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universitypenguin · 3 months

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Chapter 25

Summary: Doubts about Nguyen arise in the stalker case and the murder case. Princess and Lloyd review the evidence and decide where to focus their efforts as they race against the clock to rescue Laine Cruz.

Word Count: 6,182

Masterlist

Warning: This story contains content that is intended for those who are at least eighteen years old, such as strong language, sex, sexual content, and references to murder, kidnapping and criminal elements.

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Chapter XXV

Jake Jensen was in nerd heaven and you loved that for him.

He sat at a desk in the middle of the D.C. Metro Police station bullpen. A female detective from cyber crimes was leaning over his shoulder. She was slender with a pixie cut and delicate facial features that reminded you of Audrey Hepburn. Jake’s fingers flew over the keyboard of your work laptop as he explained how your system had been hacked.

You hung back, settling into the guest chair across from Detective Diskant’s desk, fifteen feet away from the computer nerd fest. Diskant hadn’t shown up yet. He’d called after your allergist appointment to ask if Jake could bring in your work laptop and go over it with cybercrimes. You looked around the semi-deserted bullpen. A few uniforms stood around, talking near the front desk. There were a couple offices around the central area that appeared occupied, but it seemed most of the detectives were out and about. This gave you mixed feelings. It might be good to have the police force on the street, present in the communities they served, but where was their back up? Was everyone else at a conference or a training in-service or was the station always this empty?

Trying not to stare at Jake and the lady cop, you searched your purse for a nail file. It had been ages since you’d gotten a manicure and long past time for a good re-shaping. As you filed, you tried to be subtle about glancing over at the computer nerds. The lady cop laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder and smiled.

You couldn’t catch the words but you knew body language. That head tilt and the sly glance that darted away once eye contact was made was straight out of Flirting 101. Despite the clear signals the lady cop was throwing down, they still went over Jake’s head.

“Princess, can you come over here?” Jake asked.

You winced at the expression that flashed across the lady cop’s face as she withdrew her hand from Jake’s personal space.

“What’s up?” you asked, moving to stand behind Jake’s chair but keeping a respectful distance between you.

“Look at this,” Jake said, pointing to the screen.

You examined the string of numbers he indicated. “What am I looking at, again?”

“It’s an IP address from Bishop & Howard.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is where the attack originated. Also, it came through our server.”

“So we know who was behind the attack?”

Jake sighed. “Not exactly. We know where it came from. The naming convention of the IP address doesn’t exactly match the company’s standard, but some departments do use unique identifiers.”

“Don’t you guys keep an inventory list of all the active IP addresses?”

“I already ran it through the list. No match.”

“But it came from our server?”

The lady cop cleared her throat. “Is there any reason a particular department would have a computer with a unique IP address?”

“Usually they’re marking computers that are designed for sensitive information, but most of them aren’t connected to the internet.”

“We should ask what departments use unlisted computers,” she said.

“I doubt they’d just hand that information over,” Jake replied.

“But this narrows down the suspect list to employees of Bishop & Howard,” the female detective said.

“How else can we match this IP address?” you asked.

“I’ve set up one of the specialized computers for an investigation before. The format of the IP address includes a project code, security level, and identifying number for the system. If I do some digging, I might be able to figure out who’s computer this is.”

Reading between the lines, you knew ‘digging’ meant ‘hacking’ but didn’t call him on it in front of the cyber crimes detective.

“I didn’t realize those specialized computers were connected to our servers.”

Jake rubbed a hand over his face. “They’re not supposed to be. But clearly whoever’s stalking you is tech savvier than we thought. It’s like someone deliberately used the untraceable system to cover their tracks."

Detective Diskant finally entered the room, carrying a laptop under his arm. He stopped at the desk where Jake sat and placed it down.

“You need to see this,” he said, pressing play on a video file.

At first it seemed like footage of an airport, but when the angle shifted you recognized the platform at Washington Union Station. A train pulled up and passengers disembarked. Diskant pressed pause when the video reached a certain frame.

“Recognize anyone?”

“Nguyen,” Jake said.

You scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar face. It wasn’t until Jake pointed him out that you recognized Shun Nguye. He was in the center of the screen, blending into the blur of travelers.

“We need to reconsider the prime suspect in your stalking case,” Diskant said.

“What?”

“Look at the time stamp,” Jake said.

“August 16th, at 11 A.M,” you read.

“Unless Nguyen has developed the ability to be in two places at once, he couldn’t have attacked Princess in Lloyd’s backyard and been in the train station.”

You closed your eyes feeling weak. “That explains the photos,” you murmured.

“What photos?” Diskant asked.

“The pictures left on my car. It was right after the birthday dinner with my family. I remembered them yesterday. The timing didn’t make sense. Nguyen couldn’t have taken them, not by himself.”

“Right. Based on this, we can rule him out, but it’s suspicious that he’d return to Virginia.”

“We’re back where we started, with no idea who my stalker is,” you said.

Diskant inclined his head, acknowledging your statement. “No, we don’t.”

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Lloyd spent the afternoon in a coffee shop transcribing his interview with Tate Corbin. Despite his aversion to such establishments, they offered reliable internet which was a service he desperately needed. Still, the saccharine sayings painted on the walls, boldly advocating the joys of chemical dependence in Brush Script font, were hard to stomach. He didn’t find the artistic photos of coffee plants hanging beside his table any more palatable than the quotes.

The pictures grated on his nerves; at least the drug dens he’d frequented hadn’t been plastered with photographs idolizing the coca plant. In truth, these images were captured with the same propagandistic intent as the works of other renowned visual manipulators like Dmitri Baltermants. However, the Soviet photojournalist had composed his photos with nuance and emotion - qualities sorely lacking in these uninspired shots.

Lloyd glanced at his watch and saw that it was still too early to call you. He sipped the last of his mint tea, watching the crowd queuing for their 2:30 fix.

“I can’t get anything done after noon unless I’ve had three shots of espresso,” a woman in line declared.

He waited for her companion’s response, anticipating that three shots of espresso per day ought to warrant some kind of self-reflection, but the woman’s associate nodded understandingly. Really? That was it? Why did no one offer her the intervention she clearly needed?

Behind the counter baristas poured beverages into plastic and styrofoam cups and passed them to waiting addicts. Cocaine was an indefensible habit, but at least its packaging wasn’t a significant driver of microplastic pollution. Those damn cups had to rank among the worst inventions society had ever dreamt up. They were somewhere near the top, probably right in between Jake Paul’s career and neonicotinoids.

At 2:45 his patience had worn thin. Lloyd grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Driving back to D.C. wasn’t part of his agenda, but he was on the cusp of an outburst that would earn him an invitation to never come back, so the forty minute drive to Zach’s office was worthwhile.

He set up in the spare office you’d taken over and laid out his notes when the door swung open, and you stalked in, looking upset.

“Princess?”

You shrieked and jumped a foot in the air. Lloyd blinked, ears ringing from the assault on his eardrums. You were pressed against the wall clutching your heart with one hand and cradling your purse to your abdomen like it was a shield. He sat very still.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You groaned, closing your eyes and sinking down the wall, crumpling. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Well, you don’t sound fine. Or look it.”

Lloyd stood up, moving around the desk and approaching you. He took the purse from your hands and dropped it on the spare chair, then dragged you into his arms. You melted into the embrace, tucking your head in the crook of his shoulder. He smoothed a hand down your back and listened as you breathed deeply.

“Bad allergist appointment?” he asked.

“Not really. It turns out that I have an aspirin allergy, which we already knew. How was your interview?”

“Unsatisfying.”

“Why?”

“It ended up killing more leads than it generated. What’s wrong?”

“I had a meeting with Detective Diskant after my appointment. Nguyen isn’t my stalker.” You filled him in. “So, Jake’s running down the information from the hack but we’re back at square one.”

Lloyd reached behind you and closed the blinds to the office window, then took your hands and guided you to the office chair behind the desk. He sat down and drew you onto his lap, positioning your legs to rest over the arm of the chair.

“I wrote up some timelines for the Harmony case,” you said, looping your arms around his shoulders.

He glanced over at the murder board you’d arranged on the office wall. Part of him wanted to dive into your meeting with Diskant but looking at your face, he knew that wasn’t a topic you were ready to pursue. Not right now, at least.

“I see that. Did you learn anything at the bible camp?”

“Li Wei had a secret boyfriend during the spring of 1999.”

Lloyd groaned. “Not another secret relationship. What is it with women and hiding their love lives from investigators?”

“Don’t ask me. Anyway, that revelation was the highlight of the trip, but it got me thinking about the timelines of the case.”

“Timelines, plural?”

“Yeah. I’ve been playing around with the theory that the cases weren’t actually connected since the beginning. I know it might seem unlikely for two prolific killers to be operating in the same area at the same time, but the differences in victimology are so stark it has to be considered.”

“And the timelines changed your mind.”

“If there was evidence of two killers, it seems like we’d have found something pointing in that direction by now.”

“But you’re not letting the theory go?” Lloyd asked.

“Not yet, but I’d rather focus on the evidence. I started by reviewing the events from 1999,” you said, pointing to the wall. “Li Wei’s boyfriend is the first event. Then, on June 14th, she and her daughter, Zoe, disappear. Two weeks later, the first of Harmony’s missing women, Stacey Moore, was abducted.”

“You think there’s a connection?”

“The timing makes me wonder if that killing was a trigger for the perpetrator. Another possibility is that he viewed Li Wei and Zoe as a… test run, of sorts.”

“That speaks to his behavior. He’s controlled, premeditated, and careful. If he captured Zoe first that would have given him leverage over Li Wei.”

“Exactly. And if we look at our suspect list, something else that comes up on the 1999 timeline is the connection between Shun Nguyen and the other parties.”

Lloyd straightened, adjusting you on his lap. “There’s something linking Nguyen and Li Wei? What is it?”

“Nothing. I looked high and low, but there’s no connection. I can’t even establish that he was ever in Fredericksburg. His only connection to Li Wei is through Julia, who he didn’t meet until late 2000.”

“When was his residency interview at the hospital?”

“June 18, 1999. After the interview on Friday, he spent the night at a hotel, drove back to D.C. in the morning and took a train home to New York.”

“Which we already knew,” Lloyd grumbled.

“I know, I’m just trying to organize things so they make sense. And you know what really doesn’t make any sense?”

“The idea of Nguyen commuting between New York City and a small town outside of D.C. to kill random strangers almost a full year before he knew he’d be living there,” Lloyd said.

“We don’t have much in terms of physical evidence, so we’ve been using behavioral profiling to try and understand the killer’s actions. Know what’s more accurate than behavioral profiling? Geographical profiling. Scientists use it all the time.”

“I’m not arguing with you. The case against Nguyen always hinged on his connection to Julia and his knowledge and access to chemicals.”

“There’s a distinct pattern in these early crimes and it points to someone local. Abducting nine people and never leaving behind a trace requires planning and preparation. Nguyen couldn’t have spared the time for all that in 1999.”

“Which brings us to 2000, when he moved to Harmony.”

“He moved in July. A week later, Kayla Ballesta went missing, which sounds damning until you account for the car accident Nguyen had been in two months earlier.”

Lloyd grunted. “Yeah, but who could fake an injury better than a doctor?”

“Radiology doesn’t lie. He wasn’t in any shape to abduct Kayla that July.”

“Do we have his radiology reports?”

“No, but Peter Shaw had them. According to his article in the Rolling Stone, he had two different orthopedic surgeons review the images. They both confirmed the severity of Nguyen’s fracture.”

“It’s compelling, but you know what else is compelling?” Lloyd asked.

“What?”

“After Nguyen was arrested the disappearances stopped. That’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.”

“You know what else is too much to ignore? An open book pelvic fracture.”

“Mmmh.”

You chuckled at the wrinkle of disgust that passed over Lloyd’s face and stroked his jaw with the back of your fingers. “I went through all the evidence from 2001, which didn’t take long because there’s almost no evidence to speak of.”

“There was more evidence at Julia’s crime scene than any of the others,” Lloyd said.

“She went missing either on April 17th or 18th and her body was found encased in concrete beside Cub Run Trail a few days later. Police identified the remains about a week after finding them and Nguyen was arrested in August.”

“Going back to the behavioral evidence, we can establish a few things for sure. Starting with the obvious, the serial killer is knowledgeable and capable at using chemicals. He has access to them somehow and might have a secondary location where he can treat the bodies.”

“Which we know from the remains found at the trail,” you said.

“Right. Julia’s bones were brittle and crumbled when touched, which is a property of exposure to a strong base. If they’d been soaked in acid the bones would’ve been rubbery and flexible. Nguyen’s chemical training and access to materials through the hospital led the police to focus on him.”

“But he was never tried for any of the other murders and everything that made him a suspect was circumstantial.”

“Ninety percent of the case against Nguyen amounts to fact that the disappearances stopped after he was out of the picture,” Lloyd reminded you.

“It’s also interesting that Li Wei, Zoe, and Julia’s remains were all treated the same, even though there’s three years between their cases.”

“All the bodies found beside the trail were disposed of by the exact same method. It’s too specific for a copy cat - unless the original perpetrator told someone precisely where they left the first two victims.”

“Wouldn’t they have had to describe the chemicals and methodology, too?” you asked.

“For the results to be this uniform? Absolutely.”

“What about victimology? That’s always been a huge question for me. All the killer’s known victims are female but aside from that, things start to get murky.”

You gestured to the photos on the wall, where the six portraits of the missing women were grouped. “They match a specific type. They were average build, natives of eastern coastal Virginia, with advanced degrees and professional jobs. Li Wei doesn’t match the pattern, and neither does Julia.”

“But the real outlier is Zoe,” Lloyd pointed out.

“Agreed. Which is why we’re paying Annabeth Green a duke’s ransom to run a paternity test on her remains and identify her father.”

“You set me up for that one, Princess.”

“I have to spread the blame around. Do you know what she charges for that kind of a test?”

Lloyd snorted. “Do you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Her secretary just emailed me the invoice.”

“What’s the goal of the paternity test?”

“To identify a new suspect. After going through all the evidence, our suspect list is pretty barren. Nguyen was too far away to have killed the victims from 1999 and there’s no connection between him and Li Wei Chapman. He wasn’t able to kill the first victim from 2000 because of his injury. And when it comes down to it, I don’t think he killed Julia, either.”

Lloyd ran his tongue around his teeth.“I agree. He didn’t have the opportunity. That was established by the Virginia Supreme Court beyond any reasonable doubt. Did you find anything on Leo McKenzie?”

You shook your head. “Nothing new. The Fairfax Sheriff’s Department hasn’t sent me a copy of their file on him, either.”

“They’re not known for their inter-agency cooperation.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter if I have their file or not, because Zach got a copy of McKenzie’s discharge papers from the Army. His back injury is serious enough to exclude him from suspicion. That leaves Tate Corbin. How’d your interview with him go?”

“Not great. He has an alibi for two of the abductions thanks to a biennial fishing trip with his merchant marine buddies.”

Lloyd gave you the details of Corbin’s alibi and you scribbled down the information, making a note to contact the witnesses tomorrow morning.

“Also, get this. There was only one other person who bothered checking out Corbin as a suspect. You’ll never guess who it was.”

“Detective Roth?”

“Peter Shaw.”

You chuckled. “Ouch.”

Lloyd gathered you closer, his eyes falling half closed as he nuzzled your neck. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t give an alibi for Julia’s murder, though.”

“I knew he wasn’t the one before he produced the alibi,” Lloyd said.

“How?”

“His reactions were off. This killer has flown under the radar for too long. His public mask is impeccable.”

“And Corbin…?”

“Corbin is weird. There’s no mask. He wasn’t interested in talking about the missing victims. Then, when I finally got him talking, he wasn’t curious.”

“Why would the real killer be curious? He knows more about them than we do.”

“He’d want to know what we had. The question of evidence would’ve been brought up, but Corbin couldn’t have cared less. The real killer would’ve been excited by the conversation, but he’d have masked the reaction. Corbin was ambivalent. And the last reason is the same as the first,” Lloyd said. “He’s too weird to be the killer. He’s loud, opinionated, and obnoxious. He doesn’t fly under the radar at all.”

You giggled. “Eliminated from suspicion because of his personality…”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “We’re looking for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Corbin is a peacock.”

“Well, we’ve shaved the suspect list down to zero. Nguyen’s off the list for lack of opportunity. McKenzie isn’t physically capable of abducting anything bigger than a puppy. The most promising suspect, Tate Corbin, is off the list for being sane, and he has an alibi for multiple abductions.”

“We’re out of suspects.”

“Which sucks, because there’s a missing woman who needs us to figure this out.”

“Well, at least we know we’re looking for a strong base. Corbin completely sealed his innocence in my mind when he brought up an acidic mine as the potential disposal site.”

You sat up in Lloyd’s lap, nearly elbowing him in the stomach. “What acid? Where?”

Lloyd grumbled and caught your legs. He wrapped an arm around your knees, holding you captive. “Copper Ridge Quarry. It’s south of Harmony and it’s been abandoned for decades. The government has spent billions containing the toxic sludge.”

“Copper Ridge Quarry. That sounds familiar.”

“It’s a super-fund site. Every year the exposed ore reacts with rain and ground water and produces new runoff. Until someone figures out how to stop the reactions, the acid will keep getting more concentrated every year.”

“Gross. Hang on, let me check something.”

Lloyd eased his grip and let you reach your laptop. He waited as you typed, flipping through pages of the database you’d organized months ago.

“Here. Copper Ridge Quarry is in the database.”

“They already checked it out?”

“Mmmhh… According to the file summary, NASA sent a robot into one of the acid pools in the 80s and it was never seen again.”

“Did it return any data?” Lloyd asked.

“No. It looks like the investigation into Copper Ridge wasn’t very thorough. The first time they checked it out was in October of 2000. The local police’s resources were stretched thin. Between processing evidence from the abduction sites, organizing massive searches, and running down other leads, Copper Ridge didn’t get much attention.”

“What about later?” Lloyd asked.

“They tried again in 2001 when Stephanie Young disappeared, but there were conflicts with the search warrants. Some of the land around Copper Ridge is privately owned and required a compelling reason to search private property, which they didn’t have. In the end, they searched all the public land they had consent to access, but that’s it.”

“An acidic mine site is an intriguing lead, but we don’t have any evidence the killer uses acid.”

“Is that really a logical jump?” you questioned.

“Scientists use strong bases in labs to remove flesh from skeletons. If you expose the bones for longer, about five to six hours with some heat, they crumble.”

“That’s not possible with acid?”

“It would work,” Lloyd admitted. “It might even do a better job of completely dissolving them, but it’s more dangerous. The acids strong enough aren’t safe to handle. Sodium hydroxide on the other hand, comes as a salt. It’s much easier to obtain and if you got it on your skin it might cause a rash, but that’s it. You have to dissolve it in water before it’s dangerous.”

“But Copper Ridge would eliminate the need for him to obtain chemicals. Assuming he had a way in, it mitigates the risk of being caught by purchasing records or his professional access.”

“If he had a traditional education, he’d lean towards a base,” Lloyd said.

“If he’s smart enough to use a base, why not use an acid? It’s all chemistry at the end of the day.”

“Following the same logic, why not dispose of Julia’s body the same way as Li Wei and Zoe’s? The crimes were three years apart. He’d have had time to perfect his methods,” Lloyd said.

“That’s been my biggest gripe with all the victims being connected. But this afternoon, I remembered something Marco said when I explained the case. He commented that it was ‘like he put the sisters together,’ with how he disposed of Julia. It meant more to me before we learned Li Wei was actually Julia’s cousin. But now, what if he had the same motive both times?”

“We haven’t considered his motives.”

“I have. If you lay out the whole timeline, Li Wei and Zoe were his first victims and they’re both anomalies in victimology. Li Wei wasn’t born in the U.S., but she did grow up here. She dropped out of college freshman year and didn’t finish a bachelor’s degree, let alone a masters. She worked at her parent’s bible camp, which was a far cry from a professional job, like the other victims. And she doesn’t fit the physical victim type, either. She was too tall.”

“And Julia’s the same. Too tall and too thin, no degrees, no job. Plus, she really was foreign.”

“Right. Li Wei could have passed for a Virginia native, but there was no way he mistook Julia for an American. Where’s the motive, though?” Lloyd asked.

“If they don’t fit victimology there must be a motive. That’s why I really wanted the paternity test on Zoe. Usually, with a child victim, the perpetrator is one of the parents. We can rule out her mother, which leaves the father.”

“What about Julia?”

“She was digging into Li Wei’s death. If the killer found out, wouldn’t he have been compelled to interfere?”

“Yes, but why not dispose of her like he did all the other victims? If your theory about Copper Ridge is correct, he had the perfect disposal method. I can imagine him failing on his first attempt to dissolve a body with a strong base, but going back to the failed method three years later? That’s stupid.”

“Or it’s incredibly smart. Anyone who found all three victims, encased in two different concrete slabs, beside a popular jogging trail, albeit, in a remote area of said trail, would’ve connected the dots. Then they would’ve connected the victims. Julia arrived in the U.S. in 1997. It’s plausible to imagine a connection. We only know there wasn’t one because of Aliyah.”

“The killer was making sure the cases would be connected.”

“But when no one found the second slab, Nguyen was arrested and the rumor mill started up, claiming he was connected to the six missing women,” you said.

“The killer was handed the perfect scapegoat on a platter. So, he stopped killing and as far as public opinion went, no more disappearances meant they’d collared the right guy.”

“I know it’s a lot of theory, but looking at the whole sequence from 1999 to 2002, how the killing started with Li Wei and Zoe, then stopped after Julia, it’s almost like a full circle.”

“He didn’t stop, though. If he had, Zach and I wouldn’t be spending our Monday night on a search party for Laine Cruz,” Lloyd said.

“What if this is a copycat?” You sighed at your own question and shook your head. “The problem with all this theory is that we don’t have any evidence to back it up. Paradoxically, we have more evidence than anyone else who worked the case ever did.”

“We’re here because Roth searched an old crime scene and got lucky,” Lloyd said.

“There’s solid evidence suggesting the killer is knowledgeable in chemistry. He’s proven capable with them, and we have physical evidence that two of his victims were disposed of with a strong base. We also know his access to these chemicals wasn’t a fluke because he used them twice - once in 1999 and again in 2002.”

“And the concrete slab itself is evidence,” Lloyd said. “He knows how to mix, form, and set a concrete slab by himself. It’s not as specific as his advanced chemical knowledge, but it’s still a proven ability.”

“He’s prepared and careful, so disposing of the bodies wouldn’t have been the first time he worked with concrete. That makes sense,” you said.

“He’s also shown to be quite knowledgeable of the local area. Abducting six women without leaving any witnesses isn’t easy. Also, he’s familiar enough with Cub Run Trail to dispose of bodies there twice. It was a remote section of the trail, sure, but that points to him knowing the area.”

“And getting them up there? He’s got to be physically fit.”

“Unlike Leo McKenzie. We have evidence that Julia’s teeth were destroyed with a gunshot, and the .22 shell casings found in Nguyen’s yard after she went missing. It’s not difficult to get a gun in the D.C. area, but let’s add it to the list.”

“Also, the last fact, but maybe the most important: he had the opportunity to commit all nine murders.”

Lloyd grunted. “How do we know so much about him, but still don’t have a suspect?”

“He’s careful and prepared. Speaking of that, what about the woman that went missing on Friday night? Have they found any evidence at the scene of her abduction?”

“Laine Cruz. The search isn’t going well. They found her car abandoned in town with a dead battery. It could have been sabotage or the perpetrator saw an opportunity and took advantage. Her purse was in the car, but not her cell phone. There’s been no activity on her bank cards and her phone is turned off.”

“What are they doing to find her?”

“The usual - tracking dogs, a search grid. It seems futile,” Lloyd said.

“Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result?” you asked.

“According to Einstein.”

“Search grids and dogs didn’t find any of the other missing women, did they?”

“No,” Lloyd conceded.

“We were brought in to investigate the new evidence and figure out if it was connected to the missing victims.”

“Are you saying they should call off the search?”

“No, but searching is their job - not ours. I think we should focus on following the evidence and investigating what we have.”

“You’re saying Zach and I shouldn’t join the search,” Lloyd said.

“Copper Ridge Quarry is a fresh lead. I think that’s where our time would be best spent.”

“Alright. We’ll do it. Are you okay with staying late at the office? I don’t know how long this’ll take.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.”

Lloyd studied your expression and noted that you still looked upset. He slid a finger under your chin, turning your face up to his.

“Hey. It’s okay. Jake will find a new lead.”

“What if my stalker isn’t someone we would suspect?” you asked. “What if it’s totally random?”

“Don’t think about that. Let Jake and Landon worry about the stalker. Let me worry about him.”

Your eyes scanned his, filled with concern. There was nothing he could say, Lloyd realized. He changed tactics and lowered his gaze to your chest.

“How do your nipples feel? Still sore?”

“I…” you squirmed.

He ran a hand over the curve of your breast, feeling the gentle curve through the thin silk of your blouse. There were three layers of cloth between his fingertips and your flesh but he still felt the hardening of your nipple. You hissed and he paused.

“They’re not sore,” you said, reassuring him. “Just… tender.”

His lips curved. “What’s your current opinion on nipple clamps?”

“It’s an eighty-twenty split.”

“For or against?”

“For,” you admitted, lashes fluttering as you fought back shyness.

Lloyd squeezed you tight and explored your throat with soft, teasing kisses. You relaxed instantly, muscles loosening as your head fell back to give him more room. His free hand went to the fastenings on the front of your blouse, flicking open each tiny pearl button.

You caught his hand. “There’s a window on the door.”

“I closed the blinds,” Lloyd said.

“Oh.”

You let go and when he arched a brow, you nodded. He carefully undid each tiny button, flashing you an amused look.

“Did you plan on making it hard for me to undress you, or this coincidence?”

“Actually, I just thought the buttons were pretty.”

“They are. However, this is prettier,” Lloyd said, pushing open the silk and sliding off the thin straps of your camisole. He purred at the sight of your cream colored bra. “Front-clasp. I forgive you for the buttons.”

He flicked open your bra and you shivered at the sensation of cool air on delicate skin. Lloyd shifted you again, turning your body so your back was positioned to the door of the office. It wasn’t necessary, but you appreciated his awareness.

“Mmmhhh… still a little swollen,” he murmured, caressing his thumb over a puckered nipple. “They’re warm.”

You trembled when his hand moved up to curl around the back of your neck. He kissed your sternum and his mustache brushed your skin in a teasing dance. His facial hair wasn’t bristly, but it wasn’t soft, either. His hand slid from your throat to your collarbone and slowly cupped the weight of your left breast. Your eyes closed in pleasure.

“Lloyd.”

His cheek pressed to your sternum and you felt his hot breath against your tight nipple. The slow, gentle stroking of his thumb over your breast was restrained and controlled. You shuddered. Part of you wanted to beg for more. The other part knew the office door might have the blinds lowered, but it was still unlocked. Lloyd’s tender stroking was making your head go fuzzy. You arched your back in offering, but he didn’t react.

“Please,” you whined.

Lloyd made a rough sound and dropped his head, kissing a slow path across your chest, down your sternum to suckle the inner curve of your breast. Your fingers threaded into the cool strands of his hair as you pulled him toward where you needed him the most. As his mouth fastened around your nipple, you felt his lips curve into a smirk, but couldn’t bring yourself to care.

He’d finished lapping at the first straining nipple and moved onto the second when the door to your office swung open. You were so caught up in the moment that the noise barely registered. It wasn’t until the sound of a masculine voice cut through your mental haze that you gasped.

“What the fuck, Lloyd?! Hang a damn sock on the door next time!”

Zach’s shout brought your head around. The man had turned his back and clamped a hand over his eyes. Lloyd slowly released your nipple and raised his head.

“Have you heard of knocking?” he asked.

“I didn’t know you were in here!” Zach protested.

For some reason, you weren’t scrambling to fasten your bra in a panicked rush. Instead of embarrassment you felt dizzy with lust as Lloyd re-fastened your bra and returned the straps of your camisole to their original position. His eyes caught yours and he smiled, eyes glinting with something like pride. Whether it was at his own work or your lack of reaction to the embarrassment of being caught, you weren’t sure. He started from the bottom as he re-buttoned the tiny pearl fastenings of your shirt.

“Can I turn around?” Zach asked.

You grined at Lloyd, who’d only fastened two buttons of your blouse.

“Sure,” you said.

Zach turned half way, peeking from the corner of his eye. He nearly wrenched his neck out of place when he spun away again, unleashing a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

“Do you two mind? I don’t like walking into the middle of a porno in my own office!”

Lloyd snickered. “Please. Grow up, Zach. There were racier scenes than this on T.V. when you were a kid.”

“I’m going to wait in the truck!”

You giggled as Zach raced out of the office like something was chasing him and smirked at Lloyd when he finished doing up your blouse. “I take it you don’t share details about your sex life with Zach anymore?”

“If did, he’d probably knock my teeth out.” He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist. “Speaking of things that would send me to the dentist, why are you so calm about me forgetting to lock the door?”

You linked your hands behind his neck and shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought getting caught in a compromising position would be embarrassing but it wasn’t. I mean, Zach didn’t see any parts of me he hadn't seen before. We weren’t hiding the fact that we’re sleeping together, so he didn’t learn anything new.”

“Funny. You were a virgin three months ago and Zach’s the shrinking violet,” Lloyd snickered. He bent down and kissed you thoroughly. “I won’t be back until late. You’re sure you don’t want one of the guys to give you a ride home?”

“No. I’ll wait for you.”

Lloyd reached for his jacket and paused. “Princess, if you have time tonight, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Go back through the footage of Nguyen’s interviews. There was a moment in there, something he said that I didn’t quite catch. It was like he had a slip of the tongue and then backpedaled to cover it up.”

“You just described his whole communication style,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s why I was driving myself nuts in Qatar, listening to the tapes over and over, trying to figure out what it was.”

“Okay. Do you remember which day it was on?”

“It was on the first day of interviews. I didn’t notice the slip until I listened to the audio of the interview on the flight out of Singapore. Maybe it’s nothing, because I haven’t been able to find it again, but at the time I was absolutely sure he’d said something important.”

“Maybe another set of ears will help.”

“Thanks, Princess. Don’t expect me until late, okay?”

“Good luck tonight.”

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Next - Chapter XXVI

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Masterlist

#series: the princess & the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess and the lawyer #lloyd hansen au #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen #chris evans characters #chris evans characters au #the gray man #the gray man fanfiction

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Safe With Me

Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.

Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.

A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.

When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.

Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.

It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.

Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.

“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.

In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.

Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.

"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.

He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.

“You alright?” He asks.

You're not, but you nod anyway.

“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.

You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.

“Yes.”

“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.

You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.

“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”

You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.

At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.

“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.

"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.

“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.

“Where is she? Did they-” you start.

Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.

He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.

“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.

You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.

As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.

You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.

“Hen.”

You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.

“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.

“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”

You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.

“Just the face.”

“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.

When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.

You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.

“You a doctor now?” You ask.

“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.

He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.

“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”

“What about you?” You question.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.

“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.

He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.

Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.

“Let me help you.”

“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.

“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.

You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.

Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.

A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.

You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.

“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.

“Not half bad, doc.”

You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.

“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.

There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.

You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.

“Six…”

He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.

“You should go check on Claire,” he says.

“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.

He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.

"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."

He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren, @a-reader-and-a-writer and @blue-aconite.

Join my tag list here.

#sierra six x you #sierra six x reader #court gentry imagine #the gray man #court gentry x you #court gentry x reader #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fic

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valleyfae · 2 years

Note

aftercare with daddy!six after a rough scene :(

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: daddy!Sierra Six x little!reader

Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, ddlg, daddy kink, unprotected sex, smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, praise, AFTERCARE!! fluff, pure softness and comfort! A lot more smut than I intended, but it turns very soft

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Feedback and reblogs are VERY appreciated

“Yeah? Can’t answer me, huh?”

One hand securely gripping your throat, Six forcefully slaps his calloused palm across your cheek, the abrupt strikes leaving a sting on your hot flesh. “Dumb little girl’s stuffed so full with Daddy’s cum, can’t even think.”

“D—Daddy,” you sob, the ache in your throat growing with each of your strained whimpers.

His blush pink bottom lip juts out as he lets it goes from his teeth grip. “Poor little girl,” he grunts, hips harshly slamming down, his entire weight forced onto you. “Brains gone all fuzzy, hasn’t it?"

The head of his cock repeatedly rams into your most sensitive spot. “Love being used like a whore, my sweet princess really is just a dirty girl. Needy cunt can’t help it, huh?” Six’s words push you further and further; you’ve lost track of the number of times your Daddy has made you cum, slapped you, shoved his fingers down your throat.

“Tell me how much you love being Daddy’s little toy,” Six demands leaning down, trapping your writhing form, coercing your weak muscles to contort as you squirm, nails firmly digging into his muscular biceps. “Go on, princess, use your words like a big girl.”

The overstimulation and pure euphoria of Six’s dominance overwhelm your senses; eyes glazed, the salty tears break past the barrier of your waterline, rolling down your cheek. His chest pressed against yours, forcing you to swallow your broken sobs. “Daddy,” you croak, arching your back, thrashing against the sheets, determined to release your pent-up frustration.

Six overcome with authoritative satisfaction; he hovers dangerously close to you, all movements completely frozen; he still manages to torment the fire that amplifies the pulse that glides through your aching folds and throbbing bundle of nerves.

“My little girl looks so pretty crying for me—” his low, breathy grunts shift into brutish, animalistic growls “sweet tears all for me, huh?”

You frantically nod, brows furrowed, eyes intensely yearning for Six’s approval—the thrashing of your hips instantly come to a halt as Six restarts his harsh thrusts. The rough pads of his fingers still rubbing against your raw skin, the depletion of your oxygen continuing to add to the difficulty of holding back your orgasm.

The harsh smacking noise derived from Six’s sculpted v-line colliding with your overly sensitive abdomen mixes with the faint ringing in your ears. Your bottom lip quivers, feet arching, heels digging into the ruffled sheets, the friction perspires a burning heat.

Six presses his forehead against yours, beads of sweat accumulated on both of your hairlines meld together. Mercilessly pounding into you, Six’s grunts get increasingly aggressive, frustrated curses slipping off his tongue. Your body instinctively trembles–the skin wrapped around your nucleus tightens in rhythm with the way you frantically clench around his cock.

Convulsing in frustrating overstimulation, you repeatedly babble nonsense into Six’s chest. “Yeah, that’s right, princess, you just lay here while Daddy fills you up,” he groans, full, heavy balls drawing up as you reach your high again.

“That’s my good girl,” he taunts, clinging to the bit of willpower he has left. “Cum for Daddy.”

Ending his controlled pattern of deep thrusts, Six lets go, pushing himself further inside you than before, the tip of his cock forced against your g-spot.

As each rope of Six’s cum paints your walls, he restrains your trembling limbs while he rides out his high. He maintains his position–his warm breath cascades down your skin. Breaking his stern grunt with a tender chuckle, you whimper against his skin.

He brushes your forehead with his nimble fingers, laying a delicate kiss on your skin. “There we go, nice and easy, princess,” Six coos, steadily pulling out and putting his weight on his heels. His gaze switches from your pleading eyes to his shaft as he continues to slip out of your grip, inch by inch.

Drawing patterns down your sensitive skin, Six’s eyes fixate on the excessive amount of his cum that you’ve already managed to spread to your inner thighs messily.

Circling your sore, puffy clit with his thumb, Six presses his lips to your sweaty forehead again. “Daddy p-please. No… no more,” you wince, letting a final tear flow down your cheek, firmly clamping your legs around Six’s forearm, struggling to escape his touch.

“Were so desperate for Daddy’s cum, now look at you, all fucked out and filled to the brim,” he smirks, letting you free to admire your tired body sprawled out under him. “So pretty stuffed with cum, hmh?”

Swiping the pad of his thumb across your cheek, Six catches your tear, soothingly whispering against your heated skin. He sits you up, wrapping his muscular arms around your bare waist. “Is my little girl feeling floaty?” Six calmly pets your arm, trailing his touch as you squirm, timidly wincing back at his hushes.

“Sh sh, I got you, princess. Take a deep breath for me.” Following his directions to the best of your abilities, you melt into Six’s embrace, gingerly placing your shaky hand on his biceps, fingers gliding over his distinct scars. His reassuring aura consumes every aspect of you. “There we go, there’s my good girl.”

Enveloped in Six’s arms, he carefully positions the two of you upright. You look up at him with a confused frown, clawing closer to him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Daddy’s gonna put something on so we can get cleaned up, alright?” Scooping you off his brawny thighs, he coaxes you into a mellow state.

The rush of the air conditioner blows down on Six’s defined, muscular back; hastily grabbing a pair of boxers, he slips the fabric up until it sits lowly on his hipbones.

Walking back towards you, he lets out a content sigh, watching as you fiddle your fingers with the linen duvet.

“Hey, princess, look at me. Show me that pretty face of yours.” Six crouches down to your fatigued, curled-up body. Hugging your knees to your chest, Six cups your cheek, taking in his familiar scent, you nestle into his touch. “That’s my girl. Give me a smile, smile for Daddy.”

Sheepishly turning, you softly smile, looking up at Six, stretching your arm out and gently making contact with his cheekbone, innocently holding his face.

Reciprocating a warm smile, Six murmurs under his breath, “there we are.” Large, rough hands molding to the sides of your rib cage, Six secures your weight, supporting your drowsy figure, transporting you to the bathroom. “I got you; let your head rest on Daddy’s shoulder.”

The contact of the cool marble on the back of your thighs shocks you out of your drowsy state; Six calmly hushes your shaky whine, pressing his plush lips to your temple.

“Did so good for me, princess. I’m so proud of you.” Six distracts you, rubbing your back with his right hand as he switches on the faucet with his left hand, letting the stream of water hit his skin, waiting for the perfect temperature.

Heavy lids fluttering shit, you nuzzle your face into the crook of Six’s neck, humming softly. “Don’t wanna shower.” Securing your exposed body to Six’s, tightening your grip as you cling onto him.

“No shower, princess. Just let Daddy clean you off, alright?” Six softly pries away from your hold. “Gonna be real quick, I promise. Then we can get all comfy in bed and cuddle.”

The tranquil expression displayed across your face melts into a confused frown. “P-please, Daddy,” you hiccup. “D-Daddy.” One blink away from tears trickling down your cheeks–you anxiously watch Six grab a washcloth and soap from the shower.

He delicately wipes over your sensitive skin, you whimper as his hand moves up your inner thigh. “I know, sweetheart, your princess parts are feeling sore, huh? Gonna be quick.” Faintly whining at Six, you squeeze your eyes shut, further hiding against his chest.

“All done, princess,” Six croons, picking you back up. “Did so good for me. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

Sinking back into the plush mattress, your thoughts wander, waiting for Six to return for mandatory cuddles. You admire your Daddy’s towering stature and defined build as he makes his way back to you.

“Arms up.” Slipping you into one of his t-shirts, Six immediately scoops you into his arms, settling you on his lap, bringing your special blanket to your arms.

“Thank you, Dada,” you hum, nuzzling into Six’s reassuring embrace. “Love you.”

“I love you more, princess.”

Endnote: well… anyways… um… hi… I love Ryan Gosling? Here’s your tag, princess @buckysboobs I love you so very much <3

Also, I wanna change my theme and make my blog look all nice, but I’m bad at that. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed!!!

Also also, this isn’t proofread per usual 👍🏻

#fran’s fics #sierra six #daddy!sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six x reader #sierra six smut #sierra six fluff #daddy!sierra six x reader #daddy!sierra six x little!reader #court gentry x reader #court gentry smut #court gentry fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic #the gray man #x reader smut #little!reader

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drivinmeinsane · 4 months

Text

Snow ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Four ※ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You expected a quiet night in, but that changes when you follow a trail into the trees.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Pre-relationship, Treatment of injuries, Caretaking

※ Word count: 1920

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Of course you notice that the log basket by the fireplace is empty when you’re already sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand, Christmas tree plugged in, and fully prepared to settle in for the night. You grumble as you get up and pull on your boots and your coat. Grabbing your flashlight, you open the back door and step out into the cold. You’re nearly to the shed when the beam of light picks up something unusual in its field. You come to a complete stop and examine the ground with a growing sense of horror.

The snow is churned up, something had clearly come through here recently enough. Probably within the past hour or so while you had been snugly tucked into your remotely located home. You can make out footprints. Human, likely belonging to a tall male judging from the size and the distance apart. They’re messy like the maker had been stumbling along. Your flashlight picks up dark blotches on the white. Blood. You look up, frantically scanning your surroundings for a sign of who might have left this path across your yard. There’s nothing other than the trail that leads off into the woods.

You silently backtrack to your home to grab the hunting rifle leaning against the wall in the coat closet, an assurance for living out in the middle of nowhere in the wooded hills. Feeling like a side character in a cheaply stereotypical horror movie, you go back outside to follow the trail. Flashlight off now that you’re in pursuit. You desperately want to nope out of the situation, but there is no one else around for miles to handle this. You push follow the path into the thicket. There’s a shape huddled at the base of a tree not far into the brush.

The moonlight is blocked by the branches, so you resignedly turn your flashlight on to illuminate the figure. It reveals a man dressed in bloodstained street clothes. He’s slumped forward so you can’t see his face, but his jeans are covered in a mixture of blood and snow. Some of the blood is glossy, fresh, but most of it is frozen. He is only wearing a thin windbreaker for warmth. There’s a gun resting on his lap. His fingers are slack around it, not even holding onto the weapon. They look waxy and stiff. Only his labored breathing lets you know that he’s alive.

“Hey.” He doesn’t respond to your slightly hesitant yell so you nudge his foot with the tip of your boot and try again, louder. “Hey!”

No movement, or any awareness of you at all. He just continues breathing like each exhale might be his last. Emergency services are at least forty-five minutes away, if they are even able to get through the snow at all tonight.

Gritting your teeth, you inch forward to kick the man’s outstretched leg. “Hey!”

That finally gets a response. The stranger groans and lifts his head up. He squints against the bright light you have pointed at his face and raises a shaky hand to block it. You shift so you’re pointing the rifle at him in case he gets it in his head to make any sudden movements.

“Put your other hand up too,” you order him. He complies, leaving the handgun on his lap. You can barely hear your voice over the pounding of your own heart. “What are you doing out here? You’re on my land.”

His mouth works a couple of times before he’s able to speak. When he does, his voice is hoarse. “Sorry. I got turned around.”

“Yeah? Why are you so messed up if you just ‘got turned around’?”

“Had to jump out of a moving car. The people I was with didn’t appreciate that much.” He sounds so serious that you raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you going to be trouble for me?”

“Probably not.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, out of his mouth before your question has the chance to linger in the air.

Against your better judgment, you take his word at face value and tuck your rifle under your arm, pointed away at him. His handgun gets stowed in your waistband before you help him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder. The arm not occupied by your own gun gets wrapped around him. Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of him. It’s slow going to your back door. He seems to be intermittently losing consciousness. On the second of the three steps leading to the small porch, his foot drags and slips out from under him. He nearly takes the both of you down.

“C’mon,” you grit out and bodily haul him up the final stair.

The stranger slumps in your hold as you get the door open and all but drag him into your kitchen. He comes to enough to stagger through to the living room. You more or less drop him onto the couch. He sags limply into the cushions like a puppet with its strings severed.

“Can I call for medical help or do you need me to try to do a patch job?”

“Please don’t call anyone. I’ll be fine.”

You exhale hard, nerves jangling. Patch job it is. “Sit tight.”

Leaving him alone and dripping melting snow all over your couch, you gather a couple towels and the medical kit that you keep well stocked for emergencies. He is exactly as you left him when you come back in the room laden down like a pack pony. You put the supplies on the seat next to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Six.”

You want to comment on how that’s obviously not a real name, but you bite your tongue and swallow the words down. It’s not your business. Keeping him from dying on your couch is your business.

Without any further preamble, you wrestle him out of his wet clothing, leaving him in just the underwear you don’t dare to touch. Once he is stripped naked, you start examining his body to find the source of the blood. You find it immediately, but your eyes can’t help but take in the rest of him. Six, as he calls himself, is muscular, but you knew that from how heavy he was over your shoulder and in the circle of his arm, but it’s the expanse of his injuries that is more notable. It’s unsettling. He’s marked with old scars and fresher ones that are still uncomfortably raw and pink. You don’t think you want to know what this strange man does for a living. It looks as though several people have tried to kill him over the years, admittedly with limited success if his presence in your home is any indication.

Ignoring the rest of his body, you focus on the sizable gash in his size. A bullet must have burned its way across his side at a close range judging from the singeing around the edges of the wound. It’s still sluggishly bleeding, but it’s thankfully shallow enough to not be fatal in the short term. You wet a piece of gauze with disinfectant and press it against the wound. Six does not so much as flinch. He looks resigned to the pain when you glance at his face to gauge his reaction. You pinch the sides of the injury together and secure it with several meticulously placed butterfly bandages to keep it closed. Holding a thick gauze pad on the wound with your hand, you wind vet wrap around his abdomen to hold it in place. It should serve to put pressure on it to restrict the chance of bleeding and further trauma to the sight.

You’re relieved to discover that the rest of his injuries are minor in comparison. He has a slightly sprained wrist that you stabilize with more vet wrap. Unfortunately, he is covered in scrapes and abrasions. All you can do for them is to put a large band-aid on the worst of the road rash. It’s next to a tattoo that says something in Greek. Your stranger appears to be more well-versed in literature than you might have expected, not just a thug despite the obviously prison quality tattoos.

Injuries aside, the man feels concerningly cold due to the exposure to the freezing temperatures and not insignificant blood loss. You realize that if you had been more prepared and hadn’t needed to restock your log barrel, he would have likely succumbed to the elements right outside of your home. The thought of finding his body in the morning makes you shiver reflexively. You push that line of thinking aside and pick up one of the towels. You hold it in both hands and rub his extremities in between your cloth covered palms, trying to encourage circulation back into his body. It works. His fingers lose their waxy appearance and his body temperature seems to level back out. He starts shivering, a good sign that means there is no more need to worry about hypothermia. You take the fresher towel and dry his sodden hair before wiping his torso clean. His shivering gradually subsides as you work. He’s dozing off, breath whistling through his nose. Some of the tension has left his face.

Once you’re finished with him, you finally fetch the logs from the shed. On your way, you take the time to disturb the tracks. Even though it’s still snowing, you do not want to take the chance that they will be discernible by a hostile party. Knowing that you will be cleaning up anyway after you put your unexpected guest to bed, you don’t take any great pains to avoid tracking more snow into the house.

You drop your armful of logs into the basket and put a couple of them into the fireplace. They should last a while. You approach the couch, catching Six awake but not alert. He’s staring blankly at your Christmas tree, seemingly captivated by it. His eyes redirect unsteadily to you when you’re close enough to touch him. The man squints like he’s having a hard time seeing through his exhaustion.

“You an angel?”

You almost laugh, but he sounds so tired and so sincere. “No,” you tell him gently. He mumbles something unintelligible in response.

Crouching at his side, you take hold of his legs and guide him until he’s laying down, curled on his non-injured side on the cushions. Six manages to lift his head enough for you to shove a decorative pillow under it. His eyes slip closed when you cover him with the throw blankets that you always keep in the living room. You practically tuck him in. Just before you withdraw, you impulsively smooth his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead. Something in your heart tells you that he could use the comforting gesture.

You pull away, satisfied that he’ll make it through the night and that you will be able to get some food into him in the morning. Just as you turn to leave to start cleaning up the mess that has been left in the wake of his arrival, you’re brought to a halt. Six’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist just long enough to make you pause before he lets go.

“Thank you,” he says, muffled against the pillow.

Your face softens and you feel the corners of your lips rise in a smile. “You’re welcome."

#12 days of goosemas #the gray man (2022)#the gray man #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six #sierra six fanfiction #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling x reader #.my posts #.my work

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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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dbnightingale24 · 9 months

Text

A Huckleberry Is Nothing Without His Hummingbird

A Lloyd Hansen Love Story/ Final Installment to ‘It’s Ridiculous But, I’ll Always Love You’

Part 2

Part 1

I am so sorry this took so long! Life has been out of control for a while (both in good and bad ways), but it’s finally here! I truly hope you enjoy this, because I loved writing it! Thanks, as always, to @fuckingbye for the amazing moodboard! I love it and I love you! As promised, this is much happier than the last Lloyd story, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 25,445 (look at me go!)

Warnings: SMUT (Minors DNI OR I WILL SNITCH!), 18+ ONLY, Fluff, Arguing, Couples Therapy, Angst, Drinking, Smoking, Family Drama, Lloyd Hansen (cause he’s a walking warning), Violence, Murder, Degrading Kink, Rough(ish) Sex, Daddy Kink, Child Trauma, Toxic Relationship, Healthy Relationship...I think that’s it?

Song(s) Used For This Chapter: To Know Me All This Time and Still Love Me...Well, That’s A Miracle

I do not give consent/permission for works/stories to be posted anywhere else. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

“You two can’t keep going on like this,” your couples therapist sighs, as you and Lloyd both sit in silence, both of you with one leg crossed over the other. “You two have been coming here for two months, and it’s the same thing every time.”

You can hear the frustration in her tone, and it’s not like you can really blame her. You and Lloyd have been doing couple’s therapy for 2 months now, and you’re both so damn stubborn, that you both refuse to say anything. It’s not like you don’t want to say anything but, as far as you’re concerned, none of this is your fault.

“I’m not having this argument with you again, Hummingbird!” Lloyd snapped softly as you both stood in the bedroom of the hotel room: your arms folded across your chest.

“You’re acting like our family wasn’t put in danger hours ago! Do you know what this is going to do to Travis?!”

“He’s safe, you’re safe, and Denny is safe! What else do you want from me?!”

“To fucking quit!”

“I promised you that I’d stop-”

“We were still a target! Was this a joke you?” you asked, holding up your fingers that wore his hummingbird engagement ring.

“You know it wasn’t!”

“Then why can’t just pick us?! Your family!”

“I took a step back! That was me choosing you all! Just because you’re not getting everything that you want, doesn’t mean I’m not making an effort!”

“I can’t do this with you, Lloyd. Not again,” you scoffed as you ran your hands through your hair.

“You’re not fucking leave me again, Y/N!”

“You can’t-”

“I can! You think I’m letting you leave me again?! You think you can walk out of my life just as soon as I got you back in it?!”

“You never let me go, Lloyd” you scoffed, your voice rose just a bit more than you meant for it to. “You have been everything to me for forever and-”

“You’ve been everything to me-”

“I clearly haven’t! You still can’t just choose us as your top-”

“You still need to give me some space to be me, Hummingbird!” he yelled.

“This is the same shit it always is,” you scoffed as you kicked your shoes off. “God, why do you I love you? Why do I keep putting up with this shit?! I was finally fucking out-”

“Watch it, Y/N.” Lloyd warned with a growl and you rolled your eyes.

“Or what? Just what will you do?! Actually let me get shot next time?!”

Almost instantly, he had you pinned against the wall, with his hand around your throat.

“Don’t ever say something like that to me again! You fucking understand me?!”

“Why?! What’s so wrong with it?! Staying with you makes me just as good as dead anyway!”

“You don’t think I’m doing everything in my power to keep you and Travis safe?! You don’t think-” “No Lloyd! No I don’t! I don’t believe you! Not anymore! You say you love me, you want us to work through our issues, but it’s all bullshit! Make me believe you, because right now?! Right now, it’s all just bullshit to me!”

Lloyd didn’t say a word, he just crashed his lips into yours and, just like that, you were gone for him.

No, it wasn’t healthy and you both knew you were falling back into your old habits, which is why you brought up therapy. At first, Lloyd was dead set on not going.

“We don’t fucking need couples therapy,” he muttered as you started cleaning off the dinner table.

“Well, we fucking need something, because this isn’t working for me. This isn’t college, Lloyd. We can’t just fuck our feelings away and avoid the problems that are staring us in the fucking face.”

“We can work out our problems on our own!”

“Keep your fucking voice down! Travis isn’t asleep!” you snapped quietly, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

“Hummingbird-”

“I want us to go to therapy, Lloyd. You’re hellbent on keeping your stupid fucking job? Well, I’m hellbent on doing therapy,” you shrugged, leaning against the sink.

“Humming-”

“Lloyd, we do therapy or I walk. It’s that simple.”

“Don’t fucking bully-”

“I’m not bullying you into shit. You want us to work out? You wanna keep working? Then I want therapy.”

“You can’t-”

“Therapy or I fucking walk, Lloyd. I’m not going through this shit with you.”

At first, he was furious and didn’t speak to you for a week, but once he realized you weren’t backing down, he finally agreed. Denny suggested a therapist that works with the agency and that settled it.

Which is why you’re both currently sitting in the therapist’s office, stubborn and unwilling to break first.

Well, you were until now.

“Lloyd’s a selfish piece of shit, and I’m tired of it,” you shrug as Lloyd scoffs.

“I’m selfish?! You’re the one forcing me to do this shit or you’ll leave-”

“And why is that, Lloyd? Hmm? What fucking got us to this point?”

“Don’t.”

“You’re fucking job! Your son almost got killed and it’s still not enough for you to get your fucking shit together!”

“Okay, okay, lets back up for a second,” the therapist interrupts, happy to finally be getting somewhere with the two of you. “When you two talk about Lloyd going into another line of work, how do those conversations usually go?”

“He says no and that’s the end of the discussion,” you mutter.

“Bullshit! We argue, you tell me I’m an asshole, and-”

“And you keep your fucking job! I’m dramatic and whiny little bitch-”

“You’re acting like-”

“Lloyd, Travis almost died! Someone shot at us at fucking Disney! For fucks sake, you won’t even let me home school him!”

“He can’t just run away from his-”

“He’s not running away from shit, Lloyd! He’s fucking scared, he’s lonely, his friends don’t invite him over anymore, because parents aren’t too keen on their children hanging out with other kids that tend to get shot at-”

“He needs to be a man-”

“Lloyd, he is a 9 year old boy! He’s not you! He has every right to be afraid, because he’s been through hell! No one invites him to anything anymore! At least you have Denny! Travis only has us, and that’s a lonely fucking life!” you snap, wiping your eyes as you look out the window.

Lloyd’s silence lets you know that you’ve got him, and while you feel bad about hurting him, you need him to understand where you’re coming from. You need him to understand that all of this is taking a toll on both you and Travis.

“Lloyd, have you looked at all into a career where you’re not putting yourself at so much risk? Your family?”

“No, because there’s no point,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Lloyd, I’m sure Denny-”

“Denny knows there’s only one job I’m suited for, and that’s why he assigned it to me in the first place. Listen, it’s not lost on anyone in this room that I’m difficult at best, but I do love both Y/N and Travis more than anything in this world. I will keep you both safe-”

“And what about when you’re not home, Lloyd? What then? Because the last time...” you trail off as your tears start to flow freely.

For fucks sake.

“Hummingbird...that wasn’t your fault-”

“I had him that weekend, Lloyd. He was my responsibility, and...we almost lost him, Lloyd. I can’t...the stress of your job always falls back on the both of us, and I could handle it before. Even after the divorce, I had no problem with making excuses, stressing myself, losing sleep...it was all doable, because Travis was safe. Now? Lloyd, it’s just too much. I’m always worried about you, but now...your enemies have no reservations about going after your family. I know how much you love your work, how proud you are, and how good you are at it, but this isn’t going to work if you keep taking and giving nothing back. That’s what killed us before and it’s what will kill us this time, if your enemies don’t first.”

“You know that I can-”

“But Lloyd, you can’t. You can’t keep us safe, that’s already been proven! I don’t blame you for Travis, I honestly don’t. However, with that being said, you’re not home all the time, and it’s only worse with your job. Whether it’s you being away, or you making more enemies...there’s just no way it works unless we get a-”

“Do not finish that statement.”

“Well, what do you expect, Lloyd?! At some point, you need to come to terms with the fact that you can’t do the job you’ve been doing, and be a family man! You have to make a choice and I don’t want that choice being something that makes you regret Travis and myself!”

“That would never happen,” he sighs, leaning back and staring at his hands. “Why can’t you just trust me? I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve never-”

“Lloyd, this has nothing to do with lack of trust. I trust you more than anyone else in the world, which is probably a horrible decision, but it’s a fact. However, another fact is that you just can’t be two places at once. You can’t protect us when you’re not home.”

“You know-”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn with a sniffle. “I never signed up for this. It was a roll that I was forced to take! I have had miscarriages, my weight has been up and down for years, I have severe panic attacks that usually end up waking me up in the middle of the night, my hair falls out from stress...Lloyd, I love you, but I shouldn’t have to take on a roll I never asked for!”

“You could’ve left!”

“I did! I left and what did you do?! Find new ways to hurt me, ruin any potential for other relationships, beg me to take you back-”

“Hummingbird, I’m trying!”

“I never said you weren’t!” you sob, wiping your eyes again.

The therapist looks from you to Lloyd, writes something down, and then sets her notepad down.

What the hell does that mean?

“Lloyd, why can’t you just walk away from the job?” she asks after a moment. “What is it that makes it so hard to leave?”

“Because he doesn’t care about anything except what he wants,” you mutter with a sniffle.

“That’s not fair,” she quickly tells you, and while you know she’s right, it doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes, “give him a chance to explain himself.”

“She knows that’s bullshit,” he mutters before taking a deep breath. “I’m good at a lot of things, it’s just something that comes to me. On the rare occasion that I’m not good at something, I work my ass off until I am. That being said, besides being Y/N’s husband and Travis’ dad, my job is what I’m the best at. Hell, it’s not like I can even say that I was the best husband, because Y/N was going through hell and I didn’t even notice. I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that, but I can do my best to protect and keep them safe. No, it’s not the most ideal job and she’s always taken issue with it, but it’s one of the few times I feel normal. Everyone knows I have a reputation for being a sociopath, even you,” he nods towards the therapist, who shrugs with a head nod in response, “but this job? It was made for me. I’m in charge, I know what to do, I know how to keep my men in check, and it helps me keep my rage at bay. Without this job, I don’t know how to be a decent husband, let alone a decent Dad. The only reason I was never kicked off the football team was because of how good I was. My coach got so many complaints about how violent I was...it’s not like Y/N didn’t know any of this. She may deny it, but I’m more than sure it’s part of why she hung around. It was fun. I was fun and I’m not stupid, I know that as you get older, the fun starts to die away and you want stability, but she never left. Even with me accepting a job with the CIA, she still accepted my proposal and married me.

I know we have Travis now, and he’s our entire universe, but I’m still the man she fell in love with in college. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, but I’ve never lied about any of it. If she could accept it then, at the beginning of our relationship, our marriage, and even when she had Travis, why not now? I know we’ve been through a lot, and I know it’s because of my job, but it’s nothing new. Yeah, it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do anything either of them asks if I can just have this one thing,” he promises, his voice cracking slightly.

You know it’s because he’s finally coming to terms with the fact that he won’t be able to have the best of both worlds, and his heart is breaking just as much as yours is.

“We’ve reached the end of our time, but I think it’s very obvious to all of us that we’ve made progress today. I wanna give you two an assignment.”

“Fucking great,” Lloyd mutters.

“Stop it!” you snap.

“Try and go away for the weekend. Just you and Lloyd. Go away for a few days and talk. Really talk and maybe make a pro and con list about your relationship. It sounds silly, but it’ll help you both figure out if this relationship is something you should pursue or not.”

“We both want-”

“I didn’t say anything about ‘wanting’ the relationship, Lloyd. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at the two of you, that you two are deeply in love, but that doesn’t mean you two belong together. You two need to spend time alone and figure out if getting remarried is in both of your best interests. If it’s in Travis’ best interest,” she urges sincerely. “Now, our next appointment won’t be for another two weeks-”

“Two weeks?!”

“It’s not my fault that it took you two, two months to finally open up,” she snaps at him and you do nothing to hide your snicker. “We’ll meet again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

“This is bullshit.”

“You really need to work on your ‘it’s all about me’ attitude, Lloyd,” she scowls. “I’ll see you two in two weeks.”

“Sounds good,” you smile at her as you and Lloyd both get up.

As you two make your way out of the building, Lloyd takes your hand in his and it just makes your heart break even more, because you know he’s trying. Hes always been trying, but you’re both coming to the painful realization that this just might be the end of the road for the both of you.

The car ride home is quiet, but Lloyd doesn’t let go of your hand for even a second. Every now and again, he gives a meaningful squeeze, but you both know it’s gonna take more than that to fix where you two are at.

“I can order dinner,” he offers as he pulls up to the house, that you occasionally call a home. “You’ve been making lunches and dinner ever day, it’s the least-”

“Travis prefers home cooked meals. After everything, it’s the least I can do to-”

“I know you’re tired, Hummingbird. You work hard and you-”

“I’m not really working hard, am I? I don’t have a job anymore-”

“It’s a suspension-”

“They fired me, Lloyd. They’re just being nice about it, because what happened on that call wasn’t actually my fault. However, the client was spooked and no one wants to work with someone who’s a risk of others getting injured or killed, so...”

“Hummingbird, I’m trying.”

“We both are, Lloyd. Just because we’re both trying and love each other, doesn’t mean-”

“But why can’t it?!”

“Because you can’t be the king of everything all the time!” you yell, your tears coming freely as you throw your hands up. “You need to control everything and I need some stability. Things aren’t going to just sort themselves out because we want them to! You think I want to break up again? You don’t think I wish that we could just magically figure this all out? I’m so madly in love with you, but I don’t love the life we live! Travis is in trouble every other day, he’s scared, the only time when we aren’t arguing is when we’re fucking...this isn’t working, but I don’t have the strength to walk away! Not again, because the problem wasn’t that we stopped being in love, the problem was your job and you inability to see past your own wants! I don’t know what to do anymore, Lloyd! Being without you is hell, but so is being with you and I just...I don’t know what to do anymore,” you sigh, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Now, lets get inside and take care of our nine year old son, whose grounded...again.”

“Wait, what? Why?” Lloyd asks, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes.

“He got into another fight at school.”

“Jesus Christ!” Lloyd yells, getting out of the car and slamming it shut.

“Lloyd, stop it!” you yell, quickly getting out and running after him.

“No, he needs to stop with this shit! He can’t keep getting into fights! With how much money we fucking pay?!”

“Look who’s talking! Lloyd, I will handle this! Don’t go in there and-”

“TRAVIS!” he yells as soon as he steps foot in the house.

Great.

“What?” Travis scowls from the dining room table, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! What the hell is wrong with you?! Another fight?! We just had this talk two weeks ago! Are you trying to get kicked out?!”

“I’m sure you can donate more money and fix it, just like you always do.”

“Your attitude is starting to become a real pain the ass!”

“Both of you stop it!” you yell, trying to stop the argument before it escalates any further.

“Don’t you have another job to leave for? You always have someplace to be that isn’t here with us, so why aren’t you there now?” Travis scowls, still not bothering to look up.

“THAT IS ENOUGH! THE BOTH YOU, IN THE LIVING AREA, NOW!” you yell, officially at your wits end.

Neither of them says a word, they both just roll their eyes and make their way over to the area.

God help you.

“Listen, I know this family has been through a lot, but the way the both of you speak to one another is not okay! Travis, you know good and damn well that you’re never allowed to speak to your Father like that! Lloyd! What the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t get to speak to him like that when you’re barely ever even home and you don’t know the full story! Travis didn’t even start the fight, he just finished it! He’s been getting bullied, a lot-”

“What?! Why didn’t-”

“Lloyd, you’ve been busy and haven’t had much time to talk-”

“I would’ve made time!”

“You never have before!” Travis interjects angrily.

“Travis, enough! Upstairs!”

“But Mom-”

“Go! I’ll deal with your Father, you need to go upstairs and cool off!”

Travis sucks his teeth as he gets up and makes his way up the stairs, stomping loudly, and it takes all you have in you not to yell at him.

“Something needs to be done about his fucking attitude,” Lloyd scowls and you roll your eyes as you make your way into the kitchen. “What?!”

“You were out of line, Lloyd. If I were Travis, I’d have the same fucking response.”

You grab the largest wine glass you can find and fill it, as you take your hair out of a ponytail, trying to figure out when exactly the house became a war zone.

Lloyd lets out a heavy sigh before grabbing a bottle of bourbon and a glass to go with it, before leaning against the counter top, “what happened?”

“Travis had a panic attack during his Math class. He gets skiddish when he hears loud noises, any type of a loud boom...he’s scared. The other kids know what happened, of course, so they pick on him because kids are devils. Anyway, there’s one kid in particular that keeps picking on him and he’s the one who triggered his panic attack.”

“So, some little shit triggers his panic attack and Travis gets suspended?!”

“Yeah well, Travis broke the kid’s nose and gave him a black eye.”

“Sounds like he let the kid off with a warning.”

“Lloyd.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“When? You’re never here, and when you are, you’re in a shitty mood. Every time I brought it up we ended up arguing. Big shock there.”

“That’s why you want to home school him,” he sighs rowing a hand through his hair.

“Lloyd, you’re never around. Even with you taking on desk work, you’re still gone. I can’t keep seeing him heartbroken like this. He’s gonna end up like us, for fucks sake.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Lloyd, he’s not like you and me. Yes, he’s always had issues with his temper, but never like this. He’s angry all the time, and if he’s not angry, he’s upset. And if he’s not upset, he’s a recluse. That’s not our son and you know that. This isn’t his personality at all.”

“I want to fix this-”

“Then be here, Lloyd. It’s that fucking simple.”

“I don’t wanna argue, Hummingbird, alright? I’m imagining that there’s a meeting we need to go to?”

“Tomorrow at 1. I’ll let you know-”

“I’m going with you.”

“That’s definitely not a good idea,” you scoff before taking a giant sip of your wine. “I’ll handle it-”

“I’m his Father, Hummingbird. I should be there and you don’t have to keep doing all of this by yourself. You want me to be there, so I’m gonna try my hardest, okay? I know you don’t think so, but you and Travis are the center of my universe and I know...I know things have to change,” he mumbles, turning and caging you between his arms. “I’m trying, Hummingbird. We both want this-”

“Lloyd, we are both too old and I am too tired-”

“I can get this right, Hummingbird. I need to get this right,” he promises softly as he rests his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Lloyd.”

“Sleep in our bed tonight,” he begs softly as his hand travels under your shirt.

“Lloyd, don’t.”

“It’s been weeks and I miss you. You know I’m sorry and how much I love you.”

“We can’t just fuck-”

“We’re not. I’m not just trying to fix what’s wrong with us with sex. I fucking miss you. I miss hearing you come alive for me, getting lost deep inside of you, “ he presses as he squeezes your hips.

“Lloyd!” you gasp, trying to keep your voice down.

Having intimate moments in random parts of the house is a lot harder when your child can make his way down the steps with ease.

“Tell me you’ll sleep in my bed tonight,” he continues to beg as he starts to kiss and suck on your neck, “our bed.”

“Huckleberry!”

“Tell me you’ll-”

“MOM!” Travis calls from the top of the steps as Lloyd backs away a little and throws his head back in frustration, “I need your help with this essay!”

“I’ll go,” Lloyd breathes as he rests his head against yours.

“No, he called for me-”

“He and I need to have a talk anyway. You stay here, think, get started on dinner...whatever you wanna do. I’ll go.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, before quickly turning and leaving, which leaves you all alone with your thoughts. You’re quick to rifle through your purse, pulling out your pack of cigarettes and a lighter, before grabbing your glass and making your way outside onto the back patio.

Taking a seat at the head of the outside dinner area, you light a cigarette and think about your relationship with Lloyd.

Both the good and the bad parts.

However, you feel the same thing you always feel when you think about the two of you (which has been a lot lately), and you come to the same conclusion every time. You can’t bring yourself to hate or regret any of it, and you can’t convince yourself that it’s truly time to call it quits. Yes, Lloyd can be a monster and hot headed but, in the spots reserved for only you and Travis (and you guess Denny), he’s the most amazing man you’ve ever met.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t turn it off, and you’ve been trying for years.

“I can tell that you’re upset with me, Hummingbird,” Lloyd chuckled as he laid down next to you on your bed.

“All the guy said was hi-”

“I didn’t like how he said it. You’re my girl and he should’ve known to keep his distance.”

“I’m not your anything. We fucked once and have been on a few dates. That doesn’t make us official.”

“You hate that you like me so much don’t you?”

“And what makes you think that I like you so fucking much?”

“Well, for starters,” he smirked as he sat up, “you’re getting worked up and that’s not like you unless you’re caught in a lie. Two, I sent those flowers to you two weeks ago, and they still look brand new. You wouldn’t care about them if they didn’t mean so much to you.”

“And how do you know so much about me?”

“Because I’ve been watching you.”

“Lloyd-”

“And you fucking like it, so don’t give me any shit. You’re not as oblivious as you like to seem. You know just as much about me as I do you. I’m territorial-”

“I’m not your fucking property, Lloyd.”

“No, you’re not property, but you are my girl.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“I know you’ve been watching the time, so I know you know it’s 1am.”

“So what?”

“So, you haven’t kicked me out, and you don’t want to kick me out, or you would have already. In fact, you haven’t even hinted at wanting me to leave.”

“Maybe I just like looking at you, Hansen,” you shrugged as you finally turned all of your attention towards him.

“Or maybe,” he smirked as he hoisted you up just a bit before forcing your legs around his waist, “you love the way I fuck you, just as much as I love fucking you.”

“I don’t love anything about you,” you moaned as ground your hips against his, clawing against his arms as you wordlessly begged for more.

“You love how I make you feel and that’s all I need for now. Until you’re ready to tell me, Hummingbird,” he mused as he ripped off your panties,

“Lloyd-”

“You tell me to stop and I will. I’m not going to take anything you’re not willing to give,” he smirked as he started stroking your clit with his thumb.

“You still hook up with other girls so I don’t know-”

“You say the word and I’ll stop. You just have to tell me how much you like me,” he teased, rubbing your clit a little faster.

You knew he had you, because no matter how hard you fought it, you really did like him. Yes, there were a million things wrong with him, but the way he treated you...

The flowers, the attention he paid to things that made you laugh and smile, the way he’d stay late with you at the library when you insisted on going over all your notes one more time even when he had an early practice or game the next day, how he’d stay on the phone with you even when you were asleep....yes, there were a lot of flaws with Lloyd Hansen, but they all seemed to melt away for you. He was notorious for treating women like trash, you’d seen him lose him temper on the field, you’d heard about the fights he’d gotten in over the smallest things. Hell, he’d just punched a guy in the face a few hours ago because he didn’t like how close a guy was standing next to you at a fucking frat party.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop being so fucking smitten with him.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” he promised as he dipped down and kissed your hip bone.

You weren’t ready to tell him that you wanted him to be yours and yours only, so you instead you said, “make me feel better.”

You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, but he masked it well and started to kiss up your body. The kisses weren’t anything like the ones he gave you the first time you two hooked up. Granted, it had been over a month since you two fucked at the frat party held in his frat house, but you still remembered every touch and kiss like it was yesterday.

“Lloyd,” you moaned as he started to lick and suck on your hipbone.

“Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll do it,” he promised before dragging his tongue up your torso. “I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“I just wanna feel you,” you whimpered, losing all resolve as you felt yourself come to life for him.

“Always in my fucking crew neck,” he growled as he sat up, taking his hoodie and throwing it to the side, “it drives me fucking insane.”

“Take it back,” you moaned, pulling it over your head, taking his lead and throwing it on the floor.

“Fuck, no bra, baby? What took you so long?”

“I just wanna feel you right now,” you begged, pulling him close and kissing him passionately.

“I’m all yours,” he husked as forced his sweatpants down, “I belong to you and you only,” he promised as he pushed himself inside of you.

“Fuck!”

“You want me to make you feel better, Hummingbird? I’ll make you feel the best you’ve ever felt,” he promised before he captured in a soul stealing kiss.

In no time at all, you were moving your hips with his, gripping his hair tight as you pulled him close with your arms.

“Tell me how much you’ve been thinking about me,” he begged as he picked up his pace, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead to yours.

“Every day and every night,” you confessed, your walls tightening around him as you tried to fight off your release.

“Best pussy I’ve ever been in, did you know that, Hummingbird? Did you know that no other pussy milks my cock like yours? No one makes me feel like you do,” he groaned before he licked the side of your cheek with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh fuck!”

“I’d do anything to make you happy, Hummingbird. Anything to keep a smile on that gorgeous face of yours!”

“Lloyd...please!”

“Gonna fuckin’ make you mine, baby! Gonna make you happier than you’ve ever been and I’m gonna keep it that way!”

“Shit!” you cried out, toes curled and back arched at the words the words he said.

The promises he was making.

“I want you to cream on my cock, Hummingbird. I’ve been thinking about it since the last time I had you in my bed, and I need it so fucking bad,” he growled as he picked up his pace, “I fucking need you!”

“Need it! N-n-need you!”

“Fuck! C’mon, give it to me! I’ll keep you up all night, I promise!”

You couldn’t have held on if you tried. His name left your mouth like a desperate plea as you squirted hard on his cock, gripping his hair harder than you meant to.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he groaned as he filled you up.

Why couldn’t you stop your mind, body, and heart from desiring him in the worst ways?

“Don’t think about anything else right now, Hummingbird,” he cooed as he rode out your highs, “just be here with me, baby.”

You had no choice but to obey.

He was a good as his word and kept you up, being so insanely sweet and gentle with you, like he needed you to believe that this wasn’t just about the chase with you. He needed you to feel that it was more than just mind numbing fucking. You let him stay and hold you close that night, and it was the best you’d slept since the first time you two hooked up.

You like to lie to yourself and say that you don’t know why that memory holds so much weight with you, but you know it’s bullshit. Everything he said that night...everything he did...Lloyd let you know in his own way that his feelings were real, and you let yourself quietly accept that yours were real too.

You let yourself finally accept how much you truly cared about him.

Cared for him.

However, for as much as they memory warms your heart and makes you smile, the one that follows leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you’re ready to punch Lloyd in the dick.

“The fuck are you so mad about, Hummingbird?!” Lloyd yelled/slurred as he followed you around his frat house, drink in hand, as you stumbled around to get away from him.

“Fuck off, Hansen!”

“The fuck did I do?!”

“Besides go upstairs with half the women at this party? Nothing!”

“So you do like me,” he smirked as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to a stop.

“I fucking hate you!” you yelled, slapping him so hard he dropped his drink.

“Fucking bitch!”

“FUCK YOU!”

You two weren’t even a couple, but you were already arguing as if you two had been married for 50 years.

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I have any fun?! Huh?! You keep saying that this is nothing, so why shouldn’t have all the fun I want?!” he roared as he followed you into the kitchen.

“Ya know what, Lloyd? Fuck whoever you want! Fuck until your dick falls off! I don’t give a single fucking shit!” you yelled as you made yourself a drink.

“You clearly do if you’re yelling at me in my own goddamned frat house!”

“Oh? It’s your frat house? Did your daddy buy it for you, you spoiled fucking prince?!”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! I can’t fucking make heads or tails of you! You say you don’t want this, but you get fucking pissed-”

“Why should I give you a fucking chance, Lloyd?! You say and do all of these things, and when you don’t get immediate results, you go and fuck around! So, what exactly is my incentive to date you? Give you a chance?!”

“Fucking come off it, Y/N,” he scoffed, “don’t blame me for the fact that you’re scared! You put up walls and make things complicated-”

“Then work for it! Fucking work for it you giant fucking child! I didn’t go after you, you came after me! You want me? The fucking earn me!”

“Why should I have to earn what you so willingly gave me in this very kitchen,” he chuckled with a smug grin.

The slap you gave him after that comment was probably the hardest one you’d ever given him.

“I fucking hate you. Know that I mean that with every fiber of my being. I hate you and I don’t ever want to see you again,” you sobbed before grabbing your drink and stormed out, Tina at your heels.

Of course, Lloyd refused to leave you alone. Whether it was having the men’s quartet at your classes and singing you love songs, having dozens of flowers sent to your dorm daily, or leaving romantic love letters left at your dorm every day, Lloyd didn’t let up. He kept at everything for months until you finally agreed to go back out with him.

You’re not sure if it was sheer irritation that got you to say yes, or the fact that you just missed him, but whatever it was you took him back. For better or worse, you took him back and decided he was worth all of the hell he put you through and that it was tolerable.

That being said, that was the outlook for the rest of your relationship.

Lloyd doing whatever he needed to, to invoke some sort of emotion out of you, so that you’d just admit that he’s all you ever wanted. Yes, it was toxic and you should’ve walked away in that moment, but the man made it impossible. You’d met your match in every way possible. Knowing that should’ve been enough for you to walk away, but it wasn’t and you hate that you can’t blame that on Lloyd. Yes, there were multiple options for you to just walk away, no matter how consistent Lloyd was, but you still made the decision to stay.

Even now, you can’t blame Lloyd for all the hell you go through. You always have an out, and if Lloyd truly believed you wanted to leave, he would let you. Yes, there would be the pain of him seeing you whenever you picked up (or he dropped off) Travis, but Lloyd has always been respectable enough to give you space and/or peace. As much you’d love to put your stress and anger on him, you know you can’t. You made your own personal hell and now you have to make a choice:

Do you keep trying to create a future that will no doubt be stressful but loving and worth it in the end, or do you keep following down the a path that just leads you to stress and frustration? Only time will tell and only you will be able to decide if it’s all worth it.

But fuck it all if you don’t don’t want Lloyd to be your endgame, even if it’s not what’s best for you.

Lloyd’s P.O.V

“Trav, you and I need to have a talk,” I sigh as I take seat his computer desk.

He’s nine years old, why the hell does he have such an intense computer setup?

“Aren’t you supposed to knock before you come in? Mom knocks,” he mutters, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“She’s the nicer one.”

“Didn’t she punch my gym teacher in the face just for making a remark about my attitude when it comes to leading team sports?”

“I said she’s nicer one, not the more sane one, and put the damn book down. I’m talking to you.”

“What?”

“Watch your fucking mouth. What’s going on at school, and why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“In order for me to tell you about anything, you’d have to be here for that,” he snaps.

Ah yes, that’s why he has an insane computer setup. Guilt.

“I’m here now.”

“Good job.”

“Travis, I swear to God-”

“You’re never home, Dad! Before, you were always away on missions. Now, you don’t do missions but you’re always at work, and when you are home, you get pissed off about every little thing. If you don’t give a damn, why should I say anything?”

“That’s not true and you know it. I’m just adjusting. I know I’m not good at it, but I’m working on it.”

“Are you capable of apologizing to anyone besides Mom?

“I apologize to you when you deserve one.”

“Now seems like a pretty good time.”

“Jesus, you’re so much like your Mother sometimes. I swear that sometimes I think you two work together to drive me insane.”

“Well, I’m the one who got sent to my room, so it can’t be all that bad.”

“You owe your Mother an apology.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs.

“Sit up and tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Get up and talk to me. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting bullied?”

“Didn’t we just discuss that?”

I swear he’s just like Y/N.

“Travis.”

“Some of the kids at school think it’s funny that I’m scared to go to gym class, or that I jump when a book drops, or that I have panic attacks.”

“Why the hell are youi afraid of gym class?”

“A ball bouncing off the wall? A basketball bouncing-”

“Okay okay,” I sigh, sitting back. “You can’t let the bullies win. That’s not how your Mom and I are rasinging you.”

“I fought back and got suspended and, I’m sorry, isn’t that the Hansen way?”

“Are we sure you’re only 9?”

“I learn from the best.”

“That you do. Do you want to be home schooled?”

“Not forever,” he mumbles and I roll my eyes. “What now?”

“Speak up, I’m not raising you to be shy!”

“Why isn’t Mom having this talk with me?”

“Because she’s making dinner and I’m your Father.”

“You should’ve ordered something,” he goes on, completely ignoring the part about me being his Father.

Great, my kid hates me too.

“I offered to and she said that you prefer home cooked meals.”

“It doesn’t matter, she’s stressed out. You just have to do it.”

“How do you know this?”

“When she gets really upset over the things you do, I make dinner or talk her into ordering food,” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“I’m trying to do better-”

“Don’t try, Dad. Just do it. Mom is here all the time and she deals with all of it, and then has to deal with your mood swings on top of it? It’s not fair.”

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter as I get up.

“Now who isn’t speaking up?”

“Watch it,” I warn in the voice that lets him know he’s got no more buttons left to push, “and watch the swearing around your Mom. You know how much she hates it.”

“But why?”

“You’ve spent time with your grandparents, that’s not how she was raised. You’re too young to swear.”

“That’s not what you think.”

“You’re gonna swear anyway, so who gives a damn when you start? However, your Mom doesn’t like it, so cut it out.”

“I preferred when you two lived apart.”

“Well, get used to how things are now, because it’s how they’re staying.”

“Not if you keeo going on like this,” he mutters, picking up his book.

“Stop being a little shit and get ready for dinner. I’m taking everyone out.”

“Where?”

“Wherever your Mom wants. Get up and get dressed.”

Yeah, I owe him an apology, but he’s not getting one while he’s being a little shit.

It also doesn’t help that he’s right.

Trying to think of the romantic way to tell you that I’m taking you both out, I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen to see you sitting outside at the patio dinner table, smoking a cigarette and drinking wine.

How did I fuck this up again? We were doing good and then, as usual, I got in the way. I’m the one starting the arguments, I’m burying myself in an attempt to keep the bit of sanity that I have, I’m not there for Travis like I used to be...

I keep fucking it up.

You’re right: this isn’t college and we can’t go on raising Travis like this. I have to start giving and stop taking. I’m not afraid of much, but I am terrified of losing you again, and I can tell that you’re on your last leg. I’m unforgiving and an entitled asshole, and you knew that when you fell in love with me, but the charm was that I never treated you like everyone else.

Well, never to this extent.

Now, I keep taking too much and don’t even think of giving anything back, and I can’t be mad that you’re ready to call off the wedding. Hell, I haven’t even seen you look at a bridal magazine in months.

If this is gonna get better at all, it’s gonna have to start with me.

Y/N’s P.OV.

“What the fuck is going on with you and Hansen?” Tina asked as you both left the library.

“Clearly nothing,” you mumbled, annoyed with yourself for how worked up you got over him at the frat party last week.

You don’t know why you let his words get to you, because Lloyd Hansen only looks out for Lloyd Hansen. It’s all just a game to him and you knew you needed to stop believing you were any different.

“Well, if it were nothing, why the hell did you slap him so hard?”

“As if anyone needs a good reason to slap Lloyd in thr face.”

“I’m not saying it’s not long overdue, but it’s not like you at all. Plus, ever since, you’ve been getting flowers, poems sent to you, teachers seem to be more lax with you-”

“What’s done is done and Lloyd can go fuck himself. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, but I’m done thinking it,” you huffed as held back your tears.

You weren’t about to cry over him again, and especially not infront of Tina. No one knows how much Lloyd means to you, and if you keep it that way, you can pretend he never meant much to you either.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Babe, what’s going on? What happened between you two?”

“You and everyone else saw what happened: he went down on me in the kitchen, he took me up to his room and fucked me until I was too tired to walk, we went on a few dates, we fucked again, and then decided to take multiple women up to his room at the frat party he invited me to, and that’s that. I don’t know, I just think it’s pretty shit to tell a person you’re no longer interested that way.”

“I mean...it’s Lloyd. It’s not like he has a decent bone in his body,” she scoffed as you two walked down your dormitry hall. “What did he tell you that made you believe-”

“Tina, can we please stop talking about...I left my door closed,” you said cautiously as your footsteps started to come slower.

“Does anyone besides either of us have a key?”

“Nope,” you sighed, cautiously pushing the door open, only to be met with complete and utter shock. “What the...”

Your dorm room was filled with pink and white peonies, your absolute favorites, and already knew who was behind it.

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? To make it worse, you could feel your heart swelling in your chesr with so much happiness, and your brain couldn’t understand why. Lloyd went out his way just to hurt you, because you wanted to be smart and take your time, so why do all of his actions mean so much?

“Of course you’re here with Tina,” Lloyd mumbled, visibly upset as he rolled his eyes, getting off of your bed.

“Lloyd-”

“Tina, get out,” he snapped at her.

“Excuse me?!”

“This talk doesn’t concern you-”

“It concerns my best friend!”

“Who isn’t you. Get out.”

“Lloyd-”

“Tina, there’s no point in going back and forth, because he’s not going to leave,” you scowled, dropping your bag before picking up one of the flowers.

Yeah, you were pissed, but the flowers were gorgeous.

“Are you sure, Y/N?”

“Yeah babe, I’ll call you later,” you smiled, wondering why the hell you weren’t telling her to stay.

You knew how things would go the second she closed the door.

“Fuck you, Hansen,” she spat before leaving and slamming the door behind her.

“How can you stand to be friends with her? She’s such a bitch.”

“Now, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Hummingbird-”

“What the hell do you want, Lloyd?”

“Don’t kick me out before you’ve even heard me out.”

“I don’t feel like hearing anything you have to say. You made your point perfectly clear-”

“No, I didn’t and I’m-”

“Lloyd, just go back-”

“Can you shut up and let me fucking apologize?! Jesus!” he snapped and you jumped at his tone, as well as the fact that he’d just apologized.

Lloyd Hansen never apologized to anyone for anything.

“Listen...you’re right, okay? I don’t give you any reason to believe me, so I shouldn’t be all that surprised that you don’t wanna date me. What I did last week...it was fucked up and I did it out of anger-”

“Anger? How the fuck were you angry with me?!”

“Because you wom’t just admit that you like me! I’ve laid it all out for you, I’ve made the gestures, I’ve-”

“You’ve been sleeping around, you’ve let your temper get the best of you, you’re immature-”

“You don’t need to list every flaw that I have,” he growled. “You’re right and I’m sorry-”

“Lloyd, just leave me alone, please,” you started to sob, throwing the flower down. “You make these big gestures, you say all these things, and then you fucking hurt me. I didn’t do-”

“I meant everything I said to you that night, Hummingbird,” he cooed as he slowly made his way over to you. “I want to make you happy and keep you happy forever, no one has ever made me feel like you do, and I don’t know...it scares me,” he confessed as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Lloyd, please just-”

“I’m not trying to make your life harder-I’m not!” he repeated when you scoffed, “I’m figuring this out, okay? I’ve never...I just want you and In know that you just want me.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you sobbed, finally meeting his gaze, surprised to see just how soft loving it was, and of course it made you yearn for him all that much more.

“I do, Humming. I’ve always known,” he told you breathlessly before cupped your face and kissed you as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

You weren’t surprised by how quickly you’d caved at all. Even with your brain telling you to stop, you also knew that no part of you could deny that you’d missed him. Yeah, you’d missed the sex, but you also just missed Lloyd. You missed the way he teased you about your study habits, you missed him waiting for you outside of your classes, you missed him bringing you dinner and late night snacks when he knew you were staying up too late, the late night phone calls, the personal talks...

You missed Lloyd.

You were both relentless that night, unspoken promises were made, and you let him stay over and hold you close after all was said and done. When morning came, you told him that the night before didn’t change anything and that if really wanted you, he was going to have to really earn you.

You kept the poor man at a distance for almost two months. Then, one night after a football game, everything changed and set what was to be your future in motion.

“Hummingbird, lets go. You’ve had more than enough,” he all but growled as he tried to pull you off of the bar top you were dancing on with Tina.

“Fuck off, Hansen!” you snapped, pulling your hand back as you kept dancing, still mad at him from the argument you two had before the football game.

It also didn’t help that you had 8 shots of tequila consecutively.

“I mean it, Hummingbird. Get your ass off the bar and lets go!”

“Piss off, Hansen!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tina!” he roared back.

It was truly amazing to you how much they hated each other.

You were able to resume dancing for all of 10 seconds before you felt Lloyd’s strong arm around your waist, pulling you down, “hey, let go of me!”

“Time to go back and sleep this off.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you fucking asshole!”

“Denny, get your bastard best friend in line!” Tina yelled, pout on her face at the sight of you being dragged away.

“Denny, get your dumb bitch in line!” Lloyd called back, not even bothering to look in the direction of either of them.

“Lloyd, I fucking hate you!” you screamed, still fighting against him.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“Let me go!” you yelled before spat in his face.

He had it coming for the whole damn day in your defence.

“That’s enough, Y/N!” he snapped, finally jerking you still. “I don’t give a fuck that you’re mad at me, you’re too fucking drunk and you need to lay down! We’re going back to my place, you’re sleeping it off, and that’s final!”

“Fine,” you muttered as you finally stopped the scene you were making, but being completely turned on by the way he was controlling you.

“You little bitch, you would fucking spit...stand outside the bathroom and do not move!” he commanded before shoving the bathroom door open.

“Your boyfriend seems like a real dick,” some guy smirked before he took a sip of his beer and leaned against the wall.

“That prick is not my boyfriend,” you scoffed, trying to decide if you wanted to disobey Lloyd or not.

You really wanted another drink.

“You wanna get away from him?”

“When don’t I?”

“Then lets go,” he chuckled before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you out the backdoor with him.

“What the...let me go!”

What was it with guys pulling you around that night?

“C’mon, you said yourself that you wanna get away from that guy!”

“That didn’t mean I wanted to leave with you! Leave me alone!”

“Listen, I saw you dancing on the bar like a little whore-”

“It wasn’t for you! Leave me-”

“Listen, you little bitch! You’re gonna give me what I want and I’ll give you back to your slutty little friend! Now quit-”

“Let me go!” you screamed before you stomped on his foot as hard you could with your heel before elbowing him in the stomach.

“Bitch!” he yelled, doubled over in pain as you started to run off.

How was this happening to you?

You got but only so far before being tackled, “help!”

“Now, you’re gonna fucking pay! I’m gonna make sure you’re in pain for a fuckin week!” he promised as he roughly forced you onto your back, scraping your knees against the gravel in the process before he ripped open your skirt.

“Please stop!” you cried, hitting his chest as hard as you could, but it was useless. “Get off of me!”

“Shut up!”

“The woman said to get off of her!” Lloyd yelled before he kicked the guy in the face and practically sent him flying. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Lloyd asked, rage taking over his entire demeanor as he looked you over.

You couldn’t think of any response other than to shake your head ‘no’.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised before turning and facing the asshole who was trying to get back up. “Come here you piece of shit! When someone fucking says no, you fucking stop!”

You tried to tell him to stop, but you couldn’t swallow down the lump in your throat, and you couldn’t stop shaking. Lloyd was relentless as kept landing blow after blow, but making sure to keep him upright. It’s not like you had the perfect view of his face, but you could tell that he was completely unhinged. Yeah, you’d seen him lose his temper before, but never like this.

“Now, do you understand that no means no?” he growled, holding the piece of shit up by the lapel of his shirt.

“I...I won’t...I’ll never do it again,” the man sputtered out, trying to stay up right.

“I wanna believe you Lamb Chop,” he pouted, feigning sympathy, “but I’m afraid there’s only one way that I’ll believe that something like this will never happen again.”

As if it were the easiest thing in the world, Lloyd snapped the pathetic man’s neck. You didn’t gasp, but the shaking definitely stopped.

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asked again, as he made his way over to you, voice soft as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

All you did was look up at him, eyes wide with shock.

“Hummingbird, are you okay?”

You just nodded. Lloyd sighed, half in annoyance and half in sympathy. He picked you up bridal style and carried you back to his frat house, not caring at all that it was a 20 minute walk.

You were quiet for the entire walk, because what could you say? What could you do? You’d just witnessed him kill someone as it were the easiest thing in the world, and he didn’t even seem slightly bothered by it. He just held you close while you clung to him as if your life depended on it, and you both stayed like that until you reached his room.

“You need to clean yourself up,” he told you gently after he finished cleaning up the cuts on your knees.

“That...that guy-”

“Is never going to bother you again.”

“But you...he’s just laying there-”

“It’s taken care of.”

“But what if-”

“Everything is going to be fine. You have nothing to worry about. He’ll never bother you again. No one will.”

“I should go back-”

“Stay here tonight and we’ll figure it all out tomorrow.”

“Lloyd...you have to-”

“I have to make sure you’re all good, Hummingbird.”

“No. No, you need to make sure-”

“Stop it. Every thing is as it should be. Go and clean up.”

In all honesty, that should’ve been enough for you. You knew, that night, that you needed to walk away. Lloyd had murdered someone and felt absolutely no remorse over it. In fact, as you stood under the shower head that night, you were more than sure that wasn’t his first time. When you got out of the shower, you cracked the door and heard him on the phone with someone (more than likely Denny), and he was talking to them about a neat “clean up”. Yes, that night showed you the kind of man you were dealing with, and you had more than enough proof that it was time to walk away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you dried yourself off, got in bed next to him, and let him hold you close, feeling safer than you’d ever had in your life. Yeah, he’d killed a man, but he killed him for you. He’d told you time and time again that he’d do anything to keep you safe and that night he proved it. Plus, after that night, he was so insanely patient and sweet with you. For a man who had a reputation for not being able to keep his dick in his pants, he didn’t sleep around and didn’t mention anything sexual until you straddled him after an amazing football victory.

No, you can’t blame for Lloyd for much, because he’d never hidden who and how he truly was from the very beginning. You’d always known that he was hot headed, unhinged, and cruel. You’d always known that he was conniving, secretive, and was prone to violent outburst. You’d always known about every horrible thing about him, and maybe that’s why you stayed. Lloyd never seemed to give a damn about anyone or anything, but he gave a damn about you. He let you in more than he’d ever let anyone else in and it made you feel like he wasn’t lying.

When you had a chance to get out, you didn’t.

And yes: you did have an out. Lloyd backed off a lot after he murdered that asshole, because even he knew that he’d shown you the darkest side of himself. He saw the fear in your eyes that night, and he knew it would be best to back off and give you your space, but you pursued him. So yes, to an extent, this was your fault. Lloyd had always been himself and you decided to stay.

You always told yourself that he would grow out of it (which you knew was fucking stupid), and that he’d stick to the career path you two had setup. Looking back on it, maybe he just made the career path to appease you, and maybe you just wanted to live in the fucked fairy-tale just a bit longer, because somewhere deep down inside you knew.

You knew he would never be able to stick to being a football player, because he didn’t know how to listen to anyone (except maybe you), he didn’t do well in social settings unless he had to, and he always hit too damn hard on the field because of his temper and his need to lash out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew your fairy-tale would end after college graduation. That’s why you fought with him over joining the CIA, and it’s why you knew he’d fail at it. However, you were hopeful that him getting kicked out would push him to choose another career path, but then they asked him to join the private sector and you knew you were fucked.

Yes, to an extent, you could blame yourself but that didn’t clear him of all wrong doing. You’d sacrificed so much if yourself for him and didn’t think the idea of him returning the favor was so far fetched. Fine, he had to work just like you did (especially to afford the life he wanted to live), but once you got pregnant, it should’ve been easy for him to see for himself that he needed to take a step back. It should’ve been enough for him to finally giving instead of taking.

He took you wanting him to take a step back as sign of no longer supporting him, when in fact, it was all about safety and security. For all of the flaws that it had, you loved your life and you wanted it to stay as it had become. The fact that Lloyd couldn’t see that is what triggered the arguments. Sure, you could’ve been more vocal (though you’re pretty sure you made your point pretty fucking clear), but it’s not like it was fucking rocket science. You two had a kid and safety precautions needed to be taken.

What was once a quality you adored about him, his ability and need to be stubborn and hold on to his beliefs, became a quality you hated. Still, you held on and tried to make the best of it, because you loved him with every fiber of your being. You knew the relationship was dying, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to let go. Even with the lonely nights, the brutal arguments, and the sleepless nights you couldn’t walk away.

Then he cheated, something you purposely pushed him towards, and you had an out again. Yeah, the whole process was awful and you hated it, but you told yourself it was for the best because it truly was. He needed something you could no longer offer, and you just couldn’t take feeling like another burden in his life. It was a clean break.

Except for Travis.

Despite all of the issues you and Lloyd had, you both loved Travis more than anything in the world. Lloyd was on time to pick him up whenever it was turn to have him, he stayed on him about his schoolwork and studying for any possible thing that could come up, and did his absolutebet to be every event Travis had. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s one of the reasons it was so hard for you to fall out of love with him. He was so dedicated and he loved Travis more than either ever thought possible. How could you not stay in love with him?

Still, enough damage had happened that it was easy enough for you to stay away, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop wanting and needing him.

“He was good this weekend,” Lloyd commented as Travis ran into your house.

“Did he make a fuss about the food? I know his appetite has been changing lately.”

“Yeah, since when the hell did he start liking peas?”

“That happened on Monday,” you laughed softly, “he wasn’t too fussy?”

“He gets sad sometimes, he likes having the both of us around, but I took him to the aquarium.”

“Oh God,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“What?” he laughed.

“He’s gonna beg me to take him back. He’s been obsessed with it lately.”

“I didn’t know-”

“No, it’s fine. He’s a good kid, he deserves it.”

“Mama! Dad can stay for a bit, right?!” Travis asked enthusiastically.

“Uh...it’s up to your Dad,” you smiled at Lloyd with a shrug.

“Yeah, I can hang around for bit,” he smiled to Travis.

“Great! Mom made chicken parm and salad! We can watch ‘Tombstone’!” he practically yelled before he ran towards the kitchen.

Nights like that made it easy to blur the lines, because it was so easy to fall into a routine, and fall even more in love with Lloyd. Yes, Lloyd did a lot of fucked up things, but when it came to you in Travis, he was a good man. He’d stay over, watch movies, play video games, and read him stories until he fell asleep. Those were the nights that made it hard to stay away. Yeah, you only slept with him once during the divorce, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t other fuck ups, and they weren’t even his fault.

He’d be in the middle of what his schedule looked like for the week and you’d just kiss him. You knew that you were the one who set the rules in place, but seeing him in full Dad mode made you forget for just a moment about all of the hell you two had gone through. In those moments, you remembered how things were supposed to go. You two were still so much in love and having those small moments really made you want him all that much more. You never meant for those moments to happen, especially during the holidays, but it was just so damn hard. When Lloyd Hansen wants to be, he is the most loving and caring person to exist.

Which is why you’re currently staring at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom connected to the spare bedroom, trying to decide if going to Lloyd is the best thing. You know that if you go in there, you two won’t be able to keep to your hands to yourselves and you’ll end up under his spell.

Like always.

However, you can’t stop yourself from wanting him. His touch alone is enough to bring you peace, but him being buried deep inside you...that’s heaven.

It’s home.

It’s not even about needing to be satisfied physically, it’s the fact that no one will ever understand or love you the way that Lloyd does. He gets your crude and cruel sense of humor, he knows the best and worst parts of you, and he’s the Father of your child. Your relationship with him should be perfect, but it’s a fucking shit show, and you know that. You truly do, but no matter how much you try and get your heart to remember that one simple fact, you can’t. You’ve never been able to.

Lloyd, for all of his demons and flaws, is your endgame.

So, you don’t stop yourself from throwing on one of his old and beaten up Harvard sweaters (he always wanted to get rid of them but they held too much meaning to you), and a pair of boxer shorts, and making your way to his room. You know it’s not in your best interest, but you need him.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing in the doorway and looking down at your feet, “dinner was nice...thanks. I’m happy you and Travis made up.”

“We didn’t make up,” Lloyd scoffs as he throws his phone down, “he just hates me a little less than he did when we got home before.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Lloyd.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Yes he does,” you sigh, making your way into his bedroom and closing the door behind you, “he just...it’s gonna take time.”

“You’re always nicer than you should be,” he chuckles humorlessly.

“Well, I do love you.”

“A love I don’t deserve.”

“That’s also true.”

“Way to twist the knife.” “You said it.”

“Hummingbird, I really want...I need us to work this out. I can’t lose you again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Lloyd. It’s not like I’m not still wearing the ring, I’m the one who wanted therapy, I’m making the effort instead of just walking away....I do want this. I’ve wanted this ever since our first date,” you smile weakly as you take a seat on the bed you two are supposed to share. “I just can’t take the stress your job puts on this family. Our family. Travis is in a fight every other week, we’re always arguing, both and Travis and I are always anxious to leave the house, I’m back keeping a pistol both in the glove compartment and my purse-”

“I don’t know how to be apart of this world as a regular, day-to-day citizen and you know that! You’ve always known that!”

“Then why did we have a child? A child that you were barely around for when he was first born!”

“Because I wanted everything with you! I still want everything with you!”

“This was a bad idea,” you sigh as you go to getup, “I don’t wanna spend another night-”

“Don’t go,” he pleads softly as he grabs your wrist, “please don’t go.”

It’s amazing how just his touch is enough to send your mind into a fog. It’s not like you went in there with any fight to begin with, but the hold he has on your wrist is more than enough to get you to give in to what you truly want. You’re straddling him almost instantly, cupping his before you pull him into a deep and passionate kiss.

You finally feel whole again.

“I miss you,” he breathes once you two break apart.

“Miss you too, baby,” you confess, pulling back just a little before pulling his sweater off, “I hate being away from you.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he marvels as his hands trace over your body, “I still can’t believe that you’re all mine. That you fucking chose me.”

“I’ll choose you every time, Huckleberry,” you moan as he massages your breasts, kneading your nipples between his fingers.

Once again, it’s never been lost on you how toxic the dance you two do is. You two can’t keep trying to solve everything with sex, you two have a child who sees the toxic relationship you two have daily, and your relationship is on its last leg.

All of that being said, you can’t fucking stop, because Lloyd is everything to you. Your family is everything to you. Everything you’ve ever wanted is everything Lloyd has given to you. The sad fact of the matter is, no matter how bad things are, you know you’ll never have the strength to tell him ‘no’. Hell, even if you two do breakup again, you wouldn’t deny him access to you any time he wanted.

That’s the hardest part about being in love with a devil. They’re a million and ten things wrong with Lloyd, and he was right: you knew all this and still started on this twisted and deranged fairy-tale with him. You should be repulsed by him, and it was a lot easier to be in high school when he was a preppy asshole, but for you? For you, Lloyd would do practically anything. He’s your sweetheart, your best friend, your comedian, your knight in shining armor, and he’s the love of your life.

He’s your Huckleberry.

In a matter of moments, your boxer shorts are off and you’re on top of him, ignoring all of the voices in your head telling you that this is a horrible idea.

“Fuck,” you sigh, slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, digging your nails into his shoulder as he pulls you apart, “oh God!”

“You look so fucking beautiful when you’re on top, Hummingbird,” he growls, gripping your hips tight as you start to grind your hips against, “and this fucking pussy!”

“Lloyd,” you whimper, trying to keep quiet as you chase the high only he can give you.

“Gonna do better for you, Hummingbird...be the man you deserve,” he promises as he starts to pump up into you hard and fast.

“SHIT!”

So much for being quiet.

“C’mon Hummingbird, give me what I need,” he begs, watching you in pure awe as you try and hang on, his hands finds its way between your legs and starts massage your clit, “been way too long, Hummingbird!”

“Oh God, please...yes! YES! FUCK!” you cry out, squirting hard on his cock, almost falling forward.

At some point, some point soon, you need to look into therapy for Travis.

“All for me and we’re just getting started,” he pants with a grin before getting you on your back, “gonna make you feel so fucking good tonight,” he promises before kissing you passionately as he starts to pump into you hard and fast.

“I love...love you so much, baby,” you moan, cupping his face as you let yourself get lost in the lie all over again.

“Yeah? Show much just how much tonight,” he whispers hotly against your ear, his hands caressing your body before nipping on your earlobe.

Yes, somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that the promises that are being made in this moment won’t stand when you’re able to think clearly, but you don’t care. Right now, you just can’t. You’ve been in love with Lloyd for so long and, if all you can do is live in the make believe world of happiness you two always find a way to make for yourselves, then you’ll take it.

You’ve missed your husband, you’ve missed his touch, you’ve missed him being buried deep inside of you, and you’ve missed feeling complete. Lloyd may be a complete and total monster, but he’s the only person whose ever made you feel seen and understood. Lloyd is perfect for you, except for all of the parts of him that aren’t.

How the hell are you ever supposed to feel secure in the choice you have to make? Being with him is the most draining and exhausting thing you’ve ever done, but being without him is absolute Hell and makes you feel insanely alone and depressed. There truly feels like no right answer.

You two spend the next couple of hours professing your love to one another, getting lost in the love that you feel for one another (which started all those years ago), and promise each other that you’ll work it all out.

You truly want to believe that you two will work it all out, because you don’t know how you’re supposed to go without him again. It just doesn’t feel possible.

“I called my Mother earlier,” Lloyd sighs, getting back into bed with you after cleaning you up, “she said she’ll take Travis for the week.”

“Why is he staying with your parents?”

“Why not?”

“Cause there’s no fucking structure in your family.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Hummingbird.”

“I’m sorry, have you not met yourself?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did.”

“After the conference, we’re gonna go away and talk this out,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around you. “We’re find a way to make this work.”

“Lloyd-”

“I can’t be without you, Hummingbird. I can’t and I won’t. We’re gonna make this work,” he promises, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “We can make this work...we can be good again, Hummingbird,” he sighs, kissing the back if your neck softly.

You slowly start drifting off, feeling more relaxed and at ease then you have in weeks. You’re finally back where you belong, but you can’t stop one question from racing through your brain:

Were you two even really good to begin with?

“Mr. and Mrs Hansen,” Travis’ principle sighs, “this isn’t the first time we’ve had to talk about Travis’ behavior.”

No, you and Lloyd aren’t married again, but you’re still wearing the engagement ring, so who are you to correct her? Besides, you really do miss being Mrs. Hansen.

“You’re right, it isn’t, but Travis went to you and told you-”

“Our sweet boy has a broken nose! Your son-”

“Your son has been bullying mine for months!” you snap at Mrs. Heston, the mother of the kid Travis punched.

“So, your son had the right to respond with violence? Is that what you teach in your home?” Mr. Heston scoffs in a tone of pure disbelief.

“Better to teach our son to stand up for himself than to teach him to be a little rude little bitch,” Lloyd snarls.

“Mr. Hansen!” the principle reprimands.

“Listen,” you quickly interrupt in a weak attempt to defuse the situation, “Travis shouldn’t have hit Maxwell and he knows that, HOWEVER, Travis had come to you about it and you did nothing about it.”

“Boys will be boys, you know that,” Mrs. Heston chuckles, “he was only teasing-”

“I don’t think you would find it all that fucking funny if the shoe were on the other foot,” you snarl, quickly loosing all composure.

“No, it is by no means funny what happened to your son, and we’re truly happy he’s okay, but that doesn’t make up for him breaking our son’s nose. Your child is violent and on his way to becoming a delinquent,” Mr. Heston finishes with a huff and a nod.

You should’ve known that if you didn’t snap on one of these idiots, Lloyd would.In almost an instant, Lloyd is on the other side of the room and landing a blow to Mr. Heston’s face.

“Lloyd,” you sigh with a frustrated groan, grabbing your purse and getting up.

“You and your son a two little pieces shit,” Lloyd growls, ignoring you and the fact that hes now terrified the Hestons and the principal as he steps on the man’s chest, “and I’ll see both of you useless cum stains in hell,” he spits. “Don’t worry about Travis making up for time lost, because we’re pulling him out of this shit cage. The place is run by a bunch of morons anyway.”

“Mr. Hansen! We can work something-”

“We’re done here,” he says with a shrug before strutting out as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of everyone with his temper.

No matter how hard he tries, they’re just some things about Lloyd Hansen that’ll never change.

“Mrs. Hansen-”

“You heard him: we’re done here,” you glare before following him out. “Lloyd-”

“Why don’t I ever fucking listen? And why the fuck don’t I ever listen?!”

“This isn’t field work, babe,” you sigh, taking your hand in his, “you can’t just hit people in the face-”

“You heard them! They weren’t taking accountability for their snot nosed little shit-”

“Lloyd, who do you thinks deals with all of this when you’re gone or too caught up with work? I know how they talk about him, how they see us, and I see the judgemental stares. I know how infuriating all of it is, but you can’t just fly off the handle because someone got under your skin.”

“Since when?”

“Since this isn’t your world. This is Travis’ world and you need to remember that your actions effect his life. Yeah, I’m happy that we’re finally pulling him out of hell hole, but he still has one or two friends. You don’t think this will get out?��

“It’s annoying...you always being right is annoying,” he sighs, finally coming to a stop, facing you, and leaning his forehead against yours as you giggle softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You know, I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”

“Yeah, when we get back.”

“Why did you ask your Mom to take him for the week?”

“We need more than a weekend to talk this shit out, and I’m sure Travis needs a break from me and all my bullshit. My Mom adores the shit out of him and I know my Dad will keep him busy with books and sports talk.”

“There’s still no fucking structure at your parents place.”

“Next time, we’ll let him stay at your parents place,” he mumbles, “lets get out of here.”

“We to do the paperwork-”

“My assistant will take care of it. We need to get out of here before I break something.”

“You and that temper of yours,” you smirk before resuming your trip out of the building.

“It’s not like you fell in love thinking I was some fucking choir boy.”

“You are in fact correct, Huckleberry.”

“There’s my good little Hummingbird,” he coos and you start laughing.

God, please let this trip help the both of you, because you don’t know how the hell he’ll survive without you.

Or how you’ll survive without him.

The drive to wherever the hell Lloyd rented for you two is starting to feel like it’ll never end.

“Lloyd, can you please just tell me-”

“Hummingbird, stop asking.”

“We’ve been in the car for three and a half hours!”

“We’ve stopped for food and snacks-”

“That’s not the point, Lloyd! I’m tired of being in the car!”

“You weren’t this fussy when I drove you to the farm to propose to you.”

“Yes I was!”

“You were? I guess I was more nervous than I thought,” he says nonchalantly.

“Wait, you were nervous-”

“We’re here!” he announces, letting you know he won’t be diving back into that for the time being.

You begrudgingly turn attention to the windshield and gasp, “Lloyd!”

“I know this isn’t necessarily going to be fun, but I still wanted to try for you. You’ve been wanting to take a trip to the mountains for years, and I thought could at least soften some of the blows.”

“I don’t want to spend a week arguing with you, babe.”

“It’s not like I want to, and this is on me, but you’re the one who keeps saying that we have to be honest with one another about this shit. I want this to work. Us to work. So, lets rip off the band-aid.”

“Thank you, Lloyd. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hummingbird...ya know,” he starts with a mischievous grin, “we don’t have to start this thing off with an argument.”

“I swear to God,” you laugh as he unlocks the doors.

“There’s my good girl.”

The instant he’s on your side of the car, he’s opening your door, throwing you over his shoulder, and you can’t stop from giggling and kicking your legs a little as he rushes up the steps to unlock the front door. He’s quick to kick the door closed and is moving so fast that you barely get to take in the blur that is the house around you.

Well, it’s more like a mansion.

“Can’t wait to get you upstairs,” Lloyd husks as he sets you down on the kitchen counter, “I need you to make me feel better in only the way you can, and I need it now.”

“Take what you need, daddy,” you moan at the feel of his fingers skillfully undoing your jeans.

“Such a good girl,” he smirks, roughly pulling your pants off, and ripping your panties off, “you wore my favorite red lace ones? Aww, daddy will make it up to you later, sweetie. For now, daddy’s gonna abuse this this fucking body until he’s fucking satisfied, understand me?” he states firmly, sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt.

“Please,” you sigh, ecstasy taking over your body as lay back on your on your elbows, “do your worst daddy, please!”

“Daddy’s good little slut.”

“Anything for you!”

You writhe in pleasure as he starts to massage your clit, opting to take off your shirt and your bra, because you know what’s coming and you need to feel all of him when it finally gets to that point.

“Fuck! Need to...fuck!”

“Daddy didn’t say you can cum yet,” he taunts condescendingly, slapping your cunt with his other hand.

“DADDY!”

“You better not fuckin cum until I say so,” he warns, his voice menacing, only making you clench around his fingers, “been so long since you’ve been my little hasn’t it?”

“Too fucking long, daddy,” you moan as you start to massage your breasts, a silent gasp escaping your lips as you start kneading your nipples between your fingers.

“Change of plans, sweetie, you’re gonna finish off in daddy’s mouth.”

Instantly, Lloyd pulls you to the edge of the smooth marble countertop, dips down and starts sucking and pulling on your clit, and you buck your hips as you arch your back. Yeah, you two spent hours making up for lost time last night, but this is so much more different. Last night was all about apologies and making each other feel the love you’d both felt you’d been lacking, but right now? Right now is all about getting out all of those pent up feelings of anger and aggression, and not even towards each other. You haven’t forgotten that a few short hours ago, he punched a man in the face and practically stomped on his chest.

Yeah, you love the punishments he gives you, and it’s been entirely too long, but if denies you of an orgasm you may actually commit a crime.

“You’re so fucking good to me, daddy!” you whimper, eyes welling up with tears as you grip his hair and start grinding your pussy against his face. When you removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue, you know you can’t hold on any longer, “please!”

With one hand, he grips your thigh tight, while teasing your clit with his thumb with the other, and you know he’s giving you his permission, thank God. You scream his name, gripping his hair tighter than you mean (you know he doesn’t give a shit), trying to enjoy the feel of him tongue fucking you through your high, but it isn’t enough.

You need more.

“Such a desperate, needy little thing,” he pants with a grin, clearly satisfied with his work as he stands up and looks you over, your juices shinning in his mustache.

“Daddy,” you beg pathetically, chest heaving as you prop yourself up on your shoulders, “please.”

“Please what?” he growls, unzipping his pants as he looks you over in your wrecked state, making no attempt to hide how much he wants to destroy you.

“Fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me. Fuck me so hard that I can’t walk, daddy. Destroy me, please!” you beg as your hand slides between your legs and you start to massage your clit. “Or do I have to remind you how to do it?”

In the blink of an eye, Lloyd pulls you off the counter, turns you around and pins your hands behind your back with one hand, forces you against the counter, and thrusts himself inside of you.

“FUCK!”

“You think you’re so fucking cute, don’t you?” he snarls as he slams into you hard and fast. “Thinking I forgot how to take care of what’s mine? Like I don’t know how the fuck to satisfy you?”

“DADDY!”

“Don’t go fucking stupid on me now, you little bitch! Answer the fucking question!”

All you can do is lull your head back as you scratch up your own wrists, getting lost in pure pleasure at feel of his breath on your neck.

Lloyd isn’t having that.

With his free hand, he grips your hair tight, pulls it tight and says, “I want a fucking answer. You get your fucking pussy eaten and forget how to respond? I asked you a fucking question!”

“Daddy!”

“Don’t tell me it’s too much for you now. Already fucked so stupid that you can’t answer a simple fucking question?” he asks, relentlessly fucking into you as he pulls your hair harder.

“I...I know you can fuck me good, daddy! I’m sorry-”

“Not yet, you little bitch!” he growls as he grips your throat. “Don’t ever make that mistake again, you understand me?!”

“Anything you say, daddy!” you sob, climax building as you try and fight off another release. “I’ll be so good for you!” “You bet your fucking ass you will be!” he growls as his grip on your neck gets tighter. “Pussy is so fucking tight...such a sweet little whore! Cum for daddy! Make a mess and cum so fucking hard for me, sweet girl!”

“FUCK!”

As you squirt hard on his cock (you’re more than sure you’ve gotten it on his pants), and your legs tremble as they struggle to hold you upright, you can’t help but wonder why Lloyd is the only person who can satisfy your needs.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as your eyes flutter shut and you lull your head back. “Remember when we first started fucking? No one had ever been inside that tight little fucking asshole,” he taunts as his hand travels down your body, before reaching your ass and slapping it hard.

“Daddy!”

“Do you remember?”

“Fuck...yes! Yes, your cock is the only one...the only one thats been in my ass!”

“Been so long...think I might have to stretch out this tight little ass after I eat it. What do ya think, honey?”

“Please, daddy! Anything you want!” you whimper tugging at his shirt, “please!”

“What does my queen need?” he husks hotly against your ear, his grip tightening a little and you know he’s close.

“Please...take it off...wanna feel all of you!”

“Anything you want,” he promises with a grunt before forcing you to bend over the countertop, releasing your hands, taking his top off, and gripping your hips, tight. “You’re gonna cum hard for me while I fill you up, then you’re clean daddy off, and I’m gonna fuck you until I’m satisfied, you understand me, sweet girl?”

All you’re able to get out is a garbled moan as you claw at the countertop, too lost in the pleasure of him fucking you like his own personal rag doll.

“Daddy’s perfect little girl,” he chuckles darkly, “my favorite little cum slut, come on, baby, give me what I want!” he demands slamming his hips into you as he fills you to the brim.

Your brain may not be able to respond properly, but your body is on autopilot. You let out a pitiful moan as you squirt hard, laying your head against the cool marble top as your legs almost give out again.

“Always making such a pretty mess for me, baby,” he coos softly as he strokes your ass while pulling out, before slapping your it hard, “now clean me up!” he demands harshly.

What the hell were you two even supposed to be arguing about this week?

You do your best to get on your knees quickly, but the idea of functioning in any way is somewhat lost on you, and you know Lloyd loves it. Yeah, Lloyd loves when you’re a little sex vixen, but he also loves when he turns you into a puddle. The only thing that Lloyd loves more than your tears from getting lost in euphoria, is you being completely weak and a giant puddle.

He loves that, after all this time, he still makes you feel better than anyone else ever has and ever will.

“Look up at me, honey. Let me see that beautiful little face,” he demands condescendingly as he grips your face.

You can’t even begin to imagine how fucking wrecked you look. You’re more than sure your mascara is ruined, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you have a dazed and fucked out look on your face.

You look exactly the way he loves.

“My beautiful little cum dump,” he snickers, “open.”

You instantly obey and he doesn’t even give you a chance to prepare yourself for him, before he starts roughly face fucking you. The crazed look in his eyes only makes you crave him more, and the devilish smirk playing on his lips lets you know that he knows what’s going on in your brain.

“Need me to stuff that pussy with this fat cock again, Hummingbird? Make you cum until you pass out and I’m still fucking you? You miss that so much don’t you?” he teases as he grips your hair tighter.

You can only moan in response, but you know he knows that you’re agreeing with him. As much as you love Travis, things changed drastically once he was brought into the picture.

As they should have.

Yes, you and Lloyd still had what some may call ‘wild sex’ (Tina did), but you two brought it down a lot. There would be no way in hell for the two of you to explain to a three year old why Lloyd’s balls deep in your ass while you have a ball gag in your mouth, and your hands are bound behind your back.

Maybe that’s also a factor that you hadn’t thought of when it comes to the reason as to why you two fell apart.

No, you two didn’t make sex your entire relationship, but it definitely played an important part. You were just as sexual and perverse in your sexual desires as Lloyd was, and when the arguments started to become more and more, the sex became less and less. It’s not like either of you wanted it to happen, but the angrier you two got, the harder it was for you two to separate angry sex from mind-numbing, passionate sex.

Lack of conversation, lack of passion, lack of sex...all of it truly played a part in the downfall of your relationship, but you can’t focus on that right now. Not when you two have each other like this, vulnerable and out in the open like this. Yes, you two would have date nights when Travis would go and stay with his friends or his grandparents, but it wasn’t the same, because you both were waiting on him to call and ask either of you to pick him up. No, this was different because, for the first time in a long time, you two had real alone time together.

Neither of you were about to ruin it with drama that hadn’t even stared yet.

“Tell me how much you need, daddy, Hummingbird,” Lloyd moans as he continues to fuck your mouth. “You love when I fucking destroy you for anyone else?”

You don’t even make an effort to try and push him off so you can answer him. You just keep taking the assault he gives you, hoping your eyes tell him everything you need to say but can’t.

“Daddy should reward you, shouldn’t he?” he chastises as he grips your hair and forces you off his cock.

God help you.

Without any hesitation, he’s pulling you up, before picking you up and forcing your legs around his waist.

“You did so good for daddy, Hummingbird,” he praises as he thrusts himself inside of you, and you gasp at the feel of him splitting you apart all over again. “Always been such a good little whore for me, baby,” he coos as he softly drags his nose across your collar bone. “So filthy and so beautiful, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Only ever for you, daddy,” you whimper, your head lulling back as he fucks into you as if hes been without you for years.

Easily enough, he maneuvers around the house, as if hes been there a million times, as he kisses you all over, the hairs of his mustache tickling your chest lightly as you grip his hair and roll your hips against his. God, you can’t remember the last time you two were able to be so needy and desperate in the most pathetic way. Even though you two have been back together for a little over a year, you’re always the one to remind him that Travis is at the age where he can be emotionally scarred by the weird and kinky shit you two are into.

“Daddy’s gonna be nice and let you take what you want from him,” he groans as he takes a seat on the couch, licking your chest with the tip of his tongue and it sends a shiver down your spine as you feel him go deeper inside of you.

“Missed you so much,” you whimper as you start to ride him, “haven’t had you like this in forever, daddy!”

“Yeah? You missed being fucked like the little desperate whore you are?”

“You know I do!”

“My poor little sweet thing,” he coos condescendingly as you pick up your pace, his hand snaking its way around your throat and gripping it tight, “been so unsatisfied because I haven’t been able to fuck in the torture room like I did a couple of months ago?”

“DADDY!”

“Took my cock so fucking well that night, baby, remember?” he questions as he presses kisses along your neck.

There’s no way you could forget that night. Travis had gone to bed early, you and Lloyd got into a drunken argument, you told him that you two needed to take it to the basement because you both were getting too loud and you didn’t wanna wake Travis, and it turned into fucking all night in positions you hadn’t done since college.

The next day, Travis kept asking you why you were walking so slow and funny, and you lied and told him you pulled something.

“Oh, someone’s close,” Lloyd smirks, as you clench around him at just the thought of that night.

“Feels so good to be your rag doll, daddy! So happy...so happy to please you!”

“Jesus, fucking cum for me right now, Hummingbird! Fucking make a mess all over this fucking sofa!”

“Can’t...need to fucking...oh my GOD!”

“Be a good girl for daddy and fucking cum!” he demands roughly.

It’s amazing how quickly you turn into putty for this man.

“God, YES!” you scream as your release washes over.

Lloyd gives you no chance to recover as he pins you down and starts fucking into you hard and fast.

“DADDY PLEASE!”

“Such a filthy little thing,” he grunts, his pace unrelenting as you claw at his back, “creaming all over my fucking cock like a desperate little whore!”

“I’m so fucking close!”

“Yeah you fucking are, and you’re gonna fucking ruin this sofa with that sweet cream between your fucking legs!”

“Oh my...FUCK! YES, PLEASE!”

“Give it to me, Hummingbird!”

“LLOYD!” you scream as you cream hard all over his cock, more than sure you’ve followed his command of making a mess on the sofa.

“Y/N!” he growls into your neck, his release filling you up, and you can’t help but smile at the feel of it leaking out and running down your ass cheeks. You both take a moment to get yourselves together, before Lloyd asks, “you had enough, Hummingbird?”

“Not even close,” you breathe.

“That’s my girl.”

You and Lloyd stay at it for hours, he has you in every room he can find (almost as if he’s christening the house), marking each other up, degrading each other, while also building each other up, and it’s heaven. You want to stay locked in this moment for the week, but you know you two have to deal with reality at some point.

“Daddy! Please don’t stop!” you cry out as Lloyd fucks into you relentlessly from behind, as you two fuck up the pillows in the master bedroom.

“Give me that sweet cream! Be the little slut you’ve always been and make a fucking mess!”

“Can’t...so close!”

“C’mon, I know my Hummingbird can-”

“FUCK!” you scream as his hand tightens around your neck, your orgasm hitting so hard your legs almost give out.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he growls as he fills you for what feels like the millionth time. “Always such a warm fucking finish,” he breathes as he rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He rides out both of your highs before pulling out, collapsing next to you, and pulling you close. You lay your head on his chest, rest one of your hands on his pecs, and try to match his breathing.

It’s the closest you’ve felt to heaven in a long time.

“You ready to argue?” he asks once his breathing evens out.

“I guess so.”

“Lets fuckin have it out, Hummingbird.”

God help you both.

The arguments you two have in the next few days following your grand opening fuck fest are brutal to say the least.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Hummingbird,” Lloyd growled as he walked out of the kitchen and into the back patio.

“Well you’re gonna fucking hear about it! You’re the greediest son of a bitch, and I am tired of you acting like it’s everyone else with the fucking problem!”

“Hummingbird, you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve being mad about a fucking job that keeps a roof over your head-”

“I had my own fucking job that kept a roof over Travis and I’s head-”

“And where is that job now?!”

“Watch it, Hansen,” you warned, “lets not get into the fucking blame game here, because we both know it wasn’t me who lost me that fucking job!”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! You’ve always known that my job comes with a level of-”

“Oh my God! You’re a fucking sociopath that has a nice fucking government job to hide behind!”

“You know that’s not-”

“It is! Stop lying to me like I’m someone who hasn’t known the darker parts of you-”

“EXACTLY! YOU FUCKING KNEW!” he roared at you. “You’ve known since that, and I’m pretty fucking sure since before then too! I backed off and gave you a chance to leave, and you sought me out! Don’t make it seem like I dragged you into hell! You willingly came-”

“THEN WE HAD A FUCKING CHILD, LLOYD! Why is it so preposterous that I wanted you to pull back, you selfish fuck?! What the fuck did you expect me to do?! I didn’t stray from the career path, you did! And you sure as shit made sure to tell me about it after you made your choice!”

“Then why did you say ‘yes’?!”

“Because I love you, you stupid sack of shit! I love you and, I don’t know, I thought that we’d have some sort of fucking future together, because you kept talking about settling down and having a family! Then, in trying to fucking start that family with you, I had two fucking miscarriages that you couldn’t even be bothered to notice, because you were too wrapped up in yourself to even fucking notice anything! For fucks sake, did you even want Travis? Or was it just to feed into this version of yourself that you were trying to create?! Jesus, do you even fucking love him?!” you shouted, instantly regretting it.

“FUCK YOU!” he spat. “You fucking know that you and him are my entire universe-”

“THEN WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING ACT LIKE IT?!” you screamed as your tears finally started to fall. “You make us feel like the biggest burdens, when all we’re trying to do is be a part of your world-”

“MY WORLD IS TOO DARK FOR THE BOTH OF YOU!”

“THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU FIGHTING SO HARD TO SAVE THIS FUCKING DEAD END MARRIAGE?!” you sobbed before you stormed back into the house.

You both would take things entirely too far, holding each other accountable for every terrible crime you two had committed against each other, and wanting one another to know that neither of you was blameless in the downfall of the marriage. However Lloyd, being the secret sweetheart that he is, would make sure you two didn’t go to bed mad at one another.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed as he approached the bedroom, leaning against the door frame.

“We’re a fucking time bomb,” you sniffled with a halfhearted chuckle as you wiped your eyes.

“I constantly ask why you didn’t just leave, like I didn’t bother the fuck out of you, and that’s not fair. The moment I laid eyes on you, I needed you and I didn’t want you with anyone else. In High School, I knew I didn’t have a chance, but college? I told myself that I’d be a version of myself that you deserved. I tried to fit into a roll that I never had any business trying to to even get close to. I really want to be that guy for you, Hummingbird. The guy. My actions never follow up, and...I know it’s on me and I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did about you loving Travis. I know how much you love the both of us, it’s never been a question, and that was a low blow. I’m really sorry, Lloyd.

“I love you, Hummingbird.”

“I love you too, Huckleberry.”

“Maybe we should start leaving certain things off the table?”

“Maybe we should start learning how to control our tempers,” you giggled as he made his way into the bed room. He was slow to get to the bed, but was quick to pull you close. “I want to save this “dead end marriage”, because you and Travis are my entire life and I need to start acting like it.”

“Why is it so simple for you in these moments, but-”

“Please don’t ask, because I don’t fucking know. I really don’t, but I know that I do truly want to make this work. I know I don’t always act like it or always show it, but I fucking mean it, Hummingbird. I exist for you and Travis and you and Travis alone. I will be better, and I know I keep saying that and fucking up, but I will be.”

“Lloyd, would it be so terrible if we just walked away-”

“You know it would be. Don’t do that. Don’t ask questions-”

“We’re always hurting one another-”

“No, I’m always hurting you and lashing out at you when you rightfully get angry. Losing you is one of the hardest things I’ve ever dealt with, with almost losing Travis coming in at number one with almost dying. Being without either of you is something I can’t do.”

“Lloyd...” you trailed off with a sob.

“Hummingbird,” he cooed softly as he gripped your waist and pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, “we can do this. You’re right when you say this isn’t college and we can’t keep going on like we have, and I know it’s on me. It’s on me and I swear I’m gonna do better. Please, just don’t give up on us. It’s a hard ask, but please.”

“Lloyd...”

“Please,” he begged softly before he started to litter the side of your neck with soft and desperate kisses. “Please.”

That’s when you were always at war with yourself. You knew what came with the soft and sweet moments: the darkness and chaos of his world. However, Lloyd is your world, and walking away isn’t as easy as everyone would like for it to be.

“How’re you?” Travis asked via FaceTime as you took a seat at the patio outside. “Where’s Dad?”

“I’m good. We both are. He’s at the grocery store.”

“Are you two coming back soon? I love Gran and Poppy, but they’re driving me crazy. I asked to go and see Nana and Pop-pop and Gran damn near threw a fit.”

“Travis!”

“Well, she did!” he huffed as he settled onto his bed. “How did you even end up with Dad? Your families are so different. You two are so different.”

“Sometimes opposites just attract,” you sighed, knowing where it was headed.

“I just don’t get it. Dad’s an asshole. He’s either here and ruining everyone’s mood, or he’s buried in work and acting like we don’t exist.”

“He’s adjusting. It’s hard, Trav. We’re all adjusting, because the life we’re trying to have now is a lot different from the one we had before.”

“Yeah, but you left him.”

“It’s not because I don’t love him anymore. Honey, we both love each other so much, and your Father would do absolutely anything for you.”

“I know,” he muttered.

“He’s trying, baby.”

“Well, he needs to try harder.”

“Travis, I know it’s hard, trust me, but you have to have patience with him. No matter what happens between he and I, he’s always going to be your Father and he thinks the world of you. Even if he doesn’t always act like it.”

“I just wish he could be normal.”

“There’s no such thing as normal, sweetie. I hate to break it to you.”

“Normal dads don’t punch other dads in the face.”

“He was being a total dick and it was more than warranted. Sometimes, your Dad shows his love with his fists.”

“But it’s a problem when I do it.”

“When you start making a living off if, maybe I’ll reconsider it,” you smiled sarcastically as you took a sip of wine. “Just...give him a chance, honey. He stopped doing field work to be closer to home and keep an eye on us, but it’s a major change for him too. It’s a major change for all of us, and we’re all doing our best.”

“I liked him a lot more when he wasn’t home.”

“Travis...please. If you only knew just how much he truly loves you.”

“What does he even do?”

“You know he works with your Godfather.”

“Doing what?”

“Things you’re not old enough to know about yet, and you don’t want to know about.”

“I’ve almost died twice-”

“And he feels terrible about that! Travis, I’ve only ever seen your Father cry once, and it was when you were fighting for your life. He still hates himself for that.”

“Mom-”

“Travis, he’s not a bad guy. He may gray the area sometimes, but when it comes to this family, he’s not a bad guy. Please.”

“I know that he loves me, and I love him. I want us all to be together, but not if he’s going to keep-”

“He’s not. Travis, I promise. He knows that things have to change and he’s determined to make those changes. Please, just be patient. I know you’ve dealt with a lot, but everyone is doing their absolute best. It’s going to get better. No matter what happens between your Father and I, things are going to get better for you.”

“Do I really get to be home schooled?”

“Yup, it was all your Dad’s doing.”

“Really?”

“Yup, he finally gets it.”

“I miss going to the aquarium with him.”

“Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Do you think you should?”

“He doesn’t seem to wanna be bothered by me.”

“Trav, he misses you too. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to spend time with you. He thinks you hate him.”

“Well, I think he doesn’t give a shit about me.”

“Travis, I swear to God-’

“Gran doesn’t care!”

“And look how your Father turned out. There’s no fucking structure in that family,” you muttered before you could stop yourself, “do NOT say that.”

“Everyone can swear except me.”

“Stop being in such a rush to grow up. It sucks,” you laughed before taking a sip of your drink.

“Can we all go to a movie or something when you two get back?”

“Funny you should ask, because your Dad got us tickets to a Patriots game next week-”

“HE DID?!”

“He thought it’d be make you happy,” he laughed softly. “He really wants to make things right, honey. I know it’s a lot and it’s not easy, but he’s trying. Just give him time, okay?”

“Fine. I guess it’s not-”

“TRAVY!” Stef, Lloyd’s Mother called and you rolled your eyes.

“I swear to God that’s the dumbest nickname ever,” you scowled.

“Why do you hate her so much?”

“I don’t hate your Grandmother, she’s just...a lot to deal with. Look at your Father.”

“You chose him.”

“That I did,” you laughed. “Go see what she wants before she has a breakdown. I love you and your dad and I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“I love you too, Mom. I can’t wait till you’re both back,” he smiled before hanging up.

For just a moment, your heart felt lighter and you were happier, but it all went away when you saw Lloyd leaning against the doorway.

“How much did you hear?” you asked softly.

“Lets go for a hike, Hummingbird,” he shrugged as he pushed himself off the door frame and slid his shoes back on.

“Lloyd-”

“It makes no sense to come all the way out here and not doing something you love. It’s been forever, c’mon.”

The drive was silent, and the hike was silent too, until you reached the waterfalls and you two took a seat.

“He hates me,” Lloyd muttered after a moment.

“Lloyd-”

“Don’t try to butter me up, Hummingbird. He hates-”

“He doesn’t hate you, Huckleberry, he just doesn’t know you. At least, not anymore. Who you were before the incident and who you are now...you’re not the same with him.”

“I don’t want him to be soft and unprotected-”

“You don’t have to be your Father, Lloyd. It’s best if you aren’t,” you chuckled humorlessly.

“There’s nothing wrong-”

“Look at our family, Huckleberry. Look at us. No, your Father isn’t terrible, but he’s the farthest from the best.”

“You love me.”

“And I’m still trying to figure out why,” you smirked.

“Come here,” he encouraged with a devilish smirk.

“Lloyd-”

“Come rest in my lap, Hummingbird.”

You knew that it would only lead to trouble, but you couldn’t stop yourself as you straddled him.

“Daddy-”

“Remember the last time we were in front of a waterfall? That’s when you got pregnant with Travis.”

“Daddy-”

“Lets see if we can recreate that night...minus the bonfire,” he chuckled before he started biting sucking on your sweet spot.

Yes, a lot of days (if not all of them) had ended with sex, but it was nothing like when you two were fucking to avoid the problem at hand. You two were making love because you wanted to make up for lost time and because you both just wanted to feel close again. It feels like it’s been forever since you and Lloyd just got to hangout and you truly did miss your best friend.

“I think our son is gonna kill your parents,” you giggle as you make your way out onto the upper deck.

“Yeah, I just got off the phone with him a few minutes ago. Next time, we’ll leave him with your parents,” he mutters as he pulls you down onto his lap.

“How’d that conversation go?”

“Good. He wants to go to the aquarium when we get back. Just me and him, he thanked me for finally deciding on home schooling, and I apologized for being a complete jackass for the last few months...and before that.”

“Both my boys finally getting along again,” you sigh a small smile on your lips as you rest your head on his shoulder. “I feel bad. We should rent this house again and bring him next time. He’d love it. Like his Mother, he’d hate the drive, but he’d love it here.”

“We can bring him here whenever we want. This is our house.”

“I’m sorry, come again?! you exclaim, sitting up and looking directly at him.

“It’s ours,” he chuckles, perfect showing just a bit, “well, if you decide you want there to be an us. I had it built for you. No matter what you decide, I wanted to give you something big, and I feel like this is a good start.”

“Lloyd...”

“We’ve been together for how long and I just did this for you? I owe you so much, and I figure this was the easiest to start with.”

“Lloyd! This had to cost a fortune!”

“Don’t worry about it-”

“Oh God, who did you kill?”

“What does that mean?”

“Whenever you’ve told me not to worry about something, it’s because you killed someone.”

“Name one time-”

“The boss I had before my last one. I told you that I didn’t get the promotion, and the very next day, I had the promotion and my boss was dead.”

“He was an asshole.”

“You still killed him.”

“You let me fuck you so hard we broke the bed. You didn’t seem too torn up about it.”

“I called you a piece of shit all night,” you retort with an eye roll.

“Well, not all night. You did let stick that-”

“LLOYD!”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Jesus Christ,” he laughs, grip on you tightening a little. “Denny did.”

“Jesus!”

“It was all business related. I’m a million miles away from it. Any way, the person who needed the favor, offered Denny anything he wanted, Denny asked me what I wanted, and I said I wanted this.”

“Why did he ask you what you wanted?”

“He feels bad. He doesn’t care about much, but he cares about this family cause it’s his too, and he can’t help but feel slightly responsible for the current state we’re in.”

“Do my ears deceive me? Are Lloyd Hansen and Denny Carmichael actually...soft?” you question with a gasp, feigning surprise.

“Watch it, Hummingbird,” he warns and you flip him off.

“You don’t scare me, Hansen. My crazy can match yours.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

“You were nervous to propose to me?” you question, remembering how quickly he changed the subject once he pulled up to the house.

“Of course I was,” he scoffs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You didn’t seem nervous.”

“Why do I feel like you wanna have a long talk about this?”

“Because you’re as smart as you are pretty,” you smile sarcastically and he rolls his eyes.

“Inside, Hummingbird. If we’re gonna talk about my fucking feelings, I’m gonna need a fucking drink.”

“That’s not a good habit,” you mumble as he picks you up and forces your legs around his waist.

“Yeah well, you have me in a rare position and that’s terrifying to me too,” he shrugs while opening the screen door, smirking as he looks down your exposed cleavage in your low-cut shirt.

“What position is that?” you giggle as he rushes down the stairs.

“The position of me giving you whatever your heart desires.”

“Except quitting,” you sigh as he places you on the kitchen counter.

“You and I both know there’s gotta be some work around from me quitting. I agree, I need to handle all of this shit better, but quit and do what, Hummingbird?”

“You could be a coach, open your own weapons store, work on the analytics team for the Patriots, work for fucking Harvard-”

“You know good and fucking well that none of those jobs will keep me and my issues at bay.”

“Lloyd-”

“Can we have one argument at a time?”

“I don’t wanna argue about this!”

“We always argue about it! This is what the hold up is with our relationship, isn’t it? You’re in love with someone who’s fucked up in multiple ways, and I won’t let you go because you and Travis are the one thing in this world that I actually give a damn about. The one thing that you can’t deal with is the job, and it’s not even because it makes you look at me in a different light. You’ve seen what I’ve done, you’ve done what I’ve done, and you get it. The issue isn’t that you hate what I do, it’s that it’s a risk a to Travis, and you hate that. You hate it because you should be repulsed by what I do and how I am, and it should’ve been enough to make you walk away years ago, but it wasn’t. Now, you have an unhinged husband and a child fighting for normalcy, and unlike me, us having a child was enough for you to realize that things needed to change.”

“Then why can’t you-”

“BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO, HUMMINGBIRD!” he shouts, and you feel his heart break at his confession. “I am not like you! I can’t just look at the fucked up shit I do and say, “it’s time to find something else.”! No, I keep thinking I can fix everything and save everyone, because I don’t know how to be normal around our son without doing all of the dark bullshit you don’t want to know about! So yes, that is where we keep getting stuck, because neither of us can find a solution!”

“Lloyd-”

“I know I’m not easiest to love, Hummingbird. I know that I’ve made all of this hard since day one, but you stayed despite all of it. You stayed and made me feel normal and safe, and how could I not fall more in love with you? Now, this is where we are, and I can’t fucking blame you, I really can’t, but I can’t let either of you go. You want me to lay all my cards on the table? There they are. I don’t know how to be the man you need me to be without this job,” he sighs before he downs his drink.

You don’t even know how to respond, because everything he said is right. You hate that you’ve always been able to stomach and look away from the shit he does, because of how he is with you. Lloyd is capable of a lot of horrible things, but for you? He’s always been your knight in shinning armor. Granted, he’s a chaotic knight and shinning armor, but he’s still yours nonetheless. The fact of the matter is, if his job wasn’t so dangerous to Travis, you’d still look the other way. You’d look the other way, pretend it was all normal and okay, and go on with your happy family.

The reality of this makes you face a harsh truth: maybe Lloyd was never the issues. Maybe its always been you.

“Why were you nervous to propose?” you ask softly, faint smile playing on your lips as you blink back your tears.

“Hummingbird-”

“Why?”

“The same I’m nervous now: you don’t need me.”

“Lloyd-”

“It’s not a slight at you, Hummingbird, it’s just a fact. You’re smart as a whip, you can get any job you want, you’re gorgeous, you’re strong...you don’t nee me. Maybe that’s what always attracted me to you, maybe it’s what made me want to be better, and maybe it’s what drives me insane. What the hell would you ever need me for? To raise a kid? Travis is clearly better off with you,” he scoffs as he pours himself a drink and pours you one of your own. “Its been clear from day one that you don’t need shit from me, and that terrified me, because I needed you. I’ve always needed you and and I always will. You’re the normal one, I’m not,” he smirks as he puts your drink down next to you before settling between your legs.

“Huckleberry...”

“I need you to reel me back in, I need you to make simple fucking meals, I need you to tell me when I’m getting too high off the ground, I need your love, I need your patience, I need to hear your laughter, I need your understanding, I need your guidance...I needed you and I’ve never needed anyone. Even now, I need you more than you’ve ever needed me-”

“I really wish you knew how much that isn’t true. Lloyd...I didn’t feel like I was alive until I started...hanging out with you,” you laugh softly. “I’m able to be such a good Mom, because I know Travis has you to fall back on, if that makes any sense. I know you’re always in his corner, wanting the best for him, and always loving him. The love I know you feel for him is what keeps me strong when I feel like I’m doing all of this wrong. You attempting to make breakfast when I’m too tired and/or worn out to do it, you taking him for an extra week when you could tell that I needed to decompress over whatever war I’d gone through with my Mother...you know me, Lloyd. You know me better than anyone else ever has, and you’ll always know me better than anyone else ever will.”

“Tell me we can make this work,” he begs softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I really want us to, and you’re right. You’re 100% right. If Travis weren’t in the picture, I would be able to keep continuing to stomach it and look the other way, but I can’t anymore. I love him too much- “

“You don’t think I do too?!”

“I never said that. I know you do, Lloyd-”

“Then why can’t you just trust-”

“Lloyd we’ve almost lost him twice. Something’s gotta give, Huckleberry. I can’t live in the constant state of fear and anxiety. I love you, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair to Travis and it’s not fair to me.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Lloyd, you always-”

“Hummingbird, I will figure this out. Just...please,” he begs softly.

You look up into his eyes and you can tell that he means everything he’s saying. There’s still a part of you that’s telling you, you two should just stop now and save each from more battle wounds, but there’s also a bigger part of you that you and Lloyd aren’t finished yet and never will be.

“Lloyd, I’m done with the arguing, the back and forth, and you’ve gotta keep your shit together around Travis. Even if you and I are having an argument.”

“I swear.”

“Lloyd, I fucking mean it. I can’t keep being the only who gives while you just take-”

“Hummingbird, I swear, shit is gonna change. But don’t...”

His heavy sigh lets you know that he’s at war with himself about what he’s going to say.

“Jesus...I love you, Y/N. I will never stop and you’re my world. You and Travis...don’t say yes to me if this isn’t what you truly want. It was different before, and I get that. What I did, what you saw me do...if you want to leave, if you don’t truly want this anymore....Hummingbird...this is your out, cause if you say you’re staying then this is it. There’s no leaving, breaking up, time apart, separating...this is it, Hummingbird. If you want to end it all for good, you need to say so now,” he tells you sincerely.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you cup his face, “that is a hell of thing for you to say to me.”

Instantly, Lloyd picking you up, forcing your legs around his waist, and running towards the stairs as you burst out laughing.

“Lloyd! I have to make dinner!” you squeal as he effortlessly runs up the steps.

“Fuck dinner, What I want is right between those fucking perfect legs of yours!”

“Lloyd!”

“We’re in for a long night, Mrs. Hansen.”

As you and Lloyd keep each other up, getting lost in each other repeatedly and almost breaking the damn bed (again), an oddly calming feeling that you’ve never with him before. Yes, you’ve been in love with him forever, but there’s always been a sense of dread and stress in the back of your mind. It’s obviously never been enough for you to walk away, but it’s been enough to always make you wonder what exactly is wrong with you to stay in a relationship a very obvious sociopath.

However, as you two finally get back into the kitchen and you start on dinner as he goes over what he wants for wedding number two, something tells you that it’s gonna work out this time. You don’t know what it is, you don’t wanna think too much on what it could be, but you’ve felt this at ease before and you know it’s gonna be okay.

For the first time in a very long time, you know things are finally go the way they’re supposed to go.

4 Months Later...

“Where is he?!” you asked frantically as you made your into the frat house, seeing two guys with bloodied (and you’re assuming broken) noses, and one guy laid out with a black eye.

“In the game room, drunk as fuck,” Denny mumbled as he gave one of the guys an ice pack.

“What the hell happened?!”

“I don’t know, Y/N. You know how he is. Lloyd is a fucking time bomb. One second, he’s fine and the next...”

“Why has no one ever fucking considered putting him on meds?!”

“I thought you met his parents three months ago?”

“Something had to trigger it though. What happened leading up to this brawl to end all brawls?” you scowled as you looked around the room.

There was one broken coffee table, multiple broken lamps, a shattered fish tank, a couple of broken chairs, a few destroyed pillows, and a broken desk.

You left him alone for two fucking days.

“I honestly don’t know. There was some fucking movie on...’Tombstone’, I think? I don’t know, it was on when I got here, anyway, there was some fucking scene with Doc Holliday in the hospital and his girl wasn’t there with him and Tim said “that goes to show that none of these bitches stick around when it gets tough.” Lloyd just lost it.”

“Fuck, I’ll take care of this-”

“Y/N, he’s not in a good mindset at all. Leave him alone.”

“I can handle him, Denny. You just make sure no one presses charges,” you told him softly before you made your way into the game room.

You took a deep breath before you closed the door behind you.

“What the fuck do you want?!” Lloyd slurred once his attention was on you, “don’t you have to go and study or some shit?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! It’s 2pm on a fucking Sunday!”

“I haven’t heard from you in two fucking days!”

“No, you haven’t seen me in two fucking days! Lloyd-”

“You’re gonna leave and I don’t need to deal with that shit, so, fuck you!”

“Lloyd, I swear to Christ-”

“You have no fucking reason to stay! Why? Because I killed some piece of shit for you?!”

“Lower your fucking voice, you idiot!” you snapped in a hushed tone as you made your way deeper into the room.

“What fucking reason do you have-”

“I just fucking told you I love you!”

“Two days ago and then you fucking disappeared on me-”

“I didn’t fucking disappear! I’m not you! I can’t just do whatever the hell I want because I’m on my parent’s money! I have to keep my grades up and study! I can’t be with you every fucking five seconds, because you need to be fucking babied!”

“You’re so full of shit!”

“Lloyd, I swear to God-”

“There’s something wrong with me, Hummingbird! What fucking reason do you have to stay with me?! What’s keeping you here?!”

“You,” you answered simply.

“Y/N-”

“Lloyd, I didn’t tell you I love you because you said it first. I said it because I meant it and I still do now. You don’t think I see the issues and the flaws? Of course I do. I saw them that night, but I still came back, didn’t I? I love you. For as flawed and fucked up as this all is, I still love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Doc Holliday’s wife-”

“It’s a fucking movie, Lloyd.”

“Based on real life!”

“Yeah, but you’re not Doc Holliday and I’m not Kate. I love you.”

“You’re gonna fucking leave.”

“Do you plan on fucking cheating on me?”

“You know that you’re the only for me.”

“Then we’ll be fine, because I feel the same about you. I love you and I’m in this. Yeah, you’re fucked up, but...I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. No one is perfect and this life isn’t some cookie cutter bullshit. I just know that how we feel about each other is real and it’s too fucking late for me to walk away because you’re unhinged.”

“Hummingbird-”

“I’m all in, Huckleberry, are you?”

“You’re just gonna push me to the side when all of this becomes too much for you.”

“That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me,” you smiled softly at him.

In no time at all, Lloyd picked up and placed you on the pool table, and kissed you passionately.

“Not here,” you giggled as he kissed down your jawline, “someone could walk in!”

“Then they’re welcome for giving them the best porno they’ll ever see,” he growled against your neck before biting down on it.

How did that whole situation feel like a lifetime ago?

“Why the hell did we invite both of our families over?” Lloyd whines as he makes his way into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you put the last layer of lasagna together.

“Because this is officially our new home, Travis has been doing really good with his homeschooling, you two have been getting along really well, we’ve been getting along really well, the wedding is back on track...I don’t know, it just felt like the thing to do,” you shrug, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“What are you not telling me, Hummingbird?”

“Now, why would you think I’m not telling you something?”

“Because I know that look and you’re keeping a secret.”

“How dare you say such a thing?”

“Hummingbird,” he growls into your neck as he grips your hips tight, “remember what happened the last time you tried to keep it a secret from me?”

“Daddy, you need to behave,” you moan, trying to ignore the arousal pooling between your legs.

“You ended up pregnant with Travis.”

“Both of our families are here, so you need to be on your best-”

“Dad,” Travis calls, clearly annoyed as he enters the kitchen.

“What,” Lloyd groans as buries his face into the crook of your neck and you start cracking up.

“Please come out here and break up this argument.”

“What the fuck-”

“Lloyd!” you snap.

“What the hell is going on out there?”

“Gran and Nana are about to kill each other.”

“Which means my Mother is about to kill your Mother,” you mumble and Lloyd scowls.

“How is it, that both of our Fathers are here, and I still have to deal with this shit?”

“This is our present for not calling off the wedding. Go handle it.”

“Yeah fine, but we’re not done talking about this,” he warns before slapping your ass, letting go of you, and making himself a drink. “You,” he shoots towards Travis, “what did you try and do to resolve the issue?”

“I asked which one of them wanted to take me to that amusement park in Paris you told me about,” Travis shrugs and you almost fell over laughing.

He’s a Hansen indeed.

“Jesus Christ, you’re coming with me to resolve this shit.”

“OH MY GOD, LLOYD!”

“He’ll be fine,” Lloyd smirks, as Travis chuckles before he walks off. “You know, this could’ve just been you, me, Travis, and Denny.”

“GO!” you scold with a laugh.

You’re quick to flip Lloyd off and laughs before walking out after Travis, and shake your head as a soft smile plays on your lips, and you resume finishing up the lasagna.

“Hummingbird,” Lloyd calls softly as he pokes his head back into the kitchen.

“Yes, Huckleberry?” you answer absentmindedly, as you open the oven.

“I love you.” Your eyes well up as you look up and meet his gaze, heart bursting at the innocent smile on his face, “I love you.”

He gives you a small wink, before going back and dealing with the chaos that is the both of your families.

Once the lasagna is in the oven, you lean back against the counter and think about that night in his frat house. The night where he was convinced that you would leave him, because there was no reason to stay, and a small smile came to your face. No, not because of how much he claimed to have needed you (in a way), but because of how far you two had come. Yeah, it’s been ugly and bumpy at times, but you two made your way back to each other.

A few weeks after you two got back, he tried to convince you that the two of you didn’t need therapy anymore, because the trip had gone so well. However, the look in your eyes let him know that he wasn’t get anywhere near close to winning that argument.

He’s gotten better at spending time with Travis, he does his best to not come home from work in a bad mood because he’s still doing paperwork (however, it’s still being worked on), he’s hands on with Travis and his school work, and he’s even started volunteering to be the coach of Travis’ football team.

You two have finally become the couple you always dreamt you’d be. You two are meant to be...for the most part.

“Someone seems pretty fucking proud of herself,” Denny chuckles as he makes his way into the kitchen, and you roll your eyes. “I just want you to know that I officially think you’re crazier than Lloyd, why the fuck would you have both you families here at the same time?”

“It just felt like it was time,” you mumble, “thanks for the house, by the way.”

“No problem. What did you feel like it was time for?”

“Denny-”

“I’m really proud of you two. Mainly, I’m proud of you for making that stubborn jackass see that it’s okay to have a soft side.”

“He’ll kill you if he ever finds out you said that. You know that right?”

“After all the shit I’ve saved his ass from, he’ll be fine. How are you managing both your families here with no wine or cigarettes?”

“Close your eyes and hold your breath long enough, it all just sounds like background noise.”

“It’s just funny to me, because the last time you did something like this-”

“MOTHER, CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” Lloyd roars, and you can already tell this is about to get ugly.

“Oh, what the fuck is it now?” you whine as you and Denny make your way outside.

The scene in front of you makes your blood boil in almost an instant. The hors d’oeuvres you made are all over the table and the ground, there are broken wine glasses, Travis is sulking at the end of the table, Lloyd is covered in wine, and they’re two broken plates on the ground.

“What the fuck is going on?!” you scream, thankful that Denny is there to hold you back from lunging at...anyone, honestly.

“Y/N, watch your mouth in front of-”

“No!” you instantly snap at your Mother, as Lloyd quickly makes his way to your side, “you all are ruining my family’s home and I want answers! What the hell is the matter with all of you?! And why didn’t you two do anything to stop it?!” you snap at both and Lloyd’s Fathers.

“She started it!” Stef, Lloyd’s Mother yells, causing your Mother to throw a fork at her in response.

“MOM!”

“Travis wanted to come and see me while you two were away, and she wouldn’t allow it!”

“You don’t let him have any fun!”

“There’s no structure in your household! Look at how your son turned out!”

“I’m sorry, doesn’t your daughter live off of my son?!”

“Sure, that’s why your son defended me instead of his own Mother!”

“Oh my GOD! THE BOTH OF YOU NEED TO SHUT UP!” you yell, contemplating throwing something at the both of them. “Travis, are you okay?”

“Just another lovely family gathering,” he mutters with a shrug, and it breaks your heart.

“Listen, I am only going to say this once, so everyone listen closely. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with everyone and, at this point, I frankly don’t give a damn. Lloyd and I have been together long enough that, whatever petty bullshit you all have against each other should be over and dealt with by now!”

“You knew what you were signing up for when we all first met for the first time,” Lloyd’s father, Robert, laughs as he picks up his scotch and takes a sip of it.

You don’t even think about it, you just take off one of your flip-flops and throw it a him, hitting him directly in the head as Lloyd tries to stifle his laughter.

“Now,” you continue as you glare at Robert, “whatever issues Lloyd and I had in the past are our issues. Whatever issues we may or may not have in the future will be ours to deal with. All of this petty arguing ends now! I put a nice fucking dinner together to announce to all of you that I’m two months pregnant, and this is how you all act?!”

“I knew you were pregnant!” Denny exclaims and you glare at him. “What? I did. That’s the only reason you would be around all of these people with a drink or cigarettes,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“Anyway,” you begin again, “YOU’RE ALL FUCKING ADULTS! GROW UP AND ACT LIKE IT!” you snip and you hear a small gasp leave Lloyd lips. “I let you all act like this when Travis was born and raised him around this, but I’m not making that mistake again! Get your shit together or forget about coming to the wedding, and forget about being apart of Travis’ and this unborn child’s life! I’m so sick and tired of having to referee grown ass people! Now, clean all of this shit up!” you snap before getting out of Lloyd’s hold and turning around and making your way back inside. “You come into our house, throw around food I took forever to make, and break our shit?! ACT LIKE YOU’VE GOT SOME DAMN SENSE!” you scream as you make your way upstairs, limping slightly since you’re only wearing one shoe.

No, you probably shouldn’t have yelled at a room of adults, but you’ve had enough. You and Lloyd have been through the lowest levels of hell and back, and are finally in a good place, and for whatever reason they can’t seem to figure their shit out.

You sit down and lay back on the bed, pulling Lloyd’s pillow close and taking in his scent, before letting out a loud sigh.

You can’t say that you’re all that surprised.

“I’m sorry, your Mom said what to Mrs. Hansen?!” Tina exclaimed as she plopped down next to you on your dorm room bed.

“Tina-”

“I’m sorry, but this is the most chaotic meeting of parents I’ve ever heard! What the fuck?!”

“God, it went so bad so fast.”

“Okay wait, start from the beginning.”

“Alright, I told my parents a week ago that Lloyd and I started dating, and my Mom was immediately pissed, because she remembered him and his family from High School, and hated them. So, she was already unwilling to give them a chance, but my Dad talked her into it. Somehow, the fact that Lloyd and his family said that it was their treat made it worse and-”

“Why didn’t you tell him no?! You know how prideful your Mother is!”

“I did, but he insisted! He really wanted to do it, because he really wanted to make a good impression on them, and he was set on it, so I didn’t really have much of a choice. Anyway, after a lot of back and forth, everyone finally agreed to give him a fair chance. So, as per their choice, we all met up at that place Toscano-”

“Harvard Square?! I’ve always wanted to go there!”

“Yeah well, it only seemed to make things worse, because the moment my Mother saw the place she rolled her eyes and scowled.”

“Ah shit.”

“Exactly. Now, in Lloyd’s defense, he really did try to make up for his parents...rudeness,” you muttered as you rolled your eyes. “He just wanted to show my parents that I’m with someone who can take care of me. Anyway, the more Lloyd’s Mother drank, the more disrespectful she became. The more my Mom, the more fed up she got. Then, Lloyd’s Mom said something about how my Mom should’ve gone shopping with her for better shoes to go with her outfit, and it just...it went so bad so fast. Things were said, food was thrown, drinks were tossed, glasses got broken, and eventually the cops showed up.”

“Oh my God,” Tina gasped as she covered her mouth.

“That’s when my Mom called Lloyd’s Mom a low-class vapid baby making machine, who’s gonna end up used up and alone.”

“Holy shit!”

“God, it was so embarrassing. Lloyd paid for all the food, including what didn’t get brought out of the kitchen, and over tipped literally everyone who was working there, while his Father paid for all the damages and told him he’d pay for any upgrades they’d ever wanna make to the place. It’s amazing that we weren’t banned from the place, but I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to go back in there.”

“Jesus. What did Lloyd say?”

“Well, he screamed at both of his parents, I couldn’t even look at mine, and then he just apologized the entire time he drove us back to campus. He’s convinced I’m gonna break up with him, but I don’t know why the hell he’d wanna stay with me.”

“Well, why do you wanna stay with him? If his parents are this terrible, and he’s so terrible-”

“He’s not his parents, Tina. I don’t know, once he puts his ego aside, he’s really not that bad.”

“Babe-”

“Tina, look who you’re talking to. I know how terrible he is. How terrible he can be, but I love him. I know it’s probably not in my best interest, and there’s no way for me to try and explain it, but I’m in love with him and he’s in love with me. Maybe it’ll all fizzle out and maybe it’ll last forever, but for now, we’re determined to be together and make it work.”

“And your families?”

“We’ll figure it out along the way,” you shrugged.

You wipe your eyes at the memory, missing how simple all of it you used to be. Sometimes, you really miss Tina.

“I can hear those wheels turning a mile away,” Lloyd chuckles as he stands in the doorway. “You okay?”

“How’s your Dad?” you ask, closing your eyes and rubbing your temples.

“He’s fine. Shocked, but he’s fine. I think my parents are rightfully afraid of you.”

“It’s about fucking time,” you scoff as Lloyd takes a seat beside you on your side of the bed.

“How are you and our child?” he asks with a smirk.

“Hungry and grumpy,” you pout as you sit up. “I’m sorry, I just wanted us to have something nice. Everything’s been going so well, therapy finally feels like it’s getting us on path to a better future, the wedding is coming along great...I just wanted us to have a nice moment as a family, because it’s been so long since we’ve all been together for a good reason. Even when we had our first big dinner after Travis completed therapy, that was a shit show too. I just...I wanted something nice for a change. I made everyone’s favorite snacks, the lasagna that you and Travis love, I got everyone’s favorite drinks...just for them to shit on it like they always do. I’m sorry. Thanks for defending my Mom by the way.”

“It’s fine, and your Mom was right. My Mother was being a bitch, I’m done letting her disrespect your Mother like that. Besides, it’s honestly been long overdue for you to throw something at my Dad,” he smirks and you let out a small laugh. “I do have a surprise for you, though.”

“You kicked everyone out?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that great but,” he smiles, “I think it’s a pretty great second place. I’m going to train the new hires of the private sector.’ “...what?”

“I won’t be doing paperwork that drives me insane every fucking day, I’ll be home at a time that’ll make you happy daily, no more missions or trips, and I won’t be so damn irritable all the fucking time. Yeah, I’ll be teaching these shitheads torture on actual prisoners, but there will be no blow back. I come in, I train, I come home.”

“Lloyd, please don’t fuck with me,” you beg as your eyes start to water.

“Hummingbird, I told you that I’m gonna make changes, and I meant it. I want to give you and Travis the world, and I know that a huge part of that has to do with this damn job. No, I’m not leaving it all together, but I’m keeping all of us out of harms way.”

“Lloyd...”

“I love you, Y/N, and I’m not losing you again. I’m done being difficult, I’m done causing arguments over things that are obviously my fault, I’ll get better with controlling my temper around Travis-”

“And your language.”

“Hummingbird, it’s one or the other, I’m not perfect,” he tells knowingly and you roll your eyes. “The point is, I was serious about being and doing better for Travis. We’re going to be the family you’ve always wanted and I’m gonna do my best to keep being the man you’ve always been able to rely on. I love you,” he smiles at you.

You practically knock him over with the hug you give him, and he chuckles into the crook of your neck as he hugs you back.

“Relax you, you’re carrying my child,” he teases as you two break apart, and you flip him off before drying your eyes. “Do you know what it’s gonna be?”

“Uh huh,” you smile excitedly as you nod your head.

“Seriously? We’re having a girl?!”

“One of each, just like you’ve always wanted,” you laugh.

This time, he almost knocks you over.

“Please stop,” Travis groans as he makes his way into the bedroom, and both you and Lloyd as you break apart and look at him. “I’m gonna have a little sister?” he asks, small smile tugging at his lips as he gets on the bed from Lloyd’s side.

“That’s right, so get ready to defend her against all these little assholes running around,” Lloyd smirks and Travis laughs.

“Lloyd, at least when I’m around, please,” you whine.

“Are you sure you two are gonna be together forever this time? Cause they’re all downstairs agreeing that this isn’t gonna work, and Uncle Denny is drinking and watching sports highlights,” he sighs while laying his head on your shoulder.

“Of course those assholes want us to fall apart...again,” you scowl.

“Now who needs to watch her mouth,” Lloyd quips with a smug smirk, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Guys,” Travis groans.

“I’m positive we’re gonna stay together, Trav,” Lloyd smiles at him reassuringly.

“How are you so sure?”

“Because,” he shrugs as his gaze falls on you, “a Huckleberry is nothing without his Hummingbird.

taglist: @maroonsunrise83, @autumnrose40, @fuckingbye, @companionjones, @emerald-evans, @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, @mazda098, @pono-pura-vida, @nomadstucky

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #Lloyd Hansen fic #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #The Grey Man #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic #chris evans characters #lloyd hansen x you #Lloyd HansenxReader #Lloyd Hansen fanfic #Lloyd Hansen fanfiction

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soupfiction · 2 years

Text

Late (NSFW)

Pairing: Sierra Six x Female!Reader

Warnings: Minor description of injury, mention of blood, and unprotected sex (don’t do this!). No other sex-related warnings I don’t think but let me know if there are any!

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: For the first time, Six is late. But not without a good reason.

A/N: Tried a bit of a different writing style. Feedback is appreciated!

Six should be home by now.

Time schedules were either completely null or explicitly stated in his particular job field. A plane here, a week to drive a knife between some poor guys ribs there, then done. Money wired into his bank account before he even landed back in the states. Before he could even waltz through the threshold of your shared apartment. Other times, a kill was written down to the second he was meant to execute it. Chattering com in his ear and finger hovering over whatever long range gun they supplied him with.

The latter was your favorite. At least then he could whisper when he’d be back between kisses, hands cupping your cheeks and assuring you that you could both have dinner together because he’d be back before that time. The assurance was nice. It offered a timetable in which your worries could be left off the table, mind confident that everything is alright because he’ll be back soon, and if he wasn’t, then you’d worry. But he was always back.

Until now.

The cool air of the apartment is dead silent. Suffocating. It consumes and warps, amplifying the sound of the ice machine whirring on, making the beginning of it almost sound like a door opening. You stare ahead, wooden door shut firmly but unlocked. Ready for his hand to wrap around the biting cold metal of the doorknob and to walk in, throwing down his black backpack and giving you that sweet smile in greeting. A softness only for you—something you have been without for over two weeks now.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut as the clock by the door ticks on, slow and fast all at the same time. He’s late by almost two hours now. No call, no text, and still no Six. Your phone sits on the kitchen table, screen dark and quiet. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, you think it lights up despite the lack of noise that usually accompanies a notification. Muteness prevails, yet you turn your head towards the electronic anyways, tapping the screen to see your home wallpaper staring back at you and nothing else.

Your eyes sting, water rising to combat it and to get you to blink and shut your eyes for just a moment. Footsteps sound outside in the hallway, your back goes straight, muscles tensed and ready to shoot up from your chair and to the door. It passes, just like it has the other few times. Neighbors, likely coming home from a night out, stomping on the short carpet and to their own sections of the apartment. You blink, gaze blurry.

It’s past three in the morning now. The ticking hand of the clock has came and went over the number, not hovering over it like your stare did. Tck-tck-tck. It’s constant. You feel the tears coming.

Then, heavy-set footfalls rise above the ever present sound of the moving hour hands. Distant, but they itch at something that sits in your brain. Familiarity settles in, washing away any ounce of worry and replacing it with air in your chest, making you feel like you’re about to burst with each thud.

The doorknob rattles. You stand so abruptly that the chair scrapes against the wooden floor.

Blood. Lots of it. It’s smeared across his face, right cheek more red than flesh. A path of dried blood falls from his nostril and onto a puffy upper lip, discoloring already spreading enough that you can see it from feet away. Then you’re in his arms, ignoring the patches of darkness on his tan tactical shirt.

He groans as you wrap your arms around him, causing you to relent the small amount of pressure you had given and settle for practically hovering your arms around his waist. Warmness surrounds you, curling with the scent of musk and dirt. Only one strap of his black backpack hangs off his broad shoulder, the attempt to remove it forgotten by your sudden advancement.

“Hey,” Six whispers into your hair, voice catching in the middle like he hasn’t spoken in a while. Arms wrap around your body, pulling you further into him even though he winces at the small movement.

A lump settles in your throat. You swallow it down and murmur, “I missed you.” Worries amiss now that he’s back. Present and in your arms. Wherever he had been and whatever happened didn’t matter now because Six was home. Covered in blood, surely, but alive, nonetheless.

A barely audible chuckle that you feel against your cheek. It hitches into cough momentarily, and you attempt to pull back. His grip tightens. “Sorry for being late.” Is all he offers for the blood and evident pain, not even letting you attempt to ask until he’s good and ready to part with you, face smushing against his chest to prevent any further movement of your mouth. You can smell the metallic tang of gore on him.

A minute passes, documented by the ticking sound emitting from the clock. His hold on you ceases. All there one moment and gone the next. Now he’s looking down at you with hooded blue eyes, lashes brushing atop his dirty cheeks. “Go ahead,” he says, giving permission for the questions he knows you have.

Okay, most urgent inquiry first. “What happened?”

The muscles of his jaw clicks, poking out as he grits his teeth, eyes going all dazed and far away for just a split second before he’s back. “Got complicated.” It’s not exactly spat out, but tense. Like those two words alone bring him back to whatever had gotten the blood on him. You’ll press for more later.

You eye the dark bags lingering just below his own. “When’s the last time you slept?”

That, for some reason, is more nerve inducing than the initial question. He takes a moment, fully taking off the backpack and plopping it by the door. The loud thud tells you that there’s something heavy in there. “What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“About two days? Give or take.”

Your teeth clench against each other, the only physical sign of your rising emotions. Anger, worry, all for him, directed at wherever the CSS had sent him, and whoever had the unlucky chance of meeting someone as dangerous as the man standing before you. “God, Court,” you start, using his real name. It feels worthy now, like that one word could encompass all that you feel for him. Not the one assigned to him by Fitz, but the one only a handful of people know. “Let’s get—Let me start a shower so that you can,” you look him up and down, taking in the tan tactical shirt and a shade darker tactical pants, “Get all that off of you.”

He hums a low sound, going to wrap his arms around you again, chin bumping against the top of your head. “Thanks.” The word is soft, tender. Tired, you’d say now that you’re aware of how little sleep he has gotten. You both stay like that until you let go first. He lets you, shoulders drooping now that he’s inside the apartment.

The water is warm under your fingers. A pine green towel hangs over the rod that holds up the cloudy yet almost transparent shower curtain. Six lingers behind you, watching.

“Okay, this should help,” you assure, for both of you. Once he’s all clean and calm you can relax. Smother him in the love that he’s been missing while he was away.

Dried blood is better than wet. It doesn’t make the fabric stick to his skin as he peels it off, discarding it in the hamper for a later washing or two. He’s slow taking them off, and you help with his shirt. It’s damp beneath your fingers from sweat.

Soon, his tan skin is exposed to the bright light of the bathroom. You try to suppress it, but a gasp escapes.

Red welts cover the left side of his ribs, similar to the one on his upper lip. They circle around like your stretching fingers. Your hand tentatively brushes against the bruises. “What happened?” You ask again. Can’t help it when this is so fresh, so used to the healed over scars that mar his skin and not this.

A sigh. He stops in his journey to pull down his boxers, letting them grip below his V-line. Warm fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand up to his mouth. Saliva wet lips meet your knuckles. “Told you. Got complicated,” greyish-blue eyes gaze into your own, taking in the worry before he continues, “I’m here now. We’re okay.”

Now that he’s here in front of you, you agree.

You know he won’t tell you anything more until he’s ready. No use in trying to ask again. Six will bring it up when he feels it’s time. So, you let him remove the rest of his clothing in silence.

Steam has begun to hover in the air. It slips out the open door, and you go to follow it. A gentle grip on your upper arm stops you completely. He turns you back around to face his now naked form, not embarrassed about it in the slightest. You have seen him in this exact state, minus the wounds, many times before. Still, a hot flush creeps up your neck and you blame it on the rising temperature due to the hot water pouring from the shower head.

“Stay with me?” He asks. You do, nodding and going to sit on the closed toilet lid before he shakes his head. “No,” an incline of his head in the direction of the running shower, “There.”

Oh. Okay, you can do that. Six steps into the tub as you strip off your pajamas, much quicker than he did his own clothing. He steps back from the water to allow you in front of him. You close the shower curtain behind you.

Warm air curls around your naked body, then so do his arms.

Two weeks seem to have taken their toll on Six, both physically and emotionally. He buries his head into your neck, breathing in deeply. You can feel the rise of his chest, then its downfall. Skin on skin with no barrier. Neither of you seem to care about the dirt or blood caked on his body. The contact feels too good to forgo so soon, and you relax into his hold. Let him breathe you in until his muscles loosen up.

His own bar of soap is generic. Picked up without too much attention to detail. It’s larger than yours, less used with how often he comes and goes. You pick it up and let the water run over it, suds forming, before twisting around.

Reluctant to move, he barely lifts his head out from your neck. It hovers just an inch above where it was previously, hanging down so that he’s close to your face, eyes closed yet a small smile gracing his lips. He doesn’t budge from his position as you begin to brush the bar across his skin. Doesn’t even open his eyes. If he wasn’t smiling, you might think he had fallen asleep.

Your chests press together as you go to swipe the soap over his back. Six makes it akin to a hug when he once again gathers you in his arms and tugs you into him. Calloused fingers brush over your spine, following the bones up and down. Another time you might’ve laughed at him practically petting you.

Goosebumps erupt all over your body, water spraying on your backside. Bubbles cover everywhere but his lower half. You’re reluctant to bend down, to move from how he’s got you. Eventually, he does it for you, kissing the top of your head before grabbing the soap and finishing the job.

Then he brings it to your own body, heavy scent clinging to your flesh with each swipe.

He moves slowly. Holding the bar in his big hand and rubbing it over your neck, shoulders, breasts. Pace lessening there, a quick kiss to the shell of your ear before he goes below them and to your stomach. Warm breath fans across your shoulder because he’s leaned down, peering over to see the front of your body. He doesn’t shy away from your hips or lower regions, movements almost measured. Only when it’s time for your legs do you take the soap and let him move in front of you to wash the foam from his own body.

As soon as only water lingers on his skin, he’s back on you, gently grabbing your hips to move you in front of the spray. Wide palms and long fingers splay over wherever he can touch, using his own hands in place of a washcloth. Helping the froth to disappear.

The faucet squeaks as you shut it off, bending over enough that your backside is momentarily shoved against his front. His fingers press into your hips, lips running over the fresh smelling skin of your shoulders. Teeth lightly graze against it, causing a shudder to wrack through your body. You attempt to stand up straight again, but Six just grips you harder, keeping you right there.

“Six?” You inquire, voice higher than normal, suppressing a whine at the feeling.

A breathless reply of, “Yeah?” Before he’s sliding his hands up and over your stomach, feeling the soft flesh there before rising higher. The way he palms at your left breast so suddenly has that same sound releasing from your throat. He hums in content, other hand smoothing down your side. Still so warm even without the steaming water.

Unable and not wanting to move, you remain there. Letting him grope at the tender parts of your body and growing hotter by the second. Something pokes at your ass cheek, and you whisper, “Court?”

That does it. He uses his hold on you to twist you around so that you’re facing him, lips findings yours.

The kiss is strong and desperate, pressing into you like he’s trying to get as close as he can. When he nips at your lower lip, you open up without hesitation. His tongue delves past your teeth to lick at the inside of your mouth, exploring everywhere as if it’s the first time. A deep moan falls into your open jaw, low and entirely desperate.

Once your lips are puffy and nearly numb, he pulls back to admire his handy work. Takes in your fucked out expression before going back in for another taste, hands grabbing at your backside. Palms full of your flesh, squeezing until you whimper into his mouth.

It’s only when you begin to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure does he push you into the shower wall, back against the already cold tile. It pulls a gasp from you, and he swallows it down as it arises. Uses it to shove his tongue even deeper as he moves a leg between your thighs.

The muscles press against your folds suddenly. Six taking advantage of his hold on you to move you down onto the upper part of his limb before you even realize what’s happening. He takes in the moan that follows, sharp grip keeping you stationary as you wiggle at the sensation.

His mouth leaves yours, a string of saliva keeping you connected. The discoloration on his upper lip looks painful, and it’s now that you remember the forming bruise. You go to comment on it. To ask if he’s okay, but he cuts you off with a hand over your parted lips. It’s gentle, yet still gets his point across.

“Not right now,” he breathes, pupils blown. “Talk about it later.”

Got it. No complaints from you, especially when he moves you over his thigh, grinding that sensitive part of you against him.

Your knee touches his growing cock with each movement forward. Just a brush, but it has him jolting. Bending forwards just a fraction, he goes against your mouth again. A quick kiss there, then to your neck. Nipping until the skin goes red, just to soothe the sting away with his tongue. He repeats this until the beginning of bruises appear. Different from the ones that cover him. Born of love rather than hate.

It’s not long until the heat pooling in your stomach turns to tightness. Muscles growing taut in preparation for the rising orgasm that approaches rapidly. He moves in front of your face, noses nearly touching. You whine when he doesn’t move to kiss you, taking the initiative and going forward only for him to pull back. A short, breathless chuckle and eyes glued to yours before he goes next to your ear. “Go on, baby.”

You do as he says. Eyes screwing shut and hole fluttering. All the while he’s growling praises, letting you spasm and holding you upright. You’re glad he’s got you, otherwise you might’ve fallen from how intense the pleasure goes through you. Legs turn to jelly, and you’re barely coming down from it before he’s spinning you around and pressing your chest against the tiles.

He groans your name, word fanning across the damp skin of your back. Hard hips grind into your ass. “Fuck, tell me if you want me to stop. Please.”

When you remain silent, his head drops forwards where your shoulder meets your neck. His hair tickles against your skin. “Want to know why I’m covered in bruises?” Six suddenly asks, like he just lost an internal battle you hadn’t known he’d been having. Your mouth opens to ask him why. To ask why he’s bringing it up right now of all times. He guides his length until the hot head sits against your opening, and the words are lost. Can’t even remember what he said when he shoves up into you, using the wetness brought forth by your orgasm to enter faster than he would otherwise.

It's not until he bottoms out that he continues, mouth right next to your face. “Some idiot in Peru. Fleeing the CIA. Saw some—some bad shit, wanted me to take him out.” He pauses in his explanation to drag himself out of you, only to slam back in. You cry out, half muffled by how your face is pressed against the shower wall. “Easy and quick. Fitz got some mercenaries to fly me out when—original crew got more important plans.” Six scoffs at that, then bites your shoulder before grinding himself further into you.

You can feel yourself leaking down your thighs. Barely able to stay upright with the onslaught that he’s giving you. “Turns out they knew who I was. Fucking jumped on the chance to try and—and get me. Didn’t though,” the words turn into a growl at the end as he lowers until only his head is still inside of you. “One guy blabbered some shit before I,” hips meet your ass again, harder this time. He continues this as he speaks, words only audible over the sound of skin meeting skin because of how close he is to your ear. “Put a—a bullet in him.”

A high pitched, garbled moan that could barely pass for words comes from you. It sounds something along the lines of, “What did he say?”

His cock presses against that spongy part of your insides, reaping something akin to a sob. Adjusting his position, he begins to slowly hit into it again and again. “Said a lot of bullshit,” Six growls, pulling you away from the wall enough to slip a hand between your thighs. “Lot of nothing.” Three fingers find your clit with ease, rubbing leisurely yet constant circles around it. “Knew something, though. Knew enough to guarantee his death.”

Six lets out a groan, high enough in his throat that it’s animalistic and rough. Fingers move faster over your sensitive bud, mirroring the quickening pace of his hips. “Thought they had me,” he says, more to himself than you. “So they—they talked. Too much. Mentioned—Mentioned you.”

In your dazed state, the words take a moment to register. When they do, your eyes widen.

Being Sierra, all of his information has been wiped. Any mention of his past gone. No name to connect a past to. A clean slate that he always intended to keep that way, lest an enemy of Fitz or him find it. By knowing of your existence well enough to know your name—it meant leverage. But it also meant that you were in danger, which is why they were all dead and Six was here, taking you against the shower wall.

You go to say something, but he just rams himself into you. The fingers of his other hand go from gripping your waist to your face, slipping past your swollen lips and into your wet mouth. He effectively cuts off any further comment by laying them over your tongue. Instead of trying to speak, you close your lips over his fingers and lick the skin, the taste of soap filling your mouth.

He brings you to another orgasm, letting you grip his cock with how your muscles tighten and release with it. Doesn’t stop in his pace even when you tremble, moaning around his fingers. Just when you’re about to burst from the overstimulation, his hips stutter against your ass, going as deep as he possibly can before releasing thick ropes of cum inside of you.

The rest of the night you’re inseparable.

You turn the shower on again, washing away the sweat and bodily fluids. Six stays with you, helping you to stand when your muscles want to give out. Urging you to use his soap again to clean everything off of both you and him.

The clock by the door reads four as you pass, but its ticking simply falls into the background with how warm hands remain touching you over the towel. It’s only when you’re laying in bed, as naked as you were in the shower, tightly wrapped in his hold, that you really think about your earlier worries and how he had answered.

He was late not only because of the traitoring mercenaries but also because they had said one of the only things that would warrant complete and utter brutality: your name.

That fact could mean others know of his relationship with you. Could use it against him in the future. Maybe that should worry you more, but in his arms, you’re sure he’ll always be back to you. No matter what others do.

#sierra six #court gentry #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #court gentry x reader #the gray man #the gray man movie #the gray man netflix #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six smut #court gentry fanfiction #court gentry smut

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babyjakes · 4 months

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did something bad.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompts | interrogation + weapon play

pairing | soft!daddy!lloyd hansen x little!reader

warnings | ddlg dynamic. lloyd is soft and a little dark; dub-con to be safe (reader is scared but knows she's safe.) restraints. reader gets fucked with lloyd's unloaded gun as a punishment (+ me knowing nothing about guns.) crying kink. dumbification. mocking/degredation. name-calling (reader is called a slut once.) orgasm delay. softer nicer lloyd at the end. reader gets to come.

word count | 1,333

an | this one's dedicated to the sweetest, most wonderful angel in the whole entire world, lloyd's precious girl amalia @stargirlfics 💕🫶✨ hope you like this little story with a soft dark-ish lloyd, i think you replied to that one post a while back where i dreamt of lloyd + gun fucking with a rather unhinged ending, this is to hopefully make up for that!! happy holidays to you sweet friend, hope you're staying safe and warm!

Writhing as your back arched up off of the smooth wooden surface you were bound to, your weak whimpers were sweet music to your daddy's ears. The mustached man stood just off to the side of the desk, finishing up as he wiped the shiny barrel of his favorite revolver clean. "D-Daddy, please! I'm sorry- I'll never do it again," you implored, but Lloyd only chuckled cruelly at your desperate promises, shaking his head.

"Too late, princess. You know Daddy loves to hear you beg, but none of those pretty pleas are gonna work for you this time." He stepped forward to stand at your side, a firm hand reaching down to grope at your tit. It had been a while since he had last stripped you naked and tied you down on his desk; hoping to prolong your anxious waiting, he took a moment to admire his knotwork work. "So cute when you're all tied up like this, kitten. Maybe you need to break the big rules more often."

You struggled uselessly as your nipple was twisted and tugged at, tears stinging in your eyes as your daddy leaned down slightly to croon at you, "Poor baby, look at those big, frightened eyes. You gonna cry for me already, sweetheart? I haven't even started yet." Placing the dreaded weapon he was wielding down near your waist, he used his now free hand to trail down, feeling at your parted slit gently. "Oh my," his voice dropped lower as his fingers were quickly covered in your sticky slick, "looks like someone's getting excited. Is that out of fear, little one? Or is that poor little baby brain of yours getting turned on by Daddy punishing you like this?"

Hot tears of humiliation rolled down your cheeks as you glared up at the towering man. "Aww, don't go all pouty on me," he laughed lightly at the precious face you were making. "If you're good and tell me what I want to know, I promise I'll make sure you like this."

All you could do was watch with frightened eyes as the tall man got to prepping his instrument of choice for your punishment. Retrieving a small bottle of lube from one of his desk drawers, he coated the barrel of the handgun generously, making sure the long pipe of metal would slide in without issue. While the use of the device was meant to teach you a lesson, its goal was to deal you an emotional punishment, not a physical one. The gun was unloaded in front of you beforehand, and the sights were removed to prevent any catching or discomfort. More than anything, it was merely the concept of being fucked with the gun that you found so horrific.

"You're gonna look so pretty all stretched out on this," Lloyd marveled as he held up the weapon to show you before bringing it down to press its opening up against yours. The man grinned in delight as you kicked and fought helplessly against the ropes holding your legs apart, savoring the way your little voice sounded when you were all needy and scared like this.

"Please, p-please Daddy!" you cried, your tears worsening as you felt the cool metal gliding up inside you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you gave in and quit squirming as the revolver was inserted to its handle, twisting and turning cruelly within you as your daddy took his time and played.

"There," he hummed in satisfaction when he finally settled on a position, keeping the hilt sticking upward as he gently began pumping the slippery barrel in and out of your poor little pussy. It was nothing short of sinful, the way you immediately began moaning softly, the queasy fear in your tummy quickly shifting to unapologetic lust as your hips started bucking up to meet your daddy's efforts.

"Such a greedy little slut," Lloyd chuckled as he watched you ramming yourself right up onto the dripping weapon. "Look at you, getting so horny for Daddy's gun. That's it, princess. Keep fucking yourself on it, just like that." He helped you along by returning his free hand to your hardened nipples, pinching and pulling at the poor knots of flesh as burning tingles fanned out across your entire body.

"Daddy, D-Daddy-" you mumbled weakly, your eyes half-closed in bliss as the smooth tip of the revolver bumped right up against your tender ceiling. "Please, d-don't stop... gonna, g-gonna..." Maybe it was the sheer depravity of the situation, or maybe it was Lloyd's skillful fingers working your oversensitive nipples, but something was helping you along to a rather early high as you lay there panting on the desk. Seeing the way your body was starting to give its usual signs of approaching orgasm, your daddy slowed the pace of the gun inside you as he brought his other hand up to cup your cheek.

"Now baby," he tsked, rubbing his thumb tenderly over your tear-stained cheek as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Daddy, p-please! Need, n-need-... nnn..."

"Shhhh," Lloyd cooed, bringing his thumb to rest firmly over your salty lips as a signal to be quiet and listen. "Daddy knows, kitten. Know how bad you need to come," he nodded understandingly, the concern and mock sympathy on his face only causing your tears to worsen, as you knew the ways of his cruel acts and games. "But you're forgetting something, sweet girl- something very important. Remember that Daddy had a question for you?" Sobbing lightly against your daddy's thumb, you nodded weakly. "That's right, baby. Daddy needs to know what you were doing in the armory, right? Because weren't you found in there by one of his guards, up way past your bedtime?"

He let you nod, giving you a soft hum of approval as the gun was pumped at a torturously slow pace, in and out of your quivering cunt. "Now I'm gonna take my hand away, and I want you to answer. Do you understand, little one?"

Batting your eyelashes, you nodded as obediently as you could, earning a slight nod from the man as he did as he promised and released your face, allowing your lips to finally open. "W-was lookin' for a knife, Daddy. One of those shiny ones, with the fancy blades."

Lloyd considered your answer, quirking an eyebrow as he bumped his pace up with the revolver just a hair. "A knife? Now what on earth would you need a knife for, my little princess? Those are very dangerous; you know Daddy doesn't let you touch knives, not even the ones in the kitchen."

"Just wanted to play with one," you mumbled honestly, fearing how lame your answer might come across. "Saw a super spy on TV, she had a cool-lookin' one. Wanted to dress up and play around the castle." Lloyd couldn't help but melt a bit at your answer. Of all the things he thought you might be doing in there, finding a prop for a play-pretend game certainly made sense for your harmless, innocent nature.

"A super spy, huh?" he nodded, finally working back up to his original speed as he resumed fucking you generously with the weapon in his hand. "I see. Thank you for telling me the truth, sweetheart. No big girl knives for you, but we can find you a fake one to play with. Deal?"

"D-deal," your voice was shaky as your punishment seemed to come to its close. You had been so good, taken everything without too much of a struggle, and now it was time for your daddy to reward you. "D-Daddy," you hiccuped as the pressure in your tummy began quickly building up again, but Lloyd was already one step ahead of you.

"Go ahead, princess. You can come; you earned it," he cooed lovingly as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, cradling the back of your neck with his free hand as you finally found your release.

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comasuart · 15 days

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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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classickook · 2 years

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just another thursday | sierra six

pairing: courtland gentry (sierra six) x fem!reader

summary: in which lloyd hansen has taken you, six’s girlfriend, instead of claire and you get injured in the process.

warnings: swearing, mentions of a gunshot wound and blood, hurt/comfort

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i wrote this instead of working on my 20 other wips but what’s new?

you didn’t think your day would lead to you bleeding out in a random maze slash courtyard of a foreign country, yet here you are with your special cia-assassin-or-whatever-the-hell-he-is boyfriend kneeling in front of you.

“look at me, baby. keep your eyes on me, all right?”

you nod weakly, putting far too much effort into the simple action in addition to keeping your eyes open long enough to focus on the face in front of you, feeling deflated and dizzy as if your mind had been separated from your body.

“bad news is there’s no exit wound so the bullet is still lodged in your arm.”

you swallow sharply, finding it difficult to breathe past the pain and the horrible news that six just dropped on you. it feels like sandpaper coats your tongue and the roof of your mouth. god, wasn’t there any water around here? you try swallowing again and just barely make a successful attempt without choking.

“didn’t hit the brachial artery,” six mutters quietly. “that’s good, at least.”

“you a doctor now?” you wheeze.

“i’ve been at this a bit longer than you have, sweetheart,” he chuckles, glad to see that your humor is still intact despite the oozing gunshot wound in your upper arm. “comes with the territory.”

“yeah, well, your territory sucks.” you let out a sharp hiss and squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers apply more pressure to your wound. “fuck.”

his steely blue eyes flicker up to yours in a look that can only be described as pure agony at the expense of your pain. “i’m sorry. just a bit longer, okay?”

“sure,” you rasp.

his gaze lingers on you for another fleeting moment as if gauging your reaction for any change before continuing. six silently tears a strip of fabric from the bottom of his black fitted t-shirt, biceps flexing with the movement and you use that as a distraction from the pain.

“this is going to hurt the worst,” he warns, but then quickly slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans before handing something small to you that flashes silver in the low light. “take this.”

the fingers of your good arm pluck the tinfoil-wrapped rectangle and flick it open. “gum?” you ask, arching a brow in disbelief, “really?”

his lips twitch a bit. “you’re better off chewing on that than grinding your teeth down.”

“jeez, it’s gonna be that bad, huh?”

he shrugs his broad shoulders and says, “better safe than sorry.”

“great.” you pop the gum into your mouth and urge your jaw into motion as artificial watermelon coats your tongue. typical. “should’ve known it would be watermelon.”

“it’s the best,” he replies easily as if there truly is no other flavor of gum to compare it to. what a dork, you think affectionately.

you inhale sharply, blood and musk and petrichor overwhelming your senses as you prepare yourself for what would no doubt be the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. “i guess i’m ready.”

he nods once, still surveying your features for any signs of panic, but you try to keep yourself calm, neutral, as if tricking your mind into believing this is no big deal; just another thursday, as six always says.

“i have to get the bullet out, okay?” the tilt of your chin is the only response he gets. “then i’ll put more pressure on it and wrap it until we can get you to a hospital.”

a faint whimper crawls up your throat at the thought of it all and six attempts to school his features at the sound of your distress, but you still notice the slight tick in his jaw beneath the scruff of his goatee. “okay,” you say quietly, trying to put on your brave face for him. he’s been through far worse than this, you scold yourself. don’t be such a baby.

“you’re not being a baby.”

shit. you didn’t realize your last thought had been voiced aloud. maybe the pain and shock are really getting to you now; you can’t even control your thoughts or tongue anymore.

“it’s okay to be scared,” he continues. “in fact, you should be scared. no part of this is normal—not for you. i was supposed to protect you from him, from all of this. i failed you.”

you shake your head slowly, feeling woozy and weak as the adrenaline bleeds from your body. “it’s not your fault. you saved me in the end… just in time.” you offer him a weak smile but you know he doesn’t believe it, that he’s choking on his guilt and letting it soak into his every pore as you sit wounded in front of him. “just get this awful thing out of me so we can go home, yeah?”

without another word, you feel prodding fingers burrowing into your flesh and you clamp down hard on your teeth, stupid watermelon gum be damned. “fuck,” you groan as tears prick your vision until six’s face is nothing but an unrecognizable blur.

you bite your lip, your tongue, your cheek—anything to reorient the pain onto something else, and the taste of copper floods your mouth.

another whimper bubbles past your lips and you squeeze the fingers of your good arm onto six’s thigh, nails pinching into the fabric of his jeans until you can almost feel the warm skin beneath.

“that’s it, you’re okay. almost done,” six coaxes gently as his fingers pull back, now coated in blood and encasing around the golden bullet that burrowed its way past flesh, blood, and muscle. “keep your eyes on me, baby. i just have to wrap it, okay? you’re doing so good, i’m so fucking proud of you.”

your eyes blink open and focus on his shoulder as pressure builds in your arm. six continues to talk you through it as he wraps the strip of fabric around your wound and tightens it snuggly until you can’t really feel anything but a constant pulsing sensation.

you blink blearily at him until his features sharpen into view, noticing the familiar steely blue eyes looking up at you that appear more electric than usual due to the smudges of dirt and blood on his face. even still, he looks beautiful.

he bows his head and chuckles lightly. “you’re delirious, sweetheart.”

damn. did you say that out loud too?

six rises from his crouched position in front of you and gently urges you into a stand, large hands holding you steady along your waist and lower back. “are you feeling okay…? dizzy, nauseous, is the pain worse—”

“six,” you croak. “i’ll be okay. just take me home, please?”

he releases a sigh of relief to see you speaking and standing well enough on your own given the blood loss. “yeah, baby. let’s get you out of here.” one arm stays firmly placed around your waist, however, as he leads you out of the maze and back out front to the car that’s waiting for the two of you.

six is so gentle with you, taking his steps slow and steady as he maneuvers you into the passenger seat, buckling you in carefully and shutting the door before rounding the vehicle until he’s behind the wheel. your forehead is pressed up against the cool glass of the window, allowing it to soothe your impending headache along with the sweat peppering your brow.

“six?”

his hands freeze on the steering wheel, quickly directing his attention to you, afraid that you’re in too much pain or that you might faint or—

“can we stop by mcdonald’s on the way back?”

he coughs. “mcdonald’s?”

you nod against the window and hum your assent. “i really want french fries.”

six stifles the laugh building in his chest before pulling out of the courtyard. “sure, sweetheart. i’ll get you some french fries.”

“with extra ketchup?”

“of course.”

#the gray man #the gray man fic #the gray man fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six #sierra six fic #sierra six fanfic #sierra six fanfiction #sierra six x y/n #sierra six x you #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry #courtland gentry fic #courtland gentry fanfic #courtland gentry fanfiction #courtland gentry x y/n #courtland gentry x you #courtland gentry x reader #ryan gosling

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xcaptain-winterx · 1 year

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Main Masterlist

summary: sun and moon, day and night, light and darkness, complete opposites, but still belonging together. Both shining down on earth, making it live.

Vincent ven Google

Butterflies

Apricity

Egg search

Sweet Love

Boobs

Wrong Parent

Shiny Tree

Funeral Planning

Not so sunny

Superstar

#the gray man lloyd #dad!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #dad!lloyd x reader #the gray man #the gray man lloyd hansen #the gray man fanfiction #daddy sociopath #daddy sociopath AU

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Alpha

Pairing: Alpha! Prince!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Kink Prompt: Alpha

Word Count: 1,987

Summary: You try to keep your designation from the crown prince.

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, A/B/O, Mating/Heat Cycles, Regency AU, Public Sex, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number seven, super late, i’m sorry!! i hope you all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics

The goblet crashes against the wall, its contents staining the tapestry deep crimson. You flinch at the sound of it, though you keep your hands folded primly behind you and your eyes trained on the smooth stone floor. You know better than to allow your curiosity free reign, especially here.

“Is this all you have to offer?” The prince’s sneer is evident in his tone. “Barren, withered stock?” Through your lowered lashes, you see the duke flinch, his fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “Your daughter is ten years my senior, Lord Thayne,” he drawls. “And she is a Beta.” Prince Lloyd spits the word out venomously. And though his vitriol is not directed at you, you feel yourself shrink anyway, your fingers tangling nervously in the coarse cotton weave of your plain skirts.

This time, you cannot force your eyes to remain locked on the gray stone. You peek up through your lashes, your breath suspended in your lungs as Lord Thayne bows his head respectfully despite the prince’s insult.

“My Prince, when your Lord father bade his court to bring forth their eligible daughters, he did not specify that only those with suitable Omega offspring come forward.” The prince’s eyes narrow, and for a fearful moment you wonder if he will reach for his sword. But his hand only twitches upon the gilded, polished wood of the throne.

“Lord Thayne, how long have you served my father?” He asks quietly, leaning forward to address the older man. Thayne casts a rather unsure look about the silent, almost empty throne room. Indeed, only his Majesty, the Prince and the King’s counsel of advisors were present, other than Lord Thayne and his red-faced daughter. You try to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking against the wall as you clutch desperately at the bundle of herbs in the pockets of your skirt.

“Two score years at least, my Prince.” Thayne answers. Confusion is written in the deep wrinkles lining his brow.

“And in that time, Lord Thayne, how often would you say the King himself has asked you to rule in his stead?” The room grows so quiet, you swear you can hear the sound of Thayne’s heart pounding as his eyes widen.

“M-my Prince, I—” The prince holds up a hand, quieting him.

“You have not ruled a kingdom, Lord Thayne. You have not even ruled a fiefdom. How can you claim to know the will of His Majesty? From the looks of it, the only place you hold counsel is your own home, and even that is lacking.”

Lord Thayne’s face is red with anger and embarrassment, his hands clutched into angry fists at his sides. You feel even worse for his daughter, who stands stoically behind him, though her eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Prince Lloyd sighs, waving a dismissively.

“I grow bored of this endless parade of incompetence.” He looks to his left, where advisor Carmichael nervously wrings his hands. “Lord Carmichael. Inform my father I am finished for the day. I will see no more.”

Silently, you move through the throne room as they depart. You gather their discarded goblets, and other refuse as quickly as you can, eager to escape from the chamber. Your movements are quick and nervous. The room is muddy with scents,ball pushing up against one another. Your hand strays to the bundle of wormwood and verbena hidden in the pocket of your skirt.

The prince’s cruel insults still ring in your ears as you make your way through the vast hall, your head lowered. Though they were meant as insults, you hear them as threats. You know what the prince seeks—what he has sought relentlessly since your first heat a month ago.

The memory still dredges up needle-sharp fear. The prince pounding insistently at the door to the servant’s quarters, scratching at it until his fingernails bled and his throat grew hoarse from shouting.

“It’ll block your scent, mostly.” You hope Piha was right, her nervous instruction in the servant’s quarters weeks before would now be tested. You pluck up the pieces of shattered glass, making a basket of your apron. A sly glance through your lashes tells you Prince Lloyd has not noticed you. His rapt attention remains on the advisors, and their urgent whispers.

Good.

Madge drops a few more pieces of jagged glass into your apron, and eyes the stained tapestry with frustration.

“I shall have to have one taken from the east wing to replace it. Dispose of these,” she waves a hand at you. “There is more work to be done upon your return.”

Though you are only temporarily dismissed, you feel lighter as you leave the throne room. It worked. You feel almost giddy, heartened by your success. You dump the glass in your apron into the dirt outside the kitchens, giving it a good shake to dislodge any stubborn shards. I shall have to pick the herbs fresh once a week, so they stay fresh—So preoccupied with your thoughts are you that the crunch of dry dirt under boots goes completely unnoticed.

“You think to deceive me with weeds?” The cool voice stops you in your tracks as the hair at the back of your neck stands up. The prince watches you from the doorway his eyes dark. He runs his tongue across his lips. “Omega.”

“M-my P-prince, I—” Your eyes dart nervously around the small courtyard, searching for an exit. “I-I am not—”

“Do not lie to me.” He snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “Come here, Omega.” A miserable little whine bubbles out from between your lips as you try to resist the command, sweat beading at your brow as your body tries to move without your permission. You lose, though, releasing a shuddering breath as your feet carry you right to him. You despise the part of you that preens at his attention, the part of you that had fought and cried to be allowed to answer the prince’s desperate calls weeks earlier.

He slips a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head to the side. The modest neckline of your dress hides the untouched gland at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Slowly, the prince undoes the clasp, and you hear him hum low in his throat with approval at your unmarked skin.

“I thought myself mad,” he says, tracing the shape of your gland through your skin. “But I wasn’t, was I, Omega?” Prince Lloyd chuckles. “Though if you had your way, I would still be chasing shadows.” He undoes another few, his fingers straying across each inch of new skin he reveals. The impropriety of it makes you tremble, though your body refuses to cooperate with your desire to flee. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs appreciatively, either ignorant of or unbothered by the discomfort on your face.

Alpha hasn’t given permission.

“Pl-please, m-my Prince, I won’t tell anyone, I—” You hiccup wetly as terrified tears well in your wide eyes. “Th-the King will not stand for it!” You hope to temper his lust with the mention of his father. He is a prince, invisible to the eye of the law—but you know the price of attempting to rise above one’s station, and indeed it will be you who has to pay it. Prince Lloyd inhales you deeply, his eyes rolling half shut as he hums low in his throat.

“My Lord father is already half in his grave,” the prince sighs irreverently. “How long do you suppose he has to be angry with me?” He reaches for the tie to your stays, and you cannot stop yourself from catching his hand. Lloyd sneers at you. “You deceive your prince. You lie to him. Deny him.” As he speaks his voice grows crueler. “Lamb, I know you know the punishment for treason. The sentence is not light.”

He reaches again for your corset stays, and you whimper as he undoes them. “P-please, please, Your Majesty, n-not here—“

“Everywhere, Omega,” he hisses, “And anywhere I desire. Now, or in a fortnight, I am your King.” The prince tugs at the fabric of your dress so roughly you fear he’ll tear it and leave you with nothing to cover your shame once he’s through. His kiss is needy and rough, his tongue slipping between your trembling lips. You despise it, though the dark, wanting thing purring in the back of your mind glories in his forceful dominance.

The chaste nothings you’d shared with others before you’d been old enough to really know their meaning cannot compare to this. The gland in your neck throbs, the skin around it heating as Lloyd presses his thumb against it. You whimper into his mouth and he devours it greedily, leaving you breathless and dizzy when he pulls away. The prince’s eyes are even darker than before, the blackness of his pupils swallowing up the blue. ‘

He finishes with your stays, and the modest corset falling to the dirt between you.

“Do you think it will matter?” He asks, sliding his hand into the open fabric, pushing it from your shoulder to bare the smooth skin beneath. “What your father’s name was, the lands he never held—do you think any of it will fucking matter?” He cups your breast, dragging his thumb across swelling nipple. “My word is the truth. You are what I say you are.” Lloyd’s mustache scratches against your cheek as he rubs his face against yours, scent marking you.

The warmth simmering beneath your skin grows to a fever pitch, and suddenly your dress feels itchy and uncomfortable against you, your undergarments constricting. There is a sickening want growing in your chest as the prince’s mouth moves down the line of your throat, his teeth nipping at your flesh.

“T-the people with think me a w-whore, your Majesty,” your words end in a whimper as he withdraws quickly. “I-it is indecent, my Prince, i-it will not stand before the council—”

“The council are a bunch of doddering old fools who would rather mind their tongues than lose their heads.” He grasps your chin with one hand while he rucks up the fabric of your dress with the other. Cold stone bites into your back through the cloth as Lloyd presses you into the wall. “And once I place a crown on your pretty head, it will be treason to utter your name and the word whore in the same sentence.”

His words are meant to be soothing, to belay the fear bubbling in your chest, but they do not. You see the golden cage for what it is—a prison, a pretty one. You press your thighs together as his fingers skirt across your vulva, even as your cunt pulses with shameful wetness.

“Open for me, Lamb.” The command is impossible to deny. Your thighs part inch by reluctant inch until Prince Lloyd’s hand fits easily between them. He chuckles cruelly as he slides his fingers through your slick folds. “You see? It’s in your nature, my Omega.” He breathes the words against your lips as he claims them again. “Your nature is to serve.” He circles your traitorously swelling clit with a finger. “Serve me. To love me.”

His fingers force a sharp gasp from your trembling lips, and your own tangle in his fine tunic. You’re burning from within, burning for him, and he is stoking it. Prince Lloyd’s mouth slides over the curve of your cheek and down your throat until his teeth are pushing sharply into the skin above your mating gland.

Dizzy euphoria washes over you as your bleary eyes turn heavenward, staring up at the late summer sky.

“What is it the priests say?” He chuckles, and you taste the copper of your own blood in the air. “Let none tear asunder what the Gods have made one.”

fin

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universitypenguin · 1 month

Text

Chapter 26

Summary: Princess makes a worrying discovery while looking through Lloyd’s briefcase. Zach and Lloyd search Copper Ridge Quarry and have an argument. Meanwhile, Princess becomes entangled in the issue of a spy operating inside of Bishop & Howard.

Word Count: 5,024

Warnings: This story contains content that is intended for those who are at least eighteen years old, such as explicit sexual content, strong language, references to spying, murder, kidnapping and criminal elements.

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I did get this chapter published today as promised but editing took a really long time because it snowed here today, which was really depressing for me (come on, it’s March, give me sunshine) so I was feeling very unmotivated and lazy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Twenty-Six

As promised, you reviewed the footage of Nguyen’s interrogation. Two moments raised red flags. The first occurred when Lloyd mentioned Tate Corbin’s witness statement. From his previous interviews and court testimonies, you knew Nguyen wasn’t easily drawn into speculation, but the topic of his neighbor’s observations caused an abrupt change in his demeanor. Suddenly, he was eager to speculate. You marked the timestamp and wrote a note for Lloyd. The second red flag was more significant. As an interrogation subject, Nguyen was usually willing to answer questions, though the quality of his responses varied. That said, an outright refusal to respond was rare; in fact there was only one instance where it cropped up.

When questioned about his former colleague who testified against him at trial his evasion stood out sharply in contrast to his typical style of guarded cooperation. It caught your attention, so you annotated that spot as well. Nothing in particular jumped out at you as significant in the rest of the footage, but watching it all together, it irked you that Nguyen hesitated to challenge his colleague’s testimony. Most murder suspects protested vehemently when confronted with false accusations.

The fact that Nguyen didn’t was unsettling.

A staccato rap of knuckles on your door startled you from your musings. Landon stepped into the room and raised an eyebrow when he saw you massaging your temples.

“Headache?”

"Yeah. Re-watching Nguyen's interview is driving me nuts."

"Skip the aspirin this time."

You snorted. "Never again. What's up?"

"Jake and I have a stakeout. Need a ride home?"

"No. Lloyd's my ride, whenever he gets back."

"Text if you need us. Remember the silent alarm triggers are under the receptionist’s desk and in Zach’s office. He showed you?"

"Yeah, he did. Thanks."

- - - - -

After the guys left, the office was silent. You finished reviewing the interview footage and made an attempt at Lloyd’s strategy of listening to the interview audios alone, which proved fruitless. The audio alone was too dull to be endured. After saving your notes to the shared drive, you strolled around the office to stretch your legs. It was nearly nine o’clock, and there was still no word from Lloyd or Zach. You opened the tracking app on your phone and verified their location in the woods near Copper Ridge Quarry.

You needed a distraction, so you poked around in the share drive and read the report Lloyd had filed on his meeting with Tate Corbin. When you clicked through the attachments for his handwritten notes nothing came up. There were no attachments anywhere in his last few uploads so they hadn’t been filed mistakenly. Your gaze landed on the hazelnut leather briefcase he’d left beside your desk. After a brief debate, you decided he wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t snooping if there was a purpose, right? You lifted the briefcase to your desk and took a deep, steadying breath. As you unzipped the main compartment, your phone rang, making you almost jump out of your skin.

Jen’s face flashed on the caller ID.

You sank back against the cushioned backrest of your chair and answered. “Hey, Jen. What’s up?”

“Not much, just checking in. How’s working from home?”

"It’s different. Kind of boring, but I’m getting a lot done.”

“I haven’t seen much of Lloyd around the office lately. Is he working from home, too?”

“He’s been doing a lot of field work,” you said, ducking the question.

“Mmmhh, really throwing himself into it, is he?”

Knowing Jen as long as you had, the dry tone of her voice tipped you off that she wouldn’t let the matter of Lloyd's absence go. She’d poke and prod and side-step you down the garden path until she had an explanation. You should’ve anticipated that the cover story Bishop had spread around the office, spinning your attack as a slip and fall by the pool, wouldn’t pass the smell test with Jen.

“Yeah. Things picked up a bit in the investigation… uh, new leads….”

“I’ve always appreciated that Lloyd goes after things like a force of nature.”

“Have you?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching into the front divider of Lloyd’s briefcase and pulling out a stack of files. The third degree was coming, and you knew it.

“He takes the bull by the horns,” Jen said.

“Interesting. Are you developing a soft spot for Lloyd?”

Jen snorted. “He’s right up there with Hawaiian pizza in my book.”

You laughed, flipping through the files. None of them were related to the Harmony case, so you set them aside and searched the second pocket in the briefcase.

“Wanna know something else about Lloyd?” you teased, hoping to distract Jen.

“Hmmm?”

“I only found this out recently, but he actually was a cowboy.”

“Are you for real?”

“Would I lie to you? He called me when he was in Idaho and told me about herding cattle and roping and my ovaries almost exploded.”

“I love that for you. Did he bring you pictures? Also, does this have anything to do with his odd choice of facial hair?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Right, you’re too young to remember Westerns. You know the old movies about Doc Holliday, The Sundance Kid, Wyatt Earp…? I could go on, but you get the point.”

“I’ll have to ask him,”

“How’s your neck?” Jen asked.

“A lot better.”

You cringed, waiting for the attack to begin.

“Mmmhh. Glad to hear it.”

There was a long pause and you held back, distracting yourself from the temptation of talking by opening the next compartment of Lloyd’s briefcase. There was a padfolio and a few more files. You opened one of them and found insurance paperwork for a 1971 Mercury Cougar.

“Listen, I heard about your fall by the pool from Bishop, and I know it was bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t really talk about it, Jen. I’m sorry.”

“Talk about what, exactly?”

“Jen… I can’t tell you what’s going on, okay?”

“Is it personal? Professional? Does it have something to do with Lloyd?”

You blew out a breath, considering your answer. The stalking was personal, but the IP address that the stalker had used to hack your work laptop was definitely professional. If he’d hack your laptop, who was to say he hadn’t tapped Jen’s work line, too?

“I’m dealing with some personal stuff.”

“And you were in the hospital twice this past month. There was an ER visit at Georgetown University Hospital and another in Harmony.”

“How do you know about those?” you demanded.

“Your apartment building forwarded over a stack of mail. I saw the medical bills and figured they were ER visits, thanks for confirming, though. I didn’t actually open them.”

“I can’t share it yet, but me staying out of the office is what’s best for right now.”

“Why were you in the hospital?” Jen asked.

You rubbed your forehead and wondered why you chose to develop friendships with people who had the personalities of Jack Russell Terriers. “I hurt my neck, just like Bishop said. The other one was for a medication reaction, but it turned out fine.”

“Fine? But who picked you up from the hospital? Did you call your Mom? Never mind, don’t answer that, I know you didn’t. Have you told your Mom what’s going on?”

Jen meant well, and you knew that, but she’d never comprehend that your Mom didn’t take her responsibilities as a parent to heart the same way Jen did.

“I didn’t tell her I was in the hospital because it’s just not something she could handle. She’s kind of high strung,” you gently reminded her. “Lloyd drove me home both times.”

“So, Lloyd is taking care of you? Adequately?”

You rolled your eyes at her suspicious tone. “Yes, he’s shockingly good at playing nurse. And he can cook.”

“Thank goodness, I’ve been worried that you were subsisting on takeout alone.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” you said.

“Mmmhh. Well. I’m not trying to be pushy, honest. I just… worry about you.”

“I know that, Jen. Give me some time, okay? I’ll tell you everything when I can and hopefully I won’t seem like such an asshole then.”

“You’re not capable of being an asshole except when you’ve been provoked to it,” Jen said. “That’s why I’ve been so worried.”

“Thank you.”

You picked up another file that had been in Lloyd’s briefcase and leafed through it. Once you realized that it was a copy of Joe Hansen’s will, you snapped it shut. Jen’s voice morphed into the background as she turned the conversation to a recap of current affairs at the law firm. Why was Lloyd still carrying a copy of his father’s will? On a scale of one to ten, how much of a violation of privacy would it be to read… maybe just the first page? The first few pages? Your internal debate was interrupted by a gasp from Jen.

“I almost forgot to tell you! I met Mr. Howard the other day!”

“Mr. Howard?” You drew a blank, having been more preoccupied with the will than the conversation.

“Wilson Howard? The other half of Bishop & Howard? The infamously silent and absent founding partner of B&H…?”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, it was crazy, like stumbling on a unicorn on a jogging trail. He actually came into the office.”

“Why did he come in?”

“Because of you,” Jen said.

“What did I do?!”

“Remember the emails that you forwarded to HR? The ones from Westin Tafferty? According to the grape vine, they made their way up to Bishop, who responded by siccing Mr. Howard on Westin.”

“Oh, shit.”

Jen chuckled at your dismay. “He was here all morning and met with paralegals to get the tea on Westin before coming to visit me. He asked about you.”

“This is not good.”

“Relax,” Jen said. “He just wanted to know if Westin had harassed the whole paralegal department, or if he’d focused on you. And you’ll never guess what else I found out…”

“I’m afraid to ask,” you said.

Jen snickered. “Per Mr. Howard, there was a conversation between Mr. Bishop and Lloyd a month ago where Lloyd threatened to ‘use the Geneva Conventions as a to-do list’ if Westin kept bothering you.”

You buried your head in your hands, groaning, while Jen laughed.

“Anyways, after he’d interviewed the team he went down to HR and had a two hour chat with Westin, who denied everything, but given that it was a two hour meeting, I think we can guess how that went.”

“No one called me about this.”

“You’d already done your part by reporting him,” Jen said. “Also, according to my sources, Westin left that meeting looking very rattled.”

“I almost feel bad for him.”

“Ugh. Get a grip and cut that out, girl. You have no idea how incredibly therapeutic it was for the whole paralegal department to vent about Westin. The best part was that Mr. Howard just listened and took notes. If a man ever listened to me that attentively on a date, I’d jump his bones.”

You commiserated with her about Westin, and let the conversation drift back to the latest gossip from the office. When you finally hung up, you stood over the mess on your desk and examined the damage. It was littered with a treasure trove of mundane artifacts - five khaki file folders, a tin of mints, sticky notes, a travel tube of cologne, a power bank and phone charger, airpods, reading glasses, and three hundred dollars in cash. The files were what drew your eye.

Curiosity was killing you, especially about Joe Hansen’s last will and testament, but you forced yourself to set them aside. It would be a betrayal of trust and if the situation were reversed, you’d be offended if Lloyd went through your private documents without asking. You surveyed the items you’d strewn over the desk from Lloyd’s briefcase and sighed, dipping your hand into the last, smaller back pocket of the briefcase in search of the missing interview notes. Your fingers brushed against paper and for a moment, excitement surged, but instead of papers you pulled out an envelope.

Inside were three laminated bookmarks.

They were delicate and beautiful. One featured a bold splash of golden petals with a dark center like a miniature sun in bloom - a long stemmed Black-Eyed Susan. The other two flowers weren’t familiar. You inspected the bookmark that contained pale lavender flowers with tinges of blue, then examined the third marker, which featured pink petaled blossoms. Frustratingly, it was another flower you didn’t recognize. The pink flower reminded you of Prairie Phlox and Fire Pink, except to the best of your knowledge, no one had ever crossed those plants. There was no receipt in the envelope but when you flipped it over, the outside read: “Josephine.”

Your eyebrows raised. Josephine? Who the hell was Josephine? Why had she given Lloyd pressed flower bookmarks, and more confusingly, why had he accepted them?

It crossed your mind a second later that the floral bookmarks might be a gift for you. That was a logical enough explanation but it didn’t hold up to closer inspection. Lloyd took pride in being an excellent gift-giver. He knew your tastes, interests, and preferences. The bookmark with the Black-Eyed Susans would be the kind of gift he would give you, but the other two were decidedly not.

Using the plant identification app on your phone, you scanned the bookmarks to identify the flowers. The lavender flower was Common Camas and the pink was Elkhorn Clarkia. You didn’t recognize either name and when you checked the map of their native range, it made sense why you wouldn’t - they were native to the upper Northwest. Lloyd must have gotten these in Idaho. Frowning at the bookmarks, your mood slid from confused to suspicious, then darkened.

Your chest was tight and your heart pounded out a chorus of eighth notes, turning your skin hot. The floral bookmarks weren’t something Lloyd would keep without a good reason. On the envelope, you inspected the handwriting of the name ‘Josephine’ and confirmed it was Lloyd’s. Who was Josephine? Did she live in Idaho or had she traveled there for his father’s funeral? Did they spend time together while he was there? Was she the real reason he’d neglected to call you while he was gone? There was a horrible feeling in your gut that you couldn’t ignore.

The realization that there were parts of Lloyd that you were completely closed off from hit like a slap in the face. There were sides to him you’d never seen. He had a past that transcended the three years you’d shared. Of course that was normal, but the utter lack of awareness you had of Lloyd’s past wasn’t normal at all. If you knew who Josephine was, maybe these bookmarks wouldn’t make your heart slam against your rib cage. You’d know if she were a matronly ex-neighbor or an ex-girlfriend. That was something you ought to know, and the fact that you didn’t have a clue made your stomach churn. It seemed that beneath the veneer of trust you had in Lloyd there was an abyss of uncertainty. While your friendship had been built on healthy habits, it was painfully obvious that your romance lacked the same sturdiness. The dawning awareness that all it took was three flimsy bookmarks to fracture your relationship burned.

You took a deep breath and tucked the floral bookmarks into the envelope and returned it to the same pocket. Then you began methodically returning all the items back to their original position, careful to order them exactly how you’d found them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A strange chemical scent hung in the air. Lloyd wrinkled his nose and swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste of rotten eggs. He stood with Zach at the chain link fence that sealed off Copper Ridge from the rest of the world, looking up at the double rows of twelve-foot high razor wire topped fencing. The sight reminded him of prison.

Decorating the fence were brightly colored posters signaling danger lay ahead.

Zach coughed into his elbow. “This place smells like my grandmother’s garden, but way, way, worse.”

“What?” Lloyd asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Her garden plot had alkaline soil, so she treated it with Lime-Sulfur every spring.” Zach coughed again, then examined the warning posters. “Arsenic, sulfur, lead, benzene, radiation… What did they do? Nuke this place?”

“That probably would’ve done less environmental damage.”

“Check those security cameras,” Zach said, tilting his chin at the gate post.

“We can assume the killer isn’t just driving up to the main gate.”

“Given what they’re containing up here, those cameras probably aren’t new.”

“He must have a more discrete method of accessing the site,” Lloyd agreed.

“So, we’re hiking the perimeter?”

“It’s due diligence. The three bodies we have prove that we’re looking for an experienced hiker who isn’t afraid of moving his victims over rough terrain.”

“The perimeter is thirteen miles and the sun’s about to go down.”

“Got an extra flashlight?”

Zach smirked, and quipped, “one is none.”

Their flashlight beams were necessary under the thick canopy of vegetation, even with the sun still shining overhead. The trees cast long shadows and stretched their fingers across the forest floor. Recently fallen leaves squished under their feet as they followed the fence line, still too wet to crunch. Crisp air whipped against his neck and Lloyd flipped up the collar of his jacket.

“I hope Princess doesn’t intend on letting your genes into her bloodline. Not after this.”

“Shut up,” Lloyd muttered.

Zach snickered. “Touched a nerve, eh?”

“You’re getting exposed to this shit right along with me, asshole.”

“Not really. I had a procedure in the 90s to ensure none of my swimmers were medal contenders.”

“For the love of all that is holy, please shut up.”

“Why didn’t you bother with a vasectomy? Nervous about someone poking around down there?” Zach asked.

“Getting clipped has never been on my agenda.”

Zach stopped abruptly. “You want kids? Really?”

“Fuck no! You of all people get why.”

“I do. Hence, the vasectomy I got at twenty.”

“I don’t want kids,” Lloyd stated.

“Your actions say otherwise,” Zach said.

“No, they don’t. All my actions say is… Why are we having this conversation?”

“What about Princess?”

“What about her?”

“Does she want kids?” Zach asked.

“How should I know?!”

“You’re dating her.”

“This is what you want to talk about right now?” Lloyd demanded.

“Does she?”

“Come on, we’re in the middle of something. Now isn’t the time.”

“What are your intentions towards Princess in the long term?”

“Zach, are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“Why would I bother digging a grave when I know this place exists? Answer the question. Where is this thing with Princess going? Are you serious about her?”

“She’s important to me, of course I’m serious.”

The blond man’s eyes sharpened. “Serious is different than being serious about her. Are you going to move in together? Get married?”

“Move in where? The townhouse? Her place? She was nearly strangled in my backyard and Aiden planted a camera at her apartment.”

“Fine, sell both places, combine funds and get a house with a yard for the kids. I’m in Thursday night golf league with a couple realtors. You want me to hook you up?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” Zach agreed cheerfully. “Look, the past three months are the happiest I’ve ever seen you. Princess, too. But I also know your track record with relationships so I need to know that you’ve got your head screwed on straight when it comes to her.”

“I appreciate that,” Lloyd said.

“Good. When are you going to talk to her about moving in together?”

“Have you always been this pushy?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know, damn it!”

“You’ve been dating for three months. Figure it out,” Zach said.

Lloyd sighed. “Three months isn’t very long.”

“Sure, but the math is different for you two. You were friends first.”

“She’s my best friend. I don’t want to see her hurt. Not by a stalker, or anything else.”

“Look, Lloyd, Princess is a good friend to me, too. I don’t want to see her hurt either. She’s going to need a commitment from you soon and what I’m trying to ask is this: how close are you to giving her that?”

“You know my track record with relationships,” Lloyd deflected.

“I also know your track record with Princess. You’ve never disappointed her before and I’d prefer not to see you screw that up.”

“I care about her, Zach. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and I don’t want to lose her or hurt her.”

“But you’re afraid you will.”

“My issues with women are legendary.”

Zach snorted. “Let’s not pretend they’re just with women. You’ve got issues with everything.”

“I’m not the white picket fence happily ever after type of guy.”

Silence descended, lingering in the air, as if Zach was waiting for Lloyd to continue. He gritted his teeth and held his peace, refusing to add fuel to the conversation.

“Figure it out, man. Lay your cards on the table soon, because Princess deserves to be with someone who’s all in.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but-”

“What? You’re waiting for the right time to make up a bullshit excuse and end things with her? Once we catch her stalker, and we will, you can’t just turn around and break her heart-”

“Shut up.”

Zach sneered. “Like hell I will. Don’t tell me-”

Lloyd grabbed the Texan by the collar and covered his mouth, silencing him.

“Shut up and listen, damn it!”

Zach froze, alertness sweeping over him in an instant. They waited, silent. From somewhere ahead of them in the woods came a rustling sound.

“You heard that?” Lloyd murmured.

“Yeah.”

Lloyd reached into his jacket and pulled out a Glock 19 while Zach took a .38 pistol from his boot. The gun clicked as Zach chambered a bullet.

“Turn off your flashlight,” Zach whispered.

From ahead there was a flurry of rustling accompanied by the sounds of breaking twigs and branches.

“An animal wouldn’t make that much noise,” Lloyd muttered.

“Whatever it is, we’re not alone out here.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You struggled to focus on the computer screen. It was 10:30 and your eyes stung from too much screen time. Blinking against the dryness, you watched the rapidly moving footage flashing on the monitor. You’d shut off the lights in the office and re-played Nguyen’s interview at 4 times the normal speed. The rapid fire images helped to exaggerate changes in body language, which was what you’d decided to focus on.

After attempting Lloyd’s technique of listening to the interview without visuals, you’d come to your senses and realized that while Lloyd could listen more accurately than anyone you’d ever met, you needed visuals, especially body language. Therefore, you turned off the audio and sped up the footage, watching Nguyen speak, noting his facial expressions and movements.

Your eyes watered in protest at the excessive amount of blue light they were enduring and you squeezed them shut.

When they opened again, the laptop screen wasn’t as bright. You tapped the trackpad and the screen brightened. The laptop was plugged into the wall socket next to the desk. You leaned down and double checked the connection, then looked at the icon menu on the bottom right corner of the screen. The battery was at fifty percent and the plugged-in symbol was conspicuously absent. Your eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall and found its dial frozen, displaying the time as 12:00 AM.

Your stomach dropped.

No electricity. Shit. How long? You had no illusions that the source of the electrical disruption was anything other than man-made. There was no heat wave, thunderstorm, or high winds. You moved to the window and peaked through the blinds to see that the lights were still functioning in the shopping mall. Zach’s suite appeared to be the only one without electricity.

You grabbed for your phone, only to find that the spot where it had been was bare. Goosebumps broke out on your skin. The room was eerily silent. Your heart raced as you scanned the deep shadows and debated whether to run or scream.

“Sorry to drop by after visiting hours.”

The voice from the darkness was calm, almost conversational, but laced with an undercurrent of humor that was more terrifying than malice. You lurched back, eyes focused on the barely discernible silhouette of a man standing in the corner of the room.

“Who are you?” you gasped, the catch in your breath turning your voice into a whisper.

The figure moved and you lept backwards, then screamed when your back slammed into the solid barrier of the wall. A man stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light from the east window. He had sandy blond hair and cerulean eyes. Something about him triggered a wave of recognition, but you struggled to place him in your memory.

“Hello, Princess.”

Your muscles bunched and your nostrils flared at his casual use of your nickname. The man raised his hands in surrender. Despite his overture of peace, you didn’t relax.

“My name is Court Gentry. We met briefly in Singapore.”

“When and where?” you challenged.

“The casino bar. It was your birthday.”

The memory came flooding back. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

Hair rose on the back of your neck, but you defiantly tilted your chin.

“I know Lloyd,” Court said, taking your lack of response for confusion.

“Yeah, I’m aware. Why are you here?”

“Because Lloyd refused to help me.”

“Sorry?”

“I need someone to help me get into Bishop & Howard,” Court said.

“By ‘get in,’ I’m going to assume you actually mean ‘break in.’”

Court’s lips twitched into a split second smile that faded into seriousness.

“There’s a spy in the firm,” he said.

“And you know this, how?”

“I keep tabs on Lloyd. I assume you’re aware of why?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“A few months ago I was on a job and… came into possession of a laptop. There was a reference to Bishop & Howard on the contents of that device, so I followed up. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I’d uncovered a plot to steal top secret information from the U.S. military.”

“You thought Lloyd was behind it, didn’t you?”

Court inclined his head, conceding the point. “It wouldn’t be the first time he betrayed his country, Princess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That’s why you were in Singapore.”

“Yes. Events in D.C. from the law firm proved Lloyd innocent, so I approached him and asked for help. His answer was a very vehement ‘no.’”

“He doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

Court nodded. “But that puts me in a bind, because the spy is making his final transmission tonight and I need someone to help me get past security. That’s all I’m asking, Princess. If you can get me to the sixth floor of the firm-”

“Bishop is the spy?!”

“No. He’s not behind this. I already cleared him as a suspect.”

“Executives and administration are the only departments on the sixth floor. What kind of government secrets would they keep up there?”

“There’s another department on the sixth floor,” Court said. “Patents.”

“Right. I knew that, but there’s only like five people in the patent department. They keep to themselves and everyone else kind of forgets they exist.”

“Will you help me?” Court asked.

“What, exactly, am I helping you with? You never told me what these secrets I’m supposed to be protecting were.”

The blond man studied you, weighing his words, before he spoke.

“It’s a Department of Defense project called Project Prometheus. Whenever the government enlists private groups to develop top secret technology, they allow them to file patents on their inventions with a private firm. Only once the technology is de-classified do the patents become public record.”

“What’s Project Prometheus?”

Court sighed. “If I tell you, will you help me?”

“Maybe.”

“Project Prometheus is next generation jet fuel. It’s designed to power the upcoming F-37 Valkyrie fighter planes. The spy at B&H already sent information on the chemical structure of the fuel and how to synthesize it. All that’s left for him to transmit is the engineering specs of the jet’s fuel system.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think the cat’s already out of the bag if they have all that.”

“It’d be more accurate to say that they have the cat, but no bag. Without the right bag to put the cat in… ka-boom,” Court said, illustrating an explosion with his hands.

“Why are you reaching out to me now?”

“Because the spy contacted his handler today to let him know that he’d be sending the rest of the documents at midnight tonight.”

“All I would have to do is get you past security?”

“You have access to the sixth floor,” Court said.

“What about the security around the patent department? I’ve seen their door. It looks like Fort Knox.”

“Doors, plural. I have a plan for that. All we need to do is get in, set up some equipment and hole up in your office while we wait for the spy to show.”

“Are you going to turn him in or capture him?”

“My goal tonight is only to block his transmission and learn his identity. Once I have that, I’ll go to the FBI. Confronting him on my own would be counterproductive. If the authorities can get him to flip on the Chinese, that would be the best outcome.”

Lloyd would kill you for even considering this, but at the same time, you felt compelled to help Court. He’d go after the spy with or without you and his chances of success were a lot higher if you went along.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

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Next - Chapter XXVII

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Masterlist

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