#the gray man fic

[ken-dom]

Alone Together

Sierra Six x gn!reader

2.4k words

∘₊✧ Summary: you take Six to the carnival for your first date, hoping he’ll relax a little

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: this was written for @heresthestorymorningglory’s birthday! Thanks for being my best goose, I hope you have an excellent day when it eventually rolls around 💖 (we were too excited to wait to post our birthday fics). It was SO hard writing Six without sending it to her to check it was Sixy enough!! If you haven’t read her Six, thoroughly recommend.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: fluff, first date, kissing, mild peril?!, mention of clowns

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Six’s arm is secure around your shoulders, almost swallowing you up in his embrace as he keeps you close.

And keeps you safe, of course. Even during his rare downtime, Six was on high alert. You’d never seen someone play a ring toss challenge with such laser focussed eyes and tensed shoulders before, but he got every single one, winning you a red love heart shaped balloon that bobbed along above you as you strolled through the fairground.

It was cute of him to choose the balloon over an annoyingly large stuffed toy, but you know it was partly (mostly) so that if he lost sight of you, you’d be easier to locate in the crowd should anything go wrong. But, really, what did it matter? You’d never felt safer than when you were with him, and your first date is shaping up to be just about perfect; except that you haven’t stopped to eat yet.

The aromas of deep fried doughnuts and roasting onions make your mouth water as you move through the fair, and you fully intend to drag him off for a hot dog or fries when you see a ring the bell game and stop in your tracks, considering it.

Six looks down, seeing your eyes light up, and smiles. But he feels you sigh as you glance at the arm around your shoulders and look back in the direction of the food stalls, forgetting it.

‘Hey, let’s have a go?’ he encourages, lightly squeezing his arm around you.

You huff, amused. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘No.’

‘Nah, it’s huge. And you’re huge!’ You squeeze his bicep. ‘Far too easy, and where’s the fun in that for either of us?’

Six takes a deep, even breath, slowly sliding his arm from around your shoulders as he thinks on it. ‘How about we make it interesting?’

You raise an eyebrow in his direction and he remains apparently unfazed, with both his hands free he pops a Skittle or two into his mouth, chewing leisurely. There’s no urgency in him at all and you realise he’s started to relax. Just a little.

‘If you ring the bell before I do, you choose what we do for the rest of the night.’

‘I fully planned to do that anyway,’ you smirk playfully.

‘Even the haunted house,’ he offers with a tilt of his head, as though it’s a very attractive deal.

‘Oh? Scared?’ 

‘Terrified,’ he quips, tossing another Skittle onto his tongue and sucking for a second before giving in and crunching the sugary shell.

‘Whatever, you just want to show off,’ you wink.

Six grunts, shoving the candy bag back into his pocket, and confidently strides over to swap a five dollar bill for the mallet, assuming the position.

He swings the mallet down to the base with such force that you’re sure will send the little red puck right up to the top of the ten foot pole and send a triumphant ring through the fairground.

But, somehow, he misses. Spectacularly. 

The second time, the mallet conveniently – and comically – slips out of his hand before he swings it, and falls to the ground behind him.

He tilts his head in defeat, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

You glare back, annoyed that he’s doing this to let you win. There’s no way Six, with all his precision and skill can’t manage to wield a simple carnival mallet.

The third time he brings the mallet down, the puck shoots up to just an inch below the bell and drops back to the bottom again without a win. There’s that precision.

With sparkling eyes, he catches your gaze and mutters, ‘Too distracted, I guess. Your turn.’

You narrowed your eyes at him as he leant against the side of the nearest trailer, folding his arms over his chest and trying to appear casual.

You grip the mallet, squeezing your fingers around the handle to brace yourself, and bring it down hard. The little puck shoots up, and you don’t reach the bell, but you’re so close you could kick yourself.

With much less effort this time, you do it, and the bell rings loud and proud through the chatter and music, and you were offered a range of ridiculously large stuffed animals to choose from and take away with you.

Six stayed propped against the trailer, smirking again but blatantly this time, as you picked out a huge panther plushie.

‘That one. Reminds me of him,’ you smile, throwing it immediately over to Six. 

He catches it easily. It looks so much smaller in his hands and you laugh at the frown he reveals as he lowers it.

‘That thing’s yours now. You’ll need to name him.’

‘No thank you,’ Six retorted, holding it back out toward you.

‘I rang the bell, I make the decisions, remember?’

Six’s jaw clenched as he stared at you.

‘Fine. Bruce,’ he eventually grunts, reluctantly sliding the thing under one arm as you slide your arm into the other.

‘You let me win, Six. You’re not getting away with it that easy.’

‘You didn’t want to win?’ he smarms.

‘Of course I did. I just didn’t want you to pretend to lose for my benefit.’

Six sighs resignedly. ‘Hungry?’ he suggests, hoping you can forget about the stupid ring the bell game over a bag of sugary doughnuts together, but an idea lights up in your eyes and you drag him away in the opposite direction.

You pass the stunt cage and watch a peroxide blonde mount a motorcycle, making a mental note to return to here later and catch the next show. But for now, you had other ideas.

‘You mentioned the haunted house?’

Six’s brow furrows again.

‘Oh, impatient are we? I apparently had to win a biassed game to get what I wanted, so I’ll take it at my leisure, thank you.’

Six rolls his eyes and drops back in defeat, leaving you free to stop off at the sweet stall for a big cloud of blue cotton candy on the way.

He watches you as you excitedly point to what you want, still clutching your balloon as he clutches Bruce. He’s in awe at the way you move, the way you laugh with the vendor as though you’ve known her your entire life, the glee on your face as you return to him with the ball of pure sugar.

You reach up to pop a handful into his mouth, fingertips brushing briefly against his bottom lip. He almost lets out a hum at how your gentle touch tingled, but manages to stop it before it erupts.

‘How’s it taste?’ you ask innocently, tearing off a chunk of blue for yourself.

Six blinks away, inclined to answer with something like Not as good as I bet you do, but worried it would be too much. So he stayed silent as you shared the rest of the floss with him.

‘Will that keep you going?’ you ask teasingly, not waiting for an answer. ‘Haunted house next!’

You grab his hand to pull him toward the attraction, your knees weakening slightly as you feel how big it is against yours. You’ve noticed the size of his hands before; big, warm looking palms and long, surprisingly elegant fingers.

‘I’ve never actually been in one,’ you admit excitedly as you stop by the little ticket office to admire it in all its stereotypical horror film beauty. ‘But I’ve always wanted to. I love a bit of a spook!’

Six takes care of the tickets and follows your lead. You step inside and drop his hand as you venture first. A skeleton pops out to wave and you laugh, but then there's a second, unexpected skeleton, and you jump, grabbing his hand again.

Six’s cheeks turn hot at how you find safety in him, but you can’t see the blush colouring his cheeks in the gloom of the spooky corridors. He’s thankful for that.

You move closer when the winding path through the house grows darker, sickly smelling smoke making it hard to see very far ahead of you, and eventually you’re so close to Six that his breathing catches in his throat.

The haunted house doesn’t phase him one bit; he predicts almost every movement before it occurs and has absolutely no fear of the dead and creepy; it’s an occupational hazard that he’s much more concerned with the living and creepy. But having you cling to his arm feels nice somehow. It makes him feel safe and wanted, which is new, and surprisingly pleasant. He doesn’t want you to let go and hopes there's a while before this comes to an end.

A group of ghosts sweeps past and you giggle, but the bizarre gust of wind that accompanies them chills you to the bone. Before you can quite recover, a clown appears right in your path, and you jump enough for Six to automatically pull you closer. Feeling you tremble with the after effects of your surprise, he quickly seeks out a particularly dark, undisturbed corner and tugs you toward it, setting you in front of him so you’re facing away from whatever else is going on in the haunted house for a moment.

‘Hey, you doing ok?’ He sounds lighthearted, but you can tell he’s forcing it, concern lacing his tone.

‘Yeah! Yeah, it’s fun, it’s just…’ you trail off.

‘A little jumpy,’ he nods, as though he agrees, but you know he isn’t phased.

As your eyes adjust in the darkness, they find his piercing blue gaze intense on yours and your heart races a little faster.

‘Need a break?’ he whispers huskily..

You can only nod. The thrill of being scared out of your wits is all part of the fun for you, but being so close to Six after the adrenaline rush, alone together in the dark, renders you speechless. You’ve been drawing closer by the second and now you’re mere inches from his face, can feel his warm breath on your cheek, smell his peppery cologne. Bruce nudges you in the chest and six drops him.

You can’t recall how it started, you just know that your lips were trembling one moment, and pressed to Six’s the next. His muscular arms snake around your waist as his strong hands glide up your back, pulling you flush to his chest and finally letting out that hum he tried to suppress when your finger grazed his bottom lip earlier. It vibrates against you and you think this might be as close to reckless abandon as Six might get and smile against his mouth.

You feel his tongue, hot and wet, trace the join of your lips and you instantly part them, eagerly inviting his tongue to slide against yours. It’s languid and needy, and the taste of the cotton candy you’d shared hits you first. It tastes different on his tongue than yours — more blue somehow — and then the artificial sugary fruit of the Skittles he’d been periodically chewing on all night follows. It’s sickly sweet, but so him you can’t help but find it delicious.

The groans and cackles and clanks of the haunted house fade into nothingness behind you, and it’s just him. Just Six, and you, hidden away. Secure and yet adventurous, safe and exciting. Your grip on the balloon he’d won you loosens and it floats up to the ceiling, somewhere in the dark, ready to be discovered when the carnival moves on.

He shifts a little, suddenly impatient, and deepens the kiss with a quiet moan that sends butterflies soaring in your stomach, and when the fingers tenderly rubbing at the nape of your neck slide up into your hair and scrape against your scalp you all but swoon, thankful he has you pinned against his chiselled frame within those thick arms to keep you upright.

The kiss slows to a stop, and Six pulls back for breath, sighing almost dreamily. He’s smiling at you, but it’s not playful or jokey this time. It’s warm and soft, and unlike any expression you’ve seen on his features before.

‘Better?’ he breathes, already fumbling in his pocket to retrieve yet another Skittle and drop it into his mouth.

‘Much,’ you smile back.

He drops his gaze, coy, and nods. ‘I’m excellent at distraction techniques.’ And with that, his mischievous sparkle is back. ‘Now can we please get some food? Skittles will only sustain me for a few days.’

You roll your eyes spiritedly, and one corner of his mouth twitches, pleased he’s calmed you enough to be mock-exasperated with him.

Six holds an elbow up as an offer for you to tuck yourself under his arm again, and you accept, pulling his forearm up gently to cover your eyes. As cute as the ghosts and skeletons had been, that final clown jump scare just about finished you off.

After collecting discarded Bruce, he carefully guides you back out into the bustle and bright lights of the fair, the familiar melodies of carnival music and the sizzle of the nearby hot dog stall flooding your senses again, and you pull his arm away from your eyes.

‘Thank you,’ you mouth, reaching up to stroke his cheek with a tender caress.

His eyes slide shut and he leans into your touch for just a moment, but he’s quick to snap his gaze back to his surroundings again. Force of habit, you supposed.

You drop your hand and look around too, getting your bearings. ‘So what can I get you? My treat.’ 

His gaze is already trained on the doughnut stand before you finish the sentence. Laughing, you nod and head over without waiting for his confirmation, bringing him back a bag of four deliciously golden doughnuts dusted in thick sugar.

Six eyes you suspiciously as you hand over the little paper bag. ‘I didn’t give you my order.’

‘Didn’t need to; I saw you eyeing them. To be honest, even if I didn’t, I could’ve guessed.’

Six, paused with a doughnut half way to his mouth, raises a questioning eyebrow at you. 

‘Six. Come on. You taste like sugar.’

Six blushes deeply. He’d never considered how he might taste. He felt exposed, but in a good way? He wasn’t sure how to explain it. You see it this time, and smile inwardly.

‘What, you want my fries instead?’

‘No, no, I’m good,’ he protests, taking a bite big enough to tear the first doughnut clean in half and mumbling through a full, sugary mouth, ‘thank you.’

[dindjiarin]

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

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

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

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

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

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

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I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six doesn’t respond. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes.” 

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

“Is there anything to eat?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get used to it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

You watch as he stifles a yawn. 

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

“I slept enough.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, noted,” you respond. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hederasgarden]

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.

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[wildestdreamsblog]

Nothing’s gonna hurt you

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: There was nothing more dangerous than a clingy villain.

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: One shot that has around almost 6k words. Also, happy birthday to me <3

Lloyd woke up with a start, a thing that he usually did not do. He had always been the epitome of calmness, of tranquility even in the face of death. In fact, everything had became boring to him lately. He thought that things were getting repetitive recently. He had racked his brain until he bore himself from analyzing why he couldn’t find joy in doing the mundane…such as torturing, kidnapping, killing..you know the works.

The fact that he woke up with a start made him smile. Finally, he thought, finally something different. He opened his eyes with an inhuman like serenity considering that he was lying down on the floor, with his hands tied behind him. His muscles strained from the position he found himself in that he could hear his bones cracking as he moved. How long had he been in this exciting position?

It was late at night, and the only light came from the moon itself. You watched the psychopath from the shadows as he sat up, his face light as he smiled maniacally. It was like he was excited for something and you could not stressed this enough, but Lloyd Hansen was a preternatural man. You frowned as he laughed out loud, the sound echoing on in the abandoned warehouse you brought him in, his hair falling on his face. What the fuck?

You walked lightly, circling him from the shadows- a thing you were grateful for as it gave you the uninterrupted time to observe the man that was causing chaos in guise of legal work. It wasn’t, you checked. Something was going down, and he was in the midst of it all. You even thought that he was the mastermind. He sure as hell was smart enough for that. A man like him who went to Harvard, who had a strength different from a normal man, who could be charming when he wanted- this man was used to getting what he wanted by any means.

“Come on, pumpkin. Show me your face,” he sang as he looked around calmly, specifically to where you were hidden. Did this man have a sixth sense or something? Was that why he was so difficult to catch and stop? “I want to see the face of the woman who managed to kidnap me.”

You rolled your eyes. It was true what they claimed, Lloyd had the flair for the dramatics. You wondered how he knew you were a woman, but nonetheless, you didn’t dwell much on it. You stepped out of the shadows slowly, your boots the only thing making a sound as he watched you with his cold, maniacal eyes. “There she is!” He grinned at you, his stance relaxed as if he wasn’t a disheveled fool right now. “There’s my little kidnapper! I have to say, you are without any doubt, the highlight of my day.”

You kept your distance as you listened to him. If this was a different setting, you would be immensely happy to listen to him ramble, maybe then you would have a deeper understanding as to what made a psychopath. But alas, you did not have the time to dissect his brain.

He squinted his eyes at you, taking you in from top to bottom. If you noticed the interest he had in his eyes, you didn’t say anything. As soon as the forces you contacted arrived, you would be free of this man child.

Lloyd tilted his head to the side, you didn’t like how you could feel his eyes taking you in appreciatively as if he wasn’t minutes away from being subdued by the forces. “I have to say, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my cute and interesting life.”

Of all the things he could have said, you never anticipated him to say that. Was he…flirting with you? You almost shuddered at the thought, your face betraying you as you crinkled your nose from disgust. You were taken a back from his compliment that you couldn’t stopped yourself from speaking to him.

“Were you dropped on your head when you were an infant?” You asked seriously, looking intently at his cocky smile. You needed to know why the hell he was like this. Was this an in-born thing? Something he acquired as he grew up? Was he not breastfed? You meant- how else would you rationalize his psychopathy nature?

“There’s a possibility that happened,” he answered truthfully, indulging you- anything to keep you talking. It was a dangerous thing, he was interested in you that he couldn’t rationalize it. For fuck’s sake, he could get out of the bind, but he wanted more time with you for reasons he did not have. “But enough about me, cupcake. What’s your name? How did you land yourself this job? This is extremely dangerous, pumpkin. I think you’re better off doing some other job than this. Leave this to the men, sugar. Also, do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? A-“

“You are extremely talkative, aren’t you?” You cut him off, feeling your blood pressure increasing with each word he said. “And a sexist one at that, too. Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, I think I have to care enough about other people to be called sexist. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care about anyone. Yet somehow, you got my attention,” he finished his tirade and with that, he finished disentangling the complicated knot you did on the rope. Too bad, sunshine, he was exceptional when it came to this. In fact, if you were anyone, you would be long gone. Lucky for you, he thought, you were a gem that he was fascinated of. Or unlucky of you, you were now interesting to the most dangerous man on the planet. After all, you unknowingly made his bleak day (or life if he was being dramatic- which, he wasn’t!).

He watched as you shook your head, as if you were too disappointed to even spare him a glance. And that was your undoing pumpkin spice, the moment you looked away, Lloyd moved. And before you knew it, he was within your space, his smile closed to leer as he steadily subdued your struggles with his one hand, the other touching your hair. You looked up at him with widened eyes, not making sense of how he got out of his bind. He was fascinated, he admitted. In his twisted mind, he wondered if this was how Hades felt when he saw Persephone.

If he had more time, he would leaned down to taste your lips. Alas, he ran out of time. He could sensed movement outside the warehouse, and any moment from now, they would bursted in. With a depressed sigh, he shook his head.

“Next time, sugar, don’t ruin my hair when you’re kidnapping me, m’kay?”

And then he pressed down on your neck, effectively making you lost you consciousness.

That was the first of many run-ins with the infamous Lloyd Hansen. If you found it peculiar that you were still well and breathing after the ‘Lloyd’ experience, you didn’t dwell on it. Why? Because dwelling on it would make your head hurt so much and yet still did not have the answer. How could you understand a psychopath such as him?

The second time you were able to track him, he went with you willingly with an annoying smile on his face. His face lit up when you kicked his door open, as if he was a child who saw his favorite cartoon character in person. His huge body came closer to you, not paying any mind to the number of guns laid on the table behind him. And even as he did so, he asked you a bunch of things. He bombarded you with questions such as your favorite food, favorite color, favorite flowers- everything that did not make sense to you. You looked at him warily even as he offered his wrists for you to bind with a pleasant smile on his face.

The fifth time you tried to capture him, he asked you if you liked his shirt. Because according to him, and you quoted, ‘I bought it because I thought you’d like it. So do you like it, cupcake?’. This was not your first mission, and not to brag, but you had been in this career for half a decade. Okay fine, now that you said it, it really sounded lame in front of the man who was uncontrollable and vicious his whole life. This wasn’t the first time you were sent to capture a man, but God, this was the first time you met an assignment so. Fucking. Talkative. And weird, too! All his actions pointed to him having a minuscule crush on you but did this man have any heart? You convinced yourself he was just being himself, and that was annoying you.

The eighth time you showed up, you showed up bloodied and bruised. Your other enemy proved to be extremely good at fighting, but nevertheless, you managed to beat the asshole. You were better than him, you scoffed to yourself. And that was when his ring-ladened fingers punched you in your face. Granted, your injuries were five-day old at the time you stopped his evil plan, your body was not healing nicely. Okay, you would admit they didn’t heal properly because you hadn’t been following the doctor’s directive of resting for a month. You thought, meh, who has the time?

You went down, hugging your body close to the wall so as to not fall to your death. For heaven’s sake, you were twenty stories up. You wondered why Lloyd chose to torture someone in this floor rather than in the usual place. You know? Like the basement? Like a normal psychopath would?

You eyed the open window- and there you saw the man tied down on the chair, his mouth taped shut. His face twisted that of a horrified pain and sitting in front of him was none other than the calm, scowling Lloyd.

“Like, it’s been almost a month and she still isn’t back,” he said conversationally, his lips pouting as he talked to the frightened man. He said this so nonchalantly that you’d think he wasn’t removing the fingernails of the man one by one. “I’m getting quite worried. And impatient, too!”

You winced as you heard the man whimpered from the pain, his face whitening even further. You suffered with the man as he shouted for what seemed like forever, before Lloyd sighed in disappointment. Fuck, Lloyd was indeed a sadist.

“Okay pepper, we ran out of nails. Let’s take a break.”

You waited for a moment to make sure Lloyd already left before even daring to step to the opened window, and lifting yourself up. Tonight, your target wasn’t Lloyd. Tonight, your mission was to save this man from Lloyd’s evil claws. The man’s eyes were closed when you entered the room. You approached him cautiously, “I’m here to save you. Keep quiet,” you ordered lowly, working efficiently to until him and tend to his wound as fast as you could, just enough so that he wouldn’t perished while still under your care.

You lead him to the window, made sure he was harnessed carefully on the rope, before looking down to make sure the person paired to you was discreetly waiting below. With a nod, you were about to push the man away when you heard the door opening swiftly. You turned around to find Lloyd looking at you like he was surprised before his lips tilted up. He was skipping to you when you pointed your gun at him, shielding the whimpering man behind you.

“Take one more step and I’ll shoot you in your handsome face, Lloyd,” you warned him steadily, your eyes never leaving his confused ones.

“You think I’m handsome, pumpkin?” He asked dramatically. In fact, he said it so fiercely that you smiled unconsciously under your mask. What the fuck? Were you now finding him…endearing? No! Absolutely not! You could and would not find a psychopath endearing! Maybe you should have heeded the doctor’s orders and stayed in bed? Maybe you were hit too hard that your brain was now turning into a mush?

“I’m taking this man with me-“

“Okay, cupcake.”

Once again, Lloyd took advantage of your surprise. He moved rapidly, pushing the screaming man out of the window. He never lost his smile as he did so. You looked down immediately to see that your partner managed to get there just in time. Fuck, you thought the man lost his life. But not tonight, no.

“So, how are you?” He asked excitedly, his eyes gleaming with unrestrained enthusiasm that you had to step back. Was this how he was when you hadn’t wrecked his plans for almost a month?

He was close to you that you his scent could passed through the black mask you were wearing. Well.. for one it was to camouflage you in the darkness. And well.. another reason was because you felt like you needed to conceal the marks of violence the other villain left you. Strangely though, the most powerful villain always left you unmarked and unharmed. Lloyd was nothing but….peculiarly almost sweet when it came to you.

“You let him go,” you stated disconcertingly, your eyes going from the still-opened window to the man standing in front of you.

“Yes, sugar, I did. I’m gonna get him again, don’t you worry. Anyway! How are you? Have you eaten? Did you like the view? I chose this because it’s overlooking the city lights,” He smiled at you, his stupid mustache was somehow growing on you. How could they not? You had been after him, caught him, but then come what may, he was able to escape. And you did try your best to contain him.

“My work here is done..” you trailed off to yourself. You were about to turn around when Lloyd, for the first time ever, touched you first. His big hand completely encircled your arm, and boy did you flinch. It was the side where the other villain threw you against the wall, and the arm told a colorful story of bruises.

You froze when you took a look at his eyes- his now completely displeased eyes. His jaw was clenched hard, his eyes trained on your arm before without any warning, ripped your sleeve off of you, baring your bruises to him. And you were all too powerless to stop him.

“Who. Did. This.”

Any attempt to pull your arm away from his gentle yet strong grip were thwarted. He was a mountain and he couldn’t be moved, not when he was in this mood. How dare any son of a bitch hurt you, he thought, when he himself touched you only so softly, so gently and treated you like the precious person that you were. He was seething with anger, his protective instincts going haywire for the first time in his whole life. He had only known how to inflict pain, and never to protect anyone but himself, or sometimes not even himself. But this burning feeling inside him when he saw you flinched was unlike any other.

Oh my god? Did he like you? It was starting to dawn in his sagacious mind that you were someone he never wanted to see hurt, that perhaps you meant something more to him than a harmless interest.

Oh pumpkin, this feeling was more dangerous than any other villain combined.

Lloyd looked thoughtful, and to be honest, a tad bash of horrified. W-was he…starting to have feelings? Was he starting to care for someone else other than himself?

Ew.

You took advantage of his weakness, you wretched your arm away from him. And only then did he look at you as if he really saw you. Lloyd furrowed his brows, his voice cold as he warned you. “If you don’t tell me who did that to you, I’ll have my men blow the head off of your partner and that ugly little shit you just saved. They’re still in the perimeters, sweet cheeks.”

You stared at his irate eyes for a moment and finally came into the conclusion that this was not a battle you would win, that for the first time since the two of you came upon each other, he was showing the inch of his power. He had only been playful when it came to you, never to threaten you. But now, he was.

Could you accept that his breaking point was seeing you hurt?

“He’s currently imprisoned in the Island,” you chose your words carefully, seeing as he was almost trembling in anger. The Island, the place where the most hardened criminals were kept away from the society, where anything and everything was a fair game.

Lloyd nodded seriously before pulling you again closer to him. But this time, he was resolute as he inspected your injuries and without any preamble, he pulled down your mask.

“I’ll have someone call that asshole’s family to prepare for his funeral.”

It was the same day when you heard the news of him passing. But still, you shook off the feeling that you were in deeper than what was safe.

And so in the tenth time, he was not the villain you were catching. Astonishingly, though, Lloyd was also in a mission against his co-villain. His strong and large arm was raised to stab the villain when his eyes landed on yours. He was just as bloodied as his enemy, his hair falling from his well-combed hair. His eyes lit up before he pushed his enemy away from him carelessly to the ground.

“Cupcake, I didn’t expect to see you! I’ll just kill this insect real quick and then I’m all yours-“

Your brows furrowed before you looked at the man behind him. Well, this was awkward. He was your real target but seeing that Lloyd almost got him, you didn’t know what to do. With a sheepish look, your hand scratching your neck uncomfortably, “I’m not here for you.”

“What do you mean you’re not here for-“ he stopped as he comprehended what you were saying. “You’re here for him?” He spatted the question as if it disgusted him with no end in sight.

“I have to say, I feel cheated.”

And with that, Lloyd prolonged the man’s agony, all while mumbling under his breath how the man stole your priceless attention from Lloyd.

Finally, the thirteenth time you attempted to capture him, he kissed you.

Before coming here, you told your handler that this would be the last time you would do this. You stated that Lloyd was destroying your record-but the truth was you were starting to see that you weren’t the right person for the job. You thought that other would fit this role better, maybe like Six or someone else.

But then you saw him facedown on the vast lake, and to this day, you couldn’t think of any reason why you jumped and pulled him with all your strength to safety. Or why you did your absolute best to pump his chest and breathe air into his lungs- or why you felt a hallow feeling when you thought he was dead.

You steadied your arms as you pumped on his muscular chest, his expensive and annoying shirt damped with water and blood. Right now, you didn’t like the color of his lips. He was too pale for your liking. With practiced movement, you pinched his aristocrat nose, and breathed air into his lips. You didn’t know how many times you repeated the procedure, and you were getting quite desperate for unknown reasons.

But then you felt it, a warm feeling inside your mouth. And..w-was that a tongue?

Your eyes widened before trying to pull your head away from him only to have his powerful hand pushed the back of your head down closer to him.

He kissed you like a man on a mission, he kissed you like you were the answer to everything. He did it so ruthlessly that you thought he wouldn’t stopped. With no choice left, the air in your lungs rapidly running out, you pressed down on the wound on his shoulder. And only then did he let you go as he chuckled about how devious you were.

“I’ll willingly die again if only to have your lips touch mine once again,” he said lowly, his strength quickly dissipating. And that was how you left him.

It had been more than a month since you last saw him that you didn’t think you’d see him again. Yet here he was, crinkling his nose at you, sitting so calmly beside you on the bar. You went here after a stressful week, the toll of the job sitting on your shoulder that you knew you needed to de-stress. And how would you do that now seeing as the 67% of the reason why you were stressed suddenly showed up?

You were just about to sip your margarita when a muscular man sat beside you, his legs spread out as he sat facing you.

“You don’t kiss a man and then leave him. That’s just plain rude,” he said monotonously when you couldn’t get past your shock. How was he here? Last you heard he was on the other side of the world. You specifically had been picking jobs that were located far away from him because you still couldn’t get over what happened the last time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked around as if it was obvious, “Cupcake, you stopped coming for me! What was a man to do? Of course I’d follow you-“

“Are you insane?” You finally voiced out the question that had been plaguing your mind since the first moment you saw him.

“Who knows? It runs in my family it practically gallops, pumpkin.” He smiled in his own charming way that you couldn’t helped but…appreciate it. Gah, even his tight expensive-ass Gucci polo shirt was also growing on you, you thought as you barely stopped yourself from puking.

“What do you want, Lloyd?”

“I think I want to see you on a daily basis. I don’t know why I’m more irritable when you’re not around I mean, have you any idea how many people experienced my wrath just this month alone because of that?”

You were still confused what he wanted you to do. In addition, you were confused as to why this man was still not caught. Perhaps..you needed Six’s help?

He was still talking when you decided to call it a night. You walked away from him, almost to your car when you felt a strong hand pulled you closer, and for the second time, kissed you.

Lloyd’s lips were soft as he devoured you, his body pushing you against the car that you could feel his hard muscles all over you. His hand angled your jaw to him, his other hand imprisoning your wrists gently. You felt him lift his knee, pushing it on your pussy. And that was when you moaned in his mouth, you couldn’t believed how a villain could make you feel this…heat. Lloyd ground his muscular thigh continuously, teasing you mercilessly.

You were thankful that it was late at night and no one could see you, not that Lloyd would let anyone see you like this. Without any warning, Lloyd inserted his hand in your jeans, inside your thong, his fingers expertly playing with your clit- and that was when you came so hard.

He held you in his powerful arms as you rode your high, whispering sweet and dirty things in your ear. You opened your eyes just in time to see him suck off your cum from his finger, all while watching you with darkened eyes.

You were more adamant than ever to avoid him after that night. No good could come out from being in close proximity with him, not when you knew he affected you just as much. For two months you were successful, until one night you came home and found your apartment empty. Your dog, your cute ass chihuahua was nowhere in sight. You searched the whole apartment, called for him relentlessly with promises of treats and toys- but no dog showed. Your phone rang twice, and when you picked it up, you felt your blood pressure rising.

Two messages. It took two messages for you to show up at Lloyd’s annoying and pretentious huge house.

‘I kidnapped your dog. I have the upper hand.’

‘BTW, it’s my dog now. We bonded.’

You marched in his house, the one he sent an address to you with maps and all. The guards let you in with respectful nod even when you carried a huge gun in your hand. You wanted to slap the shit out of the man smiling near the front door, wanted to rip his mustache off of his face. How dare he steal your dog?!

“You’re one clingy villain, do you know that?” You screamed at him even if he was still more than eight feet away.

“I heard that!!”

“You were supposed to! Give me back my dog!”

“See, the way you’re looking at me right now is giving me mixed signal. You look like you want to fuck me as well as kill me. Both are hot, sugar.” He chuckled as he dodged your punch, angling his body away from you. You didn’t know how but between your anger and him dodging every attack you threw his way, you were now inside his lair, the locks on the door in place. You heard a bark and just when you kneeled down to welcome your dog into your arms, he ran past you and into Lloyd’s muscular arms.

“Traitor.”

He laughed before walking confidently past you, “Come on, I prepared dinner for us.”

That night ended with him kissing you like there was no tomorrow, giving you no option but to enjoy his kisses. You underestimated his clinginess, because from then on, he inserted himself in your life so hard you could not pull him out. How he just showed up in every aspect was making you lose the ever loving piece of sanity you had. You were immensely provoked when he tagged along in your every mission- how he knew where you were was starting to anger you. He even finished your missions! You could not do anything because he wouldn’t let you! On days when he could, he’d steer you to his cold palace. All the time, his smile on you was sincere, he took care of you albeit against your wishes. On some good days when he was on his most charming self, you could almost forget he was this psychopath who did nothing good in his life. And on the nights he did nothing but looked at you with awe in his eyes, you could almost fall for him. Almost. And now you felt nothing but conflicted. Because at the end of the day, he was the villain and you were the one working to stop villains from terrorizing this world.

Finally, on the night you have had it with him, you found him inside your apartment, looking inside your refrigerator as if it was his. The room was dark, the only light came from the refrigerator. You were almost trembling from anger. How dare he barged into your life and took reigns of it?

How dare he make you feel things that you knew were wrong to feel for the biggest, baddest villain of all?

“Care to explain what you’re doing here, Hansen?” You asked coldly. Lloyd turned to look at you, his broad back carefree as if you weren’t seething in anger. He looked at you with amusement in his eyes.

“I’m waiting for my woman, cupcake,” he answered flirtatiously before sauntering closer to you, his face leaning in before you turned the last second. His lips instead fell on your cheeks. And you felt him smile, that cold smile of his.

“You have no woman here.”

You could hear a pin drop from the total silence- you didn’t move as Lloyd slowly smiled maniacally, his eyes turning colder, losing the warmth they had in them when he saw you. He walked closer to you, and you had no choice but to step back. You could recognized the predator that he was now, you were intelligent enough not to goad him. But you knew, if you backed down now, he’d completely take reins of you life. And your independence would just be a story.

“Choose your words wisely, my love. Aren’t you mine?”

“I’m no one’s-“

He gripped your hair in one hand, tipping them back before kissing you, his kisses were hard, were deep, as if he was reminding you who he was. And that if he decided you were his, there was nothing you could do. But you weren’t that girl.

You bit hard, you bit his lips and you tasted his blood. And only then did he let you breath. With calmed movements, he wiped his bleeding lips with his thumb. And then he laughed. You took advantage of his distraction. You ran to the door, so near your escape when you felt strong and powerful arms surrounded your waist, hauling you off your feet as you thrashed and struggled against Lloyd. But to him, you might as well be a kitten. You could not moved a lion, cupcake, he thought. You should have known that.

Without any preamble, Lloyd threw you down your bed, not giving you any chance to escape from him once again, he sat on your abdomen, his hands working quickly to remove his belt before tying them quickly on your wrists and on your bed.

He nodded to himself before smiling cockily at you. “You looked so pretty tied up, cupcake. Completely at my mercy,” he appreciated his work before smiling coldly at you. You tried to keep him, to twist and get yourself free but to no avail. You were only tiring yourself out. Lloyd only chuckled as he watched you before standing up and stripping completely off his fancy clothes. He pushed down his pants, revealing to you his hard, thick cock. It moved against his strong stomach as he moved closer to you, bobbing up and down, the head wet with his precum.

“You know, I never thought this would be how our first time would be like. But now that I see it, you were always meant to be tied down to my bed. Well, in this case, your bed. But no worries, pumpkin, we’d move to our bed later.”

He crawled languidly at you, and you could only try to move away from him. He took his cock in his hand as he kneeled, his thigh on either side of your stomach. He pumped his cock slowly, watching you with dark eyes.

“I thought I’d get to romance you slower. You’re mine, you deserve to be romanced, to be taken care of…but it seems like you’re not ready for those thing.”

“Don’t do this, Lloyd,” you said shakily, from fear or from the pulsing lust, you weren’t sure. But you knew there was no turning back if he pushed through this. “You can still walk away. You can still let me leave-“

“Perhaps, I allowed you too much freedom,” he whispered before he took the knife from under your pillow- how he knew there was one was lost on you as he sliced your thin top, leaving your heaving breasts bare to his eyes. He wasted no time, he leaned down and sucked your nipples greedily, his mustache leaving a sensation on your sensitive skin. Soft moans and whimpers could be heard from you, your body thrashing against his from too much pleasure.

“You’re so sensitive, cupcake,” he murmured before unceremoniously pulling your pants away from you. Your thin thong was in between your pussy lips, barely hiding your core to him. And he loved that. He loved that so much that he leaned in and inhaled your aphrodisiac smell, his mustache rubbing your core. And then he sliced it off you.

“You’re mine,” he growled as he inserted to fingers in you, his mouth sucking your clit vigorously. Your essence seeping into his mustache, soaking his whole face as he ate you relentlessly. “Fucking beautiful pussy,” he said as he ran his tongue on your slit. He didn’t stop, not even when you came for the third time that you were practically weeping.

“You’re not leaving. Not when this cunt is dripping for me.”

Your legs were shaking as he lifted them over his shoulder, his hard cock pointing on your soaked pussy. He licked his lips, loving the taste of you before he gripped his cock, sliding it down your slit over and over until you were sure you were going to come again.

“What do you want, cupcake?”

Still, you gave him no satisfaction of hearing you speak. But he was fine with that, instead, he slid his aching cock on your slit, coating it with your wetness. He was so hard, grinding on you that you came without any warning. You couldn’t keep quiet at this point, your moans echoing on your room. “Pumpkin, all you have to do is ask-“

“Fuck me, Lloyd!”

And then his hard cock slammed into you. He fucked you like he hated you, and then he fucked you like he loved you. He filled your pussy completely, thrusting his fat cock in and out of you, his large hand on your stomach enjoying the way his cock outlined on your stomach.

“Your pussy is so tight, fucking perfect. I’m never going to let you go,” he groaned as his thick cock filled you, his length fucking you into submission.

“Oh fuck, Lloyd please! I-I’m- coming!”

That wasn’t an orgasm you felt before. This asshole could fucked like it was his job. You were still trembling when he pulled out of you, his come seeping out of your hole. He gathered you in his arms after he removed the belt from you wrists. He didn’t need that now, not when he had you in his arms completely. You weren’t going nowhere. Because apparently, he was the only one who can keep you safe. He was the only one who cared about you. Lloyd realized you weren’t safe, not with so much freedom in your hands. You’d soon love his palace, the maze, and the endless wealth he would give you. You’d also enjoy his distant, personal island where he’d take you if you weren’t ready to be his just yet. He smiled as his plan formulated in his brain.

And when he held her, he felt a different peace, one that was not from unaliving someone. This, this was serenity, he thought. This was peace and life with you. And nobody would take it away from Lloyd, not even you.

[classickook]

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.”

[elusivewildflower]

Santa, Baby | Court Gentry x F! Reader

Pairing: Court Gentry x F! Reader (from The Other Fitzroy series)

Summary: Set three years in the future, your family is finally safe and settled from the events of this unfinished series, The Other Fitzroy. It's your first Christmas in a home you can truly call your own, and Court took it upon himself to place presents under the tree in the middle of the night. You hadn't expected him to take the job so seriously, but you have to admit, the Santa suit looks good on him.

Warnings: Smut. Very small amount of roleplay? Unprotected p in v. Oral Sex (f receiving). Breeding kink. Talk of pregnancy. Christmas eve & morning festivities.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I know this is a tad bit late, but I've been so busy and suffering from writer's block that this is all I could get finished. Because it's late, this has not really been proofread or edited all that much, so all mistakes are my own and I'm sorry if this is terrible! I haven't finished a fic in.....god knows how long.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a red-cladded figure creeping down the stairs. For a moment, you’re confused. A second later and your heart is swelling in your chest as you lean against the doorway for a better view. Court had insisted on being the one to place the presents under the tree while Claire and Lyla were sleeping. You hadn’t argued, after all, he was the only one who could move throughout the house without making a single noise. But you hadn’t expected him to take the job so seriously. He wasn’t donning a long white beard and his physique certainly didn’t match that of a typical Santa, but the red suit and hat he wore was quite convincing. A smile spread across your face as you watched him place each present under the tree with a caring precision only he possessed. 

Court didn’t spare you a glance until he was sneaking back up the stairs, presumably to get more presents, as you could tell a few were missing. It had been three years since your family were kidnapped by Lloyd and his men, and it was the first Christmas in which you were finally safe and settled. As he shot you a wink, his lips curling up into his signature smirk, you felt a familiar heat course through you. God, you didn’t think you’d ever stop reacting to him in this manner. All it took was one look from him and your panties were soaked. Your thighs squeezed together as his form descended back down the stairs. It took everything in you not to disrupt him, so you settled for a distraction. You snagged one of the cookies left out for Santa on the coffee table and resumed your previous position against the doorway to the kitchen.

Once the last present was laid beneath the tree, Court silently walked towards you. He gestured to the cookie you were snacking on while ogling him. “I think that was left for me,” he teased. 

You hummed in response and offered it to him. “I’m sorry, they were just too good to resist.” 

Taking a bite of the sugar cookie you held in front of his face, Court gave a hum of appreciation. “No argument there.” He agreed, resting his arm on the wall above your head as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. 

It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, your arms wrapping around his neck as his tongue sought entrance to your mouth. Your lips parted immediately, allowing his taste to infiltrate your fifth sense. God, you loved getting lost in him. 

Eventually, the two of you parted for air. As your eyes fluttered open, a jolt of arousal coursed through you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, the blue hues you adored barely perceptible. You couldn’t hide the wicked grin that spread across your face. “Wanna take this upstairs, Santa?” 

His expression mimicked yours as he responded instantly. “I thought you’d never ask.” Court quickly bent down and slid his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease. Instinctively, you wrapped your limbs around him for support. A soft giggle escaped from you at the sudden movement. Even if this was his go-to move, you swore you’d never get used to being swept off of your feet.

Court made the journey to your shared bedroom in record time. The door was shut and locked behind him, ensuring your little one couldn’t waltz in if she woke in the middle of the night. As he approached the bed, you were gently tossed upon it, prompting another giggle from you as you bounced from the force. 

As soon as your back had hit the bed, Court was expertly unclasping his oversized belt and shrugging his Santa suit off. His boots were shucked off and kicked aside before he eagerly crawled over top of you. Your lips collided passionately as Court used his thigh to part your legs for him, his weight pressing down on you in the delicious way that you loved. He rolled his hips against your core, his growing erection pressing directly where you needed him. 

Much to your displeasure, Court pulled away, eliciting a whine from you. 

He tsked disapprovingly, sitting back on his haunches. “Good girls don’t cry when they don’t get what they want.” His calloused hands inched up your sides as he spoke, fingers curling under the hem of your holiday-themed nightdress. “Are you going to be a good girl?” 

You fought back the urge to whine again, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod. “Yes, I’ll be good.” You verbalize, knowing that’s what he would want. What a good girl would do.

Court nods once, seemingly satisfied with your response. He rucked up your holiday nightdress until your panties were revealed. A low groan emitted from him as he took in the sight of your soaked panties. He wasted no time in removing them, guiding the fabric down your legs and tossing them to the side. This time, a louder groan resounded in his chest as he was met with your glistening folds.

“Now, that is too good to resist.” He complimented huskily. 

His words had heat creeping up your neck and another wave of arousal flooding through you. “Court, please,” you whined impatiently. You needed him to do something. Your walls clenched around nothing, helplessly. You felt as if you were going to explode, or perhaps melt into a puddle of your former self. You didn’t care if he got you off first with his mouth, his fingers, or simply his cock. You’d be blissfully happy with either option, or perhaps you’d be lucky enough for a combination of all three. 

Court ignored your plea, but promptly settled back between your legs, his face hovering mere inches from your pussy. You could feel his hot breath fanning against your skin and it was making you antsy. Thankfully, he put you out of your misery only moments later, when his thumbs parted your folds and his tongue sunk between them. His tongue lapped from your entrance to your swollen bundle of nerves and his fingers dug into the skin of your thighs. Immediately, a moan escaped from both of you in unison. 

“Delicious,” he growled out against you. 

You threaded your fingers through Court’s short, dark hair, seeking purchase to help ground you. If you weren’t careful, you’d start grinding against his face any second. It was only a few moments later when you felt one of his thick digits prodding at your entrance. His finger slipped in with little resistance and quickly found the soft spot that had your toes curling. 

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned out, trying to be mindful of your volume. The door to your bedroom may be locked, but that didn’t mean you wanted to wake anyone who might come knocking. Court focused his tongue upon your clit now that his finger was added into the mix, and after a few minutes, he added a second. It wasn’t fair how quickly he could make you come. Between the warm caresses of his tongue and the delicious stretch of his two thick digits, your orgasm was building at a rapid pace. 

At this point, you had lost all control over your own hips and began to roll them in time with the thrust of his fingers. Normally, if Court wanted to tease you or prolong your pleasure, he’d pin your hips down with his big, muscular arms. When you found no resistance to your movement, you knew he was just as lost in his own pleasure as you were. Your thought was further proven as he began to groan against you, and a quick glimpse revealed his hips thrusting into the bed in search of friction. 

A whimper fell from your lips from the sight, and as your walls clenched around his fingers, both of you knew your orgasm was imminent. “I-I’m gonna….” You warned, your words melding into a moan as he hooked his fingers just right inside of you. 

“Come for me, baby.” He encouraged, pausing in his ministrations long enough to speak before returning full force to push you over the edge. 

Court’s free hand rose to cover your mouth with perfect timing as you came. He knew you better than you knew yourself, as the moans you let out upon reaching orgasm were far too loud and you had no control over them. Your walls spasmed around his fingers and your thighs trapped his head in place as your pleasure reached its peak. Court continued to work you through your orgasm, only stopping once he felt a tug upon his hair to signal you were overstimulated. 

As he pulled away, you noticed his beard was soaked with your arousal and a small grin pulled at your lips. Court sat up to push his pants down far enough to free his aching cock, a sigh of relief escaping from him. He wasted no time in settling himself back between your legs, lining his throbbing cock up with your entrance. You hardly got a chance to enjoy the view of his thick, veiny member before it was plunged deep inside of you. 

You and Court moaned in unison as he bottomed out inside of you. As his arms caged you in, you found purchase on his incredibly buff chest. You loved each and every part of Court’s body, but God did you enjoy the feeling of his muscular torso. He didn’t wait long for you to adjust to the stretch of him before he began pounding into you. 

Each thrust of his hips had a whimper tumbling from your lips. Then, when he grew tired of the position, clearly needing to be even deeper inside of you, he wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs and pinned your legs up by your ears. The feeling of his cock reaching such depths was nearly painful, but the slight twinge of pain only made the pleasure feel that much better. That, and the feeling of his bulging biceps against your skin was more than enough to further your arousal. 

“God, you feel so good,” Court groaned out his compliment as his weight pushed you further into the bed. His pubic bone rubbed against your swollen bundle of nerves with every shift of his hips, and you could already feel a second orgasm building within you. The way Court’s cock twitched within you let you know he was nearly there as well, and you couldn’t wait for him to fill you up. You clenched around him just from the thought of his seed spilling inside. 

Another groan tumbled from Court’s lips in response to your walls clenching around him. Soon, the only sound within the room was skin slapping against skin, noises of pleasure falling from each of your lips, and panting as you fought to catch your breaths. As the muscles in your lower stomach tightened once again, signaling your orgasm wasn’t too far away, Court let out an admission you hadn’t expected. 

“I want another baby,” he managed to growl out in between gasps for air. 

The pleasure had made your brain foggy, and it took you a few moments to understand what he had said. Once everything clicked in your mind, your walls clenched around him tightly, nearly stalling his hips. You were more than okay with that desire. “Oh, fuck, yes, Court, yes.” You moaned. “Put a baby in me.” 

Your words seemed to renew his vigor, as his cock pounded into you with a new urgency. The thought of carrying his child again must’ve been as much of a turn on to him as it was for you. Especially since this time, he’d be here for the pregnancy. He’d get to watch as his child grew within you, as your breasts swelled up with milk, and that was an experience you couldn’t wait for. 

One of his hands slipped between the two of you to circle your clit. He may have been brushing against you with each thrust, but it wasn’t quite enough to send you over the edge again. The direct contact of the rough pad of his thumb was more than enough, though, as within a few rotations and several more thrusts, your second orgasm was washing over you. 

You bit down upon your lower lip to muffle your cries of ecstasy as Court fucked you through your release. Within moments, his hips faltered as he reached his orgasm, spurred on by your own. His cock pulsed as he shot rope after rope of his hot seed within you, a groan resounding deep in his chest. He remained inside of you for a while, both of you catching your breath, before he finally let your legs fall back down to the bed. You could no longer feel them, but truly, you didn’t care. You were completely spent and satisfied. Already, you could feel sleep beginning to overtake you. 

Court pressed his lips against yours in a loving kiss that you happily returned. When Court finally pulled out, he let out a slight hiss of pain, plopping himself beside you. Turning onto your side, you threw your arm across his torso and laid your head upon his chest. In return, Court wrapped an arm around you. It didn’t take very long for the two of you to fall fast asleep.

Abrupt, excited, knocking woke you from your slumber. “Mommy! Daddy! Santa came!” The knocking continued as your daughter shouted through the closed door. “Come on, come on, come on!” 

Even in your half-asleep state, you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“We’ll be right there, sweetie.” Court called out before you could respond. Of course, he would be awake before you were. 

“Hurry up! I’ll go wake Claire!” Lyla shouted one last time before her little footsteps padded off down the hallway. A second later and you could hear a series of knocking begin again on Claire’s bedroom door. 

You rolled over to face Court, who was already watching you. 

“Sounds like we need to get dressed,” he mused. 

A grin spread across your face as the excitement of your daughter began to rub off on you. “Yeah, sounds like it.” You murmured in response. A part of you would’ve loved to stay right in bed, naked, all day with Court. Perhaps trying for another baby like he admitted to wanting last night. But, the other half knew you had more important responsibilities right now – and you had to admit, you couldn’t wait to watch Lyla open her presents.

Court pressed a kiss to your forehead before he tossed the covers aside, climbing out of the warm bed. You took a moment to watch the view as he dug around for pajamas in a drawer. You still didn’t understand how you got so lucky. You were torn from your thoughts as a set of pajamas were tossed in your direction. Court had found your clothes before his own, and your chest warmed at the notion. 

You finally climbed out of bed and slipped on the flannel pajamas before finding your fuzzy slippers. Court was by your side seconds later, slipping his larger hand into yours as he unlocked the door and opened it for the two of you to exit. 

Entering the hallway, you found Claire, who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, as Lyla dragged her towards the stairs. Upon noticing you were up and moving, Lyla let out a shriek. Claire flinched at the loud sound, but you and Court simply laughed. 

“Last one down opens their presents from Santa last,” Court teased. Your little one didn’t want to risk losing and immediately took off full speed down the stairs towards the Christmas tree. 

“Be careful!” You shouted after her, following at a much slower pace. There hadn’t truly been a race, as Claire was far too old to believe in Santa anymore, but even she put a bit of pep in her step to make it more believable for her niece. 

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, Lyla was already bouncing around and deciding which presents she wanted to rip open first. Finally, she settled on the one that was the most oddly shaped. Claire, ever the photographer, readied her camera to capture every moment that she could. 

It didn’t take long for the first present to be unveiled, as it hadn’t been wrapped so snugly. After all, who truly takes the time to wrap a bike? Your daughter squealed in excitement and fawned over the purple bike for several moments before moving onto the next gift. 

As the two of you watched Lyla happily tear open her presents, you shot a glance in Court’s direction. “I certainly hope I can catch Santa in the act again next year.” You thought aloud, a sly grin pulling at your lips. 

Court’s arm around you gave a gentle squeeze as he shot you a wink. “I think your chances are fairly high. After all, you have the best cookie he’s ever tasted.”

“Ugh, gross.” Claire whined out in disgust, her nose scrunched up as she took a step further away from the two of you. 

A snort of laughter escaped from you and Court chuckled softly. Your voices had been soft in volume, but apparently not soft enough. The teenager tried her best to keep her distance as she continued to take photos of her niece opening presents.

After a moment, you settled your head against Court’s chest and happily took a sip from your steaming cup of coffee. As the sound of wrapping paper being ripped apart continued, Lyla suddenly let out a scream. She had finally reached the one present she had begged everyone for. Her very own Barbie dreamhouse. Your eyes flitted between your five-year-old and your sister Claire before raising to meet the eyes of the man who made this life possible. Upon feeling your gaze, Court’s face turned towards yours. His brows quirked up playfully before he spoke.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” His soft voice rumbled in his chest as he leaned down to hover his lips over yours. 

“Merry Christmas.” You returned just as softly, closing the gap between you as you shared a gentle, yet loving, kiss.

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 17

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Elliot reveals what ‘Mercury’ referred to, unleashing a flood of bittersweet memories in Lloyd that lead him to re-explore the darkest parts of childhood and uncover evidence of a devastating betrayal. Meanwhile, Princess deals with the aftermath of her near death experience and grapples with doubts about the true identity of her stalker.  

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,021

Warnings: Contains descriptions of child abuse, memories of being buried alive, description of taphephobia - aka, the fear of being buried alive, vivid description of a panic attack - written in a manner intended to draw the reader into the physical experience of a panic attack. Contains content related to police corruption, murder, criminal behavior, police investigations, a scene involving emergency room care, and stalking. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors allowed. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter 17

Lloyd skirted around a thicket of weeds and ducked under the branch of a towering giant hogweed, scowling at the unwelcome intruder. The disrepair of the property grated on his nerves. He added another mental note to his to-do list for tomorrow: call a weed removal service to clean up the invasive species his father had allowed to thrive in the backyard. They rounded the thicket and the beam of Elliot’s flashlight fell on the dilapidated garage. It was halfway hidden in the woods behind the house and screened from view by the untrimmed weeds. 

“What are we doing here?” Lloyd asked.

“Hang on,” Elliot said. 

He pulled on the garage door handle and to Lloyd’s surprise, it swung easily into the rafters. Elliot flipped a switch on an extension cord by the door to turn on the overhead lights and Lloyd stared, speechless.

“This is what ‘Mercury’ was referring to,” Elliot said. 

“A Mercury Cougar… my mother’s car,” Lloyd murmured. 

“Yep. Your Dad asked me to restore it last year. She turned out gorgeous. The keys are inside, if you want to take it for a spin.” 

His throat felt thick as he stepped forward to inspect the bright metallic blue paint on the 1971 Mercury Cougar. He knew every inch of this car, from the cassette player his mother had installed in the dash herself, to the buttons on the radio dial, the white leather bucket seats and the fold-down rag top with squeaky hinges. He ran his hand over the glossy paint. 

“It’s beautiful. You did a great job.”

“So, you remember this car? I think she must have had it before my time,” Elliot said. 

“Yeah. I don’t think I was in school yet when she was driving the Mercury. She’d let me sit on her lap and pretend to drive when we drove into town. I remember she put the cassette player in the dash by herself… She was always listening to music…” 

The rush of memories startled him - crystal clear and bittersweet, they grabbed him by the heartstrings and twisted, sending a painful bolt of emotion through his chest.

Elliot shuffled his feet. “Anyway, this was where Holbrook thought I’d stashed the drugs. Everyone in town knew I was working on it all last year, so it was only logical.” 

His cousin cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flashlight he’d set on a tool chest. “Know what? I’m gonna head in for the night. See you tomorrow.” 

When there was no one around as a witness, Lloyd bowed his head and let the emotions sweep through him. He waited, expecting tears, anger, something, to come out of him… but nothing came. He felt empty. Cold. Alone.

… Abandoned. 

The joyful memory of riding on his mother’s lap while she drove only stirred faint echoes of anger. It mostly dragged up a raw feeling of pain, the kind he had little experience handling. The emotion burned in his belly like whiskey and he swallowed hard as his mind replayed the scenes from the past. Even decades couldn’t wash away the smell of her heavily perfumed hand lotion as it reached across time to fill his head with its musky scent. He could remember the exact shade of her nail polish - Kelly Green - and the softness of her hand stroking his hair. Even perched on her lap, he hadn’t been tall enough to see over the wheel. 

Lloyd turned away. He shut the garage door and started back to the house before the thought of Elliot waiting for him made him pause. Company was the last thing he wanted right now. He was a riot of conflicting emotions, which was exactly the state of mind Dr. Blair recommended he should avoid. Odds were, Elliot was locked in a bathroom, either shooting up or smoking meth. That wasn’t a confrontation he needed to have right now so he changed directions and headed for the barn. 

It was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

In the barn he checked on the sick calf and gave Jane a bag of oats. His mind mechanically ran through tomorrow’s to-do list, as if on autopilot. He needed to call the gravel company about repairing the washed out road and coordinate the pick up of the sick calf with April. He’d have to help her load up Jane, along with what remained of the fresh hay. The horse would board with her for a few days before her new owner came down from Coeur D’Alene on Wednesday. Then he needed to contact a weed removal service about the Giant Hogweed in the backyard and… take his cousin to rehab. 

Lloyd sighed, rubbing his eyes. Yeah. He needed to do that more than any of the rest of the final chores. April had asked him to help Elliot. He had, but the job wasn’t finished yet. The decision settled his nerves, and he moved down the aisle, ready to initiate the confrontation.

Then, a chill ran down his spine. 

He hadn’t realized where he was standing. He was in the middle of the barn, equidistant from the back exit and the front doors, in the center of the aisle facing the east wall. Straight ahead was the half open door of the tack room. Goosebumps raised on his arms and crawled up the back of his neck as the chill wrapped around his lungs and spread into his heart. He dragged his gaze away, but it was too late.

It was cold. It was so very, very cold.

His hands were shaking. 

He watched the shaking spread to his forearms and felt it rattle through his chest. His muscles clenched and shuddered. He grit his teeth against the wave of dizziness and reached out to brace himself on the wall, but missed. Numbness came after the cold. He recognized the fumbling reaction and knew it meant he’d entered the phase where his sense of spatial awareness disappeared. Fighting for breath, Lloyd panted. He had the presence of mind to drop to his knees as the room tilted, and then he was down on his hands and knees, trembling. 

He tried to move but it was as if the force of gravity had quadrupled. Lloyd groaned. It came out like a whine. He needed to get out of here. Pressure built in his chest, discomfort and then a sharp pain. It ripped through his sternum and sliced into his back, climbing up his neck. This feeling was why he’d thought he was having a heart attack when the first panic attack struck him in the middle of the night, when he was alone in his cell in France.

His muscles were rigid as the attack rocketed through him. When it eased, they went limp and Lloyd slumped to the ground. There was no point in trying to move - he’d been through enough episodes like this to know. His head was swimming, his throat hurt, and nausea roiled his stomach. Gradually, the symptoms eased, and he was able to sit up with his back to the wall. The position had him facing the tack room door. 

The events that had occurred inside the tack room were known only to three individuals. One of them was dead and of the two who remained alive, Lloyd was the sole person at liberty to speak. Joe was the one who was dead and Dr. Blair was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, and Lloyd… He was constrained by the same intangible force that had kept him muzzled for over thirty years. In therapy, Dr. Blair had resorted to hypnosis to help him shed the gag that choked him. The treatment helped. Afterwards he’d been able to talk about it, at least in his therapy sessions, but never anywhere else. Never to anyone else. 

He’d painstakingly translated the ugly memories into words and then repeated those words, over and over, until he could recite them as if reading from a script. He’d written them down and burned the pages. Dr. Blair’s approach was to expose him to the memories until he could dominate them, instead of the other way around. Lloyd hated it, but it worked. The boiling temper that had been his constant companion all his adult life eased to a simmer. A few months later, the panic attacks stopped. Except for flare-ups brought on by acute stress - which only seemed to happen at night - they’d disappeared.

He hadn’t been naïve enough to think that years of therapy could overcome the effect of being confronted with the physical reality of the tack room. That was why he’d tried his best to avoid this place all week until his inability to grieve had drawn him to it.

What if he went inside? Would it help?

Just the thought of it made his guts twist with the urge to vomit. He could go inside, Lloyd told himself. His father was dead. Joe was dead, and maybe going into the room as an adult would give him some sense of victory.

Victory? He doubted that was possible. Maybe closure was a better word. You would probably use a word like closure to describe what he was hoping to achieve. He didn’t know if he believed in closure. For people like you it seemed to work, but people like him held onto things, especially negative things. 

Lloyd inhaled sharply through his nose, huffing the alfalfa scented air in an effort to calm his racing heart. Having a high level of self-awareness was a major downside of prolonged therapy. He hated knowing what was wrong with him, but being unable - though, perhaps ‘unwilling’ would be a better adjective - to change. Whatever it was, inability or unwillingness, he couldn’t embrace ideas like closure. He needed the hatred and rage foraged inside of this barn because it had built a nuclear reactor inside of him that powered his every waking moment and kept him alive. That reactor was still alive inside of him, there was just a better containment system for its toxic fumes. 

None of his justifications made much sense, and he knew it. But he also knew the unhealthy coping mechanisms worked, and that was why he couldn’t let them go. He held onto the irrational belief that if he let go of the hatred, he’d turn into dust, like Lot’s wife. She glanced back at Sodom and Gomorrah and had become a pillar of salt. He imagined himself in a direct inversion of that tale - if he didn’t look back, then he too, would crumble. 

Lloyd used the wall to help him climb to his feet. His chest heaved with effort. The half open door taunted him. He’d already gone inside once, on his first day here, in the middle of a sunny morning, to gather up Jane’s tack. He hadn’t stepped foot in it since and had even gone as far as avoiding looking at the room. This wasn’t a good time for this showdown. It was dark, and that was a problem. Acknowledging that fear made him feel like a child, but it was too strong of a compulsion to ignore. 

Lloyd moved toward the opening, feeling as if he was being sucked into a black hole. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to turn around, but something more powerful than rationality drew him forward. He stared into the dark until his eyes adjusted. There, mounted on the wall, was the bull whip his father had beaten him with. You’d think he’d be covered in scars, but that wasn’t how Joe used the whip. He’d tied Lloyd’s hands to the upper saddle rack and shoved a bandana into his mouth so no one in the house would hear.

There was a slim chance that Ingrid or Josephine would be bold enough to come down to the barn if they heard the noise.

Joe never whipped the girls - just Lloyd. When he was strung up, his father would unfurl the whip and double it over. He swung it like a billy club and stuck Lloyd in the back. He held the thin part of the whip that would have broken the skin by coiling it around his fingers. Then he’d use the thick part to cover his son in bruises. The bruises were deep because his father was a strong man with bouts of temper like a hurricane. Lloyd could take almost any beating without a sound by the time he was five. That’s probably why Joe had to think up a worse punishment. Lloyd couldn’t remember a time before the worse punishment, so he figured he must have adapted at an even earlier age than his memories could reach.

Without needing to turn on the lights to find his way, Lloyd stepped into the tack room. His feet took him to the far corner behind the lower rung of saddle racks. It was too dark to see his hand in front of his face on this side of the room, but regardless, his fingers immediately found the latch. He raised the lever and opened the small trap door. His heart was racing as the scrape of the hinge triggered an unexpected rush of adrenaline. 

He was nine years old all over again. His back burned, his legs stung, and blood dripped down his temple. Of course, he didn’t cry - that would only make things worse. 

The stoicism had stayed with him, a permanent feature of his personality. There was no undoing it - the abuse had carved it too deep. Even now he couldn’t offer a genuine reaction to his most intense emotions if his life depended on it. Intense emotions, except for anger, which was a different matter altogether, had an unusual effect on him. When those feelings came, he felt as if he were shoved into another room where they couldn’t reach. They still existed, but weren’t a part of him. That mental space was like Schrödinger’s box - there was something there, something brewing; it was neither real nor unreal, because he was inside the box and everything else was outside. He liked that frame of mind. It could last for hours sometimes. Lloyd wished it was permanent, because it felt blissful, like the mindset people aimed for when they were meditating.  

At present, he couldn’t draw up the stoicism or enter that calm, peaceful mindset that usually protected him in moments like this. He felt panic swarming up, but even so, he just couldn’t stop. He raised the trap door and found the lip of the cover underneath. It moved like a pocket door and slid out of the way. He pushed it into the recessed compartment under the floorboards to reveal the box.

The box was cut into the floor. It was approximately the size of a coffin, but deeper than a typical coffin would be. Its thick oak boards were double wide and sealed with linseed oil. Lloyd swung his feet down, one, then the other. He tried to stand up and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the box and realized he was panting.

Unlike in Singapore, there was no smooth hardwood floor to assure him everything was okay. You weren’t here, just a room away, where all he’d have to do was cross a threshold to reach the comfort of your presence. 

Instead, it was hot and the tack room was stuffy. 

The box was double walled, so no one could hear him scream. Joe had always shoved him in the box after beating him. Spans of time in the box varied, but he’d recalled that he’d spent three days in it once. When he was younger, he’d tried everything to get out, expending every ounce of his energy until he was exhausted. That changed as he grew older. By the time he’d gone to kindergarten, not pre-school, there was no pre-school in these parts in those days - he’d known how to handle the box. He knew to lie still and count his breaths. To cry silently, because when he was silent, Joe would let him out faster.

Lloyd’s vision blurred. It was still too dark to see, but he felt around, searching the floor. This was where he’d hidden the pouch of rocks and arrowheads he and Ingrid collected in the woods. He remembered stashing them in here the summer after he’d passed five-foot four and had officially outgrown the box. When he couldn’t find them, he considered using the light on his phone, but decided against it. This place wasn’t meant to be seen. He could feel Joe’s ghost breathing down his neck as he ran his hands over the floorboards. 

There was no leather pouch in the right upper corner, where he remembered putting it. On the chance he was mistaken, Lloyd reached into the far side of the box. His hand brushed something metal and he felt around its contours and realized it was a square metal container… no, rectangular. It was about the size of a tackle box. 

Had Joe re-purposed the torture chamber as a hiding spot for drugs? It would be just like him… 

Lloyd climbed out of the recessed grave and slid the lid closed, then shut the trap door. He carried the box into an empty stall and turned on the overhead light. 

It was a tool box. He recognized it by its unusual teal color - his mother had kept it in the trunk of her Toyota, a vehicle Joe had bought her after the Mercury broke down. He pried open the rusted lock with his pocket knife and found a leather pouch in the top tray. Lloyd unlaced the leather ties and found the polished treasures of his childhood. They were nearly in perfect condition, if a little dusty. He rubbed one on his shirt and held it up to the light, admiring the shiny chunk of obsidian. It was a rock he’d spent hours polishing. He sorted through the pouch and recognized several pieces. A jasper stone, smokey quartz, an agate nodule, and the prize of the collection - trio of star garnets.

Lloyd lifted the tray and found a pile of cassettes. On top of them was a blank envelope, which he opened to find a couple wallet-size photographs. The first was of a little girl with pale blonde hair. She was missing both of her front teeth. He’d been the one to persuade her to tie a piece of floss around the second front tooth and fasten the other end to a doorknob. He’d even helped her slam the door to remove that final stubborn baby tooth. Josie had screamed and bled and rightfully blamed him for the painful ordeal for the next three weeks. The second photo was of a girl with sable hair. She had high cheekbones, dense eyebrows, and a full mouth. Ingrid bore such a strong resemblance to their father that it was almost hard to look at her. His eyes misted, and he felt a spasm in his chest. Anger rose as grief sliced through his soul. 

They’d vanished. There had been no warning to allow him a chance to prepare for the blow. It had wrecked him. He could still remember the agony and confusion in the following days. He hadn’t known what to do with himself in the time between their disappearance and Joe’s return. At first, he’d figured they’d come back. Then it clicked - she’d really done it. His mother had snatched his sisters and taken off and they had left him behind. That moment of comprehension was when the grief set in and overpowered the anger. 

He couldn’t tolerate staying in the big empty house alone, so he’d packed a backpack and headed into the woods. The following days were filled with denial. He’d pretended he was a wild boy who lived in the forest and didn’t have a family and that his sole connection with the big ranch house in the clearing was that sometimes he’d watch the people who lived there. He told himself he was only sad because the family who occupied the house was on vacation in California and he missed watching them. 

He’d loved them. 

He’d loved his mother, even with her psychotic episodes, because she’d loved him. The memory of riding on her lap in the Mercury proved it. Despite her erratic moods and the uncontrollable outbursts that had scared him, there’d been a level of awareness, even as a child, that she couldn’t control those things. He’d loved his sisters, too. He’d loved them more than anything in the world. If they were still alive, he still loved them. 

There was a piece of paper at the bottom of the envelope. Lloyd fished it out and recognized the tri-fold pattern of a letter. It had a small piece of tape holding it shut and when he turned it over, he found his name written on the back in a looping scrawl. The handwriting was instantly familiar, though he hadn’t seen it in thirty years.  The handwriting revealed the identity of the person who’d left the cassettes, preserved his rock collection, and chosen this tool box to store them in.

His mother hadn’t left him without a word. She’d left him what appeared to be the entirety of her cassette collection, a few pictures of his sisters, and she’d written him a letter.

By themselves, the items were innocuous enough but placing them in his torture chamber… that was an arrow to the heart. It was proof that she’d known what Joe was doing to him. He’d often wondered if she had a clue about what he was going through in the barn, but until now he couldn’t be sure. There was a part of him that questioned if it was possible for her not to know, but he’d always given her the benefit of the doubt. Now, there was no benefit left to give. 

His mother had known Joe buried him alive under the floorboards of the barn. She’d known that he was down there, breathing in the thick, humid scent of earth that still reverberated through his nightmares today. Lloyd could forgive her for allowing the beatings. Hers were just as frequent, if not more so, than his. But the fact that she’d known about the box…

He crushed the letter into a ball.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An emergency room doctor who looked as if he’d witnessed enough history to make textbooks jealous, splinted your wrist. You accepted his referral to an outpatient clinic and promised to schedule a follow up next week. Detective Diskant was in the waiting room with Zach. He took your statements and asked lots of questions you didn’t know the answers to.

By the time Zach unlocked the door of Lloyd’s townhouse, you felt like a zombie. The combination of adrenaline crash and pain medication was a potent one. Landon showed up with a duffle bag for his boss and they both grilled you on the finer details of Aiden’s text messages for two more hours. You tried your best to be helpful, but it was useless. They were clearly questioning whether Aiden was behind the messages and the other incidents. While you saw their point, you couldn’t think of an alternative suspect. You agreed with Zach that you should reach out to Mr. LeDoux in the morning and that you would work from home one Monday.

Lloyd was due back Tuesday. That would be a hard conversation and you weren’t looking forward to hurting his feelings, but you’d made your choices and still considered your actions to be in his best interest. Landon left at midnight and you checked that the downstairs guest room had fresh sheets and stocked the bathroom with towels before going upstairs. 

Ten minutes later you were in the shower, crying. 

It was so unfair. You’d only dated Aiden for a few weeks. Why would he do this? Did his bruised ego really demand such disproportionate retribution? What if he wasn’t your stalker? Who else could it be? The last two questions nagged at you, especially considering your recent confrontation with him. He’d had you alone, and he’d been free to harm you, just like the text messages threatened. The exchange with Aiden had been belligerent, but not overtly threatening. Maybe it wasn’t him. 

In its overwhelmed state, your mind couldn’t tolerate that version of reality. With so much uncertainty already hanging in the air, the one fact you’d come to terms with was the identity of the threat. Knowing Aiden was your stalker helped you understand his motivations and respond accordingly. If it wasn’t him, then what? What options did you have to fight a shadow?

Your mind swung briefly to the Nguyen case, and the missing identity of Julia’s “sister.” Her identity was even more shadowy than your stalker’s and that was another question you needed to tackle. First thing tomorrow, you promised yourself. Right after you and Zach called Mr. LeDoux. The thought of calling him made your stomach pitch. Tears came even harder as your imagination took flight, bringing up questions and asking you to consider possibilities you didn’t want to think about. What if you’d accused Aiden prematurely? What if he was innocent? Then, you cried because of how miserable crying made you feel, and because of the whole horrible, rotten situation you were in, and because you were scared that it wasn’t Aiden who was stalking you after all. 

You finished showering and were in the middle of your skincare routine when your phone rang. Lloyd’s name flashed on the caller ID. Sobs were still shaking your shoulders, which caused you to watch the phone ring for a moment. You worried about his reaction if you answered in this state, but he’d been so busy that he hadn’t called much this week and you needed to hear his voice. Swallowing back your tears, you answered. 

“H-h-hello?”

“Princess?” The sound of his silky baritone eased the painful tension in your shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?” Lloyd asked.

“I… uh… I’m watching Marley & Me.”

Silence. “You refuse to watch that movie because you know the dog dies in the end. What’s really going on?”

“I had a fight with my sister,” you lied.

“About what?”

“A lot of things… we just sort of… got into it.”

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asked.

“I’ll be fine. How are you? How’s the ranch?”

“I sold the last of the cattle, but I’ve got a sick calf in the barn. And two days ago, this evil bitch tried to kill me.” 

You giggled. “Was the evil bitch an actual bitch?”.

“She was a blonde.”

“You pissed off a golden retriever?”

“Think bigger. She was a Charolais heifer with the longest horns I’ve seen on that breed. My father clearly wasn’t trimming their horns these past few years. Of all the chores to miss…”

“What did she do? Try to trample you?”

“I had a plan to get her into the trailer, she had a plan to resist, and then seized an opportunity to try and gore me.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awful. What happened?”

“I roped her.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“It seems some skills come back under pressure. I haven’t roped anything since I was eighteen.”

“Lloyd, were you a cowboy?”

He laughed. “Every ranch kid is a cowboy, honey. It’s not that remarkable.”

“Well, I think it’s remarkable. Can I see your cowboy skills sometime?”

“If it would cheer you up, I’d give you an in-person tutorial.” 

You perked up. “Will you bring your lasso home? I can think of all kinds of uses for it…”

Lloyd wasn’t amused. “I don’t think you realize what a lasso is made out of. It’s meant for animal hide, it would shred your skin.” 

“What about chaps? Spurs?”

“It’s too hot for chaps in August, and if you need spurs, get rid of the horse.”

“Seriously? You’d just get rid of the horse?”

“That was my father’s philosophy. He liked his horses like he liked his people - well trained.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“Lloyd, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really. My cousin got into some trouble, and I helped him out of a jam. He’s here with me now and… Joe’s funeral is tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to go.” 

“What kind of trouble is your cousin in? Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I took care of it. We aren’t close or anything. He’s my father’s sister’s kid; she died, and he grew up in foster care. The only place I ever saw him was at school.”

“That’s so… sad.”

He chuckled. “That sums up my week. I spent Friday hunting down the last of the cattle and ended up hip deep in a mud puddle.”

“How did that happen?”

“I was chasing a cow. She figured out that the only place she could go, where I couldn’t - at least not on horseback - was a giant mud puddle.”

“Did you rope her, too?”

“Yes. And don’t ask me how I got her out, because it’s a four hour window of time I deeply want to forget.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting back laughter.

“On a totally different subject, I’m bringing home 800 pounds of beef…”

“Lloyd!”

“After what she put me through, I’m damn sure going to eat her.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s called the food chain, baby.”

“I’m not eating any beef you serve me for the next two years,” you said.

Lloyd snickered. “Hippie.”

“You’re really going native on me aren’t you?”

He laughed, but it sounded tired.

“Have you been sleeping well?” you asked.

“I can’t sleep. I miss you.”

Tears filled your eyes, then spilled over. You sniffled.

“Princess? Are you there?”

“Yeah…” your voice came out as a half sob.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not having a great day and the last thing I want to do is dump it all on you. You’re already handling so much.”

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

You stared at the splint on your wrist, and thought about what could’ve happened if Zach hadn’t been with you tonight. You thought of your confrontation with Aiden and the photo left on your car on Friday night. Lloyd would get on a plane if he knew what was going on and because of you, he’d miss the chance to attend his father’s funeral tomorrow. While you understood his hesitation about going, you wanted him to at least have the opportunity to go. If there was even a tiny possibility that putting his father in the ground would help him lay his demons to rest, you needed him to have it.

“Princess?” Lloyd asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m having some problems with… Aiden. He’s… um… you know, this isn’t a conversation we should have over the phone. When you get back, I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

“Zach would be more than glad to rearrange Aiden’s face, if you asked him to. He’s been itching to do it since he met the kid.” 

Your laugh was watery. “Hey. I could totally do it myself. Landon and Jake gave me a self defense lesson.”

“Because of Aiden? Why? What did he do?” 

“He’s probably harassing me. Zach found out today and confronted me about it. By the way, he’s staying in your guest room tonight.”

Lloyd grunted. “Good, and you didn’t answer the question. How is he harassing you? When did it happen? Does Jake know? Nevermind, of course he does. He was probably your first call.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I could handle things and it turns out I was wrong.” 

“I’ll be home by Tuesday afternoon, maybe sooner,” he said.

A day and a half. You could make it that long. 

“You know, this is the longest we’ve ever been apart,” Lloyd said.

You blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah. Since we started working together, we’ve never been apart for more than five days in a row.”

“What about when I had the flu? I was out for a whole week.”

“I brought you soup and medicine that Friday night.”

The memory made you smile. You hadn’t been working for him for very long and opening the door to a scowling Lloyd had been quite the surprise. He’d carried a pharmacy bag under one arm and a carry out container from his favorite restaurant in the other. The soup was vegetable noodle, with extra broth. 

“I remember it now. Did you know you’re an amazing friend, Lloyd?”

“It was probably weird of me to show up out of the blue, but I had to do something. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t cope if I lost you.”

The pain in his voice worried you. He was hurting and you wished you could stop it. Tears filled your eyes again.

“Do you need me to come out there?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve tied up all the loose ends.” 

The catch in his voice made you frown. “Lloyd, what happened?” 

“I had to take care of a few things with the less than legal side of my father’s business. He wasn’t just a rancher and I had to motivate some local thugs to… move to a different scene.” 

“Ah. I see. Should I find a lawyer in the area, or do you have someone on retainer? I’m only asking in case your methods attract the wrong attention.” 

He grunted. “Local law enforcement is a bit tied up at the moment, but just in case, there’s bail money in the safe. The passcode is 917889 - if you can’t remember it, tell Jake it’s my three favorite Super Bowls in order. He’ll understand.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I tend to forget they play the Super Bowl on a yearly basis.”

“I can help you out with that. We’ll watch my favorites together when I get back.”

“Can I take an Ambien first?” 

He laughed, and the line fell quiet. You wondered if you should tell him exactly what was going on, but figured plenty of people knew already. You’d filed the official complaint with the police and Detective Diskant was putting more resources into the case tomorrow. Besides, in thirty-six hours, Lloyd would be home. 

“Lloyd? I’m glad you called. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am, I just need some sleep.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said.

“You’re the one who spent the last week playing cowboy. How’s your back feeling?”

“I’d rather not say because it would make me feel old.”

You giggled. “If it helps, I’d be out of commission within an hour if I tried that kind of work.”

“Princess, you don’t like your shoes getting dirty in the rain. You’d shrivel up and die at the amount of dirt and mud out here. Especially if you saw the amount of it I’ve tracked into the house.”

“I can imagine it, and it’s not pleasant. But if you need me, I’d be there in an instant. You know that, right?”

“It goes both ways. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His words were spoken so tenderly that a lump the size of a golf ball swelled in your throat.

“I know.”

“Shit, I made you cry again.”

You wiped your face, laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“You never told me what Aiden did. Did he call you? Show up at the office? Your apartment?”

“It’s not important. Zach is downstairs and I’m safe. We can talk more tomorrow, just come home safe.” 

“Alright. Sleep tight, Princess. I’ll be home soon,” Lloyd said. 

Your heart fluttered. There was a wealth of affection in his voice that wrapped around your heart, and though it wasn’t spoken, his words held more love than any explicit confession could convey. 

“Goodnight. I love you.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XVIII

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

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@yiiiikesmish @lavenderx0 @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz

[someplace-darker]

Kinktober Day 1: Floor Sex | Sierra Six x Reader

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

Wordcount: 1.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“Maybe.”

He’s fucking exasperating. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“We should probably shower.”

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

[georgiapeach30513]

You Were the One, Part 5

Summary: Lloyd comforts you

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: fluff

Warnings:  language, relationship talk with Lloyd, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

Lloyd takes a long look at you, and still you completely ignore him. You had barely said three words to him, and only if you could answer with a short reply. He sighs, leaning back to place his feet on your desk, and wants to laugh when your nostrils flare up.

“Honey, I know you want to hit my foot off the table.”

“Why do you constantly insist on calling me honey? Why do we have to have a relationship at all? We are on a mission. Do you fucking job.”

“I never said anything about a damn relationship. Why don’t you start by talking about what’s wrong with you,” you feel stupid for doing it, but you cross your arms over you chest, blowing up a bit of air, you eyes back on the computers in front of you.

“Ah, instead you’re going to sit and listen. I’m assuming Court now knows about your condition, and it didn’t go well. And if that’s the case, he’s a fucking idiot. He has this amazing woman, that not only tolerates his brooding ass, but understands his job. You understand there’s times he won’t be there, and how dangerous this life can be. I’m more concerned on why his fiancé couldn’t tell him that she was pregnant. Usually it’s a happy moment.”

“I told you,” your voice comes out raw and flat, still unable to meet his eyes that have no once moved from you. Those blue eyes showing you the utmost sympathy, and you wish Court would look at you like that. “He doesn’t want kids.”

“And what were you doing to prevent that?” you finally look at him, rolling your eyes. “The fucking pull out method? Court Gentry trusted himself to raw dog it, and didn’t think pregnancy could happen? What a fucking idiot. And don’t you look at me like that. It takes two. Clearly, you didn’t care if a pregnancy happened, and he knew you weren’t on birth control, but to just,” dramatically he rolls his eyes, settling back into his chair.

“This is both of your faults for lack of communication,” this is what you had been saying for weeks. You throw your head back laughing, thankful that someone gets it. “What’s funny?”

“I’ve been screaming about his lack of communication for months now. Before,” softly you lay you hand on your stomach. It had only barely decided to poke out. Drifting your sight back up to Lloyd who has a gentle smile, tilting his head to the side. “Before this. You know, you’re quite…never mind.”

“Say it,” his head tilts back arrogantly, while his smile gets even bigger. “You think I’m attractive. It’s obvious to everyone, including Six how attractive you find me.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“You like my style, love how put together I am. You’ve watched me get ready in the morning and know I have a very set routine. Love how tight I wear my pants. You even find my cocky attitude endearing. You love my honesty and even the fact that I see you. Not you as in Agent Twelve. You. The real you. I noticed your glow despite whatever is going on between you and Six, and it has nothing to do with me. I just made things more complicated. You enjoy time with me. You tolerate Court. Is sex that great with him? Because you guys don’t match at all.”

“Oh,” you snort, turning your chair to fully look at him. The computer and mission completely forgotten. “You think you know everything.”

“Tell me you don’t find me attractive.”

“You know you’re attractive.”

“That’s not what I told you to say. You can’t even admit it out loud can you? This sexual tension we’ve been building up since we first met, is a tiny part of you problem.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Court asked if the baby was his,” your eyes cast back down to the floor. It was the first time you admitted that, but also the first time you said the baby out loud. Feeling like weight had been lifted off your shoulders at both those admissions. “Pretty sure he implied you.”

“You want me to tell him that I offered for you to just sit on my face and see if the mustache adds any stimulation and you’ve turned it down every time? That’s an open offer, by the way,” when you roll your eyes, and start to turn back to the computer, he places a soft hand on your knee.

“I’m only kidding. This is how I deal with…I don’t know, this. And I feel helpless because I don’t know what to tell you. Have you even spoken to him?”

“He left that night. Went somewhere else.”

Lloyd’s face mixes between utter disdain for Court, and pity because you were left alone.

“So he has somewhere he can run off and go to, and you suffer in silence hoping that he’s not only a man, but your fiancé and steps up and becomes the father to his child? If it was me, I would have held you all night long, and even if we cried, we would have dealt with what our actions led us to. Quit blaming yourself and ask where the fuck Court was. Where was he?”

You can’t admit it. You’d done enough surveillance on his phone and car to know exactly who he ran to. His eyes turn down, and he stares hard at stomach, but also your fingers twisting around your engagement ring.

“You wanna touch the belly?”

“Is that a serious question? C’mere,” you move to stand in front of him, and his entire hand flattens on the little swell. Looking up at you with an adorable smile, before he’s back to looking at your stomach, “Your mother is amazing. She just puts up with too much shit.”

“Lloyd! This is a baby. You can’t curse.”

“She puts up with a lot from your father. We gotta help her understand her worth. And he either can talk to her and figure out what’s happening or,” you’re not sure why, but then need to touch Lloyd became too strong, and you reach out to cup his cheek. Admiring the freckling on his skin, and how uncomplicated conversation is with him.

And when he looks up at you, you envision this on the daily. Him talking to your belly, but also that look. Lloyd is a lot of things, but soft is not one of them, except with you. You don’t know why, nor do you care, because he has kept you sane these past few weeks. “Lloyd, I…I don’t know.”

“You look like you haven’t gotten enough sleep since that blow up. Forget the mission, and sleep,” when you shake your head no, his smile fades, “Why?”

“I just…I’ve just wanted him to hold me.”

“I’m not Court, but I’ll hold you. No inappropriate comments, promise. You need sleep. Babies need their mother not stressed, and that’s all you’ve been.”

You can’t answer, but you nod your head. Standing up in front of you, his hand softly skims down your sides, and you have to step back, gulping. It felt too good. Too warm, and he’s not who you’re engaged to. “We’re just sleeping, honey.”

Pulling your hand softly, he guides you to the bed. Waiting for you to settle down, before he crawls in behind you. His thick hand cupping your stomach, and he rests his head on yours, “Shh, you need rest. This isn’t good for the baby.”

“I know.”

“Shh.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @bookwormchick91 @whimsyplaty92 @bambamwolf87 @curlycarley @infatuatedjanes @8oopsiedaisy8 @spider-thot0115 @harrysthiccthighss @tryingtosurvivestuff @sstan-hoe @xcaptain-winterx @buckysteveloki-me @xcaptain-winterx @sgtjaamesbaarnes @writing-for-marvel @alwaysclassyeagle​ 

[anitalenia]

━━ 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

RATINGS — s , smut | f , fluff | a , angst | d , dark content

none yet…

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

˖⁺ ⊹୨ I want it all ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s ) ━━ lloyd and six wanting you to have their kids. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˖⁺ ⊹୨ fuschia ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s-ish, f ) ━━ six ignoring your obvious crush on him. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

none yet…

none yet…

[pxrplebxtterfly]

Did I Lie?(2/?)

18+

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, kissing, making out, nudity, oral sex (f receiving), (d)ubcon kinda?, somnophilia

Summary: Lloyd’s been gone for work and now he’s finally back. It seems you’ve both missed each other.

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: Okay so here’s another part, hehe. This fic is in SECOND PERSON POV!!! The next part will for sure be nasty I promise! Sorry for making you guys wait. Anyways, have fun reading!

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

You haven’t seen him in a few days. Some of his team members said he was gone on a mission when you asked. You didn’t know why you were asking, it’s not like you missed him. You just missed his fingers, and his lips, and the way he smelled, and his wit, and his charm. Okay maybe you missed him a little bit.

Maybe you missed him because since he left the morning after that night in the limo, you hadn’t talked to anyone. Besides the casual chat that comes with “here’s your meal” and “here’s the TV remote” from bodyguards and Lloyd’s team members, you hadn’t had a conversation with anyone. It’s not like Lloyd and you had full blown, deep discussions, but they were more engaging than the small talk you were subject to.

You’re enjoying a lollipop you snuck from Lloyd’s stash in the kitchen when you hear the front door open. You hear bags drop and Lloyd’s loud voice echoing through the long hallways. You decide not to leave the room because he sounds agitated. You place the lollipop in your mouth and grab a glass of water. Before you’re able to remove the lollipop and take a sip, someone stomps into the room.

It’s Lloyd. He pauses across the wide island when he sees it’s you in the kitchen, and not one of his maids or chef. He’s wearing a tight polo shirt with fitted slacks, accentuating every flex and movement of his muscles. 

“Is that one of my suckers?” he asks, brows furrowed and taken aback.

“No-wah” you say quietly, the candy making it hard to talk.

“You’re lying” he says teasingly and walks towards you. Stepping forwards until he has you cornered against the counter, his eyes don’t ever look away. He’s in front of you now, huge chest and shoulders eye-level with your face. 

As soon as Lloyd approaches you he feels your nervous energy. It’s something he feeds off of. The way your eyes go big and your breath catches in your throat, makes him buzz with excitement. 

“Let me have a taste” he says and wraps his finger around the stick of the sucker. It pops out of your mouth, shiny with your spit. He slowly places it on his tongue and takes it into his mouth. 

He watches as your mouth drops open a bit in awe. Lloyd chuckles at your reaction and takes the lollipop back out. It’s covered in his spit and all you can think about is how badly you want his spit down your throat. He pushes the sucker past your lips and you graciously receive it.

“Good girl” he tells you as he studies your tongue and lips. 

As you suck on the candy, he can’t draw his attention from your face. He’s so hypnotized by your beauty that he reaches up and brushes strands of your hair behind your ears. 

You don’t bother to question him, you just stare up at him with doe eyes, willing to let him do whatever he wants to you.

“I missed you” he whispers, and trails his hand down from your cheek to the base of your neck.

Without any guard up you take the sucker out of your mouth and whisper back, “I missed you too”

Neither of you miss a beat and attach lips like magnets to a fridge. His lips are soft and engulf yours. He sucks at your bottom lip each time you pull back, and pushes a small amount of tongue into your mouth. 

He tastes like cherry from the lollipop and you're reminded it’s still in your hand. You place it on the counter beside you, freeing up your hands. You put your palms on his lower back and curve them upwards towards his shoulders, soothing his burning skin. He keeps one hand around the base of your throat and the other grabs your ass. 

You moan at the sensation of your ass cheeks being fondled and at his fingers kneading your flesh. He pulls you towards his body and you instantly feel his hard cock straining in his pants, against your stomach. 

As soon as you feel him, you also pull him closer to you by his waist. This stirs something in Lloyd and he ruts up against you. He moves his lips from your mouth to your jaw, ear and neck. You instantly start to breathe harder and whimper. The way he sucks at your skin, grinds into your lower stomach, and grabs at your ass has you overwhelmed with pleasure. 

But as soon as it starts, it ends.

“Fuck” he moans as he pulls his lips off your neck. He shifts his body back from yours and you let out a sigh, trying to catch your breath. You look down at his bulge and see a big wet spot on his pants where the tip of his cock is. You have the same wet spot on your t-shirt. He was leaking pre-cum like a waterfall. 

You’re in shock at how fast things just happened. It seems you both really did miss each other. There’s silence between you two as you stare anywhere else, besides him. You put your hand over your mouth, still stunned at your behavior. He chuckles at your reaction and it causes you to look up at him.

You still don’t say anything but Lloyd can see in your eyes that you want to know why he stopped. He decides to give you some context so you’re not blaming yourself.

“I’ve got to go kill some one for fucking up my mission” he says, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

You sit across from him at a long dining table for dinner. You don’t really think about what you’re eating, you’re mostly thinking about how much you want to ride his mustache. But not tonight. You’re tired and just want to curl up in your California king size bed with no interruption. 

When dinner is finished, Lloyd walks you back to your room. He follows you in, trailing right behind you, looking down, watching your hips sway. He sits down on the side of your bed and watches you dig through your belongings in the top drawer of your dresser. 

He realizes he didn’t ask his men to grab anything but the essentials. He’s hoping they didn’t fuck you over too bad, but just in case, he asks, “Do you have any pajamas?”

You turn around and say, “Not any nice ones, your guys only packed my flimsy, cheap stuff that doesn't provide any warmth. It doesn’t really make a difference if they’re on or off”

He completely forgets about his concern for your personal items and raises an eyebrow in curiosity, picturing you sleeping in bed completely naked. The things he would do to you. 

You catch the glimmer in his eyes and smile. You reach behind you and pick up a set of silky little pajama bottoms and a matching button up shirt from the drawer.

You hold the pajamas close to your chest and scoff when Lloyd hasn’t left the room, turned around, or at least closed his eyes. 

“Close your eyes,” you say.

Defiance washes over him when he sees the flirty way you tell him not to look. He decides to test the water and says, “I wanna watch you” 

You’re struck by his boldness and blush. It turns you on, the way he wants to see you undress. You already know you’ll let him watch, but you don’t want him to think you’re that easy. You pause for a few moments, pretending to think it over in your mind. With intent to seduce you say, “Okay” softly.

Slowly you hook your fingers on the hem of your t-shirt and begin to lift it over your head. With every patch of skin that’s revealed, Lloyd’s heart beats faster. Once it’s off, you throw it behind you on the dresser. 

Lloyd bites his lip when he sees your tits being held by your bra. He feels himself grow harder by the second as you continue to undress.

You pull your shorts down your legs and he examines your body. Eyes drinking you and all your radiance in. You decide to tease him a bit, so when you unclasp your bra and let it fall off your chest and shoulders, you throw it at him. 

Lloyd can’t help the erection you’re giving him and looks at you with hunger. Seeing the way you stand there so open and vulnerable for him, being such a good listener, makes him crazy. He just wants to put his mouth all over your gorgeous tits and worship them like you deserve.

You see what you do to him too, and would love to see just how far things could go except you’re tired. You slip your pajama shorts on and he groans when you begin to button your shirt, covering up your breasts. You laugh at his display of desire and lean down to his level. You purposefully crawl over him to get into bed.

“You’re so pretty” he whispers seductively, sitting closer to you, trying not to let this moment slip away.

“Lloyd,” you warn with very little sternness.

He ignores you and grabs your hand. He begins to kiss your hand and then up your arm. His mustache tickles you and you twitch and giggle at the sensation. 

“I’m tired” you say with some distress. Even though he’s turning you on, sleep is creeping up on you.

He slows his kisses and releases your hand, understanding where you’re coming from. He’s just as tired, if not more, but the electricity he feels when he sees you, has him fully charged and ready to go. 

The both of you say goodnight and he leaves you to sleep. 

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

Lloyd can’t sleep. He wrestles with his pillows and duvet trying to find peace. Nothing is helping his body unwind. All he can think about is you. The way you act so touch starved anytime he initiates physical contact. He loves how flustered and nervous you get around him too. 

He can’t help but think of your blushing cheeks and wide eyes. While rolling in his bed, restless, he wishes to do a number of things to you.

Then, the desperation becomes too much for him to handle.

He almost slips as he hurls himself out of bed. He walks to your room, breath heavy from anticipation and anxiety. 

He opens the door to your room. The lights are off, but the moonlight shines in through a grand window, illuminating you on the bed. You’ve tossed off your comforter, feeling more free to move without it. 

You’re in a deep sleep, completely unaware of Lloyd's presence. 

He stalks around the room, just watching you breathe. You were right, those pajamas hardly covered anything.

You look so enticing, all vulnerable and laid out just for him. He can’t take it any longer and moves towards you. Slowly, and carefully he lays on his stomach, in between your legs. You don’t even stir.

Lloyd, seeing that you didn’t shift due to his movement, decides to come closer. He army-crawls towards you, his face hovering over your clothed pussy.

It makes him ravenous, just to picture it beneath the thin layers of your underwear and pajama shorts. He wants to see you, needs to see you. 

He pushes your pajama shorts aside with his finger and almost moans at the outline of your cunt through your underwear. 

A thought comes to him as he stares at you. 

He wants to taste you. 

He puts his face closer to you until his nose is brushing your clit. He timidly licks you through your underwear. He looks up at your face, making sure he’s not disturbing you. You don’t even twitch. 

He licks you through the underwear again. When you stay still he nuzzles his mustache into your core and breathes you in. 

He draws back when he feels you shift slightly. Your eyes stay closed, you just shift a little further into him. 

He takes this as an invitation to feast. He uses another finger to delicately pull your panties to the side with your pajama shorts. In the moonlight, he can see your slick, coating your pussy. He can’t help himself when he spreads your folds and sticks his tongue in your hole. He flicks his tongue as he exits and is immediately addicted to the taste of you. 

He begins to drag his soft tongue up and down, indulging in your sweet taste. His mustache and nose bump at your clit and you begin to stir. 

Lloyd ignores it. He’s so focused on drowning in your cunt he just wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer.

This makes you wake up. You think you’re dreaming at first, watching as Lloyd Hansen buries himself in between your thighs. Then you realize that this feels too real, that he’s actually going down on you. 

The realization turns you on so much, you arch your back and push your pelvis forwards. His eyes flash up to look at you, and they sparkle when he sees that you’re watching. 

When he sees you’re awake and watching him, it only makes him want you more. His back and wide shoulders keep your legs spread and you watch as he devours you. 

He’s sloppily kissing and sucking all over your aching cunt. Slurping at your hole and moaning as you buck your hips into his face, allowing him to get deeper.

His tongue prods at you while his nose smushes your clit. This feels so good that you grab a fist full of his hair and grind onto his tongue.

You gasp and moan at his skill and he hums into you. He sucks at your clit and your legs begin to shake. He looks up at you while you whine from his tortuous talent at eating you out. The overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you has your thighs clenched around his head. He tightens his grip on your legs and begins to pry them apart so he can continue his work. 

He doesn’t let up and it has you teetering off the edge of coming.

And then you do. You come all over his beautiful mouth with a soaring, world-warping orgasm. Lloyd continues drinking in everything you give to him until you're pushing his head off of you. He finally stops and just lays in between your legs, looking at you. 

You have no words for him. All you do is pull your knees to your chest, throw your head back and cover your face with your hands. The orgasm he just gave you has changed your life and you’re struggling to recover from all the oxytocin flooding your veins. 

You’re sensitive and jump when you feel him kiss your achy cunt and the back of your trembling thighs. 

You let out some curse words, unable to articulate anything more. 

Finally you’ve come down from your high and he’s crawled into bed beside you, kissing the top of your head softly. He kisses your temple one final time and then pulls you into his chest.

You’re in shock that he doesn’t want anything in return, because you are more than happy and willing to help him out. Then you think back to earlier when he had gotten off the bed to come join you under the covers. You remember seeing a damp spot on his underwear, and that he wasn’t fully hard. It hits you that he must’ve come at the same time as you. 

You’re flattered, impressed and a little turned on by it. You realize that Lloyd is so good at going down on you, that you didn’t even see he was also getting off. You bite your lip in amusement and scoot in closer to him. You’re so glad he’s back.

[traumatised-confused-individual]

Pretty boy

I've been waiting to write something for this movie and well here I am.

Six x fem!reader || no warnings.

You and six have been assigned a mission together and you can't help but tease the soft grumpy assassin.

______________________________________

The CIA once again wants you to do their dirty work. It's not a surprise since you're the best in the field and can almost get away with everything but they owe you big time. The worst part of it is that I'm not doing it alone this time. They've called in one of the guy from their old projects. Im really not excited to meet him at all.

"Right on time agent. Meet your partner. Six." Says denny.

I hold in a smile and nod. The man is well dressed and nice to look at. He looks as if he could split a body in half with those biceps of his.

"Your mission is to retrieve this asset. It's important for the company and the guy who has it is big on the black market."

"Doesn't seem that hard." I say

"Let me get to the good part agent. We never like to make it easy on anyone. He has trained assassins and power greater than the two of you combined. You'll need ti be careful."

He fills us out on the rest of the details which were boring boring boring. Six isn't much of a talker. We load our stuff and reach the target site.

I check the premises slowly, six is behind me.

"So what's the story behind the name six?"

He shrugs. I roll my eyes.

"One to five were taken. You get the struggle."

"Oh he does know how to talk. How exciting." I say in a whisper.

A man comes our way and six quickly knocks him out. He falls on the ground with a thud. The house is practically empty and it all seems like one big trap.

"Something seems off." He moves to the top of the stairs and scouts out the area.

"No shit sherlock." I stand beside him "Do you think they know we're here?"

He shrugs again. I might not retrieve the asset but I might just shoot a bullet thriugh his shoulders.

"Gum?" He offers taking out a packet. I look at the packet and then at him.

"You're seriously offering me gum." I say blankly.

"It's watermelon." He smiles

I take one, "Its watermelon." I mock him and he raises a brow.

"What? I'm trying to make this fun."

Another guy comes our way, I shoot him with a tranquilizer gun. We move his body to the side.

"Nothing about this is fun." He breathes.

"Okay grandpa." I stick my tongue out.

"You're a child." He sighs

"A child who is CIA's top agent. Pretty boy." I walk away from him, making my way in the house. It's silent and dark. There are no alarms or booby traps. It all seems wrong.

"You think im pretty." He says

"I liked you better when you couldn't talk."

The safe is right infront of me. It can't be this easy. There is no army. Nothing. I open it and take the asset.

"Got it." I smile.

"It's too easy." I nod in agreement.

We walk out the door we came in from. A dozen red lasers light us up. I look at Six.

"Well there you go."

"Let's give them hell." He winks.

It almost feels like hours of fighting. Which it was. It took us even longer to escape because Six got stuck in metal wires placed near the fence. He had to get rid of his vest and his shirt. Which was funny because he had to run shirtless around town and alot of old ladies winked at him. Being chased and shot at was the not so funny part.

"Im having the time of my life." I say as I hotwire a car.

He shakes his head, "Do it faster will you?"

"Nope. I like those ladies making you uncomfortable grandpa."

He smacks my hands away lightly and hotwires the car himself. I gasp at the act.

"Drive." He orders.

"What are you gonna do if I don't?" I look at him and he looks away.

I gasp, "You had a dirty thought." I poke him

"Just drive." He looks out the window.

"You had a dirty thought." I say in sing-song.

He smiles a little, "Pretty boy is blushing."

I tease him all the way to headquarters. It seemed the following had stopped no-one wants to be this close to headquarters when you're a targeted criminal. He begs me to shutup. But I just can't. He's such a softie under all that grumpy covering.

"I'll throw you out the window if you don't stop." He says

"No you won't. You're such a softie."

"I will." He warns

"You will what?" I tease him.

He pushes past me, "You had a dirty thought again. Mister you are out of it."

I laugh. I guess he's not too bad. For the most part this mission was fun even though we're all bloody and bruised. I call out to him in sing-song and I've never seen a man run faster.

"You're a child." He shouts.

"A child you had dirty thoughts about!" I shout back laughing.

______________________________________

This was fun to write. I couldn't figure out an ending to this so sorry if its a little messy. I hope you like it. If you have requests feel free to make them. You can check out my pinned post for masterlist and prompts.

[hederasgarden]

Oooofff that gif set of Six in that black shirt 🤤 him fucking you up against the wall while he wears that and those gloves

BESTIE.

Yes.

NSFW thoughts under the cut. 18+ only.

Can you imagine him fingering you while wearing those gloves, his lips on your neck as he works you to orgasm? How he would shush you and tell you to be quiet so you're not discovered while he uses his big body to press you into the wall. You’d have nowhere to go, nothing to do except take the pleasure he gives you. When you come, he’d silence your cries with a gloved hand over your mouth and press kisses to your forehead as you fluttered around his fingers. Then he’d urge you to turn around.

"Hands on the wall," he’d direct, tapping your feet with his boots to get you to widen your stance. Then he’d reach down to pull your dress up and tug your underwear aside.

"Ready?" He would ask, waiting for you to nod before filling you with one powerful thrust because at the end of the day, Six is the king of consent.

You’d both groan at the feel of him and you’d push, trying to take more of him but his hands on your hips would stop you. He’d want to control the pace, starting slow, dragging his cock in and out of your wet heat to work you up again. He’d love to get you trembling and desperate, begging him. He’d want you to need him so bad you're not even aware of what you're saying anymore. Nonsensical pleas for more and yes and oh god.

Only then would he fuck you like you both want, hard and fast but still somehow gentle because it’s Six and even when he’s violent there’s something sweet there for you.

[lambtotheslaughterr]

The Agenda Today

A Lloyd Hansen Mini Series

PART SIX

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.7k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART FIVE | MASTERLIST | PART SEVEN

00:00

            The walk back to your hut was dreadful. Your confidence at getting it over with—‘it’ being Lloyd having his way with you—was beginning to wane. Lloyd sauntered beside you, a proud smirk plastered on his smug face. You maintained a poker face. Of course, under any other circumstance the idea of barely consenting to any sexual encounter made your skin crawl—it wouldn’t ever happen. But if giving Lloyd what he wanted meant keeping Gracie safe, you would do anything.

It took everything in you to not halt abruptly in your walk as soon as your hut came into view. You knew deep down that even Lloyd knew you were faking it, but you didn’t want to crack. You had had mindless sex with men before—though you were much younger & into partying more. Unfortunately, there was no vodka or joints being passed around. This you would have to do entirely sober.

Lloyd walked close behind you as you climbed the small set of stairs to the hut. The doors to your room were already open. Holding your head as high as you could, you breached the threshold, knowing that when you left the hut again you wouldn’t be the same person.

You reached the end of your bed before turning around, watching warily as Lloyd slowly closed the doors behind him. There was an appraising look on his face as he looked you up & down. But it wasn’t of a sexual nature. It was like he was shopping at a dealership, trying to understand what the dealer was saying & what they were selling. He didn’t want to be scammed.

Clearing your throat, you shook your hair behind your shoulders, straightening your spine, “Well?”

With that, Lloyd lowered his head to an angle where his eyes looked most predatory. He remained leaning against the double doors, showing no sign of moving towards you. A cold sweat broke out underneath your pits. The way he watched you, observed you, made you more anxious then you already were.

Before your anxiety & doubts could expose you, you grit your teeth behind tightly pressed lips, crossing the small distance to him. Not looking to see what he thought of you making the first move, your hands instantly went to the leather belt that looped through his pants. Your hands were shaking as you unbuckled the accessory. Lloyd wouldn’t get the best of you, you couldn’t allow it. If you had to call the shots in this instance to get it over with then you would.

You had just dropped his belt to the floor & began to unbutton his pants when a large hand slipped under your chin, gripping your neck harshly. A small, choked gasp escaped you at the sudden assault. Lloyd held you by your neck at a distance, forcing your eyes to meet his own. He was studying you, & you could tell that what he was reading he didn’t particularly like.

“What’s the rush, nanny?” Lloyd questioned, “I thought you liked it slow.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, the air to your lungs slowly waning.

“I’m just giving you what you want.” You strained.

Lloyd cocked his head, “I want to enjoy this. And if I let you keep going the way that you’re going we’d be here for only five minutes.”

“Why? That all you good for?” The subtle insult wasn’t intended. But with your air supply getting cut it was hard to hold back the hate you held for him.

“Ooh hoo hoo.” Lloyd chuckled but an amusing smile never crossed his lips.

You nearly reluctantly apologized when Lloyd switched from your throat to your shoulder, adding enough pressure to force you to your knees. You hadn’t been planning on this.

“I think we oughta put that mouth to better use.”

Lloyd finished what you had started unbuttoning his pants. He held your shoulder tightly, to ensure you wouldn’t fight back or try to escape. Fortunately for him, you had no plans to do either. You needed to be compliant.

Pushing his pants down past his thighs, he exposed a pair of snugly fit white boxer briefs. He was already growing in size & what you could make out made your mouth dry. This was really happening…

You couldn’t look away as he pulled himself out. It was big, & angry. Lloyd yanked you closer, making you almost headbutt his hardened cock. You caught yourself on his muscular thigh.

“Open up, nanny. Show me where you get so confident.”

No feeble protest could pass your lips before Lloyd was forcing himself into your mouth. The corners of your mouth strained at the size of him. Your tongue nearly forced to the back of your throat as he made room for himself inside your mouth. Your vision blurred as he pushed himself further, hitting the back of your throat. You had never done it like this.

A low groan came from deep within Lloyd’s chest as he began thrusting his hips forward, jolting you back. You continued to grip his thighs, a small whine lodged somewhere around his thickness as he fucked your face. You forced yourself to breathe through your nostrils, needing to feel like you weren’t about to gag to the point of vomiting all over his cream colored pants. Above you, you could make out that Lloyd was grinning down at you, blatantly enjoying the sight of you choking on him. His assault on your mouth produced enough saliva to begin seeping out from the sides of your lips.

“C’mon, nanny. I know you got more than that to offer.”

His words made you cringe. Yet against your better judgement, you finally closed your lips around him, forcing your tongue to run along the underside of his dick. The action produced an inhuman growl from the sociopathic man above you. When you looked up a second time, the grin had fallen from his face; a look of pure, unadulterated hunger possessed him.

In a flurry of movement, air returned to your lungs, rushing in, & you were being tossed in the air. You landed with a small ‘oomph’ atop your bed. You barely had a chance to lean onto your elbows when Lloyd was on top of you. It was with a horrifying realization that he was already naked. In the amount of time it took you to fly across the room to the bed & recover from the landing, Lloyd had already removed his pants, underwear, & top. All you had on your body was the maxi dress. You knew it wouldn’t stay on for long.

Lloyd firmly gripped your wrists, bringing them above your head, locking them together with one hand. His other hand begins to trace the length of your body, taking time to pause in special areas. You say nothing & do nothing as his hand wanders with intent. He looks up at you as his hand finds the hem of your dress, bringing it up to your knees. You look away, finding a point in the room to stare at. You were being as compliant as possible, it didn’t mean you had to watch him do it too.

The raising of your dress stopped suddenly. The man above you pushed off, standing ahead of you. You felt yourself frown. What was he up to? But when nothing happened after a few seconds, you braved turning your head in his direction. Lloyd stood tall & proud, his sculpted arms crossed against his thick chest as he stared at you. But he didn’t look happy, or even—for lack of a better word—horny. Your eyes regretfully dropped further. He wasn’t as full as he was when he first pulled himself out.

Lloyd narrowed his eyes, forcing you to sit up.

“What?” You questioned. You were beginning to get annoyed yourself. Why wasn’t he taking what he wanted? The sooner he did the sooner it would be over with & you could put it behind you. But he was stopping… it made you nervous.

“The fuck you doing?” He seethed. His reaction left you at a loss.

Unable to find the words, you glanced down at your dress. What were you doing wrong? Trying to appease him, you began to reach for the straps of your dress to pull the top down. Your fingers had barely touched the fabric when a hot pain flashed across your cheek.

Lloyd had slapped you.

A yelp escaped you as you held your cheek. The abrasion that was still healing had split open. Blood on your fingertips.

You stared up at him in glowering hate.

“What the hell?!”

“You said you liked it rough, nanny. I’m only providing.” Lloyd returned, matching your facial expression.

“I’m giving you what you want!” You raised your voice, your whole body shaking.

Lloyd leaned forward until both arms were on either side of you on the bed, his nose practically brushing against your own, “I want your fire.”

You were fed up with this man & his childish games. Pushing yourself back, you kicked up your legs, not giving him an opportunity to stop you as you used both feet to kick him in the lower abdomen. Lloyd grunted, bending further at the waste. You scattered backwards, trying to get out of his reach. But Lloyd grinned devilishly, “That’s more like it.”

His hand caught your ankle, dragging you back towards him. You threw a closed fist, hitting him on the side of the head.

This was not how you & Raj fulfilled each other’s needs. There was no violence. But Lloyd appeared to want something more than just rough. You feared for your own well-being as Lloyd’s head snapped to the side with your punch. You went to throw another when he blocked it with his forearm, his other hand backhanding you. The slap forced you to lie backwards, stars dotting your vision. It was reminding you too much of his assault in the bunker.

In a flash, Lloyd climbed on top of you, straddling you. His hands found the top of your dress, tearing it in two like it was made of paper. A harsh gasp left your mouth. Your reached up, your hands finding his thick neck, your nails digging into his skin. Lloyd’s eyes fluttered at the action, seemingly enjoying the pain you were giving back. You tightening your hands around his throat but it didn’t deter him. He ripped the dress out from your mostly nude body, following the useless fabric with a yank & snap of your underwear.

You were completely naked.

Lloyd knocked your hands away from his throat, one of his own grasping you by the neck. Immediately you began to thrash underneath him. He reveled in it. Using his knees, he parted your legs, squeezing himself between your unwilling thighs. If you could’ve breathed, you would’ve cried out at the feeling of his head pressing against the entrance to your tight heat. Lloyd never unlatched his hand from around your neck as he bit along the tops of your breasts. The bites hurt, leaving you knowing you’d have marks & bruises from his teeth.

“Lloyd—” You forced out, your voice scratchy, “please.”

He raised his head, his eyes hooded with desire & pleasure. A sinful grin appeared beneath his mustache, “As you wish, nanny.”

With no warning, Lloyd sheathed himself with one thrust. You cried out, the pain shocking your body. Tears skipped down the sides of your face as you struggled to take all of him. Lloyd growled lowly, bracing his hands on your hips to push himself as far as he could go. You weren’t wet in the slightest. It felt like his dick was made of sandpaper.

Then as quickly as he had entered you, he pulled all the way out. You were momentarily relieved until you felt something wet & hot between your legs.

You shot upwards in horror, “No!”

But Lloyd placed a solid hand on your chest, forcing you to lie down as he delved his tongue along the folds of your cunt. You cried softly, his tongue flicking the sensitive nub before swiping it downwards to delve further. Your legs shook around him, your hands subconsciously finding the top of his head. Your fingers were constantly moving from trying to push him away to tangling themselves in his hair to pull him closer.

It disgusted you how good it was beginning to feel. A pleased sigh passed through your O-shaped lips as he lapped you up. You felt your hips gyrating beneath his ministrations. God, it felt…divine.

The noises you were making began to grow louder as he pushed you closer to the edge. A finger joined his tongue, sliding into you now with ease. The intrusion was almost welcome. You couldn’t deny how wet you were becoming, how horny it was making you, how desperately your hips pushed up into his mouth.

“Stop.” You whispered, unable to use your voice confidently. You felt Lloyd smile against you. Lloyd’s tongue joined his now two fingers, moving gingerly against you.

You grunted, feeling yourself so so close to that gnawing tension waiting to explode deep inside you. Lloyd wrapped his arms around your hips, pushing you as harshly against his face as he could. Then, with one swipe & suck over your bud, you came undone.

A silent cry left your lips as you grabbed his hair, pulling on it as you rode his tongue, your orgasm consuming you. Lloyd never stopped as you came around his fingers, his tongue continuously sucking you, forcing a surprising second smaller orgasm through your whole body. Tears still danced down your skin but you could no longer tell if they were from the pain, or the pleasure.

“Fuckin’ hell, nanny.” Lloyd’s voice sounded faint, muffled. You felt his teeth graze against your skin as he nipped his way up your middle to your tits, “You’re gonna become my new favorite pastime out here in the jungle.”

Words, thoughts, morals escaped you as you slowly found your way back to your body. You swallowed, your mouth dry. Your muscles were at ease, your body still gently shaking.

A hiss slithered between your teeth when Lloyd sheathed himself a second time. This time, your body welcomed him. One of his hands found the back of your neck, gathering the hair there to force you to look at him. It had been a long time since you came like that; it left you feeling dizzy & sluggish.

“Look at me as I fuck you.” Lloyd’s hooded gaze met your own. You fucking hated this man. You hated who he was, what he was about, how he got things done, why he did what he did. Most of all, you hated how he made you feel. And in that very moment, it was nothing but ignorant satisfaction.

He snapped his hips forward, a mutual moan shared between the two of you. Your hands gripped his sides, your nails dragging down his back. In a matter of seconds, his thrusts had sped up. The two of you never dropped eye contact as he fucked you mercilessly. He pressed his forehead against yours, your panting breaths mixing together. The room filled with sounds of flesh on flesh & your shared grunts & groans.

“Raj has never fucked you like this.” The mention of your boss—and lovers—name momentarily took you from the heat of the moment. Through the sensual fog that possessed your mind, everything began to come back to you. Lloyd’s hands dropped to your ass, angling it upwards so he could reach the deepest parts of you. Then as quickly as the fog had cleared, it returned with a vengeance.

The new angle forced a cattish mewl to escape you. Lloyd smirked down at you, pleased with your change in attitude. You reacted. Without warning, you slapped him. The thwack reverberated through the room. Lloyd didn’t stop in his actions but glared hotly down at you. His hand gripped your throat as his thrusts became harsher, more painful. Your hips cried out in pain as he pressed himself closer against you, your legs spreading obscenely wide.

“You hit me again—” He didn’t finish before you slapped twice more. The second one harder than the first two. His cheek was a bright red. A short-lived triumphant grin spread across your lips. That would surely leave a handprint.

But your smile was swiftly diminished as Lloyd wrapped both hands around your neck, using the angle to jackhammer fuck you. His teeth gritted & his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The speed ignited the fire in you once again & you felt your crescendo building. Air remained trapped in your lungs as Lloyd forced you both to the edge. Then, just before you felt your knot coming undone, he released your neck. Air rushed back into your lungs & you half choked, half-moaned through your orgasm.

Lloyd came with you. His head having fallen to the crevice of your neck as he grunted loudly. Your wails & groans matched, informing anyone outside the hut what exactly was going on in there. Lloyd collapsed on top of you, his chest coated with light sweat pressed firmly against your own. The two of you remained like that for quite some time, catching your breaths. Your vision swayed until your conscious mind returned to you.

When it finally had, Lloyd was already slipping back into his underwear. For a moment, you transported back to your early 20’s, remembering the few men you let into your apartment for a night of fun in the sheets. Then how almost immediately after it was over, they would dress, toss you a mediocre ‘thanks’, then leave never to be seen again.

But who stood before you wasn’t some guy you had drunkenly flirted with at a bar. It was Lloyd. He had kidnapped you, he had threatened Gracie, he killed Wanda, he beat the shit out of you. And now he had gotten you to successfully come for him a handful of times.

A sudden rage enveloped you at that moment, & dismissing your nude & likely bruised body, you flung toward him. For the umpteenth time, you slapped him. But you didn’t stop at that. You beat your fists against him, kicking your legs out, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt you. Lloyd had the audacity to chuckle at your attempts, easily maneuvering you until your back was pressed to his front, his arms locked around your upper body, holding your arms in place.

“Hey, hey, now, what the fuck.” He smiled against your neck as he spoke, “I thought we just had fun, there.”

You ripped out from his arms, spinning to face him. You pointed your finger at him, seething, “Fuck. You.”

Lloyd pursed his lips, amused, “I just did, sweetheart.”

“No.” You sobbed, sneering at him, “No, you—”

“Don’t act as if you weren’t willing & as much a part of that as I was.”

“I wasn’t!” You yelled, “That’s not what—”

“You had in mind?” Lloyd cockily walked towards you, his head angled as if he was consoling a crying child, “You thought it was going to be in & out, just like that.”

You shook your head. The memory of everything that just happened flooding your thoughts. You had participated in it, but you didn’t want it to be like that. You didn’t want to enjoy it.

Lloyd reached for you. You tried to pull away but he was stronger anyway. In a surprisingly gentle manner, he pulled you to him, caressing the top of your head, “It’s okay, nanny. I won’t tell anyone you enjoyed it.”

When he pulled you away long enough to offer a condolence smile, you wanted nothing more than to rip that hideous mustache off his face. “That’ll be our little secret.”

He let you go then, bending at the waste to gather the rest of his clothes. You remembered then that you were fully naked. Though the dress was useless, you still used the fabric to cover yourself as you sat on the bed.

“Your honey Raj will never find out.” Lloyd spoke casually & light-hearted to you, “Promise.”

“Fuck your promises.”

“Hey, now.” He stared at you wide-eyed, stern, “I let you see the brat, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t argue there. Moving forward, you changed subjects, “So, now what? You got what you wanted. Do I get to see Gracie regularly?”

Lloyd slipped his shirt over his head, sauntering over to the mirror above the dresser to groom his mustache. He ignored your question for a moment longer before he clasped his hands together, facing you, “I’ll tell you what, nanny.”

You already weren’t liking where he was going.

“I’ll let you have your regular schedule with her, the one you had before I picked you guys up.” You rolled your eyes at the comment, like he had rolled into school to pick up his kids for the day, “You can teach the brat math or play dolls or hunt for seashells, whatever it is you feel like doing to distract yourselves.”

You really weren’t liking where this was going.

Lloyd eyed you playfully then, “But then once you’re done with her. You come to me. You come take care of me.”

Your mouth went dry. You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“But I thought—”

“Once isn’t enough, nanny. Once is never enough!” He laughed, “Unless you’re ugly, then once is plenty.”

You shook your head. It was unbelievable.

“Or.” He continued, approaching you. Once he reached you, you tightened the fabric around your body. He smirked at the action but didn’t address it. Lloyd took your chin in his hands, his fingers pulling down on your lower lip, “I make it so you never see her, & you take care of me anyway.”

For you it was a lose-lose, for Gracie it was a win-lose, but for Lloyd it was a win-win. You closed your eyes, wishing you could wake up from this nightmare & find yourself back at the villa. Wanda in the kitchen with Gracie at the counter drawing.

Opening your eyes, you glared up at him.

“What’ll it be, nanny? The suspense is killing me.”

“You win.” You muttered, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You were going to anyway.” He said what you already knew, “But at least you’re halfway on board. And I have the rest of the time you’re here to get you on for the rest of it.”

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[classickook]

more than a job | sierra six

pairing: courtland gentry (sierra six) x gn!reader

summary: six has been overseeing your safety for a couple of years now, but you’re suddenly wondering if he regrets it and wishes his life was different.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of anxiety, mentions of death, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.1k

a/n: finally watched the gray man and now i’m obsessed with this guy. hopefully i captured his character okay, but i’ll be working on some more fics for him in the future!

six was currently positioned by the window, peeking through the thin gap in the loose curtains of your safe house. he was silent, calculating, observant. it was no surprise to you as this was his typical behavior since he had been assigned to guard you after your father’s passing, but something about the noticeable tension in his broad shoulders felt different.

“six? what’s going on?” you asked, feeling your pulse flutter in your throat.

he slowly reached for the gun strapped to his belt and stepped closer, offering you a brief glance before it jumped back to the window and then to the front door. both were as securely locked as they were the last five times he had checked, but six was on high alert and had apparently deemed your surroundings as unsafe by some outside threat.

he put a strong hand your shoulder and you could feel the intense heat of his skin through your shirt as he ushered you out the back door. “we need to get out of here.”

“what—”

“go,” he said firmly, steely blue eyes flashing in warning.

obediently, you rushed out the door and felt him follow closely, gun arm raised behind him as the other stayed glued to your shoulder, guiding you through the dense woods just outside the safe house.

“who is that?” you whispered.

he shot you a silencing glare and you bit down on your tongue, understanding that this really wasn’t the time or place for questions; you would ask later.

six signaled ahead to a copse of trees and you swiftly stepped toward it, avoiding tripping over any stones or snapping fallen branches that would give away your location.

once hidden from view, six backed you into a tree trunk and covered you with his large form, his broad back facing you as he surveyed the area with his gun still raised ahead.

“six—” you started again as softly as you could muster, his name passing your lips on a faint breath that was swept up with the wind, but it must have been too loud for his liking as he held up a hand to silence you.

he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side, lowering his mouth to your ear. the heat of his breath warmed your chilled skin from the brisk air of the woods. “you see that hill up ahead?” you nodded. “just past it is another safe house, a bit larger and sturdier. when i say go, you need to run up there as fast as you possibly can, understand?”

he noticed the question forming on your lips and shushed you with a brisk shake of his head. “there are three men who have been following us and discovered our location. we need to move ahead before they catch on.” his blue eyes flitted back and forth between yours while still keeping his ears perked at any sudden noise. you could always tell when his attention was split by the way his eyes flickered with a faraway look, turning darker, sharper, and his brows pinched just enough to notice.

“when i say go,” he repeated, annunciating each word as he went, “you run like hell. i’ll take care of the men here and catch up to you. do you understand me?”

you nodded quickly, suddenly feeling the severity of the situation and feeling a twinge of anxiety settle in your stomach.

“good.” he faced forward again and took a single step forward until a branch snapped up ahead and he shifted into action. “go!” he bellowed and you raced off to the hill, dodging around trees and crunching onto scattered leaves and sticks that littered the forest floor.

your heart pounded against your ribcage and the cool air choked the breath from your lungs. this wasn’t the first time you had been on the run and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it never got easier.

gunshots rang out from behind you, one right after another in quick succession, and you practically felt it vibrate through your boots as you ran. birds squawked as the deafening noise disrupted their nests and then the air was filled with chaos and bullets.

you spotted the safe house up ahead, bolting for the front door as shouts sounded from somewhere in the woods. without wasting any more time, you shouldered the door open and then slammed it closed, locking it soundly before hiding beneath the windowsill as you waited for six to join you.

silence and dust filled the air within the safe house, and you had never felt so alone than you did in that moment. your heart thundered as you tried to catch your breath, worried that this would be the moment that six lost, that he would be gone forever and leave you here.

you closed your eyes as tears pricked the corners and you tried to calm yourself down, you really did, but the day had been so chaotic and overwhelming that it all came crashing down on you.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed curled up by the window when you suddenly heard the familiar patterned knock that six had taught you, the one that only he used to let you know it was him.

shooting to your feet, you unlocked the door and shoved it open to see six standing at the threshold, chest heaving and sweat-slicked strands of blond hair sticking to his forehead.

you jumped forward and threw your arms around his waist, relief flooding through your system at seeing him again.

“i thought—i thought that—”

he returned your embrace and ran a hand through your hair as he shushed you with comforting words. “i’m here now. it’s okay. they’re gone. you’re safe.”

six walked you further into the house and attempted to settle you onto the lumpy couch, but you had questions—questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since the two of you first ran off from earlier in the day.

“who were those guys? how did they find us? did my father really have that many enemies? i mean, where did they come from? how did he know them and—”

“it wasn’t because of your father this time,” he interrupted.

your brows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean? i thought that’s why you were assigned to me, i thought—”

“it was because of me, okay? you’re a liability for me,” he blurted out.

you froze, eyes wide and heart caught in your throat. on the one hand, being a liability indicated that you were valuable, that you meant something to him; on the other hand, however, a liability was burdening, suffocating, someone or something that weighed a person down. were you doing that to six? were you weighing him down, holding him back? were you just another job to him?

of course you were, you thought pathetically. he had been assigned to guard you just a couple of years prior and had always taken the task seriously, never questioning anything or perceiving you as a chore, never once condescending or mean. but maybe that had changed without your knowledge, maybe he had hidden his true feelings toward you and this job until it got to be too much. you were too much.

you thought back to the first time the two of you had met, just days after your father’s murder and you were still grieving, though you had your own way of showing it.

“who the hell are you?” you had asked shortly.

“six.”

“six like the number? what, was one through five taken?” you had snorted at the joke.

“yes,” he had replied simply.

“oh.”

“any other questions?”

“not currently, no.”

he had given a brisk nod before turning on his heel. “good, then let’s get going.”

you always joked too much and teased him relentlessly, making light of the tragedy that was your life now: no living relatives, always on the run from your father’s never-ending list of enemies.

maybe six had finally had enough and he was going to leave you just like everyone else in your life had.

you swallowed past the lump in your throat as he continued, answering your silent questions while momentarily glancing between you and the wall like it was difficult for him to look at you for too long.

“there are people out there who will hurt you to get to me, do you understand that?” he paused, and you realized that it wasn’t just a rhetorical question and he was waiting for you to acknowledge the severity of his situation. you nodded your assent, nothing more than a slight tilt to your chin but he took it for what it was.

“i am a cog in this corrupt machine of a world we live in and it is my responsibility to keep you safe, to make sure none of that ugliness touches you. i won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” he said lowly, tone a soft velvet against your ears, “but you have to work with me here, y/n. you have to do as i say when i say it, or—” he cut himself off and you noticed the tick of his jaw before he finished, deathly quiet, “or i might lose you, and i can’t lose you.”

you stared wide-eyed, words dying in your throat as his speech came to an end. you had thought he was going to abandon you, leave you to fend for yourself in this safe house in the middle of nowhere, not express how much he cared for you.

“this is where you say something, y/n,” he muttered, gaze softening.

“i’m not sure i know what to say…” you bit your lip then continued, “i thought you were going to get rid of me.”

“‘get rid of you’? why would i do that?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“i just thought—i thought maybe you had gotten sick of me. that i was too complicated of a job and you wanted out.”

you noticed the steady rise and fall of his chest falter as realization settled over him. six took a cautious step forward, then another and another until he was standing a hairsbreadth away from you. his hand lifted to brush lightly along your cheek, softer and gentler than you would have ever expected from the man.

“you’re not just a job to me, y/n, and i’m far from being sick of you. why do you think i’ve stuck around this long, hm?” he asked quietly, a slight curve to his lips. “i stayed because i like you. you make me laugh and distract me from my demons and change my entire outlook on life. sure, we were both dealt a pretty shitty hand, yeah?” you snorted in agreement and his thumb swiped across your bottom lip, gently tugging on the cushion of it. “you make my life worth living, make it not so bad. i need you… probably more than you need me.”

“i sincerely doubt that,” you whispered. “i’d be dead without you. literally.”

he breathed out a laugh. “yeah, well, life wouldn’t really be sunshine and rainbows without you either, sweetheart.”

your cheeks flamed at the endearment, loving how it sounded coming from him, the velvety baritone of his voice warming you from the inside out.

“so, if it’s all right with you,” he said softly, “i’d like to stick around. how about it?”

you smiled, feeling his thumb pulling from where it still rested on your lip. you nipped it gently and giggled at his reaction. “i’d like that a lot.”

“good, ‘cause i’m not going anywhere. not without you.”

“good.”

his lips lowered to your forehead as he placed a soft kiss there. “what do you say we change out of these clothes? get some food in you, hm?”

you peered down at your muddy boots and tattered shirt, thanks to the jagged branches that had caught and snagged at your clothing as you raced through the woods. “yeah, that would probably be best.”

his lips quirked up into a smile. “there’s a stash in the bedroom over there. grab whatever you can find and i’ll see what kind of canned epicurean delight i’ve got in the cupboards.”

you rolled your eyes at his playfulness, relishing in this brief moment of peace between the two of you. “thanks, six,” you said quietly.

“courtland.”

“what?”

“my real name is courtland,” he replied, almost sheepish. “just thought it was time i finally told you.”

a grin stretched across your face at his honesty, at this little glimpse into his true self that he was sharing with you, deeming you worthy enough to receive it—to receive him.

“thank you for trusting me with it… courtland.”

[elusivewildflower]

The Other Fitzroy | Part 2

Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x F! Reader

Summary: This chapter takes place in “present day” where Reader and Claire are currently held hostage in Croatia by Lloyd. Their uncle, Donald Fitzroy, is finally brought to join them, and Six shows up to save the day. Reader has a big secret that’s finally revealed.

Warnings: cursing, brief mentions of torture, death of characters (all of which happened in the movie), blood, gunshot wounds, etc.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: I know this took forever, and I am sorry about that! I hope you guys will enjoy this part as much as the first, even though it doesn’t contain any smut. It follows along mostly with the movie, with some changes I needed to add to incorporate reader into the story. Please let me know if you liked it! Thank you so much to @truesblue​ for being my beta! <3 

Part One

You softly hummed while stroking Claire’s hair to calm her, allowing her to lull herself to sleep for some much needed rest. You kept your eyes wide open, though, having promised her that you’d keep watch as she did. You didn’t think you’d be able to fall asleep regardless of the promise you made her, too wired with adrenaline and fear over your current situation. 

You were both laid on top of the covers of the queen sized bed, locked within the extravagantly large room of the castle you were being held hostage. Every fiber in your body was on edge, and you hadn’t been able to sleep since the two of you arrived a day ago. You probably looked like shit by now, dark bags under your eyes, but there were no mirrors in the room to confirm that suspicion. 

As you listened for any footsteps outside of your room, you let your thoughts drift away into worries that caused tears to well in your eyes. You had almost been killed when the mercenaries came to kidnap you and your sister, your training immediately kicking in and not letting you go down without a fight. However, it quickly went south when you realized just how outnumbered you were—and you owed your life to the screams from Claire and a reminder from one of the men that you were meant to be brought in alive. The one that had had his gun aimed right at your temple backed off, but only once the reality of the situation began to sink in. You were trained to fight, but you had much less experience than those who’d been sent to capture you. Still, you had managed to take a few of the men out, a slit of the throat here, a couple gunshots to the chest there, before they cornered you. 

Your jaw trembled as you fought to keep your tears at bay. You were thankful that you had been given the heads up by your uncle that something was going on, and that you were here with Claire, doing your best to keep her safe. You were worried for Donald, as you knew he had to be in danger as well—and even Court. But there was one other person that you were worried about above all….

Your daughter. 

You and your uncle had tried your best to keep the existence of your daughter hidden, and you were extremely grateful for that precautionary measure. It meant that the second Donald called to give you a heads up, you gathered a bag filled with your daughter's things and strapped her into the car seat. You had a friend that knew your situation, knew your uncle’s profession was dangerous, and thankfully asked no questions when you arrived on her doorstep with your toddler in tow. You gave your daughter—Lyla—a hug, a kiss, and a promise that you’d be back for her, one you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep. Then you were gone, back to the Fitzroy house to protect your little sister. 

Now, here you were. Trapped in a castle—that if it weren’t currently being used as a prison—you’d find yourself enjoying staying in. The view from your room was beautiful, the hedge maze you’d caught a glimpse of on your way in even looked enticing to get lost in. In other circumstances you’d probably be able to imagine yourself as a character in one of the romance novels you’ve read. A Lady sneaking about the grounds in hopes to meet up with a devilishly handsome Lord. But sadly, this wasn’t anything like the novels you enjoyed getting lost in, this was the harsh reality of being a hostage. There was nothing romantic about your situation.

Successfully killing a few of their men only served to bite you in the ass. Anytime your captors entered the room, or escorted you for a bathroom break, a gun was pointed in your direction. You were completely and utterly trapped. All you could do was wait, and pray that either your uncle or Six would be able to save you and Claire—and hope that no one had uncovered where you had hidden your daughter. It killed you that you couldn’t be with her, but so long as no one found out that she existed, she was much safer right where you had left her. 

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching and the door being pushed open pulled you from your thoughts and woke Claire from her slumber. The both of you sat up on the bed, bodies tense and hearts beating high in your chests. A breath of relief escaped from the both of you as the familiar figure of your uncle was shoved through the doorway. 

Claire shot off of the bed, running directly into his arms. Donald wrapped his arms around her tightly, his head resting atop of hers as he muttered calming words to her. You simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed as you let them have their moment, but you didn’t fail to catch the look of relief on your uncle's face when he saw the both of you unharmed. His eyes met yours and he gave a nod as Claire clung to him. A soft smile pulled at your lips, one that didn’t reach your eyes. 

“Lyla?” Your uncle questioned softly, not wanting to speak your daughter's name too loudly. 

“Safe.” You responded, before sighing softly, “At least I hope.” Your voice trembled slightly as the fear of the unknown crept over you once more.

He gave a single nod of his head, “She is.” You both knew there was no way to guarantee that, but still his words comforted you.  

It was only a few hours later when Lloyd and his men stormed into the room. You had finally been able to catch a few moments of rest, your uncle assuring you he’d wake you if something happened. However, you didn’t need to be woken by him as the sound of the door slamming open had you awake and alert within seconds. You moved to stand just as Lloyd was making his way into the room. 

“Goldilocks, will you be a lamb and excuse us?” He spoke, his words aimed directly at Claire as he marched towards her. He grabbed her by her shirt, forcefully removing her from the couch as two of his men came and grabbed you by your arms. 

“Go to hell,” Claire spat out, being shoved off by Lloyd to two of his other men as more went straight for your uncle. 

“Hey! Whoa!” Claire shouted as she was tossed about, her arms being harshly grabbed by the two men she had been thrown towards. They began carrying her out of the room, as your uncle yelled after them. 

“She has a pacemaker, jackass!” 

Whilst your sister was fighting within their grasp on her way out, you were simply allowing the men to escort you out into the hallway. Perhaps it had something to do with the gun that was pressed into your spine. Lloyd’s voice stopped them as you were half-way through the room. 

“Well then she definitely shouldn’t stick around for this next part–woah, wait. Not you sweetheart, you’re a big girl. You get to stay and watch.” He raised his hand to motion for the men to stop leading you outside, then beckoning them to bring you closer as your uncle was being forced into a seat. 

Lloyd shushed your uncle as he threatened to annihilate him if he hurt you or Claire. Lloyd seemed unbothered by his words, moving to stand behind Donald, facing the window. You didn’t blame him, he knew who held the power right now–and it wasn’t you or your uncle. “Who’s in Prague?” 

“There’s three million people in Prague, I don’t know all of their names.” Your uncle responded nonchalantly. 

“Your boy sent a package to an address in Prague. Must be someone out there that he really trusts.” Lloyd pauses for a moment. “Who is it?” 

“Your mother.” 

Lloyd quickly closes the gap between him and your uncle. “Boring.” His hands raise to grab Donald’s ears, twisting them sharply. The action makes you grimace as Donald groans in pain. You shift your stance slightly, only to feel the hands that held you into place tighten and the gun pressed to your spine dig into your skin harshly. 

Moving to take a seat in front of Donald, Lloyd scoots his chair closer and picks up the tool he had placed earlier on the table. “Who’s in Prague?” He asked again. 

“Nobody.” Came Donald’s quick response. 

“Boring.” Lloyd’s response came just as fast as he began to forcefully remove one of your uncle’s nails. You averted your eyes to the floor as Donald groaned, a phantom pain radiating from your own finger that had you flinching. “Should we try this again?” He questioned, moving the tool to his next finger. 

“Okay, fine.” Donald huffed. You had to admit you’d never seen your uncle’s resolve tested in action. When it came to his own pain, he could put up with quite a bit. Lloyd removed another nail before asking who was in Prague once again. “I already told you, I don’t know.” He gritted out. 

Lloyd stood up abruptly, the tool clattering down on the table. He tsked in Donald’s direction before closing the distance between you and him. His hand raised up to cup your jaw harshly, forcing you to look up at his face. 

“Don’t you touch her!” Your uncle shouted from where he was bound to the chair. 

Lloyd grinned wickedly. “But where would be the fun in that?” He spoke in Donald’s direction before turning his gaze back to you. “See, I found some interesting information when I went digging through your file, Donnie. Sweetheart here was hospitalized about two years back, but all the paperwork of the reason why was hidden.” He began, pausing for a dramatic moment before he continued his spiel. “At first, I thought you just had a fucked up heart like your little sister. But what I found was much more surprising.” His blue eyes locked with yours, a brow raised as he regarded your reaction. You steeled your emotions as best as you could, but you couldn’t hide the way your breathing picked up pace. “You were pregnant.” He released his hold on your jaw as he revealed one of your well-kept secrets. 

The room fell silent for a moment, your gaze dropping to the floor. Lloyd laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry, I haven’t managed to find where you hid her before we snatched you up.” You would’ve let out a sigh of relief from that, but a second later he reached into his pocket and a switchblade was pressed to your throat. You swallowed thickly as you felt the blade nick your skin, a grimace crossed your features. He leaned down enough that you could feel his breath fan over your face. “How about we change that?” 

As he pressed the blade further into your skin, your uncle spoke up. “Wait!” Lloyd turned his attention towards Donald, but he made no move to lift the blade. You could feel blood trickling down your neck and staining your shirt, the sting of the cut causing your eyes to water. Donald begrudgingly relinquished the information that Lloyd wanted. Margaret Cahill was the one Six trusted the most in Prague. Satisfied with that answer, he pulled the blade away from your throat and tucked it back into his pocket. Before he stepped away from you completely, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “When we find your boy, should I keep him alive long enough so you can tell him about your little secret? Or should I break the news?”

You couldn’t control the look of worry that contorted your face. How had he put together that Court was the father of your child so quickly? You hadn’t told anyone, not even Donald knew that secret. Lloyd leans back a bit to gauge your reaction, shooting you a wink. He then gives a snap of his fingers as he moves to exit the room, his men following suit. 

Tears continued to brim in your eyes as you helped your uncle out of the bindings he was trapped in. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

You shook your head, handing him some cloth to wrap his hand in that Lloyd’s men had tossed on the table before leaving. The rest of the cloth was used to stop the light bleeding on your neck. “It’s okay. At least he doesn’t know where she is.” 

Several hours had passed. Claire had been returned to the room shortly after Lloyd left. Her and Donald were lounging on the bed as you leaned against the wall, staring out the window. It was dusk now, and though you could hardly see anything outside, you refused to move from your spot. 

“He’s coming to save us, right?” Claire’s soft voice asked. 

“If he can walk, it’ll be right through those doors.” Donald responded, raising his injured hand and gesturing towards the double doors of the room, his other wrapped around Claire’s body. 

Hope blossomed within your chest at his words, however there was still the worry that your rescue would never come. That Court would wind up injured, or worse, and not be able to save the three of you. Your daughter would never get the chance to meet her father. You sighed, conflicted as your thoughts plagued you, drawing the attention of Donald. 

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” He asked curiously. 

You turned away from the window, leaning your back against the wall as you now faced the bed. You could feel Claire and Donald’s eyes on you, but you refused to raise your gaze from the floor. You opened your mouth to speak, but then hesitated, your breath catching in your throat. Trying again, you managed to get your words out. “I…think there’s something I should tell you guys.” Your eyes rose from the floor to meet their expectant looks. Uncomfortable, you shifted your weight from either leg. “Lyla’s father,” you paused, your heart pounding in your chest. “Her father is…Six.” You finally admitted. 

Donald looked to be stunned into silence, Claire being the first to speak. “Wait, so you and Six…” she trailed off, giving you time to nod in response. Her face scrunched up in disgust. “Gross.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her reaction, glancing towards your uncle for his. “Donald?” You questioned, a brow raised. 

“I knew her eyes looked familiar. She mostly takes after you, but she has his blue eyes.” He finally responded after several moments. You smiled softly, nodding in agreement. 

“He doesn’t know, does he?” He questioned softly. 

Shaking your head, you pushed yourself from the wall and moved to sit at the foot of the bed. “How could he?” You shrugged. “He was sent off on another mission directly after you came back, and I didn’t realize I was pregnant until a while later.” 

“I could’ve called him.” He offered. Your eyes met his and you shared a look. You both knew the kind of life Court lived wasn’t conducive to a family. Donald sighed, a soft smile spreading across his face as you had your silent conversation. 

“If we make it out of here, I’ll tell him.” You promised. 

Donald nodded. “Good.” You gave both of them a gentle pat on their legs before returning back to your position by the window. Within moments of watching the night sky, your eyes caught something flying through the air. You didn’t have time to decipher what it was before it connected with the helicopter that was monitoring the property. A large boom sounded as the helicopter exploded into flames. It had been a rocket you saw soaring through the night.

“Holy sh-” You gasped, the explosion sending shockwaves through the wall that your hand was resting on. Donald leaped up from the bed to join you at the window, peering out to see what was going on, Claire was right behind him. Another rocket was shot in the dark, only making itself known when it hit its target and combusted. The shots were coming from the entrance of the castle, with Lloyd’s men returning fire in the same direction. Someone was launching an attack, and you had a sneaking suspicion that Court had something to do with it.

“Get away from the window,” your uncle instructed, ushering both you and Claire towards the bed. You wrapped an arm around your sister as you both sat down, eyes and ears alert for any signs of sudden danger. When the sound of gunfire right outside in the hallway began, you stood to shield Claire just as Donald moved to the center of the room. There were a few more shots, the sound of bodies dropping to the floor, and then it all ceased. You held your breath as you strained to hear what was going on outside. A second later and the door was pushed open, a sigh of relief falling from your lips at the familiar form of Court in the doorway. He checked the hall to make sure it was clear before glancing into the room, giving all of you a wink. 

“Attaboy,” Donald praised as Claire breathed out a laugh once Court had fully stepped into the room. 

“Fitz,” Court greeted with a nod as he walked through the room, heading towards the first window. “You able?” He questions your uncle, who raises his bloody and bandaged hand. 

“Well, I can walk, but I’m missing a wing.” Donald responds.

Court pulls the window curtain shut, turning his attention back to Donald. “Can you wiggle your finger?” 

Your uncle raises his right hand, “With this wing.” 

Court gives a nod, moving closer to pass him a handgun. “That’ll do.” He walks towards where you and Claire are standing by the bed, giving you both a quick glance as he moves to the second window. “You both okay?” He asked, but neither of you directly responded.

“Took you long enough.” Claire finally spoke up, drawing Court’s attention back to her after he had shut those curtains. 

“Sorry about that, my flight was delayed.” He apologized, his eyes now shifting towards you. They lower slightly and in an instance he’s closing the distance between you. Clearly, he’s noticed the short, angry, red lines upon your neck from Lloyd’s blade. He hooks a gloved finger beneath your chin and gently coaxes you to lift your head, allowing him a better view of your throat. He moves his hand to lightly trace over the cuts, fingertips barely touching your skin as he lets out an unhappy grunt. “You okay?” He asked softly. 

You let out a hum as you nodded, “Yeah, I’m good.” He responded with a short nod of his own before letting his hand drop back down to his gun.

“I knew you’d catch another one.” Donald spoke up after watching Court worry over you. The sound of floorboards creaking in the hallway drew everyone’s attention, Donald and Court immediately raising their guns. 

Court took a moment to pass ear plugs in Claire’s direction. “Put these in your ears,” He whispered before taking a few steps forward, the barrel of his gun pointed at the wall in front of him. One, two, three shots were fired by Court, and the sound of a body hitting the floor followed soon after. “You ready?” He asked a bit rhetorically before he began leading the way out of the room. 

Of course you were ready to get the hell out of the castle, you were sure that all of you were, but you weren’t all that ready to venture out of the room without a weapon. You trusted Court and your uncle with your life, but you would’ve felt a bit more secure if you had a way to help. Regardless, you had to keep moving. You held Claire’s hand as you followed closely behind Court, and you certainly didn’t miss the way her hand trembled in yours. You squeezed her hand reassuringly, though it didn’t seem to help much. Court navigates you through portions of the castle you haven’t even seen before, and before you know it, you’re traversing through a door that leads you to a parapet walk. You move swiftly across the stone, pulling Claire along with you to keep up. As Court pauses and takes cover against one of the pillars, you follow suit. 

“Do you have a plan, or are we just improvising?” Donald asks from his place at the end of your formation. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan. You got your swim trunks?” Court responds dryly just as bullets come flying in your direction. Court reacts instantly, stepping forward to return the shots as you, Claire, and Donald run for cover. Along the way, a searing hot pain tore through your upper right thigh, causing you to cry out softly. You didn’t have time to check your leg until you were safe, limping the rest of the way before sitting next to Claire as you all hid behind another pillar. You had just been grazed by a bullet, your jeans darkening with blood around the wound. Thank God, you thought, a graze you could survive–it hurt like a bitch– but you’d just need to stop the bleeding. As Court returned, you applied pressure to your leg, glancing up in his direction. His eyes met yours before falling to your leg, his brow creasing with worry as he took in your blood-stained pants. 

“It’s just a graze,” you explained. But that didn’t stop Court from crouching down immediately and ripping your hand away to assess the damage himself. Once he had concluded that you weren’t lying, he placed your hand back and applied pressure. 

Court heaved a sigh, “Alright, let’s get ready to jump.” 

“Think I’m gonna have to take the stairs,” Donald wheezed. 

You and Court’s heads whipped in his direction. “What are you talking about?” Court asked as you simply furrowed your brows. Donald pulled his hand away from his stomach, his white button-up was stained with dark red blood.

“What the hell is that?” Court asked at the same time that you shakily gasped, “No.” 

“What does it look like?” Donald quipped as Court pulled his hand from yours and moved towards your uncle. You missed the warmth of his hand on yours, and your body certainly missed the pressure–more blood began to seep into your jeans, the red stain growing. 

“Go, Six, get them outta here,” your uncle instructed. Court merely growls in response. He stands up and moves to fire several more shots in the direction of Lloyd’s men, grunting and growling in distress. 

Poor Claire had her ears covered and head tucked down, too far gone into shock to realize what was going on around her. Out of bullets, Court drops back down in front of Donald. “Take the gun and give me the grenade,” Donald orders. 

Court is ignoring him, reaching to move Donald’s hand from his stomach. “Let me see it. Put some pressure on it.” Donald tries handing him the gun, repeating his order. “Get the damn gun out of my face and shut up, I need to think.” Court continues, exasperation clear in his voice.

“You don’t have time to think!” Donald responds. “Six, look at me. I’m out. Get them gone.” He continued as Court stared at him. It was easy to see that Court was fighting with himself internally. You were focusing on your breathing, eyes focused on the two men, trying to ignore the pain that radiated from your leg and Claire was still sobbing, not paying any attention at all. “Take the gun, give me a hand grenade and go! You understand me?” 

Court begrudgingly traded Donald’s handgun for a grenade and reached to grab Claire by her arm. You pressed your weight against the pillar behind your back as you moved to stand, gritting your teeth together. 

“You both go with Six,” your uncle encouraged, waving you off with his free hand. Court counted down from three before you all began moving. He fires off shots to cover your escape as Claire wrestles out of his hold to run back to Donald. 

“Claire, no!” You call after her, ready to move, but a raise of Court’s hand has you staying in place as he goes back to get her. Tears well in your eyes as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Claire is screaming and crying over not wanting to lose Donald, not wanting to leave him behind, but Donald is pushing her away as Court grabs ahold of her again. There’s only so many bullets in a handgun and you need to get moving before Court runs out. You give one last glance towards your uncle before reaching out to grab Claire’s other arm as Court drags her back to you. She’s still crying and thrashing in your grasp, but you’re able to get her to move forward as Court fires his gun once again before following behind you. 

Reaching a spot on the parapet walk that Court deems good enough to jump off from, he hoists Claire up onto the stone wall. He then turns to you. “Ready for a swim, my lady?” He asked in a deadpan manner. You snorted in response. It was hard to have humor in a situation like this, but if anyone could, you knew it to be him. Still, the words were successful in making you laugh–if only because it meant he had remembered your favorite books. He helped you up onto the wall before quickly joining the two of you. He reached for your hand as he started to count, and on three, you all jumped. 

Crashing into the moat below certainly didn’t help alleviate any of your pain. The water caused the wound on your thigh to burn even more than it did already. It hurt to kick your leg as you rose to the surface, but you still had a bit of adrenaline fueling you. You were hoping that little bit would stick around until you made it out of here. When you were about half-way across the moat, an explosion sounded behind you. You pause mid-swim and turn your head back towards the noise. Your heart sinks in your chest, as you know exactly what that means. Donald’s gone. Claire begins to sob, unable to continue on her own, and Six wraps his arm around her, dragging him along with him. He casts a glance towards you, but you are already moving again, silent tears trailing down your cheeks. You don’t have time to openly grieve, but the tears that fell were uncontrollable.

Court helped both you and Claire out of the water before leading you into a boat. He was moving towards the motor when the lights of a vehicle rapidly approaching appeared. “Stay here,” He ordered before walking off. You were quite content to do as he said, slumping against the wall of the boat as you took a seat on the floor. Claire curled up beside you, shivering and shaking as shots rang out nearby. You happened to pop your head up right as Lloyd ran past, tackling Court. Claire must’ve done the same, as she began crawling around the boat, seemingly searching for something. 

“Claire, what are you doing?” You asked, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I’m helping Six!” She responded, cheering softly when she found a flare gun. She stood abruptly and began to leave the boat. 

“Oh, fuck.” You sighed as you heaved yourself into a standing position, following after her. Your leg screamed in protest. It had a chance to rest and it didn’t want you to start moving again, but you weren’t about to let Claire go off on her own. Your eyes widened as you realized why Claire had wanted to help Court, she must’ve seen that Lloyd was beginning to have the upper hand in their fight. 

Claire aimed the flare gun in Lloyd’s direction and fired it off at the perfect time. The spark hit Lloyd in his back, giving Court an opportunity to flip the gun in his direction. He fired it off when Lloyd stupidly placed his hand on the muzzle, blowing a couple of fingers off. Lloyd recoiled in pain, hollering for someone to shoot Court. You gasped softly as you watched him have to roll into the water to dodge bullets, and that gave enough time for Lloyd to walk in your direction. 

“Wait, please don’t shoot!” He cried out.

You grabbed the flare gun from Claire and pushed her back towards the boat, “Run, Claire!” You ordered. Thankfully, for once, she listened and took off. Unfortunately for you, the time you bought her to run for safety gave Lloyd enough to reach you. Your instincts told you to kick, a move you had been taught to keep space between you and an enemy, but your injured leg slowed you down. Lloyd caught your foot mid-air and used it to twist you harshly. You lost your balance and crashed to the gravel below. Your head bounced up from the impact of hitting the ground, and you didn’t even have time to reorient yourself before Lloyd was grabbing you and lifting you to your feet. Oh, everything hurts now. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Lloyd whispers to you, wrapping his arm around your neck as he aims the flare gun at your head. You blink a few times to clear your vision as Lloyd is walking backwards, pulling you along with him. Court is quickly following, his gun aimed at Lloyd, but neither makes any sort of move to fire. You lose sight of Court as Lloyd pulls you into the hedge maze. Your head is pounding, your back aches, and your leg….you didn’t even know how to describe the pain there. You’re pretty certain there are pieces of gravel in your bullet wound now, and Lloyd twisting that leg definitely pulled something. You weren’t even actively struggling against him and he was having a hard time dragging you along. He grew annoyed with you, huffing out a breath of air. “Pick. Your. Feet. Up.” He enunciated each word as he whispered it to you. 

“I’m trying,” you bit back. “It’s not easy to do when you’re being dragged.” Your words were spoken much louder than his, purposefully trying to make enough noise that Court would know which turn to take.

“Shut up,” he snapped, taking another few turns around the maze before pausing. “If you move, I’ll kill you.” He warned as he bent down to steal one of the laces of your shoes, using it to stop the bleeding from his missing fingers. When he finished, he resumed his previous hold on you, and pulled you along until you reached an opening in the maze. There was a large fountain in the middle, with several benches scattered around. It was as beautiful as you imagined it to be whilst trapped in the castle. Too bad you’d never be able to properly enjoy it. 

It didn’t take long for Court to find the two of you, entering the courtyard-like area with his gun aimed in Lloyd’s direction. “Now, I’m gonna stop you right there, cupcake.” Lloyd called out to him as Court stopped on the other side of the fountain. “Why don’t we wrap this up? But first, you’re gonna throw me that gun or your girl gets a new face.” 

Court didn’t make any moves to do so. “If you think I won’t kill her, you’re sorely mistaken.” Lloyd calls out again. He turns the flare gun just a bit to the right so that it would only graze you, and pulls the trigger with it against your cheek. The heat of the gun burns you, and a cry escapes from your lips. That prompted Court into action. He unloads the gun within seconds and tosses it across. It lands in the fountain, a few feet away from Lloyd. “Cute. I meant with the bullets.” 

“Nobody throws a loaded gun, Lloyd.” Court called back in response. 

Lloyd let out a sigh of annoyance, then a wicked smirk spreads across his face. “Do you wanna tell him your little secret, or shall I, sweetheart?” He may have been speaking to you, but his voice rings loud and clear across the courtyard. You swallow thickly. This is so not how you wanted Court to find out about his daughter. The fear of not knowing what his reaction would be bubbled up inside of you like all of the other times you’ve thought about telling him. He’s not supposed to have a family. He technically doesn’t even exist. He’s never even been able to live his own life, always following the orders of those who command him. What would he want with a child? 

Lloyd took your silence as a response, even though you were really lost in your own thoughts. “Guess it’s on me, then.” He announced with a shrug. “When they first told me to find you, I was at a momentary loss. You have no file, no records, or anything to go off of. But, your father-like figure, Fitzroy, had quite a few.” Lloyd began, pausing briefly as he let the words linger in the air. “That’s how I found out about Claire and sweetheart here. I also found out that roughly two years ago, when Fitzroy’s home address was leaked, that he had one of the Sierra’s come stay with his girls while he was out on a mission.” Lloyd clicked his tongue. “Now, I only know of one Sierra that Fitzroy would trust to be around his family like that. It was you, right?” He questioned, pausing for a response. 

You watched as Court nodded his head, but he gave no verbal response to Lloyd’s question. It was hard to see clearly from how far away you were, but it seemed like he was confused, the gears in his head turning as he tried to put together where Lloyd’s story was heading. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be as surprised as I was when I found out that this one,” he jostled you around a bit in his grip, “was admitted to the hospital about…I don’t know…nine months later?” You felt Court’s gaze on you more than you could see it. “Did something happen between the two of you that uncle Fitz might’ve been upset about if he found out?” Lloyd’s words were rhetorical as he let forth a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure he loves–oops–loved his grandniece very much regardless of where she came from.” Lloyd’s correction of using the past tense form of love in regards to your uncle tore your heart in two. It was a slap in the face that you really didn’t need. You weren’t sure how this day could get any worse. Lloyd pushed you away from him, waving you off. “Go on and say goodbye to your baby daddy.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip to keep your jaw from trembling as you began limping in Court’s direction. Tears welled in your eyes as you grew closer to reaching him. By the time you had reached a few feet in front of him, they were trailing down your cheeks. From afar, Court’s expression had been unreadable, but up close it was easy to tell that Lloyd’s words had affected him. It was all in his eyes, the one place that he’d let his emotions be displayed. “Court, I’m so sorry,” you began. “I should’ve found a way to tell you sooner. I-I was just afraid,” you stuttered out, sniffling in between every few words.

He shook his head, cutting you off as he closed the gap between you and cupped your face with his gloved hand. “No, baby, it’s okay.” He soothed, taking a moment to look over your new injuries. “Where is she?” He questioned, breaking the silence. 

“With a friend, somewhere safe.” You responded with a soft smile. 

“Good,” he nodded his head. Your heart warmed in your chest, the first good feeling you had felt all day. He already cared enough to make sure his daughter was safe. “Why don’t you go back to your sister? I’ll take care of this.” 

“But–” you began, once more being cut off by him, though this time by his lips that pressed against yours. It wasn’t like the heated kisses you had shared two years ago, but it was loving, soft, and comforting. It was everything that you needed in that moment, butterflies swirling in your stomach. It lasted far longer than it should’ve in your current situation, but at the same time not long enough to satisfy you. As Court pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment. 

“Wow. Such a sweet goodbye kiss,” Lloyd teased from across the fountain. “Now, get her outta here and let’s finish this.” 

You and Court moved away from each other, and you gave Lloyd one last glance. He was stretching out his arms, preparing for a fight. You turned your attention back to Court. “Kick his ass, yeah?” 

The corner of Court’s mouth turned upwards as he gave you a nod in response. “Go back to Claire,” he instructed with a cant of his head towards the exit of the maze. You sucked in a deep breath of air as you stalled, not quite wanting to leave him, but then you turned and limped your way out. 

Once you made it out of the maze, you were greeted by the sight of several CIA members and vehicles scattered about. A bad feeling settled into the pit of your stomach as your eyes darted around to find Claire. This wasn’t going to be good.