Lloyd Hansen - Blog Posts

It's always Steve, Andy, Ari, Frank or Ransom that get all the love. Sometimes even Curtis or Colin.

It's never Robert, it's never Nick Gant, it's never Mike Weiss, it's never Mace, it's never Paul, it's never Jake 🥺

These forgotten Chris Evans characters. They all deserve love. Yes, even Mr Freezy.

Just throwing it out there

what about Reader been a brat and trying to embarrassed lloyd Hanson, who is trying to patient and has no choice to punish her

You're Not Sorry

Lloyd hadn’t really done anything in particular to piss you off. You just decided that you weren’t getting enough attention from the man. 

So, you felt tonight was the perfect occasion for your brand new little black dress. Also, because you told Lloyd you’d meet him at the party. His words ringing in your ear as you adjusted the position of the lace up panel to cover your bare pussy. 

“This is a very important work event for me baby, lots of important partners there so please wear something nice.”

It’s his fault really, nice is a very polarising word. You personally found this dress, nice, Lloyd on the other hand probably wouldn’t let you leave the house in it. 

Oh well, too late now. 

You made your way into the event, heels clacking against the marble stairs towards the entrance. You could feel eyes following your every move and the subsequent scoff from the wives who had caught their husbands’ eyes on your barely covered ass. 

Perfect, the dress was working. 

Grabbing a glass of champagne from the attendant, you looked for your lover amongst the group. But it was too late because his eyes had already found you, most likely following the murmurs and chokes that were let out when you finally made your way inside. 

He immediately, b-lined for you. His broad figure stood over you, his blue eyes now dark with anger,

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He seethed through clench teeth.

“You said wear something nice, this is nice.” You gestured towards your dress. Eyes innocently gazing at him.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He spat in your ear.

“Oh well.” You smirked.

“We are lea-“

“Lloyd!” He was cut off by the sudden appearance of an equally attractive man. Arguably a little older than Lloyd but no less handsome. He maintained a healthy head of salt and pepper hair, his top buttons undone, revealing a hard chest. 

“Spencer! Hi… how are you.” Lloyd stutters as he went to accept the man’s outstretched hand in a shake. 

Lloyd never stutters let alone gets intimidated by another man. Oh shit. This guy was important. Time to really turn up the heat. 

“And whose this beauty?” The man turned towards you clearly checking you out as his eyes drank in the sight of you. 

You caught a glimpse of Lloyd’s face, pure rage at this point, the vein on his forehead pulsating slightly, as sweat started to form.

“Y/N.” You outstretched your hand in which his took in his, delicately kissing it. 

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine sir”

“Please call me Spencer.”

“Spencer.” Still holding his hand in yours.

“She was just leaving Spencer.” Lloyd eyed you, giving you a look that read “You better fucking stop it’s not funny anymore.” 

“Nonsense, I haven’t even treated her to a drink yet.”

Spencer’s eyes never let yours.

“I’d love one.”

“Well let’s not keep you waiting shall we” Spencer’s arm clasped your waist, leading you towards the bar. Leaving Llloyd to trail closely behind. 

After getting 2 martinis, Spencer led you towards a secluded seat in the back of the venue.

“Here honey, there’s no room for all of us, you’ll be more comfortable on my lap anyways.” Pulling you on top of him, your ass fell to his hardening cock. 

“So, Lloyd, about this deal.”

The men drank and negotiated, you never leaving your spot-on Spencer’s lap, toying with his tie. 

Lloyd sat across from you both, swirling his scotch, eyes never leaving you as jealousy and anger burned inside of him.

You yawned as their talk of teams and assets bored you.

“Something wrong beautiful?” Spencer turned his head to you in his lap, hand coming up to pull some hair off your face. 

“I’m just feeling a little tired, I think it’s time for my exit.”

“Great idea.” Lloyd jumped out of his seat, offering his head to you.

“It was great talking to you Spence, but I think we should save this for some time next week.”

“No agreed, it is a party after all.” He stood up from his seat, a boner presents against his dress pants. Lloyd managed to get a quick glance only furthering his anger.   

“Y/N, honey, here’s my card. Call me if you ever need anything… that is if Mr. Hansen here ever lets you out of his sight.” He eyed off Lloyd before bringing his attention back to you.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Spencer.” You slipped the card in your cleavage. He leaned down towards your ear. 

“We should do it again sometime.” He whispered, nipping your lobe lightly before pulling away. 

“Lloyd.” 

“Spencer.” The man left you both in the area alone.

You immediately went to wrap your arms around Lloyd. He pulled away, pushing you off him by your shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking touch me. Car. Now.”

Too stunned to speak you made your way outside towards Lloyd’s car. Annoyed at his sudden rejection of you. 

You couldn’t help the wetness forming between your legs at the excitement at what was to come. 

After what felt like ages of you sitting in the passenger seat. Lloyd joined you in the car, reversing out without even so much as a hi.

You drove in silence as Lloyd raced down the empty highway in his sports car. His knuckles whitening as he gripped the wheel. 

You finally arrived home, car parked out the front, his hands still on the wheel. 

“Go upstairs, get on your knees and wait.”

You made your way upstairs quickly, almost tripping in your heels as you raced up the stairs. Settling yourself on the carpeted floor, you held your hands behind your back and waited.

 2 minutes turned into 20 but you didn’t dare move a muscle, eyeing the security camera in the corner of the room.

Lloyd strolled into the room, closing the door behind him.  He swirled the old-fashioned glass in his hand, he seemed calm… too calm. Taking a gulp of the dark brown liquid. 

The silence was shortly broken as he threw it at the wall, the glass shattering on impact leaving a wet spot on the white wall.

You flinched at the sound.

“You stupid fucking slut.” He spat

Your eyes falling to the floor.

“You could have fucked up a 500-million-dollar deal in there, and you bet your ass you’re gonna pay for it sunshine.” He smirked, forcing your chin up to look him the eyes. 

He ripped his zipper down in a single motion, unbuckling his tight white pants, whipping out his harden cock.

“Open.” He grabbed your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your hair back. You winced at the sudden pull. 

He didn’t even give you time to ease his pulsating member into your mouth, pushing himself down your throat, you gagged at this sheer size.

Letting him use your mouth to satisfy his desire to have his cock soaked with your spit and tears. 

Once has he had finished his assault on your tender mouth, a mascara and tears combination dripping down your cheeks, lipstick smeared around your mouth. 

“Good girl. Stand up.” You scrambled to your feet, wobbling slightly after so much time on your knees. He pulled you by your neck to lick the tears off your cheeks, a smear of black transferring to his tongue forcing your mouth open with his thumb and then he promptly spitting it back down your throat.

His hands ran down towards the lines on your dress, trailing his fingers down each individual string holding your dress together.

His hands grabbing the fabric on either side.

“You humiliated me.” A sudden rip had formed at the top of your dress, revealing your flushed decolletage 

“Flirted with another man in front of me.” Another rip, this one revealing your breasts as they bounced at the sudden release.

“And disobeyed me… on purpose.” The final rip, your dress now in two parts on either side of your body, you stood naked in front of him, your heat dripping at the sudden exposure of air. 

“No panties you really are a fucking whore.”

You whispered a meek sorry.

“What did you just say? Sorry? Look at you, you’re dripping with arousal, you are clearly not fucking sorry. But don’t worry you will be.” He pushed you back onto the plush mattress. 

“Turn over.”

You got into your submissive position, head in the mattress, ass high in the air. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the air. You could feel the red mark on your ass forming but not before he landed another on the other cheek. 

“Youve been such a dirty girl showing yourself off. Hope you enjoyed tonight because you will never do that again.” Another harsh slap fell onto your ass;

“Yes daddy.”

His thick tip tickled the folds of your pussy, painstakingly teasing your hole, avoiding your aching clit completely 

“Do you want this baby? You want daddy’s cock in you?”

“Yes, please daddy please I need it.”

“I know you need it, but do you deserve it.”

“No daddy but I promise I’ll be good.”

Without warning he plunged into your needy hole, starting his assault on your core;

“Do you think Spencer could fuck you this good baby?”

“No daddy.. no.. he couldn’t” Your words came out as a mumbling as you tried to focus on responding to Lloyd, eager not to prolong the orgasm longer than it will be; 

“Such a dirty slut for me. Your daddy’s slut isn’t that right baby?”

“Yes, daddy just yours, only Lloyd’s dirty little slut.”

“Good girl…” his hands smoothed over your ass as he continued to plummet into you 

“Still fucking disrespected me” he interrupted the moment of tenderness with another hard slap on your rump. 

He pulled your hair back roughly, “Twerk on my cock, make me cum.”

You immediately did what you were told, bouncing your ass onto his cock, moaning at the new angle that came with the push of your ass down to his base. 

His hands fell to your hips, gripping them roughly to help guide you onto him. 

You could feel his heavy ballsack slapping against your clit, your knees started to give at the euphoric sensation of pleasure and pain, the sting of your ass still present as continued to hit your g-spot.

You reached your hand between your legs desperate to touch your aching nib. Your hand was pulled away by a sudden jerk, your wrists now pinned behind your back. 

“Nah-uh sunshine you’re not allowed to cum.”

His hands sneaking underneath you to support your weight. Grabbing your boobs in his hands with a harsh squeeze, leaning over you to trap your arms between your back and his body. 

“Yeah, baby oh yeah daddy’s gonna cum, yeah you want daddy to put babies in you? You going to be a good cum dumpster for daddy’s load?”

“Ah huh.” You let out a groggily moan

“That’s not a fucking answer.”

“Yes, daddy please give it to me, I want it inside of me.”

“Good.” He released inside of you, his seed shooting into your pelvis, filling you up fully. 

He pulled out with a groan, and you whimpered at the loss of contact, collapsing on the mattress as cum slowly oozed out of you.

Lloyd licked his fingers, quickly shoving the creamy release back into you.

“Gotta keep it all in there.” 

“You gonna help me finish daddy?”

“I told you bad girls don’t get to cum didn’t I?”

“But Lloyd… I…”

“No, arguments or I’ll make it a week. This is your punishment now get into bed.”

You crawled upwards and under the covers, shivering at the sudden loss of warmth inside of you.

He pulled you into him,

“Maybe tomorrow if you can prove that you’ve learnt your lesson you can cum ok sunshine?”

“Ok daddy.”

“Good. Now sleep.”

You cuddled him close, trying to ignore the ache between your legs.

Okay so a few things:

Just finished The Gray Man and I f**king loved it SOO much!

I see why people like Chris Evans character; Lloyd is really good looking and all, yes. But I don't agree or understand HOW PEOPLE ARE OK WITH A SOCIOPATH. I mean yeah he's handsome and shit but still, HE FREAKS ME THE F**K OUT!

It's sad there's not much hype/appreciation for Six. Sure, he's an assassin and but he seems like a lost puppy who's still figuring shit out and who loves Claire very much. ITS SO SWEET!

Now let's address the real deal, "HOW TF DID RYAN GET SO BUFF!?". The shot of his arms in that scene made me rewind 15 times. HE'S SO F**KING HOT IT PHYSICALLY HURTS ME 😫

ANA DE ARMAS. What is there to say, she still as gorgeous as ever and I wish I had a girlfriend like her.

As an Indian, specifically South Indian I'm SO F**KIN PROUD of Dhanush. He did so well I hope he gets more opportunities like this. Also, for a character of that caliber, he deserves more screen time.

Meet the Family Masterlist

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

🎃Lloyd x Reader: Pumpkin carving Drabble🎃

Warnings: knife play, mostly fluff, reader has sensitive ears, hand kink, scent kink, reader being a brat, marking/ hickeys/ biting, implied smut

Nicknames: Pumpkin

A/N: A spooky little treat before the next Monstertober day

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

“How did I let you convince me to do this again, Pumkin?” Lloyd questioned in a huff, he stood in the doorway wearing his tight black turtleneck, which was your favourite, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his hairy, bulky arms, his vein rippling out of his skin like lightning bolts trailing down to his calloused hands.

“I promised you a reward afterwards.” You giggled passing him a kitchen knife, which he began chucking up and down “Lloyd that’s dangerous.” You warned, he smiled at the concerned look on your face

“I know what I’m doing, Pumpkin.” He threw it up in the air one more time, bumping the handle with his elbow as it fell, catching it with his hand and pointing it towards his pumpkin “You’ve got everything set out so nicely, like a little housewife.” He cooed, pulling you close and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his comment. You, a housewife…for him. You liked the idea, you couldn’t deny that; but the way he said, it like his words held so much more meaning behind them. You always loved when he complimented you, it made you feel so special. Nothing else in the world mattered except what Lloyd thought, what Lloyd said—he’d made you completely reliant on him. “L-Let’s get started…That pumpkins yours and this one's mine.” You cursed yourself for stuttering, Lloyd smirked at your brushing his large hand across your forearm before pulling his pumpkin closer to him on the newspaper. You followed suit, picking up your knife and beginning to cut a circle around the stem of the pumpkin—you had much more difficulty than Lloyd as tried to cut through the tough skin of the pumpkin.

“Are you sure you’re allowed to do this?”

“Of course I am! I know how to use a knife, Lloyd. I'm not a child. And then we can make pumpkin bread after this.” You huffed turning away from him and continuing to cut into the pumpkin.

Lloyd grabbed your chin turning you towards him “No, I mean because you’re a pumpkin; so this is murder and cannibalism. I never knew you were so devious, Pumpkin.” You opened your mouth to reply but no words left your mouth, you just stared at him with your mouth hanging open. He let you go and resumed carving his pumpkin, you closed your mouth and returned your own pumpkin, pulling the center out before you began digging out the seeds.

Your gaze drifted over to Lloyd as he held onto the pumpkin with one of his hands, the muscles shifting under his skin as he squeezed the skin of the pumpkin. The golden ring on his pinky finger glimmering in the light catching your attention briefly as you remembered the time he slipped it on to each one of your fingers trying to get it fit “it only fits your thumb, Pumpkin, you’re so tiny compared to me…Don’t worry I'll get you a ring just like this one so we can match.” He did get you a ring to match, it was perfectly tailored to the size of your pinky. Your eyes travelled up his arms, watching as his biceps tensed whilst he used a spoon to scoop out some of the pumpkins innards. You had to look away to stop yourself from drooling, Lloyd knew you were watching. He was taking his time on purpose, squeezing the firm outside of the pumpkin and intermittently letting out a soft grunt to toy with you. He loved to see the way you practically salivated over him—he always knew you adored his hands, his scent, his eyes, his body. He knew The parts you liked about him so he abused your weaknesses just to be able to watch you stumble over your words; just last week he caught you spraying some of his new cologne on one of his hoodies you’d stolen, so he instantly bought more of it. Lloyd broke the silence “I’m all up in this pumpkin's guts. Kinda like I was last night with you-“ You pout grabbing some of the mashed up pumpkin and throwing it at him “Hey! No throwing the pumpkin. God, it smells so bad.” His face contorts into disgust as he wipes it off his black turtleneck grimacing at the texture and wetness as he throws it on to the newspaper-clad counter.

You giggle, letting a devious smile spread across your lips “Then don’t be such a perv, we’re meant to be doing a wholesome activity for once.” You cross your arms and arch an eyebrow at him.

“There’s nothing wholesome about the way you were looking at my hands, Pumpkin, don’t think I didn’t see you.” Your face heats up in embarrassment and without thinking you smear your pumpkin covered hands across his stupid attractive face “Oh that’s it!” Lloyd picked up the knife he’d been using to carve the pumpkin and hovers it underneath your chin, gently gliding the blade against the delicate soft skin of your throat, the juice of the pumpkin on the knife leaving a sticky trail “I’ve played nice for long enough, now it’s time to have fun. You like that idea don’t you, Pumpkin? Your thighs are clenching. I decided to be nice and play along with your desire to carve pumpkins, and you return the favour by being a brat.” He leans down to your ear, his hot breath fanning at the sensitive skin “Good thing I like it when you’re a brat.” He whispers, rubbing the bristles of his moustache against the shell of your ear, relishing in the whine that escapes from your lips as he sucks on your earlobe. He knows it’s sensitive, he’s teasing you. You wipe your hands on the tea towel you’d set out and then rest your now clean hands on his shoulders for support as he continues to attack your sensitive ears. Lloyd moves down from your ear to your neck, licking a stripe from your jaw to clavicle. He settled at your collar bone, suckling at the thin skin and running it through his teeth. You buried your fingers in his cropped hair, fiddling with the styled top till strands of his hair were falling onto his forehead in curls.

You rub your thighs together, relishing in the friction, as he drags the knife down your neck to your torso, pressing harder so you can feel the blade through the crew neck of his that you were wearing. He drew crescents beneath reach of your breast before travelling further down. Lloyd pressed hot opened mouth kisses to your throat as he bunched the sweater at your hips “Only panties? How naughty.” Lloyd purred, sucking a hickey into your neck.

He ran the cool blade of the knife along your thigh, bringing it ever so close to the apex of your hips tracing your folds with the blunt side of the blade before running it back up your torso, across your chest and back to your neck; outlining your collar bones then your trachea and settling just below your jaw. He stared down at you, you swore those eyes could see into the depth of your soul. You followed the slate outer ring that faded into a bright blue—one glance into those eyes made any bad day better. His pink lips curved into a smile and he pulled the knife away from your throat, raising the blade in the air threateningly.

Lloyd stabbed the knife into his pumpkin and then picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. He gave you a quick kiss “We’ll finish carving later, I want my reward now.” He kissed you again, but this time he deepened it; slipping his tongue into your mouth intertwining it with yours before catching your bottom lip with his teeth and tugging at it “What do you say, Pumpkin? Want me to be all up in your guts?”

‘I’d like that.” You titter as he strides with you up the stairs towards the bedroom. Pumpkin carving will have to wait after all.

Tag list: @cevansgurl @bval-1 @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @flamefoxxrecs @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter @taramaria

On The Run Part 2

On The Run (Part 2/3) "Lloyd Trash-Stache Hansen"

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, (Multi-Chap) (Part 2/3)

(Requests are currently open.)

Words: ~3.8K

Tags: @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache, @torchbearerkyle

Six never startled awake. 

With the exception of those first few weeks adjusting to juvie, his dreams–mild or horrible–had never had an effect on how he reacted to it in the waking world. It gave him an advantage as The Gray Man, the ability to process information while no one thought that he was conscious. Sometimes, it was a skill imperative to his survival, and it had become something that he’d practiced to make habitual. As natural as any of the other habits that made him who he was.

So when he woke from another nightmare, Fitzroy’s blood clinging to his hand, sticky and coagulating, he woke quietly, flexing his fingers to remind himself that it was just a nightmare. A reminder of an even starker reality, but regardless, a nightmare. His lashes fluttered, then his vision shifted to his surroundings as his eyes opened, everything blurring into focus one corner at a time. He laid on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. 

Six’s brows furrowed into a confused scowl. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

His head shot up, whipped around. Claire appeared in the very center of his vision, sat at the table with a bowl of ice-cream, acknowledging him by waving her spoon after yanking it from her mouth. She looked bored, a fist pressed against her cheek, supporting her head.

“What did you do?” He cleared his throat, scratchy from sleep, squinting through the haze. Shuttered eyelids still felt heavy, blinking several times to clear the fog that blurred the living room into abnormal shades of color.

“Slipped Melatonin in your coffee,” she supplied easily, unperturbed. “You looked like you needed a little more than five hours.”

“Claire–”

“Stay ready so that you don’t have to get ready,” Claire dropped her voice a few octaves, an exaggerated mocking to her tone that he guessed was supposed to sound like him. “I have to stay vigilant in case the bad guys come to get us again. I can’t do that if you drug me.” She gave him a droll stare, raising her eyebrows. She went on, deadpan. “Great advice, Six. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I was going to say that you could have warned me.”

Her smile was cheeky. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing to say.”

Wincing from the cramped confines of the loveseat that he’d quite literally tucked himself into all night, he rose into a languid stretch. He pushed against his knees to stand, grabbing Claire’s phone from the table to check the clock–that was all it was capable of doing besides running the game she liked to play. 

18:32. 

“Eighteen hours?” 

“It’s more than five.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He grimaced at his own lack of awareness, the fact that a twelve year old could drug him and still come up with a retort before he was completely self-aware. “Are you eating ice-cream for dinner?” 

“It’s all we have. We need to go to the store again. I wouldn’t argue against takeout, though.” Before he could speak, she’d already answered the obvious question for him. “Pizza, preferably Hawaiin with some pepperoni on the side. Breadsticks.” 

A pause.

“Yes, you are getting predictable.” She added.

Grimacing, he obliged her by walking into the kitchen, blindly grabbing for his keys on the counter, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he moved back into the living room, he found that Claire hadn’t moved, still in her pajamas, standing by the door. She wore slippers on her feet, shifting her weight from the front of her toes to her heels. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going out dressed like… that?” He waved vaguely.

“Are you going out dressed like that?” Claire quipped, a more exaggerated wave thrown over him. “You’ve been wearing the same tracksuit for three days.” She reminded him. “If you can wear that, I can get pizza in my pajamas.” 

“Okay.” He yielded, and victoriously, she moved ahead of him, out into the driveway where his car was parked–not so much his car, but the license plate was legitimate at least. They slid into their respective sides, Six arguing time and time again that she sat in the back with her seatbelt on. Sometimes she listened, and other times she argued until he let her sit in the front so that she could mess with the radio. 

Asking that she keep the windows rolled up often went unheard. 

Air won’t stop a bullet, but a window has a better chance to lessen the impact.

You worry too much. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hand make waves in the air, the wind from the open window brushing her hair out of her face. Six reluctantly rolled his down too. He’d known what confinement was like, at almost the same age, but he wondered just how different their situations differed. In a way, he acted like her warden, but it was to protect her from the world, rather than the other way around.

Somehow, he found that endearing, seeing her in a completely different light. It was almost like she was an actual kid again, back at Fitzroy’s house. The most she had to worry about was being in bed by a certain time and making sure he wasn’t eating gum in any place that wasn’t outside. It’d put him on the defensive, creating a habit of looking around as he carefully unfolded a piece from its wrapper. Sometimes he swore she had another sense, the way that she would pop up out of nowhere and ask him what he was doing.

And he was the one that was supposed to exist in the gray. 

“You’re doing that thing again.” 

Six’s eyes darted forward, resting his arm against the windowsill. The breeze touching his hand made his fingers flex, then open fully, palm out. “Doing what?”

“I don’t know,” her head pivoted to the side, looking at him critically, furrowing her brows. “It’s kind of a weird staring thing that you do when you’re thinking.”

“Is it weird?”

“For you. You’re usually looking down all the time.” When he didn’t supply an answer, she was quick to follow with: “I know you still think about Uncle Donald.” Her eyes made a trail across the suddenly cramped confines of the car, back to where her hand made arcs out the window. She exhaled a sigh through her nose. “I think about him too. All the time.” 

Six nodded slowly, not completely understanding where she was going with this.

“You think you’re not doing a good job, but you are.”  She continued when he didn’t offer a response. “He wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t think that you would be there to take care of me.”

Six’s heart flipped in his chest, somersaulting into barbs at the bottom of his stomach. Outside, he remained stoic and mellow, quiet in that unassuming way that he had. He didn’t know what to say, except: “I think it was more for my sake than yours, kid.”

“Someone’s gotta make sure that you get some sleep.” She agreed. 

“Okay,” his expression scrunched, but he was smiling, subtle but more heartfelt than what he’d given anyone in the last two decades. “Let’s… not do that again, okay?” 

She snorted. “No promises.” ~~~~~

When Six opened his eyes again, he did so silently; the first inclination that he was alive was that his head fucking hurt. The next was a fist colliding with his face first thing in the morning, his head snapping to the left and continuing for the next hour afterward. Pain was at least something that he could concentrate on, the dull throb against his cheek, a piercing sting above his eyebrow. It made it harder to think of Claire, of Lloyd fucking Hansen, and how long it’d been.

Time had passed while he was unconscious, and for once, Six cared a lot about how much. He’d been placed in a small room, brick enclosing him within four walls. Guards were stationed on every side, watching him out of the corner of their eyes as though they expected him to suddenly jump up and start kicking their asses, comforted only by the fact that he was restrained and there was more than one of them. Likely, Six was going to be pried for information, then he was going to die. 

That fact added a little kink in his already shitty day. 

“Look at him. Fuckin’ take a look.” His tormentor snickered, a broad shadow descending on his chair, and a chorus of chuckles erupted around him. He felt the man lean in nearer, Six’s eyes half-closed but his breath a pungent stench in his nose, sweat and perspiration wafting off of him like cheap cologne. “This is The Gray Man?”

“I’m having an off day,” Six answered, refraining from coughing up one of his lungs. He spit a puddle of blood off into a corner, heaving a raspy breath while he shifted into a more comfortable position. Zipties dug into his flesh, grinding a bloody indent that spilled blood down his arms.

He looked up.

His tormentor didn’t back off. The smart one’s did. 

“This has been… something, but can you get Hansen in here? If he’s going to kill me, I’d rather him just do it. If not, I have somewhere else to be.” Maybe it was the evenness in his tone, not a note of bragging despite his situation, just a recitation of facts that made them all quiet. Lips twitched. Eyes narrowed. The smarter ones took a step toward the door. 

“Fuck you.” His tormentor spat.

Six’s eyebrows shot up then settled into his neutral expression. “Wasn’t expecting that one.” The remark earned another punch, but he didn’t retaliate, even if he very badly wanted to.

If they knew about Claire, he would have to be prepared to offer his soul. Whatever was required, he’d pay it. Unaware of whether they were actually ignorant or not, he played the part of a prisoner, acting as if he hadn’t already planned his way out. Staying in his bindings was only common courtesy. All it would take was a single nod that they didn’t know, and he would be gone. Lloyd Hansen’s revival be damned. 

The guards continued to watch him from their positions around the room. Five altogether, wearing blank expressions aside from the one that had been beating on him. He wasn’t fooled. Any time that he coughed or tugged at his restraints, they’d jerk forward, on edge. He leaned his head back, stretching out the kink in his neck from the position that he’d been forced into, somehow still more comfortable than the couch.

Off to his right, the only part of the room that wasn’t brick, instead a harsh and hefty metal door creaked open as Lloyd’s familiar form stepped over the threshold. His sense of style was still enough to embed an expression of disgust across Six’s already dour expression, the trash-stache doing very little favors for his face. He almost made a remark about him shaving it. Actually, his mouth opened to do just that before he was punched again. His neck cracked from the force, and he damn near thanked the bastard for sorting that out for him.

He heaved, another spluttering of blood spat out next to his chair, looking up at Lloyd.

“Come on, dumbasses,” Lloyd tutted. “What the fuck are you doin’? That’s my job.”

“He’s been running his mouth all fucking day,” his tormentor responded. It wasn’t the man from the elevator he realized, but someone who had it out for him all the same. 

“Well guess what? So have you, dumb fuck.” Leaving the door open, the suggestion was there, and some were smart enough to leave. The ones that weren’t were gifted with a harsh gesture thrown at the door, a piercing glare with Lloyd’s loud timber bouncing off the walls. “Read the room and get the fuck out!”

The room was immediately emptied, no one taking any chances of bumping into Lloyd directly, albeit Six thought that he stood closer to the doorway to evoke the challenge, or as a reason to lash out if they did. “Fucking morons,” he muttered, his hand grappling the back of a chair and dragging it none-too-quietly across the concrete floor. The legs scraped, a piercing screech following its journey from a spot beside the door and in front of Six. 

Lloyd plopped down across from him, leaned back into a slouched position, crossing one leg over the other. “What’s up sunshine? You’ve seen better days.”

“Seen better faces too.” He quipped. 

“Yes!” Lloyd’s hands clenched into fists in front of him, a visible show of excitement as he sat a little taller, leaned a little more forward. His smile was broad, all teeth. “There it is. “You know what I love about you, Six? It’s your sense of humor. It’s got the right amounts of sass and still somehow manages to be annoying. I almost thought that we weren’t friends anymore. Thinking that I was going to have to throw out the bracelet.”

The corner of Six’s mouth twitched, expression folding over. 

“Guess what I’m thinking now.”

“That you’ve overshared.”

Lloyd scoffed a laugh. “I’m thinking–actually I know you’re also a wanted fugitive. I got off easy seeing as everyone thinks I’m dead, but you? You, my friend, are not just wanted in the U.S. Apparently, you took the downfall for Carmichael and are the excuse behind all of the FBI’s bullshit, and for my murder. You’re an international fugitive. So?”

“So?” Six raised an eyebrow. “Looks like I fucked up.” 

He hummed, tilting his head left then right, acknowledging that he was right, but also wasn’t. “You did fuck up, but–” The chair scraped against the ground as it was yanked forward, their knees nearly touching. “Bacon. Dough! Dinero! Millions for your head. Lucky for you, I don’t need money. I have money. I think we can help each other out with something else.” 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“Alright, bad choice of phrasing.” Lloyd held up his hands, backpedaling on his earlier words. “You can help me, and in return, I promise not to put a bullet in Fitzroy’s little scrap.” He raised his hands, palms forward, sounding almost apologetic. As apologetic as this fucking sociopath could be. “I know. It’s not the best news–” As if the idea of killing a kid was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, easily excusable. As if Six wouldn’t leap out of his chair and kill him for suggesting it. 

And make sure that he was dead this time.

“You found Claire?”

Lloyd sighed. “Sound advice for you Six, if you’re going to be on the run, don’t bring the only thing that can bring you back with you.” He tsked, a glimpse of Six’s face which, while wasn’t murderous, got the point across all the same. “Don’t be pissed off. It’s not a good look for you. Might make me think you actually care.”

His fists flexed against his restraints, a subtle tug that wouldn’t give. “I want to see her.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about her. She’s got a new ticker and is excited to see you.” 

“Lloyd–”

“Oh, right! Right. I didn’t even tell you the best part!” Lloyd threw his hands out in a grandiose show with his next announcement, a shit-eating grin growing more broad with the anticipation of a confession that made Six’s heart drop into the center of his stomach. 

“I know all about you, Courtland Gentry.” 

It was so much worse. This had to be another nightmare. 

“It doesn’t give me as many chills as Sierra Six,” Lloyd pressed a finger to his forearm, rotating it to assess the lack of goosebumps. “See? Hardly nothing. But!” His lips smacked together, raising an index finger. “What it does give me is leverage. Despite your clear daddy issues that you got goin’ on, you’ve also got a brother. Who the hell would have thought that? Not me.” 

“How do you know about that?” 

Lloyd ignored him, his excitement bordering on juvenile. He sunk in and drowned in this victory while he had it. While he had it. “Isn’t it great to know each other’s secrets, Court? You know I’m alive, and we’re officially on a first name basis. That’s what friends do naturally, which is why I know that you’re going to be more than willing to help me if you want your life to stay under wraps and not crash into flames inside a fucking abyss.”

Six’s lips pressed together in a taut line, the tension in his muscles keeping him from lashing out. His eyes searched Lloyd’s face, devoid of any remorse or reasoning. In this situation, he really didn’t have a choice. There was no other way out.

He immediately regretted asking, seeing Lloyd grin with giddy, childlike glee at the temporary, and very fragile alliance. “What’s the job?” ~~~~~

Lloyd Hansen.

Lloyd fucking Hansen. 

He was underneath the thumb of Lloyd ‘Trash-Stache’ Hansen. 

Not because of his old life, not because of Claire, but because of his own choices; because of his own inability to let things go. He’d become weaker over time; since Fitzroy, since Claire, since Sierra Four–relying less on the upsides of killing and more on the upsides of caring and protecting. It sounded like something straight from a self-care pamphlet for assassins and murderers, and it was that thought that made him want to punch a whole through the goddamn wall. 

It was because of him that everyone he knew, the few that he knew that weren’t dead, were in the sights of a sociopath. A target was painted on their backs unless he did everything that Lloyd wanted, and damn the consequences that would put him in the ground whether he complied or not. The butt of his rifle hit the wooden table with more force than necessary, shaking it at its foundation and threatening to crumble. 

Outside the brick confines of the room was just a dingy safehouse, much more rough looking on the outside than the inside. Lloyd had a habit of maintaining a clean appearance, and noticeably, his choice of torture places followed the same general set of rules. The same guards from before were there, albeit they drunk themselves stupid on cheap alcohol because they didn’t have to keep an eye on him anymore. 

Whatever happened next was ultimately up to him. 

He’d searched the safehouse from top to bottom, checking every small crevice that he could fit into, but Claire was nowhere to be found. Not that he expected her to be. Lloyd was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. 

Other than the drunken stupor of the guards, he had no choice but to sit at a table and prep his guns while he listened to the sound of Lloyd fucking some prostitute stupid in an adjacent room. Killing him while he was balls deep in a foreigner was a possibility, but he couldn’t do anything until he knew where Claire was and figure out who he extended the information about his past life to. 

That alone was the only thing that kept him heeled and not yanking on his leash. 

“Could you sound any more pissed off, Court?” Lloyd came out of the adjacent room, dabbing at his face with a towel and clad in nothing but his boxers. The lack of anyone else reacting to it suggested that this was a normal occurrence. Regardless, Six dragged his eyes away. He didn’t take the bait. 

Lloyd whistled as though he were addressing a dog, snapping his fingers directly beside his face. “Hello? Courtland? Courtney? Gentry-Geriatric?” 

“That’s not my name, Hansen.” Six corrected him, running a cloth over the barrel of his rifle, taking the clip from the table and shoving it back in. 

“But it is.”

“Not anymore.”

“I didn’t realize you were going to get your panties in a twist over it.” Lloyd slumped down into a chair sitting opposite, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. He tilted his head to catch Six’s eye, but he was focused on the rifle, prepping it for the mission ahead. “You know the difference between you and I, Court? I’ve come to realize that you hide behind a moniker. At least when I kill somebody, I give them the benefit of knowing my name.”

The rifle hit the table, laying sideways with the barrel pointing directly at Lloyd. Across the room, heads turned, hands moving for guns at sides, but the look that Six fixed them with kept them in place. That razor sharp glare turned on Lloyd, and he went on, deadpan “That’s the only way we’re the same. You’ll know mine when I kill you.”

Lloyd whistled low. “Bite and snark. When’s the last time you’ve gotten laid? You’re stressed. I can give you a round with my girl. Not the best fuck, but she probably won’t be conscious for most of it if that’s your kink.” 

Six’s expression pinched at his bluntness, although even only knowing Lloyd for a few months, he entertained that there was nothing that came out of his mouth that could or should surprise him anymore. Yet, it did. A mold of disgust had settled into a permanent scowl across his face, raising his hand in complete denial of the suggestion. “No. I do not want anything that your dick has been in.” He retrieved the rifle, swinging it over his shoulder as he rose from the table.

Lloyd had the decency to appear surprised. Taken aback. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like you,” he answered flatly without missing a beat. “We’re kind of on the same page with that, remember?”

“Actually, I think you’re growing on me.” Lloyd confessed, and even as Six took that little tidbit as a sign that he should walk away, Lloyd was there, directly in tow. Appearing nearly naked in front of six grown men unphased him, apparently. “You always have a stick up your ass, but I don’t think we’re that different.”

As Six whipped around, it forced Lloyd to come to a dead stop. They weren’t much different in height, and yet somehow, he was still looking down on the bastard. “We’re not the same.” He half-snapped, unable to take him seriously looking like a half-naked toddler with a lip rug. “Go put some clothes on. There’s still a job to do.”

“You’re such a fucking boyscout. How hard did you suck Fitzroy’s dick in the agency?” He was walking away before Six could answer, not even sparing him a glance. “You really shouldn’t spend so much time on your knees, Court. It’s bad for your age.”

Six raised his rifle, aiming the barrel right down the line of Lloyd’s back. He fingered the trigger, back and forth before Lloyd disappeared in the other room, suddenly regretting the consequences of his actions.

On the Run

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, One-Shot (Two Part-er?)

-> Anon request (Requests are currently open. Other fandoms listed on my profile!)

Words: ~4.5K

Tags: @biblichorr, @ethanhawkestan, @medievalfangirl, @pyrokineticbaby

A/N: Apologies in advance if anyone else wanted tagged. I am still getting used to the tag list thing, and I'm not exactly sure if the people who enjoyed and wanted tagged for the Six x Reader fics also wanted tagged for the Six gen fics and vice versa. Thanks! (: If anyone knows how a tag list works, and how to note specific usernames for specific things, it would be very helpful!

~~~

Every day spent with Claire only made it abundantly more clear that Six didn’t know much about kids. Some days she was happy–ecstatic, and understanding of the things that he couldn’t control–other days, the revelation that anything inside the realm of normal was null and void where he was involved only made her more prone to being angry and spiteful. Most days he could keep up, and most days he was brought back to those first days when she was scolding him for chewing gum in Donald’s house or acting like he was an enigma because his name was filed down to just a digit. 

Six wasn’t Donald Fitzroy. He never would be. He didn’t want to be. 

There were things between him and Claire that he had no hope of understanding, let alone trying to recreate on his own. They didn’t have inside jokes, and he hadn’t known her parents–those were things that he couldn’t talk about like Donald. That kind of connection had never been meant for someone like him, the idea long gone when he’d been served life without parole. 

But she’d said that they were like family, and to him that had meant something. An unshakable loyalty and a responsibility already embedded deep within him when he’d promised Donald that he’d keep her alive. 

Other than that, doing what he knew, he was figuring the rest out one agonizingly slow step at a time. 

And those agonizingly slow steps only felt slower in the humid air of a small, inconspicuous country in Asia. They had something off-brand to a McDonalds from the states, serving many of the same things with different variations of names. It didn’t make a difference to him, either way. Various jobs had taught him to eat whatever was available, and a greasy burger was the same as a steak dinner considering how much he was starving. 

It didn’t embarrass him to engorge himself in front of anyone–food was a means of energy, and it hardly concerned him what he ate to get it. Regardless, he could see Claire watching him out of the corner of her eye, a vaguely nauseous look while she pushed her ice-cream around with a spoon. Sweat beaded her forehead, trailing in thin rivulets and staining a tank-top that he’d bought for her at a small corner shop for a quarter. 

Her eyebrows were raised, mouth slightly parted where she’d hunched over the table, her temple laid to rest against an enclosed fist. The ice-cream had melted, and she couldn’t have looked more miserable than how she probably felt. 

“It’s the best medicine,” he offered in between a mouthful of food, a lame grimace of a smile tugging at his lips while he gestured to her cup. “Ice-Cream.” 

“Yeah,” Claire trailed off, looking down into the soupy mixture with apprehension. “I don’t really think it’s ice-cream anymore.” As if to further iterate her point, she lifted some of it into her spoon, then  let it pour unceremoniously back into her cup. She raised her eyebrows at him, only to shake her head when he offered her a drink, her eyes darting back down. 

Six finished it off, the sound of him slurping through his straw sounding much louder in the sudden quiet that settled between them. He set it back down with a soft tap, the Styrofoam cup scraping as he slid it across the table, then pushed it back a little further. What little bit remained of his lunch was forgotten, the sudden intrusion on his appetite overshadowed by useless attempts to say anything useful. 

He tried to think of something Donald would say, but nothing sounded right coming from him. 

Thankfully, Claire was the one to break the silence first. 

“What are we going to do about money?” She looked at him in a way that ate right through him. He’d been shot, stabbed, tortured, nearly drowned, and yet one single look into Claire’s eyes–a kind of hopelessness that his concerns also had to be hers hurt so much worse. Parts of him thought that he was beyond all that; worrying. He’d built himself over the years to be unusually stoic, sarcastic at the most inopportune times, ready to die if that was something he had to do, but he couldn’t stop his expression from falling at the question, only because she wasn’t wrong.

He’d been forced to take the fall for all of Carmichael’s shit. He was a renowned fugitive, regular work and odd jobs far outside of his list of specialties. They didn’t pay enough. If it was just him, he could live off of a minimum wage, but with Claire, who was used to having so much. It was impossible. Dingy motels and take-out was already too beneath what she was used to. 

Six didn’t have an actual plan. He’d made up one as he went, taunting the enemy forces in Iraq during a helicopter crash that killed several American soldiers. Traversing foreign territory with an entire army at his back, that had been easy. This? He didn’t know why this was so much harder. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured her, only because the phrase you shouldn’t have to worry about that didn’t sound right in the moment. 

“Are–are you going to put me in a home?” She asked suddenly. 

“No.” He dipped his chin to meet her eyes, scrutinizing her worried expression with an incredulity so very unlike him. “No, Claire. Why do you think that?”

Claire appeared hesitant to answer, the melted puddle of her ice-cream suddenly more interesting than looking at his face. Her brows creased, her skin taking on a harsher shade of red than what he suspected was from just the humidity. Parts of her voice cracked on every other syllable, as if it was a possibility that she strongly considered before even he’d considered it. “You–you said that we were going to a hos–a hospital. To change my Pacemaker? You said that it could be tracked from anywhere.”

“It can. That’s how I found you.”

She looked up, brows drawn into a harsh scowl, a profound anger betrayed by tears brimming in her eyes. “Are you going to leave? Are you changing it out so that you can’t find me, too?” 

“What?” 

The tremor in her limbs had him angling his body toward her, the instinct to be there in case her Pacemaker were to act up again. He always had a hospital in mind, and an abundance of excuses if any of the doctors were to ask. Fake identities, fake IDs, passports… They moved, and they moved often. She needed direct contact with medical attention, and someone more well-adept at handling things like this. It had been selfish of him to keep her this long, but it was also selfish of him to think that he could have handled something like this in the first place.

“Claire–” He started.

Before he could get a word in, she was already moving from her chair, a harsh scrape against the tile grating against his ears as she shoved herself into his arms. On instinct, he pulled her to him, tilting his chin up to accommodate where she tucked her head. It was a gesture too familiar to fumble, and too brief to question.

Six remembered when she’d treated Donald like that, his own resilience the only thing that had protected him from her desperate kicking and screaming as he’d forced her away. He thought of something similar, doctors who would not have the resilience that he had, the begging and pleading like lead in his ears compared to people who had done the same in the past–for their lives–not his life, or a life with him. The image caused him to squeeze his eyes shut, ignoring the sudden twisting in his gut that felt like a knife. 

It wasn’t fair, but most things in his life weren’t.

“I’m not going to leave you, Kid.” He assured her quietly, but the sudden tension in her muscles suggested that she didn’t believe him. 

~~~~~

Six traversed several dozen stories with stone-faced seriousness, deadpan against the people who looked at him and Claire as an opportunity. Some heeded the obvious warning, others acting with false bravery before he’d tightened his hand around the gun hidden in his coat and let it slip from its confinement until they made the rational decision to back off on their own. His other arm was wrapped around Claire’s shoulders–catching her wide-eyed stare as she met strangers’ eyes in equal intensity. He burrowed her closer to his jacket, speaking low. 

“Keep your head down.”

The Chongqing building in Hong Kong was renowned for operating outside the law, but even if that was the case, they had no obligation to help him. He was broke, and he didn’t want to sign himself over until he was sure that Claire was somewhere safe. After they’d mocked him for looking like the grungy version of a Ken doll, all it took was a mention of his moniker for them to sober up and offer their services in exchange for a decrease of fees from what they would offer their usual clientele. 

He still couldn’t afford it, but it was more in the realm of believability. 

The Gray Man had a reputation, even operating in the dark. His work across several continents had created ghost stories by word of mouth, and that reputation alone scarcely made anyone question his credibility. They’d asked him to carry out a few contracts with some debtors that they didn’t have the means to deal with, and he’d agreed under the condition that Claire get their best doctor. Hands had been shaken, and his agreement had been signed in blood.

This was more normal. This, he knew how to do. 

“Are you sure about this?” Claire had asked, perched on the edge of one of the examination tables while they waited for a man who had referred to him as a ‘Guizi’ before leaving to prepare the operating room. She fumbled with the hem of a hospital gown, twisting wrinkles in the fabric from her nervous fidgeting. 

Six knew there was no use in lying. She always saw right through him, and he had never tried lying to her in the first place. “No.” He didn’t sugarcoat the fact, the notion that he wasn’t allowed to stay for the operation already tipping a scale in something less favorable for him. “But you know we don’t have a choice.” He would go ahead and fulfill their contracts, then find a place for Claire to rest and recuperate. Close by, preferably, just in case there would be some kind of mishap. The doctor–who had expectedly been an asshole–had just as much of a credibility as a doctor as he did a killer. 

That had to count for something, and he was running out of options. 

Desperation wasn’t a good look for him. 

“I know, it’s just…” Claire looked down, her eyes following her toes where she kicked her legs back and forth. Her anxiety was obvious, the way her breath hitched and she peered around as if there was a threat in every ill-illuminated corner, ready to leap out of the dark. She’d looked less scared when there was an actual threat in her house, but she’d also be alone for this one. “I trust you, but I don’t like this place.” 

“Me either.” Six ducked his head, exhaling through his nose. He stepped on the foothold at the base of the examination table. Familiar with the gesture, Claire moved over to oblige his silent request as he lowered himself down beside her, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. It wobbled from the added weight.

His hand moved over hers where it gripped at the gown, and she reluctantly allowed him to peel her clenched fingers apart. 

Claire looked more tired than usual, more small than how he was used to seeing her. Her playful attitude at Donald’s had been near damn non-existent in the last few months, moving from place to place leaving her jet-lagged and more prone to irritability. It didn’t stop his usual sarcasm, that dry wit that had annoyed her in the beginning, only for her to end up admitting that it was kind of funny. “I think everyone around here kind of looks like a criminal.”

Her head tilted back to look up at him. “More than you?” She gave a soft mock of a gasp. “No way.”

Six feigned a look of confusion, brows pinching. “Do I look like a criminal?”

“You do have the tattoos.” She chuckled. It was the first time he’d heard it in months. 

“I told you it was a guy's name in Greek.”

She nodded, looking back down where his hand laid over hers. Even with both her hands, his fingers still managed to envelop them, giving them a reassuring squeeze. A wan smile pulled at her lips. “You never told me if he made it up the hill.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Six mulled it over thoughtfully, the next breath he exhaled more forceful this time, dragging along with his words. “Let’s get through this first, then I’ll let you know, okay?” 

Claire pressed her lips together, minimizing the frown that’d slowly begun to spread across her face as her expression fell. “You promise you’re not leaving me?”

He held out his pinkie.

She rolled her eyes, curling it around her own. Her thumb pressed against his in a final declaration: A stamp, she’d explained that it somehow made it more official. There was something too endearing about it for him to question. 

“Just another Thursday.” He answered. 

“You say that every time something bad happens. I’m starting to see a pattern.” 

“If I can get through this without getting in a fight, I think that this will be more successful than most Thursdays.”

“Ha-Ha,” she said sarcastically. 

He quirked a smile despite himself, and her expression was quick to follow. The door swung open as the doctor walked inside, mask and gloves at the ready. Claire inhaled next to him, her arms wrapping around his bicep. He slid off the exam table, practically lifting her along with him

“You can’t be in the surgery room,” the doctor told him, voice flat and uncaring. It only further exceeded to twist a knife deeper into his gut. 

“I’m going to escort her,” Six said. The nature of his tone was enough for the doctor to begrudgingly oblige his request, waving them out into the dark corridor and through the maze of hallways that he’d gotten lost in on the way up. Claire’s nails dug into his sleeve, and he offered what little comfort he could by placing a hand over her arm. “And this Pacemaker is untraceable?” He pressed the doctor.

“It does not have a registered serial number.” The doctor answered. “It cannot be traced on any national database.” 

It offered very little comfort to Six, but they’d run into too much trouble with her current one. It was a big risk for a bout of selfishness, for giving in to Claire’s demands to stay. He did look at homes cross-country, and depending how the next few weeks went, he may have to make some kind of choice. 

He strongly suspected that whether it went well or not, he may have to say goodbye anyway. 

If she were to have any kind of life. 

“I’ll be right here.” They came to a stop outside of the operating room. 

“Six.” 

“I’ll bring you some ice-cream. It’s the best medicine.”

She leapt onto her tiptoes and hugged him tight, with him leaning to accommodate her height. His arms wrapped around her back, never squeezing, but giving a firm enough gesture so that she understood that he meant it. Once they pulled apart, she was ushered into the operating room, sparing a glance over her shoulder.

Her index finger and pinkie raised, her other fingers curling in. 

He copied the gesture as she disappeared through the door.

Six’s expression slipped as soon as she was gone, then despite his promise to Claire, he turned and walked down the seedy corridor. Fluorescent lights flickered incessantly, forcing him to squint underneath their harsh blinking and fight the urge to turn back around and deposit himself outside of Claire’s room. He convinced himself that she would be fine for the time being, especially after she was put under anesthesia. Hopefully, she would never notice that he was gone.

Various stalls lined the narrow bend of the hall, but he didn’t have the time to so much as spare any of the products a glance. His jacket swayed with his shoulders, a strong confidence taking to an equally strong frame. He wasn’t taller than most of the men in the building by any means, but he could say with a cocky confidence that none of them would be that difficult to take. He’d been ready to at any opportunity with Claire, but for the moment, for her sake, he’d avoid it if he could. 

He turned his torso to avoid products being waved at him, at his face, darting around seedy characters that made grabs for his wallet. 

He had an obligation. 

They were paying him for this, and he had to get Claire somewhere safe after. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow split across the wall and dart around a corner. There was a fraction of a second, then it was gone, one glance over his shoulder confirming that it wasn’t one of the stall owners attempting to pressure him for a purchase. 

Someone was following him. 

Shit. 

With a renewed urgency, Six traversed the remaining figures in the hallway, around a disgruntled patron to take his spot in the elevator, pressing his finger into the man’s chest and none-too graciously pushing him back–the man had shouted something at him in Mandarin, something that he only bothered to classify as some kind of insult–but he pressed the button that would take him down without bothering to grace the man with his usual wit. He jammed his thumb to prematurely close the doors, but someone else managed to slip through the narrow crack in the doors. The man pressed a button, then they were being taken down.

77…

76…

75…

Six had stepped to the far left side, his hands folded together in front of him, eyes fixed on a specific spot in an ugly swirling pattern on the rug. He mulled over his options. Unlike most places he’d found trouble in, this place was full of criminals. Unless he was some kind of big whig that had the staff of the entire building under his thumb, Claire was safe if this asshole wound up missing. 

His eyes rolled back up to the ceiling, the light dim and flickering in there, too. 

“And you are?” Six asked, glancing over to a darkened figure who towered over him. Graciously ignored, his only response was a twitch of the man’s muscles suggesting that his day was about to get a hell of a lot harder. 

74…

73…

Deft fingers grabbed for the gun in his jacket at the same time his attacker jammed the emergency stop button. The two traded shots, a loud ringing that split through the air in perfect unison, just passing their left shoulders in perfect symmetry. A harsh shudder shook the elevator while it came to an abrupt stop, causing Six’s knee to crumple, stumbling through the small space. 

He’d had his hand on his gun, his index finger grappling for the trigger again as the brunt of the man’s palm knocked the side of the gun’s barrel and sent it careening into a corner. It went off somewhere in the dark, shooting a light out in the ceiling, the other twitching, light and darkness blinking rapidly back and forth.

His eyes darted for the gun, following its flight path, only for a sudden blink of the light to illuminate ringed knuckles that came dangerously close to his face. He whipped back, his spine hitting the grip handle on the wall, managing to grab a hold of it just as another punch made impact with the side of his cheek. 

Red exploded. Scarlet tasted bitter on his tongue, taking a few small but dexterous hops sideways to create distance. 

Grimacing, Six spit into a corner, his words coming in soft exhales as he took that brief reprieve to catch his breath. He wasn’t given much, forced up against the wall with the handle digging into his spine. A knife pressed dangerously close to his throat, the side of the blade creating a sharp line. “Can we not do this right now? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

But there were certain elements that lied dormant until it heeded the call for survival. Dangerous instincts hardwired into his biological systems, tangled between societal standards and cultural acceptance. Suffering from the human condition. A fissure had opened between Six’s past and present, threatening to engulf his future. 

Claire’s future.

“You’re worth a lot of money,” the attacker mused with a heavy timber accentuated with an accent that Six didn’t recognize. His expression twisted, a scoff ripping through his throat. “Two hundred thousand for the Gray Man’s head. I’m not impressed.” 

Six resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that natural nonchalance that this man sported–an attitude with the knowledge that he would win.

“You’re no run-of-the-mill yourself.” He retorted, only to earn a punch that speared him in the gut as a consolation prize. A cough forced itself from deep in his stomach, groaning in irritation. His tongue caught a stray lop of blood on the side of his lip, and without warning, he jerked his knee up, slamming it into the man’s abdomen, darting sideways to one of the corners. 

The man doubled over, spitting a slew of curses in a language that Six didn’t understand before charging him again. The full force of his weight knocked into his side and sent him into the wall. Six’s head hit it first, exploding with a sudden burst of pain at the side of his skull. Trembling fingers gripped hard, his eyes struggling to refocus through the ringing in his ears, a pounding sensation rocking against the back of it while his free hand fumbled for his gun. 

Six pushed himself to stand again despite the disorientation. His free arm wrapped around his stomach, just barely stumbling sideways as a fist collided with the wall. 

He swung at him again then again, the cramped confines of the space only growing smaller and smaller as they moved about.

A boot collided with his ankle. Hard.

Six buckled, his back hitting the floor and yanking what little breath he had from him. His blurring figure hovered over him, drawing his gun. In one harsh movement, he threw his foot up, knocking it out of his unsuspecting hands and sending it careening across the floor with a metal clang. He dove for his own where it lay neglected in a darkened corner, scooping it up into his hand, rolling forward, and propping himself onto one knee.

The desire to survive overpowered any hesitations he may have had.

Two gunshots rang out, echoing into the stillness, only to find his attacker not there.

In one fluent movement, the man appeared behind Six and grabbed his arm. He jerked him forward, one arm wrapping around his throat, another delivering a quick blow to the back of his knee, sending him down. His nails dug desperately at the arm that kept him trapped. The free hand grasping his gun was forcibly held still at his side.

It should’ve been easy. He’d done it so many times in half the amount it would take someone without the proper training. Except this time it was purely to defend himself. Six hadn’t possessed a strong urge to preserve his own life. It'd been all about following orders from the very start, and then he’d remembered Claire, preserving her life—everything the CIA had tried and almost succeeded in destroying in him. 

That had been all that mattered, but now even more than ever, Six wanted to live.

And he would try. 

For her sake.

The man’s towering form wavered just a moment, just long enough for another shot to echo out, grazing past his assailant’s right shoulder.

Missed.

Another passed the left shoulder.

Missed.

Blurred edges framed his vision, body warning him that he would pass out. Having the current upper hand, the gun was wrenched from his hand, placing the shaft against Six’s temple. He scratched at the tight hold around his throat that was restricting his blood’s flow, opening his mouth and breathing in. His nostrils flared, his insistent struggling becoming more weak. 

72.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, and through his blurry haze, he came face to face with Lloyd Hansen

“Hey, Sunshine!” Lloyd–fucking Lloyd–greeted him, waving with fingers replaced by prosthetics. “Ease up on the Ken doll won’t ya? There’ll be plenty of time for foreplay later.” At his demand, Six was released, sent into the floor sputtering and coughing. He strongly contemplated that he was dead, that this was some weird type of hell. 

But Lloyd knelt beside him, startling real, and just as annoying. “Have you met my friend?”

Six looked up, his shoulders rising and falling while he caught his breath. He squinted, lips parted in unbelievability, wanting more than anything to wipe the trash stache off of his smug face. With the possibility that he knew Claire was there, it was the only thing that encouraged him to stay on his best behavior until he was sure otherwise. “I’ve had the pleasure, yeah.”

“I paid him extra to choke you out like that by the way. I wanted to reminisce a little about the old days.” Lloyd gently chided. “Before that bitch Suzanne shot me.”

“I remember.” Six said, unable to keep his own version of a smug grin from creeping across his face. “It was kind of funny.” He wiped at his mouth, settling back on his haunches where he could look at Lloyd more fully, relishing in the feeling of just getting to sit down. 

Lloyd lingered. Too close. They were almost nose to nose. 

“What did I do to get graced with your stache now?”

“Oh, you’re going to find out. I’ve got a whole date planned, actually. Just you and me.” At the confession, Six had just blinked the haze out of his eyes, a burst of stars forcing them directly back in. Pain shot through the bridge of his nose, a nausea making him gag as he slumped back against the floor. A low growl rumbled within him, rapidly blinking fluorescent lights and Lloyd’s face swirling around him in those last few seconds. 

Thoughts of Claire came to the surface of it all, praying to whatever God existed that she was safe being the last thing that graced his mind before he was gone.

still available! ♡♡

⋆⁎✽๛ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 --- for requests

෴ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: This content is dark and very triggering. Minors and easily triggered people, do not interact. Your mental health matters. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

෴ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND DARK ONLY. My requests are now OPENED. You can request as many fictions as you want, but you have to check out my CHARACTERS LIST and my WARNINGS first. IF YOU ARE ANON, USE AN EMOJI, SO WE CAN TALK MORE <3. Request via my INBOX. Please, also write a short summary of your ideas, do not just send in the number of the promp and the character. Thank you.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 I will use for these: Choking; chasing kink; Dacryphilia (tear kink); fear kink; dv + heavy violence; restraints; manhanding and others. Please choose a few in your request.

"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)

"I don’t remember asking what you wanted, sweetheart." (2)

"You can cry if you want. Won’t change a damn thing." (3)

"That’s the problem with you. You never fucking listen." (4)

"Go ahead. Tell me no again." (5)

"You move, and I promise it’ll be worse." (6)

"I told you to sit down. Don’t make me say it twice." (7)

"You think I give a fuck if you’re scared?" (8)

"I liked you better when you knew your place." (9)

"You’re only still breathing because I let you." (10)

"See how quiet you can be after I slap you around?" (11)

"You can beg if you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop." (12)

"Do I look like a man who’s gonna change his mind?" (13)

"At least make yourself useful, baby." (14)

"You act like I haven’t done this before." (15)

"If you were strong enough to stop me, angel, you would have by now." (16)

"C'mon, baby, don't cry...we haven't even started." (17)

"I'll destroy your pretty face of yours if you do that again." (18)

"Come here. Now." (19)

"I'd suggest you returned because if I catch you...you won't like what I'll do to you." (20)