huh?" He's laughing again as he retrieves a condom, and you have to bite back a nod as you listen to him tear it open with his teeth.
"Here, I'll let you put it on." He shifts behind you, just enough for you to see that he'd pushed his trousers down, his cock open and on full display.
Holy shit. "Come on." He groans when you do nothing but stare, rolling the condom a little awkwardly onto his tip with one hand, before he grasps your wrist and pulls it close to continue the job.
Fuck- you think, and he echoes it himself out loud several seconds later, thrusting lazily into your hand once you'd got the condom rolled down to the base.
He's big and pulsing in your hand, and you have to swallow the wave of nerves that curl up in your throat at the sensation.
-But you're excited for the burn all the same, and attempt to wiggle your ass towards him, something that earns a pleased hum.
"I'll put you out of your misery." The joke is hardly funny, and both of you know that, the gun is still ready to fire right through the roof of your mouth, and yet you grin at him in response. "You're a sick freak, you know that, right?" He can't help but smile back, shaking his head in a way that you'd dare describe as almost fond, before he turns to the drawer again. "A well prepared freak." Something you're both grateful for now, as he pops the cap open, moving back behind you to spread it rather liberally over himself, before adding a few more squirts to you too. A gentleman.
"Breathe." The tip is cold when it presses to your hole, but spreads a violent heat within you once he begins to push in. "There we go." His hand holds your hips down flush with the desk as he eases in, groaning wantonly over you. "So tight f'me." His words are all choked up in his throat as he takes his sweet time to push in right to the hilt, and you cry out as he does so, his hips bumping against your ass.
"That feel good?" He uses the gun in your mouth to push your head up and down in a nod with an amused chuckle. "Good." He teases, experimentally drawing back just a fraction before pushing back in, moaning at the drag the action creates. You mirror his sounds around the muzzle, back arching up off the desk as he begins to move properly.
"Can't believe- that you- got fuckin' hard- from me- holding you at gunpoint." He muses between thrusts, the desk bumping loudly against the wall as he pushes harder with each one. "You like that? -Huh-? Being helpless?" He grits out, and he doesn't have to manipulate your nod now, because you do so eagerly, pressing back against him. "Risking- fuck -blowing your brains out just so you can come?" You really should be ashamed, honestly, scared more than anything, but the way he's crowded over you again and the way he's hitting deep inside you has you seeing stars. You're far too gone now to ever go back, and you don't think you want to either.
"So good." His hand slides from your lower back, curling under your stomach until he can grasp at your cock, pumping lazily in time with his own thrusts, your cries only getting louder as he does so. "Suck." He orders, and both hands move in a skilled tandem to simultaneously jerk you off and pump the gun in and out of your mouth. What the fuck was happening? The feeling is almost unbearable, especially when his pace quickens, and you swear you'll get friction burn on your cheek from how much he's dragging you back and forth.
"You gonna come again? Yeah? You gonna come from this fuckin' gun in your mouth?" The muzzle cracks against your teeth as you nod again, and you can only imagine the ache and pain you will experience in the coming days.
It's all worth it through, and you press back into him with each thrust, at least until your legs begin to shake so much you lose the footing you had, only held up from slipping off the desk by his body pinning yours down.
"Come on." He's panting feverishly into your ear, and you can tell he's close too, his hips stuttering as he pounds into you. "Come for me." He hisses, teeth catching on your earlobe, the feeling of them biting into your skin just enough to push you to your release. "Fuck-Fuck-" He groans, the grip on his gun never slipping or wavering in his hand, even when you feel him come himself, a hot warmth spreading through your lower body.
"Fuck you." He spits, forehead pressed to the base of your neck, still pumping his hips for several more moments, fucking you still through both of your highs before easing off enough to pull out.
"Fuck you." You try to speak around the gun, and despite it coming out muffled and garbled, he laughs again, though it's not as cheerful this time, it sounds almost pained.
"I'm gonna-" He sighs, and you watch him pull his trousers up without even removing the condom, and once again the gravity of his identity hits you. You just let The Gray Man fuck you filthily against the desk containing everything that could bring you and your associates down. "Thanks for this." He gathers up all the papers he can in one hand, and steps back to grab a bag you hadn't noticed him drop earlier in the night. "I really appreciate your cooperation, you know?" He's still a little breathless as he shoves the documents inside, and you watch from your position, still folded over the desk. "Any more?" You shake your head, despite the messiness of your associates, you kept your shit clean and tidy. "Good." The gun remains pointed at you as he zips the bag up before slinging it over his back.
"If you ever pull that shit again, I will not hesitate to come back and finish the job." For good measure, he presses it back to your forehead, just for a moment. "I will blow your head clean off, whether you're a good fuck or not." You just nod, head resting in a pool of your own drool and blood. "Good. Glad that's agreed." He cocks his head to the side, watching you as you lay still staring at him. "Have a nice night."
You watch him retreat towards the door, and you don't say a single thing, despite how much the words claw at your throat. He disappears as quietly as he had arrived, and you find yourself staring at where his body had once stood for possibly too long after he's gone.
You only prayed to whoever was listening that he found your associates before they found you.
Courtland Gentry had once been described as āa pleasure to be around and joy to have in class'. He'd been smart as a whip and strong too, caring like you wouldn't believe. Theyād report he was hellbent on befriending everyone, and making sure no classmate ever felt left out.
Ever since he was old enough to grasp the concept, Courtland Gentry had been destined to be a perfect big brother.
And he had been, for a while.
But then their stance on the boy would change. They'd report that he was quiet, withdrawn in class, and the kids he'd once befriended became closer without him. Teachers would remark that he knew the subject matter better than anyone, but homework had started to go un-finished and he'd no longer be quick to contribute. He's a lovely kid, he just needs to build his confidence back up.
Later, as he progressed through the years, the understanding and kindness surrounding his sudden silence had become less and less. He was no longer the pleasure to have in class, he was a growing concern, a slacker who slept in the back and missed assignments every week. He needs to take his education seriously, or he will never get anywhere.
Courtland Gentry didn't become 'the combative student who disrupted class and fought with teachers' that his schoolmates would later claim when the news hit the town. āTroubled Teen with a Penchant For Violenceā, as the headlines reported, spurred on by false memories and need for drama.
No, Court had just faded away into the backdrop of a busy school where teachers became unaffected by his dwindling grades, numb at his absence.
Courtland Gentry had taken a backseat to the life he'd once lived so loudly, and no one seemed to care.
Up until heād become 'The Kid Who Murdered His Dad', Court had simply been nothing.
And so, the twins would never truly remember their brother for the boy he'd once been. They were too young to recall his bustling excitement the day they came home, they wouldn't remember how he'd spend every waking minute caring for them. They wouldnāt even be able to describe his face.
Colt wouldn't remember the brother whoād bought him his first bike and taught him to ride, who didn't care or grow angry when he'd fall off for the millionth time, who would simply pick him back up, dust off his clothes and put him right back on. He would later in his career credit his resilience to something else entirely, and even he had forgotten where it all began.
Ryland, similarly, would never remember the brother who got him hooked on science, who would spend his time after school retelling everything he'd learnt that day, who'd brought him the sea monkey kit so he could pretend he was doing his first real experiment. When he won his first award, he cites his 6th grade science teacher for being the one to push him to the field, and he will believe that to be true.
As they grew older, they'd find they knew very little of their once beloved brother at all.
Their surnames will change, they'll find new families who sever the ties to the disgraced Gentry boy, and as adults they wonāt even be able to recall his name. The name that had once been synonymous with love.
Despite their separation, the boys would always describe themselves as a twin, as a brother still.
But for Court? There is no word for someone who simply used to be one.Ā
Ever since he received that visit in prison, Courtland Gentry had been destined to disappear.
At his funeral, beside a plaque hailing him a hero, Colt will recall the brother who he adored so deeply, he will speak fondly, and talk for hours with anyone who will listen.
As his body is prepared for cremation, they will feel along the scars dug harsh into his skin, marked and burnt, they will decide that they prove nothing more than the terror he became. They will remark on his wounds as if they were deserved, karma for the sins he had committed, the lives he had taken. They will not care to consider a fact that Courtland had always held close, that he had been a brother first, before everything else. As he is sent into the fire, his bones turn to ash before anyone finds out that his first scar had been born from protection.
And so they do not scatter him lovingly, he is dumped into the night sky to disappear with the wind. The world keeps spinning, unaware and uncaring. There is no one to say a final word, whisper a soft farewell as he fades into nothing.
Colt will feel an ache in his chest that he will he attribute to an ancient injury.
On Erid, Rocky will note the way Ryland falters just for a moment, and they will both place it down to the drag of gravity taking its toll on his bones.
Neither will see the solitary report of their brother's death, as it too will burn with him.
When they clean out his safe houses, they will find piles of scientific papers, all credited to a Ryland Grace, beside mounds of printed out screenshots of action sequences in films, zoomed in to the blur of stunt man Colt Seaversā face.
āHeād gone crazy.ā Someone will mutter- and just like the reports, they too will burn.
Holland hasnāt even tried to contact you since the night at Jacksonās apartment, and youāve given up hope of ever seeing him again-because you refuse to go out and run the risk of seeing him out of sheer embarrassment- so itās a surprise when you finally get a phone call. But itās not from March.
Jackson Healy takes you out to dinner, but thereās more than just a meal on his mind. Youāve happily set his plan in motion.
Warnings: 18+, NSFW minors do not interact. reader is written with a penis, but no other appearance descriptions. no use of y/n. receiving hickeys, jerking off, frotting if you really squint, m/m/m threesome (no penetrative sex), marchly have a sexually charged domestic in the middle of it all and you donāt mind. pet names (baby, doll, darling, sweetheart.), age gaps (healy calls reader ākidā and then i never bring it up again because i forgot) jackson plans this to prove a point to march. about..something ? anyway theyāre both possessive and annoying and unaware they like each other . cumming in pants
a/n: iāve really gotta stop writing in the middle of the night. but iāve been stuck on this for like a week and got inspiration thanks to several cocktails. 2am is my writing sweetspot but itās when i get flare ups in my hands so excuse any spelling mistakes/typos. iāve tried to fix them all as i go
The call came around 6pm, and you half expected it to be one of your friends, chewing you out for bailing on the bar for the millionth time in the last few weeks, but the shame of potentially bumping into March had kept you confined to your shitty apartment each night.
You answer with a hesitant 'hello' and statement of your name, bracing for a barrage of annoyance at your lack of presence.
"Hey, it's Jackson Healy." You stop dead where you'd begun pacing, the phone damn near falling from your hands.
"Oh god- Hi Jackson, oh god- I was going to come by and apologise sooner! I've just been so caught up with work- was there anything broken? Oh- Did anything need cleaning? I'll pay for it I swear I-" He cuts your rambling off with a gravelly laugh, and you have to lean against the wall at the sound. God, you'd met the man once and he's already got you hot under the collar.
"No no, don't you worry yourself about that, Loverboy took care of it." The laugh makes your chest tighten, and you're suddenly very glad you're home alone so no one is there to witness the bashful grin that tugs at your lips.
"Oh." Is all you can think to say. The mention of March almost stings, because for a brief moment, despite all your mess and chaos, you believed you and him could've been something. Even if that something was a long series of sleazy meetings and teasing fucks. You'd take it.
Maybe Healy could take you instead-
"Are you uh- how have you been?" You stumble through the question, eager to listen to him speak again. it's shameless, the way you want nothing more than to hear his gravelly voice until the end of time.
"Good thanks- yeah.." He trails off, but only for a moment. "Are you free tonight?" The question has your brain short circuiting, and you stammer, resting your forehead pathetically against the wall. What the hell was going on with you?
"Oh uh-yeah-yeah I am." Gone was the confidence you possessed drunk, and you side eyed the fridge- but Healy doesn't let you get that far.
"Good. I'll pick you up in 30 minutes. Wear a nice shirt, we're going to a restaurant."
Holy shit.
Exactly 30 minutes later there's a knock at the door, and you open it with shaking hands to see Healy, resting against the doorframe, glasses perched on his forehead. "You look good." He holds his hand out expectantly, and your heart leaps into your throat as you take it.
"Thanks, you look good too." You settle on answering, and he simply grins, letting his hand slide over your arm to sit nicely on the small of your back as you move to lock your door.
"No need to be nervous." Healy hums, a little closer than he probably needed to be, practically caging you against the door before stepping back like nothing happened.
He keeps his hand firmly on your back as you walk down to his car, and your heart thrums when he opens the door for you to climb in, winking before rounding to the drivers side.
You sit in an oddly comfortable silence as he drives you to the restaurant, and you spend approximately 99% of that time split between wondering why the hell he's taking you out to dinner, and coming to terms with the fact you absolutely do not care.
Healy is a severely attractive man, and if he wants to drag your sorry, embarrassed ass to a restaurant for no clear reason, youāre absolutely going to let him. And only partly because you think it might lead you back to March, who had been avoiding your calls.
āHere we are.ā The restaurant he parks outside is nice, much fancier than you could ever take yourself too, and youāre pleasantly surprised when he once again circles the car to open your door and help you out.
āThank you, Jackson.ā You hum, expecting him to pull away now youāre in public, but instead he loops his arm around your waist once more, guiding you towards the door.
āDonāt mention it.ā He flashes a casual grin, but something in his eyes tells you that you actually shouldnāt mention it.
Dinner is oddly rather uneventful, Healy spends most of the time probing about your life, though you do get the feeling that he may know more about you than he lets on. Mainly on account of the fact that neither him or March knew your name, or even where you lived, and yet heād called you up and successfully shown up at your front door without so much as a confirmation. Surprisingly, you realise that that fact doesnāt quite set you on edge like it should, and you find yourself more charmed than freaked out. Healy had insisted you owed him absolutely nothing- not even an apology- for what had happened at his apartment, and this was purely a dinner to āclear the airā and fix first impressions.
Healy, as far you were concerned, was an absolute gentleman- and a handsome one at that.
ā
āDo you want to come back to my place?ā The tension had been thick through dinner, and between his lingering glances and the hand that had somehow found its way to your thigh under the table, your answer was a no brainer. An opportunity to spend more time with the man staring at you like you were the only person in the whole world, was not an opportunity you were going to pass up. You probably looked a little too eager to say yes, but you were way past worrying about being pathetic. That embarrassment could wait until later.
You hadn't been back there long when there was a knock at the door, and whilst it caught you off guard, he didn't seem surprised at all, and turned to you with a warm smile. "I think you're gonna like this, hmm?" He didn't elaborate, and you stared at his broad back as he walked to open the door.
"Healy?" It was March, you were sure of it, and you thought your heart might leap out of your chest with how fast it was beating now.
"Good. You're here." His fingers wrap around March's shoulder, and he all but drags him into his apartment, pushing him towards your space on the sofa as he recalls some event from the day, though it cuts short at the sight of you, sitting on Healy's sofa, a beer in hand.
"March." Your eyes are wide, and his are too. It takes him several seconds of open mouth gawking at you for him to resume his usual composure, a smirk pulling shakily on his lips.
"Hey doll." He winks, but you don't quite think he's fully confident in the gesture, because his grin slips just a moment later. "What-What's happening here?" The reality seems to hit him, because he sounds scandalised as he spins on his heel to jab at Healy. "Not fucking cool! You-You can't ruin my night with him and then steal him!" They're arguing with each other like you aren't there, and for some reason that has a warmth growing in your stomach, and you find yourself awfully fidgety all of a sudden, eyes flicking between the pair of them.
"What? Do I need to ask your permission to take a guy out? March you're ridiculous! You don't own the kid!" Something stirs when he calls you kid, and the almost empty beer bottle slips from your fingers, the noise of it hitting the carpeted floor has them both turning to you.
"I'm sorry-I should go I-" The speed at which they both move towards you is almost startling, and you struggle to pick one to look at.
"No-" They both say at once, followed by a shared glare.
"No, you don't have to go." Healy insists, shooting another pointed glance at March, before moving to sit on the sofa beside you, only for the other man to mirror it at your other side.
Oh.
Oh.
You're starting to think Healy had a little more than a dinner date and a drink at his apartment in mind, and his lack of surprise when March showed up suddenly makes sense.
"Darling." His voice is a deep hum that rattles deliciously in your chest, and you find yourself magnetised to his side, leaning just a fraction closer to him as he speaks. "I wanted to make the other week up to you." His hand slips effortlessly onto your thigh, hooking around the inside of your leg to part it slightly. Your breath hitches and a small sigh escapes your lips, though you hear a grumble of complaint to your right, where March is pouting.
"Yeah and -! Well I wanted to, too." Granted you'd only seen the man twice, but the March you were experiencing now was so far stripped back from the overconfident sleazy talker that you knew, in a way that was almost unnerving.
"Yeah yeah." Healy waves his hand dismissively towards him, which only seems to aggravate him further.
"Doll-" One hand grabs at your knee, the other moving to grasp at your cheek, pulling your attention over to him. "C'mere." He hums, drawing your lips to meet his, feeling them stretch into a smirk as your mouths met. March was back. He makes out like a man starved, tongue slipping across your lips before prodding into your mouth, swiping behind your teeth, the hand on your face curling gently around your head to keep you steady, pressed to him.
"Fuck-" You almost forget Healy is there, until there's a weight shifting beside you, and the hand on your thigh wretches your leg into his lap as he sinks just far enough behind you to begin to mouth rather sloppily at your neck.
Your curse into March's mouth, and he simply swallows the sound eagerly, squeezing at your thigh the way Healy is too, and you're swimming now, your brain feeling like mush as they both manhandle you in their own way.
"My turn." There's an actual growl from Healy, who swats at March from behind your back until he reluctantly pulls back, eyes shining as they fall to the string of spit that connects your mouths. "There you are, sweetheart." The deep tone of his voice is sinful as he helps tilt your body towards him, enough that your head can turn to meet his own in his reclined position, partly under you. The strain on your neck makes you whine, but you don't have it in you to care, your only focus falling to Healy, who's now about to eat you alive, enough that you once again forget that theres a second person in this scenario.
A second person, in fact, who's now ripping at your shirt buttons like they personally offend him, huffing angrily when one gets stuck, halting him in his path to sucking bruises into your skin again. "Perfect." He mutters when he's finally pulling your shirt open, practically climbing onto you in order to position himself to begin mouthing across your chest.
"Leave space for me, March." Healy barely pulls back enough to talk, and his words end up half muffled by your lips, but March seems to get the message regardless, waving a dismissive hand halfheartedly towards his friend, mouth barely leaving your skin.
Youāre whining and whimpering now in a way you don't think you ever have before, the overwhelming feeling of having two men pawing and kissing you making everything buzzy. You feel almost delirious, and it's not helped when March begins to grope at your chest, groaning against the expanse of your neck as he rubs a thumb repeatedly into your nipple.
You break apart from Healy to pant, head resting uselessly against his shoulder, and you can barely think of where to place your hands, one gripping at March's shoulder as he continues his work, the opposite entwining with Healy's. "Fuck." You curse softly, and you only feel more lightheaded when Healy grabs at your waist, using your linked hands at one side and his own at the other in order to wrestle you firmly into his lap, his chest against your back.
"You okay, darlin?" You can feel the vibrations when he all but groans into your ear, feeling you writhe as March continues ministrations, barely affected by all the change of position.
"Y-Yeah." Your voice catches in your throat as March's lips slide over your chest again, much to both of their entertainment.
"March- I said fuckin' leave some room for me." Healy reaches around you, just enough to tangle a fist in March's hair, pulling his head away, much to his protest.
"I'm busy here, asshole!" He snaps, peering around your head in a way that makes you wonder if there's a little more going on that a simple hookup. It feels like you've unknowingly entered into a relationship that doesn't know it's a relationship yet.
"Yeah? Well go be busy with yourself!" March's eyes narrow at him, and it's like you're not even there now, because he's shuffling back off you, enough that he can lean around to prod Healy in the shoulder.
"You're the one who invited me, dipshit!" He huffs, and yeah, this is starting to feel a little too much like a domestic dispute you shouldn't be part of.
"I invited you here to give you a fuckin' lesson on how to treat a man properly!" Healy's thick arm wraps around your torso, and he pulls you just a fraction closer to him, enough that you can feel the weight of his hard cock beneath you. Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. You chant it in your head like it can save you from whatever the hell was about to happen, but your heart knows you want nothing more than to be stuck between whatever messy situation was currently unfolding.
"You're always trying to one up me, Healy!" March's voice has that same shrill tone as when Healy had come home to interrupt you both, and you so desperately wanted to pick apart whatever dynamic they seem to have trapped themselves in, because he looks damn near seconds away from crying. "You can't just let me have this!" Healy scoffs behind you, and he barely registers the whine he pulls from you when he shifts in the seat, he's far too focused on the argument he's having.
It's almost hot, in a weird way. He's still dragging pleasure from you whilst also pretty much pretending you don't exist.
They're so wrapped up in each other they're barely even focusing on the entire reason they'd brought you here.
"Let you have 'this'?" He shuffles again, unsettled in his annoyance, and you have to bite back a groan as he does so- you have no idea how he's staying so...calm and so unfazed. "You don't even know his name, March!" He gawks at you both for several seconds, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find words to say, coming up empty.
Instead however, he chooses to make a daring move, and unceremoniously grabs at your dick, not dissimilar to how he'd done so in the bar bathroom, and you have to bite back a yelp at the sudden friction.
"I know he likes this." He snipes back, and you barely comprehend what's going on as his mouth is back on yours, and you simply sink into the overwhelming feeling again, because Healy begins to shift his hips repeatedly upwards.
"Every guy likes that, idiot." He huffs, but makes no attempt to push him off you, not even when March begins fiddling with your zipper.
Healy's hands are tight around your waist as he jerks beneath you, each lazy roll upwards of his body bringing another wave, which you groan about wantonly into March's open mouth. It's clear but the way they're both moving now, that this has long since stopped being entirely about pleasuring you for the sake of it, and more about each proving a point to the other. You don't have it in you to even be mad, not when it all feels so good.
"You're so good for us, yeah?" Healy praises, one hand slipping forward to untuck your shirt as March tries desperately to get your trousers open without looking down and disconnecting your lips.
"Mhm!" Is all you can whine in response, feeling boneless against Healy, who appears to be hellbent on groping every part of you now with the hand that's not massaging your hips.
"Isn't he good, March?" He prompts, and you're unsure if it's just a ploy to get March to pull away, because the second you're not kissing, he's attempting to draw your mouth to his with a hand on your neck.
"I've claimed his mouth." March huffs, and suddenly he's on you, knees barely fitting over yours and Healy's combined, staying upright with an arm hooked around his partners back to anchor him on, the other working you out of your trousers, too eager to even try to pull them down. "You get his ass and chest." Once again, they're talking about you like you aren't there, and you catch them both glaring at each other over your shoulder.
"Not very gentlemanly of you, March." He grins, bucking up into your clothed ass again, jolting you to jerk your hips forward yourself, meeting March's hand.
"You know, I don't think he minds." He grins, wrapping his fingers around the head of your dick, squeezing gently.
āFucking hell.ā Your head falls forward to rest on Marchās shoulder, and your hand drops to his lap, beginning to mirror his movements, palming him in time with the way heās jerking you off.
Not one to miss out, Healy watches with a slack jaw for several moments, eyes fixated on where your dick presses to the fabric of Marchās straining trousers, before he begins to buck up in time with both of you.
Thereās a chorus of moans happening from all 3 of you, and you thank whatever in the universe is watching over you that not only does Jackson live above a thriving comedy club with no neighbours to complain about the sound, but also that youāve somehow even ended up in the current situation. Someone out there is looking out for you.
āKiss him.ā Healy grunts, his hand moving back to resume his earlier ministrations across your chest, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. This time, March doesnāt argue back, and eagerly dives forwards to make out, all sloppy and messy, pushing you backwards and down onto Healy, who groans at the feeling, cursing into your ear, his pace quickening.
āFuck.ā March is panting, and youāre both slobbering over each other so much that you can barely keep your lips together, spit dribbling down both your chins.
āShit.ā The feeling is starting to get so overwhelming you canāt even concentrate on kissing back, and instead begin to cry and babble incoherently into his open mouth, not that he seemed to mind, especially when it just spurred him on to jerk you off even faster.
āHis hearts racing, I think heās close.ā Healyās hand had settled between your pecs, and he used the grip to move you in time with his thrusts, dragging you slow down against his cock with each movement.
āCāmon baby, you gonna come for me again? Third timeās the charm.ā He practically purrs, a hand on the back of your head tilting it down so you can watch the way youāre now humping both his fist and his clothed bulge, your precum wetting the fabric, along with strings of spit dripping from your lips. āCome on, say my name doll, come for me.ā He urges, almost as desperate as you are, watching the way your hips begin to stutter.
Your mouth opens to shudder a cry of his name as you come undone, only for thick fingers to bully their way into your mouth, muffling your words around them. Healy had genuinely shoved his fingers in your mouth so you donāt call Marchās name.
āFuck!ā March is close behind you, coming in his pants for a second time, grinding up against your palm, and it seems to only be when he throws his head back, that Healy, with eyes trained solidly on his partners body, cums beneath you with a heavy groan.
Holy shit.
āYou guys need to like..make out or something, Iām so serious.ā
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