"Where are you?" Your head swims as you blink up at the ceiling. It's not a voice you can pinpoint, but somewhere in the back of your mind you recognise it. …"It's me."
Food poisoning is a bitch, you’re out sick from work for a second day, but luckily your stalker is nothing but happy to help, and don’t worry, he’ll let himself in! :)
warnings: non-descriptive talk of vomit/sickness (food poisoning), stalking. nothing NSFW, but my account is strictly 18+ for interactions. male reader but no appearance descriptions at all
a/n: haiii. a little small fic whilst i work on some others <3 i love u stalker court …: ur legally obligated to listen to my way of life by frank sinatra whilst reading because that’s his song <3 awe
You feel sicker than you ever have, which is to be expected when you've been keeled over the toilet puking your guts up for the last 2 days. You are long past wondering the why of it all- though you'll take a good gamble on it being the dodgy food you'd eaten after a night out- now all that matters is the fact it feels like your brain is about to seep out of your ears.
The ringing of your phone is what finally pulls you away from the bathroom floor, and you curse whoever is on the other end of the line as you crawl along the floor. It's hardly dignified, but neither is what you've been doing, so you try not to care as you drag yourself to your bedroom.
Your eyes blur when you stare at the screen, so you ignore whatever text comes up for whoever's calling, and roll onto your back with the phone on speaker beside your head. "Hello?" It's the first time you've spoken in days, and your raw throat makes the greeting come out cracked and pained.
"Where are you?" Your head swims as you blink up at the ceiling. It's not a voice you can pinpoint, but somewhere in the back of your mind you recognise it.
"Who is this?" You pinch your brow and tilt your head enough to stare at the screen now. No caller ID.
"It's me." It's all he has to say, and your stomach twists in knots- you wish you were still in the bathroom.
"Oh." You're not sure what to respond with, and for several long moments, the line is silent.
"Where are you?" He asks again, and he sounds increasingly more agitated with each second.
"At home." You're not sure why you answer, but something draws you to being honest with him. In a sick, and stupid part of your mind and heart, you trust him. So far, he's given you no reason not to.
He's protected you.
"You didn't go to work yesterday, or today." A violent thrill runs through your spine with the knowledge he's watching- even if you already knew as much. It's not necessarily bad, you have no idea how you feel, but you know how you should. He should terrify you, this entire situation should have you running to the police, moving towns and ditching your phone. Yet you answer him as if he's a close friend.
"I don't feel well- food poisoning, I think." There's another bout of silence, and for a moment you believe he's hung up.
"I'm coming to help you." The line drops, and your head pounds violently against your skull, sending you woozy again. You don't have time to think about what the hell he means by that, before you're scrambling on all fours back to the toilet.
Maybe the mystery man coming to help won't be too bad.
You're laying with your head resting on the cold tiled floor when you hear it- the jingle of a lock, followed by the door slamming. Holy shit. Your heart leaps into your chest at the sound- you'd expected him to ring the doorbell, but you can hear him now, boots you always see him wear thumping against the floor as he stalks through your apartment like he's been here a million times. You try not to dwell on that- and the chance that it may just be true.
"Fuck-" He's knelt down next to you before you can process what's happening, one of his large hands moving to press against your forehead. "Oh." It's almost a coo, and you blink up at him with teary eyes, brought forward by the force of vomiting- and he quickly brushes them away.
It dawns on you then that it's the first time you've seen his face- or rather the first time he's allowed you to. The only time he'd ever approached you properly, he'd demanded you don't look at him. So it feels almost wrong to do so now, and you direct your eyes back to the floor, as if staring at him is some violation of privacy. "I'll get you some water, okay?" You only have it in yourself to nod, and he's disappearing away again, like he's done so many times before. The sight of his back retreating into the shadows of your house is oddly comforting.
"Here." You don't want to question how quickly he returns with a glass of water in hand, and the way it affirms your suspicions he's been in your house previously- you just allow him to help you sit up. He's careful as he kneels down in front of you, a hand cupping the side of your face as the glass presses to your lips. "You need to stay hydrated." There's a small shake of his head as he speaks, and there's some semblance of a smile with it too.
"Thank you." Your voice is still hoarse, and it earns something close to a laugh.
"You still feel like you're gonna be sick?" He reaches to place the glass on the sink, waiting for a shake of your head before he hooks hands under your armpits and hauls you unsteadily back to your feet.
"Thank you." You repeat, grasping onto hard biceps as you press your forehead to his collarbone beneath his thick hoodie. He's almost cosy, and if you closed your eyes tight enough, you could imagine he was anyone else- but then, as you think about it, you don't mind that it's him. It's almost unnerving, how calm you feel about this whole situation, how at ease you are with the literal stranger in your home, the man who's been stalking you for months. You accept the safety of his hold as he wraps arms around you.
"It's okay." He guides you back towards your bed as if he's done it a million times, gently pushing you to sit. "You want to get into a change of clothes?" He stands in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke over the top of your head. You lean into it, and then stall as the reality kicks in- this entire situation is insane- your brain supplies, but he's taking advantage of your movement already, and he cradles your head properly, like a lover would. "I won't hurt you." His eyes almost shine as he says it, and you shouldn't believe him- you know that, but his voice is so tender and reassuring, you're inclined to believe him.
After all, he's protected you before, why not now?
"Who are you?" He stiffens, just a little, you can feel it in the way the pads of his fingers push harder into your cheeks and scalp.
"You will not find me anywhere if you try." You have no doubt in his statement, and press yourself closer to him, in an effort to ease his worries. It seems to work, as he closes his eyes tight and sighs, punctuated with a shake of his head. "You can call me Six, is that enough?" For some reason, against what you know you should feel, the answer satiates you, you feel a fraction calmer with the knowledge of his name, even if you know it's not real. He feels more like a human and less like a shadow this way.
"It'll do." You smile up at him, and he finally cracks fully to mirror you.
"So, clothes." His smile drops, and his hands fall away from your face. You watch as he brushes them off against his sides like you've tainted him somehow, and he glowers at the floor for a moment before turning away. It's not a glare directed to you, and he shakes as he walks towards your dresser as if the simple act of touching you renders him impure. -Actually? Right now you don't blame him, you're pretty sure your shirt has puke on it, and he did enter your home to find you keeled over next to the toilet. Hey, maybe your stalker is a neat freak.
"You should wear this more often, it suits you." He's pulling out clothes like he's had an outfit in mind for months, and you have to give it to him, he has good taste. "You gotta keep yourself comfortable." He's humming a tune, you realise now, but it's not something you recognise. Part of you wants to ask, but you fear bringing attention to his little melody will make him stop.
Once again, if you close your eyes real tight, you can imagine this in another setting, another lifetime. You wonder, only briefly, if he'd be a good boyfriend, before squashing that thought and forcing your eyes back open.
He's there, right in front of you when you do, and you realise then that if you'd seen him before, you'd never notice. You only ever saw him when he wanted you to see him, noticing him in the shadows wasn't something careless- it was deliberate. Obscuring himself just enough that he'd be recognisable in that context only. Even when he'd approached, he'd had a cap pulled low on his face, casting a darkness that masked his features out the corner of your eye.
Something sparks in your chest, something about his ability to disappear in open air has you wondering if maybe he's a little more than just a random man with a fixation on you.
"Here." He doesn't seem phased by your spacing out, or the way you gawk at him silently, and he carefully hands you the pile of clothes he'd picked out. The fabric of each item was soft, thought about, and you curse the way your anxiety fizzles into something warmer. He's actually sweet.
"I'll close my eyes, but I'll have my hands out if you're feeling unsteady." He does as he says, and you stare at him openly now- it feels rude, and it is no doubt against his wishes, but you want to commit his face to memory. You never want to cross his paths again without remembering the sweetness he's afforded you, even if it's slightly insane. You may never get another chance to gaze at him in this way, and it amazes you that he leaves himself blind and vulnerable around you, after he's done so much to conceal himself, he's so open towards you now.
"Thank you." You hardly want to risk scaring him off, so you begin to move, standing back on shaking legs, reaching out towards him, only for him to gravitate to your waist like he can see through his eyelids.
"I've got you." He has such a soft hum now, one you'd never imagine coming from the man who'd shot several people for a theft that wouldn't have affected him either way. He's the man that protected you so violent and bloody, but now he's gentle, standing in your bedroom and holding you like he's worried you'll break.
"So, Six," You start, grateful for his help when you struggle to pull up the shorts he'd picked, and you try not to think about his knuckles tracing your skin as he bends to aid you, fingers brushing your thighs. "I uh- take it that you know my name?" He hums, returning his palms back to steadying you at your hips whilst you change your shirt. "Can I ask why?" He doesn't quite pull back at your question, but you feel his grip falter, before his fingers flex at your waist, you can see the conflict on his face when you glance up.
"Why I've been watching you?" He clarifies, despite the fact you both know it's not needed. He's stalling, and it shows when he screws his eyes up and his jaw clenches down.
"You don't have to-" You rush to speak, to take back words you know you can't, but he's answering before you know it. Short, simple, the first true fact of his life.
"I lived here, before." It's as if it releases something in him as he says it, and he deflates with a shake of his head. You hardly believe that's it. Someone living in your old home hardly deserves the attention he gives you- it's not a connection worth going all guns blazing into a fight for. And yet? You don't care for another answer.
"Now, you should be getting back to bed." He opens his eyes when he doesn't hear the shuffle of clothes anymore, and once again, it drags a smile from him. "See, it suits you." You can't help but grin up at him, and you feel remarkably safe as he reaches over to pull back your bedsheets for you to crawl under, and even more so when he tucks them up to your chin. It's such a tender gesture from a man you've only presumed to be cold and violent, and just for a moment you wish he'll be here to do the same every night.
But he can't be, and you're reminded of that when he turns back away, head bowed, once again brushing his hands against his shirt, clenching and unclenching fists.
"I'm going to make you some toast, something dry, see if you can keep it down." He announces to the wall, and moves from the room with a sudden urgency.
What the fuck was going on?
When he comes back there's something distant in his eyes, and he dodges your gaze as best he can. "Thank you, Six." You catch his hand in yours when he passes you the plate, and you both stare at where your bodies meet for several moments, before he's pulling back harshly.
"It's okay." His mouth stretches into something resembling a smile, and you return it as best you can.
"You can sit, it's okay." He seems on edge, his hands balled up into fists that he tries and fails to hide in the pockets of his trousers.
"Yeah?" He loosens a little then, and when you pat the bed beside you, he rounds it, pulling off his hoodie and folding it nearly to place at the space by your feet. "Let me-" He sits facing away from you to take off his boots, and you find yourself doing nothing but gazing at the shape of his back, there's something so different about him up close, you can see the way his muscles shift as he moves.
But you can see the scars too, now. They're deep up his arms, carving their way through his bicep and up under his shirt.
For the first time around him tonight, you feel a sense of danger. You knew it from the night with the robbers that he's not afraid of pulling a gun, and you find your eyes travelling across his waist, looking for the bulge of a weapon concealed. You're not quite sure it's comforting.
"You kept it." He breaks you out of your daze, and it takes several seconds for you to realise what he's referring to. Your eyes follow his over to the bedside table, to where you'd left the rose he'd given you.
Oh shit.
"Oh uh-Yeah." He stays facing away from you for long enough that you're questioning whether it was the wrong thing to do, before he kicks his boots off and turns around to sit beside you.
"You kept it." He says again, as if the words don't feel right on his tongue. "You'd told your friend that no one's got you flowers in years, that you missed getting a bouquet of roses."
You remember that conversation. You'd been chatting mindlessly with an old friend over coffee- but that was during the period he'd disappeared.
"You weren't there- I hadn't seen you in weeks." He doesn't seem phased when you frown at him, despite his sudden nervous turn, he just smiles.
"You know that you see me, only when I want you to." He reaches out, placing his hand over yours on the bedsheets. "But I'm always there." Something in him changes, because he's bolder now, his free hand moving to cradle the side of your face. "I'll always be there."
You lean into it, because you're already too far gone, a line has been crossed, and you don't want to come back from it- then again, you doubt you could even if you tried.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” His thumb dances across your cheek as your tired eyes flutter closed. The sickness had taken it all out of you, sleeping had been a fight, but now you finally feel content enough to drift off alongside him.
“Will you be here when I wake up?” The way he smiles appears oddly familiar, and he’s so far away from the stranger watching you from the street. He’s so gentle and warm and human. You aren’t frightened of him.
“When you wake up, I’ll make you breakfast- don’t worry, I know your favourite.” There’s a wink as if he’s joking, but you know he’s being serious, and you allow yourself to nuzzle into his palm for just a moment.
“You’re like my guardian angel.” He lets out a small laugh, but his eyes go distant for a moment, focused on something past your head.
everyone is welcome to read and interact! i will just never be writing any female readers! (some fics will be gn!)
please just be nice about it! i’ll consider anything as long as you follow the guidelines below and are just nice to me !
manners go a long way, please don’t just demand shit in my inbox, i will discard it ! im not a machine !
im a tfag myself! happy to write any ftm readers !
im also physically disabled so will always welcome any chronic pain/illness themes you wanna throw my way
this is a JUDGEMENT FREE space. cringe culture doesn’t exist on this blog!
unless you request something in my hard no’s, im not gonna yuck ur yum or whatever . whatever gets ur rocks off man. each to their own
give me time. im disabled. i have a job that takes up most of my time !
sometimes i cannot work on fics because i get flare-ups in my hands that mean i can’t write for long/struggle to type correctly. it takes time to rectify mistakes after flares. i also get severe brain fog that causes memory issues, i sometimes can’t write because i can’t recall words or string any sentences together. please just be patient. it’s all i ask
fandoms/characters:
rgcu:
court gentry/sierra six
holland march
jackson healy
marchly
colt seavers
misc:
fallout (tv) -
cooper howard/the ghoul
robert house (+ bobby apartment)
fallout (games)
john hancock
rj maccready
beckett (76)
porter gage
animal kingdom
deran cody <3
peaky blinders
tommy shelby
john shelby
michael grey
hard no’s:
i will NOT write incest. this is my biggest rule. if you request it i’ll delete it and block you.
no daddy kink or age play (i hope anything underage being a no is a given)
actual non/con (dub-con is ok within reason)
i will not write someone being choked with hands/being grabbed by the front of the throat (things like restraints, collars/leads are all ok!)
soft no’s:
i don’t really write top ! reader (i highly recommend the incredible @mlmmetalhead for that!!)
im down for most kinks, with the exception of anything involving urine/scat !
^ i may decline if i feel im not fully educated on the specific kink ! i dont want to put any misinformation out there and encourage any unsafe behaviour
honestly just drop me a message/ask if you’re unsure and i’ll answer ! im pretty much chill about everything tbh. <3
The door is open, you barely even think- whether you should or shouldn't is not in question. And you're right- there's something you're sure was once a man, and he’s in your shower.
Sierra Six just can’t stay away, even if it ruins both of you.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written with a penis but no other appearance descriptions, no use of y/n, smut, blowjob (r!receiving), minor blood play, angst because it’s court, you shower together, there is sweetness in this one ! but also he yells at you
a/n: i didn’t really have plans to continue so soon. but here we are ^_^ i just <3 court so bad . also im posting this at 9am because i passed out whilst editing last night . allow it
Six had been right, of course. Your landlord was a piece of shit, and after several thefts in the building, you'd packed up and left.
You went quietly, moved to a new city, you told no one but your closest friends- you weren't entirely sure why, but it felt like a secret, and you were set on keeping it. It wasn't running away from Six, at least you told yourself that anyway. It had nothing to do with the fact you could no longer look at your own apartment without the memory of him, lingering on every surface.
No, you moved because your landlord was a piece of shit, and that's that.
Like the first two times, after Six had vanished once more from your life, you vowed to forget him. You promised yourself to live without hoping for something you know will never happen. Six is gone for good- dead probably. You spend countless nights trying to pretend it doesn't bother you, that you didn't spend weeks sobbing alone, staring at your phone and wishing it would ring again.
You've changed. You're new. You're doing it alone again. You can.
It's a cold November night when you come home from work, hellbent on ordering a shitty pizza and watching an even shittier movie on your tv, before passing out on the sofa. Your favourite ritual. It kept you sane- almost.
But the universe has a funny way of derailing your life, because when you walk into your apartment, there's water running.
You check your kitchen sink first of course, for nothing but the sake of your sanity. Yeah- Yeah! It'll be your sink, you left it running after filling up your water bottle before work. That's exactly-
The sink is dry, and the tap is off, just as you know you left it. You try desperately to ignore the feeling creeping up your spine, and your hand seeks out the kitchen knives you keep on the counter, grabbing the largest one on there.
You make a move to walk to your bathroom, where the light so obviously pours out from under the door, but some semblance of self preservation stops you. You're hardly versed in self defence, your chances against whoever is currently using your shower are slim to none- knife or not.
You pull back from where your fingers were ghosting the handle, and step away, you're going to do something smart for once.
Until you're not.
You see it now, the bag laid beside the door. It's black and military, covered in pockets and loops to carry god only knows what. You know immediately, and it's only affirmed by the pistol sat atop of it all. It's reassurance, and you know exactly from who.
You should leave, you should get the fuck out and call the cops, book a redeye and disappear with nothing but the clothes on your back. You should disappear like he does, and spend the rest of your days cursing him for the loss of your first chance at a new life.
The door is open, you barely even think- whether you should or shouldn't is not in question.
And you're right- there's something you're sure was once a man, and he’s in your shower.
"You moved." He speaks first, and you can't decide if you're grateful for that or not.
"You're in my shower." You may as well follow his lead and point out the obvious.
"I told you to move, and you did." He doesn't turn, and you let your eyes drag over the new scars detailing his back. They're bad. You tell yourself it doesn't worry you.
"You followed me."
"You uprooted your entire life because I told you you should." The audacity of his actions should do more than piss you off, but a deeply traitorous part of you is just glad.
Glad he's in your house. Glad he's alive. Glad he came home to you.
"I didn't move because you told me to." You step inside the cloud of steam in your bathroom, and pull the door in behind you. You know it's only the two of you, but you both feel safer behind closed doors. "I moved because my landlord was a piece of shit." It's childish, the way you're snapping at him as you lean back against the wall, doing little more than staring at him with your arms crossed over your chest. You want to hide away from him, even when he's not looking.
"I told you that." There's an amusement to his voice you don't expect as he shifts about under the stream of water. "Now, you gonna join me in the shower, or what?" Finally, he turns, head cocked as he smiles at you. In that moment you decide you want to kill him, but not as much as you want him in your arms again. Fuck you, Six. Whoever the hell you really are.
"Wow, what the romantic proposition." You set the knife down on the counter. Your boots go next, kicked to the floor, then your shirt, your jeans and socks, and you hear his delighted whistle when you shrug down your boxers.
"I'm glad you think so, I do have a way with words." He pauses, cocking his head to the side. "Were you gonna gut me with that?" He muses, and you roll your eyes at him.
"Shut up, Six."
All of a sudden, things are easier. Six is smiling at you as if it's something he's always done, as if this is completely normal.
At least for now, you can pretend it is.
His hands seek your skin out the second you're close enough, digging tight into your hips, pulling you to meet him in the shower. "You're running up my water bill, you know that?" God, you're like a breath of fresh air for him, some sort of haven he doesn't truly deserve now, and never will.
"I'll pay." He drags you flush against himself, crowding over you to immediately mouth at your throat. "I can look after you." He doesn't know why he says it, it's hardly a truth, looking after someone is the opposite of almost everything he's ever done. But he wants it to be true. He wants it so badly that he can do little more than suffocate himself against your skin.
"Six." He listens to you groan, back against the cool tiles, and his scalp burns when you dig your fingers into his short hair, yanking him back. "Hold on." You're gabbing at him, despite your words, pulling him closer and pushing him away. "I thought you were dead." He just laughs, nuzzling back into the curve of your shoulder.
"Listen- I needed you to." He doesn't want this conversation, and he knows you don't want to hear it either. Non of his excuses and barely-there explanations will ease what's become of the two of you. Whatever's happened, is something that just doesn't get fixed.
"Will you accept it if I just tell you it's for your safety?" He'a dizzy with the feel of you, always so soft in comparison, if he could crawl under your skin and live there, he would. Even the sharp scrape of your nails as you drag them across his scalp barely break him from the haze of your warmth.
"Will you disappear again?" He sighs, you both know the answer, Six disappearing is completely inevitable, nothing either of you say or do can prevent that.
"You know-" He trails off, he can't bring himself to say it, and he's grateful he doesn't have to when you stand on your toes to muffle his mouth with yours.
"I know. I know I know." His arms circle around your waist as you pull back and press your forehead to the hollow of his throat. When your hands grab at his back, he bites back a pained groan, and instead he dips his head down to graze his teeth into your shoulder. He wants to hide in that moment, being vulnerable is not something he's well versed in, even less-so with you. He bites harder until you mewl.
"You're hurt." You gasp out as he gnaws against your collarbone. He's being defensive, trying to steer you away from what needs to happen- from the conversation neither of you want to actually have.
"I'm fine." He barely lifts his head, and instead pushes you back against the wall, harder this time, until you hiss and hang your head to rest against his. "I'm fine because I have you." It's the most honest thing he's said in months, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth.
He can't be this careless. He cannot afford to slip into the daydream of what you two could've been in another life. It's selfish to drag you along, he knows that, and yet it doesn't stop him. Not when he grips at the back of your neck to yank you back. He can't be so soft. He can't be soft he can't be soft.
He's spinning you around and pushing you into the tile before his own brain catches up. This is what he's good at, shoving you away like you're just another one of his targets.
"Six." He hates the way you yelp, and the way your hands fly up to brace yourself as if he's going to slam your head into the wall. "Six." He staggers back, breathing ragged until he himself slams into the other side.
"Don't look at me." He's snarling, running hands through his hair before dragging them over his face. You're nodding like the sweetheart you are, so accepting of the way he runs hot and cold- he doesn't deserve you, he knows that, yet it doesn't stop him from doing what he does. From forcing himself back into your life, destroying the new place you had run to.
"We can't ever be more than this, do you understand that?" He's under the stream of water now, and part of him is thankful it's obscuring the sight of you, he feels like he's going to suffocate inside your tiny shower in your shitty apartment. He could get you a nicer one. He shakes his head, trying to blink the water out of his eyes, he's grateful even more for it now, because he feels like tears are moments away from boiling over.
"Six." He can barely hear the sigh over the shower, but he can see it in the way your shoulders drop.
"We can't- We fucking can't and you need to understand that, alright?" He's yelling at you, but he can't stop it. He's showing himself for who he is, you need to understand who he is. "We aren't going to be some little couple, okay? No fuckin' dates, there will be no life for us together."
"Then-Then why do you keep coming back?" You have your arms wrapped around yourself now, forehead pressed to the cool tile. He wants to soothe you, trace patterns over your damp back, massage the knot he knows sits at the base of your neck. He copies your stance instead, digging his blunt nails into his skin.
"I can't- I don't fucking know." The way he speaks sounds like a child having a tantrum, he's never felt so small in his life, lying to you like a kid who can't admit they've done something. He does know. He knows it's because you make him feel whole, you make him feel like a real man, more than just a fucking concept. When he's with you, The Gray Man is nothing more than a ghost story.
"Is this the last time? Will you come back after you leave?" His feet drag, the last rational part of himself trying to keep him at a distance, as he steps back to you.
"I shouldn't." He presses into you, crowding over your form, but he doesn't reach out this time.
"You will though, right?" He pushes his forehead into the space between your shoulder blades, kissing the skin there. "Even if I leave, you'll come to me?"
"I hunt- it's what I do." It's the closest he's ever given you to an explanation, but he'd guess you've already pieced that together. He's never been a saint in your eyes, and he never will be. And yet you lean back into him.
"What do you want me to say to you, Six?" You're choked up, and he wants nothing more than to wipe away your tears- but he cannot allow himself, or you, that comfort. "I-I'm not gonna sit and beg for a life with you when I know I can't have it, but I can't just agree to accept that whatever we have now is all this is."
He doesn't respond, and you don't continue, like everything in Six's life, it's just another fight- your relationship was dead before it even began, and no amount of arguing will change that fact. He will always leave, because he has to, because he knows he loves you.
"Want me to-to help wash you?" Neither of you comment on the crack in his voice, another break in his facade, it's dangerous to be this way, but he can't care. Not now.
"Sure."
And so, he picks up the bottle and squeezes some into his palm. He wants to go slowly, to treat you with the kindness and gentle touch you'd stupidly shown him. The act of care that doomed you forever.
"You know I've never done this for anyone before." He doesn't know why he's telling you it, but he feels he owes you some scrap of honesty tonight. "It's nice." His hands travel over your shoulders, thumbs pressing the soap into the tense muscles, working it in until you finally ease into him again.
Despite his fingertips roaming your body, there's nothing of the feverish lust as the last time he had you nude with him. It's sweet, and when he finally turns you to face him once more, there's a smile on your face again.
"You're good at it." He kneels down at your feet then, like you had done times before, and takes your ankle in his hands, lifting your leg up to kiss your shin. It's an unspoken thanks, and you fall into a peaceful silence as he cleans up and down your leg, pressing gentle kisses as he goes. It's what he imagines a lover would do, and despite it all, decides that is what he will be. For tonight.
He doesn't expect you to return the favour, he'd understood if you used him and then threw him out, but he doesn't deny you when you stare down at him with those eyes and offer to help him clean off.
You're gentle, even if he doesn't deserve it, careful over aching joints, light touches across healing wounds. You take time with it too, there is nothing hurried in the way you wash him, taking time to clean him just for the sake of having your hands on him again. It's a moment just for the two of you, and he wishes he could live in it forever.
But nothing can last, not for him, and you've both done all you can justify, and the waters beginning to run cold.
"Come on, you can borrow some clothes." You hum after you've dried off in the steamy room, and for once he says nothing, simply following you out. "You can finally take me to bed." You laugh, and he just barely echoes it.
"How romantic." He doesn't know why you're joking, and he doesn't know why he's doing it back, non of this is funny to him anymore. It never has been.
You never make it to putting your clothes on, he sits, and pulls you down with him. "I want to hold you like this." He has you in his lap, saddled sideways as he drags your face to meet his. "Just for a little while, will you let me?" You nod, and mumble something incoherent into his mouth, and he wastes no time turning with you in his arms, rolling you both till you are laying down.
"Will you stay tonight, will you do that for me?" He doesn't flinch back as you lift a hand to brush stray hairs back across his head, smiling at him in a daze.
No. No because that makes all of this seem to real, you're both pushing the boundaries back into something you can't have. You cannot live a life of pretending. He knows that better than anyone. He's been pretending since Fitz picked him out of that hole he'd ended up in, pretending that non of this affected him. That he could work like a machine and cut back everything that once made him human.
"I'll try." He will, for once. That much is true. Regardless of how the night ends, he has no intentions of disappearing before sunrise- yet nothing ever went his way.
"Okay, Six." Your hand falls away to ghost across his collarbones, tracing the scars you find there.
Little talking happens after that, he falls asleep first this time, probably the only time he ever will. He trusts you, that much is clear, and he sleeps peacefully as you watch over him.
He lets your fingers trail over the grooves and scars of his damaged body, and you linger over the one in his abdomen. The way you marked him, entwined your lives forever. Part of you will always live within his skin, you changed him, and he can never come back from it.
He stays the night this time, and you wake to find him crowded over you, pinning you down to the mattress, and you decide not to think too hard about the way he's blocking you from the door.
You attempt to wake him up slowly, hands pressing into the dip of his lower back, kisses dancing across his temple and cheeks until his eyes flutter open. "Baby." His face cracks into a smile, and his voice is sleepy and barely there. "Hi." He dips to kiss your nose, and then your mouth, shuffling until he's braced over you properly, held up by his forearms either side of your head.
"Hey." Another kiss. "You want breakfast?"
He couldn't remember the last time someone cooked breakfast for him.
"That'd be nice, baby." He rolls off you, grinning at the sight of your back as you dig through drawers to grab two shirts and two pairs of boxers. He bites back a quip about how he prefers you as-is, but he doesn't dare ruin the peaceful moment.
"You gonna come help?" He doesn't hesitate before following, trying to take in each detail of your new house- of your life. He knows you only moved a few months ago, and he's charmed by how much you've already made it a home. Photos line the walls, people he recognises from his time watching you. When he walks into the kitchen, polaroids decorate the fridge.
"You got one? One of those cameras?" He nods towards the little photos, and you laugh softly.
"You'd let me have a photo of you?" You place a carton of apple juice on the counter and tilt your head at the cupboard containing glasses, which he happily grabs for the pair of you.
"We could work something out."
He doesn't know what he's doing- you're making him stupid again.
"Here, baby." He pours you a glass and beckons you over with a finger.
"Yeah?" He presses the glass to your lower lip, urging your mouth to open.
"God, you're a sight." He tips it just enough to pour the drink down your throat, and he watches the way you gulp it down. "Why don't you fetch me that camera, hmm?" He cocks his head to the side, lifting the cup away.
"What about breakfast?" You laugh as he pats your cheek.
"It can wait. Go get the camera."
When you return, he takes it from your hands immediately. "Will you give me a pretty smile?" Something stirs in his chest when you do so without hesitation, grinning up at him like the lovesick idiot he hates that you are. "Perfect." It is, all of it. You, your smile, this apartment where you can make pretend happy families together. He wants to play forever.
His thumb probes against your lower lip until you open up, and his other hand lifts the camera to his eye. You simply laugh when the flash goes off, and he nips his teeth into the corner of the photo to pull it from the camera.
"Can I have one of you?" You talk around his thumb, much to his enjoyment.
"You can have part of me, okay?" He uses the hold to pull you forward by your lower jaw until you're flush together. "Why don't you keep the part of me you've already changed?" His tongue sweeps across your lower teeth before his hand moves away. He mouths at you sloppily for several moments, then pulls away with an amused chuckle when you gasp. "Here." He steps back, pulling up his shirt to expose his lower stomach, the marred skin where you'd stitched him back together clear as day.
"Perfect." You beam at him, moving slowly to kneel in front of him until you're eye level with it, taking the camera from his hands to snap a photo. "Just like you." You reach to place it on the counter, hands sliding to his hips instead to pull them towards your mouth.
"Jesus christ." He hisses when your tongue trails across the scar, wet and heavy. "Let me-" He trails off, snatching the camera back as his other hand clings to the side of your head, holding you steady. "Stay still." He angles it down, taking a photo, but he places it back down before it's even finished printing. He's got more important matters at hand now.
"Up on the table, baby." He doesn't wait for you to stand fully before he's hooking arms under your thighs to haul you up and onto the table. Your breakfast is discarded before you even start.
"Are you gonna fuck me?" You're out of breath already, panting into his mouth, fisting your hands into your shirt as it clings to his large form.
"Not today- not today." His teeth graze your lip, and he feels the way you shudder against him.
"Make-Make me bleed, it's okay." Your foreheads press together, you're both feverish already, sweat mixing like your spit. "I trust you, I trust you." He hates each time you say it- how often you say it. You both know you shouldn't.
"Good boy." He chooses to move on, snagging your plump lip between his teeth until it splits, and he moans openly the second the metallic taste hits his tongue. "You always taste so good." His fingers wrap around your lower jaw, pinching it to drag your head down, appreciating the way you're just so pliable, open to his whims as he licks across your temple. "Now, let me look after you."
A broken cry comes from your mouth when he lowers himself to his knees, hands seeking out your thighs once more to shift you forward on the wood before slinging your calves over his shoulders. "You gonna be good?" He muses, biceps curling around your thighs until he can settle his hands over the waistline of your boxers, toying with the fabric there.
"Yeah-Shit, Six- I'll do anything." You're not sure where you should put your hands, and it shows with the way you hover them over his- you're waiting for him to tell you what you're allowed to do.
"That's my boy." My boy. Mine. It's too much- he's in no position to claim you as his, and yet he already has, and this isn't the first time. You've belonged to him since that night in the hotel. "Here." He tries to move on, and you're sweet enough not to read too far into his words past clouded lust, and he carefully nudges his head towards one of your hands. "Put the other behind your back." You move at a speed that would have him laughing in any other circumstance, but it just spurs him on this time, and he's leaning forward to mouth at your boxers before he says something stupid again.
He immediately feels your muscles tensing, thighs sandwiching his head in. "You like that?" You barely manage to get out a moan before he's pulling your boxers down just enough until your cock springs up and hits against your tummy. "You do." He has a cheshire cat grin, and you can barely contain yourself as you stare down at him, hips already twitching. "You said you'd be good," he scolds lightly, "keep still." His fingers anchor your hips steady as he leans forward to take you in his mouth.
Six is hardly experienced in this business, yet it doesn't slow him down. He's devouring you like a man starved.
His tongue swirls across your tip, and he listens for each moan, each whine and shift of your hips, each movement that has you tensing. He's nothing if not observant, and once more his training pays off in unexpected ways. Who knew being a contract killer would benefit you performing oral sex? Not Six, that's for sure.
"Oh my god-" Your fist is clenching tight in his hair, and he groans against your length in his mouth at the feeling, and clearly he's not the only observant one, because it simply spurs you on to grab at him tighter.
For the first time, he allows himself to give up control, and does little more than hollow his cheeks and urge you to thrust into his mouth.
"Shit-Fuck, Six!" He peers up to see your head thrown back, eyes screwed tight shut as you rut into him as much as you can, and he takes it as well as he can manage. He wishes he could live forever, just to see this a million more times.
Only he could see performing oral sex as some sort of salvation- the way you're so eager to give him everything you need, to be selfish for once when you've done nothing but be patient for him. He gives up his autonomy every day of his life, he lets people use him as a vessel for their own violent desires, he's something to be controlled. But it's different with you, he decides in that moment, cock down his throat. It's different because when your head hangs down, eyes half lidded, you're smiling at him like you're in love.
"Six-Six.." Your hand cradles his jaw, so tender and sweet despite it all, you ease up just a fraction. "Is this-Is this okay?" He nods, as much as he can. No one ever asks if he's okay- everyone just takes and takes, and then there's you. You.
He drags his mouth back just enough to talk, "I'm fine baby, this is about you." He punctuates it with a kiss to the head, grinning against it when you mewl, and his thumbs begin to massage your hips slowly. "Just let go, I'm here." He hums, flattening his tongue to slide back down to the hilt, holding you steady once more, just sitting with the sensation of you in his mouth.
"Can you-Can you move?" He's letting you get desperate again, because he knows you like it that way, but he gives in at another sharp tug of his hair, locks bunched in your fingers. It's all rewarded when he lets you set the pace, breathing through his nose and swallowing to take you deeper down his throat.
"Fuck-Fuck Six!" Your hips stutter as one of his hands snakes round to cup your balls, and you're all but trembling in his arms. "Please, please." He wants to tell you to look back at him when you close your eyes, that he wants to see you when you come undone. He wants that moment of connection, the knowledge that it's nothing but him that makes you feel this way. He needs you to know it's only him.
It shows in the way he moves at a punishing pace even for himself, and there's tears rolling down his cheeks as he forces his head to bob until you're hitting the back of his throat repeatedly.
"Six." You're practically sobbing, losing all rhythm to your thrusts, shaking on your own kitchen table. Then you're grabbing at his face again, with both hands this time, and he wants to tell you to stop, to leave the tears leaving tracks down his cheeks because he's earned them. But you're too kind, too gentle and loving, everything he's not, and you're smearing them away with your thumbs, jaw slack as you cry his name out. He wants to eat you whole.
"I-I'm gonna-" Your voice cracks with a choked moan, and his hands dig back into the flesh of your ass, keeping you tight down his throat as you come, trying your best to look down at him as you do so. If this is the last time you see him in this way, you never want to forget a single detail.
"Shit-okay-" There's a little hiccup as he nurses you through your aftershocks, pulling back slow and steady, dragging his tongue along the underside to finish with a kiss to your throbbing tip, all red and sticky and swollen. "Six." Your hands move to his, linking your fingers and squeezing tight, tears rolling down your cheeks again.
"You were so good, baby." He hums, delighting in the way his voice is rougher now, a little scratchy as he pushes himself to stand. "Perfect." He nuzzles your foreheads together and lets you curl into him as much as you can, legs looping around his waist as your arms pull him down by his neck.
"Let me-" You nod down towards his own cock, straining hard against your boxers, a small wet patch forming where the tip rests in the fabric.
"No-No it's okay." He knows he doesn't have time, that the pair of you today are nothing more than a ticking time bomb. It's not long until the phone in his bag-still sitting by the bathroom door- rings. Always at someone's beck and call, he's living in the gaps between missions. "I'll be fine-I just want to be with you." He kisses your damp cheeks, his own still wet with tears he hopes you now ignore.
"You're leaving soon." You sigh, and everything comes crashing down once more.
"I have to- I go when they call." You nod, but he knows it's no accepting gesture. He can see it in your eyes when you look back up at him, teary again, there's no spark he once saw. "But I'll come back." It's a panicked response, despite his level tone, and he hopes you believe him all the same, even if you know that neither of you have any control over it all. "I'll come back." He drops his head down to your shoulder, pressing light kisses over the marks from the night before.
first you gotta do the build up and then the actual fucking and the fucking is pretty easy but you never know how long the fucking should last, and eventually you're like "okay I'm tired of this" so the characters cum, but you're not done yet because you can't just end it at "he fucking nutted everywhere" you gotta keep going, and the characters have to chat a little or cry or think about how horrible they are or something and then you kinda don't know when to end that either so now you're 2k words in and you might have put too much self hatred and not enough sucking dick. so you wrap it up, and think well it's done now.
or sometimes you have it all perfect in your mind and you knock the whole thing out in 2 to 3 hours.
That ‘comment on your a03 work’ email hits like a line of cocaine every time. unmatched dopamine increase. shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment on fics. you deserve the world
i’m so in love with the way you write like you describe emotions and actions in such a specific way i’m obsessed with and don’t even get me started on the characters u write for .. my niches plus amazing writing ... i died and ur blog is heaven 🙈
literally kicking my legs giggling this is SOOOO SWEET <33333 thank u so so much MWAH this is so lovely.
YAYYY im glad people like the same guys as me YAYYY <33
Its a dog collar. The mere feel of it right against your skin, still damp with what you can only presume is the blood of some feral mutt unlucky enough to cross his path has you squirming. He grins down at you.
you’ve been travelling with the ghoul for some months now, and you thought you could predict him-until you pass out and wake up with a present
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written without any appearance descriptions. sexual conversations but no smut. forced collaring(but ur begrudgingly into it). i won’t say non-sexual pet play because it’s very much sexual. just not in That Way. the ghoul is just being a dick. you spit on him and he likes it . he’s his own warning tbh
a/n: ok i hope u guys don’t mind me posting non-goose fics. this is a continuation on from a fic i started wayyyyyy last year on my old acc that i lost passion for . BUT i still love the dynamic soo bad . i need that asshole irradiated ghoul like i need air . fallout fans show urselves PLSSS
"Were you an asshole before the war as well then? Or is that a wasteland development?" You snap at the man beside you as the pair of you trudge through the sand. You've been dipping in and out of dilapidated buildings in search of something... under the hot sun for hours. You apparently weren't privileged enough to know what, simply forced to follow close behind- and so you'd started to resent the sight of the back of his head.
But now as you continue on, sweat beading on the back of your neck, you were starting to get hungry, to get thirsty, and evidently- you were now beginning to lose your already razor thin patience.
"Were you an insufferable cunt before the war?" He shoots back almost immediately, huffing out a chuckle at his own comment, barely glancing back at you to make sure you are still following. He didn't need to, you both knew he'd have you dead in the desert before you even got 10 feet away from him.
"Only around people like you." Your response was a little weak and childish, but the anger was dying in your throat, each step had you growing weaker and your brain hazy. You could barley see past bleary eyes at the shape of his form that had grown to make you so mad.
"Fuck- Ghoul, I have to stop." You gasp out, using what little strength you have to not collapse into the dunes. It's a gamble on whether he'll just leave you to rot under the midday sun if you do give up- you're no use to him half dead, he's told you as much a million times. "I can't-" Even talking has your throat clenching, dry and unforgiving you just barely manage to choke out the words.
Your knees hit the sand before you can do anything about it, and your face follows just seconds later.
"Oh for fucks-" Is all you hear before everything goes black.
Your ears are ringing when you finally wake up, head spinning and legs aching, it's a miracle you're still breathing. "What the fuck-" You go to move and stretch out your sore limbs, only to find your arms and legs bound. It should panic you, but the wasteland had long since taken any shock from your mind. The last few months had brought a long line of bullshit.
You were lying flat on your back and - hold on- you squint up at the sky and, well, either theres some atomic storm coming along to rapidly push the clouds across- or you're moving.
"Huh-" You tilt your head as much as your position makes you able, quickly coming to the conclusion you are tied to something, and you blink blurry eyes down at the sand passing to the side of you. "Ghoul?" You groan stupidly in pain as moving position causes something harsh to press into the small of your back.
"Well well well, someone finally decided to wake up." He abruptly stops, and whatever you're lashed to tilts into the sand, kicking it into your hair.
"What the fuck is-" Your hands are tied at your sides, but the Ghoul had mercifully left just enough space for you to run fingers against what you guess to be a random piece of scrap metal he'd dragged up from the depth of godknows where. If you had any more energy, you'd probably snap at him about the risk of fucking tetanus in this day and age with no shots to speak of, but you decide to savour what strength you have left for now.
"Well I ain't gonna carry you all this way, am I?" The Ghoul steps into view, obscuring the sun with his cowboy hat, staring down at you with his usual stupid yellow smirk. Through your hazy eyes that continue to betray you, you liken him to an angel with a golden sun halo, before striking that thought clean from your mind. You cannot afford fondness in this world to a man who's denied you food and water and rest for so long he resorts to strapping you to sheet metal and dragging you along when you pass out. "Turns out I actually much prefer you like this- fuckin silence at last." He steps closer, purposefully kicking sand over you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, much to his amusement. "And- You worked as a perfect bit of bait." He crouches down, brushing the sand from your face so he can grab at your jaw. Manhandling you clearly seems to be a favourite pastime of his.
"You see, I got you a lil' somethin', since you did such a good job." You begrudgingly force your eyes back open, a little teary, blinking up at the Ghoul. Even being fed by him was some sort of miracle, so the fact he'd gone out of his way to find you a gift had you feeling something you could only vaguely describe as grateful.
"Thank you?" It comes out more of a question than intended, but the Ghoul doesn't seem phased, he just digs around in the pocket of his duster for a moment.
"Ah, here it is." He doesn't make any move to untie you- because of course not- he instead gets down on one knee beside you, sliding the hand on your jaw round to the back of your head. It's a touch that feels so foreign now, and you try to not think about how tender this seems all of a sudden as it snakes around enough for him to hold and tilt it up. "Keep ya head up." He huffs, and you do so without argument as he uses both hands to wind something around your neck, pinching your skin a little as he does so, until he can clasp it at the front. "There we go, even added my own lil' inscription to it."
Holy fuck. It takes you several long seconds to realise what the item is without seeing or feeling it, but the thickness of it and the way that something jingles when The Ghoul flicks his finger tells you all you need to know. A dog collar. The fucking bastard. It's the only sentiment you can seem to muster about his so called gift. The mere feel of it right against your skin, still damp with what you can only presume is the blood of some feral mutt unlucky enough to cross his path has you squirming.
It's disgusting, but it's a filth that doesn't shock you anymore. You wish you still carried that same hope you entered the wasteland with- that people out there weren't as deranged as you'd heard. But so far? The Ghoul had done little to dispel that rumour.
"You ain't able to see it now, but it's got a big 'G' on it, for Ghoul." He smiles to himself, and your stomach turns at the way he looks genuinely pleased for once, almost proud. "Ain't gonna be no people mistaking you as theirs, now." You hate to admit it- and you'd never tell him as such, lest he uses it for his advantage- but looking past the gore and grossness, its an almost painfully intimate gesture that has your heart hammering in your chest, cheeks feeling hot with embarrassment.
It's something a little too familiar in ways you never want to have to explain to the Ghoul, so you hope the sudden panicked sweat beading on your temples and cheeks can be chalked down to the sun, or maybe some strange illness you'd contracted.
"You get off on shit like this or what?" You can barely stop the words before they tumble from your lips, and it's a tense few moments of you both simply staring at each other before he answers, and your stomach twists in anticipation.
"Well, you ain't seem all that fussed about it, if anything..." He prods a gloved finger to your hot cheek, a sickly grin settling on his lips. "You seem almost pleased with my present here, ain't that right?" You should be embarrassed- mortified even- but instead, a burning anger rises in his chest. He's right, but how dare he?
"You're a fucking sick freak!" In the back of your mind, your brain supplies some internal ridicule- something about stones and glass houses, but you chose to push it back in favour of snarling at him with all the danger of a puppy. Exactly how he wants you. You piss yourself off with the realisation, and focus on doing something stupid instead, so you punctuate your statement by launching a glob of spit that lands on the lapel of his worn jacket.
In one swift move, you'd put out the fire in your throat, and as you feel regret build up in real time, you dread whatever will come your way next. After all, the Ghoul's expressions are extremely hard to read when he barely has any features left.
"Well, Sweetheart," He starts, a deep chuckle bubbling with his words, real harsh and condescending, "you'll be a sick fuckin' freak like me before long." He pauses, and without looking away, dips his finger to pick up the spit off his jacket, and you watch in a painful mix of annoyance and something much more heated, as he licks it off with a smirk so devilish it makes your stomach flip. "And if you ask me? You already fuckin' are one." You feel like the air has been sucked out of your chest when he shoves that same finger into your open mouth.
The digit probes at your tongue, sliding against your teeth, hooking to widen your lower jaw, and all you can seem to do is let it happen, let him feel about in your mouth like he owns it. At this point in time, you wonder if maybe he does.
You want to bite down, you really do, you want to snap off his stupid fucking finger, but he pulls it out of your mouth before you have the chance. "Fuck you."
After spending the night in the remains of some old building, huddled around a fire -lit inside to block the smoke and orange glow from being seen in the distance- you sit to eat as the light shone in from the rising sun.
"You ain't taken the collar off." It is said as a mere throwaway comment you're sure, The Ghoul barely even sparing you a glance as he speaks. It's an observation, and a pretty loaded one at that.
In all honesty, you haven't even considered that that was something you could do. You'd been untied and regained the freedom of your hands again that previous evening, but the thought to move and take off the collar hadn't crossed your mind, lest he bind you back up again.
"Oh." You find yourself saying, trying to busy yourself with eating the can of dog food he'd so graciously just warmed up for you over the fire- desperate to do everything other than look up at the Ghoul.
"You fuck a lot of men before the war?" He says it so nonchalant, like it's as normal as asking about someone's day. Like it isn't just an insane question to drop before the sun is even properly in the sky.
"Excuse me?" The can drops onto the old floorboards, the fork clattering with it, as you stared openly at him now, jaw slack in bewilderment. The gall of him shouldn't shock you, but the crassness of his question catches you off guard nonetheless.
"Yeah-" He speaks to himself, but his eyes never leave yours. "You've still got that pre-war fuckin' puritan feel in you." He practically scoffs, rolling his eyes. "So, did you?" Without thinking, in a subconscious move you'll curse until the end of time, your fingers come up to rub against the tag around your neck, the feeling bringing you begrudging comfort, it's a familiar piece of something you'd long forgotten.
"Not a lot." You settle on answering, something you regret before you even finish speaking, but it's a nice sweeping wave of denial wrapped up something akin to confirmation, a comment for the Ghoul to gnaw on and pick at, which you know he will.
"You forget I'm pre-war." He tuts, a deep laugh rattling in his chest, before he too drops his can to the floor. "I remember what it was like in those days, what fucking men was like in that old world." There's a smirk tugging at his lips, a dangerous one, as always. He has that knowing glint in his dark eyes that in turn has something unsettling growing in your stomach. "An' I can tell which side you were on." The chuckle, for once, doesn't feel tormenting, it has something very different behind it this time. It's teasing, but not cruel, if you are willing to admit it, it is almost flirtatious.
"You fuck a lot of men before the war, then?" You shoot back, defensive, stupid. It's obvious, the affect he has over you, and you just so openly let it show to the one man who will use it against you. You'd never been good at bluffing.
"Yes." He answers simply, reclining back against the wall behind him, smirk only widening. "An' I know which side I was on." Oh. There is something different building in your chest now, and you feel his cheeks warm again at the implications of his simple comment. "I take it it ain't the first time you've been some man's dog." He laughs at his own comment, grinning wickedly at you, like a cat who'd got the cream, watching you squirm across the fire. It's pathetic, you're sure, but shame is hard to feel when you know he enjoys the sight so much.
"Fuck off." It's a childish, pointless retort, but it's all your brain can scramble up, moving your hands to unclasp the stupid fucking thing-
"Don't you fuckin' dare." His words leave no room for argument, cutting through the thick atmosphere, you hate the way it makes you still almost instantly, stopping dead, hands hovering at the back of your neck, eyes wide staring at him. It has all changed quickly, his jaw is clenched, gaze hard and heavy, it's all a warning, one you'll take if you know what's good for you. "Yeah. I can fuckin' tell where you stood." The silence that follows is almost deafening, your ears ring violently. A line has been crossed again, and you're not sure you can ever come back from it- either of you.
ok marchlythird lovers walk with me here . WALK WITH ME :
ex leather daddy jackson healy who gave up the scene when work started picking up and he moved a few towns over.
he’s sooo excited to meet the man who’s making march so happy, the one he met when he went on a job out of town. he invites them both to his apartment to smoke and watch shitty movies only for him to open the door to see you, one of his old subs <3 holland notices how quiet you get around him and chalks it up to you being nervous, but gets a little suspicious when you start referring to him solely as ‘mr healy’ and don’t quite talk unless you’re spoken to.
aka hollands gotta get real cool real quick about a lot of things <3
"Do you think you're done? You've barely even got a hit in." He taunts, a small smirk tugging at his lips. In truth, he'd let you get to him a few times, purely for his own satisfaction, who would he be if he didn't enjoy seeng his boyfriend sweaty and desperate?
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader has a penis but there are no other appearance descriptions aside from you being smaller than him. court helps you ‘train’ under the guise of self defence. you’re both freaks who get off on fighting tbh. he’s a little OOC for the sake of letting him have some fun with his whole gray man persona. fighting, knife usage (to cut off clothes), wrestling, questionable foreplay, coming together, dry humping . court is an asshole, roleplay, choking
a/n: two court fics in one day WOAH . stared at my drafts and decided i need to finish some of them . so here we are <3 hope u like it <3 bonus points if u catch the fallout reference
Self defence.
He'd insisted on it, on account of your recent relationship that you'd formed with the Gray Man- though you did also want him to teach you self defence, just incase. -It definitely wasn't just because you found your boyfriend panting whilst pinning you down incredibly hot. Not at all.
"You're smaller, you gotta use that to your advantage." His brows pull into a frown, a genuine seriousness as he hops back and forth on the mat, watching intently as you bounce in a similar manner. Smaller. He always liked that, being bigger than you, the ability to throw you around exactly how he knew you liked it- not that you'd ever admit it. But that didn't stop him using that to his advantage.
"Fuck!" It comes out as a strangled yelp as he lunges forward, forcing you to dive to the side, Courts hands just about snatching at your shirt as you move the best you can.
"Again." He orders, with all the command of a man who knows his power, but theres just a hint of playfulness in his tone as he narrows his eyes at you. It was always a game of cat and mouse with Court, and you know your role is his prey, regardless of how much he humours your attempts at fighting back. He'll always be the predator, and he'll always hunt you down.
"Court.." You whine, a little breathless as you stare at your boyfriend. He was a mess of sweat and old bruises, hair beginning to flop and stick to his forehead as he moves, scars littering the scraps of his visible body like stars, glistening white with the sheen over his skin.
"Mhm?" He entertains you, only for his own enjoyment, allowing himself the moment of calm to take in your rather disheveled state, and he admires the way your lips are wet with spit as you pant out his name. "Do you think you're done? You've barely even got a hit in." He taunts, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
In truth, he'd let you get to him a few times, purely for his own satisfaction, who would he be if he didn't enjoy seeng his boyfriend sweaty and desperate?
"Six!" He follows your eyes down to his torso, where his shirt had become plastered to his skin- a little obscene, even for his standards. So he happily fixes it.
The second his shirt hits the floor your eyes widen, unfocused and dizzy.
"Oh I'm Six now, huh?" He stalks around where you stand in place in the middle of the mat, and you liken him to some sort of animal, an approving grumble in the back of his throat as he circles you like you were just his next meal. Not that you mind- you'd let Court eat you any day. "You want me to be Six, huh? Drop the boyfriend act?" He pauses, stopping just in front of you, inching close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"Court." There's a hunger building in his eyes, and the sheer weight of his gaze has your skin pricking.
"No." The way his voice dips low is almost enough for you to back out, but the growing heat in your stomach keeps your feet planted to the floor. "Come at me again." A whine settles in the back of your throat, and you silently attempt to prepare a sort of plan- not that any will work. Court will have you flat on your back before you even make it the few steps towards him. That was always the whole purpose of these sparring sessions, for him to lay you down with flexing muscles under the guise of 'training'. You loved it, so did he.
You dive towards him, forgoing any sort of strategy, and you become instantly rewarded with thick arms winding around you. A hand cradles the back of your head as you both take a dive towards the mat, and when you finally hit the floor his body is beneath you. "Hi." For a solid few moments you think his little game to be over, your chests are pressed together as you manage a somewhat winded smile.
"Sit up." The command surprises you a little, but you are hardly going to go against him when he sounds and looks the way he does, so you begin to slip sideways off his body. "No." He grumbles, impatient with a roll of his eyes, his hands snatch at your hips to keep you on top of him. "I said sit up, not get off." Awkwardly, and with very little aid from the man beneath you, you push up with hands either side of his shoulders, your knees pressing into the mat until you straddle his waist.
Neither of you move then, aside from his wandering hands as they skate under your shirt, fingers dancing almost tender across your stomach, a deep contrast to the way he's borderline eye fucking you with a predatory stare. "This needs to go." You blink down at him in confusion, you can barely concentrate, and don't notice one of his hands slipping somewhere beneath you both.
"Huh?" Your eyes catch the glinting of a blade just before it makes contact with the collar of your shirt, his other hand pulls it just taut enough away from your torso for the knife to cut down. He tuts slowly as he does it, barely even lifting his shoulders up off the floor, watching the fabric tear apart from where his head still rests on the mat, eyes half-lidded. "Court-" His name caught in your throat as you attempt to stay stock still, though it's becoming increasingly more difficult when all his actions make you want to squirm.
"Off." He hums, though he doesn't allow you time to try and take the tatters of your shirt off yourself before he's dropping the knife at his side, lifting hands up to rip it even further until the scraps land at your sides. You want to grumble at him for destroying yet another one of your shirts, but you know for a fact you'll wake up in the morning with a brand new one laid on your bed. He could act all harsh and cold during these performances, but beneath all that agent bravado, you knew you were staring at your loving boyfriend.
It shows when he gives you a little mercy and rubs a gentle thumb into your hip where you'd hit earlier in the session, tender and sweet as he tries to suppress a smile. It's the little breaks in his composure that you love so much about the games you play, the flicker of uncontrollable happiness that crosses his face just for a moment. It's a reminder of your love, of how safe you can be together.
When you and Court first started seeing each other, he'd been so hesitant to touch you, sitting stiff as a board when you tried to cuddle him. All contact seemed to be met with a hesitation and discomfort, and it took several weeks to soften him up enough to accept the gentle touch. Once he felt safe enough to open up a little, it had all made sense. He was on such high alert, terrified of hurting you that he was barely able to struggle through basic human contact.
With time he'd softened, easing into cuddles, though he still slipped into the defender he was in his core. Many nights you woke up with an arm tight around you, locking you against him. He often wrestled you in bed to the opposite side to the door, blocking you from entrance to your bedroom with his body, cradling you to keep you safe- even in his sleep.
These sparring sessions, which always ended up being so much more, were your joint solution to the pent up emotions he'd been feeling. It allowed himself to exercise part of him he'd so strongly kept from you, the side that even unnerved himself. He could let go, in the environment you'd created, take you as he wanted, flexing his control in a way that didn't make him feel dizzy with worry.
"You wanna try again?" He grunts, shifting you against him where you're sat on his abdomen. "Maybe I'll go easy on you this time." He's unforgiving as he grasps at the scruff of your neck, grabbing at you like you're nothing more than a puppy, before using the hold to flip you over.
Your back hits the mat with an 'oof' that catches in your throat, knocking the wind out of your lungs. "Fuck, Court." You gasp, only for your mouth to be smothered with his own a moment later.
"You want to fuck, baby?" He laughs, teeth catching on your lower lip to suck it into his mouth. "You've gotta win first."
He rolls off you and is back on his feet before you can take in what he'd just said. He flashes a grin, and stares down at you with a mocking that would sting if you didn't know any better.
You want to whine that your body aches as you push yourself to sit on the mat, but that would mean calling the whole thing off- your sweet Court would insist you ease your muscles in a hot bath- which is always nice, but not exactly what you need right now. You need him.
"Fine." You huff, you know it's still just a ploy to throw you around for a bit longer until he takes pity on your pathetic excuse for 'fighting', and judging by the growing tent in his trousers, it won't continue for too long.
"Atta boy." He softens just a fraction again, eyes crinkling in a momentary smile before he puffs his chest out. He's proud of you, and you'll no doubt be rewarded for your perseverance. Later, he'll groan words of encouragement that you're simply improving your endurance- a fact you can't seem to argue with.
"I thought I wasn't your boy anymore?" You tease, trying to bide your time until his next move, both of you bouncing on your heels on the soft mat, the movement shifting the wonderfully toned muscles in his chest- something you openly ogle at.
"Oh no matter who I am, you're mine." He cocks his head to the side as he speaks, dragging his eyes up and down you. Any move you make will be inconsequential, it's all just elaborate foreplay.
"C'mon, I'm know you can do better." He scoffs when you still don’t make a move, all mean and mocking, but you see the small tick of his mouth twitching upwards.
“You’re mean, Court.” You retort childishly, and he rolls his eyes, biting back a teasing laugh.
“Is it mean to want my boy to know how to protect himself?” He knows that’s not the real reason, he’s just saying it to play the role he’s made up, but the way he’s talking to you has something hot balling up in your stomach. “I just want you to grow big and strong.”
“You’re an asshole.”
You sigh, getting a little too desperate between your legs to keep idling and delaying the inevitable- as much as you enjoy his taunting, and take a quick run towards him, arms out to grab at his waist.
Smack!
You hit the mat and roll onto your stomach faster than you can register, and he’s on you like a flash, swinging broad thighs over yours, pinning your legs together as he forces your face into the ground. “All that mouthing off and you can’t even back it up in a fight.” He hisses into your ear, scraping his teeth against the shell of it before he licks across it, caging your body against the floor. “I really thought you’d get me this time, what a shame.” A whine escapes your throat in a way you should probably be embarrassed by, but you can feel his hard cock pressed against your ass, twitching at each noise you make.
“Oh baby.” He taunts, dipping his head down to bite at the back of your neck, holding you down harder when you squirm. Fuck. He’s so all encompassing, physically and mentally he’s enveloping you entirely, drowning you in the feeling of him. It’s dizzying, punishing when he gnaws at the space between your throat and shoulder. “If you can shake me off, maybe I’ll fuck you.” That draws a whimper from you, one he clearly reacts well to with a teasing thrust to your ass.
You try- you really do, but the game was rigged from the start. You’re never meant to win these things, and in all honesty, you don’t want to, you knew regardless that you’ll get what you want in the end. Court could be punishing, but he wants you just as much as you want him, you were a match made in heaven.
“How cute, it’s sweet when you try.” Nothing happens for several moments after he talks, no sound past laboured breathing from you both, he pulls back away from your throat and his hips still. “I guess your attempts should be rewarded anyway.” He says it like he’s simply pitying you, yet you know it’s because his resolve is cracking and he can barely hold on, he’s nothing if not desperate during these sessions. “Just cause you’ve been so good, doing what I’ve told you to.”
He moves again, harsher and faster, and he grasps your hip, dropping quickly to the space beside you and swinging you over onto his own body, your back to his front. An involuntary yelp sounds out as he hauls you, arm curling so tight around your stomach that you can barely move, pulling you tight down onto his crotch.
“Fuck- you feel so good,” He groans, hooking his arm around your throat, applying just enough pressure that you feel the weight of him, but not enough to choke you. He’s in control, and he’s making sure you know it, everything that’s happening is because he wants it- at least that’s how you both pretend it is.
“Court,” You whimper, trying to shift your hips to gain some friction where you need it most, only for his legs to wrap around yours, pulling them apart so you can’t rub your thighs together. “Fuck!” You whine in frustration, feeling his bicep curl just a fraction tighter, an instruction to shut up and stop moving. You take it- and listen to the soft hum of praise when you do so.
“I said I’d reward you, but I’m still calling the shots, alright?” You feel the muscle flex against your jaw as you nod.
“Y-Yeah, Six.” Your voice catches in your throat, and he laughs again, all mean and taunting.
“Y-Yeah, baby?” He mocks, rolling his hips up once just to listen to you gasp out.
You feel the arm across your stomach ease, and you fall a little limper against him, only to tense back up when it ghosts down to your waistline, probing under your shorts. “You know, I think you like it when I’m mean to you.” He punctuates it with a kiss to your bare shoulder, and the laugh this time isn’t mean, it’s another fracture in his persona- a break in the game.
“Shut up, Court.” You giggle a little breathlessly, wiggling your ass against him until he bucks up into you.
“I don’t think you want me to.” He frames it as a question, his own little method of teasing and asking for consent at the same time, which you enthusiastically give.
“Yeah- I don’t want you to.” You affirm, something you’re instantly rewarded for.
He snaps back into the role, punishing as he grabs at your cock through your boxers- yet he doesn’t move. “Now, you’re gonna take what I give you and nothing more.” He curses softly when his hand shifts up just enough to run his thumb over where the tip had dampened the fabric, a guttural moan vibrating in his chest. “God you’re needy.” You were writhing about on top of him, and he simply took the opportunity to flaunt his strength again, pulling your legs back even tighter with his own until you can’t move at all. Part of your hazy mind decides that you need to ask about him tying you up another day.
“Shhh shh shh, just take it,” He hums, mouthing across the back of your neck before his hand hooks under your boxers to grasp you skin to skin. “You can do it, just be good for me.” You nod as much as you can in his headlock, whining something along the lines of ‘I’ll be good’, though it comes out more as a pathetic cry- it pleases him all the same. “I know baby, I know. You’ve been so good.” He can’t keep a hold on the role anymore, slipping back into his loving boyfriend who simply basks in praising and rewarding you. “Been so good.” He repeats, his hand moving faster and faster, jerking you off at an almost punishing pace.
“Court!” Your hands grasp at his forearm curled around your neck, desperate to grab a hold of anything that could ground you as the heat built violently in your stomach. “Court! Fuck!” You’re a babbling mess as he hums appreciatively in your ear, following with a moan when you manage to move against him again.
“Is it too much?” He’s taunting again, slowing down almost to a stop right when he knows you’re at your peak. “Okay, I’ll slow down.” He laughs, though it gets cut off by a groan too quickly as he finally grants himself the relief of rutting against your ass, quickly seeking his own pleasure to catch up with you.
“Bitch.” You hiss out, only for his hand to cover your mouth.
“Watch your mouth.” He snaps, but the mock anger of it is shaken by the fact he can’t keep his own voice level, too lost in the feeling of you.
“Fuck-Fuck baby.” He’s writhing under you, stuffing his fingers past your lips to probe behind your teeth, feeling your tongue licking desperately across them. “Come on, you’re gonna come with me, okay? Fuck- Come on.” He speeds up his ministrations again, thrusting up at you in time with each flick of his wrist until both of you have trembling legs, his hold slipping before you’re able to grind freely down against him. “Look-Look how long you’re lasting- I-I told you training was good-“ He can barely get the words out in between moans, and you can’t even respond past the fingers in your mouth, but he can feel how close you are. “There we go, you’re so-you’re so good.”
You come with a muffled cry, sobbing when he doesn’t stop moving until he has too, and you both fall limp on the mat, Court slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth just to hear you whine from the overstimulation of his hand still holding onto your cock.
“Court-“ He tries a laugh, but he barely has the energy himself as he swipes his thumb across your sensitive tip before pulling his hand back, instead moving both to hold your hips and carefully roll you to the floor beside him.
“Fuck.” He sighs, flinging an arm across your chest just to feel the rise and fall of your rapid breathing as you wrestle to calm down. “You are lasting longer though,” He pants out a laugh, tilting his head just enough to press a kiss to your sweaty shoulder. “proud of you.” He tacks on, and you just grin up at the ceiling, laying your hand over his.
“Shut up, Court.” You shake your head with a grin.
“Not until you successfully take me down.” You groan loudly at his words, and he jokingly muffles it with his hand again.
I would do anything for more “I bet”… I do want to be a part of that sandwich
YES !! i’m soooo focused on court atm BUTTT holland and healy r my first loves . i will write them again soon i swear !!!!! they’re such a fun dynamic to play around with !!
i also want to be their third. get me in thereeeeee
He's reclined back in the bath as much as he can, his knees poking high out of the water as his tall, broad frame barely fits in. You'd laugh, if it wasn't such a charming sight- he feels more human like this, tangible in a way he tries not to be. It's another reminder that under all the act and all he's done, he's still your sweet boyfriend.
warnings: minor heavy makeout session. this is just domestic fluff. hurt/comfort. reader is male but with no descriptions of appearance at all, other than you being a little shorter than 6ft, but it’s only mentioned briefly. six just needs a hug, and he gets one. cheesy little love story :)
a/n: this is proof i can write happy court🫵🫵I CAN!!! i just like to make him suffer unfortunately. consider this my apology.
It had been 4 months and 16 days since you last saw him- since he was a real person pressed against your skin, rather than just a crackled voice down some burner phone he'd picked up god only knows where.
Being with Sierra Six had never been easy, you knew that when it all started, but it still ate away at you most nights. You'd hear your friends tell stories of date nights and you'd scroll past posts on social media, all smiling and in love for the world to see. Your idea of a date night was when he was safe enough to call for an hour or so, but he was never truly there- he was always so on edge and alert.
You tell yourself you're used to it. But even he would argue that you absolutely aren't.
You'd been out with friends, a distraction from
the sight of the calendar hung up on the wall, an 'X' on each day he hadn't been home. Once you'd reached 100, you stopped counting, but the marks persisted. A reminder- a promise that one day they wouldn't be there anymore, at least for a little while.
Your relationship with Six had made you a little paranoid, to say the least, so your nightly routine consisted of locking every window and checking each room in turn. But this time, when your hand caught the handle of your little office, one latched onto you.
A scream immediately erupts from your throat, only for you to be silenced a moment later by fingers clamping over your mouth, an arm sliding across your stomach to pin you to a hard chest. "You always forget to check the cupboard." A voice hums, barely audible over the sound of your pulse beating in your ears.
"Six." You relax against him, despite how the burning adrenaline in your body wants to pull away- not that you could, Six has a tight hold on you. He always does.
"Hi, baby." He immediately locks his attention on dragging lips across your cheek, nuzzling into you like he's trying to fuse you both together. "I've missed you." He purrs into your ear now, a soft groan as his hands seek to smooth over your body, pulling your shirt up enough to press calloused palms to your stomach. Skin to skin, he needs the contact like air.
"I've missed you too." You respond, closing your eyes to focus on the roaming hands in an effort to calm your racing heart, basking in the feeling of him behind you once more.
"Are you hurt?" You dream of a world where that isn't the first instinctive question upon your boyfriend returning home, yet it's a fact of your life when you feel the hesitation in his movements. "You're hurt." It comes out somewhere in between anger and concern, and you try and fail to turn to face him, fighting against his grip is useless when he wants you the way he does. "Six-" As soon as your wrestle to get out of his arms turns almost frantic and genuine, he releases you and spins you around, your eyes meeting his bloodshot ones. "Come on." There's dirt scuffed across his cheeks and some blood drying on his temple- you'd guess it's his, but you'd long since decided you didn't want to know.
"Baby." He protests when you grab his hand, it's that voice he does when he just wants to eat you alive, but you ignore it in favour of tugging him to the bathroom. "C'mon, I just want to kiss you." He whines, and it's almost comical, the 6 foot killing machine standing broad in the doorway, resorting to pouting at you. "One kiss, then you can do whatever." Despite just playing along and letting you lead him, he flips it over on you now, shaking your hand off, and instead he grabs at your waist to push you against the door. "I've missed you." His mouth is on yours before you can jokingly argue back at him, and he pins you up against the door with his hips.
One kiss. You ease into the way he feels almost instantly, any retort dying in your throat as he mouths at you, all encompassing, your brain swirls.
His tongue probes at the seam of your lips until they split open enough for him to push in, licking into your mouth, dragging a soft groan from the both of you.
"Six-" The hum of his name comes out garbled as he uses the hold on your waist to hike you up against the door until your feet leave the floor, and you grab at his shoulders in an effort to stay upright.
"Shhh." He purrs, all soft and needy, and he kisses like he's trying to swallow you whole. It's not that you're not enjoying the way he's devouring you- you'd spent most nights the last few months imagining what it would be like to taste him again, but you know too much about your boyfriend to not be concerned.
Court was allergic to showing how he felt- he spends most of his time around you attempting to cover up who he is. You know, of course, you had for a long time, but he hardly enjoys showing it- past using his strength to throw you around. But you can tell, you can read him like a book now, despite how much you know he hates it. You feel the way the muscles in his back twitch when your hand grasps his shoulder, you hear the hitch in his breathing when he shifts his body a way that tugs at some injury he'd acquired in his time away.
"Down." You pat his chest, just harsh enough to break him out of the woozy feeling of you making out like men starved. "Six." You try to be scolding, but you know he only does it to protect you, despite how often you insist he's safe with you, all of him is. "Please let me run you a bath." It's a compromise you know he won't mind, deep down he's aware he needs to be taken care of, have you tend to his wounds and kiss him all better whilst he soaks his aching muscles.
"Fine." He slowly lowers you back to the floor, and nips your bottom lip with a stupid grin, drunk on the feeling of having you close again, he glues to your back as you walk to the bath.
"You gonna give me some space?" He gets clingy during times like this, terrified of letting you go when he finally gets to you again. A trained assassin melting into nothing but a teddy bear as he crowds over you, hands once again seeking out the soft skin of your waist.
"Not now." You lean to turn the taps, and he bends over with you just so he can nuzzle into the space between your neck and shoulder. "I want to be close." He mumbles, pressing gentle kisses to your skin, though it lacks the hunger it had just moments before. He's all tender now, needy in a different way. He just wants to hold you close and never let you go.
"Come on, baby, let me look after you." You turn in the small space he's left you, slotting your hand against his cheek to gently pry him away. "You deserve a rest." You can see it in the bags under his eyes- and simply because you know Six better than anyone. He's not slept properly, and you'd gamble to say he hasn't for the last 4 and a half months. He always sleeps better with you, he tells you as much. Long painful days followed by even longer, pained nights. He lives in a constant state of fight or flight, and you both know he's barely ever content with running. He's a fighter, and it shows when you take his hands in your own, cuts and bruises splitting skin that barely healed originally. You don't pry, you never do, but it's obvious that in your time apart he suffered gravely, not that he'd admit it. If you don't know him the way you did, you'd say he's too proud, too egotistical to let his carefully constructed bravado slip away- but in reality you know he's scared.
"Okay," He leans back enough for you to pull his shirt up and over his head, and you both pretend that you don't flinch at the sight of him. He's bruised, purple, blue and yellow across large patches of his torso. If you look closer, they're layered- he's not healing in between beatings, and it chokes you up. But he simply takes your hands and places them on his waist, using the hold of your wrists to glide your palms against his skin. "I'm okay." He does this when he knows you're slipping into overwhelming concern for him, an attempt at consoling you, and in a way- himself. If he just shows you that he can take it, that he can get hit and battered and survive it, if he pretends your touch against his wounded body doesn't sting, he doesn't have to face his own reality.
"You feel that?" He skates your warm hand up to rest across his chest, pressing it close until you feel the steady thump of his heart. He doesn't know if it's more for himself or for you, but the touch comforts you both nonetheless.
"I know." You sigh, stepping forward to press your forehead to his collarbone, letting his arms wrap around you again. "I just worry." It's something you don't particularly need to say this long into the relationship, you've said it a million times and it shows on your face, but he lets you mumble it into his skin again, and he will do so until the end of time. He'll tell himself it's just because he knows it's healthy for you to get your feelings out, but some part of him enjoys hearing you say it- though he'd never admit that. The rush he gets when you express concern, a care for him that he so seldom gets.
The Government 'cared', Fitz 'cared'- they cared enough to keep him living and breathing and safe enough, but not in the way you do. He's only alive because the agencies need him to be, he's their property, they need him to do their bidding. To be their attack dog.
But you- you care for him so deep and genuine that his chest burns, you care in a way he'd only ever experienced as a child. You care for him because you want him to live.
"Now how about this bath, eh?" He tries to lift his voice and lighten the sudden drop in mood, dragging a hand up your side to grasp at your cheek, tilting your head up to kiss you gently.
"Yeah." You pull back with a small smile, and he's merciful enough not to comment on the tears beading in your eyes, simply swiping them away with a thumb when they roll down your cheeks.
"I know you like roleplay- we can be nurse and patient." He jokes, and the tense atmosphere cracks when you grin up at him, shaking your head.
"Oh shut up, and take your trousers off." You push back away from him gently, and he lets you go this time.
"Anytime, baby." He's watching as you test the temperature of the water and adjusting it to how you know he likes it. His heart softens at the sight, and for a brief moment he allows himself to imagine a world where this is his daily reality- where he works an average job and comes home to this domestic bliss each night. He wonders what your life would be like if everything was normal. But it never has been- and it never will be. He cuts off the train of thought before it can continue, there is no use falling into a daydream. For now, living in the moment will have to suffice.
"You changed?" You ask, facing away from him as if you're trying to give him privacy as he undoes his belt and drops his combat trousers to the floor with his boxers, in a pile where he'd just kicked off his shoes. He'd find it comical if it wasn't so painfully sweet, and he grins at your back even where you can't see it.
"Yeah, baby." You glance just a little over your shoulder, catching his smile as you nod towards the bath. "Thank you." He accepts your hand when you offer it to help him into the water, guiding him down until he's well submerged.
"God- that feels good." He allows himself to relax, squeezing your hand before you pull it back.
"Let me go get you a drink whilst you relax, are you hungry?" He shakes his head, and even despite knowing it's a lie, you'll let him have his way for now, kissing his head before slipping out of the room.
You return a few minutes later, dragging a chair behind you and a small glass of whisky in the other. He's reclined back in the bath as much as he can, his knees poking high out of the water as his tall, broad frame barely fits in. You'd laugh, if it wasn't such a charming sight- he feels more human like this, tangible in a way he tries not to be. It's another reminder that under all the act and all he's done, he's still your sweet boyfriend.
"Here, love." You pull the chair up to the side of the bath and pass him his drink, which he thanks you for by pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He looks small, in an odd way, his face sleepy and pink from the warmth of the water, his eyes a little glossy. "Relax for a bit, I'll stay right here." You don't mind his clinginess and need for contact, and you barley bat an eye when he slings an arm over to lay across your lap.
"As long as you don't leave me." His voice is so uncharacteristically quiet you barely hear him, but he punctuates it by hooking his hand under your thigh, keeping you close.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Six." He sips his drink slowly, sighing in content as you weave your fingers into his mess of hair, carefully pulling apart knots that had formed. He could hardly care about looking after it when he was on the run, so you take up the job, and you do so happily.
You let him relax in the water, changing it once when it begins to cool and turn an unsightly pale pink from blood, before starting work on cleaning him up. "You don't have to." He chuckles softly, catching your hand when you reach for the soap. It's a song and dance you do each time, he pretends he doesn't like the feel of you caring for him, but he always relents in the end, giddy with the love he feels.
"Let me, please." You smile, and it takes all of 2 seconds for him to nod up at you.
"Fine." He rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him as he shuffles immediately for you to begin to slowly lather up a cloth.
You feel him ease up as soon as you begin to scrub across his back, and you skim it gently over the torn skin, cleaning up the dried blood there. "Fuck." He sighs in content, especially when you drop the cloth to massage the bubbles into his sore muscles.
"That feel good?" You tease, instantly awarded with a rattled moan when you press a little deeper into the space below his shoulder.
"You know it does." He laughs, peering over his shoulder to grin at you. "You're so good to me." A wet hand comes to grab at your face, and you recoil with a small yelp, but his hold is unrelenting as he pulls you down into a gentle kiss.
"Okay- okay!" You chuckle, leaning back even when he chases your mouth. "Let me finish cleaning you up first, at least." You send him a pointed mock glare when he rolls his eyes again, urging him to lean back so you can start on his legs, soothing the tenseness in his calves as you massage there too, up to the tops of his thighs.
It's not until you've carefully washed up his chest and begin to move on to his hair that his quiet demeanour changes from his relaxed, blissful state into a playful one, and you barely process what's going on as he splashes his arms up and snatches at your waist.
"Six!" It's a stupid squeal he laughs at- one second you're leant over the bath, the next you're in it, clothes and all. "Bastard!" You cry, feeling the way they cling tight to your skin as he wrestles you into his lap, not caring at the water now flooding over your bathroom with the force of the splash.
"Oh you're just saying that." He waves your annoyance off, and you can't even argue as you break out into a laugh yourself, easing against him. "You were out of my arms for too long." He nuzzles into your head again, nipping at the tip of your ear with a wolfish grin.
"You could at least let me take off my clothes first." You huff in mock anger, which he quickly kisses away with a tilt of his head.
"There's plenty of time for that later." You have no doubt in it. When all is said and done and he's clean again, he strips you bare to dry you both off, and you retire to your room.
Though tonight it does not end the way you expect. There is nothing but tenderness as you climb into bed side by side, tucked up under the sheets, soft and sleepy. He'll have you when he wakes up, you're sure. But for now you bask in the domestic bliss of having your boyfriend back in your arms.
prguitarman
ellievsbear
gracieabrams
stormborns
origamiaround
amandla
2087
