He’d never been good at words, and it was two in the morning and he couldn’t think straight. Maybe in the morning he’d have the words to express just what you meant to him, how much he valued you. Even if meeting you meant being pepper sprayed in the eyes, all of it was worth it to come home to you.
---
3k words of fluff with Courtland reflecting a bit on how life has changed since he escaped the Sierra program, how he's reconnected with his brothers, how he gets to come home to you each night, featuring some evening cuddles
Pairing: Courtland Gentry x reader (no use of YN)
Word Count: 3,032
AO3 Link | Courtland Masterlist
**
The Sierra program. A team of the elite, the best in their field. Sierra Six alone had a higher kill count than any of the rest, capable of tearing through highly specialized operatives with ease, trained like a dog to a whistle.
He was also forty-five years old, no longer Sierra, and exhausted.
Courtland Gentry grunted as the key finally turned in the lock and he turned the old, rusted knob. He’d have to fix that this week. He rested his weight against the door, and it didn’t budge. He grumbled and thumped his shoulder against the door, pushing a little harder, and stumbling on his bad knee when it finally slipped from the frame. He hissed when the hinges squeaked behind him entirely too loudly in the house for 1 in the morning.
He huffed and pushed the door shut behind him, trying his best to stay quiet. The last thing he needed was a moody teenager chastising him for coming home too loud. He emptied his pockets onto the counter, unloading every knife, gun—unloading the bullets from the gun and clearing the chamber—spare ammunition, his wallet, keys, and phone from his pockets and dropping them in an unceremonious heap.
They were another problem for morning Courtland.
He sat on the small bench beside the door, the one you’d insisted on keeping there. He thought it was a waste of space where he could keep a go bag, you said it was useful for taking off shoes. And when he sat down to start unlacing his boots instead of balancing awkwardly on his bad leg, he was reminded again that you were usually right.
After doing a sweep of the house, checking every window, every closet, behind every door, and every place he would hide if he were still Six, he finished vy checking every door lock. Twice. When he was satisfied there was nobody hiding in the house and nobody working on Denny Carmichael’s orders to hunt him down, he finally made his way to the bathroom to start on a shower.
He let the steam clear his sinuses as the hot water melted the aches out of his muscles. Not nearly as well as it did when you rubbed his back, but it would do.
He figured he’d be cut out for it with his history as Six, but he’d learned the hard way that private security was a different animal entirely. He was trained to locate and neutralize targets, not to catch crowd-surfers being thrown over the barrier at a metal concert. Beer in the eyes didn’t burn as much as pepper spray, but he was not allowed to throat strike the twenty-something year old boy who threw it in his face.
His ribs ached from where a crowd surfer had kicked him on the way down, his lip was split from what he was pretty sure was a demonia to the face, his ears rang from forgetting his earplugs, and it was fair to say he’d had a bad day.
So he squeezed a generous amount of your black cherry and orchid body wash onto a loofah, and scrubbed at his skin until it was red and tender and he smelled like you. He needed to scrub off the sweat and the smell of weed before he could even think of climbing into bed with you, of making the soft black sheets smell a thing like that damn concert venue.
When he was satisfied that he was finally clean he shut the water off and toweled his hair dry. He slipped on his favorite worn pair of gray sweatpants and shut the light off before leaving the bathroom so he wouldn’t wake Claire.
He cracked open the door to her bedroom, peeking in to make sure Claire was still sleeping soundly. The soft night light cast a warm golden glow through her bedroom, barely illuminating the shape of her bundled under all the blankets and the stuffed bear tucked between her pillow and headboard. He quietly crossed the room and brushed her hair away from her face, watching her nose wrinkle as he tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Mmf, Six?” She grumbled, squinting against the night light. The only person still allowed to call him Six. He shushed her and smoothed her hair down.
“Yeah, just checkin’ on you.” He whispered. She swatted at his hand and he huffed out a soft laugh when she rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head with a muffled “go away.”
He relented, satisfied that she was safe, that the house was secure, that he had finally cleaned enough of his day off, finally worthy of you.
He finally cracked the door open to your bedroom, the one he shared with you, and let out a breath when he smelled your perfume and shampoo and saw your delicate form under the comforter.
He kicked his sweatpants off before pulling the covers back, sliding under them with you, immediately gathering you in his arms and pulling you closer until your back was against his chest.
God you were so warm, so soft in his arms. He wrapped an arm tight around your midsection and crossed the other over your chest, ducking his head to bury his nose in the crook of your shoulder and nuzzle into you. You shifted and sucked in a breath as he pressed feather-light kisses to your skin.
“Hm, Court?” You whispered, voice scratchy with sleep. He hummed softly against your skin, rubbing his cheek against your throat. You giggled as his beard and stubble scratched against your skin. You reached back and cupped his cheek, turning to look at him. He pressed his cheek into your palm and you kissed the scar on his eyebrow. He lifted his chin with a soft hum and you met his lips in a tender kiss, slotting your mouth into his. He let out a quiet whine as the split in his lip stung but he’d endure it all if only to kiss you a little longer.
You pulled away and Courtland made a displeased sound. “I was asleep.” You teased, voice thick with sleep as he continued to nuzzle into you, dragging you further out of your comfortable slumber.
“Hm, need this.” He countered, pulling you tighter against his chest to nuzzle you. You ran your fingers through his beard and scratched softly at his jaw and Courtland sighed into your throat.
“Bad day?” You asked, a little more clear now. Courtland nodded wordlessly and pressed his forehead against the back of your neck. You squirmed and he grumbled in protest, but loosened his grip just enough that you could roll onto your back. Courtland allowed you to get comfortable before you reached for him and cupped his cheek again. He turned to kiss your palm and smiled into your hand before moving to settle his weight between your thighs. He laid down so his chest was pressed against your stomach and his head was pillowed on your chest just under your chin. You tucked your head and kissed his temple, then followed it with a kiss to his brow. Courtland lifted his head and met your lips again, hand squeezing the flesh of your hips as you threaded your fingers through his soft damp hair and smoothing your other hand over the scarred planes of his back.
You’d met Courtland Gentry fourteen years ago when he dragged himself through your bathroom window bloody and bruised from whatever mission he’d been on. He’d fallen into your bathtub with a massive commotion as he dragged every bottle of soap off the windowsill with him and landed in the tub with a very loud “fuck!” and a bruised shoulder.
He was twenty-eight and on his first mission by himself and had gotten out of it no worse for wear, If you didn’t count the box cutter blade sticking out of his side (And every time he told this story you insisted the box cutter did count as “worse for wear”). You were a registered nurse that had just gotten home from a twelve-hour shift and ended up pepper-spraying him in the face before he even got a chance to explain. After you had both calmed down, and you saw just what state he was in, you ended up dragging him to the kitchen to stitch him up.
He’d started showing up more after that day, usually in various states of injury ranging from a cut on his arm to being hit by a truck. Usually with blood coating his teeth, asking you to patch him up, but always with the same sly smile and flirtatious quips. He’d crash for a day or two and then disappear mysteriously. Sometimes he’d leave a note, once he’d left his jacket and you weren’t sure if it was on purpose or not but you started wearing it anyway, and when you finally upgraded from a landline to a cell phone he made sure his number was saved in it.
He finally told you exactly who he was on his 35th birthday. You had a feeling he would show up, he’d made a habit of stopping by on his birthday and your birthday whether he needed medical attention or not. You were lying in your bed, just like you were now, with his nose tucked against your throat and your hand rubbing over the scratches you’d left in his back, and you asked him what he did for work. He’d paused and you were afraid you’d pushed it too far, that he’d get up and put his clothes back on and leave like every time before.
Instead he’d taken a deep breath, and explained to you what a gray man was and how he came to be one of the CIA’s most invaluable assets. He explained that he was a murderer, killed his own father. That he was trained to be a weapon, an asset, that before he gave it to you he barely remembered his own name. He told you he wouldn’t blame you if you wanted him to leave, but you just pulled him in for a kiss, and let him stay. He’d never really stopped staying the night after that.
He groaned against your lips when you dug the heel of your hand into a particularly sore spot under his shoulder blade. You pulled back with a soft chuckle and smoothed his hair down before dragging your fingers through it again, fluffing his hair. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips that Courtland chased when you pulled away, before you pushed at his shoulder. He grumbled but relented and rolled to the side. He huffed again when you slipped from beneath him.
“Where you goin’?” He complained. You hummed in response and sat up beside him, gently rubbing his back. Courtland settled flat on his stomach, grabbing your pillow and shoving his face into it. He shifted and shuffled as he got comfortable, tucking your pillow under his chest and turning his head to face you. He cracked an eye open and quirked his brow to watch you. Once he was comfortable, you swung one leg over his hips to straddle him and he groaned at the weight on his lower back. You smoothed a hand over his spine and he let his eyes flutter closed.
You massaged his back, and Courtland groaned as you pressed your hands into his sore muscles. This was something you’d started doing after the third time he’d shown up at your place, when he’d jumped out of the back of a truck and tweaked his back. He’d been hesitant at first but damn, it really did help. And now that he was older and fully recognizing the extent of just how badly he fucked up his body, he would never complain about a back massage.
“You want to talk about the bad day?” You asked, slowly running your hands down his back, pressing lightly to feel for any tense muscles. You knew him, knew his body, so well by now that you could usually find what hurt and fix it in just a few minutes. He grumbled and shifted his weight under you.
“Not much to talk about, took a boot to the teeth, had a grown adult dropped on my head, the usual.” He quipped. You hummed and pressed your thumbs into his lower back on either side of his spine.
Courtland let out a pleased grumble when you pushed your palms into the muscles of his back, pushing up towards his shoulders. He was, admittedly, getting way too old for the line of work he was in. You’d encouraged him to find something he liked, something that made him happy, but he’d been “six” for so long it was taking him awhile to learn who “Courtland Gentry” was again.
His first priority when he got Claire back was keeping her safe. You’d been a great help at that, offering your home, helping him get Claire enrolled in school, even finding her a therapist (trying to convince him to go, though he wouldn’t agree to go for at least four months).
His second priority was staying with you. That was easy, you stayed with him through all of it. Through the nightmares, through the diagnoses, while he figured out his medication, all of it.
His third priority was learning who Courtland Gentry was, what he wanted, what was important to him. And when he mentioned he wanted to reconnect with his brothers you’d supported him in that too.
And when Colt and Ryland had, at first, spat in his face and cursed him for leaving them, you were there to catch him when he fell apart.
He let out a quiet yelp when you pressed into the knot of muscle under his left shoulder blade, ripping him from his thoughts. You apologized softly as you continued to work out the sore spot and he burrowed his face further into the pillow.
“Oh Court, you sure you’re up for tomorrow?” You asked, breaking the silence as you worked out the knot under his left shoulder blade. He winced and nodded.
“Yeah, ‘m good.” He grumbled, letting out a growl when you pressed harder under his shoulder. The biweekly dinner just so happened to fall on his birthday and Claire insisted on setting up a party for him. Which meant Courtland got roped into grilling burgers and hot dogs on his birthday.
“They’d understand Court.” You reasoned, letting the pressure off of his shoulder and lightly dragging your nails down his back. Courtland shuddered and hummed contentedly. They would.
His brothers had come around eventually, and now the biweekly dinners were their way of staying connected to each other. Courtland loved those dinners, loved learning more about his brothers' lives. Loved the way Ryland had started to hug him again and Colt started trying to roughhouse with him as much as his bad knee and Colt’s bad back would let them.
Ryland warmed up the fastest to him. He’d been close with both of them when they were young (thirty years ago) but Ryland had always been the one who leaned on him the most, the one who climbed into his bed on the hard nights. Colt was always more hard-headed. But Ryland had talked some sense into Colt and convinced him to take Courtland up on his offer for dinner, on him, just to hear him out. Shortly after that you suggested regular dinners, so the three could get to know each other again. After the first few Colt had even started to bring his wife Jody.
Which of course led to Colt relentlessly teasing Ryland, lightheartedly, about being the only single brother. Ryland would laugh, and tease Colt right back, and Court would just smile because it almost felt like they were still kids again and the twins were poking fun at each other for their crush of the month. Until the day Ryland admitted, face bright red, that he actually wasn’t single anymore.
“We’re ‘sposed to meet Simon tomorrow,” Court countered, “can’t cancel on Ry when he’s finally letting me meet his boyfriend.” You smoothed your hand over his bare back and traced the scars over his shoulders. He shifted to look at you over his shoulder.
You let his gaze and smiled softly. “You’re a good brother.” You lowered yourself to lay against his back and kissed his shoulder gently. He hummed and shifted to nudge you.
He turned away from you, cheeks burning, and pressed his face into the pillow with a muffled grumble of protest.
“You are, but I’m too tired to push it.” You slid off his back and laid down beside him. You immediately burrowed under his arm and Courtland rolled on his side. You slipped your arm over his waist and tucked your head under his chin, kissing the hollow of his throat before settling against his bare chest. Court nuzzled his nose into your hair and squeezed your hip, before letting his eyes flutter closed.
“I love you big guy.” You whispered. Courtland smiled, feeling his heart thump hard in his chest, the way it did every time you said you loved him. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you against his chest and you let out a soft “uff.”
“I love you too.” He confessed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”
You yawned and pressed your nose into his throat. “For what?” Your voice was already heavy and slow with sleep as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers over the scars on his lower back.
He took a breath, trying to find the right words. “For all of it.” He whispered into your hair and cringed. He’d never been good at words, and it was two in the morning and he couldn’t think straight. Maybe in the morning he’d have the words to express just what you meant to him, how much he valued you. Even if meeting you meant being pepper sprayed in the eyes, all of it was worth it to come home to you.
---
NOTES:
Please forgive this fic, it's a midnight rambling and the first fic I've written in AWHILE and scribbled between work and the trials of adult life but I love Courtland so very much, so have this (:
Please note: NO AI was used in the making of this fic, all natural garbage from my own mind
I DO NOT CONSENT to any of my work being put through AI in any way, shape, or form.
Hi some territorial killer and luke crumbs were requested by @10473051329 which is honestly real asf so here are some thoughts 💭
ok so i think obviously luke and killer are a bit possessive of each other when they start dating (thats being generous tbh) like of course theyre weird and possessive as a couple they were weird and possessive as friends too 😭😭
so as loser teenagers ofc they have moments of super petty jealousy (and u see it when rhey first kiss too) BUT i feel like as a couple they might just maybe tone it down a little bit. they feel so secure with the other and now that theyve finally admitted their feelings i feel like they wouldnt worry nearly as much about some random stealing the other away. bc well. theyre in love and they know it!!
however their relationship is also a SECRET lol. so theyre trying to keep everything on the low but that means theres moments where one of them just isnt strong enough lol… I imagine killer watching luke have a conversation and thinking Why are you laughing so loud at his jokes. My Boyfriend’s jokes. Jokes made by my boyfriend who is Mine. but obviously she cant say that so killer just like appears out of the blue whenever luke is spending a little toooo much time talking to someone else lol
anyways since i think their possessiveness during their relationship is a lot more quiet and subtle i think the PEAK of their “territorial”ness goes super hand in hand with the peak of their protectiveness. and Boy oh boy the most protective luke ever is is right after they get to camp.
Just picture it…theyve spent all these years living on their own with no one to rely on but each other (+ annabeth and thalia who just DIED right in front of them… rip girl) so the second they get to chb they’re still kind of settling into what its like to be somewhere safe because they just spent the last years needing to watch the other person’s back at all times
i think its really funny to compare luke to a feral dog because he kind of is in my mind. and lets just say he totally resource guards killer LOLLL. i posted an excerpt from demigod diaries a while ago and iirc luke basically was like “i have to take on the role of a dad rn” when hes with thalia and annabeth. so i imagine when they first get to camp his brain is still wired into like full blown defense.
they definitely cling to each other (as expected. its like when u go somewhere new and only know one person there lol) but i think luke definitely clings in a defensive way. doesnt let killer go anywhere without him, constantly is trying to keep her in his eyesight, the whole nine yards lol.
and like she loves him duh but it makes it kind of weird whenever shes trying to make friends in whats basically their new home because hes a LURKER. and a starer. 💔 dont get me wrong luke is still as charming and as sweet as ever but whenever killer talks to someone new the other person can just Feel him nearby. like his presence just feels so heavy lmfaoo (probably cos hes lowkey evil) but anyway hes staring the stranger DOWN. which is crazy because at camp everyones so young so hes literally analyzing these thirteen year olds and u can literally see him get antsy when they stand too close to his friend
the dating rumors start not long after they get to camp. as expected.
when they start to settle in and get used to their new life the territorial act definitely chills out a little bit! but sometimes when they reminisce killers like “lol dude remember when we first got here and clayton tried helping me out of a kayak” and luke just groans bc he knows whats coming. and she just laughs and is like “i cant believe you accidentally pushed him into the water trying to help me first” and hes like “😐😐😐 that didnt happen.”
Your helmet hits the grass with a dull thud. One of your sisters jumps over it to leap into her friend’s arms, the both of them cheering and high off adrenaline.
You’re sure you look gross from the sweat that comes with the August humidity and the exhaustion of playing Capture the Flag, but you can’t even care. Your team has just won in what’s arguably the biggest upset of this year; a defeat acquired in just twenty-four minutes.
One of the Hermes kids was able to convince the other team’s defenders that he’d nicked the flag, and then promptly scurried fifty feet up a random tree. He’d done it with a red t-shirt he’d been wearing under his blue one, and waved the fabric around while he threw sticks at his pursuers. While a group of five kids struggled to climb up after him, someone was able to get the actual flag before disappearing off to your half of the woods.
How not a single one of them realized was beyond you, but you weren’t complaining. You had bet quite a few things on the outcome of this match, and your team even ended up setting a new camp record.
“How the hell did that work?”
You turn around what’s probably a little too eagerly, something that is absolutely not excitement making a smile pull at your lips.
“Luke,” you say, trying not to make your entire face light up.
He drapes an easy arm around your shoulders, and he’s really hot (in both senses of the word) but you don’t push him off of you. You have it so bad you let his forearm, sticky from the heat, press right against your upper arm.
You wipe the smile off your face before it has the chance to form. Your completely casual crush on Luke Castellan is exactly that — casual.
You will forget about his stupidly pretty face by the end of the summer if it’s the last thing you do.
Kevin, the hero of today, gets lifted into the air, waving around his crimson shirt like it’s the American flag. The rest of your team chants his name while they carry him toward the beach.
“That wasn’t really what I had in mind when I told him to come up with a distraction,” he says, letting his helmet hit the ground next to yours. “He’s insane.”
He watches your team with a smile on his face, everyone still coming off the rush of such a fast win. His curly hair hangs down past his eyebrows, the strands slick with sweat.
“Did you take a dip in the lake?” you tease, tugging at one of the curls.
Like a wet dog, he shakes his head from side to side, making droplets of sweat land on your shirt. His grip on your shoulders tightens when you try to squirm away.
“You’re so gross, Luke,” you complain, though you have a feeling it sounds a little bit too giddy.
Ah, fuck, you’re doing it again. Saying his name in every sentence like an actual loser. Kissing him with tongue would probably be less obvious than whatever you’re doing right now.
You have to snap yourself out of whatever sick hypnosis the sight of his face puts you in. Quickly.
Kevin is kind enough to offer an ample distraction in the form of him rallying the crowd up. He whoops and hollers stuff you can’t quite hear, and then he’s tossed up in the air.
“He’s never gonna shut up about this,” Luke says, his hand sliding to the small of your back so he can lead you in the direction of the growing mass of kids.
Your legs almost give out, and your entire body tenses up on the spot. You wonder if you would be able to attribute passing out to heat stroke and not him being so close to you.
“Kevin’s crazy,” you agree when you find your voice again. “But I need to thank him, ‘cause our win means I am officially free from all my chores for the rest of the week.”
Luke laughs, and the smug smile the sound brings to your face is actually beyond ridiculous.
Pull it together, you remind yourself. There’s no way you’re acting like this over some guy.
“You’re kidding.” He nudges you with his shoulder, and the two of you make your way to where the rest of your team is still throwing Kevin into the air. “Which fools did you manage to get to pick up your work?”
“Dead serious,” you say rather proudly. “Marcia’s doing my laundry and Steven’s doing my dishes. And I don’t know if Carlos remembers, but he now owes me ten drachmas.”
Luke whistles, his smile lopsided and charming and directed solely at you. “Nice hustling.”
“Learned from the best,” you say before you can stop yourself. Against your better judgment, you nudge him back.
(It’s like you’re watching your plans to get over this stupid crush get washed down the drain.)
Someone calls out your names, and you find that you have to literally drag your eyes away from Luke’s face.
“Get in, you two!” Lauren says, her old camera clutched in her hands. Her face is half hidden with the way she’s looking in the viewfinder, trying to get everyone in the frame.
You hadn’t realized everyone had been huddling around for a picture, and most of your team are beckoning for the two of you to hurry up.
It’s easy to slide into the back of the crowd. You feel yourself get jostled around as people try to push Luke to the front, excited for their captain to be front in center in the photo.
You really try not to think too much about it, but he remains planted firmly where he is, one of his hands reaching for one of yours.
You fan your face with the hand not clutched in his, suddenly in what feels like a fight for your life.
Luke towers easily over the crowd, a smile plastered on his face while he takes in everyone’s matching grins. It’s easy for him to be seen over the group of kids since he’s on the taller side, and he’s already smiling for the picture.
On the other hand, you’re not so lucky.
“Oh,” Luke says, eyeing the guy standing in front of you, who’s a good head taller than you. “C’mere.”
What happens next is honestly kind of hard to explain.
(As expected, because you think you black out for the next thirty seconds.)
As casual as can be, Luke wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you clear off the ground — right into view of the photo.
“Say cheese!” you think Lauren says, because everyone choruses it back to her.
You have no idea if you smiled for the picture.
You have no idea if you’re even looking at Lauren’s camera.
You realize, absolutely mortified, that it’s entirely possible you’re staring wide-eyed at Luke’s face instead.
The next time you blink, the group is dispersing. Your sneakers are flat on the ground, and Luke is staring at you. His head is tilted.
“You okay?” he asks coolly.
He’s smiling at you so easily, like the feeling of his arms around your waist hadn’t literally stopped the beating of your heart.
“Absolutely!” you chirp back.
You want to strangle him.
a/n. this is entirely unedited and was written while half asleep but hiiiii! hoping this makes sense
also me: lockwood begs u to adopt a cat blurb for @memrobal
cw brief mention of having kids
“Please.”
“No.”
“It’s like she won’t even be here! And I’ll do all of the caring for her—”
“Lockwood, no.”
“—so I really don’t understand why it’s such a big issue for you.”
You leveled him with a stern look. He held the small kitten out in front of you, letting her meow cutely in your face. Lockwood was pouting up sadly at you from the doorstep, but you refused to give in.
“One of George’s sisters is allergic to cats—”
“I don’t see how that affects us and Pepper.”
“—and she’ll never be able to visit if you… Sorry, Pepper? Please don’t tell me you gave the cat a name.”
The kitten didn’t seem to mind the way Lockwood was hoisting her high in the air, even going as far as licking kindly at his knuckles.
His sad expression deepened. “She’s been showing up outside of our door for weeks now, so she’s basically ours. And I’ll do all your laundry for a month if you let me keep her, so you’re really only benefitting from this exchange.”
The words seemed to register too late in his mind. You narrowed your eyes at him as his eyes flicked briefly down to your t-shirt. It had been white last week until he had accidentally thrown it in with his load and dyed it pink.
“Alright, so maybe I’ll do the dishes for you instead.”
You sighed, massaging your temples. “Have you ever even owned a cat? Or a pet in general?”
He paused as he thought about it, and you winced as you watched the cat dig harshly into his skin. Inch by inch, she crawled up the sleeve of his thick coat, leaving tiny marks in the fabric. Lockwood caught her tiny body when she lost traction for a second, cooing at her as he did so.
“Err… Not exactly. But I’ve cleaned up after George’s experiments enough times, and how different could it really be?”
“Cleaning up after our friend’s chemical spills is not the same as taking care of a small living thing in our house. It’d be basically like having a kid.”
He shifted the cat into his right hand and reached out to hold one of yours with his left. “Are you saying you wouldn’t want to have a kid with me?”
You choked on air as your face started to burn. “I would — What?”
He dropped your hand dramatically, looking at you as if you’d hit him. Even Pepper seemed to give you a rude glare. “If you wanted to break up with me, you should’ve just said so—”
