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dindjiarin · 2 years

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six doesn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes.”

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

“Is there anything to eat?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

You watch as he stifles a yawn.

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

“I slept enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, noted,” you respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Who’s the Boss? 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Bro, my hip is pinching so tight I feel it in my ankle.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖

Your mother always said you never missed a detour on a straight road. You always think she’s too narrow-sighted. Even if she's right. Your search for the caddy is foiled by your innate curiosity. You end up in the small gift shop, playing with the novelty pens there. You do need a new one…

You find a replacement for Fiona. Of course, no pen could ever live up to her comfortable grip or her gliding ink, but Bailey the Bunny would do just fine. A long pen topped with a pom pom with rabbit ears. You could make it hop as the fluffy ball was attached by a spring.

On your way to the checkout, you grab one of those portable fans that goes around your neck. You never do good in the heat and the sun is blistering down. Coupled with Hansen’s ever burning disapproval, you'll surely need it. Oh and candy.

You finally defeat the dragon and his hoard, leaving the shop with your wares, and heading outside at the direction of an attendant. A row of three carts await you as you pop a gummy bear in your mouth. The breakfast of champions.

Along with the carts, your boss scowls at his phone as his associates chat in the front seat of the middle vehicle. You hop down the steps and apologise as you swallow and shove the package in your purse.

"Uh, I had to hit the bathroom," you lie.

"Just get in," Lloyd tucks his phone away in his cream pants. What's with this guy? Does he like the adrenaline of tempting a stain?

You obey and get in a cart, gripping the wheel with one hand as you search for the key, the slot empty.

"Are you crazy?" Lloyd puts his hand up on the roof of the cart, "move over."

"Ah, right," you shimmy over, disappointed that you won't get to be Silvio for the day.

He drops onto the seat, the cart shifting with his weight. You glance back at the caddy, alone with several tall golf bags in a cart of his own. Why couldn't you ride with that guy? He looks like he has good memes.

The engine putters on and Hansen hits the gas, a slow roll across the green.

The silence is laced with his impatience. You cross one leg over the other and try to stretch the skirt past your thighs. He huffs and reaches over to still your hand.

"You fidget too goddamn much."

"Sir, sorry, sir," you stop yourself and pull your hand back, crossing your arms as you fight not to squirm. His hand lingers on your leg before he retracts it, "I've never golfed before, ya know?"

"You won't be today," he shakes his head as he steers, "take notes and be quiet."

"I'll do my best," you avow, "so how many points do you need to win?"

He doesn't answer as he sneers at the grass ahead. You're just making conversation. No wonder his buddies don't seem very friendly. Not with him, at least.

🖇️

You dodge another backswing, trying to catch whatever Lloyd is blabbering on about. There's too much. Too much green, too much pollen, too much sun, and of course, you can't help but get distracted by the putters in the distance yelling fore, as you resist yelling back five.

Hansen shades his eyes as he watches his shot fade into the sky. You can barely see the ball but whatever. He seems proud of his shot, landing right by the pole, but not in the hole. Right, but isn't he supposed to get it in? Why is this taking so long?

Court whistles, "good shot," he praises, "you know, my shoulder," he rolls his left arm, "I need to stretch it out a bit more," he takes a club and examines it as he pass Hansen, his ball only few feet behind, "you wanna give it a go?"

He offers you the end of the club and you clutch your phone to your chest. You glance past him as Lloyd turns back with a tilt of his head, "you tryna butter me up by losing, Gentry?"

"I don't need to butter you up, Hansen, I'm not the one selling," he insists as he keeps his pale blue eyes aimed at you.

"Oh, I don't know how," you smile, hoping to appease Lloyd with your refusal, as much as you kind of want to.

"I can help," Court wiggles the club at you, "come on. No fair just watching."

"She said no," Hansen snips.

"Because you're a hard ass," Court retorts, "come here."

He gestures to you with two fingers, pointing the foot of the club at the ball. You give a look to Mr. Hansen and shrug. He shakes his head and motions to the caddy for water. Nick smirks as his eyes dart between the two men.

You put your phone away and follow Court. He waves you closer and directs you to turn around. He stands behind you, his long arms stretching past you as he holds the club in front of you.

"Put your hands here," he guides your right then your left below his, "arms straight," he's flush to you, his voice surrounds you like smoke, "feet apart." He kicks your shoes wider, "just be loose, swing back," he angles the stick up, twisting his body with yours, "and down, make sure you follow through."

He brings the club back behind the ball short of touching it. You peek up as Lloyd growls and Nick holds back a chuckle. You don't get the joke.

"Good," Court pulls away, his hands brushing up your arms, "it's all yours."

"Right," you scrunch your nose and focus.

You shift your feet, wiggling your hips as you look back and forth between the club and the hole off in the distance. You take a breath and raise the club and let it swing, nearly toppling yourself with the velocity as it twists you around halfway.

The ball flies off as you regain your balance and Court hums as the other men grumble and squint at the sky. You try to see where it went and finally see the white bounce onto the green. Once, twice, three times before it rolls past Lloyd's and knocks into the hole.

Your eyes round in disbelief. It's like you're glitching before you suddenly fling your arms up, nearly hitting Court with the club.

"I did it," you hop in place, the skirt flying up carelessly, "yesssss." You stomp down and cock your fist towards the ground, "I did it!"

You spin and raise your hand. Court barely gets his up as you high five him.

"Wonderful," Nick praises, "well, I don't know how I can follow that."

You hand the club back to Court with a smile and go back to the cart, just by Lloyd, "did you see that, Mr. Hansen?"

"Mm, yeah," he mutters, "why don't you stick to your notes, intern?"

You deflate and nod, "yes, sir."

He doesn't even look at you, his shoulders set as he glares at Court. You stick your tongue out at his back as the other men chuckle at the act. You quickly snap your mouth shut as Lloyd peeks back at you.

"God," you say as you grab the box hanging from your neck and flip the fan on, pointing it at your face, "hot out today, huh?"

He scowls and for a minute you think he might snatch the fan. Instead, his hand balls into a fist beneath his glove and he turns back as Nick approaches his ball. You don't get these old men or their dumb game. It wasn't that hard to get the ball in a hole. Duh.

🖇️

You're hesitant to sit down as the men claim a table in the club dining room. You hover behind Lloyd and he snap his fingers, pointing to an empty chair near his. You inch forward as the other men settle in, peeling off their gloves and sighing.

You're a bit overheated but overall, you feel fine enough. You wouldn't have minded a lazy Saturday but those are seeming to be in short stock. You lower yourself into the seat as the server approaches with a beaming request for drink orders.

"Ladies first," Court winks at you, an unexpected gesture.

"Oh, uh–"

"Two mimosas," Lloyd interjects holding up as many fingers.

You don't argue and just nod with a weak smile. Court narrows his eyes and orders coffee as Nick contents himself to a whiskey with coke. You wiggle in the chair, pushing the tail of the skirt under your ass as the wooden frame squeaks. Lloyd grabs your arm and squeezes. You stop and make yourself sit back.

"So, it's a plan?" Hansen begins.

"Well, you got me listening, it's more than I expected," Court counters, "but let's leave that for office hours. You can pencil me in this week, I'll have my assistant check in when they are on the clock."

You try not to send a look at your boss and keep your lips sealed. He chafes at this obvious remark but doesn't argue.

"Fair enough, we'll enjoy our lunch then."

"I'm starving," Nick intones as he looks over the menu, "how about you?"

You realise he's asking you and you perk up, "oh yeah, I– actually, I got some candy–" you pop open your purse.

"Intern," Lloyd girds.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no dessert before dinner," you shut the clasp and cringe, "sorry."

The server returns, easing you away from the awkward silence and puts down each drink. You stare at yours, your stomach grumbling for actual food.

"Do we know what we want?" The server asks.

Again, Court defers to you, a habit that seems to irk Lloyd. You haven't even touched the menu.

"Uh, do you have grilled cheese?" You go with your gut, "if that's uh…" you glance at the menu and the French words on it, "okay?" Lloyd scoffs and you chew your lip. "Sorry, can I pass? I don't know."

"We can do grilled cheese," the server offers, "cheddar okay?"

"Oh yummy, sure," you grin, "thank you."

"Anything with it? Fries? Salad?"

"Fries. Oh, and ketchup on the side, thank you so much, sir. Er, garcon?"

Court looks amused as Nick sips from his glass. You don't chance to look at Lloyd. The men put in their orders and you tap your fingers on the tablecloth.

"Quit," Lloyd hisses and you once more weave your fingers around each other. "Why don't you have a drink?" He keeps his voice low, "unless… you had your fill last night."

"Hm?" You blink, "what do you mean?"

He clicks his tongue but doesn't answer. You swing your legs under the chair and lean your arm on the rest, propping your chin on your knuckles.

"You ever think of golf lessons?" Court intones, "you're a natural."

"She's lucky," Lloyd insists.

"They give lessons?" You snort, "I mean it's not science or anything."

"I suppose you're right," Court lifts his mug and you nose a hint of a tattoo peeking out by his sleeve. There's another further down you didn't even notice before.

"Oooo, you have a tattoo?"

"Several," he answers.

"Nice, I was thinking of getting a little kitten tattoo."

"That's cute," he says. "Suits you."

"Does it hurt? I'm a big baby."

"A little but you get used to it," he explains.

"Hmmm, maybe I'll actually do it. It'd be cool."

Lloyd sighs and you fidget. Everything you do annoys him but you're just being friendly. Besides, the guy seems to hate your boss so maybe, just maybe, if you’re nice, it will help whatever they're trying to agree on.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. When I'm hungry, I talk too much."

"That you do," Lloyd reaches to push your drink closer, "so stop."

"Now Hansen, you dragged her out on a Saturday, I'm sure she has better things to do than watch a bunch of old men stare into the sun," Nick pipes up, "take it easy on her. She makes you tolerable."

"Fuck you, Fowler, how about that?" Lloyd snaps.

"You just hate that we prefer her," Court snickers.

"Look, I think we're all just a bit hangry–" you interject.

"Intern," Lloyd growls, "you don't gotta like me, Gentry, but if you didn't like the numbers, we both know you'd be gone by now."

"Well, someone like you needs a worth beyond their personality," Court says flippantly, "looks like the girl could teach you a thing or two about manners. And golf."

"Whatever," Lloyd sits back grumpily and grabs his drink, "she's a fucking intern."

"And yet more professional than you," Court jabs before he directs his attention back to you, "wanna see my favourite tat?"

You peek at Lloyd as he refuses to acknowledge you. You don't know what to do. You can't stand the heat. You're tempted to use the little fan but know that will only annoy him further.

"Uh, sure," you smile at Court, "I'd love to."

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #court gentry #nick fowler #the gray man #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #boss!au #who's the boss?

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comasuart · 26 days

Text

THE GRAY MAN (2022)

Begging someone to write a proper good whump fic with Six and Lloyd, a nsfw one

c’mon they are such a good pairing especially for some tortured whump ff, with Lloyd’s pet names and sadistic tendencies and Six’s praise kink

just a suggestion 🗣️

#the gray man #sierra six #court gentry #sierra six x lloyd hansen #the gray man fanfiction #courtland gentry #whump #lloyd hansen #ryan gosling #sierra six whump #pet names #a stoic character getting tormented #hurt #injured #stabbed #sierra six fanfiction

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melwilson · 2 years

Text

deserving

bodyguard!courtland gentry x reader

warnings! mentions of injury and trauma

“you’re late.”

“i know. i’m sorry. got tied up.” the blonde hums as the front door shuts behind you. his eyes raked over your frame to looking for any new bruise or signs of injury. “you didn’t have to wait up for me,” you say as he comes to stand in front of you.

six rolls his eyes, taking the pile of shopping bags from your hands. “it’s my job.”

“i really hope my dad pays well,” you utter under your breath. you don’t mean for him to, but six hears you. he always does. he doesn’t respond though, mind wandering to the offshore swiss bank account that is collecting his check every week. he doesn’t need the money. when he was approached by the balding politician, he was skeptical, but it was an out- a means to the end of sierra six…even if it meant being the personal bodyguard of twenty-year-old you. it wasn’t glamorous, but it allowed him to live without looking over his shoulder and it provided him with more than enough money to take care of claire and himself.

you follow him to your room, watching as he subconsciously checks all the windows and doors that he knows are locked. occupational hazard, he would say. trauma, you would argue.

“i really am sorry for keeping you up this late,” you apologize when your eyes read the time on your bedside analogue clock. half past twelve. “we obviously did some damage,” you gesture towards the shopping bags. “had a couple drinks. lost track of time.” your best friend had suggested a shopping trip. how could you turn it down? six had insisted on going, in fact, if your dad found out that six hadn’t gone, he would lose his mind. however, you convinced the bodyguard that you would only be gone until nine. nine…conveniently turned into twelve thirty.

the glare the blonde gives you is hard enough to make you want to dig an early grave. his blue eyes are intense, staring right through you. “you’re not old enough to drink.”

you brush past him into your closet to change into your usual tee shirt and spandex. “if i can sign up to die for my country, i think i can have a drink every once and awhile.”

court doesn’t argue with your point, he simply replies with, “you should’ve called me, y/n.”

when you exit the closet, you’re met with concerned eyes. “i’m okay, court. one night without you didn’t kill me.” he raises an eyebrow and you send back a begrudging look. “i promise to call next time.”

he nods, satisfied. you both know you are very capable of protecting yourself, but six took your safety seriously. the first month of his stay included you learning about situational awareness and the basics of krav maga. you were strong, more than able to overtake the average sized military aged male. six was hired, however, because the people who wanted to hurt your father were relentless and better than the military. they were men like him. machines. killers. you couldn’t handle yourself against men like him and that is what six was scared of. he cared about you just as much as he cared about claire. and vice versa.

you had taken a liking to your short-lipped, blonde shadow. after a year of him being around, he had become the closest thing you had to family. he had truly seen you at your best and at your worst. he celebrated your birthday with you, listened to you vent about celebrity drama, held you when your sister left, became a punching bag when you were angry. he was the only person who knew where your birthmark was and snuck you out when you wanted to get a new tattoo. the first one had been a crescent moon on your left shoulder. the most recent was the number six permanently etched into the smooth of your wrist. the blonde thought it was a joke and proceeded to lecture you the whole ride home when he realized it wasn’t. he said it was foolish. you thought it was touching. that was your first argument. what he failed to realize was that he was everything your family wasn’t. he was present, available, he listened, made stupid jokes, gave terrible advice, but he was always there for you.

“we’re staying in tomorrow,” six informs heading for your door. he intends to check the the grounds one more time.

“wait.” his shoes making a squeaking sound on your hardwood floors as he stops. “i got you something.”

six watches as you dig through the pile of massive shopping bags on your floor. the first thing you throw at him is a four pack of gum. “island berry lime, watermelon wave, pineapple twist, splashing mint. what happened to perfect wintergreen peppermint?”

“discontinued,” you mutter finally finding what you were actually looking for.

six hums in surprise. “i kinda liked that one.”

“well, i hope you like this a little bit more.” your usual mischievous glint is replaced with one of adoration. six is skeptical, but takes the small black box from your hands. you rock back on your heels, nervous.

“y/n,” six says, “what is this?”

“what do you mean? it’s a watch.”

“a really expensive watch,” he shoots back. hublot, orlinski titanium, $15,000.

“whatever,” you shrug, “look at the back.”

VI ; six

the cardinal number between five and seven.

a small smile creeps onto his lips as he reads the engraving. “what is this for?”

“because i like seeing you smile and because you deserve something better then the crappy one you’re wearing right now.”

the word deserve was one that six battled with. he had never felt deserving of anything in his life. he had always thought that the people he had been sent to hunt truly deserved to die, but what about him? what did he deserve? for years he existed in a world beyond the walls of normal life where the word deserve didn’t exist. but now as a civilian, he could think about the things that he wanted and the life he wanted to live. you were apart of that life- not romantically of course, but rather as a reminder that he deserved good things.

he shakes his head trying to hide his smile and sets down the watch. “c’mere.” you raise a skeptical eyebrow and he insists, “come here.”

he opens his arms and you step into them, humming as he wraps you in his warmth. “thank you,” he utters softly. “i mean it.”

you lean back to place a soft kiss to his jaw. “you deserve it, court.”

#courtland gentry x reader #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #sierra six the gray man #sierra six #courtland gentry blurb #court gentry #ryan gosling the gray man #ryan gosling #lloyd hansen x reader #chris evans #lloyd hansen

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babywll · 2 years

Text

Taking Care of Him — Sierra Six/Court Gentry × Fem!reader

plot: helping your boyfriend take care of himself after a hard night.

warning: blood, mention of, deep cut mention and some fluff

let's assume fitzroy wasn't out here!!

this is actually my first story here, so sorry for any mistakes, english its not my first language :D

You woke up in the middle of the night, at least that's what the clock with the time marked in neon red said. Your bare legs were tangled in the white comforter, and the shirt you stole from your boyfriend's stuff was all you covered. He had left for his Sierra agent mission shortly after dark. And you only slept after a long time trying to force yourself to stay awake.

You were still worried, the clock said 03:12 in the morning, and so far there's no sign of your boyfriend coming back. You've always been aware of his work, and after all, you've been together for two years, he's been at it for eighteen. He's been through so much, it's silly to worry. But still, you couldn't sleep without making sure he was by your side, good and safe. His jobs have decreased a lot, now he rarely goes out on these missions. These are just extreme cases. And that's what gives you the chills.

You sat up in bed, and you put your hands on your face for a few seconds, just until you fully woke up. You avoided looking at her watch, because knew it had only been five minutes since the last looked. The curtain was open, and the light from the buildings and the moon that lit the room a little. The apartment you were staying this time is on a penthouse, it has an incredible view. And it's a pity it's only for two days.

Usually the first one you use to explore the city and get to know the culture, your boyfriend knows so much about it that sometimes he even looks like a tourist guide. But you love it. Love the first days because you enjoy it, and forget what will happen in the next. Loves it when they stop to eat at a cute little cafe, or when they have dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Any minute moment with your boyfriend already brings you enormous comfort. Especially when you're holding his hand, when he kisses your head when you're hugging, or when he shows you little things you never noticed before, but he already does. Because he always notices everything.

The second day is the day of the mission, and you can't do anything but stay in the apartment. And it's thanks to Fitzroy that you can follow six — and some of it is from your short-term nursing course, the excuse was used that you're going to tend to the wounds. Even if six knows very well how to do it, since he took care of himself for sixteen years. You feel silly with your half-course beside him. But of course you take care, you always will. And the main reason is to be close.

Even though he likes to protect you and keep you close, at first it was a little different. Maybe because he didn't want you to see him as he looks after his work is done. He went through so many things, closed himself off from so many people. It was something about you that made him open up. But only with you.

You get tired of sitting around waiting, and you get out of bed barefoot — since you've lost your sock between the sheets, and your slippers are already put away, ready for when you leave. The curtain in the living room and kitchen was also open, so you didn't bother to turn on the light, just turned on a small lamp on the table so you could make coffee.

While it wasn't ready, you drummed your fingers on the countertop, and tried not to look at the clock hand moving, the noise was already torture enough. Your eyes drop from tiredness, you have no idea how you slept, I think it just went out after a while. After he left you tried to distract yourself with the TV, so you packed your suitcase, and the apartment, and then you took a shower. But nothing seemed to make time go by any faster.

When you couldn't sleep, he would tell you the stories of what happened in those years, just because you asked too much, even if it scared you. Deep down it brought a little comfort, that no matter what, he'd always come home.

When the coffee was ready you quickly emptied your mug, the coffee ran out, and there was no sign of it coming back. Tired of waiting on your feet you just went back to your room and lay down, closed your eyes and tried to sleep. But seconds later the sound of the door opening made you wake up again.

It was him, he had finally arrived. You knew because you heard him cursing under his breath after hitting some furniture in the dark. You got up and turned on the light, finding him.

"Hey babe I'm sorry did I wake you up?" he said, but you were so relieved that you ran to hug him.

"I couldn't even sleep," you said, hugging him even tighter. When he pulled away he gave her a kiss, but she noticed blood on him.

It was a bruise, maybe not that deep, but a cut near the mouth. You looked looking for another. He had one near his eyebrow, and one on his arm.

"You should go back to bed and rest, don't worry about it" he took your hand.

"You must be hurting too much to think I'm going to leave you," he chuckled, a weak laugh, but one that made you a little less worried "Come on, let's go to the bathroom and clean this up"

He followed you, you made him take a shower while you took the kit you had set aside. When you came back he had already taken it off and was shirtless. No other cuts, other than the one now visible, on the chest. You stood in front of him and started to clean the bruises on his face, only the one on his eyebrow needed a little bandage.

"My shirt?" he asked, his hands gripping your waist.

"You know I do" you bit your lip and smiled slightly "Want it back?"

"No, I like you to use it"

"It smells like you" you finished the bandage and held his face, looking for another spoiled "Clean" you kissed him and knelt down to tend to the cut on his chest.

"It just looks deep" he said, you leaned in but he didn't seem to feel pain.

"Want to tell me about it?" you muttered, he rarely counted, you didn't want to force him either.

"Maybe another day"

It was silent while you took care of the cut, but soon it was over and just another dressing. He put on a shirt with some difficulty, and thanked you with a kiss.

"Now yes, we can sleep"

"I probably wouldn't feel so good if I had to take care of myself" he suddenly picked you up and carried you to the bed.

When they finally lay down, it looked like a lie. You didn't realize you were this tired until you stopped worrying. And with him by her side, it felt good.

His strong arms embraced you, and you buried your face in his chest, careful not to touch the bruise. Even though he'd insisted it wasn't hurting. Slowly you let sleep take you as he stroked your hair.

"I love you" he whispered, so low you almost wouldn't have heard it.

"No more than me" you muttered before falling asleep. Remembering all the other times you guys said that, because it always meant more than a joke.

And suddenly, there didn't seem to be anything else but both.

words: 1245

thanks for reading!! give me some support i would be grateful

#sierra six #the gray man #ryan gosling #chris evans #lloyd hansen #imagine #court gentry #fem reader #sierra six x reader

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sugar-spice-alilbitnice · 2 years

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just finished The Gray Man and everyone's lloyd hansen this lloyd hansen that, but where is the love for six huh !!???!!!!!! i need fanfics of court gentry goddamnit

(ノ｀Д´)ノ彡┻━┻

i meeeeaaaaan look at himmm [starts barking]

anyway i cant take chris evans seriously w his trash stache im sorry ( ･ั﹏･ั)

chris jamal evans, baby i luv u, but u look like the mean old boss of spiderman in the Daily Bugle or sumn ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

#the gray man #court gentry #lloyd hansen #ryan gosling #chris evans #the gray man netflix #netflix #sierra six #court gentry x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #sierra six x reader #the gray man fanfic #the gray man film

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

Text

You Were the One Masterlist

As a technical analyst in the CIA, you’re in a committed relationship with your fiancé Court Gentry, however, he’s beginning to trust you less and less while he’s on the field. Then there’s Lloyd Hansen, a senior agent, that has pushed and pushed for you to be in his ear, while he’s on missions, and he listens. What happens when the two men try to tell each other what it is that you need?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20 ⭐COMPLETE⭐

Drabbles

My Favorite Things

What If...?

He Deserved It

A/N: This is a prequel to An Open Shot. It is not necessary for you to read that first, plus, it will spoil a bit what happens in the end.

*divider created by @firefly-graphics

#court gentry #court gentry x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #the gray man fanfiction #court gentry fanfiction #lloyd hensen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen series #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x you #l

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arrieebooks · 1 year

Text

Sleep

Precious Weapon drabble after home theater.

Pairing : Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!OC x Mentions of Lloyd Hansen but he's a big part in this.

Summary : Her and Six's sleep routine almost every night. He talks to her about Lloyd while having his cock buried deep inside her.

Warnings : Comfort. Cockwarming. Anal. Fingering. Teasing. Dirty talk. Implied smut. Fluff.

Word count : 3k words.

Author's note : This is a follow-up after the home theater drabble and it takes place the next night after. I love this so much because the way they could just carry out a casual, sweet conversation during a heated moment and it fits for them.

***

It's almost the same routine every night.

She gets ready for bed, changes into her favorite pajamas, turns on her TV and snuggles into her bed with Six.

But, sometimes, he fucks her to sleep. It's only for her comfort, though. Some nights, she can't sleep so he gladly helps her. He always gives her what she needs.

It's not every night. He's often too tired and she's usually already sleepy once she's comfortably tugged in his arms.

Tonight though, it was very different. He just came back from a late night mission with Lloyd and immediately showered in his own room so he could go to sleep in her bedroom.

Then, he quietly snuck into her bed only to find her already quietly asleep. She was sleeping peacefully, laying down flat with her hands resting on top of her stomach. She wasn't in her usual position since he wasn't here. She was too beautiful for his own good. It wasn't fair. He couldn't resist her. How could someone look so naturally perfect even when asleep? She's alluring to his eyes.

She stirs in her sleep, her head turning to the side while Six lays down beside her, spreading the blanket on him too. He doesn't want to wake her. But, he kind-of wants to, selfishly. He's been thinking of her the whole mission and all day. Especially after last night. When he saw her with Lloyd in the home theater. None of them said anything about it. He'd rather not either, but he can't deny that it was extremely hot and he couldn't stop thinking about it until now.

She rolls over to the other side of the bed and lays on her side, her back facing him. This was her usual sleeping position when he's with her. It's her comfiest. Her comfort position. His hands gently wrap around her torso as he shifts to press his body against hers from behind.

Subconsciously, her ass leans back on his crotch and she stirs in her sleep again. She whines softly, knitting her eyebrows as she realizes that he's finally home and he's right here, with her again. She could feel his hands on her body and hear his stable heartbeat.

She faintly smiles. "You're back." Elle whispers very softly but he could still hear her anyway.

Six looks down at her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." he whispers soothingly.

"Did you want to, though?" she slowly asks.

"What?" Six softly asks, trying to figure out what she's saying.

"I can feel that you're hard, Court." she sleepily murmurs, mentioning his real name by accident.

Court frowns before looking down at his hard erection against her ass. "Sorry. Been thinking about you all day." he mutters in a low voice.

She hums in response. "I'm not wearing any panties. You can put it in now." she plainly whispers.

His jaw almost drops. "Were you waiting for me, baby?" Six sweetly asks her and he's already carefully removing her pajamas short, leaving her completely bare down there. She has never felt too vulnerable and weak with him because she trusts him a lot. She also feels safe and comfortable whenever she's with him.

She gasps softly when his large hand brushes against her bare thigh, getting close to her cunt but he doesn't touch her there. She manages to nod a little. "Mhm. But I got sleepy and fell asleep waiting for you." she answers.

He sighs, dropping his head to kiss her shoulder. "You shouldn't have to wait like that." Court mutters before stepping away from her to take his sweatpants and briefs out.

His cock springs out of it and he carefully slides his hard length inside of her hole from behind. He returns to her, sticking his body onto hers like glue. He stays quiet, biting back a grunt because it's how he is. He doesn't make that much sound. Not even when he's in pain.

She lets out a breathy moan, still very much sleepy. "Tell me how your day was. The mission," she murmurs.

He doesn't move, he just keeps it inside of her like usual. "It was eventful but shitty. Lloyd kind-of saved my life." he casually tells her.

And at the mention of his name, she subtly shifts her ass against his dick. He felt that and slightly frowned, knowing exactly why she did that. She's still thinking about that heated moment with Lloyd in their home theater. Weirdly enough, she hasn't even mentioned it to them yet even though she loves movies and they know it.

"Are you guys okay? No injuries?" Elle softly asks him, concerned.

Six quietly smiles at her. "We're good. Completely clean of any scars." he assures her.

She hums in response. "That's good."

His eyes slowly look down at her, his mind drifting to Lloyd again. "Are you thinking of him right now? It's okay if you are." Court gently whispers. His voice is soothing and affectionate but it also sparks something between her legs. She likes it when he's slightly in control. She lets him do it.

She chuckles through her nose. "I think I'm always somehow thinking of him." she admits truthfully.

Court hums softly, his fingers brushing along her hips and then down to her lower stomach, almost reaching her clit but he doesn't touch it. Instead, he takes her hand and guides it to her cunt.

"Touch yourself, baby." Six tenderly murmurs, still being sweet. He said the same thing Lloyd had said. Even though he didn't even hear him say exactly this.

She widens her eyes at his words, and last night's flashbacks with Lloyd start to play on her mind again. And she remembers every single detail. She has a strong memory. She doesn't know that Six knows what happened but it is still weird. Or does he? But how? He was calmly asleep when she got back into bed, all cleaned up. Or was he? He wasn't exactly in the same sleeping position when she came back.

She connected the dots way too quickly for someone who's half awake and cock drunk. "You know." she breathes out.

Six sighs in defeat. "Sorry. I thought it'd be awkward if I said anything." he apologizes.

She chuckles quietly. "It's not. It turns me on that you're talking about it right now. When you're inside me." she shamelessly admits.

He hums softly. "We can talk about him more if you like." he offers, his hand leaving hers to rest on her cunt herself. He still wants her to touch herself. He wants to see her come apart just by the touch of her own hand. He wants to watch. Every second of it. Just like what he watched last night.

She nods slowly. "What'd you feel last night?" she asks him.

Court breaks into a light chuckle and he smiles against her shoulder. "Hard as a rock, Elle." he immediately answers.

She smiled and he could hear it. "You could've joined us." she says.

"No, I wanted you guys to have a one-on-one for once. You guys deserve it. After everything that happened." Six tells her, honestly and she hums, agreeing with him.

She leans back against his chest. "We didn't do a lot, though. The whole thing was a little weird. He couldn't sleep so he watched porn on our newly discovered home theater. I walked into him when I overheard weird noises. I thought it was an intruder." she explains, calmly.

"I thought so too that's why I woke up and went looking for the source of the noise." Six adds, his hand coming back to her hand that's still on her cunt but she hasn't touched herself yet. "Please, baby, touch yourself." he begs softly, she almost didn't hear him. He has never begged before. It's turning her on even more.

She quickly nods, her fingers prodding her clit with his hand still on top of hers, following her every movement. He can't see anything in the dark but he could still hear and feel everything. "Did you like it, though?" he asks her.

She moans softly. "Yeah, it was hot. We've never done anything like that before. I mean, we did a few kinky things but not like that. It was different." she admits.

His hand guides hers to insert one of her own fingers inside of her core. "How are things with him usually?" Court asks.

She sighs softly, his hand brushing around her clit. "He's rough with me only when I tell him to. He's mostly in charge but he always listens to me all the time. Never pushed my limits before. We try a lot of new things together." she answers.

His hand stops what he was doing. Suddenly, she could feel his dick growing harder inside of her and she moaned again. "Do you want us… to try something different? I only want what you want the most, Elle. I want you to feel good." Six seriously offered her.

She frowns, turning her head around to face him and their eyes finally meet, even in the darkness. Her free hand cups his jaw as he's still focused gazing at her pretty, dark eyes. "Hey, Court, you're enough for me. Way more than enough, actually. You don't have to do the exact same thing he does with me. I like you for who you are already." she assures him, softly.

Court nods, giving her forehead a kiss. "I know, baby. We could always try it, though." he mutters.

She cocks her head to the side before breaking into a soft smile and realizing something. "Oh. You want to do it because of him. He gets you hard, too, doesn't he?" she whispers and she can't stop smiling at him.

Six is speechless. He knew she didn't read his mind but there was never a point of hiding anything from her because they know each other too well. He's an unreadable man, but she can crack him and figure him out in a second. And, he allowed her to. He willingly opened himself up for her to crack. He trusts her so much with his life. She's the only one who really knows him and is still alive.

"I—don't know what to say about that." Court barely says to her, staring down at her gleaming eyes through the darkness.

She smiles again and he wishes he could capture her smile to keep with him forever. He enjoys these little moments with her and it's the only purest thing in his life. He wants to savor her and never let her go from his arms because he truly needs her. He never needed anything so badly before — never even knew it was possible to need something so strongly like this.

She's also right about Lloyd. He'd never been this intimate and close with anybody. This whole thing with her had made them closer. They have a rare bond. He slowly learned to grow fond of him. Six admired Lloyd, simply because they had gone through almost the same thing in their life and still survived. He found himself liking his stupid jokes. He's damn good at his job like he is. He always knows how to calm Lloyd, somehow. He got to know him — the real him, the one he doesn't show to anyone else but them. He's not as tough and scary as he thinks he is. He can be soft and vulnerable.

She cups his jaw as her thumb strokes his skin. "It's okay, you can tell me. Tell what really makes you hard, Court." she sweetly tells him.

Court tucks her hair under her ear and kisses her nose. "You. Everything that you do. Last night, seeing you with him, jerking off to each other was really hot to watch. And I thought watching was more of Lloyd's thing." he bluntly confesses.

She nods. "Me too. At first, I only watched him jerk off but then I offered to touch myself for encouragement. So, we ended up doing it together." she explains softly.

With that, something in him switched. Six pushes another finger of hers to go inside of her cunt and she moans louder as his cock goes deeper in her ass. This was different for them. They usually just put it in, have a conversation and eventually fall asleep together. Lloyd is the reason their sex life is getting a little bit spicier than usual.

"He came all over you, right? I saw that too, Elle. He made quite a mess on you." Six gently remarks as she buries her head against the pillow, overwhelmed by all of it. She's not used to him being like this but she's not complaining either. She is enjoying every second of this.

She exhales before lifting her head to talk. "Yeah, he did. Fuck, you really should've just joined us. It would've been really fucking amazing. You could've jerked off beside me and came all over me, too." she breathlessly says, telling him what she actually wants.

Court breaks into a chuckle from behind her. "We could try it next time. But, for now, I want you to keep touching yourself and don't stop, okay? We can stop anytime if you want, though. Just let me know, baby." he whispers directly into her ears.

She nods into her pillow, two of her fingers slowly pumping in and out of each other as his hand follows her every movement. She has muscle memory now because of last night. If every night is going to be just like this, then she doesn't even want to leave the penthouse anymore. This is her home already now, their home. They wished they could just stay here forever and live inside tiny moments like this one. It's exclusive. Private. Special. And they wouldn't trade anything else in the world for this.

After a few minutes, her eyes start to feel heavy and her hands pull out of her soaking core. She is turned on by this, but she's more relaxed than ever so now she's gotten sleepy. Because usually, they do this before bed to make her fall asleep. She lets out a tired sigh, "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sleepy and—"

Six cuts her off before she starts apologizing too much. "Hey, Elle, it's okay. You can stop. Go back to sleep, okay? We still have tomorrow and the other tomorrow." he assures her sweetly, his free hand turning her chin around to make her look at him.

Her eyes meet his blue ones again and she faintly smiles. "I love that you're so understanding and caring for me." she barely says.

He chuckles softly, looking down at her eyes. "Yeah, I wasn't like that before. Before you." he truthfully admits.

Her smile widens, her hand reaching out to cup his jaw. "Aw, you're so fucking poetic. Come and kiss me," she playfully says and he immediately leans down to kiss her lips tenderly.

Court laughs softly at her remark, pulling his lips away from her. "It is true, you know. I've never done most of the things we do with anyone else before. You're very fucking precious to me, Elle. I need you to know that." he whispers to her, holding her soft face between both of his large hands.

She snorts, giving his lips a quick peck. "I know. I mean, now I know. Okay, I'm slurring my words, I'm gonna go back to sleep." she announces, slumping her head back against her pillow and she's turned away from him again. But they both don't mind it because they can feel each other really close, can hear each other's heartbeat and he has still a part of him inside of her.

"Do you still want to keep it in or do you want me to pull it out now?" Six asks her about his cock still buried deep inside of her hole. He always puts her needs before himself. He could care less about anything else in the world but her. He could take a little pain for her, it's not a big deal for him. She's the only one that matters.

She whimpers softly, shaking her head against the pillow. "No, keep it in, it's okay. We can pull it out in the morning. If that's okay with you." she softly answers.

Court nods, planting a kiss on her shoulder. "More than okay, Elle. We can do that." he gently replies.

She hums in response, adjusting her head to get more comfortable. "Good night, Court. Dream of me." she sleepily whispers.

He smiles softly. "I definitely will, don't worry. Good night, baby. Wake me up if you have another nightmare, okay? I don't mind it at all." Court sweetly murmurs to her, kissing her cheek from behind. He's the only one who can calm her after a horrible nightmare.

She simply nods, grabbing his large arm to pull him closer as he rests it on her stomach and her hands hold his, as usual. He leans his body against hers to settle in better before leaning his head back on her pillows, smelling the familiar scent of her. Her long hair brushes against his nose and he inhales her smell. He's been addicted to it since day one.

They both close their eyes together, slowly relaxing at each other's touch. Within a few seconds, they're already drifting to sleep at the same time. Dreaming of clouds and sunshine. Their heartbeats almost matches. Calm and tranquil.

At times like this and in peaceful moments like these, nothing else matters but them. It feels like the world froze and they're the only ones alive. Just them. And, Lloyd.

They're never leaving him out of the equation. He's stuck with them now. For good.

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someplace-darker · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 1: Floor Sex | Sierra Six x Reader

Pairing: Sierra Six x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+, PWP, floor sex, no protection (wrap it!!!), blood, canon typical violence, reader is afab but no pronouns are used, maybe slight choking?

Summary: After being attacked you and Six find yourselves alone in a safehouse together that has a surprising lack of furniture

A/N: I haven't written in months and i have worked nonstop lately so this is late and a bit rushed! but i hope you like it there is a serious lack of Six fics out here

You’ve never seen shit hit the fan so fast in your entire life, which is saying a lot considering the long track record of carnage you’ve seen in your time on this planet. Quite honestly you think you blacked out during most of it, only catching bits and pieces of what was happening along with the bits and pieces of bad men being splattered across your face.

It was going to take weeks to get the smell of blood out of your nose, and even longer for the taste.

You glance to where Six now sits in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall to get a better view out of the window, and you want to push the stray blood crusted hair out of his face. “Does Fitz at least know where we are?” you question, pulling your legs to your chest as if to make yourself smaller to create more room for a conversation. Six wasn’t a very talkative person, you knew this from the months you had spent together. But fuck if you didn’t want to make him speak, make him say something to break the silence that had gone on since the moment he grabbed your hand and tugged you away from the crime. It’s wishful thinking.

“No.”

He seems perfectly collected, body relaxed with his legs stretched out on the carpeted floor, eyes attentively flicking back and forth between the laptop camera feed and the window. The only thing slightly out of place was the brief flicker of his jaw tensing, twice in succession. Six was raised and trained to compartmentalize any overwhelming feeling that he may feel, but the months you’ve spent with him and the time you’ve taken to analyze every movement he makes tells you that despite his demeanor, he’s livid.

You don’t particularly feel like poking the bear, but you’re scared and covered in blood that (mostly) isn’t yours, so you think you have the right to be curious. Unstretching your legs, you push up and onto your knees so you can hobble closer to him, waddling to his corner of the room so you can sit to his left. “Okay. Does that mean he won’t know it at all?”

“Maybe.”

He’s fucking exasperating.

The tension in the room builds with each second that passes, your annoyance and his silence combining into a thick, unswallowable cocktail. You sit like that for the next several minutes, occasionally glancing at him as the sun outside the window sets behind the mountains and the moonlight falls over the walls that surround you. Surprisingly it’s Six who reaches out first, palm finding its place on your thigh, the blood in your cheeks burning hotter when his fingers flex.

“I know you want answers, and the truth is that I don’t know them yet,” he speaks, voice low and focused. It takes a few structured breaths before you can look at him, lifting your head to level with his stare. There’s always been something between the two of you, something unspoken and untouched left to collect dust beneath the surface of whatever facade you had put up. But now that he’s looking at you with a heaviness you haven’t seen from him before, you know it’s different.

“It’s okay,” you manage to murmur, breath catching when his eyes flit to your mouth and his fingertips press harder into your leg. The leftover adrenaline from the night's events pushes through your veins with a renewed vigor, moving you forward until your mouth meets his, a sharp inhale coming from both of you.

Part of you wonders if this is how Six’s targets feel. He’s all consuming, plucking every single coherent thought from your head until it’s all him. How his mouth moves against your lips, his hand grips the back of your neck, how he guides you back until your shoulders hit the carpet. There’s a push and pull that has you grinning against the chase of his lips, and you know he can feel it.

No words are spoken as clothes are shed, frantic hands tugging at blood-soaked cloth before his hand slides under your back so you arch, giving his fingers room to undo your bra. You should be put off by the amount of red stains resting on your skin but nothing else seems to matter when Six’s focus turns to the button on his pants as you shimmy your shorts off.

The dim lighting in the room doesn’t give you the satisfaction of being able to look at him properly, the most of what you can make out is the outline of him as he leans back to toss his jeans, fingers reaching out to skim along the scars that indent his skin. Six seems to freeze at this, struggling to decide between what you assume to be fight or flight. After a moment he grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the skin of your palm, his free hand tugging your body closer to him and readjusting your legs to wrap around his hips.

You can feel his cock against the inside of your thigh, moaning softly when he grabs himself in his hand and repositions to press against your entrance. “Hey,” Six grunts, the control being held in his strained jaw “I need to know that you want this. That you want me.” Shimmying your hips closer, you hum with thinly veiled satisfaction when Six groans, hand planting itself beside your head. “I want this,” you assure, shifting once more “I need you.”

That’s enough confirmation, and he takes no time pressing into your cunt, something akin to a whimper escaping your lips. You had known that he had to be big, just with the way he carries himself, but fuck this is much better than anything you could’ve prepared yourself for.

Your legs tighten around him as he thrusts into you a few times, gritting his teeth when you clench around him. “Fuck, honey,” Six grunts, leaning down to catch your lips once more. It’s less pretty this time, more knocking of noses and biting of lips, he inhales your gasps as he rocks into you faster, your back scratching against the carpeted floor and it’s so much.

“You make it so fucking hard to stay away from you,” he speaks breathlessly, huffing out a laugh when you cry out his name and dig your nails into his shoulder blades. “Years of training to be indifferent just for you to smile at me and not blink an eye when I have to do my job- jesus christ you’re taking me so well,” you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, words blinking out of your vocabulary as his cock presses to the most delicious part of you.

Six rolls your nipple between his fingers before dragging them down the middle of your stomach, finally reaching where you need him most when his thumb presses down onto your clit. Pinpricks line your skin, legs trembling “Six, please, please.”

“C’mon honey, let me see it, want you to feel good,” he groans, leaning back to look at your face when you finally come, gasping as he fucks you through it. All of it is overwhelming, the wave of chills that wrack your body seemingly the closest you’ll ever get to tasting paradise. You can tell that he’s close when his hand presses to your throat and his head drops, fucking into you faster than before but with less rhythm.

“Inside,” you manage to speak, though your voice is hoarse. Six looks at you, searching for some hint of hesitation on your face but finds none. He follows soon after, laying his weight on top of you as he comes with a strangled moan. You lay like that for what seems like years, collecting your scrambled thoughts and running your nails up and down his back.

“Hey Six?” you say, smiling when his chest rumbles against your own.

“Yeah?”

“We should probably shower.”

He pulls back to glance between your bodies, sweat covered and bruised with some hints of blood “duly noted.”

#kinktober #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #courtland gentry x reader #the gray man six #the gray man #the gray man fic #Six x reader #sierra six smut #the gray man smut #lloyd hansen #Sierra six #courtland gentry #my writing #no y/n

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dindjiarin · 2 years

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

I wrote this because ✨️Six deserves a lil more than a kiss✨️ 😌 I read the first The Gray Man book, and some characterization is based on it, but mostly this is movie-based. Let's pretend Lloyd Hansen survived his ordeal, shall we?

A/N: I had not yet read Ballistic (Book 3 of The Gray Man series) before writing this so the unintended similarity between Ch 36 and my work here was unintentional. I'm gratified to know Court Gentry so well lmfao. 💀 My bad, Mr. Greaney.

Lil Spotify playlist I listened to while feverishly typing. (Wipe Your Eyes is a Sierra Six song, I said what I said.)

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, mention of rape (rape is not threatened nor occurs), drugging, blood/wounds/death.

WORD COUNT: 8.6k (yeah, I'm REALLY sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIII

The room is dim when you wake. It can’t be later than six o’clock, but the bed is empty, cold where he should be. The bedsheets rustle as you twist to read the green-lit clock on the bookshelf. Your face ticks in confusion at the numbers spelling out 9:09 a.m.

Must be a cloudy morning. Too bad I can’t see out this fucking frosted window, you grumble internally.

Sitting up, you pull the sheet a little tighter to your naked chest and squint at the bathroom door, bringing it into focus despite your sleep-laden eyes. It seems completely closed, but if Six is in there, he’s unusually quiet.

You drop the sheet and leave the bed, looking for your clothes on the floor. On Six’s chair, a pile of material catches your eye. Your hand trails across the folded, new clothing; you pick up the top item, the tags still attached. A smile splits your face in two. He’d laid out a pair of plain white underwear, denim shorts, and a green t-shirt. You quickly locate your old bra and underwear and throw away the bottoms. You’re too uncomfortable without the support of a bra, so you put it back on despite its desperate need of a wash.

Once clothed, you knock on the bathroom door but it swings open with the contact. It’s dark and unoccupied. A sudden wave of fear hits you and you take a step back.

Where's Six?

Irrationally, your mind taunts you: Did he leave me? Get what he wanted and cut his losses? A small sound escapes you at the intrusive thought, but you remember the way he had held you all night, the gentle yearning of his touch, the devotion in his sapphire eyes. You silence the unhelpful worries. No way. That’s not him.

Shit, shit, did something happen? Oh, my god, I hope he’s okay. The fears cycle through your mind. He’d never left without telling you before. Not back at the original safe house, not here, not ever. Unease settles in your chest like a virus.

It was evident he had left and come back this morning to bring you new clothing, but where was he now? You move into the bathroom, quickly flipping on the light to try to dispel some of the dread. You drop to your knees and begin feeling around the floor as grime and dirt pile along your fingertips.

Oh, god, I bet it’s under this disgusting-ass flooring.

You lean left to grip the rough edge of the linoleum where it lies underneath the sink. Pulling at the aged material, it comes up easily enough, and you’re rewarded by a discolored section of hardwood floor. The linoleum slips from your dirty fingers, and as you reach to grab it again, a loud crash booms behind you.

The front door bangs open. You spin around, knocking yourself on your ass. Your heart fears it’s an intruder, but your brain expects it to be Six, mad at you for not hearing his knock.

As the door swings wide, you’re faced with an unfamiliar man, clad in a blue patterned shirt and slacks, standing with a firearm in his right hand. It’s the first thing you see, but it’s not pointed at you. The man looks relaxed - happy, you notice.

“Hey, doll. Been lookin’ everywhere for ya.” His voice is upbeat yet menacing.

“Whatcha doin’ to that floor?” He marches over to you, roughly grabbing your upper arm.

As his fingers dig into your flesh, you stare at the stumps where his little and ring fingers should be. He hoists you to your feet. You don’t even struggle as your brain tries to play catch-up.

“Who- the fuck are you?” Your voice trembles despite your efforts to the contrary. Your heart is throbbing, painful aching in your veins; your worst nightmare is coming true.

“You haven’t heard of me?” He sounds surprised. “Well, isn’t that hilarious. Mr. Moral Compass has been keeping secrets from you.” He makes a mockingly sympathetic face.

“Where is he?” Your voice cracks and pain pricks in your eyes, your vision watering. You’re petrified of this man’s answer.

To your great discomfort, the man laughs. It’s a terrifying laugh: somehow, all of his features seem warmed by his mirth, like he’s energized by your distress.

“That's supposed to be my line, buttercup.”

He makes a condescending gesture, “Someone saw you clomping around this hallway out here. Not very smart, are we? And wherever you are, Six is sure to be trailing like a sad puppy. But I’m not too worried about where he is right now; he’ll follow us, and that saves me quite a bit of effort. Not to mention bullets and bruises.”

It takes a second for his words to find you through the panic, but when they do, you’re nearly lightheaded with relief. You’d thought you managed and processed that first night well. It had given you confidence in your ability to persevere. But standing here, face-to-face with a man who seemed to know things you didn’t, who exuded the dangerous energy of a wild animal, you were frozen in fear. However, if Six was still out there, still okay, you had some hope. You had every hope in the world, in fact.

Six. Six, please. Please walk through that door. All your wits could offer was to repeat his name like a prayer.

“Let’s head on out, shall we? Car’s waiting.”

His grip on your arm tightens painfully, and you still don’t fight him. He steps toward the bed and, with a flourish, places a piece of paper on top of your pillow.

“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining.

You know you can’t win a physical fight with this much-larger, armed man, but the dam in you breaks as he pulls you toward the exterior hallway. You’re already leaning forward from the way he’s holding you, so you aim at your closest target. Your right fist slams just below the zipper on his slacks and he exhales with a yelp, doubling over. He recovers too quickly, though, and whirls you around, leveraging your throat with his forearm. He squeezes and wins a pained, high-pitched rasp from you.

“Do it again and I’ll leave your dead body for him to find instead of that paper,” he says through gritted teeth.

You shiver and try to swallow, panicking when you can’t. He loosens his grip enough for you to shuffle along, and when he tries to walk you both through the door a second time, you let him.

You were right, the sky outside was blanketed by wooly clouds threatening to let loose a deluge. The old city you’d holed up in was quiet for the time of day, and no one saw the well-dressed man toss you into a waiting black SUV. Your cheek smacks the faux-leather gray seat, and you push your arms underneath your body to reorient yourself.

The air inside the vehicle is artificially cold and smells new. The pleather squeaks as the two armed men who had been waiting outside your room seat themselves on either side of you. You hadn’t seen them until the well-dressed man had dragged you from your shelter out into the sterile-looking hallway. It seemed to you that they were reasonably sure you were alone. There was no way he wouldn't have sent an entire team in if he’d thought the two of you were together, right? This man didn’t dress like it, but maybe he didn’t have the funds for a whole team. Six had mentioned to you once how expensive one mercenary could be, and the going rate for a whole group could feed a small country for a week.

A thumb and forefinger pinch your nose, and your mouth drops open automatically. Your hands shoot upward to fight off whatever assault is beginning, but then the agent to your left pops something small into the back of your throat. You try to choke it out, but he had thrown it skillfully, and you accidentally swallow. You lurch forward violently as the driver accelerates.

You gag but nothing comes up. Coughing, you ask, “What'd you give me?”

The kidnapper’s smooth voice answers you from the passenger seat, “The ineloquent call it the ‘date-rape drug’.”

Utter fear shocks through your body at his blunt words. You’re a chemist, you know exactly what it is he gave you.

He turns a little to face you, “Sugar, you look nervous. Don’t worry,” his voice is jovial, “This is a date, not a rape.”

You shrink into your seat as best you can, trying to protect yourself. City blocks quickly turn into dilapidated housing, then farmland since Six’s safe house was close to the outer edge. You don’t know anything about the country you’re in, so memorizing the now-green scenery would be useless. Instead, you decide to evaluate and catalog the men next to you.

The man on your right is tall and tan. With his ironically trustworthy face, you would’ve never given him a second glance if you passed by him on the street. He’s holding what you believe to be a submachine gun, and a pistol butt pokes out of his waistband.

Your friend on the left is his friend’s polar opposite. This man makes you feel like the kidnapper does, and your hands shake just by looking at him out of your peripheral vision. His sharp, pale features keep anger at the forefront. His dark eyes, though rarely on you, twitch with menace. He’s carrying the same weapons as his partner, but you see an added hunting knife hanging from his black cargo pants. Unconsciously, your weight shifts to your right side, trying to put as much distance as you can, though, of course, you know the other man is truly no better.

Heavy exhaustion suddenly falls on you like an anvil. Lethargy places immense pressure on your limbs. Your world goes startlingly black for a second, then you realize you’ve closed your eyelids. You try to lift them, but it’s so difficult. Straining, you see a sliver of blurry light, but your eyes return to darkness. It feels like a weight is pressing on your chest - like Six did last night. Delirious, you half-smile at the recollection. Your head drops to the side with its own weight, and your final conscious thought is that you hope you fell to the right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life, Six had woken that morning on his side with your head on his right bicep. You were asleep facing him, your right calf sandwiched between his thighs, your hand curled on his chest. If he didn’t include every other time he looked at you, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Six felt a sense of possessiveness surge through him; he was never going to let anything take you from him. If you wanted him, he would be there.

Six had never told a woman that he loved her. Certainly not romantically. He wasn’t completely confident in how it all worked, but he no longer wondered what it felt like. Six knew by the way he wanted to care for you as you did him. It was evident in the way he found himself pulling your favorite mug from the cabinet each morning before you’d even woken; it was evident in the way his body thrilled as he counted your not-so-sneaky glances at him. Six knew how powerful love was because he felt all other aspects of his life drop in priority to you. He didn't pretend to be good at it, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

In a matter of excellent timing, you rolled away, tucking your head down and off his arm. He extricated himself from the bed, intending on performing a quick errand. He was incredibly energized; after yesterday’s long-awaited activities and then the full night’s sleep he’d gotten, he felt sure he could do anything.

After showering, he located an old, plain black tracksuit set that he’d hidden years ago in the bathroom closet. It wasn’t exactly clean after all this time, but it wasn’t the disgusting shirt and pants from the past few days which was all he cared about.

He thought about leaving a note, but it was so dark outside that he knew you’d still be asleep when he returned. And also, he had no pen. Nimbly, he moved to your side of the bed where he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his feather-light touch never waking you. You sighed into his hand as it curved down your cheek, and he felt himself twitch at the familiarity. He quickly decided that he’d be keeping you in bed today; his high energy would be put to good use.

Six casually moved out onto the streets of the old world city. It was just past eight-thirty. The air was nice: warm and breezy, hinting at the coming storm. It wasn’t a bustling locale, but its population was large enough to provide some cover. Six’s furtive yet discreet searches around the area told him that all was well, so he trekked through the city to a store he knew supplied women’s clothing. He figured your old clothes were no longer suitable - he himself had torn them off in more ways than one - and he had nothing in his cache that would be practical for a woman. He was still cautious, still calculated. If he needed you to run, you couldn’t be tripping around in too-long pants.

The brightly lit store didn’t have much, so he purchased the first items he saw that best fit the summer weather, making no guesses as to your size since it was something he’d memorized for this exact situation. He thanked the shop clerk in his native tongue, then took a shortcut back to the room.

He returned as the green numbers glowed exactly 9:00 a.m. to find you still sleeping as he had suspected. He laid the pieces on the chair and then moved to the kitchenette. His jaw set as he realized the food was entirely gone; there wasn’t any substantial meal to be eaten, and canned peaches weren’t going to satisfy the both of you. Grumbling, he took another survey to confirm your slumber, then exited once again, locking the door as he left.

On his ten-minute jaunt to the corner store, Six felt uneasy. Now he believed the electricity in the air had nothing to do with the impending thunderstorm. He felt the breeze rustle through his blonde locks and tried to relax a little. He had a few - well, he couldn’t call them friends - in this general part of Europe, but only one lived in this area. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him; or you, considering the man might know about the situation.

He’d run out of cash, and his nearest stash was about a four-hour drive away in Latvia, so he was forced to steal a loaf of bread and two chunks of meat. Six left his not-inexpensive watch as payment, but he regretted being forced to this level. He’d never stolen anything in his life (except the odd vehicle, those almost couldn’t be helped) and he hated it. He was paid well for his services; he never needed to steal. Every bit of decency he could afford, he performed. If you hadn’t been waiting, he would’ve contented himself with the peaches for the next few hours, but you were injured, and moving on to Latvia could wait one more night.

His walk back from the store was circuitous by habit. He took two extra turns and an alleyway before opening the glass-paned door to the building. The room you two had been sharing was the very first on the ground floor, and something was horribly wrong.

Groceries fell to the floor, replaced instantly by his gun. He swept into the room, then the bathroom, already knowing you weren’t there. A sharp intake of breath sounded as he realized the linoleum had been disrupted.

Thank God, you’d gotten into the safe room.

He grunted as he pried open the heavy trapdoor, already beginning to tell you everything was okay, when the dusty hole gaped empty beneath him. The breath heaved out of him. He cursed loudly and slammed the door shut with such force that it reverberated throughout the lower floor. He spun around and his eyes snagged on the paper positioned on the pillow you’d occupied only moments earlier. He snatched it up.

- Do you miss her like I miss my fingers? -

Below the handwritten taunt was an address. Six needed no further information - he sprinted out of the building and up the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggy and unsteady, your left eye opens a little before your right. Warm light streams from a small round window at the other end of the room. It’s dusty, and motes float about in the beams. Your hands chafe at the handcuffs, but the most uncomfortable aspect is the rickety chair you’re roped into. Your shoulders ache and your neck is pained at the position you’d been unconscious in.

Fear rises in your throat, bubbling like lava in your chest. But it’s mutating with another emotion you’re not sure of just yet. You rock forward violently and shift the old chair forward a little, trying to move toward the window. The impact of your weight rattles the rafters, and you realize that endeavor is hopeless if you want to remain alone. You try to scoot, using your untied feet to pull you along, but the chair catches on a warped floorboard, and you’re left stuck.

Panting from the claustrophobic panic and the exertion, you begin taking some calming breaths you’d read about once for test anxiety. It helps, but then you hear the creaking of hinges as a trapdoor falls away a few feet from you. The ladder slides down smoothly, and moments later the head of a man appears. His fit, sweater-wearing body follows. He glares at you.

“You got bits of ceiling plaster on my sweater.”

“What’s going on? What do you want me for?”

You expect him to say something about your job, to demand access to the research, to complete some of it yourself; maybe he wants you to oversee a project of their own. You have no idea and you’re not prepared for what he answers.

“I don’t want you at all, honey. Sorry, you’re not my type. I like women who don’t punch me in the dick.” He says testily. “No, I want your boy, and I want him to be sad. I had no idea you existed ‘til a friend snapped a few pictures of the two of you getting cozy.”

He unfolds three photos from his back pocket. The first is through the large glass backdoor in your original safe house, the telephoto lens capturing Six’s hand nearly touching your lower back, your head turned to smile at him. A second photo was taken from a distance through a window, and it shows Six sitting on the couch beside you, talking. The man holds up a third photo, this one of the two of you outside, Six’s face glows with that reluctant smile he favors, though it's much larger than usual; facing away from you, he looks downright joyous at something you must’ve said or done.

The emotion you’d had trouble naming finally identifies itself as you spit, “Fuck you.”

The man backhands you hard enough to split your lip, but he doesn’t knock you over. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, and you yelp. The moment this man had stepped through your door, you’d done your best to prepare yourself for physical pain. You were still surprised, still shocked by it.

The man crouches in front of you, his eyes level. Your upper lip curls into a snarl.

“I know Sierra Six. That man is a goody-two-shoes. Although, apparently he’s been lying to his lady love. See, I did do my homework: your employer’s security contract with Six ended a month ago. He’s been bunking with you because I sent him those photos the day before termination. If he stayed with you, I knew it was genuine.” He pauses, then jeers, “He doesn’t allow himself to get attached to people.” The man smiles, perfect teeth flashing behind pink lips as he waves the photographs, “But I found the one he has.”

Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening, you just stare. You’d been through quite a few emotions over the past twelve hours and the tumult in your head was raging. Your admittedly hands-off employers had never told you when the protection detail’s contract ended, they probably had just assumed Six would leave of his own accord. The house had been furnished with anything you would’ve needed so you’d kept on working, and your employers kept getting what they paid you for. As long as the status quo remained, no one would’ve questioned each other.

“So, you’ve got me here in this dry-ass attic because you don’t like Sierra Six?” Your confusion manifests with righteous anger. This man is using you, not for your brain, but to get to someone you care about.

He sharply raises his left hand as an example, “I fucking hate him, actually.

“Don’t your manicures cost less now?” You hiss venomously.

Your chair nearly tips when his hand connects once again with your face. You spit out blood, but you’re weak and it lands pitifully on your shirt.

Your mouth already open, you ask one last question, ”And when Six comes for me… you’ll kill him?” You are still angry, but your worry over Six causes your voice to break.

“All part of the show, babe. I’m not monologuing to you.” He shrugs, smiling as if he wasn’t just monologuing to you. He stands and jogs forward-facing down the ladder. You hear his rich voice say something about a knife, and your body goes rigid. More pain. Your heart rate skyrockets and traitorous tears fall.

Calm down, get calm, I can’t be calm, just be calm, this is insane, deep breaths, it won’t help, you’ll be fine, your thoughts race uncontrollably.

Stressed wood and hinges ring out from the ladder as he reappears with a switchblade. He squats and ties your ankles to the chair legs with little effort, despite your kicking. Then he pulls another chair from the far side of the attic to face you.

“Oh, I’m Lloyd, by the way.” He grins as he slices at your already-injured leg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though he’d brought a comfortable chair, Lloyd didn’t stay long. He made a few cuts, watched you scream and squirm a little, but then his stomach had growled. He stood, wiped the bloody knife on your denim shorts, and folded the weapon as he left the attic. He made a little quip about letting bed bugs bite, and then the trapdoor squealed as it shut, as he left you in darkness.

The window across the room is dark blue, now. You beg your mind to relive the previous sunset, but the pain in your wrists and your leg are agonizing. Lloyd had cut a shape into your leg, and you didn’t want to see it. You’d not looked as he worked, and you were unable to do so now. Maybe it’ll be gone by morning, you childishly wish.

Again and again, your mind returns to Six. As much as you may have had a right to be, you didn’t have the capacity to be upset with him. Certainly not right this moment, as all you wanted was to be secure in his arms, and it was unlikely you’d be too pissed later, either. Six was your friend. Sure, he was generally reserved, closed off - but those were his natural defenses, and it was impossible not to feel his sincerity, his regard. Six had stayed on without payment for an entire month. He’d asked for extra men, probably calling in a favor instead of offering a reward. Just because he wanted to protect you. If he’d felt it was best to keep the truth hidden, then the truth was probably best kept hidden. After all, the man was the best tactician around; even you knew he had a near-mythological reputation.

Simply put, you trusted the man unequivocally. You just wished that he would both hurry and stay away. If this lunatic managed to kill Six by using you as bait, you weren’t sure you could live with the guilt. Six spent so much time walling himself off from everyone, and you’d purposefully broken down those defenses. Now you were both in danger. Six was all you had, all you’d wanted, and now that you had him you were about to lose him.

You sat there as time slipped by, in the dark, crying, until your body exhausted itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIII

A splitting headache wakes you. Your neck is screaming at the position it’s been in for hours, and you feel a little nauseous. The strong light from the round window allows you to clock the time at late afternoon, and you regret waking. Your body straightens when you realize that the sound of the trapdoor opening is what woke you. The sound sharpens and you tense, waiting for more pain.

As expected, Lloyd’s face beams at you. Immediately, you’re on edge: if Lloyd is happy, you shouldn’t be. He finishes climbing the ladder, and when he does, he motions to someone else to come up.

“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“No,” you plead. "No.”

“Mhm. ‘fraid so.” He couldn’t possibly smile wider.

A blonde head that you’d recognize anywhere materializes. He’s shoved by someone else you hate to see: the pale man on your left. The pale man looks terrible. His face is swollen and bloody. Since the ladder rises away from you, you don’t see the prisoner’s face until the pale man roughly turns him around, but you knew it would be Six. He’s slammed into his own rickety chair. His beard is sticky with blood, and a cut near his right eye oozes more blood. His black tracksuit is filthy and torn, and his hands are bound in front of him with zip ties. The instant he faces you, he holds your tearful gaze, and he winks. Your eyebrows constrict briefly in confusion, but you return to utter despair quickly. Lloyd was never going to let you go if he captured Six, and you’re pretty sure he never even offered that lie up to you. Now you were both going to watch each other die. Your chest heaves in sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is a hoarse whisper, but Six frowns and shakes his head. His attention is forced away from you, however, when Lloyd steps in front of him.

“Wow, Lloyd, you should’ve squeezed the CIA for a better patch job. You look like shit.”

Lloyd laughs, “Aw, don’t make me kill her already. I was just getting excited.”

“Did you do that to her face?” Six asks conversationally.

“It wasn’t the only thing I did,” Lloyd answers suggestively. And though you can’t see his face, he grins at Six who barely keeps a leash on himself. He files that comment away for later fuel.

Lloyd begins to speak, cajoling as Six flexes his jaw, his expressive eyes never leaving the threat. “The CIA didn’t ‘patch’ me up. They’ve pinned that whole … situation… on me. Rather unfairly, wouldn’t you say?” He doesn’t give Six time to answer before he continues, “I have other powerful friends who aren’t hunting me for war crimes. But they don’t matter. They support my little personal revenge mission, although they’re not funding it.” He holds up his hands, “Don’t be offended I didn’t send a whole squad after you, Six. I’m pretty depleted after all your shenanigans. But anyway!” He claps his hands, “Don’t you wanna know how I knew?” He sounds thrilled.

“A little birdy told you?”

“Your friend Denver. Now isn’t that just the worst? He sold you out. ‘Six has found himself a girl.’ His plan was to live that night, but hey, can’t win ‘em all, right?”

Lloyd moves to grab his chair, and you’re able to see Six’s reaction. His face doesn’t change, but you know those eyes. He’s not completely shocked, he can’t afford to be in his line of work, but you can see the betrayal, the sadness pooling there.

Since he has line of sight on you, again, he takes advantage and the corner of his mouth quirks up quickly. The smile is gone before you’re even sure it existed - but that’s the second time he’s signaled you. Trying to keep me from panicking, as always, you reason. You give him an answering smile, but it’s sad, and he grunts in frustration.

Lloyd has his chair in hand, and he looks animatedly between the two of you - back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to choose. The pale man, still standing next to Six, laughs. Your disgust evident on your face, Lloyd makes his choice and sits directly in front of you.

“Did you miss me, honey?” He purrs. You know from his tone that everything this man is about to do has one purpose: to twist a dagger into Six’s soul.

“Didn’t really get a chance, asshole,” you pour every bit of rage and hatred you can into your voice. This man might break your body, but you’re pretty sure this level of anger will protect your mind.

“Let me see that six.” He orders, which stops you right in your tracks.

“What?” You ask, perplexed.

“The six! The six I gave you.” His bottom lip pouts, “You didn’t even see what I gave you?” And he points at your thigh.

Amidst the blood, you finally see the pattern he had carved into your leg. He hadn’t cut as deeply as your other wound, just deep enough to ensure scarring.

“You said something about wanting a six, right?” He plays dumb. “If that one’s not big enough, here, I’ll do another.” He lifts the knife quickly and you start at the sudden violence.

Behind him, you hear Six grunt, then an unfamiliar, more pained-sounding grunt. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate before he jumps behind your chair and sticks the knife against your neck. As he does so, you see the body of the pale man drop to the floor, his submachine gun in Six’s freed hands. Your chin tilts up as high as you can to avoid the blade.

“You brought a knife to a gunfight, Lloyd.”

“Quite the party foul of me, huh?” Lloyd rejoins. “Oh, well. That’s where your bitch comes in handy.”

Six doesn’t react. Lloyd's using you as a shield, but he is much larger than you. One good shot would knock him back enough that Six was confident he could reach you before Lloyd recovered. Six starts to squeeze the trigger when the knife leaves Lloyd’s hand, aimed directly at his heart.

Six bats away the shining switchblade with the gun, which sends him a little off balance. Lloyd uses his chance to rush Six. Like the football star he had been, he tackles Six to the floor. Six groans in pain as the wind is knocked from him, and a scream tears from you. At the last second, you remember that the other man in the car, the one on your right, was probably somewhere below. Surely he had heard the thumping, right? Why wasn’t he coming?

Six quickly gets the upper hand, kicking out from underneath the other man, smashing the gun into Lloyd’s face twice as he did so. Six is loath to shoot the man outright because he really wants to beat the shit out of him first. Lloyd gets to his feet at the same time Six does.

Frantically, you knock the chair over, and try to wiggle sideways towards the knife Six had hit. It was several feet away, very close to what now looked like a standoff. Six hears what you’re doing, and circles a little more to his right, putting himself between you and Lloyd. He thrusts the butt of the gun at Lloyd’s gut, but Lloyd grabs hold of it. Six immediately ejects the magazine faster than he’d ever made the move before. He releases his hold on the weapon, knowing it won’t make a difference. Lloyd gives him an eyebrow raise before tossing the gun down the ladder.

Your chair scrapes with every inch, but your desperation gets the knife into your right hand right as you hear the gun fall. You saw at the ropes around your body, then once free of that, you cut the flimsy material around your ankles. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed to the chair’s armrest. Keeping the knife in hand, you lift the old chair and slam it against the floor, once, twice. Thinking better of that, you sit down and jam both heels on the underside of the armrest, hoping to force the slim piece from its spindles. That worked. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed.

Six waits for Lloyd to swing first, and when he does, Six puts every play he’s ever learned into action. He swings haymaker after uppercut at Lloyd, most of them connecting viciously. Lloyd gets in several licks, but each time Six shakes it off with a growl. Hoping to shorten this dance, you hold up the knife, hoping it’s Six and not Lloyd who sees what you have to offer. They both notice.

As Lloyd starts to run at you, Six leaps forward, grabbing him around the throat by his forearm. He uses the momentum to slam Lloyd down to his knees. Lloyd twists and claws at him, but Six is stronger. To Lloyd’s endless consternation, Six has always been stronger. You gawk on in horror. You’d seen Six kill a man before, but this was different. This was personal, angry, justified. Six is silent as his arms strain, pressing every bit of strength he has into Lloyd’s windpipe. Lloyd is gagging, gurgling. It was terrible.

“Go!” Six commands through gritted teeth, and though he wasn’t looking at you, you obey. You didn’t want to see this.

You flee down the ladder, knife still in hand. Subconsciously, you take in your surroundings: a vacant, crumbling mansion. The white hallway was cracked, and moldy. No furniture could be seen. You could still hear Lloyd’s death throes above you, so you stumble along the hallway, desperate to end the nightmare.

Your right leg, so damaged, gives out and you hit the floor. You see stair railings a few feet away, but you can also see the attic entrance from where you fell, and you weren’t going anywhere without Six. So you drag yourself up against the wall and try to slow your labored breathing as you wait.

A few minutes later, a man dressed in black climbs down. Your heart pounds at the sight of the blonde hair. You stand, wobbling, and drop the knife. As he reaches you, he wraps an arm around you. His hand presses your head to his chest.

“Let me see your hands.”

You hold up your cuffs. He unlocks them with a small key you can only assume he got from one of the bodies upstairs. He nudges you forward, and you start down the hallway, then down the stairs. When you get to the bottom of the wooden steps, you see why the other man never came running. He lay bloody on the floor of the foyer. Six had killed him first.

“Didn’t know where you were in this big old house, so I made my entrance known. Lloyd would take me wherever you were. Amateur.”

Stepping around the body and out the front door, you hysterically giggle at the stolen car Six had parked normally. “You literally walked in the front door?”

“Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIIII

Lloyd had taken you over the Latvian border by several hours, so while you were in the right country, you were still a couple of hours away from Six’s cache. As he drives, you curl up on the back seat, trying to relieve your sore muscles and your stinging leg.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Six pulls to the curb a block from his newest safe house. The streets were bustling with people enjoying their evening, and it wasn’t difficult to blend in. In the darkness, no one could make out your bloody leg, his bloody face.

Six breaks the padlock off the abandoned-looking building’s side entrance, then steps inside, ensuring it was uninhabited. There’d been no actual threats to your life besides Lloyd Hansen, your company hiring Six as a precaution over rumors, but Six was never going to take a chance again when it came to you.

He ushers you through the door, then tucks you into his side as he opens another door. It’s pitch black, and you cling to his jacket. You hear the door shut behind you, then you hear the sound of his hand sliding along the wall trying to find the light switch.

He succeeds and the room is illuminated in warm, artificial light. It’s another ground-floor apartment, and it’s similar to the previous minus Six’s favorite wingback chair. He takes your hand and guides you into the bathroom where you see the biggest difference yet. The bathroom is clean, spacious, and it has both a bathtub and a shower.

“Capital cities have the best safe houses. More people to maintain them,” he replies to the question in your mind. “Strip.”

Your head jerks up to look at him. He unzips his track jacket but leaves his pants. You pull the hem of your shirt over your head and drop the bloodstained fabric to the floor. Six crouches in front of you and unbuttons your shorts.

“I’m a professional,” he whispers, trying to lighten your wordless mood as he covers your new knife wound with his hand and pulls your shorts down.

He takes your hand to balance you as you step out of the bottoms. As he touches you, he looks for a sign of disgust, fear, something that will break his heart but make sense after what you’d been through.

He grabs a washcloth from the counter and wets it. He crouches in front of you again and begins softly cleaning the blood from your thigh, leaving a wide gap around the actual wound.

You’re a little unsteady after the lack of nutrition and the stress your body has undergone the past day, but you steel yourself for a moment: you focus on not freaking out, not crying just yet in order to take stock. You watched him kill someone. How do I feel about that?

In your heart, you know that it doesn’t change anything you feel about him. Six killed bad men - always had, always would - and you’d known that when you met him. Your torso shakes, nearly hyperventilating. No, the worst is that you could’ve died, you could’ve watched him die. You collapse onto his shoulders, your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He says, the timbre of his voice letting you know that he means it for all that has occurred. For what Lloyd did to you physically and probably emotionally. For not telling you the truth, but mostly for putting you in the situation in the first place.

Too emotionally distraught to check the words thoroughly, you try to relieve his guilt: “’s not your fault someone loves you, Six.”

Still not noticing your own words, you bury your face in his shoulder, and your tears fall freely. The noise he makes under his breath sounds affectionately amazed.

He stands, picking you up, and your legs wrap around him automatically. Your cuts are nearer the outside of your leg, but it still sends a jolt of pain down your limb when you use it to latch onto him. He sets your bottom on the countertop. One hand rubs your back while the other nestles into your hair.

He knows you’re in shock, and he knows you didn’t mean to tell him you loved him like that. It’s good to hear, and he can’t help the sunrise in his heart, but his primary concern is consoling you. Or distracting you, if possible. Early in his career, he had learned that the best way to move forward was to stop overthinking. Distractions worked well for that.

“Shower or bath?” He asks.

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, and you’re more than welcome to answer with neither. But in his mind, if it comes to it, he could try to make you forget today for a little while. You sniffle as you pick your head up off his shoulder to see his face.

He’s looking at you like you just saved him, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed.

“Shower.”

You’d love nothing more than to be warm, bloodstain-free, and staring at Six naked. Without another word, he drops his pants and unclasps your bra. You push your underwear off. You latch around him again, and he carries you into the shower. You drop your legs and stand while he adjusts the temperature. The shower’s wide enough that you don’t feel the water at all as it warms up.

As the water begins to steam, Six looks over at you and holds his hand out, palm up. A smile touches your lips and he answers with his own as he pulls you to him underneath the showerhead. His hair soaks instantly. He rotates so your hair can rinse free of all the shit it had gone through in the last week.

Six takes a clean, soapy washcloth and stoops to finish cleaning your leg. He tries to ignore the shape that those cuts are in, but it’s still torturing him. He’d tried to forget it the moment after the words had left Lloyd’s mouth, but now he was face-to-face with the physical consequences of his feelings for you. He straightens up and lets the water get the rest of the blood.

You watch as his expression twists, and he won’t meet your eyes.

“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”

“Yeah, right into my fucking name.” He begins washing himself as a means to avoid your face.

“It’s not your name." You cup your hand to his cheek. "Hey, ‘Six’ is not your name. Those marks will heal, and even if I’m still able to see the number, it doesn’t bother me.” Your voice rises with each word. You’re trying to tell him that it’ll be an incidental scar, and even if it mattered, it’s the pseudonym of the man who rescued you.

His stormy eyes meet yours finally, skepticism clouding them. “It doesn’t matter to you that you were tortured and permanently scarred," his voice acerbic, "because of me?”

“It does matter, but it wasn’t because of you, Six. It was because that guy was insane. He was unstable. He hated you and I was useful.” You're pleading with him to hear you. Your hand slides up from his cheek into his drenched hair.

You decide to gamble a joke, “Always wanted a man’s name tattooed on me, anyway.”

Your eyes shine up at him fervently, hoping the joke corroborates your apathy over the wound. Because that really didn’t matter to you. The physical scars were nothing - they would heal without issue. If anything, you worried about being separated from Six. How would you ever feel safe without him again?

Your gamble works. He snorts and leans his forehead to yours. Stray water droplets collect in his facial hair.

“But you’re right, that’s not my name,” he murmurs, then carefully presses his lips to yours. He’s gentle, but pain issues forth from your split skin, anyway. You flinch slightly, and Six murmurs, "Sorry."

Angry at the reminder, you decide you’re not letting Lloyd take any more seconds of your life, so you deepen the kiss. Your lips part to allow him in, and at the first touch of his tongue, a spark of tension flares.

He hums deep in his chest at your enthusiasm, your reassurance. Six’s right hand curves around the back of your upper thigh, underneath your ass, and he half-lifts/half-pushes you into the icy wall of the shower. You hiss in surprise, but his warm body follows with a grunt a split-second later, and you’re no longer thinking of anything but him.

Your hand drops to stroke his velvet length against your thigh, and Six’s groaning mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw and drops to the hollow he knows you love. His hands caress your curves, one hand traveling to grasp your breast as the other hand slides between your legs.

You gasp as the friction of his rough palm, then his fingers, send a jolt right to that coil in your stomach. He squeezes your breast gently, and his thumb rolls over your nipple as Six drops to his knees.

“You don’t have to -” you start, but change your mind instantly as you appreciate Six below you: his hair drips into his profoundly blue eyes; water runs down his well-defined body, and his thighs flex as he shifts closer to you and sits back on his heels. His large hands wrap around your hips. You feel your breath hitch as he angles forward and his breath touches your tender skin a moment before his heated mouth. His tongue flattens against you before flicking at the perfect pace; he alternates between the two patterns. The heat floods through you in a deluge - your eyes slam shut, your head rolls back, and when your stomach constricts, your legs go weak.

He makes a pleased guttural sound that vibrates into your skin, and he plants one firm arm upward along the inside of your hip, his hand on your ribs, to keep you upright. His other hand on your hip welds you firmly to him. Your cries of pleasure echo in the space, and he feels himself growing painfully hard.

Your body having been stretched to its limits in so many ways means the euphoria you feel now has you coming easily. Six feels the tension in you splinter, feels the shuddering in your legs. The pride it gives him is unmatched as he holds you still. You moan into the steamy air, and he knows could do this forever.

He continues at the same pace, but in a moment of lucidity, you miss him against you. You pull at his shoulder, and he obliges, standing. His right hand grasps the underside of your knee, palm on the outside of your leg, and he fits himself right against you. You can feel him twitch with expectation. An aftershock of your first orgasm ripples through you, and has you clenching around nothing. You shiver, already anticipating how good he will feel.

“Please, Si-” you beg him, unnecessarily.

He makes a sudden decision, cutting you off, “It’s Court.”

Your eyes fly up to his. But before you have a chance to speak, he steadily shifts up into you. His quiet groan is punctuated by your gasps. His eyes close involuntarily at your tight warmth. Your nails dig into his biceps where you’d braced yourself. The stretch hurts a little this time, but you're too satisfied with the closeness to care. Relishing the unique intimacy of being inside you, he skims one hand down your side before he drags himself unhurriedly out, and thrusts back in.

He begins to slowly increase his rhythm, and with each incredible entrance, you both let the sounds spill out from your mouths uninhibited. Before long he is driving into you so unrelentingly that all you can do is hang onto him. He never neglects your lips for a second, his deep, messy kiss the only thing keeping you sane. You feel white-hot; it’s nearly painful, but it’s so good.

Tears leak down your face. His left hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the salty liquid. He can see you’re about to snap once again by the way your face pinches, then begins to unwind underneath his hand. He drops his hand to work you over further. He never knew life could be so sweet. Reserved, isolated his entire adult life, he knows that he’s never going to be happy if he’s not coming home to this.

“Don’t say Six,” he begs. It’s never mattered to him before. He was the same person no matter what anyone referred to him as. But he wanted you to know, to have the purest version of himself. The version no one else had.

He looks down into your eyes as he asks, and when the understanding hits you, it’s the final nail in your coffin. A sob echoes in the small room as your walls constrict around him, fluttering. He revels in the image of you falling apart against him.

He kisses you again, then lets his lips hang open over yours as you both breathe heavily from the wicked roll of his hips. He’s blurry through your tears, and you blink a little to better understand what you just saw flashing in his eyes. What you’d seen there two days earlier, too. He loves you, your mind supplies unasked.

Court’s rhythm changes to deep, passionate thrusts as he tries to bury himself in you. His desperate grunts send aftershocks throughout your thighs. He’d never stop if his body would allow it. He gradually slows his movements, still working you through your own high. He finishes with a low, animalistic noise and closes the small gap between your mouths. Neither of you move, panting.

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of tears at the emotion between you two. He kisses you, hard - full of everything he'd wanted to say for months. After several moments, he lets go of your leg, and removes himself from you.

Unwilling to stop touching you, though, he takes you by the hand as he exits the shower. You twist the knob to shut it off as you walk by.

He wraps an old, gray towel around his waist, and hands one to you. You squish your hair, then wrap it around your chest. He’s quiet, uncomfortable for some reason, so you take his hand again, and back him up against the counter. He barks a reluctant, low laugh at you pretending to be able to keep him pinned. He rests his hands on your waist.

“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.

“I’m not the one who was just crying,” he deflects with a quip.

You raise your eyebrows and frown at him.

Remembering that he wanted you to know him, he cautiously answers in a halting undertone, “I would like a calm life.” He stops, thinking. “Maybe with you...”

It's almost a question, and he doesn’t say what he means exactly, but you understand. You're his chance at a normal life. A happy life.

“Maybe not a calm life, no, but you could have me.” You phrase it as a potential, though it’s not one. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months. You'd do anything if your reward was this man.

His face doesn’t change, so you try again, “You already have me; so, it’d be nice if you’d accept it.”

“Oh, I don’t even get a choice, now?” He smirks faintly, his thumbs rubbing along your hips through the thin towel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy without you,” you confess your earlier thought. Your hand traces over the tattoo on his chest. “I know I wouldn't feel safe."

He sighs heavily. “I can’t say nothing will ever happen,” he says honestly, “but I can promise I'll be there." He pauses, trying to figure out how to express himself. "If you want me, then-"

“I always want you, Court.”

You cut him off, speaking his name for the first time. When when he smiles, it finally touches his eyes. His grip tightens on your waist. He's contemplative for a moment as his look turns mischievous.

He lowers his voice, “About that book you tried to kill me with: I think I remember a page or two -” he breaks off as he bends faster than you’re capable of reacting to, and throws you expertly over his shoulder, smiling at your laughing shriek.

#sierra six #the gray man #the gray man fanfic #court gentry #courtland gentry #my fics #smut #fluff #ryan gosling #lloyd hansen #chris evans #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man fanfiction #personal #I have a deformed finger and my dad makes that manicure joke all the time fyi #the gray man 2022 #sierra six x you

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stargirlfics · 2 years

Note

I had a certain thot I promised you, yes? 🥰 here we are ❤️

the juxtaposition between Lloyd and Six is quite obvious. They handle your situations a lot differently. One uses their head, the other goes for the gun instantly and doesn’t care who they have to hurt. They can never agree to something. The only thing they can get on the same page about is the love they seem to have for you.

But other things? Don’t even think about it. Especially, in the bedroom.

You’re in and out of consciousness with the way they both managed to tear you apart. Orgasm after orgasm and thinking clearly is something that’s difficult to do.

You’re caught up in two men, two past rivals, with really good dick. A harsh slap to your ass was enough to rattle you back into reality, the additional feeling of a pinky ring told you who it was.

“God, Six, I don’t know how you haven’t gotten to this ass before, it’s so fuckin’ good and she’s so fuckin’ soaked, just swallowin’ my dick. Fuck”

And Lloyd was ruthless, especially when the rhythm came after you got adjusted to his size. He fucked with vigor and a sense of hunger, he was obsessed already.

You whimpered, grasping onto the hand that had one asscheek harshly gripped. His nails dug into your skin, it pricked tears in the corner of your eyes.

“Daddy p-please-“ you cried out, “please it’s too much, I can’t—“

Lloyd released just to lay another smack to the same area, making you wail. And all he did was chuckle and continue to fuck into your ass.

“Think that’s gonna make me let up? You know I love it when you cry, baby, it keeps my dick hard and fucking you like I own you because I fucking do, now stop bein’ a fuckin’ brat before I do worse”

The tears streamed freshly from your eyes and down your cheeks. He was making you feel heavenly but Lloyd could be really mean.

“Shh, it’s okay, hey, look at daddy” a much more softer and comforting voice called from below you, the handsome yet straining from pleasure face of Six met yours. He was fucking your pussy but he was sweeter about it. So much sweeter.

He cupped your face and carefully brought you down to his, lips capturing yours easily as his hips continued to pump up into your warm canal. He groaned.

“Daddy’s got you, okay? Don’t let him make you cry. As hot as it is to see you cry from us ruining you, he’s just being an asshole”

You rested your forehead on his, eyes closed and nodding gently. “It f-feels so good though, daddy, he’s just not nice sometimes”

That made Lloyd chuckle once more, scooping you up by his forearm and bringing you into his chest. “Aww, did daddy upset his sunshine?” Lloyd asked in mock sympathy. And you nodded,“well he’s sorry, okay? He’ll be more gentle next time”

Turning your head to meet his, Lloyd kissed you slowly and filthily, your walls subtly clenching around Six, you heard the noise he made from below.

Then you felt Lloyd lay a sharp pinch to your nipple making you whine and thrash out of his hold, falling back into Six’s chest.

“But I said next time, next time isn’t now, suck it up and take what I give you, fuckin’ brat”

Six rolled his eyes and held you in his arms as he continued to fuck you, whispering sweet nothings and how he’ll make you feel better afterwards. His blues locked with Lloyd’s blues.

“You’re such a dick, you know that?”

…

Bestie I’ve been feral over this the entire dayyyy!!! You’re so right 🥵 Lloyd and Six are such polar opposites in so many ways expect for their love and desire for you, methods differ but their end goal is always to please you

Literally on my knees for them both! Lloyd is definitely such an ass man, he always wants to fuck it because it’s especially tight around him and he enjoys just how much you love it and how much harder you cry when he pounds it and then my goddd the way Six comforts you and gives you that loving care….I want it so bad!

Six is definitely a soft daddy and Lloyd is a mean daddy and both of them give you whiplash with it but it’s so so good, it creates such a sweet balance and you always come so hard when they’re fucking you right

THIS IS GOLD OMG I LOVE YOU, I LOVE THIS!!! I cannot wait to finish writing my threesome fic of them because whew chile I need them!

#lloyd hansen x reader x court gentry #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #court gentry smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen headcanons #court gentry headcanons

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writing-wh0re · 2 years

Note

bestie I’m feeling like Lloyd and Six fighting over reader but in a smutty way you know??? please??😩😍

All writings will be #writing-wh0re-requests

Pairing: Sierra Six - Court Gentry x reader / Lloyd Hansen x Reader (kind of)

Word Count: 2310k

Warnings: Smut 18+, Explicit Language, Slight Praise Kink, Vaginal Intercourse, Unprotected Sex, Angst(?), Jealousy, Semi Public Car Sex.

A/N: I'm kinda back, kinda not. Sorry my posting has 0 schedule and is super random, but I hope you love this!

As a kid I never thought about a life where I would have to live mission to mission and in dodgy hotel rooms.

But it’s just how my life ended up.

“Miss, your drink.”

I snap out of my thoughts, looking up at the bartender as I smile, grabbing the drink from his grasp.

I look around the room discreetly locking eyes with Lloyd Hansen, his eyes racking up my body taking in how the red silk hugs my figure.

I raise the glass to my lips, flicking my eyes away from Lloyd.

“I’ve got his attention.” I whisper against my glass, flicking my eyes around the room looking for Sierra six.

‘Good girl.’ Butterflies erupt inside of me at the praise.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re all alone.” His voice is raspier than I expected, a tingle running up my spine, oh no.

I smile at Lloyd, quickly downing my drink causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Bartender! Another for the lady.” Lloyd says holding up my empty glass.

“You dont have to do that.”

“I insist.” Lloyd whispers looking me up and down.

Blush heats up my face, my mind fighting against itself.

‘Is that blush I see?’ Court’s voice whispers in my ear as I feel my mouth go dry.

“What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

Lloyd chuckles, his head falling back slightly.

The bartender places my drink down in front of me, tipping his head toward me before rushing to other paterons.

“I find it hard to believe you don’t know who I am.”

I raise an eyebrow as I sip my drink.

‘Be careful.’ Court whispers as Lloyd looks over in Court’s direction, Court’s seat now empty. I release a breath, thankful for his disappearance.

Lloyd leans in closer to me, his lips against my ear.

“It’s easy to spot a Sierra, especially when there’s two.”

‘Bathroom.’ Court whispers.

“I’m sorry?” I was shocked.

Lloyd licks his lips, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Dumb doesn’t look good on you.”

“Excuse me.”

I slip off the bar stool quickly rushing away from Lloyd, feeling his presence behind me.

“Six, where are you?” I whisper, rushing down the hallway to the bathrooms.

I look behind me, my stomach dropping at the sight of Lloyd pushing through the crowd.

My body runs into something, rather someone. His cologne hits me before I look up, my body relaxing against him.

Court’s eyes quickly looked over me, studying me as if Lloyd had hurt me.

Lloyd chuckles, his hands resting behind his back, eyes dark.

“Sierra Six, or should I call you by your real name?”

Court’s grip on my hip tightens as he pushes me behind him slightly. Does he seriously forget that I’m an assassin?

Court scoffs rolling his eyes, his hold never loosening on my body.

“Why don’t we keep this civil?” Court suggests, his eyes looking past Lloyd at the general public.

“Please, I know you both love to put on a show.”

My eyebrows knit together, Court’s jaw tightening.

“Oh no no.” Lloyd chuckles, leaning against the nearby wall. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

I open and close my mouth to object, but Lloyd cuts me off.

“Two nights ago, you both decided you were fed up with pretending to ignore your feelings and fuck on the balcony.” Lloyd winks at me as I hide behind Court a little more.

“You sound delicious by the way babygirl.”

“Enough.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow chuckling.

“You were the ones putting on a show.” Lloyd states putting his hands up in defence.

“Plus, what kind of name is Court?”

I watch Court’s whole body tense at the mention of his name on Lloyds tongue.

‘If we leave he will follow.’ I whisper, knowing Court can hear me through the earpiece.

“Go.” Court whispers, pushing me away.

I stumble slightly, looking between the two men before turning and running away.

“C’mon now! Don’t tease me!” Lloyd shouts before the sound of fists hitting skin and grunting fills the hallway.

The hallway bends to the right, the green exit sign flicking above.

“Six!”

‘Go…. without….. Me’ The earpiece crackles, hearing hit after hit.

I jiggle the handle, it is not budging. I scoff before falling to my knees and picking the lock.

Click the sound is music to my ears and racing heart as I pull the door open.

“No.. no no no.” I chant, the door opening to a brick wall. “How is this regulation?” I mumble.

“Oh Y/n!” Lloyd yells in a singsong voice. My heart pounds in my chest, butterflies filling my stomach.

If he wasn’t such a physco, he would be a total catch.

I look around the hallway hoping for another door or window, anything.

“Hi baby.”

“Fuck.”

I look over at Lloyd, his eyes looking me up and down.

“I can’t believe you went for him.”

“C’mon six.” I whisper.

“Six won’t be joining us.” My heart sinks, Lloyd has to be bluffing.

I quickly trace my eyes over Lloyd’s body, his arms almost bulging out of his shirt, blood stains across his strong abdomen and his pants tight against his thighs.

I mentally slap myself, stop checking out the enemy, he is literally a psychopath.

Lloyd strides towards me, causing me to back away from him. I brush my hand against my leg attempting to feel for my knife. My stomach drops, the emptiness of my thigh holster causing a panic to set over me. My eyes fall on the black and silver blade in the middle of the hallway.

“Y/n!” Court calls, my heart leaping in my chest. Lloyd turns his back slightly, looking towards Court. Before I can think I’m running down the hallway towards him, stupidly.

Lloyd grabs a hold of my waist, pulling me off the ground and against his hard chest. I thrash around, elbowing him in the shoulder as his grip loosens. I wiggle out of his grip, slapping him across the face and pushing him backwards. I turn to run towards Court with zero luck as Lloyd trips me, my body hitting the hard floor, my lungs struggling for air.

“Not so fast Princess.”

“You’ve got a hard hit, I’ll give you that.”

Heavy footsteps thud against the ground as Court rounds the corner.

Lloyd pulls me against his body. His hand resting just below my boobs, his thigh against my ass.

“God, you smell incredible.” Lloyd whispers, his lips against my ear.

I keep my eyes trained on Court, studying his every move, trying to figure out his plan.

“You’re a selfish son of a bitch, you know that?” Lloyd chuckles, his chest rumbling against my back.

Court cracks his neck, walking towards us as Lloyd pulls me further against him.

“C’mon now, you can’t send her in here and expect me to just let her go.”

“Lloyd.” I whimper, his grip on my body deathly tight.

His hand wanders up my chest, brushing against my boobs as my nipples prick up at the sudden touch, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Lloyd’s hand settles around my throat, pulling me more against him.

“Court.” I whimper, Lloyd’s grip tightening.

“That’s a little insulting baby, my hands on you and another man's name on your lips.”

“Lloyd.” Court warns.

Lloyd chuckles, his lips brushing against my neck, small kisses being placed on my warm skin.

Oh fuck, this shouldn’t feel good.

My lips part, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck.” I whisper, my body tingling at his touch. The whole scenario caused a buzz to fill me.

“Good girl.” Lloyd whispers, his hand moving from my neck to grope my boob.

“Y/n.” Court whispers, the earpiece causing his voice to ring through my brain.

My eyes snap open, focusing on the man in front of me rather than on me.

God this is wrong, so so so wrong. But so fucking good.

Lloyd pulls away from me, his eyes locking onto Court.

Lloyd drops his weapon at Court’s feet, guiding my body over to the nearby wall and caging me against him.

“I’m sure you can share Six.” Lloyd winks, his hands on my skin.

“Stop, Y/n doesn’t want this.”

Lloyd chuckles, looking into my eyes as my lips part, looking between him and Court.

“Y/n know’s how to stop me.” Lloyd states, his eyes looking over towards my knife on the floor, knowing full well I could swing this and stab him.

“This is so wrong.” I mumble, Lloyd’s lips brushing against mine.

“Then stop me.” He whispers, his lips crashing against mine. His moustache scratched against my skin softly. I melt into the kiss, my hands falling to his shoulders.

Lloyd moans against my lips, I open my eyes and look towards Court, winking at him as he shakes his head.

Court pulls Lloyd off my body, replacing him with his own.

His lips on my neck.

“This better be a part of your plan.” Court whispers against my skin.

“Grab my knife.” I whisper, kissing Court as he chuckles.

“You really aren’t someone who share’s are you?” Lloyd mocks.

Court pulls away from me, gesturing for Lloyd to take his place.

Lloyd smirks, stalking towards me as his lips latch onto mine. I run my hands up and down Lloyd’s chest, before feeling his body go limp against me, a groan filling the air.

Court used the butt on my knife against Lloyd’s head. Before digging the knife into Lloyd’s shoulder.

“You….cunt..” Lloyd groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Go before he wakes up.” Court instructs as I usher out of the hallway. I quickly fix my appearance before walking into the crowd of people, the music thumping louder than before. I push my way through, walking outside as Court stands beside me, a black SUV pulling up in front of us.

“Get in.”

I smile weakly, climbing into the car and pulling out my ear piece.

“You took it too far.”

“Did it make you jealous?” I tease, causing Court to tense, looking out of the window.

“What did you expect me to do? He had us cornered, you were down and my knife was missing.”

“You didn’t need to throw yourself at him.”

“It let his guard down!”

Court scoffs, shaking his head.

“And yours.”

“So you’re mad at me for improvising and getting us out of there?”

Court shakes his head, his jaw clenching. His hand wraps around my throat, pinning me against the seat.

“I'm mad that you liked it.”

“Then help me forget him.”

Court’s eyes flick from mine to my lips. He locks the two way window between us and the driver, his lips locking with mine.

His tongue parts my lips, his tongue tracing mine as his hands run up my body.

“God.” He mumbles, his fingers pinching my nipples, his mouth muffling my moans.

“Court please.” I wiggle my hips up, his hand caressing down my body, cupping my pussy.

“You’re dripping.”

I bite my lips, tossing up whether or not to tease him.

“Lloyd’s doing.”

Court grunts, his hand slapping my drenched pussy.

“Don’t be a slut.”

His fingers slip past my panties, circling my clit extremely slow causing my eyes to flutter shut.

“Please.”

Court sucks his mark into my skin, his teeth grazing against me.

“Use your words.”

“Court, fuck me.” I whimper, grinding up against his fingers.

“Do you deserve it?”

“Court.” I moan, my head falling back against the seat.

The sound of his belt buckle fills the air, his hands fumbling with his pants as I pull my underwear down my legs. I push him back against the seat, straddling his lap.

The car slows down, turning a corner as Court holds me against him, his cock brushing against my swollen clit.

He runs his cock up and down my slit, collecting my wetness before stretching me out.

“Fuck.” We both moan in unison.

Our eyes lock together as I move my hips slowly, his fingers slipping my dress down my body, my boobs falling out of the silk.

His lips wrap around my nipple, biting at the hardened bud.

I run my fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands as his hips meet mine. The rhythm of the car moving and our hips rocking together creates the perfect motion.

My toes curl at the pleasure flowing through me, the sounds falling from Court’s lips causing butterflies to fill my stomach.

Court’s hand’s move to my ass, guiding my hips to chase his high.

"So good Court."

"Better than him." Court groans as I nod.

“Say it.”

“Better than Lloyd.”

The confirmation causes Court to pick up his pace, fucking up into me faster causing my rythem to falter.

“Right there!”

Court’s fingers pinch my clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

“Fuck yes, don’t stop.”

“You’re so tight.”

My pussy clenches around Court’s cock, our lips locking together as I fall apart, cumming around his dick.

Court lifts my dress, watching his cock slip in and out of me, the passing street lights showing my cum glistening against his skin.

“Fuck baby.” Court moans, his cock twitching inside of me, hot ropes of cum filling me.

I pull Court closer to me, our lips locking together, savouring the moment.

“I won’t kiss Lloyd again.”

Court smirks, chuckling.

“If I can stab him again, then I encourage it.”

The car comes to a stop causing both of us to rush to put ourselves back together.

Once dressed, Court rolls down the two way window, tipping the driver who shakes his head.

“Fitzroy is calling.”

“Good luck explaining it.” I wink, getting out of the car and walking in front of Court, turning back and blowing him a kiss as he smiles.

Maybe mission to mission and dodgy hotels isn’t such a bad thing.

\\//

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melwilson · 2 years

Text

all in

courtland gentry (sierra six) x reader

warnings! none, fluff. ig angst if you squint

a/n! this is dedicated to all of my court lovers.

the bed didn’t feel right without him in it. the couch, your favorite blanket, cheesy rom-coms, and a cup of tea had become your best friends. the last song played quietly in the background, your thumbs scrolling through instagram for the thousandth time that night. a knock on your door interrupts you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

you pause the movie and it’s followed by another knock that’s not a figment of your imagination. your footsteps are soft as you pad to the door. “court.” his face washes over with relief. he knew you were safe, but knowing didn’t compare to seeing. “what are you doing here?”

“coming to see you?”

you glance back at the analog clock in your small living room. 3:09. it startles you how late it is. “you were coming to see me at three in the morning- court, where were you?”

the man sighs. he thought surprising you at three am would go smoother. how naive. “can i come in?” you look him up and down, hesitantly. you were happy to see him, relieved actually, but you were known to hold a grudge. court knew that so he urges, “please.”

you open the door wider, obliging to his request. he shuffles past you quietly, offering a whiff of his citrus and wood scented cologne. you breathe it in deeply almost allowing it to distract you of your annoyance. “you’ve got some explaining to do. talk.”

he meets your gaze, blue eyes soft when they look at you. “y/n-“

you huff. “no, courtland. you’ve been gone for two weeks. i wake up and you’re gone. and i, stupidly, didn’t think anything of it until one day turned into two and two into a week and now, all of a sudden, you show up here at three in the morning. no call. no text. nothing.” you’re now chest to chest with the blonde, eyes fuming. “so you don’t get to walk into my house and use your charm to get off easy…talk.”

court is shocked. did he expect you to be upset? yes, maybe even angry. did he expect you to be livid? no, and he’s not sure how to handle it. should he touch you? no. definitely not. raise his hands in surrender? yes. great idea.

so he does so while answering you. “i was working.”

“working?” you repeat incredulously. “do better.”

“you know how the job gets,” court responds bluntly. he’s too casual. unbothered.

your jaw ticks, shoulders rising and falling slowly. “actually, i don’t,” you shoot back. “do you really work in private security, courtland? or maybe i’m the issue? am i the problem? because if you didn’t want to be in a relationship you could’ve just-“

“baby, baby, baby,” he utters softly. “there is not a place in the world i’d rather be than right here with you, okay?” you shake your head in disbelief. before you can argue, the blonde dips his head to place a soft kiss to your lips. his fingers dig lightly into the soft skin at the base of your neck sending a wave of warmth through your body. he pulls away, murmuring against your lips, “you’re everything to me, okay. i need you to know that.”

you nod, “you’re everything to me too, court, that’s why i was so worried.”

a soft smile tugs at his lips. “i know.” he kisses you again, but you know his game.

“i love your method of distraction, babe, but we’re not moving until you tell me where you’ve been.” courtland notices that your voice is gentler. you’re ready to hear to the truth.

“i haven’t been completely honest with you.”

you hum, unbuttoning the top button of his white dress shirt. “i was beginning to assume as much.” you notice the rigidity in his shoulders. he’s almost nervous. “whatever it is, i’m not going to be mad at you. talk to me.”

the blonde sighs, tugging you over to the loveseat. he knows that what he’s going to say will change your relationship and the way you think of him forever. but your comforting gaze and feathery light touch give him a big enough push to spill. “i work for the cia. i have for the last twenty years and i’m what they call the gray man. what they can’t do officially, i do off the record.”

“did they contact you in jail?”

he nods. you knew about his relationship with his dad. everyone knew. you just happened to love him regardless.

your next question is like a punch to the chest. “do you kill people, court?”

courtland knows you already know the answer, but a loaded question like that coming from you feels heavy. he answers anyway, voice barely above a whisper. “when they tell me to.”

it’s your turn to nod. there should be a million questions spilling from your lips, but there’s only one that you ask. “why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper. there’s a flash of hurt in your usually steel eyes. no one else would’ve noticed it, but court did. he notices everything about you.

he explains. “what i do is dangerous, y/n. i’ve made too many enemies to count and i thought by not telling you i could spare you the heartache and keep you safe. but mostly, i was sparing myself because losing you is the only thing that scares me.”

you smile at him softly, placing your hands on either side of his jaw. you give him a lingering kiss, just long enough to feel the tension release from his shoulders and allow his body to melt around yours. oh, if fitz could see him now. “you don’t have to worry about losing me, court. i’m here to stay. just promise me no more secrets or half-truths, okay?”

“you’re not gonna kick me out?” there’s disbelief in his voice. he truthfully was expecting the worst.

a light chuckle falls from your lips allowing court to breathe a little deeper. “believe it or not, i really really really like you, gentry, and i hate to break this really good thing up. so promise me…no more secrets. i don’t care what happens or who comes after you or the risks. if we’re gonna be all in, we have to be all in.”

his head falls to your shoulder where he peppers kisses all the way up to your ear. “i promise. i’m all in. thank you for understanding.”

your hands find the wide expanse of his back, rubbing soothing circles. “i don’t completely understand and i have a lot of questions, but i trust you. i know we’ll be okay.”

he kisses you once again unable to find the right words to thank you. “let’s go to bed, yeah? i’ll explain everything in the morning.”

you nod, sliding off his lap and extending your hands to help him up. “welcome home, court.”

“it’s good to be home, baby.”

#courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry #sierra six x reader #sierra six #six #ryan gosling #ryan gosling the gray man #sierra six the gray man #lloyd hansen

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anitalenia · 9 months

Text

━━ 𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍 ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

RATINGS — s , smut | f , fluff | a , angst | d , dark content

˖⁺ ⊹୨ let me make it better ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s, f ) ━━ your nerves were shot at hearing the yells of your beloved from downstairs. you sat up in your room, sulking in your own worry and fear… good thing lloyd hansen was there to make it all better. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ started: April 28 published: April 30 edited: yes ୨୧ 𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

˖⁺ ⊹୨ I want it all ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s ) ━━ lloyd and six wanting you to have their kids. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

none yet…

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glass-dahlia · 2 years

Text

Sierra

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x gn!Reader

Word Count: 17.8k

Warnings: Swearing, cannon typical violence, concussion, use of y/n, mention of eating, (let me know if I missed anything)

Summary: Lloyd Hansen could and would kill anyone for enough money. Well- maybe not anyone. Seems someone sparked his interest back in the day. What a coincidence that they happen to be meeting again.

A/N: I posted this fic already on Wattpad (under a different username, SpideyPeterTingle), I just decided to start writing on Tumblr because why not. Requests are open, I just don’t write desciptive smut

Masterlist

Your breathing refuses to calm as screams pierce through the air. You can practically feel his pain just by hearing it. You shut your eyes tight, not that it does anything in the lightless room you woke up in.

“See, I really don’t know what to say. I mean, you go against your mission? Snoop where you shouldn’t? This is what you can expect, bud,” you hear a smooth, unbothered voice speak up. More exclamations of pain follow. Quite honestly, you’d rather not know what’s happening. Instead, you place your focus on escaping your restraints like you had been taught.

Soon enough, but after what seems like an eternity, the screams have subsided and the silence is blaring in your head. Footsteps approach the room you’re in. You let out a quiet, shaky breath. Pressing yourself against the wall at the side where the door will open, you hear a slight click as the door is unlocked. The second you see the shadowed figure of the creep that brought you here, you throw a punch, only for him to catch your fist and immediately grab your other wrist. His strong grip keeps you from freeing yourself, despite your struggles against him.

“Not so fast, sunshine,” he hums flirtatiously, almost making you gag, “play your cards right, and I might just let you walk out of here. Can’t say the same for your friend there though,” he chuckles darkly.

“Fuck you,” you seethe and knee him directly in the groin, causing him to double over in pain and lose his grip on you.

“Charming offer, but that’s not quite how you do it,” he musters out through the pain.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“Look, Five, you know Sierras work solo, you have no grounds to ask for a partner,” Fitz sighs as he looks at you.

“I don’t give a shit, just please try, I need to know he’s ok. And honestly, he’d kick ass at this,” you insist, starting to get desperate. You know if anyone has your back, it’s Fitz.

“The things I do for you,” he concedes with a sigh as he turns to his computer to begin his search as he types in the name.

‘Courtland Gentry’. The older brother you thought you’d never see again.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Leaning against the wall, shadows hide your face from his view. The only sounds that fill the room are the jangle of his chains and the snap as you pop the gum in your mouth.

He breaks the silence first, “If this is about Winky’s Cantina, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

You smile to yourself slightly as Fitz assures him, “It’s not about Winky’s Cantina.”

“I like honey buns as much as the next guy. I’m not gonna gouge your eye out for one. You gonna write that down?” Court nods to a notepad on the table, keeping his eyes on Fitz.

“I’m not gonna write anything down.”

Court looks over at you slightly, trying to see who you are, but getting nowhere thanks to the lighting.

“You want some gum?” Fitz offers him, regaining his attention.

Court leans in, “What kind you got?”

Fitz takes the gum out of his pocket to read the label. “‘Bubblicious Watermelon Wave’. What do you say?”

“There is no other kind,” Court says with a slight shrug, reaching his hand out as much as the cuffs allow. Fitz slides the pack across the table to him. Court starts to unwrap a piece before placing it back on the table with more force than necessary. “If you think I’m gonna rat somebody out for Bubblicious, you got another thing coming to you. Watermelon or not.”

“It is pretty good though,” you offer with a smile evident in your voice. Court looks over at you and smiles, slightly amused.

“‘Courtland Gentry’,” Fitz begins to read his file, “‘Born 1980. Incarcerated 1995. Eligible for parole in 2031,’” he closes the file as Court looks back at him. “You got quite a long way to go, son.”

“There’s an upside to sleeping so close to your toilet,” he shrugs nonchalantly, popping the piece of gum in his mouth.

“I get it. You’re glib. So were they,” Fitz nods back to you.

You walk over and sit in an extra chair next to him, feeling eyes on you. You look across the table at Court who squints slightly at you, trying to figure out what that means and who you are. In his defense, it has been years and you’ve both grown up.

“Well, I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” Fitz continues, “My name is Donald Fitzroy, and I’m here to commute your sentence.”

“You’re gonna commute my sentence?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“When I get out of this chair and we walk out of this prison,” he looks at you briefly, “you’ll walk with us.”

“Who are you, my fairy godmother?” Court laughs, not quite believing Fitz. “No offense, I thought you’d look different.”

“I may be. We’ll see.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s always a catch,” you add and Court’s eyes shoot back to you, this time with a glint of realization and recognition. You smile slightly.

“You work for us. With Y/n,” Fitz informs him.

“Y/n?” Court’s voice is quiet and you nod in confirmation.

“I missed you, a lot has happened without you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles in relief at finally seeing you again, “I guess it has. So who- who’s ‘us’?” he looks between you and Fitz.

“The CIA,” you state.

“We’re gonna train you to kill bad guys,” Fitz adds, “and since you’ve already killed one, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You notice Court’s light hearted and joking persona drops slightly, “What makes you think I wanna do it again?”

“Because I personally requested you as a partner. You fit the type anyways, Court.”

“You’d be part of an elite unit with Y/n, the Sierra program,” Fitz says, “you would exist in the gray.”

“Disposable?” Court all but scoffs at that idea, worrying you that he won’t agree.

“I’ve worked with Y/n for a few years now. I know why you pulled that trigger,” Court’s eyes go back to you protectively as Fitz speaks, “I would’ve done the same thing myself. Now, I’m here to help you become a value-add instead of value lost. So why don’t you take all the pain or whatever the hell got you here, turn it around, and make it useful?”

Court hesitates for a few moments, looking down slightly to contemplate the decision before looking over at you again, seemingly making his choice, and looking back to Fitz.

“How long do I gotta work for you?” he asks.

“Let’s just say you’d be indefinitely useful.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Bangkok, eighteen years later…

You look around from your seat with Court beside you. All you have to do is wait for the signal that your target has arrived, take him out, and mission accomplished. They didn’t like to tell you much about your missions anyways. It helps keep your morals out of it, you don’t get the luxury of making your own judgements you figured.

You look over at Court and he just gives you a slight shrug and smile, knowing you’re not a big fan of the waiting period. It makes you feel useless and vulnerable. You smile back at him and chuckle lightly. With all the bright colors and lights surrounding you, the bright red suit he adorns provides an oddly fitting source of camouflage. You opted for the blue suit, they didn’t exactly offer any more muted color choices.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as you see Dani Miranda come into your line of view with a floral suit. Very spiffy.

“Do you need anything?” she asks nonchalantly.

Court shakes his head, tossing a piece of gum in his mouth, “No, we’re good.”

“Nice suits,” Dani states.

“Back at you,” you smirk slightly, “though we just wear what they tell us to.”

“Subtle,” she smiles slightly at you. You two had always gotten along well.

“You’re no fly on the wall yourself,” Court adds as Dani places what appears to be a plastic water gun on the table. She slides it forward to him. “I don’t have a permit,” he jokes.

“It’s not that kind of party,” Dani responds before walking away.

“You look really hot!” you call after her as Court picks up the water gun. You swear you could see her laugh slightly as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Well, if you’re done flirting,” Court trails off as he tosses his napkin onto the table, having finished whatever horderve he grabbed earlier.

“You’re just jealous that I’m the hot sibling,” you tease as you both get up and start walking to where you were told to go.

“Oh, and how has that worked out exactly? You’ve dated how many people?” he prys playfulls, spinning the water gun on his finger as you walk down a dimly lit hall. You both know the answer is zero.

“Shut up,” you mumble as you halt once you reach the door. He glances down the hall briefly as he holds the water gun to a sensor. It beeps as the door unlocks and you follow him inside.

As the door shuts behind you, Court sheds his jacket and removes a sheet from a box containing the scoped rifle. You look above the room, through the mostly opaque glass to see the outlines of footsteps and shadows above you. You can hear the dull murmur of the party guests talking and the vague bass of the music above.

“Five, Six, you copy?” a voice rings through your earpieces. Court doesn’t respond and just gives you an exasperated look at their constant need to babysit the both of you. It gets old fast.

‘Five, Six, you copy?’ you mouth mockingly, rolling your eyes and earning a light chuckle from your brother.

“Five. Six,” the agent repeats, more serious.

“Five and Six, copy,” you reply, watching Court fine tune the rifle.

“Five, Six, this is Denny Carmichael, your center chief,” a new voice says, “Our target, code name ‘Dining Car’, is selling information that could severely compromise national security. We need him eliminated before that transaction is complete. Am I understood?”

“Understood,” Court replies and you nod slightly.

“‘Could severely compromise national security’,” you whisper to Court before mouthing a silent ‘woooow’. He rolls his eyes slightly, but you catch the smile before he turns away.

“I have eyes on Dining Car. Target imminent,” Denny speaks once more.

Court moves the curtains back slightly to get a glimpse outside as you remain focused on watching the feet and shadows above.

“Dining Car has security,” Denny informs you both, “Stay the plan.”

“When do they not have security?” you mutter mostly to yourself.

Court readies the scope rifle, turning on an infrared camera and walking over to your side.

“He’s coming up on you now. He’s almost to you,” Denny states.

You move forward slightly, Court following you. You point up when you spot your target and Court aims the rifle, readying to fire. You keep an eye on the floors between as Court lines up his shot, hearing chatter through your earpieces from the floors above. You pick up some of your target’s conversation to confirm it’s him.

“Target acquired,” Court mutters slightly, a toothpick between his lips muffling his voice just slightly.

“Execute,” Denny confirms.

A crash above draws your attention and you quickly grab Court’s arm once you hear a voice. He glances at you and moves his finger off the trigger. You point to your earpiece with your free hand, telling him to listen as you both hear a child’s voice speaking in thai. He looks back up but doesn’t shoot as you continue to hold onto his arm.

“Five, Six, why am I not hearing anything?” Denny asks, beginning to get impatient.

“We’re picking up collateral. There’s a kid near the mark,” you respond.

“You’re cleared for collateral,” Denny snips shortly, “Go loud.”

You grip Court’s arm slightly tighter, starting to worry about what will happen. You may have done some things other people would call you a monster for, but you liked to think you had your morals straight. That you were on the right side.

“We have a very small window to take out a very bad dude. Go loud,” Denny pushes.

You let go of Court as you hear the crowd begin to count down. He moves around the room, trying to find an angle that will avoid collateral. Especially a child. When the countdown hits one and cheers erupt, Court looks at you and puts the rifle down.

“Standby,” he says to the agents on the other end of your earpieces. You smile slightly and nod, proud that he too kept his morals in check.

“Do not stand by,” Denny objects.

“Gun jammed,” Court says nonchalantly as he smacks the infrared sensor on the rifle down and walks to put it away, clearly pissed that anyone would approve moving forward despite avoidable collateral.

You follow Court out of the room quickly, pulling the fire alarm on your way. The lights go out as the alarm blares once you reenter the main room.

“Five, was that you?” Dani asks through the earpiece, knowing your style when something goes wrong. You don’t respond. “Five? Six?”

You walk past a crowd exiting and you seamlessly pull a pin from a woman’s hair. Without even bothering to turn towards him, you jab one of Dining Car’s security personnel in the neck and continue walking as he instantly collapses. Court takes another out with a knife off a nearby plate. You smash a glass bottle over another’s head.

“You know, I learned that one from dad!” you say loud enough for Court to hear. He shakes his head, getting another with the knife.

Screams have erupted all around you. You hear gunshots somewhere behind you and quickly assume it’s Dani. Court takes on two more guys, shooting at them and taking them hand to hand when needed. You shoot a third that Dining Car uses as a human shield. He throws his human shield out the window, shattering the glass, and jumps out after him. You run after him and jump, Court following a moment after.

You smack Dining Car with a metal pipe you landed near. He reciprocates with a punch to your jaw. He attempts to bring out a gun, but you grab his hands in yours to keep the gun pointed away from you. You quickly unclip the magazine, letting it slide to the ground and away from you both. Court, having just landed and gotten to you, places a foot on the magazine so Dining Car can’t grab it back.

Your target smiles slightly, impressed by your skills and preferring to not jump to hand to hand combat. He throws the gun into the distance as Court kicks the magazine farther, glancing at you to check that you're ok. You shift your lower jaw slightly, trying to get rid of the tension from the punch. It was solid, you’d give him that. Sparks fall around you as fireworks go off.

“You know, I know who you two are,” your target says. “You’re Sierra Five,” he nods to you, “and Sierra Six,” he nods to Court. You both remain silent, slightly shocked at this, not that you’d show it. “They didn’t tell you who I am, did they?”

“They never do,” Court admits.

“I’m Sierra Four. They sent you out to kill one of your own. That’s probably not gonna make you walk away, is it?”

You glance at Court slightly as your target, Sierra Four, takes off his suit coat and tosses it aside.

“Probably not,” Court shakes his head.

Sierra Four clenches his fist before suddenly lunging forward at the two of you. He swings for Court first, but Court dodges, hitting Four in the side. Four grabs Court’s arm, elbowing him in the side and tossing him back. You jump in, throwing a punch towards his throat, but he manages to catch your hand. You use his focus on your missed punch to your advantage and knee him right in the crotch, a favorite move of yours. Court gets up, tackling him towards a firework about to go off, holding his head over it as it does. They struggle and Four begins to get the upper hand, so you jump in, tackling him to the side and freeing Court. You tussle as he backs you against some pipes, landing a few punches that you try to dodge but don’t quite manage to. Before he lands a more damaging punch, Court rams him off of you, knocking him off balance and getting the upper hand. He stabs Four with a sharp piece of debris he found, ending the fight.

You walk over to Court’s side and give him a slight nod to let him know you’ll be ok, if a little bruised. Or a lot of bruises. What else is new?

“If you’re Sierra, who recruited you?” Court asks.

“Fitzroy,” Four breathes out, “same as both of you.”

“Where’d you train?” you cut in.

“Dark site. Tel Aviv. Same as you two. I got all the answers ‘cause I’m telling the truth. They’re not.”

Court doesn’t react, instead cleaning the blood from the debris he used to stab Four. You just look down slightly. You hadn’t exactly liked Carmichael all that much. Or at all.

“Denny Carmichael is a piece of shit. That’s why I’m sitting here in my own blood. You two are probably next.”

You look at Court as he chucks the debris as far off as he can, still refusing to respond with any form of reaction to Four’s words. You look back at Four as he reaches to take off his necklace with a shaky hand.

“Take this,” his voice becomes very breathy, you can tell he doesn’t have long. “And bring the bastard down.” He holds out the necklace, hand shaking.

“I don’t want it,” Court insists.

“You trust Carmichael? Just take it. Please.”

“No, I don’t,” you grab the necklace before Court can interject, “There, I took it, happy, everyone?”

“You give ‘em hell,” Four smiles slightly before his ragged breathing stops and an eerie stillness engulfs him.

You take in a deep breath and hold it, looking over at Court, not knowing what to do next. He has the same unsure look in his eyes and glances at the necklace in your hands. You look down at it as well, noticing it seems to have two halves. You hear footsteps and close your hand into a fist around the necklace to hide it.

Dani slowly approaches with her gun at the ready, “Very discreet.”

“I thought this’d be cleaner,” Court retorts slightly.

Dani approaches Four’s body, still with her gun at the ready just in case, to check his vitals. “It wasn’t,” she states simply. She reaches up to her ear piece to inform the agents on the other end of the status of the mission, “We’re Romeo.”

“He said he was Sierra,” you speak up, clutching the necklace tighter in your fist.

“That wasn’t in the mission folder,” Dani glances at you.

“He knew who we were,” you add on.

Dani grabs her phone from her pocket, sending a picture of your target to confirm you’ve succeeded in your mission. “Maybe he had access to stolen intel,” she offers halfheartedly.

Court looks down slightly, “We’re Sierra. There is no intel.”

Dani just looks over at you two and Court promptly turns and begins to walk away. You glance at Dani briefly before following Court.

You follow Court through a crowd of pedestrians as police cars slowly part the crowd, heading towards the building. Fireworks pop in the distance and you feel your heart racing as you try to wrap your head around what just happened. Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Court’s phone buzzing in his pocket. He answers and you turn up the volume of your earpiece to hear what he’s hearing.

“Six,” Court answers, continuing to walk.

“Wanna explain whatever that was?” you hear Denny Carmichael’s stern tone.

“Gun jammed,” Court sticks to the excuse he used earlier. He looks over his shoulder and nods to you to let you know the coast is currently clear and you aren’t being followed.

“That doesn’t qualify as an explanation.”

“Maybe on a secure line.”

“I need a status report. Insecure line. Did the target say anything to you or Five?”

“Well, he was dead, so, you know, no.”

You look at the necklace still clutched in your hand and gently pop the top off, revealing some type of drive. You look at Court and show him what you found.

“What about pocket litter? Did you get anything off his body?” Carmichael prys further, getting no response. “Six, did he have anything on his person that you or Five now have that you’d like to give to me?”

“Who was he?” Court asks, avoiding the question as you close the necklace, slipping it into your pocket.

“A bad guy.”

“Carrying?”

“Bad shit.”

Court looks back at you, trying to decide what you can do, what your options are. You shake your head slightly, not wanting to play along in whatever game Carmichael is leading.

“Last chance, Six. Same goes for Five.” “Understood,” Court hangs up the call.

You look across the street and spot a store. Figuring you’re both forced to go on the run now, you head over to get some new clothes with the spare cash you have on you. A blue suit isn’t going to continue to keep you hidden.

“Hey,” you hear Court call to someone near him, “You a 42 regular?”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Surrounded by indistinct chatter in a mix of Thai and English as those around you focus on their video games, you sit down at a computer. You slip the drive in the port and open it as Court walks over to stand behind your chair, watching over your shoulder and keeping an eye out for the both of you.

Files pop up on your screen along with pictures of Carmichael. When you click on anything, it asks you to enter an authentication key. With only three attempts available, you decide to not press your luck. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

“Yeah,” you answer, leaning back in the chair. Court leans forward so he can hear enough without you putting the call on speaker.

“Wheels up in five. Carmichael’s been calling,” Dani speaks on the other end.

“We spoke. You should go without us.”

“You sure you wanna do that? Both of you? What happened with the target, Five? Tell me what I don’t know,” she pressed gently. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” you mutter slightly before hanging up.

Court takes the drive out of the port of the computer and you hand him the necklace. He places the drive safely back inside and puts it in the pocket of his newly acquired track suit. He places his phone on the table next to the computer and you follow suit, ditching yours as well.

“No way in Hell we get it right in three tries. We do know someone who will though,” he starts walking off with you following at his side.

“You got a plan?” you ask.

“Enough of one at least. Any idea where we can get a couple of masks?”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

You and Court pause in an alleyway, far enough from anyone else to keep a conversation private as he places a call on a burner phone you just got with your remaining cash. He places the call on speaker, only loud enough for you to both hear.

“Max’s Fireplace and Barbecue,” the familiar voice answers.

“You Max?” Court asks.

“There is no Max,” Fitz responds.

“So it's like ‘to the max’?” you ask, smiling slightly.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” you question.

“Because if something went wrong, I couldn’t blame Max.”

“How you doing, Fitz?” Court jumps back into the conversation.

“It’s good to hear from you two.”

“How’s life in retirement?” Court begins with some small talk.

“I’m headed to a funeral. Putting a friend in the ground. I’m getting to that age, you know? You two working?”

“We were,” you respond.

“Got loud?”

“It got loud. Got real weird too. You know that guy that handed you your walking papers?”

“Yeah, Carmichael.”

“Well, brace yourself, but, uh, he might be sideways,” Court states.

“Might be?” you tease, earning a slight eye roll from Court.

“I’m shocked,” Fitz responds in monotone, “What’s your gut?”

“My gut? It’s gonna be our funerals you’re going to next,” you state quite bluntly.

“Give me an hour to find a local extraction team. Get mobile. You may have to hustle.”

You look around, spotting an unmanned taxi. You walk over and Court follows, taking the phone off speaker as you hotwire the taxi effortlessly.

“Let me ask you a question,” Court says to Fitz, “Four have a scar on his right chin?”

You move to the passenger seat and look at Court once you’ve gotten the taxi started.

“They just had me stick a fork in him,” Court informs Fitz, getting into the drivers’ seat. “Some foreign op bullshit,” he continues on the phone, “You know they don’t tell us much. He gave us something they really want.”

You lean back against your seat, feeling tired.

“No. Somewhere safe.”

You nod to the phone and Court puts it back on speaker for you to hear.

“Well, I’ll do some checking. I still have friends up the food chain. Where are ya?”

“Bangkok,” you reply tiredly.

“There’s an airfield near Chiang Mai. Get to it. Watch your backs. Take care of each other.”

“Always,” you smile slightly.

“You too,” Court adds, knowing Fitz could be putting himself in danger with this. “Hey, Fitz. I know there wasn’t some palm trees 401k plan for either of us here,” he looks at you, “but, uh, I mean, at least tell me you guys had some kind of exit strategy.” “We never got that far, kid,” Fitz replies, sounding defeated. You sigh lightly and just nod your head slightly. “And now, probably not.”

“Got it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.”

“Beats being on the wrong side of the bars,” Court admits before hanging up the call.

You stifle a yawn as Court begins to drive.

“I’ll wake you if I’m too tired to drive anymore. Get some rest, we’ve got a rough road ahead,” Court states gently, keeping his eyes on the road.

“No shit,” you mutter, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

You’re woken up as you feel the taxi come to a stop. You squint against the bright light of the sun that’s now up. Court gets out of the taxi and you follow his lead as armed men cautiously surround you with guns at the ready. Court stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks forward to one of the men.

“You our ride?” he asks.

“Identity challenge. Heathen,” the man responds.

“Response, hermit,” Court replies without hesitation.

After a glance at the armed man that just checked out your taxi, the man holds his hand out to Court. Court reaches forward for a handshake, but the man pulls back his hand with a laugh as Court looks disappointed in himself for falling for that. You chuckle as he stuffs his hand back in his pocket.

“Need anything?” the man asks, looking at both of you.

“Just a nap,” Court shrugs as he walks towards the plane.

“A massage and cocktail would be nice, but I’m guessing we aren’t flying first class,” you smile as you earn a hearty laugh from the man before following Court onto the plane.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Court is asleep next to you with his head rested against a metal divider, slightly separating sections of the plane. Your head is rested against his arm and you have your eyes shut, not wanting to fully fall back asleep, but wanting rest. You hear a phone ring, but decide to remain still with your eyes closed.

“Yeah” the man that joked with you earlier answers the phone. You obviously can’t hear the other end of the conversation, so you put all your focus on the man’s responses.

“Mhmm,” a pause, “Come again?” you squeeze Court’s arm slightly to wake him up and you feel him stir slightly. “Roger that.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the plane apart from the music playing over the speakers which increases in volume. You feel Court move briefly before stilling again as you faintly hear footsteps approaching you. They stop just to the side of you and you open your eyes as you feel Court’s sudden movement. He sprays both men that had approached you with a fire extinguisher before jumping up and hitting one in the gut with the extinguisher. You get up, delivering a swift kick to the same location on the other man. Court spins around, continuing to take men out with the fire extinguisher. You grab a parachute pack, swinging it to smack guys’ heads to knock them out.

Grabbing a flare, Court lights it and uses it to draw some men away from you, taking them on himself. With their lowered visibility from the flare, Court takes them out easily with a few skillful punches.

You kick the gun out of another guy’s hand, leading to you both diving for it and grabbing it at the same time. You use your grip on the gun to angle it away from yourself, but the man fires. It hits a gas tank that quickly catches fire and explodes, creating a gaping hole in the side of the plane.

As air is whipped out of the plane, an announcement can be heard overhead warning of a sudden pressure drop and advising you to put on oxygen masks. You manage to make your way to Court and he grabs your arm, pulling you towards the side of the plane where he’s holding onto a bar with his other arm, using that hand to hold on an oxygen mask. You grip onto the bar next to him, shoving an oxygen mask quickly over your nose and mouth and taking a few deep breaths.

You look over at Court, but suddenly a man tackles you from behind, causing you to lose your grip and begin falling towards the hole. You regain your stance much better than he does as he falls to the hole, gripping the remaining bar at the top of the hole. Finding a broken pipe near your feet, you swing it at his hands, forcing him to lose his grip and let go, being dragged out the hole.

Court slides down to you with your parachute pack from earlier. You both grab onto the bar as you feel yourselves begin to be lifted off the floor as the plane drops. You both grab oxygen masks and you catch your breath again. When the plane manages to pull up to a horizontal position again, Court gets into a scuffle with another man which ends with that man being whisked out of the hole and straight into one of the jets.

The hole suddenly begins to widen as more of the side of the plane is ripped away. You glance at Court and he quickly nods to you. With the slight footing you have left, you jump from the plane, managing to slip the parachute pack on as you fall and opening it just in time. You try to look up at the increasingly more destroyed plane that’s plummeting to the earth to try to spot Court, but your parachute blocks most of your view.

The moment your feet touch the sandy ground beneath you, you unstrap yourself from the parachute. You move under a large and stable rock to avoid being hit with any falling debris as you hold your breath slightly, waiting for Court.

You suddenly see a pair of feet above you and to the left as a parachute gets caught on the large rock. Court hops down from the dead man dangling off the rock like it was nothing.

“I guess you didn’t choose to drop by in style,” you tease as he walks over to where you’re sitting.

“What more style can you ask for?” he sits next to you.

“Ok, seriously though, what the fuck was that?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” he pulls out his phone, quickly hitting redial.

“Hello,” Fitz answers.

“It’s us.” “Where are you?”

“Emotionally? I think we’ve both been better,” Court replies sarcastically.

“The extraction team?”

You glance up at the dead man hanging from his parachute on the rock above you and Court. “They’ve been better too,” Court sighs.

“Are you okay? Either of you hurt?” Fitz sounds slightly concerned as he hasn’t heard from you yet.

Court looks at you, but you stay quiet and let him speak. “You know what, Fitz? I’m trying to figure out what answer it is that you want.”

“They leveraged me, kid. They have my niece. You hear me?”

“Hold on. You’re breaking up,” Court holds the phone at arms length and mutters so only you would hear, “shit.”

You run a hand down your face and huff lightly. You glance at the phone as Fitz repeats ‘hello’ trying to see if he lost your connection. You purse your lips slightly as you begin to get an idea of who would use extreme tactics to find the two of you like this.

“Okay, there you are,” Court brings the phone back in front of the two of you, “Sounds like you’re in a real pickle, Fitz.”

“Put him on,” you suddenly state firmly. Court gives you a confused look, but you hear Fitz’s phone being handed off.

“Hey, sunshine. Good to hear your voice again,” Lloyd’s familiar voice responds on the line.

“Lloyd Hansen. To what do we owe the displeasure?” you sneer, taking the phone from Court’s hand as he gets more confused.

“So feisty,” Lloyd retorts with more than a hint of flirtation in his tone, “I’m the one running this op.”

“What op?”

“The one where I get exactly what I want,” he pauses slightly and you can practically hear the smirk in his tone as he adds, “and maybe a little more, Five.”

You choose to ignore his flirting, not that it isn’t at least mildly entertaining to you, “I’m a little unclear as to what that is.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Well, Five, why don’t you come on in, and we can chat? My assistant will get lunch. You like sushi?”

“No, I’m good. I just had some Skittles,” you reply sarcastically.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we skip lunch, you can give me the asset you and Six stole, I won’t chop your heads off, and uh we can have that chat afterwards?”

“When you say things like ‘chop your heads off’, it makes you sound untrustworthy. That’s a big turn off, Lloyd. So, even if we had this thing, I’m not sure I would give it to you.”

“Oh I think you would. See, your old COS here has drawn way outside the lines, Headquarters needs a scapegoat, and his neck is just about the right size.”

“Fitz is a big boy. He knows what business he’s in.”

Lloyd just hums in response, clearly not happy that you’re making this more difficult for him. “And what about having that chat, hm? I’m told I’m a great conversationalist,” he not so subtly continues the innuendo.

“Hey, Lloyd,” Court cuts in, not wanting to hear more of the flirting.

“Yeah?”

“I immediately don’t like you.” You laugh lightly at Court’s bluntness.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lloyd responds before Court hangs up the call.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“Looks like you overplayed your hand,” Fitz chides Lloyd in the van after the call ends.

Lloyd wordlessly turns, opening the door to his left and tossing the phone out of the moving vehicle. He slams the door shut and turns back to Fitz. “Looks like you need a new phone,” he states.

“Let me give you a word of advice, Lloyd,” Fitz leans forward as Lloyd hums for him to continue, “They say that life in its most unadorned expression is a battle of wills. Five and Six? Their wills, each one their own, are preternatural compared to yours. You’re taking them on teamed up.”

Lloyd delivers a swift, sudden kick to Fitz’s face. Fitz grunts in pain, leaning back into his seat.

“Don’t say ‘preternatural’ to me. It’s an asshole word.”

“You’re a child.”

“A child that’s about to put a hit so big on your kiddos' heads that even their most loyal allies won’t hesitate to drop a dime. Every grade-A wet team from here to Reykjavik will be vying to the prestige of killing the infamous Sierra Five and Six. I’ll dig up every safe house they’ve ever stayed in. I’ll unearth every man or woman either of them have ever slept with. They won’t be able to walk ten feet without getting their heads blown off. And that, Don, is exactly what bad ethics and zero impulse control will get you. I can kill anybody.”

“Maybe not anybody.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

“Five has seen. They’re still around, so-” before Fitz can finish, Lloyd clenches his jaw and swiftly kicks him in the face again.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Court and you sit side by side on the floor of a train compartment to avoid notice. Court eats his share of the food you two scrounged up before getting on the train as you just stare blankly at the door. He glances at you.

“So you know that Lloyd Hansen guy?” he asks.

“Yeah, he’s not someone you want to be up against.”

Court stays silent, waiting for you to explain further.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

It was your early days in the field with the Sierra program. You were new and Sierra Four had recently gone MIA. Headquarters needed some foreign intelligence. Sierra Three was sent to retrieve it as you were told you weren’t ready for such a high profile mission.

You ignored them and followed after Three unnoticed. He was the only other Sierra agent you had contact with as he had helped you in training.

“You’re an idiot to want to sneak onto a mission like this, you know they’d lose their shit if they found out you followed me,” he had said when you followed him to his hotel.

“Then you’d better not let them know I’m here,” you shrugged, earning a slight smile from Three.

“Fine,” he finally conceded after plenty of convincing. You had always thought you’d work best with a partner anyways. Knowing someone would have your back and you doing the same for them.

Neither of you could have known the mission was a set up. Three had stepped out of line one too many times in the eyes of the CIA, and he needed to be disposed of. Before you could even begin what Three had been told the mission was, you were both knocked out by mercenaries Lloyd had hired.

You woke up in a lightless room alone, ankles and wrists bound securely.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Lloyd chimed as he walked in the room, “I have to admit, I wasn’t told Three here had a sidekick. Though I can see why he’d keep you around, you are pretty tough, they said you put up a good fight before they knocked you out. Not to mention attractive,” he smirked at the last part, slowly scanning you up and down.

You did your best not to react, though you felt your face involuntarily heat up. You watched Lloyd as he stopped in front of you. You began to look away, but he quickly grabbed your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look up at him. Not a bad sight, you’d have to admit to yourself.

“So what’s your deal?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not his sidekick, that’s the deal.”

“Then you’d better start talking, Sunshine, because your clock is ticking.”

You huffed lightly, trying to pull against your restraints, but realizing you wouldn’t get anywhere with him in the room. “I wasn’t supposed to be on the mission. No one else knows I came. They call me Sierra Five.”

“Well, Five, how sure are you that no one knows you’re here?” he pried, letting go of your jaw and starting to pace as you swore you saw him soften just slightly.

“Absolutely certain,” you watch him, feeling an odd sense of disappointment at the sudden lack of contact.

He shook his head slightly and let out a sigh before looking back at you. You could practically hear your heart racing as you both held eye contact. You were broken out of your trace when he cursed under his breath and abruptly left the room, locking the door behind him.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“He killed Three?” Court asks. You just nod, still feeling like you can hear his screams echoing in the space around you. “But why leave you? If he wanted to kill you, he had the perfect opportunity. I mean, if he’s this ruthless mercenary for hire, why would it make a difference to him?”

“No clue,” you yawn, leaning into Court’s side.

“I guess he just likes you.” “I wasn’t his target, though I guess if he really wanted to keep me from escaping, he would have. But he didn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You just shrug it off slightly as you drift off to sleep, not wanting to admit you might have feelings for the man paid to kill you.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Two years earlier

Court and you sat side by side in a CIA station in London. Across from you was Fitz and Margaret, a woman from the CIA that worked closely with Fitz.

“Fitz, tell them why they’re here,” the woman instructed, gesturing to the both of you with a cigarette between two fingers.

With a slight sigh, he began, “Okay. I have a niece that I’m raising. I know what line of work I’m in. I want the kid to have a normal life, and Margaret’s helped me give her one,” he nodded to the woman across from you.

“Any number of nefarious assholes would like to see him and his family dead.”

“Is there a point to this story?” Court glanced between Margaret and Fitz.

“Someone in the DC office has accidentally leaked Fitz’s address in Hong Kong.”“‘Accidentally’?” you repeated skeptically.

“Bunch of idiots,” Fitz shook his head.

“Indeed,” Margaret agreed, “We’ve asked for agency security, but for some curious reason, Denny Carmichael won’t supply it.”

You rolled your eyes at the name. The whole situation didn’t sit right for obvious reasons.

“Fitz is starting a mission in Brazil tomorrow,” Margaret continued, “which means you two are going to babysit.”

“Your niece?” you looked at Fitz.

He nodded and began to explain, “My brother and his wife died about three years ago, and to top it off, Claire was born with a heart condition. Last month we put in a pacemaker, and since then, she’s been in and out of Mount St. Mary’s.”

“Poor thing got dealt a brutal hand,” Margaret added.

Court looked between Fitz and Margaret, still a bit confused, “You guys taught us how to kill people, not care for them.”

“You don’t have to care. Just keep her alive.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Claire’s nanny showed you and Court through Fitz’s house in Hong Kong and brought you both to Claire’s room.

“Claire, dear,” she spoke, “this is Five and Six. They’ll be looking after the house while Donald is away.”

Court hardly paid attention to the introduction, scanning around to have an idea of the layout of the house and possible weak spots. You did the same, noticing that Claire wasn’t looking anyways.

“Just the two exits?” you looked at the nanny.

“Yes. That’s right.”

You walked over to look out the window next to Claire’s bed as she was looking through her Polaroid camera. “Five and Six are odd names,” she spoke up without looking directly at either of you.

“Yeah,” Court sighed with a nod, “yeah. Just, uh, 007 was taken, so.”

You chuckled and Claire looked over at Court, “Are you chewing gum?”

Court looked slightly taken aback and just looked at her for a moment before replying, “Yep.”

“We don’t chew gum in this house.”

Court didn’t really know how to respond and looked at you for help, so you stepped in and smiled slightly at Claire, “He wasn’t briefed. I’ll keep him in line.”

“I’m older than you,” Court tried to argue, but went quiet at the shutter of Claire’s camera as she took a picture of the two of you.

Claire smiled as the picture printed from the camera.

“Um, ok,” Court trailed off, not sure what to do or say, “Well, we will try to stay out of your way.”

“Do you mind?” you looked at Claire and gestured to the Polaroid picture, asking to take it, “May I?”

She shrugged slightly, “Sure.”

You took the picture, placing it in the back pocket of your pants, “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“You have a nice house,” you said, sitting on a poolside chair near Claire to keep an eye on her while Court patrolled around the house.

“Thanks,” she shrugged slightly and looked over at you, away from her phone.

You nodded as the awkward silence fell over you, neither of you sure how to continue the conversation.

“There’s not a lot of stability in the line of work Six and I are in. Never in one place too long, definitely never settling anywhere,” you said, looking over at the pool water dancing gently in the wind.

“Do you get to visit your family? Or friends? Between your missions?” she sat up more, interested in hearing more about your job.

“Don’t have any. Just Six at this point,” you trailed off slightly.

“I don’t really have other friends either,” she admitted, “too risky to be going out on my own. For multiple reasons.”

You nodded understandingly as you heard footsteps approaching. You didn’t bother looking away from the water, knowing Court’s gait. Claire went back to her game on her phone.

Court rounded the corner, stopping when he saw you and Claire. She looked up from her phone and you glanced over, earning an awkward, quick wave from Court.

“Excuse me,” he turned and started to walk off, not wanting to invade your space.

“Looking for your jacket?” Claire called after him. He turned back to the both of you and she continued, “Looks like I sat on it,” she raised her leg to show it under her and chuckled lightly.

You smiled slightly as Court walked over, “Is that a secure phone?” he asked and pointed to the phone in her hands.

“Just got the high score,” she showed him the screen briefly, “I had a lot of time to practice after the operation. They made me stay in bed.”

Court didn’t give much of a response, years of training to kill after being in prison most of your early life really didn’t help your social skills.

“‘How long they make you stay in bed for?’” she asked aloud for him, “Quite a long time. Several weeks, actually. ‘Oh, hope you’re okay.’ Better now, Six. Thanks for asking. How’s your time been here? Enjoying the grounds? ‘Oh, they’re lovely. I like to walk in circles and stare at my shoes.’”

“Can I get that jacket?”

Claire sighed at her inability to break through with him and handed over the jacket. “You know, Five is more fun to talk to.”

“I know,” he took the jacket from her.

“Like your tattoo,” she complimented, noticing it as he reached for the jacket because his sleeves were slightly rolled up. “Where’d you get it? Prison?”

“Yeah, actually,” he sighed as he slipped the jacket back on.

“I’m shocked,” she mused sarcastically. He shrugged slightly, beginning to walk away. “What’s it mean, the writing?”

“Oh it’s, you know” he turned back around, “it’s a guy’s name in Greek.”

“What guy?”

“Just a guy. You know, trying to get a rock up a hill.”

“Why?”

“They made him.”

“Who made him?”

“The gods.”

“Did they need a rock?”

“They were just trying to punish him, I think.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“Probably.”

“Did he like it?”

“Probably not.”

“So why’d he do it?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Court smiled slightly at her.

“You’re quite the conversationalist,” she replied with her signature sarcasm.

“I’m gonna get back to work,” Court turned to leave once more, but again was stopped by a ‘hey’ from Claire and turned back to her.

“Does he ever get to the top of the hill?”

Court let out a humorless chuckle, “I’ll let you know.”

Before Court could walk off again, you grabbed his arm, “He will make it because he isn’t in it alone.”

Court smiled slightly, “You know, I think you’re right.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

You shined the hazy beam of your flashlight down the hall that was in front of you as you walked. You peaked into each room on either side of you to scan for any threats. You got to the front door to see the nanny getting in her car to go out. From your location, the house was almost silent apart from the air conditioning running.

“Five!” a sudden shout from Court broke the silence as you heard his running footsteps, sounding heavier than usual. As you turned to see what was wrong, you saw him turn the corner and run towards you and the front door with a barely breathing Claire in arm. Without hesitation, you ran out the front door ahead of them, quickly getting in the driver’s seat of the nearest car.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“She’s stabilized. Tell Donald there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it, non-invasive,” the doctor informed Claire’s nanny, “The remote system flagged it ten minutes before they pulled up. We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere.”

“Thank you, I’ll let him know,” the nanny left the room quickly to call Fitz.

Court stood against the door frame as you sat in a chair nearby. Both of you kept an eye on Claire as the machines around her produced a steady beeping. She looked over, exhausted, and gave a sign of the horns gesture and a nod to reassure you both that she’d be okay.

You smiled slightly while Court gave her a nod back.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Back at the house, Court monitored the security cameras around the property on a secure laptop. Claire sat with the both of you at a dining table, eating a bowl of ice cream.

“You feeling better?” Court asked without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

Claire gave a small shrug. “Just another Thursday,” she said with a sigh, “Donald says this is the best medicine, ice cream. Tend to agree.”

“He’s a very smart man,” you nod in agreement.

“Only family I got.”

“Closest thing to family we’ve got too, apart from each other.”

“Maybe that kind of makes us family.”

You and Claire both noticed the slight smile spread across Court’s face, but you could tell something was wrong when his eyes snapped back to the camera footage and the smile fell.

“I think it kind of does,” you mused, “but I think you should get to bed.”

Claire’s nanny walked over, “All right, little one. You heard the number. Let’s go.”

“Night, robot,” Claire teased Court as she waved a goodnight to you as well. You waved back, getting up as they left.

“Goodnight, Claire,” he replied in a slightly robotic voice to amuse her.

You walked behind Court’s chair to see all the cameras were offline suddenly. Claire put one of her records on and ‘Silver Bird’ by Mark Lindsay started to play. You looked out the window to your left as you heard the hinge to a gate squeak and a dog begin to bark.

Court and you split up to catch the intruder without raising any alarm. You heard the song throughout the house and indistinct chatter from Claire and her nanny.

After walking a quick circle of some empty areas and finding nothing, you spotted the beam of Court’s flashlight as you heard a gun click. You lost the light of Court’s flashlight, and clicking yours off as well, you jogged down a hallway to come around from the other side of the intruder.

You rounded the corner quickly as Court was already in a tussle with the intruder, gun laying on the floor a few feet away. You jumped on the intruder’s back from behind, throwing him off balance, and causing him to stumble into a wall. You quickly let go, landing steadily on your feet and trapping him between you and the wall. With a hefty punch to the right location of his head, he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

Claire peeked out of her room and looked at the both of you, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, broke a bowl,” Court held up a shard of a broken glass bowl. You stepped to the side slightly to try to block the intruder’s feet from her view.

“You sure you’re alright?” she glanced at the feet behind you and looked at both of you.

“Yeah,” you sighed with a shrug, “just another Thursday.”

Claire glanced back down at the intruder’s feet, clearly startled at what she could guess had just happened.

“You should go to bed,” Court suggested gently but firmly, “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Present Day

After leaving the train station and finding your bag with various supplies, you and Court were headed to a dry cleaners listed in a notebook in the bag.

Court knocks on the door and you both stand to the side when you get to the address. Court counts through some of the cash in his hands. You hear movement inside the door and the man inside speaks in German.

“We got dry cleaning,” Court states without looking at the door. You hear the man reply with ‘nein’ and he begins to say something else, but Court cuts him off, “We want the works. Starched, cleaned, pressed, and we want it same-day service. Can you do it or what?”

The man finally responds in English, “That’s a very expensive laundry list.”

Court slams a wad of cash through the open peep hole in the door. He holds up another wad of cash in front of it.

“You seem like a man who wants his shirts done right.”

After all the locks are unlatched from inside, the man opens the door for the two of you and moves his sweater aside to show a gun in his waistband as a warning.

You roll your eyes impatiently, “We’re in a hurry.”

With that, the man leads you down a flight of stairs slowly, grasping the railing for support.

“We’re also gonna have to get into a secure system,” Court adds as you look around as you slowly descend the stairs.

“Sure,” the man chuckles, “You really are the, uh, full buffet, aren’t you?”

The man stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks at you two. Court shrugs and shakes his head slightly, not knowing how to respond to that.

“I do passports over there,” the man points to the far side of the room, “And, uh, well, let’s do your- let’s do this thing first. You can sit. You can sit here.”

You walk past where the man gestured. “Where are you going? It’s… What’s… What’s the secure system?” you glance around a corner to look for something, anything to confirm why a knot is growing in the pit of your stomach, but find nothing. Court looks at you and you shake your head and keep looking around.

“Cormeum Electronics,” Court states as the man repeats it to himself and begins typing.

“It’s medical supplies,” the man states before pointing over at you, “Don’t- Don’t touch that door.”

“Yeah, we’re looking for a pacemaker,” Court informs him.

“I can get you a serial number.”

“That’s all we need.”

“Name?”

“Fitzroy. Claire Fitzroy.”

“This will be a minute.”

“I’m getting that.”

“I think you should go get yourselves cleaned up before we take your pictures,” the man gestures to a small area with a sink and curtains surrounding it, “Unless bloody and beaten is the look you’re going for.”

Court looks unamused at the man’s attempt at a joke. You grab the bag of supplies and walk over, closing the curtain behind you and seeing Court’s shadow just outside to stand guard just in case. You don’t tend to feel so uneasy at nothing, so you’d have to prepare for the worst.

You slip your shirt off and wash off the dried blood from yourself with a wet towel, ignoring various old scars and a burn for your father’s cigarette lighter and quickly changing into a set of fresh clothes from the bag. You sigh lightly and look at yourself in the mirror as an anxious lump forms in your throat. You do your best to shake the feeling and open the curtain, letting Court head in and you hear it close behind him.

You walk over to where the man is setting up his camera and look around for threats.

“A little to your left, please,” he looks through the view in his camera as you hear water running behind the curtain. You oblige and feel your heart racing, blood pounding in your ears.

“Wait-”

Before you can get another word out, you feel the floor drop beneath you and you roll to your side as you hit a cement floor of some kind of pit to avoid injury. You look up just in time to see the man quickly moving a rug over the glass trap doors you fell through. In a dazed state, you suck a big gulp of air back into your lungs and lazily glance around, seeing no route of escape. You hear muffled talking above you and you curse under your breath. Any attempts you make to call out to Court go unheard.

Resigning to your inability to escape, you just press yourself against the wall and sit, hoping to avoid being squashed by a falling Court. A moment later, the doors open and Court lands on the ground next to you with a thud. He coughs, sucking air back into his lungs as you had.

He stays on his back and looks up at you sitting next to him with your head rested against the wall.

“All right. Trapdoor. Unexpected,” Court clears his throat.

Above you, the man shows you both a wanted poster of the two of you through the once again closed glass trap doors. “Someone is very upset with you two."

Court groans in pain slightly as he starts to get up, “Well, now I’m upset with them.”

“A ten and seven zeros’ worth for the both of you.”

Court grabs his gun and shoots at the man, ducking when the bullets ricochet, but luckily don’t hit either of you.

The man shakes his head, tutting at Court. He grabs his camera and looks down at you both, “Hey. Smile,” he taunts as he takes a picture.

Once the man walks away, Court offers you a hand and helps pull you up.

“You okay?”

“Probably got a concussion from that landing, but otherwise, yeah. I should’ve trusted my gut, I knew something was off with that guy.”

“It was the mustache, right?” Court jokes lightly, causing you to chuckle. “What’s the plan now?”

You sit and dig through your supplies bag that Court had on when he fell and you quickly get an idea, “Boom.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“What do you know about the Sierra program?” Denny Carmichael asks Dani back at CIA headquarters.

“Reckless mysteries you guys send in when you can’t officially send anyone else,” she replies.

“The grey men. Your predecessor’s idea. He founded a program to recruit hardened criminals, commuting their sentences in exchange for a lifelong commitment to the agency. Assets were chosen for their skill set, lack of family, and plausible deniability. Identities permanently destroyed. Nameless assassins with limited morality. I mean, what could possibly go wrong, right? Every single Sierra flamed out. All dead or back in prison. Five and Six are the last of the dirty half dozen, and they are 100% conforming to pattern. They hurt people because that’s who they are. Both of them. Your predecessor thought it would be a good idea to take both of them on, let them work together, two heads are better than one deal. They’re siblings, they’ll stick together no matter what it costs anyone else. That’s who you’re protecting.”

“Remove yourself from my personal space. Please,” Dani fixes him in a passive aggressive stare.

Turning back on the voice recorder he had previously paused, Denny takes a seat facing Dani, “Officer, I have reason to believe you’re not being truthful in this debrief. And as such, I must recommend you be suspended from field duty.”

“I want to talk to my COS.”

“I already did, she’s lost confidence in you,” he clicks off the recorder, “Am I jarring your memory yet?”

A buzzing sounds from Carmichael’s pocket. He pulls out his phone, finding a text from an unknown number with the picture of Court and you trapped below the trap door, noting your location, all reflecting in his glasses in the darkened room.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Treading water, you place your makeshift bomb near the trapdoor. Court had managed to burst a water pipe while you assembled the explosive from miscellaneous things you had in the supplies bag. The pit had filled with water and was nearly at the top. You nod to Court and both dive to the bottom of the pit, you with a string in hand that will trigger the bomb. You spot lights being shone through the trap doors. Fucking hell Lloyd’s men got here fast. You tug the string, triggering an explosion that sends the men and the trap doors flying off. Water sloshes across the floor as you and Court hoist yourselves out of the pit. You offer him your hand and help pull him up after getting up quicker. Smoke swirls through the air, limiting your vision as you run forward. Court and you each take on a few armed men, you using their weapons against them and Court using a broken pair of scissors from your supply bag.

A leg reaches out and trips you suddenly leading to a harsher landing than you were prepared for. You feel your head throbbing with a dull pain as your sense of hearing is overtaken by ringing in your ears. With a sigh, you just relax and let your head lay against the floor, shutting your eyes tightly as the room spins around you. Definitely a concussion.

You hear Court getting into a scuffle next to you and hear some kind of spray, likely pepper spray, you’d guess, and the scuffle comes to a halt.

“Come on, man,” Court groans in annoyance.

“Hey, sunshine,” Lloyd’s far too peppy voice chimes.

“Fuck,” you huff, trying to get up, but quickly failing as the spinning room knocks you back down.

“You must be Lloyd.”

“What gave it away?”

“The white pants, the trash ‘stache. It just… it leans Lloyd,” he sighs.

You smile slightly and Lloyd chuckles before getting serious again almost immediately.

“Where’s the drive?”

“I got it here somewhere. It’s just hard to see,” you hear some movement and know Court is about to pull some trick and you’d best run for it. You slowly get up, taking a wide stance to keep your balance, but swaying slightly nonetheless. Your eyes dart between Lloyd and Court as you see Court fiddle with a grenade. No, two grenades. No, two Courts? Or just seeing double from a concussion steadily setting it. “Is that it?” Court holds the ring of the grenade up to Lloyd as he drops the grenade beside them.

Lloyd looks down quickly, “Ballsy.”

They quickly split, Court running one way and Lloyd running the other way and directly at you. Before you can process the situation, Lloyd’s arm collides with your waist and wraps around you as he tackles you out a window, the grenade exploding behind you.

“Alright, we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?” Lloyd quickly gets up as you sit up, still on the ground.

“Fuck you,” you mutter and glare at him.

“Is that a promise?” he teases flirtatiously as he grabs your arm and pulls you up. He keeps a strong hold on your arm, making you walk with him as he practically holds you up himself. He leaves you next to a car with a group of men who quickly get you in the car, standing guard so you can’t run off.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

An armed guard forcefully holds your arm as you’re led into some fancy ass mansion in who cares. Lloyd stays at your other side, walking with an odd limp. You don’t know what happened to him and hardly remember any of the car ride as you kept losing consciousness. Fitz is led in and upstairs by two other guards.

“Is that Donald Fitzroy?” Suzanne whispers aggressively, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Suzanne!” Lloyd speaks with a passive aggressive enthusiasm, “Long time. If I’m honest, I liked your old haircut. The one where you didn’t look like a bitch.”

“We did not give you permission to kidnap former CIA personnel and their family members. You’ve been hired by the agency to recover-”

“To do your job,” he cuts her off, “because you couldn’t. Could someone get me a Vicodin, please?” he calls out over his shoulder before looking back at Suzanne, “Besides. It’s working, isn’t it?” he gestures to you, “Get them a Vicodin too, actually.”

“But where is Six?” Suzanne demands.

“Where I want him,” he retorts, pouring a cup of coffee.

“In the wind?”

“On the run, scared shitless.”

“Evading you,” you mumble.

“This is ten years of my work on the line here, Lloyd-”

He cuts her off by forcefully sweeping nearly everything off the coffee table in front of him. You cringe at the loud noise.

“I am your only prayer of getting that drive back,” Lloyd snaps, “because I can do everything the agency can’t. You know all those rules you guys are always trying to work your way around? They don't mean dick to me. So unless you want our names spilled across every news alert on every phone in every pocket on earth, shut up and go sit in the corner.”

Suzanne just clenches her jaw unhappily and doesn’t respond.

“Oh,” Lloyd grabs a bottle of pills and rattles it calmly, “How about that? Forget about the Vicodin.”

Lloyd grabs his coffee and holds the bottle of pills out to you to grab. You just stare at it in confusion and he sighs, placing it in your hand until you grab it.

“I’ll take them from here, thanks,” the guard lets go of you and Lloyd takes your arm instead, walking you out of the room.

“Why are you walking like that?”

“‘Cause I got shot in the ass, Suzanne!” he yells, causing you to shrink at the loud noise, he glances at you slightly as you walk, “Sorry.”

Lloyd brings you upstairs to a large room. The curtains are wide open, letting in all the light possible. He leads you to a chair and sits you down, turning back to close the door behind you both. You raise an arm and cover your eyes to block out the bright light.

“Concussion?” Lloyd guesses as he walks over to the windows, drawing the curtains closed to block out most of the light.

“Because you’re so concerned,” you drop your arm as the room darkens, wishing he saw your eye roll.

“So what if I am? Do I have to be a heartless monster all the time?”

You look around the room half heartedly and look at the messy bed. “Can’t even make a bed for your hostages?”

“This isn’t a hostage room,” he hums, walking back over to you and gently pulling you up from the seat and taking the pill bottle from your hands.

“What then? Death row?”

“My room,” he sits you down on the bed, giving you some of the pills and a glass of water as he takes a few pills himself, chasing them with coffee.

You just watch him silently for a moment before taking the pills yourself, desperate for relief from your throbbing migraine.

“Need anything? Food? Change of clothes?” Lloyd offers, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Why?”

He sighs, looking over to the door that has remained closed. “‘Cause maybe I do care, just sometimes, would that be so bad?”

“What other times do you care?” you look at him in a mix of skeptical and dazed.

He hums in thought and looks back at you with a playful smirk, “When we met and I let you ‘escape’, other than that, can’t say any come to mind.”

You feel heat rising to take over your face as you realize how close you both are. In his bedroom, alone. You let your eyes trail down his facial features from his eyes, ending at his lips.

He chuckles lightly, “Something you wanna say, Five?”

You hum and nod slightly, looking back up to his eyes, “It really is a trash ‘stache, Lloyd.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief, but you catch a smile spread across those lips you had a stare down with moments ago.

“Such a smooth talker,” he compliments sarcastically as you try to hide a smile, “So, Five-”

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“Y/n Gentry is my name. Well, it was. To anyone besides my brother, I’m just Five. Really gotta strip you of everything in my program, even your name.”

“Y/n,” he smirks slightly as the name rolls off his tongue, “want to tell me how someone like you ended up in a shitty ass program like the Sierra program?”

“Lack of hope, it was that or spend a hell of a lot more time in prison.”

“What wound you up there?”

“It’s a long story,” you lay back on the bed and Lloyd watches.

“We got all the time you want, sunshine.”

“My father was an abusive piece of shit, one day was exceptionally bad, and Court knew it was my life or our father’s so he uh, he killed the piece of shit to save me and went to prison for it. No one seemed to care if it was self defense, they thought it was still just a murder. Our mother passed soon afterwards and I was on my own. Floating around the foster care system doesn’t really do you wonders, I can tell you that. It does, however, introduce you to plenty of assholes when you live in the shit end of town. Traffickers, abusers, kidnappers, all those fun sorts. I eventually just figured I didn’t have much of a life to live at that point, so I wanted to do something I could be proud of myself for. I started going after them. I took out a good handful of them too, before they got me.”

“So you really have been righteous your whole life?” Lloyd smiles slightly and lays back next to you, both of you just looking at the ceiling. Your eyes travel over the ornate crystalline light fixture that remains off.

“I guess so, why haven’t you?”

“Because I have no moral compass.”

“Don’t give me that shit, you would’ve killed me a long time ago if that were true, Lloyd.”

“Yeah,” he sighs and glances over you without your notice, “I guess because it’s not what I get paid to do. And I do what I have to to finish my jobs.”

You kick your feet slightly as they hang off the side of the bed still, “Then you’re working for the wrong people. You’re a skilled man, maybe one day, if we’re lucky, you’ll be a good one.”

He smiles slightly, not taking his eyes off you as they graze along the profile of your face as you focus on the ceiling, “Maybe. Get some rest, best thing you can do for that concussion.”

You hum lightly and feel the mattress decompress as he gets up and limps slightly out of the room. You shift your position, pulling your legs onto the bed and resting your head in the pillows that surround you with the scent of whiskey, gunpowder, and musk.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

The embellished chair squeals against the floor as Lloyd drags it from the table, nodding for you to sit. You reluctantly oblige, knowing you have no chance at running now.

“Where are we? What do we got?” he asks as he places his hands on the back of your chair, leaning forward to see the various screens in the front of the room.

“Wet teams en route,” someone replies from in front of you.

“Everybody be advised, he has help,” Lloyd glances down at you slightly, “Well, more help.”

“We sure?” Suzanne questions, looking back at the two of you, but you remain silent, refusing to give anything away.

“Well, I didn’t tranq myself in the ass and neither did they, so yes.”

“Got something,” someone else on tech speaks up, “CCTV in Bangkok. Night of the op.”

He walks over, holding the laptop in front of you and Lloyd. Footage of you and Court in masks rolls as you deposit an envelope with the necklace and drive you found in a mailbox.

“They ditched the asset,” Suzanne realizes aloud to which you just sarcastically hum in mock intrigue.

“Where’s the package now?” Lloyd asks the tech, knowing he’ll get nothing out of you anyways.

“Well, it’s already in the system. Resolution’s too shitty to read the address. Clerk said it was to a PO box in Prague? He doesn’t keep any records, so that’s the best we got.”

“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do,” Lloyd smiles.

Suzanne looks at him, “You have Five right here, isn’t your thing to get information out of people with your ‘methods’?”

Lloyd shoots her a glare that you don’t notice while you roll your eyes, just looking straight ahead. “They won’t talk, not worth the time,” he states bluntly, “Better try elsewhere.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“Goldilocks, would you be a lamb and excuse us?” Lloyd walks over to Claire as you walk into the room.

“Go to hell.”

He grabs her shirt with two hands, pulling her up and tossing her aside.

“Hey! Woah! Stop!” she protests.

“Don’t touch her!” you yell, protectively wrapping your arms around her and bringing her close to steady her.

“She has a pacemaker, jackass!” Fitz argues at the same time, trying to lunge at Lloyd, but being held back by his men.

Two more men begin to approach you and Claire, ready to drag her out of the room, but you move her behind you, glaring at them and ready to fight them off despite your concussed state.

“Well then, she definitely shouldn’t stick around for this next part. If you keep her out of the way, they won’t have to touch her,” Lloyd addresses you.

With an indignant huff, you take Claire’s hand and lead her out of the room without a glance in Lloyd’s direction. The door shuts behind you and you bring Claire to a room down the hall, knowing neither of you wants to hear what’s about to happen.

Claire takes a few deep breaths to calm down as you sit side by side on a clearly overpriced couch. You just look down at your feet on the floor.

“What’s he going to do?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think we want to.”

“Is he going to kill him?” her voice is barely above a whisper out of pure fear.

“No, Lloyd wouldn’t kill him, not now. He wouldn’t get anything out of that and would be losing a potential source of information.” Claire nods slightly and leans into your side for comfort. You hesitate slightly, but wrap your arm around her shoulders and rub her arm gently. “It’ll be okay.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“Do not underestimate this target,” Lloyd announces to the wet teams that are after Court as you watch the various computer screens from your chair, “Hit this meatball like a freight train. And turn on cams. I want this pay-per-view.”

You don’t know what went down in the room between Fitz and Lloyd, but you figure Lloyd must’ve threatened Claire and/or you to get Fitz to talk. You know Court is in Prague with Margaret to find out what she found on the drive, though you’re unsure who his ‘help’ is that Lloyd mentioned. Regardless, Court and Margaret are smart. They’ll get out of the corner they’ve been unknowingly trapped in.

You look at each of the cameras displayed on the televisions in the room, watching as the wet teams begin to swarm the area. Lloyd paces behind you, watching the screens as well. You hardly flinch as bullets rain down on the building, mostly annoyed by the loud volume of it that fills the room. Smoke begins billowing out windows after an explosion. The cameras don’t show much as the smoke filled building is swarmed.

“In here,” you hear Margaret’s voice call out in the video feed.

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

“Do not play with me.”

“What the hell is she doing?” Lloyd leans forward, bracing his arms on the table in front of him. You can’t help but watch the muscles in his arms tense as he does so.

“Outplaying you,” you point out.

“Oh, doll, whatever they are paying you,” Margaret calmly holds a cigarette in her hand with a lighter in the other, “it is not enough.”

You bite the edge of your lip until you taste iron, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Oh shi-” the cams on screen go offline, leaving only maps.

“Jesus,” Suzanne mutters with a shake of her head.

You can see Lloyd’s back tense through his tight fit shirt, though his voice remains steady and unbothered, “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Did we just kill Margaret Cahill?”

“Makes you question if you’re on the right side, huh, Suzanne?” you look over at her, “Because he’s doing exactly what your boss is paying him to do.”

She looks over at you, uncertainty strewn across her features, before turning back to the televisions to mask it.

“We have Alpha and Bravo teams circling,” the tech from earlier announces, “Delta’s en route. Cameras aren’t live yet.”

“Send everyone,” Lloyd instructs as he walks back to your chair, “Get ‘em in there, every team. Light it up.”

“Cops have him near the square at the opera. They’ve called in a SWAT team,” someone informs Lloyd as he stands behind you, observing all the screens ahead of him.

“Alpha team arriving now,” the tech verbalized.

“This clown’s a sitting duck,” he shrugs, pouring two glasses of whiskey and placing one on the table next to you. You ignore it. “You have my permission to shoot anyone standing in his way.”

“Confirmation on target,” a mercenary speaks through his earpiece.

“Make him dead,” Lloyd confirms, bringing the whiskey glass to his lips.

You just stare ahead at the maps and various screens, refusing to show any sort of reaction. You see chaos erupt in the city square where Court is handcuffed to a concrete bench. Bullets fire from every direction, forcing the pedestrians to make a frantic attempt at escape.

“We’re going to prison for this,” Suzanne mutters.

“Keep any more cops out of that square.”

“We’re killing cops now? Margaret Cahill wasn’t enough?”

“SWAT team approaching from the bridge. Multiple vehicles. Six is in the southwest corner.”

“Get Bravo team in there. We need more guns.”

You clench your jaw and quickly down your glass of whiskey, ready for the worst.

“Bravo engaging now.” The screen displays the rosters of Alpha and Bravo, some individuals crossed off, likely dead by now. “Bravo, SWAT on your flank. Watch the fire from that heavy gun.”

“Would someone mind shooting the man handcuffed to the bench?” Lloyd raises his voice in annoyance at the apparent simplicity of the task that is still incomplete.

“We can’t get to him. There’s too many cops.”

“My God, how hard is it to shoot somebody?” Lloyd sighs.

“Not hard at all when you work with the right people,” you raise an eyebrow and shoot him a condescending look. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“Take out that assault vehicle,” he turns his attention back to his job at hand.

“This is insane,” Suzanne moans, looking almost as if she’s about to be sick, “Lloyd, please, pull everyone out now.”

He doesn’t respond, deep in his own thoughts.

“Lloyd!” she raises her voice.

“Extra ten million to the first guy to put a bullet in this Ken Doll’s brain,” he doesn’t even spare her a glance as she lets out a panicked gasp.

The camera footage from a vehicle suddenly goes offline. “What happened?” Lloyd demands.

“The relay antenna must have snapped off,” the tech replies as Lloyd walks over and threateningly leans over him with a hand on the back of his chair.

“Well, get it back on before I beat you to death with that keyboard,” he lowers his voice menacingly but in that undeniably hot way. After letting the threat hang in the air for a moment, Lloyd straightens back up, looking at the screens, “Anybody got eyes on him?”

“Negative, negative. We lost him.”

Lloyd sighs, but before he makes any remark, you hear shots, “He’s on the tram!”

More individuals on both Alpha and Bravo have become crossed off in all the commotion.

“Delta team’s in pursuit.”

Lloyd turns, walking back over to you and placing an arm on the table beside you, entrapping you between him and your chair. “You two are impossible, you know that? The infamous Sierras Five and Six,” he states, almost amused.

“We’re good at what we do, Sunshine,” you smirk, looking up at him with unwavering indignance.

He hums, letting his line of sight trail slowly down from your eyes to your lips, “We could make a very good team one day.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a cold day in Hell before that ever happens,” Suzanne shoots down the suggestion immediately.

Lloyd rolls his eyes at her, walking behind your chair and bracing his hands on the back, “All teams, report status.” The screens iterate a beeping as the icons of individuals on the teams flash with X’s through them. He gets no response. “All teams, report status.” Still nothing.

“This is quite possibly the most spectacular failure in the history of covert ops,” Suzanne turns to Lloyd and raises her voice, “This will be taught in schools as the primary example of exactly what not to do in asset retrieval.”

Radio static hisses from a computer before a voice breaks through, “This is Lone Wolf. Over.”

Lloyd looks up with a slight smirk, “Hello, my sexy Tamil friend. Sit rep?”

“Tracking the target.”

“No change, Lone Wolf. Get me that asset.”

Suzanne nervously looks from the screen showing Lone Wolf to Lloyd as he speaks, “What I do can’t be taught.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“Vehicle on approach,” a voice speaks through a radio.

“Let him in,” Suzanne replies.

The gates open, allowing Lone Wolf’s car to enter as security guards confirm it’s whereabouts to make sure nothing will get past them that shouldn’t. You follow Lloyd towards the entrance, not having much of a choice as the armed men around the place all keep a close eye on you.

“You know what I love about you?” Lloyd walks over to meet him, “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, but it only adds to your mystique.”

Lone Wolf doesn’t reply, but holds up the necklace containing the asset to Lloyd. You sigh and look away from it and out the glass windows around the front door.

Lloyd exhales in relief as Lone Wolf places the asset in his outstretched hand, “Yahtzee.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

One of the people on the computers places the asset in a port on their computer as Lloyd and you both watch the televisions, waiting to see the contents so Lloyd can confirm that it’s what he was after. “It’s loading.”

“Tell me, Suzanne,” Lloyd turns to her condescendingly, “is there any other part of your job that I can do for you?”

“Failing upwards does not qualify as success,” she retorts as he leans on the back of your chair once more, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand.

“No, success qualifies as success.”

“Do you consider putting a bullet in the girl upstairs a success? ‘Cause I’m struggling to see how you’re gonna get out of all this.”

“You wanna make an omelet, you gotta kill some people,” he quips.

“You’re killing a girl?” Lone Wolf speaks up, sounding apprehensive now.

You roll your eyes, knowing Lloyd is all talk right now. If he was going to kill Claire, she’d be dead by now. You just look at the live security camera feeds on a computer ahead of you. Lloyd just looks over at him and takes a sip of his whiskey before placing the glass on the table beside you.

“You know, in English, we call this a happy ending. However, if you say one more word, you may not see it that way,” Lloyd threatens firmly, “Suzanne, please pay my Tamil friend and send him on his way.”

You notice something on one of the feeds and smirk just as Suzanne notices, calling attention to it, “Who’s on the east perimeter?”

“Unit five,” someone responds.

“Where are they?”

“They were there two minutes ago.”

The power suddenly shuts off and you glance back at Lloyd as he begins to get nervous, though he hides it well.

“Get the genny up,” he orders.

Explosions erupt outside, shaking the mansion slightly. Everyone jumps, startled, and they turn to look out the windows behind you. A flaming helicopter crashes into the water beside the building.

“Lock everything down. Get all units to the courtyard,” he grabs a gun in his right hand, grabbing your arm with his left and bringing you with him. You just feel a light sense of amusement at how pissed off he is. “And do not pay this asshole,” he lunges aggressively at Lone Wolf who stands his ground.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

“You wanna tell me what the fucking plan is, Y/n?” Lloyd quickly jogs down a hall, leaving you to follow along, “Make this easy for me and I won’t kill the girl.”

“Bullshit, if you were gonna kill her, she’d be dead. Besides, I have no idea what their plan is, haven’t talked to Six in a while. We’ve both been too busy to call,” you sass.

He doesn’t respond, instead leading you down another hall and speaking through his earpiece, “Get me eyes on the bridge.”

You hear the high pitched whiz of a rocket and quickly move behind a cement wall to avoid the explosion. Lloyd just laughs, appreciating the struggle as if it were a game. He moves out from behind the wall, shooting at the figure that shot the rocket, but not landing a hit. More explosions ensue, pushing both of you forward to avoid them.

“I seriously don’t get a gun or anything?” you huff.

“So you can turn around and shoot me?” he scoffs.

“Aww, you know me so well,” you mock.

“No chance, sweetheart.”

He slowly walks out from behind another wall, stalking along a fence line. He watches the shadowed figure run off.

“He’s trying to draw us away. Shit!” he takes off running.

You follow along, laughing as you go, “You really didn’t realize that sooner?”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

You both run up a staircase inside, straight to the room Fitz and Claire were in, only to find it empty. You just hum triumphantly as he speaks through his earpiece, “He’s in the house.”

You jog over to look out the window as Lloyd walks back to the hallway, productively using his time and resources by yelling at the corpses outside and firing a few bullets in them.

Quickly, Lloyd leads you out to one of the bridges connecting parts of the building over water. You spot Fitz, Claire and Court across from you on another bridge. Lloyd and his men fire at them before you can shout to them, but it looks like they miss, hitting the concrete of the building instead.

“You’re making me destroy a historic building here!” Lloyd yells to Court before they open fire again.

You glance over the edge of the bridge behind you, seeing what’s beneath you, hoping to come up with an exit strategy. You’re snapped out of your thoughts as Lloyd grabs your arm, dragging you with him as he takes off running again. You’re dragged along as Lloyd and his men circle around to the bridge Court is on.

You stay back to avoid being collateral killed by a stray bullet intended for someone else. You hear Claire screaming in panic and you feel your throat tighten. Everything quiets down and you hear a splash down below. Lloyd gestures with his gun, as a vague threat, for you to follow. You walk over to see Fitz laying still.

“Roll him,” Lloyd commands to one of his men who obliges and rolls Fitz over.

Fitz scoffs, “Boring.” He flicks the safety pin off a grenade in his hand.

“You douche,” Lloyd shoves one of his men out of the way, going for you.

You, however, take the opportunity to escape. When Lloyd is close enough, you rip his gun away from him since he won’t be focused on keeping ahold of it. You immediately hoist yourself up and over the side of the bridge, diving into the water below as the blast goes off and before Lloyd can get a hold of you.

You resurface to hear Claire sobbing as Court pulls her to the shore. You quickly follow after them and meet them at the shore.

Court helps pull you out of the water, handing you an earpiece in the process, “You good?”

“Been better,” you shrug as you hop in a boat nearby. You hear a vehicle approaching and Court walks over to check it out. “Stay down,” you nod to Claire and follow him.

Court fires some shots through the windshield to try to take them out. You drop to the ground as the car stops and shoot the mens’ legs as they get out. One runs around the car quickly and kicks at your hand holding the gun. You keep a grip on it and fight with him for the upper hand.

Lloyd runs over, tackling Court to the ground. The two of them struggle for control over Court’s gun. You hear the sizzle of a rocket and a pained yell from Lloyd. The man you’re fighting gets a hold of your gun, attempting to aim it at yourself or Court. Court uses Lloyd’s distraction as his chance to roll to the side, splashing in the water to avoid getting shot.

You use your favorite move, kneeing the man in the crotch to make him lose his grip on the gun. When he doubles over in pain, you fire a bullet through his head and he drops to the ground.

“Wait. Please don’t shoot!” Lloyd begs. You turn around and see him approaching Claire. You try to fire near him as a distraction, but you only hear a click when you pull the trigger, informing you that you have no bullets left. “Look what you did to my hand,” Lloyd whines.

He gets closer to Claire and grabs her before you can react, “Give me that, you little shit.” He yanks the flare gun out of Claire’s hand, causing her to scream as he drags her with him into the hedge maze.

“Lloyd, you jackass!” you yell, running after him.

Court quickly catches up to you and you both hesitate outside the maze, not knowing which direction Lloyd went. You nod to Court and quickly head down the left path, Court quickly moving down the right.

“Six!” you hear Claire yell further from you. You jog ahead, knowing she must’ve seen Court and that you’ll need to find the right way.

“Now, I’m gonna stop you right there, cupcake. What do you say we wrap this up? I mean, I’m having a blast, but it’s way past the kid’s bedtime, don’t you think?”

“Keep him talking. I have a line of sight,” Dani speaks through your earpiece.

You rush around a corner, skidding to a halt as you come to the center, standing behind Lloyd.

“You’re gonna throw me that gun, or the little one gets a new face,” Lloyd threatens Court, not having noticed you yet. “If your strategy relies on whether or not I’ll kill a child, you need a new strategy.”

“Bullshit. Let her go Lloyd,” you walk up behind him, placing the muzzle of your gun against his back. Despite it being out of bullets, it’s a good bluff.

Lloyd chuckles darkly and glances over his shoulder at you. Court sighs and unclips the magazine from his gun, tossing the magazine to the ground and the gun into the side of the fountain in front of Lloyd. Lloyd lifts his arm that was around Claire and she runs to you, both of you backing away from the scene in front of you.

Lloyd aims the flare gun at Court, backing his way around the fountain as Court walks towards him to keep him at a distance. “You know, I think we would have been friends, you and I. Aside from your childish sense of morality and eight-dollar haircut, we have a lot in common. It’s really a shame this isn’t gonna work out between us. Now normally at this point in the night, I wouldn’t be sticking around. With the house lights about to come on, not really my scene to hang out, but you have been a pebble in my shoe since the very beginning. And now I just don’t think I can walk away.”

Court looks over at you and Claire to see if you’re both ok, now closer to you than Lloyd is. Claire clings to you in fear, and you do your best to not sway on the spot as the dizziness creeps back in. You haven’t felt right since the water landing, definitely not a good concussion treatment. Adrenaline has just been mostly keeping it at bay.

“Guess what I’m thinking right now?”

“That you’ve overshared,” Court responds.

“I think I’m better than you. What do you say, Six, you wanna dance?”

“Push him right, and I’ll have the shot,” Dani vocalizes through the earpiece.

Court looks at you again, noticing your uneasiness, “Forget the shot. Come get Five and the kid.”

Court looks back at Lloyd who tosses his flare gun aside, holding up his hands to show that he won’t do anything yet. “You two get to the edge of the maze, okay? Agent Miranda will meet you there.”

“No, no, wait,” Claire sobs, “Wait, we’re not just gonna leave you here with him. He’s crazy.”

“I got this,” he reassures the both of you, “You’re gonna have to help Five walk. Don’t turn back.”

“No, you gotta come with us, just come with us please,” Claire sobs, trying to tug at Court’s arm.

“Claire,” he tries to cut her off, but she hardly hears.

“Please, you two are all I have,” she sobs.

“Claire,” she finally quiets and looks at him, “this is just another Thursday.”

You glance over to Lloyd and couldn’t find that usual cocky confidence. In fact, you could swear you saw uncertainty. Even a sense of sadness. Not that it lingered once he noticed you looking at him, he masks it quickly.

Claire hugs Court tightly and looks up at him, taking a deep breath to calm herself, “kick his ass.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

With your arm around Claire’s shoulders, she helps steady you as you walk through the maze to find an exit. You take a shaky breath and stop walking for a second, looking around you.

“What?” Claire looks up at you.

“I don’t feel so good,” you mutter.

“Are you gonna be sick or something?”

“No, not like that, bad gut feeling. I’m not usually wrong with that,” you sigh and turn back the direction you came from, “Go find my friend, she’ll keep you safe.”

“Five, you can’t go back, you can barely walk. And Six said-”

“Lucky for us I’m a fighter and smarter than him most of the time. I’ll be fine, so will Six.”

Claire hesitantly nods and continues walking towards the exit while you turn and retrace your steps slowly.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Coming to the opening to the center of the maze, you hear the safety of a gun click. Looking ahead, you see Suzanne lining up a shot at Lloyd.

Without a second thought, you charge forward, tackling her to the ground and knocking the gun out of her grasp just after it goes off. Court immediately abandons his fight with Lloyd as he sees you, running over to help you. Suzanne gets the gun back and shoots him to incapacitate him.

“What the hell?” Suzanne yells at you, shoving you off her and pointing the gun at you and Court. You stay seated on the ground and Court raises an arm in surrender, sitting on the edge of the fountain and keeping pressure on his wound with the other. Lloyd stays where he is, kneeling in the fountain and raises his hands as Suzanne turns the gun to him as well as a threat.

“Don’t shoot him.”

She scoffs, cocking the gun once more to retake the shot you forced her to miss.

“Kill him and he gets the easy out,” you rattle out quickly to keep her attention, “Why not leave him to rot in prison for the rest of his days?”

She glances at you, raising an eyebrow in intrigue, “You really want to let that toxic piece of shit live?”

You glance over at Lloyd who just looks back at you, not sure what your goal is here.

“We have history,” Suzanne continues, “Me, Denny, Lloyd, we all went to Harvard together. Those two had this absurd bromance which made it impossible for me to prove to Denny how much of a liability Lloyd was. Then I see these two troglodytes bashing each other. The whole thing just crystalized. Lloyd Hansen is going to take the fall, dead or alive, for everything that has happened. Now, I know how to do that. What I need are a few witnesses to corroborate my story. So, if you two want that girl to live to a ripe old age, you’re gonna do exactly as I say. Bad news is you’ll probably get your old cells back, but the good news is, if you two behave, I’ll let you out to play sometimes. ‘Cause frankly, you are both freakishly good at why you do.”

Court raises his hand slightly.

“What? Do you have a question? What is that?”

“Does this plan involve us all living?”

Suzanne looks down at you, “If Lloyd acts as a witness to corroborate the story, yes. Yeah, you’re gonna live.”

“Then we should go,” Court mutters, “Lotta blood… lotta blood.”

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Court is carried out on a spinal board. Claire looks over as a paramedic checks her over. He smiles slightly at her and holds up a sign of the horns to show he’s ok and she smiles back at him.

Lloyd is examined by another paramedic, but surrounded by CIA agents and cops, ready to jump at any hasty move he could make.

Dani is led by two agents and hardly spares a glance towards Suzanne when they pass one another.

Court quickly gets loaded into a helicopter to airlift him to a hospital for more in depth medical treatment than they can’t do on the scene.

The light of the morning sun continues to bleed over the land, reclaiming the scene of last night’s events.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Two weeks later, Washington D.C.

“Where are they keeping Six and Lloyd?” Denny Carmichael inquires as Suzanne shuts the car door behind them.

“Basement. Most secure floor.”

“And Five?”

“Still MIA.”

“Should’ve put a couple of bullets in their heads.”

“Five and Six tore through thirty of the best operatives in the world. Why would I waste an asset like that?”

“They’re Fitz’s gray men. They’re not gonna do anything you say. You don’t even know where Five is.”

“We’ll find them and they will. As long as I have the girl, they will.”

Carmichael reaches out a hand to stop her, slowly turning to face her, “It is very dangerous for you to start thinking for yourself.”

“You threatened, Denny? How pleasantly out of character. Would you rather I be floating in the Potomac?”

“You’re just lucky Five and Six didn’t try to overpower you in that maze. Guess they didn’t perceive you as a threat.”

“That would be their mistake,” she states simply, walking away and letting the threat hang in the air.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

Police line the halls of the hospital, heavily guarding two rooms. A nurse walks past, giving them a short nod as they walk into one of the rooms, swiping an ID card to do so. The card reader beeps as a green light displays. The steady beep of machines sounds from inside the room of Courtland Gentry until it is muffled by the closing door. Just next door, Lloyd Hansen is stuck in a similar position to the former, laying cuffed to the bed as machines beep steadily around him. A beard has begun to grow around his strong jawline due to the lack of shaving opportunities. The nurse walks over to the door connecting the two rooms.

Court looks over, noticing the break in the very rigid routine the nurses have seemed to follow daily. Lloyd simply rolls his eyes, sitting up more and looking over, ready to make a witty remark.

“Hello boys, long time no see,” you smirk at the confused and astonished looks on their faces as you pull down the medical mask that had obscured anyone’s view of your face.

“How?” Court begins to ask, but is quickly cut off by you.

“Let’s table that discussion for later. We’re on a schedule now, gentlemen, please do hurry. We’ve got to pick up Claire on time,” you quickly pick the locks of Court’s cuffs and set him free, walking over to Lloyd to do the same.

Court practically jumps out of the bed, grabbing a scalpel he noticed in the room for a weapon. Lloyd grabs your hand once you undo his second cuff, before you pull away. He sits on the edge of the bed and smiles slightly.

“You know, I think you were right,” he holds you close, bringing your hand up to his lips as he places a kiss against your knuckles. Your face heats up against your will.

“I’m right about a lot, I’ll need some clarification.”

“You said I’ve worked for the wrong people.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“So, are you hiring?” he smirks and you smile brightly.

≣≛▸✭◂≛≣

A draft blows through the open window to Claire’s room in the practical prison she’s being held in. She peeks out in confusion. Upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary besides the open door, she turns to her record player to see her favorite record propped up. Silver Bird by Mark Lindsay. A piece of paper sticks out the side, just enough for her to notice. She walks over and carefully picks up the record, delicately sliding the note out to read it.

PLAY ME LOUD

She glances around as her suspicions grow, but nonetheless, she places the record on the turntable. The song begins to play once she lowers the arm onto the spinning vinyl. She turns the volume knob as high as it will go as she begins to hear yelling and gunshots below her and outside.

Your sign is Capricorn and every corner of your mind

Says you’ll remain my friend, my friend until you’re mine

Silver Bird

Fly my lady away

Silver Bird

Take her over the bay

Silver Bird

Give my lady a ride

Sensing a presence, Claire slowly turns to look at the door as you and Court walk over, stopping in the doorway.

“Am I allowed to chew gum in here?” Court asks.

Claire runs over to both of you in tears, engulfing you both in a hug. You smile, hugging back just as Court does.

You quickly get her downstairs to your waiting Jeep, hearing a few more gunshots as you go. You keep Claire low, opening the back door for her to get in behind the passenger seat as Court hops in the back with her behind the driver’s seat. You quickly hop into the passenger seat.

Claire looks at you and Court in confusion, “Who’s driving us?”

“My guard dog,” you smirk.

The driver’s door flies open and you catch the gun tossed to you. Lloyd shuts the door behind him, quickly starting the car and shifting into drive, taking off and speeding away from the house.

“Good guard dog,” you tease, earning a smile and an eye roll from Lloyd.

“How do you know we can trust him? He’s crazy,” Claire states.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, he works for me now. His job is to help keep us, and especially you, safe.”

Claire nods reluctantly, looking between the two of you as Lloyd drives. “Ok, but no kissing when I’m around, I’m still at an impressionable age.”

Court laughs hysterically at that, leaning back in his seat as you chuckle too.

Lloyd pouts dramatically, “How am I gonna get paid now?”

“Oh, we can discuss more ideas later,” you send a wink his way.

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