Cocked & Loaded. (Hans Gruber x reader)

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"SHHH," Hans interrupted, holding up the palm of his free hand.

"That's...very kind of you. I assume you are our mysterious party crasher," Hans continued. His voice was low and as smooth as rich velvet, dripping like melted honey with each drawl of a vowel. It sent shivers running up the length of your spine.

"You are most troublesome. For a security guard."

The voice on the other end screeched in what sounded like an imitation of a buzzer, causing you to flinch just slightly and bite down hard on your lower lip. Hans took notice, flickering his eyes over to you.

"Sorry Hans, wrong guess! Would you like to go for double jeopardy where the scores can really change?!"

The conversation didn't last for much longer, Hans dropping the walkie talkie away from his mouth as he turned to one of his men. "Check on all the others. Don't use the radio. See if he's lying about Marco and find out if anyone else is missing."

You took this as your opportunity to run. And fucking run you did. You turned on your heels and bolted for the door, hands gripping the knob and giving it a fumbled twist. Just when you had thought you were finally free of your bewildering entrapment, a sharp and burning pain hit you in the back of your right leg.

Warmth soaked your skin and pooled at your fancy heel as you tumbled against the door, white spotting your vision as your head began to spin. You twisted around as best you could to get a glimpse of your leg and felt yourself nearly vomit at the sight of the blood, bringing a shaky hand up to touch the now open wound just above the inner crook of your knee.

Hans shot up from the desk, rushing over to one of the two men who has his gun gripped in both hands. He twisted the other man's wrists and tossed the gun to the floor, shoving him up against the nearby wall and causing a framed photo to fall and shatter over the carpet.

"Verdammte Idiotin!" Hans was clearly angry, his forearm pushing into the crook of the the other man's throat until he was practically begging to be let go in the form of choking coughs.

"GO. Now."

The two men rushed out of the office, stepping over your hunched frame in the process. Hans shot you a flaming look, eyes burning holes into your skin. You whimpered in pain as you attempted to move from the floor but it was no use. You had been fucking shot!

Hurrying back over to the desk, Hans gripped the walkie talkie and buzzed it on, speaking hushed into the receiver. "Mister mystery guest. Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," the other end chirped. "Unless you wanna open the front door for me."

"Uh no, I'm afraid not. But...you have me at a loss."

HELLO? You had just been shot in the leg for damn sake. How could he be standing there, having such a casual conversation with a stranger on the other end of the line?!

Hans cocked a brow up, keeping his eyes on you. "You know my name, but who are you? Just another American who saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he's John Wayne? Rambo? Marshal Dillon?"

The man on the other end took a moment to respond, and all that could be heard was your panting and groans of shooting pain.

"I was always kinda partial to Roy Rogers, actually. I really like those sequin shirts."

"Do you really think you have a chance against us, mister cowboy?" Hans chuckled into the walkie talkie as his lips curled slightly at the corners.

"Yippie ki yay, motherfucker."

Hans released the button and tossed the talkie onto the desk, turning his attention back to you and striding across the carpet to where you sat in a bloody heap.

"About fucking time you helped me! Your guy SHOT ME."

He stood, silent, before slowly bending to his knees and balancing on the tips of his shoes. His eyes traveled the frame of your body to the wound that penetrated the skin of your thigh. He brought his hand up to lightly touched over the bullet entry with his fingertips and you immediately flinched back from him, hissing as the pain shot up your entire leg.

"Easy, easy," he hummed calmly as he held up his other hand, flashing his palm in a silent show of concern.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to calm your breathing, little droplets of sweat forming over your skin. Fuck, it hurt. It hurt really bad. You had wondered a few times before what it would feel like to get shot, and now you were wishing you didn't know. Without warning, Hans was hooking his arms underneath your back and your legs, pulling you up into a careful embrace as he shoved the door open with the flat of his foot.

"Ow, fuck!" You cried out softly, the warmth of blood continuing to cover the back of your leg.

Hans took quick strides down the empty hallway and around a few short turns, your brows furrowing together in a line of confusion.

"Hans, where are we going?"

Your hands gripped the fancy fabric of his suit and gave it a tug, feeling your leg throb with each of his steps. He continued to walk even as he stole a quick glance down at you. You could've sworn you saw a sparkle of worry and soft affection deep in those dark hues. He let out a soft sigh and gripped you tighter within his arms.