#Hitman fanfiction

[heartagram-vv]

Cate Blanchett and Mads Mikkelsen hitman moodboard

Requested by @agushazxc

Thanks for the request

[sunniehonniey]

ㅤㅤ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

ㅤ𔘓 ˖ ࣪ Yeri is the most beautiful woman, but be careful! She's very dangerous because she's a hit man who can kill you at any moment in silence and without proof. Using a legacy sword and spider venom, the prey could momentarily lose its life. She's a nightmare for her prey and she's Kim Yeri, the beautiful hit man.

ㅤ     ✦・・ ────────── ・・ ✦

[diana-fortyseven]

Explicit, Smut, Sex Farce, Mutual Pining

A childish bet with two other ICA handlers forces Diana to confront her feelings for her agent.

[myth-blossom]

Mutuals

I wrote a “You’ve Got Mail”-inspired fic for @diana-fortyseven’s birthday! You can check that out at the link below ❤️

Happy Birthday, Diana!! I hope you’re having an awesome celebration! 🥰🥳

Fandom: Hitman (Video Games)

Relationship: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary:

Diana discovers it’s lonely being the Constant. She makes a secret friend online.

[magneticallyyours]

MASTERLIST OF FANDOMS I WRITE FOR/ACCEPT ASKS FOR (characters may vary, drop an ask to confirm)

Current fixations in bigger font.

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

1) X-Men (movies, mostly. To avoid inaccuracies)

2) Marvel Cinematic Universe

3) The Matrix

4) Call Of Duty

-> Reboot, Zombies, and OG makarov.

5) Star Wars (also movies/series, I haven't read EU stuff)

6) Resident Evil

7) Honkai: Star Rail

8) Hitman

9) Detroit: Become Human

10) Bleach (I haven't watched TYBW yet)

11) Inglorious Basterds (the Tarantino movie)

12) Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul

13) Fallout (Only Maximus, Lucy, and The Ghoul)

14) The Boys

15) OVERWATCH

16) Bayonetta

17) Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance

18) Devil May Cry

19) JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

[prismuffin]

Heya! I stumbled across an older (?) lucas grey oneshot you made and saw your requests were open, and since I am having an absolute hitman brainrot atm I wanted to ask if you could write a yan! Agent 47 x gn! Reader oneshot. Doesn’t have to be a huge one, just how life generally would be like with 47 keeping them in the safe house. Reader can be more feisty if you’d like.

Idk if you write yandere content since I couldn’t take it from your request page but if you do I’d love to see this written out, but if you don’t thats totally fine too ofc!

Have a nice day!

A/n: don’t think I’ve ever written yandere content but I don’t mind trying so here it goes! Edit: couldn’t stop myself from turning this into something cute I’m so sorry😭TWO TITLES WOOO

Patience // Garden

yandere!Agent 47 x gn!reader

( summary: as you reflect on life with your captor 47, you indirectly ask to test the boundaries of your confinement )

warnings?: mentions of kidnapping, guns and weapons, possessive 47, anddd Stockholm syndrome!! Gets kinda nice at the end though! Readers depicted to be shorter than 47!

Y/f/f - your favorite flower

!-!more under the cut!-!

You were currently occupying yourself by washing the little amount of dirty dishes you had in your sink. You had hoped the task would stop your mind from wondering but here you were, washing the same cup over and over as your thoughts took over your mind. Currently, he wasn't home, 47. A couple of weeks ago you would've foolishly attempted to escape what others would call captivity. Though now you were a bit wiser. Still, at times like this where he’d leave you alone in his seemingly expensive safe house, you always got to thinking about how you got here.

After apparently catching the eye of the wrong assassin he effortlessly took you as his and only his. When he first brought you here you were obviously scared, but the first thing he did was reassure you that he wouldn’t hurt you. Obviously you didn’t believe him at first and though you may have some emotional scars, he’s never once attempted to physically harm you even after catching you trying to escape him multiple times. He cared for you and seemed to be trying to take things slow, as if he knew he couldn’t just make you love him off the bat. His safe house is rather big and very secluded and he usually spends most of his time in his locked basement where he gets his information for mission and such. Living with an assassin means there’s many weapons hidden and scattered around the safe-house. You like to think it’s a sense of trust, you know the weapons are there but you decide not to use them. You know you’d be overpowered, but you also don’t want to hurt 47 when he’s been nothing but patient and kind with you. You feel conflicted, in the back of your mind you know you shouldn’t care for the man that took you from your home but it’s hard not to when your life is so much easier because of him.

You sigh, placing down the cup in the sink before rinsing your hands and turning off the water. After drying them you found yourself standing by the large windows that showed the forests that surrounded you. A mountain height view of the acres of wildlife discouraged you from attempting to escape the first time you saw it. It used to fill you with such dread as you wondered how you were gonna navigate such a large area of land once you got out but now the view calms you. Your damp hand touches the cold glass as you sigh, though it quickly turns into a gasp as you notice the reflection of a man behind you. You instantly recognize the feeling of his hands as they wrap around your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles along your hips. “It’s just me.” His suave voice fills your ears and you sigh in relief. “You scared me,” you admit, not turning to face him just yet but still leaning back so that his chest his against your back. “I didn’t hear you come in.” You felt him move closer to the side of your face, a hesitant kiss was placed on your cheek, it was pressed so lightly you barely knew it was there. “You look sad,” he began, ignoring your previous statement. “Whats on your mind dear?” He asked, and you sighed. “I was just thinking about…” you trailed off.

Would he like what you had to say? You don’t want to leave him, you just want to step outside. You know there’s a lovely little garden near the front of the house, you see 47 go out to water the plants every other day. You don’t want to leave but you don’t think he fully knows that yet, you can still be a bit apprehensive when it comes to his touch. “Outside.” You finished your thought, clenching your teeth when you felt 47’s movements stop, his calming caresses on your hips being replaced by light pressure as he held back the urge to dig his nails into your skin. He didn’t say a word, and you refused to look at him directly only staring at his reflection that stared back at you with the same stoic expression he always wore. The grip on your waist was the only indicator of how he was feeling. “Not to leave you this time,” you started again, watching the skin of his eyebrows furrow just barely. “I just- want to see the garden! Please…?” Your hands fell to his, resting on top of them as you mimicked the circles he was previously placing on your hips. His grip on your waist loosened at the sign of affection, a hum escaping his chest shook your body as you stared at his reflection with hope. “I suppose you can help me water the plants.” You beamed, turning in his arms to face him. “And if you do well enough maybe you can help take care of them when I'm gone.” You practically jumped for joy at his words though in your mind you knew it was a test. He said a similar thing when he’d first let you out of your now shared bedroom to explore the house. Just a test to see if you’d try to escape, and if you did you’d be confined to the walls of your room with little to no sunlight and just enough food to keep you sustained.

But that didn’t matter right now! Because you knew that you weren’t gonna try and escape, hell the thoughts not even in your mind as you giddily grab the watering can that 47 keeps under the sink. Turning the faucet, you waited with a smile as it filled up. 47 came back with an apron and some boots, “I only have one pair for now,” he stated as he came into view. “If you do well today I’ll get you your own pair.” You smiled and nodded eagerly, watching 47 bite back a smile of his own before his eyes traveled downward. “It’s overflowing, love.” Your eyes shot down to the watering can which was in fact overflowing. You quickly turned off the sink, laughing nervously as you dumped some of the water out. You grabbed the can, straining at the heaviness of it, it’s been a while since you’ve had to do any physical labor. Whenever something’s too heavy 47 usually deals with it. Speaking of which, he’s instantly by your side, now dressed in his gardening attire; his hand held outwards as he silently asks if you need him to carry it. You shake your head at his attempt, finding that it wasn’t too hard to carry once your grip on the handle was right. You wanted to prove to him that you could do this! A small chuckle escaped his lips at your determined expression before he led you outside.

As the usually locked door slid open, a rush of cold air instantly hit you in the face. 47 stepped outside, making his way to one of the small gardens by either side of the door only to stop when he realized you weren’t following him. You stood at the threshold of the outdoors with a newfound nervousness. You gripped the watering can a little harder as you attempted to shake away the stupid anxieties, you were so happy about going outside a minute ago why does it feel so scary now that you’re here. “Come on love,” 47’s voice cut through your thoughts and you looked to him, one of his hands was held towards you as he beckoned you to his side. “It’s alright.” That was practically all that you needed to hear as you took two small steps. The door shut behind you and you glanced back at it before looking back to 47. A small smile broke out on your face as you walked towards him, taking his outstretched hand into your own. The action seemed to take him by surprise though he didn’t pull away, he just simply interlocked your fingers as he led you to one side of the garden.

Tulips, you noticed, were scattered about the entirety of the small strip of flowers. Some y/f/f were also there, you recognized them instantly, 47 would bring you a small bouquet of them every now and then. You placed the water bucket down as 47 got on his knees, letting go of your hand to grab his gloves. He placed one on before giving the other to you, they were quite big on not only your hand but 47’s as well. “First we’ll weed the garden.” He instructed, grounding himself with one hand as he scanned through the soil. Pointing to what you’re guessing is a weed, he effortlessly yanked it from the ground, glaring at it as if it were his target, and you guess in a way it is. You masked a chuckle, watching as he looked for more. “There,” he pointed and you noticed there was another weed infiltrating his garden. “Grab it firmly and pull.” Following his instructions, and his movements, you grabbed at the weed, digging your gloved fingers into the soil slightly before pulling it out. You glared at it like he did, scoffing at the weed before turning to smile at 47. He nodded his head as he watched you, “good.” Your heart fluttered at the praise and you immediately looked back to the soil to find more weeds to remove.

After weeding the garden on both sides you properly watered the plants, 47 off to the side admiring you as he collected the previously pulled up weeds to throw away. You felt content in this moment, doing such domestic work with 47, it was obvious he took pride in things like his garden and you. You took a deep breath of the fresh outside air the surrounded you, before 47 cleared his throat from behind you. Turning, you small smile grew at the sight of 47 holding a y/f/f in his hand, the other behind his back as he held it out to you. Placing down the water bucket, you cocked your head to the side as you walked closer to him. "Thank you, 47." You said as you took the flower, staring at it before grabbing his shoulder with your other hand. You leaned up and placed a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling him freeze at the touch of your lips to his skin. He blinked at you as you pulled back, you were quick to notice that he wasn't the most physically affectionate though that still didn't stop him from trying every now and then. "You did good today," He spoke, after clearing his throat once more. "I think soon you'll be ready to do this on your own." You smiled and nodded, hopeful. "But for now we have a few more plants for you to water," He motioned his head towards the watering can and you picked it up with a bit more ease than before. Following 47 to some potted plants around the exterior and interior of the house, you spent the rest of your morning gardening with 47.

----!----

( live, laugh, love 47. )

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

My requests are OPEN so feel free to request anything! Just make sure you check out my Request Info first!

See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!

Masterlist

[issytheamateurnerd]

Hey, Hitman Fandom!

I need some help. Is 47's birthday event still happening this year? I haven't seen anything about it. Could someone point me in the right direction? I actually want to participate this year!

[lucas-grey]

Happy Birthday, Grumpynora!

My dear friend and loving member to the fandom, @grumpynora; I wish you all the best for your birthday 🥳 ❤️ I wish you another year full of beautiful memories, adventures and wonderful experiences. And even if life is sometimes difficult, I send you the strength you need to deal with it 🙏 I'm grateful to have met you thanks to the Hitman fandom here on Tumblr and for sharing your amazing pictures with us fans. I'm glad you exist 😘 And as a little "gift" I wrote you a short story. Pssst, you have a little cameo appearance here 🥰

A normal life

Shrouded in shadow, 47 stood barefoot and dressed only in his suit trousers at the small, barred window and looked out at the sun slowly rising in the distance. He sipped a cup filled with hot black coffee. It had been two months since the ICA and Providence had fallen under his hand. And now here he was, in a small hotel room in St Petersburg. A free man. Or was he not? After these two powerful organisations had fallen, he and his handler Diana Burnwood decided to live the life of a freelancer. The decision to do so was very much of his own free will, but was he what they call a "free man"?

A normal life. That was what his brother had wanted for himself, but above all for 47.

"And what kind of life is that?" 47 had asked on the deck of the ship they had once travelled on to Sgail to capture the Constant. Grey had smiled at him. "Well, you know. A normal life, like all humans lead. With a normal job, a girlfriend, build a house, plant a tree. That sort of thing." 47 raised an eyebrow. "Sounds exhausting," he replied. Laughing, Grey had put his hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm sure we'd hate it. But at least we'd be free, old friend."

The thought of his brother and of perhaps having disappointed him with his decision to continue with this life choked his throat. He needed some fresh air to clear his mind. 47 put the cup down and began to get dressed. The sun had risen enough by now to bathe the small hotel room in a warm orange colour. 47 chose his usual uniform of a black suit with a white shirt and a red silk tie. To match the Russian winter, he put on a black woollen coat.

As he left the hotel, he took a deep breath. The cool air filled his lungs and the feeling of a knot in his throat, which tightened the longer he thought about his brother, dissipated. He walked a few metres around the block until he reached a small park. Although it was still early in the morning, some children were already in the park, laughing and playing in the snow. Couples were walking through the morning sun, holding hands.

The snow crunched under 47's footsteps. The life he had now chosen was certainly not what his brother had imagined. Grey had wanted a life away from all the death and suffering he had faced all his life. For himself and for 47, but in the end 47 had decided in favour of a life as a killer again. It was the only thing he could do. The only thing he felt good about. Anything else was out of the question for him.

47 looked up. On the meadow in front of him, a young woman was playing with two small dogs. She threw them a ball and the two animals ran after it, their tails wagging happily. She seemed carefree, even though 47 was sure that she also had to carry her baggage. Just like him. Normal life or not.

When she noticed that 47 was looking at her, she smiled kindly. 47 automatically returned with a slight smile and continued to watch as she threw the ball again and the two dogs ran through the snow to retrieve it.

Maybe this thought wasn't so bad after all. This thought of a normal life. A life, where he would probably just walk up to this woman, start a conversation with her and invite her for a coffee. A life where he walks through the park with her and plays with her dogs. He would probably never really let go of his old life. It was his calling. What he was made for. But maybe now was the time to allow other things into his life as a free man.

For you, brother, he thought, before walking slowly up to the woman.

[hitmanexchange]

Welcome to Hitman Bonus Day, a flash event to celebrate February 29th in leap years by writing bonus scenes and chapters for our own Hitman fics and for each other.

Detailed schedule and rules under the cut!

Schedule

February 20 – Sign-Ups Open (00:59 UTC)

February 21 – Sign-Ups Close (23:59 UTC)

February 29 – Assignments Due & Gift Reveals (22:59 UTC)

March 2 – Creator Reveals (21:59 UTC)

General Rules

The Exchange part of the event is 18+! If you're a minor or don't want someone else to write a bonus scene/chapter for one of your Hitman fics, please participate in the Fest part of the event instead! In that case, you may also write treats for those who signed up for the exchange.

For both parts of the event, please link your written bonus scene/chapter as a related work via AO3's "related work" function.

You may participate in both parts of the event, if you're interested in writing and receiving a bonus scene/chapter for/from someone else as well as writing one for your own fics.

When writing a treat for one of the exchange participants, please honour their list of fics they want/don't want a bonus scene/chapter for, their maximum Rating, and their DNWs (Do Not Want).

Bonus Day has an anonymous period of 47 hours. Please don't do anything that could identify you as the creator of a specific work.

The Exchange

This part of the event is 18+!

Matching is on Rating. In the sign-up form, please select all ratings you're comfortable to receive as a bonus scene/chapter, as well as all ratings you'd be interested in writing.

In the optional details field, please either list those of your Hitman fics you'd want to receive bonus scenes/chapters for, or those you don't want to receive bonus scenes/chapters for. Please make it very obvious which one of these it is. You can also list your DNW (Do Not Want) in a non-judgemental way, as well as link to a letter in your own space (for example Tumblr or Dreamwidth).

When working on your assignment or writing a treat, please honour your recipient's list of fics they want/don't want a bonus scene/chapter for, their maximum Rating, and their DNWs (Do Not Want).

The minimum wordcount for the exchange is 300 words.

The Fest

Go wild, I guess?

No signing up required for this part of the event.

Bonus Day is for bonus scenes/chapters for Hitman fics only.

Please don't add unrelated works to the collection, and don't add the bonus scene/chapter as a new chapter to the existing work. Additionally to linking it via the "related work" function, you can put it in a series with your first work after the anon period is over.

If you participate in both parts of the event, please prioritise finishing the fic for your recipient over finishing your own.

[cicaklah]

the most important part of the hitman fic writing process is deciding what diana is going to wear.

[thecheesiestcheese23]

the hand that feeds (and the heart that bleeds)

47 was an unknown and innominate man whose mind was a gaping maw of death and destruction; who was a blight upon some and a freak of nature to others. He thought he was nothing more, could be nothing more.

Until he remembered.

Until Six.

Until Lucas.

--

hello!! this is my first time writing anything in like,,, ever so please don't judge lmao. i recently got into this game and the lore and storyline is soso good compared to other fandoms i've been in recently.

for some notes: this is mainly based off of the trilogy, however i have added some aspects of the old games and from what i've seen of the comics. also, i have not read the comics, so i have taken some liberties on them. the title is loosely based off of ozymandias by percy bysshe shelly (which is a really good read) and i def recommend. ALSO if anyone has any song recommendations for my hitman playlist pls drop a comment ty.

please do enjoy!

words: 4.6k

--

A timeless chasm tears open within his mind, the hungered mouth swallowing everything that he knew.

“This is your gift.” An empty voice speaks to him and a blank-faced boy. He blinks, and the boy dissipates into ash. “Your gift, and your curse.” A heavy hand rests upon his shoulder (upon his mind and his memories, burying them) and squeezes, a nameless man looming above him. A voice booms from the man, and yet he only shows a vacant visage. “To touch lives only by ending them.”

--

Agent 47 was no stranger to being called a machine.

He's heard it from other ICA agents spread through gossip, an off-handed comment from Diana, an insult spat from the lips of Soders as he died. He let it fester, doing nothing to stop it. It had never bothered him before: let people think what they will.

After all, it was partially true in some form, not that he remembered- he was genetically modified for killing, his bare atoms torn apart and made into an unempathetic and inhumane killer. He was a twisted and unsettling imitation of a man, a vicious mockery of what he should have been. An improbable being made of stone and dust where blood that is not his own drips down his body and pools beneath his feet.

Before he remembered, 47 thought he could be nothing more. The call of death hummed in his veins with the handle of a knife fitting perfectly within the palm of his calloused hand. It was all he knew since waking up in the asylum, knowing nothing more than the most effective way to kill and how the recoil of a gun felt.

The ICA had given him a sense of purpose. A home, of sorts. Diana, in turn, appeared in his life, a constant presence in his ear, her quick-witted humor and steady voice filling in the void where he knew someone else should be.

The thought would give him pause at moments, which was unlike him. 47 knew he didn’t remember much of anything beyond the art of death, but there was always this pressing feeling that there was more that he should know. It settled like ash on his tongue, sour and grainy.

The only proof that he held of this feeling was the polaroid clutched between his thumb and forefinger. Angry eyes stared back at him, a cold blue that mirrored his own detached ones. It was him- he was sure of it. The picture sat heavy in his scarred palm, an unnamed weight tied to it.

47 sees the face every time he blinks his eyes, an unknown slate of himself pushing against his eyelids, a haunting image following him wherever he goes. It presses down on his shoulders, bears down on his violent mind. He leans back in the leather chair that sat in the hotel room, the material squeaking in protest for a moment. There had been points over his time employed at the ICA where he had wondered if his past was really worth remembering.

His eyes slid over to the open briefcase on the made bed, the light from the windows catching on the sliver of the guns and the glass of the bottles. He remembers what Diana had told him over the phone call, her smooth voice crackling over the phone, over the many continents that separated them.

“I, too, know what it’s like to have everything taken from you.” Diana admitted, her voice tinny over the phone. 47 says nothing, letting her speak. “He claims to know about your past; your childhood, your memories, everything Ort-Meyer stole from you.”

Would it be worth it? To join Providence just to remember his past? More importantly, how did Providence know who he used to be? There had to be something more than what they were telling Diana.

He didn’t know if it was worth it. It was as if the world had just spat him out; opened up to a gaping maw where he was made not from a mother or father but from death itself. If that was all he remembered, then maybe there was a reason for that.

47 slides the photo into his pocket, smoothing it over as he stands up fluidly from the chair. With a snap, he closes the briefcase and takes it in hand. There was little else for him to take- he never left a trace of himself anywhere. (Distantly, somewhere far away, a rosary hangs from a wooden gate, swaying softly in the wind.)

He strides out the door, a ghost in everything but name.

--

The first memory 47 could recall was of a snow white rabbit.

It was a runaway lab rabbit with beady red eyes and silky fur. The first time 47 had met it, it had been hidden underneath his bed. Curious, he reached his hand out to grab it, yet it had scurried away.

He was unsure of what to do, how to continue. It was unnerving.

47 did not know how to be kind.

Over the expanse of a few weeks, 47 taught himself how to care. He cared for it as well as he knew how- he fed it scraps from dinner and water smuggled from lunch. Slowly, it no longer flinched away from 47’s heavy hand- it leant towards it instead, like a flower to the sun.

He was surprised by the softness of it all. The kindness it exhibited. It was a feeling 47 had never experienced before and it acted as reprieve from the constant tests and pain that the Institute provided.

He knew Ort-Meyer didn’t approve- he made it known with condescending glances and patronizing words, saying that boys like him didn’t need unimportant attachments to such things. Still, he did nothing to remove it, so 47 kept it.

Unlike everything else at the institute, it was gentle- forgiving, even. It was not jagged at the edges or venomous in its words.

And then there was Six.

47 eyes the boy in his room, ever untrusting. The boy (who he distantly recognizes as Subject 6) sputters for a moment, standing up straight from where he was crouched over the rabbit. “You’re supposed to be on a mission.”

47 nods slowly, analyzing the room. Six continues. “I had just heard you had this rabbit. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He tilts his head, thinking. “It is… alright. You are Subject Six, no?”

Six nods, seemingly more relaxed than the other. “Yes. And everyone knows who you are, 47.” He looks to the rabbit and then back again. “I did not mean to intrude. I can leave if you wish.”

He nods again. “You can… visit more often, if you like. The company would be enjoyable. You do not seem like the others.”

The boy smiles, almost giddily, and 47 is taken aback for a moment.

The next two years pass in a similar motion- the two becoming closer and closer by the day.

That was, until 47 came back to a dead rabbit.

Six was away on a mission, so there was no one for him to turn to. He knelt down before the dead rabbit where it was beaten senseless and bloody, the red blood seeping into the cold concrete below. The other boys had always been particularly cruel. Something burns in his eyes, and before he can blink whatever it was away, it drips down his cheeks.

He stays there, broken and crying before his bloodied rabbit.

--

Streaks of blood stream down Wazier Kale’s forehead. A smoking gun is hidden away, slipped behind the black void that is 47’s suit.

“The infamous Maelstrom is dead.” Diana hums in his ear. “Excellent work, 47.”

47 sometimes wondered about the people he killed. About the families and dreams they left behind; about the opportunities not yet taken. About their life- their past. He wondered what it was like to have the opportunity to be something.

It wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about often.

“Mission accomplished.” Diana says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Time to find an exit. It’s almost too bad we can’t stay for a vacation. Lovely weather this time of year.” She jokingly muses, humming and not expecting a reply.

47, as expected, says nothing as he leaves the building. He leaves no trace behind: the gunshot unheard in the loudness of the streets, the gun unregistered, and he easily blends into the crowd.

Diana had asked years upon years ago about his past. About who he was. All he had to answer her with was a number made name and the suit he wore. If asked now by her, he would say that he was a hitman. A contract killer. Others would say that he was a freak of nature, an animal in the skin of a human. As he slid into the cab, to the people wandering the street, he was nothing more than a man.

His back is set in a straight line, the guns resting at his hips barely noticeable. The cab rolls over the brick of the road, and it takes a few minutes before Diana speaks. Usually, the two wouldn’t speak until 47 was back in a safehouse, so he listens intently to her words, wondering if something had gone wrong.

“Agent 47,” Diana breathes, and to anyone else, she would sound impassive, but 47 knows better. She sounds almost giddy, yet she tries to reel it in with a front of professionalism.

He says nothing, not wanting to freak out the cab driver, so he just hums.

“I have been tracking any suspicious purchases of large or abandoned buildings lately after the dismantlement of the base in Colorado, and just now, I have received a notice that an abandoned building out in Romania has been purchased by an antonyms investor with the use of cryptocurrency. It has to be Lucas Grey.”

Lucas Grey. The Shadow client. The man they’ve been hunting for the past year. To have this much of a lead on him would allow 47 to put an end to this once and for all.

But this is almost too easy. Grey has been covering up his tracks well enough over the past year that even Providence hasn’t been able to track him.

“But,” Diana continues, taking the words right out of his mouth. “Even if this does end up to be Grey, it still very much could be a trap.”

The cab sputters to a stop with the driver shouting something in Marathi, and 47 takes that as his cue to get out. He gives the cab driver more than what the fee would have been, but he’s gone by the time the cab driver can process this.

“It is the most we’ve had on him in the past year.” Agent 47 says smoothly, not agreeing or disagreeing on Diana’s hesitance as he strolls on the long-since abandoned sidewalks towards the airport.

“It is.” She agreed, and he can faintly hear typing in the background. “The plan is to wait for a few weeks to monitor the place; see if there will be anyone else entering or leaving the compound.”

He’s silent for a moment before Diana continues.

“47, this is the only way to return your memories. To learn what Ort-Meyer has stolen from you. Don’t you think it’s time to get some closure?”

47 thinks of a polaroid burned long ago. Of angry blue eyes. Of a past long lost. Of a boy he killed.

He finds that he agrees with Diana.

--

47 and Six run through the forest with nothing but the clothes on their backs and each other. Gunfire rings out, bullets lodging themselves in the wood of trees and the soft dirt of the ground.

They duck beneath branches and hop over streams of water, silent as they could be. Their breaths stay quiet and even, trusting in the other to follow them wordlessly as they continue through the endless forest. Their feet sink into the soft earth as down-pouring rain splattered down around them, drenching their jumpsuits as they blinked the water out of their eyes.

“The rain’s good.” Six had whispered to 47 after they had taken out the guards at the main entrance, hovering close behind him. “It’ll cover our tracks.”

47 swiped the access card he had stolen from Ort-Meyer earlier. He was the only one who could get close enough to do so. “It can cover theirs too.” He said, sparing a glance at Six as the door soundlessly unlocked.

The two had been planning this for months on end through hushed voices after dark and on assignments, not wanting to be caught by Ort-Meyer or any of the guards. Finally, they had put their plan into motion: a piece of concrete broken off from the underside of the cafeteria tables had been all they needed to distract a guard and strangle him with a homemade fiber wire. They choke out the others, snap the necks of some, and kill the rest with silenced pistols.

The smell of earth and the taste of liberation on their tongues was a heady feeling.

Now the two sprint towards the promise of freedom with bullets flying at their backs, never taking a moment to rest when they knew it could be their last. 47 dutifully followed Six, never faltering or doubting for a moment.

That was, until he tumbled forward onto the wet and slick ground below. He slides for a moment, unsure of what had happened until a dull pain spreads throughout his shoulder. One of the guards had gotten him. Grunting silently, he pushes himself up with his good arm to his feet, staggering for a moment.

In an instant, Six is by his side, a question on the tip of his tongue before 47 shakes his head. “I’m fine. We need to go.”

Six stares at him for a moment, assessing, before nodding his head in a sharp jerk and taking 47 by the good bicep to encourage him along. “C’mon, 47, aren’t you supposed to be the best of us?” He attempts to joke as they continue running, but it falls flat. Still, 47 finds it within himself to huff a laugh.

They continue to run, only this time side by side with Six clenching his bicep in a death grip as if he was afraid he was going to disappear if he let up for even one second. At least with the movement, he could feel that the bullet had gone clean through, so there was no need to dig it out once they were safe.

Yet safety never came.

With another two resounding gunshots, 47 felt a bullet lodge in his lower stomach, and if knowing by some innate feeling, he shoves Six out of the way to get another bullet lodged in his leg instead of his brother’s.

He tumbles down once more, a wet gasp leaving his mouth as his injured leg connects to the ground below.

“Why would you take that bullet, you-!” Six knelt down beside him, fluttering hands skating over the wounds, not knowing how to help in a moment of panic for his brother. “Shit! 47- fuck, come on, you need to get up!”

“Six.” 47 gasped, more so in fear for his brother than for himself. The barking of dogs and the pounding of footsteps only grew closer. “You need to run.”

“No, come on, I am not leaving you. Not here. Not in their clutches.” Six shakes his head, resolute. 47's heart throbs in anguish. And then his wounds sear in pain as Six attempts to pick him up. He was always the more hopeful of the two.

47, in one last attempt, gets up with the help of his brother before he lurches forward in pain. He knew that even with three bullet holes in him, he would still be able to run, but he would only end up hindering Six. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. “You need to run.” He repeats.

Six protests immediately. “No-”

“I’ll only slow you down. You and I both know this.” He insists steadily as he stumbles away slowly, acceptance slowly blooming within his gut.

“I’ll carry you. You’ll heal. I can’t go on without you. I won’t know how.” Six continues on, distress clearly showing in the lines of his body.

“The bullet is still in my leg. I won’t make it long without proper medical care.”

“I’ll dig it out myself-”

“Six.” 47 interrupts him, speaking through a mouth full of blood. It dribbles down his chin and stains him. “Please.”

He was never one for words, and he never begged, not for anything, but for his brother, he would do anything. He would get down on his knees before the altar of a long-forgotten god and beg for his safety, he would cut out his heart if Six needed it, he would kill for him, die for him, return to that god-forsaken institute for him. ”Live your life for me. For the both of us. Be free.”

He hesitates for a moment, but 47 can see the dawning realization on his face. His older brother swallows harshly, encapsulating one of his hands in both of his. “I’ll come back for you, okay? I’m- I’m not just going to leave you here.”

He should tell him no. He should tell him to run and forget about everything that has happened here. About the Institute. About Ort-Meyer. About the torture, the experiments, the pain and suffering.

About him.

But he allows himself to be selfish, to hope one last time. He nods shakily, drawing in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Six squeezed his hand, yet the ever-increasing closeness of the guards spurred him away. He disappears into the foliage, looking back one last time before the forest swallows him whole. 47 pitched forward, catching himself on the rough bark of a tree as black spots danced in his vision.

With a shuddering sigh, he forces himself back up and makes his legs move in a different direction, intent on leading the soldiers away. He makes as much noise as possible before he heaves forward, a tangle of limbs on the ground.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is the looming building of the Institute that hovers over the tree line and the muzzle of a Weatherby Vanguard pointed at his face.

The black void engulfs his vision, grief and blood heavy on his tongue.

--

The place, just as Diana had described it, was deserted.

And familiar.

It was familiar in a way you had something at the tip of your tongue, yet couldn't name it. The way a dream slips away. The way you walk into a room and forget why you’re there.

“He’s here.” 47 says as he approaches it.

The dilapidated building stood crumbling yet tall with vines crawling along the stone sides and in through the broken windows. Getting there had 47 traversing through acres upon acres of foliage with only Diana there to guide him at points. There was something odd about this forest, however. At points, there would be bullets deeply ingrained into the trees or embedded into the dirt below.

“The breadcrumbs were almost too easy to follow, 47. This could be a trap-” Diana’s voice wavers for a moment before being forcibly cut off.

“Not a trap.” He muses to himself as a window flickers to life with light.

The gate swung open easily, creaking. If this was any other mission, he would have found another way in.

Deep down however, with a churning gut and unknown past, he knows he knew this building. He loads his gun.

“An invitation.”

Now it was time to find out how.

--

47 sits straight in an uncomfortable chair, the cold of it seeping into his bones. His head is held high as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s back as the man hunches over, fiddling with something.

Resentment pools within his gut and hatred burns the back of his throat.

It would be so easy to slam Ort-Meyer’s head down into the metal table until his face was nothing more than flesh stuck to his palms, but he had to bide his time before his next escape attempt. Six had already gotten out, and that was more than enough for now. To know that his brother was free from the Institution's clutches gave him more than enough hope that he could get out next.

His thigh, shoulder, and stomach all throb in a distant reminder of what had happened: not in pain, but as a dull memory; the wounds have all long since healed. 47 grits his teeth and bides his time.

The rest of his brothers had already been killed or had been placed in another part of the building, but he knew that he wasn’t going to be next. If he was going to be, they would have put him down in that forest. He was too useful to them. He was the perfect clone.

‘Too useful to waste.’ Ort-Meyer apparently agreed with this sentiment.

Something akin to fear settles deep beneath his skin when Ort-Meyer turns back around, filled syringe in hand. The man begins to pace, circling around 47. He tenses and his nails dig into the metal of the chair, leaving crevices behind.

“47,” Ort-Meyer begins, voice even. “I understand your actions. You felt trapped, scared. 6 had been tormenting you for so long."

Confusion paints his face white, but he refuses to show any fear. He swallows harshly as the doctor continues.

“It would only make sense for you to lash out like how you did. However, I would prefer it if you only kill the people we ask you to, 47.”

“What do you mean, father?” 47 asks, fingers twitching as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s neck. Dread pools in his gut and a feeling of wrongness weighs him down.

Ort-Meyer hums in compilation, and 47 hates like never before. “How you killed your tormentor, 6, after he pushed you too far, of course. How he had bullied you for years upon years until you snapped. How you had fled the facility in fear, thinking that we would punish you for such a deed. However, that is not the case. 47."

His heart hammers within his chest, and fear thrums in his nerves. Why is Ort-Meyer telling him this? Did they kill Six? Did they find him? Bile rises up to his throat.

He flicks the tip of the syringe, examining how the light reflects off of the liquid. “We are impressed by your so-called escape, even at the loss of Six. The thoughtfulness you exhibited when you hid his body, made a fiber wire out of a window sill and broom, oiled the door hinges to prevent them from making noise, and shot the guard dog with a bow and arrow is impressive. We cannot let such talent go to waste.”

‘No,’ 47 thinks, an indescribable feeling of dread washing over him. ‘They found him. They killed him. Six is dead because of me.’ “That’s not what happened, father.” 47 says steadily, but his voice sounds shaky even to him. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Ort-Meyer stops behind him, and alarm bells set off deep within him, making him nauseous. “When we’re done here, 47,” Ort-Meyer caresses his head in a mockery of a loving touch, thumbing over the bar code at the back of his head as if he was trying to comfort him. 47 wants to kill him. The prick of a needle at his throat stings for only a moment, and a feeling of numbness settles over him like a scratchy blanket. “It will be.”

--

A shattered mirror lies at the top of a staircase.

The broken pieces jut out like a venus flytrap, and 47 can see the faint traces of blood coating them. 47 stares at himself for a moment, his body broken up and spread through the many pieces.

An angry blue-eyed boy watches him. He blinks, and 47 stares back.

The inside of the building was just as broken down as the outside suggested. Mildew and mold coated the walls, wallpaper torn and spiderwebs crawling along every surface available. 47 stalked forward, following the twisting and turning halls easily as if he knew them like the back of his hand.

The place seemed to be void of any personality: the wallpare a musty green and the flickering lights a sickly yellow, aged with time- yet it gave him this peculiar and inexplicable feeling of home. It sickened him like never before.

His free hand trailed along the decaying walls, something akin to unease settling in the pit of his stomach. There was something about this place that made him want to flee and never look back. It was strange and left him uneasy like never before.

A flickering light beckoned him forward, and shoving everything aside, he followed.

In front of a gaping hole stood Lucas Grey, his silhouette cutting against the harsh light of the afternoon sun. 47 steadied his gun, arm straight and true, yet something made him hesitate.

“You can home.” A haunting voice came from the man, gun in hand. He shifts it so that he held it by the muzzle, turning ever so slightly so he can look 47 in the eye. ”I knew you would.” Grey tosses the gun aside into a puddle, the water rippling for a moment as 47 looks on in muted surprise. “You’ve come a long way, 47. And even now, you don’t remember.”

47 should shoot him down where he stands. He shouldn’t prolong this any longer, but he doesn’t pull the trigger. “This place…” he begins.

“This was our prison.” Grey interrupts, hatred coating his words. He spits the words out like a curse, as if they burned on his tongue. He turns around, and 47’s head pounds. “Where father trained us, shaped us into killers for Providence.”

He stalks forward, gun hand never wavering, but what Grey says next gives him pause. “Now you don’t remember, they ripped it out of you, wiped it away, but I do. I remember everything.”

A hand on his shoulder. A comforting presence. A house yet not a home.

47 shakes his head, finger ghosting the trigger. ”You’re a terrorist with nothing to lose. You’d say anything.” Grey moves to the left, towards the wall, and 47 nearly makes him a smear upon the wall.

The man squats down and digs his fingers into the wall, tearing it away. Two bloodied handprints sit there, and 47’s hand stings in a reminder. The muzzle of the gun is pressed to the back of Lucas’ head as a reminder.

He swallows harshly. “I know it’s difficult. You never miss your mark or question your function. But we made a pact, you and I.”

47 stares at his scarred palm. He had forgone gloves for this mission, and now the matching X on his palm stands out more than ever. Lucas turns, and emotions that 47 can’t catch paint his face. “Do this… we both lose.”

47 remembers little but he knew he was a killer in more ways than one. “There was an incident. That boy… he died by my hands.”

“He lived.” Lucas says, the words dripping out of his mouth like nectar. “Because of you.” He fluidly stands, gray eyes boring into his own, searching frantically. “Don’t you remember his name?” He asks desperately, pressing forward, only stopped by the barrel of a gun kissing his forehead. ”You know this. Deep down, you know. What was his name?”

A forest. A promise. Pain and hope. A brother.

Six.

He raises his gun, hand twitching. “Subject Six. Your name is Subject Six.”

“And what is our purpose?”

Suffering. Experiments. Killing. Flesh tearing anew.

“To destroy them all.”

--

please excuse if the characters are ooc, i haven't written these characters before so i'm still trying to get the hang of writing them. i hope you all enjoyed it! i may write some more on this fandom later on! :)

[multiverseprincess]

been watching a lot of Monk lately and I've been cooking up ideas for Gary Johnson (movie characterization) x reader (Detective!) maybe?

lmk if anyone's interested in talking about it! 😌🤲🏽✨

[writing-with-sophia]

hello!! how are you? hope you're doing well!! if requests are open, may i request a hibari headcanon? specifically a poetic s/o bombarding him with poems and affection on valentines day <33 (im a sucker for fluff xd)

Hibari Kyoya x Poetic S/O

Note: Hello anon! Thanks for requesting <3 Since you didn't specify the gender of the reader, I'll default to GN!reader.

It's been a long time since I watched Hitman Reborn, so if there are any mistakes please let me know!

Genre: fluff.

Hibari Kyoya x Poetic S/O

His first impression of you was that you were a loud and bold herbivore. You seemed unafraid of him, always appearing wherever he rested and bothering him with silly poems.

Yes, silly poems. He thinks they are like that.

Hibari doesn't care about poetry or literature, and he does not even know that today is Valentine's Day (to be honest, I'm afraid he doesn't know what Valentine's Day is).

So when you come to meet him and constantly bombard him with sweet and cheesy love poems, Hibari thinks you are trying to provoke him. And he will see it as a challenge.

At least until Kusakabe explains what Valentine's Day is to him.

"Love? Huh, how boring."

"But... Not bad."

Hibari was born into a traditional Japanese family and was educated in the best, including a taste for literature. He's just not interested in them, not ignorant of them.

Then, he forgives you, lets you go, and warns you not to bother him again.

After that day, you realized that Hibari seemed to pay more attention to you. Although you couldn't tell if that attention was good or bad, perhaps it will be a good start to your pursuit of him.

Good luck.

[diana-fortyseven]

Mature, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Social Gatherings

The ICA is hosting one of their traditional social gatherings in their headquarters in London. They say it's to keep spirits and morale high, but everyone knows it's an opportunity for uncovering their employees' weak spots and pressure points, and a welcomed accelerator for office gossip. For the first time since he started working for the ICA, Agent 47 has promised not to ignore the invitation. It's not his fault that he's running late, but he's worried to disappoint Diana Burnwood nonetheless.

[myth-blossom]

To Lose Everything

I wrote an alternative bad ending for Hitman 3 for the 2024 Summer of Horror Exchange! You can check that out at the link below ❤

And please be sure to check out this wonderful gift I received from the exchange, too! ☺️

Fandom: Hitman (Video Games)

Relationship: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary:

47 has his final confrontation with the Constant, unaware that Edwards has one last move to make.

[peridotglimmer]

Oh all the nonverbal love prompts make me feral 👀 how about one of these for Diana/47?

4. Randomly hugging your partner out of nowhere (bonus points if you're not a physically affectionate person)

21. Giving your partner your jacket when they're cold

Both? Both is good.

--

"That was lovely, thank you for taking me." Diana spoke softly as 47 led her out of the National Theatre and back onto the streets of Prague. The ballet had been a wonderful anniversary gift to look forward to, and Romeo & Juliet had been even more beautiful in person than she could have imagined. It was but a short 7-minute walk to Národní třída, the metro station that would take them back to their hotel. Major cities were much easier navigated by public transport, after all, and this way they could both have a drink.

As they descended the steps to the platforms, the temperature of the air surrounding them changed from a late summer's late-night lingering warmth to a chill that made her regret not bringing a thin jumper or at the very least a wrap to help her stay warm. 47 was wearing a suit, one of her favourite ones, so obviously the cold wasn't bothering him. Diana took a breath. She'd be fine; she just had to hold out for another twenty minutes or so.

Suddenly a warm weight was draped onto her shoulders, immediately enveloping her in warmth and the near-overwhelming scent of home.

"You looked cold."

Fuelled by the combination of the happiness surrounding their anniversary, the wine in her system and the love for her ridiculously charming husband, Diana pulled him in for an uncharacteristically public display of affection. 47 froze for a tick, before reciprocating the embrace, letting her nestle her head beneath his chin.

"Thank you," Diana whispered.

47 didn't let go until their train arrived.