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niobe-loreley · 9 months

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Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xv}

three words plus one = I HAVE RETURNED.. temporarily lol

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Additionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warnings: moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. dramaramramamama. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check. slightly proofread/revised.

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 14 is prolly a deer now Chapter 15 is the moment

word count: 2.7k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know YET (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

"Shit."

That's one way to put it.

You glance over your shoulder. "Puta."

That's another way to put it.

Cuss all you want, you deserve to— especially with two cars hurtling right behind you, as though with the intent to make you crash.

"Tangina!" you shout when one of the cars, the white SUV, speeds up to your left and prevents you from driving towards the Hotel Interpark.

You take a wild gander around the street, where there’s not a single soul in sight. Probably because of this fucking rain!

As though the thunderclouds heard your insult, the downpour becomes stronger; a little more and the thick raindrops will be like waves crashing down from above.

You drive faster now, maintaining your balance, and you turn right, weaving into a street that’s partially being remade. You switch to the lane that’s under construction and you’re thankful for your experience in riding motorcycles on tough roads.

There’s a nearby restaurant— with workers still inside!

You're about to honk to gain their attention but a bump from behind threatens your equilibrium. You swiftly steady the motorcycle and veer left into a street. You take a gander, despite the parked cars and opened lights in the building, no one is witnessing you fleeing for your life.

"Fucking hell!" you roar, harshly twisting the accelerator.

Just as you burst out of the street, you're about to turn left when headlights swallow you. Luckily, your instincts kick in and you haven't released the accelerator. If you had slowed down then, the black Honda Civic would've crashed into you. Instead, it hits your rear wheel; you attempt to balance once again, but the force this time is too much.

Lightning strikes the earth at the time your motorcycle pummels into the ground. You're thrown off into the curb, ignoring the pain flaring across your body, you shuffle up and head for your motorcycle. But you stop when you see your pursuers are already out of their cars. You hastily swivel away and hurtle into the trees.

You then realize your location: Waterfront Park. Even in the evening, this park is typically spotted with people; but the rain has metaphorically washed them away indoors. Just your luck. However, before despair can shackle you, you will yourself to fight and use your head. You know there's a lot of establishments nearby, but only a few of them are still open at this hour. You see it even from afar, the ray of light— The Reef Hotel & Residences.

You hightail towards the treeline. Just cross the park— that's your success to escape, because once you're out on the street, the guard at the hotel will surely notice you.

You're about to exit the treeline when someone tackles you back beneath the shadow of the woods. Everything spins, disorienting you for a second until a biting pain courses through your nerves. You let out a cry when you feel as though your elbow has split open. The guy who tackled you is trying to grab your arms. Thankfully the streetlights still manage to reach into the darkness of the park, you find yourself on the ground and spot the guy's knee, which you give your mightiest kick, and when he doubles over, you cut off his pained squeal with a kick to his face.

Upon rising up to your feet, another guy clutches at your arm. You spin to face him, jabbing his throat with your free hand. He releases you, and you run—

THWACK!

—into a fist. Pain explodes across your temple, where the hit forcibly landed, and you're reeled into blackness. There's a ringing in your ears, it's somewhat scolding you for not taking the rape whistle that Mindy gifted you. You ponder on where you put it and realize it's in your locker in the cafe's staffroom.

If you had it with you, you could've gotten some attention.

Your inner self smacks her lips— So, why didn't you press the motorcycle's horn instead?

As your stupidity dawns on you, your bearings slowly rebuild itself. You then find yourself restrained; mouth stuffed with a cloth and hands tied behind your back. And you're draped on some guy's shoulder. You thrash as you try to peer where they're taking you— to their cars parked at a spot where no one was around. Your strength doubles as panic and adrenaline surges through your nerves.

You try to scream, but it's muffled.

Despair begins to leisurely brim your eyes.

"Patulugin niyo muna nga siya! Masyadong maingay at malikot!"

(Knock her out! She's too noisy and squirming a lot!)

They roughly set you down with your back on the ground; the guy who was carrying you is now holding your ankles down. Another guy then crouches above your stomach and pulls out a switchblade; you freeze, shock slowly morphing into fear, and you try to relax as you ponder on how to get out.

"Tama 'yan, wag ka na magulo o masasaktan ka pa." the guy atop you says and, lightly tracing the side of the blade on your neck, he unzips your jacket.

(That's right, don't be naughty or you'll get hurt.)

He lifts the hem of your shirt with the blade and they all whistle at your bare skin.

You squeeze your eyes, tears flowing through.

"Nasa'n ngayon ang tapang mo?"

(Where's your courage now?)

They all share a laugh, the hyena kind, and thunder claps across the heavens. No one will hear them. But that isn't what scares you, what scares you more is the fact that—

No one will hear you.

You struggle, he taps the blade on your stomach, and you stop. He then raises your shirt over your bra and your eyes snap open. You begin talking through your gag, which the guy finds annoying, so he pulls it out of your mouth.

"M-May pera ako," you blurt out, breathing erratically.

(I have money,)

"Don't worry, we already have it." one guy holds your backpack up.

"But what we want more is you."

"Aren't you lucky?"

They all start yammering how giddy you must be feeling. Wanted by one too many guys. But they know very well it's quite the opposite.

Before you can plead, they gag you again. You're about to put up a fight when the guy slides the knife sideways beneath your bra. The blade's coolness decorates your flesh with bumps as fear wrings your throat shut. He flips the knife with the sharp edge cutting against the cloth; still, the blunt side pricks into your skin.

He slowly moves the knife, pushing upwards. "It's probably hard to breathe, right? Let us help you.."

You scream, cry, and wail simultaneously. Not just because your bra is about to be cut off, but also because the other guys are unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down. One of them is also taking pictures, you hope someone will spot the flashes.

Another guy harshly grabs your face when you start getting louder than normally muffled. "Shut—!" he cut himself off as he looks at something behind his pals. "PUTANGINA!"

A sort of banging sound echoes around the woods. It's repetitive with a few cracks, grunts, and cries here and there. Your should-be-rapists shuffle up and run to the same direction, yelling as though they're charging into war. You quickly roll on your side and sit up to find someone fighting against five guys.

You now realize that your should-be-rapists were eight guys when you notice three of them are already on the floor. And despite the dimness shrouding the woods, you begin to recognize your cap-wearing savior.

"Kurt?" you breathe out, shocked and confused.

But he doesn't hear you with the gag. That is until the guy who straddled you is slowly approaching Court from behind. You spot the switchblade he's holding and scream with all your might.

"LOOK OUT!"

Despite your muffled voice, Court somewhat understands you. He whirls around in the blink of an eye, ramming an elbow on the guy's temple. The switchblade drops with its unconscious owner.

Immediately, someone else picks it up. You're about to shout at Court again when you realize the guy with the knife is charging at you.

You don't even have to ask why, because whatever his intentions are, as long as he's coming at you with a knife, it can't be good. Scrambling up to your feet, you curse when the shorts at your ankles nearly made you fall; your bounds aren't helping either.

In such a state of panic, and insufficient lighting, you miscalculate the thick root for soil. You trip, face-planting into the ground, but you don't let that stop you and try to get back up.

"Come here!" the guy chasing you clutches at your ankle and reels you to him.

You'll probably feel the scrapes later, because your fight response brawls against the intense fear flooding throughout your body. "Let go!" you scream, kicking at him successfully on his shoulder and stomach.

"Tangina, tumigil ka nga!" he yells and grabs both your ankles, pulling you closer.

You're about to boot his face this time, but he smacks yours first, stunning you. He rises, roughly hauling you up, but someone gets in between you two. The guy gasps when a fist heavily jabs into his chest and throat; he's instantly knocked out when the same fist strikes his temple.

Still in a daze, you think the world is falling away. Trees dancing into a swirl with streams of light. But in actuality, you're just falling down.

You're on the ground, you think as your perspective steadies itself.

Someone calls your name, you think it's the Kapre on the trees— maybe your perspective isn't right just yet.

You hear your name again and a face appears. You recognize him.

"Kurt?"

"Hey," he breathes out, relieved.

You fight back a wince when your chest tightens. "W-Why.." you stammer, "How are you here?"

"I'll tell you later. First," he pauses, scanning you from head to toe, "are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

Your head is buzzing. The last several minutes replays in it as a myriad of emotions washes over you. Terror, relief, panic, concern, happiness, gratefulness, anxiety, sadness, shame—

It's overwhelming.

And because of it, you're starting to think you're hallucinating. Maybe the one holding you isn't your friend.

"Kurt," you say, shakily.

"Yes?" he replies, steadily.

The strong arm wrapped around you and the rough yet gentle hand holding you conveys everything else.

It's him.

It's Court.

He's here.

He saved you.

You have an abundance of questions. However, you want to address first why your face is somewhat damped and stinging. You think you have a gash and you're heavily bleeding, that is until you taste salt. Warm, liquid salt.

Oh.. you're crying.

You try to stop, but that only makes you cry harder. Like all the emotions pouring out your eyes, your body melts against Court's. But unlike your cascading tears, you're held firmly by him.

"Hey, what is it?" he asks, worriedly calling your name. "Where does it hurt?"

You manage to stifle your sobs for a second. "I'm so-sorry."

He scowls. "You're not the one who should be apologizing."

"N-No.. I'm sorry fo-for.." you gasp in between sobs,"for crying."

Court is astonished.

You continue. "I-I-I'm so-sorry you had to sav-save me.."

His hold on you tightens. "I'll always save you, (Y/N).. no matter what."

"Y-You don't always have to," you say, "I don't want you hurt."

Court holds the side of your face, gently pushing it up so he's looking into your teary eyes. "And I don't want you hurt, too." he declares, "So I'll save you. I'll protect you. I'll take care of you… Whether you like that or not."

There's an ache in your heart, yet it's somehow comforting rather than agonizing.

"And I'll beat the shit out of anyone who makes you cry."

You hide your face on his shoulder, but it doesn't stop you from laughing and sniffling at the same time.

The two of you stay there until your tears slow down to a halt. Then you finally allow yourself to wrap your arms around him. Because you didn't think you deserve it, you always thought you're unworthy to be saved. But then you don't know what else to do to express your gratitude at the moment.

So, you hug him with all your feeble might. Simultaneously trying not to let your feelings overpower you.

"Th-Thank you.." you sigh, "Thank you."

He returns the embrace, and for a second, you think he's kissing you on the head. "You're welcome." he whispers into your hair, "And thank you, too."

"For what?"

He stays silent for a moment.

"For.. you."

".. You want to thank me for me?"

"Yes..?"

You snicker. "That's stupid."

He breathes out a laugh. "Sorry."

"No worries. You got an unlimited savior coupon for the rest of my life."

"Well, then.. thank you."

"You're welcome."

first off~ I AM SO SORRY! VERY MUCH, I AM SORRY SORRY!!!!! AND PLEASE ACCEPT MY APOLOGIES WITH THREE NEW CHAPTERSSS I will explain my abrupt hiatus in another blog after posting the chapters. Thank you so much for waiting, enjoying, and messaging me about this fic! I hope y'all still enjoy it (*_ _)人 The portal to Chapter 16 will open momentarily starting now!

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

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niobe-loreley · 9 months

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Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xvi}

the previous chapter was the appetizer~ now, for the main dish

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 15 is the moment Chapter 16 is the icon

word count: 3.2k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know YET (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

After Court gathers your stuff and helps you with your shorts, he strips off his jacket and drapes it on your shoulders. "I'm just gonna tie them up, so they aren't walking free in the morning." he shortly clutches your shoulder, "Wait here, okay?"

You nod. "Okay.."

As you double-check your things, Court is tying up the unconscious thugs to a tree— rephrase: tightly tying them up. Not too tight to cut off circulation, but tight enough that it hurts and possibly cut off circulation if not untied after 12 hours.

Court was (still is) holding back. When he heard your muffled cries, he was seething. And when he saw the state you were in, there was only red in his vision. He badly wanted to kill them, but he quickly thought that death wasn't the punishment they deserved. Plus, it would attract too much attention.

Despite pulling his punches, Court struck the thugs hard enough for fractures.

"If I wanted to break all the bones in your bodies," he glances at the unconscious thugs, "I would've."

As he triples the knot, he looks over to you. You're fiddling with the contents in your bag while leaning on a tree. Court notices that you've donned his jacket, which looks like a very short dress on you.

A fluttering feeling spreads across his chest and up his throat.

It's that dangerous feeling again. Much more dangerous than when he was livid. This will only worsen if he ignores it, so he decides to contemplate something else.

While securing the thugs' bounds, Court sneaks glances at you every five seconds. The horrific events took place no less than 10 minutes ago, yet somehow you appear to be standing strong and unaffected. He always suspects you're more strong-willed than most. However, Court cannot truly fathom the extent of the trauma you experienced.

It's something anyone shouldn't ever experience. No matter the gender or what kind of person they are.

Court deeply breathes in and out, dousing the anger boiling in his stomach. He steps back, admires his handiwork, and nods to himself. He heads back to you and he notices a light on the ground. It's a phone. He picks it up, thinking it's yours, and swipes at the screen. After two messy photos, he almost crushes the phone upon seeing a picture of you straddled to the ground with your shorts being pulled down.

He knows there are more photos, but he doesn't need to look at them or else he won't be able to leave without snapping all their necks.

You watch Court walking back with angry strides. Even though he's wearing a cap and there's not much light around, you know he has a scary face on.

"Hey," you say with a small smile, in an attempt to calm him.

"Hey.." he replies with a sigh, glancing at the phone in his hand. "They, uh.. they took pictures."

It takes all your might not to break down again. "Yeah.. yeah, I figured. I mean, I saw flashes," you chuckle awkwardly and gesture for the phone.

He reluctantly hands it to you. "You can delete them."

"And destroy evidence that they did this to me? I think not," you huff. "I hope it's enough to land them in jail. I don't want to do any trial of sorts."

"You're probably going to have to, though."

"And get you and Kiara involved? No way."

He sighs, exasperated and amused. "You were just—" he tightens his jaw, "Take care of yourself first before you start taking care of others."

You heave a brow at him. "I know I said you have a savior pass, but don't you dare lecture me right now." you declare chidingly and give his shoulder a shove. "Now, let's go.. there's a police station nearby."

Court frowns. "How near?"

"A minute or two by car? And probably less than a 10-minute walk." you furtively observe the reluctance flashing across his face. "I mean.. you don't have to come with me. Just take me to my bike and—"

"No, I'll take you. Let's go."

"Where's Kiara, by the— ah!— Shit!"

You've only taken one and a half steps when your left ankle screams and decides not to fully function. Court is quick to catch you, and you feel a flare of shame on your cheeks, heating up with another emotion-that-should-not-be-named.

"Where does it hurt?" he asks, assessing your lower extremities.

You groan. "Left ankle. I think it's sprained."

"Let me take a look. Lean on the tree."

"Yeah, sure."

Court descends to a half-kneel and carefully rolls your sock down. He then uses his phone's flashlight to help his inspection. You glance at the thugs, still unconscious, and then you glance around, still no people. But the rain is slowly letting up.

"Maybe it's not a sprain— maybe I can walk it off, you know?" you shortly laugh, "It's my fault for just standing here and not stretching."

"It's sprained," says Court.

"Fuck." you say through gritted teeth, "Are you sure?"

"As sure as it is swelling."

You look down. "Damn, no wonder it kept twinging. I thought I could shake it off."

Court powers off the flashlight, pockets his phone, and rolls your sock up before he stands. "I have a compression bandage in the car. Here," he slightly squats down, "put your arm on my shoulder."

"Okay.. but shouldn't you be at my left side— woah, woah!" you yelp when he suddenly hoists you up in his arms. "Kurt, what are you doing?!"

"Preventing unwanted pressure off your ankle and keeping it elevated," he answers diligently, as though reciting in class, and starts walking out of the park.

You stammer. "I know first aid. I meant, why are you carrying me?"

He blinks at you. "I just told you why."

"I can walk."

"You tried."

"Stop arguing with me."

"That's my line."

"Why are you being stubborn?!"

"Why are you?"

Court's SUV is parked near where your motorcycle has fallen. Except its now up on its two-wheels and parked by the curb.

The driver's window rolls down and Claire's horrified face appears. "Oh my God, (N/N)!" she exclaims and climbs out of the car.

"Kiara? Seriously, what are you two still doing around these parts?" you question, glancing at the father-daughter duo.

"I told you, I'll tell you later." Court says, "You're safe, but not so sound. Health comes first."

Before you can protest, Claire opens the backseat door and Court carefully carries you in the car. "Get the first-aid," he tells the teen.

"Aye-aye!" Claire rounds the car, hops in the passenger side, and reels out a kit from under the seat.

"Scoot over," Court says to you.

"No." you say firmly.

He glares at you, and you glare back.

"Why are you two fighting?" Claire asks, amused.

"We're not. He's just picking a fight." you answer, scooting back.

He snorts. "Says the pigheaded." and climbs in the backseat.

"Who are you calling pigheaded?!"

"You, of course!"

Claire giggles. "Are you two just fighting to avoid saying what you're really feeling?"

You and Court look at her as though her eyes combined into one. "What?" the two of you chorus, "No."

"Jinx!" Claire chirps, laughing.

She opens the light and hands the first-aid kit to Court. He then starts bandaging your swelling ankle while you open up your phone's camera. It doesn't surprise you to see your beaten up reflection. Because honestly, you've been thinking you looked worse.

You have small cuts here and there; bruised right temple and left cheek; and dried blood caking beneath your nose.

Claire pops open a water bottle, carefully dampening a towel, which she gives you.

"Thank you," you smile, immediately wincing when your face twinges.

"Let me help," Claire unpacks the disinfectant spray and band-aids.

"It's alright—"

"No, (N/N)," Claire says solemnly, "None of this is alright."

You're momentarily shocked. This is the first time you've seen Claire immensely serious. Yet it makes you smile, and this time, you don't feel any twinge.

"Thank you, Kiara."

She blushes. "Y-You're welcome— but you don't have to thank me! I'm helping because I care about you, so it's only natural, you know.."

You feel a sting in your eyes and turn away, pretending to be eyeing the scrapes on your knees. In your peripheral, you spot Court staring at you discreetly. You've already cried in front of him, you don't want that to happen twice, let alone in front of Claire as well.

You've worried them enough.

"That's why I'm thanking you," you chuckle, turning back to her. "Because that's the only way I can repay you right now."

She hums. "How about a movie marathon on Sunday?"

You laugh. "Deal."

Court looks as though he's about to reprimand Claire, but quickly keeps it to himself. You stifle a smile at that and start checking on your other wounds.

"Why are we stopping here?" you ask as the SUV slows down to a halt one block away from the police station.

"I, uh.." Court trails off.

"Government issues," Claire chimes in, shortly glaring at Court. "Yeah, he's one of those crazed conspiracy theorist."

"I'm not crazy," Court defends.

Claire snorts. "I didn't say you were."

"Wait, is that why you always wear a hat?" you ask amusedly.

"Yes! That's exactly why!" Claire barks out laughing.

With red ears and a displeased frown, Court climbs out the car without another word. You and Claire exchange grins before she carefully crawls to the driver's seat.

Court opens the passenger door. "Don't move," he says when you start scooting towards him.

"Don't worry, it's not aggravated." you nod at my sprained ankle, which I've set atop the other ankle.

Court waits for you at the edge of the seat. And without warning, he hooks his arm under my legs and cradles my back with the other, gently carrying you out of the car. The heat on your face clashes with the cold biting your skin, the battle sends shivers down your spine and you try not to shudder.

"Hey! Don't tell me you'll carry me to the police station like this," you frown at Court.

"How else would I take you there? Want me to roll you?"

"Go ahead, you'll be the one having a hard time."

"Stop arguing with me or I will really roll you across the ground."

"I'm just saying that you can carry me on your back, dummy!"

"Aww, arguing like a newly-wedded couple!" Claire chimes in teasingly.

You and Court snap scowls at her. "Cl— Kiara!" he chides, while you exclaim, "What?!"

A click and a flash resounds across the quiet street. Claire has taken a polariod picture of you and Court. "If I edit this picture, I'll caption it as Brawl Wedding." Claire snickers as she wags the photo towards the two of you.

As if you haven't blushed enough, your neck and face are flaring when Claire said 'wedding'.

Once you're on Court's back, he starts a slow trek to the police station. You keep your hands on his shoulders rather than wrap it around him. He's already too close as it is, and that zesty scent of his isn't helping. You don't even wanna get started about his hands underneath your thighs.

"Is it okay to leave her alone there?" you ask, an attempt to distract yourself from observing him at such proximity.

He shortly glances over at you. "Can you worry more about yourself right now?" he replies in a playful tone, but you know he's scolding you.

You huff. "I'm done worrying about me."

He clicks his tongue. "Well, I'm not."

"And why is that?"

Court doesn't answer right away. "Because…" he stammers and trails off, and for some reason, that makes you blush.

"You and Kiara dot on me too much," you say to break the awkward silence.

Court chuckles. "About Kiara.. don't worry, she's a big girl. She knows how to defend herself."

"Did you teach her?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Can you teach me?"

"Of course. When would you like to start?"

"I was kidding."

"I'm not."

You feel a swell in your chest. Unfortunately, it's nothing bad. Just good.. stirrings. Same feeling when eating a marshmallow.

"I can handle myself." you say.

He sighs. "I know you can, but.." he stops walking, "I just want to teach you how to clock someone the right way."

"The right way?" you echo amusedly.

"Yeah, the kind of way that knocks someone out in one or two hits. So that they don't quickly get back up."

Court starts his gait again. You're about to reply a joke, but notice that you two are almost to the station. You press your lips shut and stifle a smile.

You want to ask him more. You want him to talk to you more. But you don't want him to run out of things to say or share to you and your curious (talkative) self. Then again…

You furtively peer at his face. It's serious, like it always is; however, there's flecks of nervousness on it. The reason for that is unfathomable to you.

…Court never ceases to astonish you.

The police are like flies on a watermelon on a hot, sunny day when you and Court enter.

They inquire you relentlessly while ushering you to a room. And when asked to have a private conversation with you, Court is about to exit when you hold onto his arm and ask the officers to let him stay.

Now, he's watching you retell the whole event.

"Listen, don't look too suspicious. Keep your cap up a bit, but not enough to show your face on the CCTVs. Just enough to let them know you're friendly."

Court briefly lowers his head, hiding his smile, as he recalls what you whispered to him before entering the station. It's as though you know what kind of circumstances he and Claire have. Surprisingly, no matter how many countless times he did a background check, you don't know anything— you're clean.

Too clean, if his paranoia may add.

And if his paranoia will add another thing, it's: how the fuck is he still calm being in a police station filled with security camera?!

Court is panicking for not panicking in the first place. Scratch that— for not panicking even now!

It's baffling him.

Appalling even!

"Opo, nakatali lang po sila sa isang puno sa Waterfront Park. Kaibigan ko po may kakagawan," you nod towards him and the officers glance with quirked brows.

Court internally composes himself and returns a nod. Looking at you, everything somewhat becomes crystal clear yet simultaneously foggy.

If you're the reason why he's staying calm indefinitely, the next questions should be.. why and how?

By the time you're done with the interrogation, Court unfortunately doesn't come up with an answer.

The officers escort you two out, where Court only piggybacks you down the stairs and off into the street.

"They wanted to interview you," you say once Court crosses to the next block.

"Really?"

"Yup! Told them you're Icelandic and still practicing basic English."

Court stifles a smile, but it quickly ends up into a grin. "I can't believe they bought that," he replies teasingly.

You huff proudly. "I can be monumentally persuasive without breaking a sweat."

"What else did you persuaded them to?"

"Nothing, really. They're quick to assume that I'm your tutor."

"Did you tell them we were out late tutoring?"

"Yeah, I did! I told them that you were an immersive learner, you needed environmental stimuli to learn the words. That's why we were outside, and then got attacked by those goons."

Court can't hold back his laugh. And you're immediately infected by it.

"What?" you ask, chuckling.

"You're a very convincing liar." he declares, "I say that as a compliment."

"It wasn't lying if it was partly true."

"I don't think half of it was true. Nevertheless, it was awesome."

"But you are Icelandic, right? I presumed because of the chef-takes-first-spoonful tradition." you snicker and unknowingly place your chin on the edge of his shoulder, inclining your head sideways. "Remember? The night we first met.."

"Yeah," he looks over at you, "how could I forget?"

Court doesn't realize, and neither did you, just how close your faces are. All he knows is that despite your bruised face decorated with cuts, you look pretty.

You are pretty.

But he doesn't like you because you're pretty.

You're pretty because he likes you.

Wait, what?

"Hey, noble steed, you aren't moving." you pat his shoulders, chuckling.

Court snaps out of his stupor just as you pull your face off his shoulder. He notices your blushing cheeks, but disregards it for a trick of the light on your bruise.

"Sorry," he mumbles and carefully marches towards the SUV.

Once you're safely situated and buckled up in the backseat, the father-daughter duo chorus a question— "So, where do you live??"

"Jinx," you chuckle and reel out your phone. "I live in—"

Without warning, there's a heavy pounding in your chest. You're about to ignore it when you feel your airway tightening. You furrow your brows as you try to steady your breaths. "I'm okay, just—" you sputter, "Just give me a minute."

"(N/N), what's wrong?!" Kiara unlatches her seatbelt and meticulously sidles from the front seat to the back.

You shut your eyes, but that only made it worse.

The guys who attacked you flash through your head, and you feel their hands on you again.

You snap your eyes open. No one's touching you. Even Claire is just right in front of you.

"I don't think I can go back to my apartment." you confess, gauging their reactions.

"That's.. that's okay, hey," Claire rubs your shoulder.

"The landlord will have me taken care of, I don't—" you shake your head, "I don't want to burden anyone."

"You won't be, (Y/N)." Court declares, frowning at you.

"Yeah, you need help, (N/N). That doesn't mean you're a burden," says Claire. "Do you want to go to Mindy's?"

"No, no.. I don't want to drag her into this."

Court sighs exasperatedly. "Are you serious? Will you stop worrying about others for now?" he questions, though it sounds more of a demand. "Mindy is your friend, and she'd want to get dragged into this. Unless you don't consider her your friend."

"She is. That's why I don't want to go to her right now."

"What the fuck kind of logic is that?"

"Kurt!" Kiara hisses.

"If you're so stressed about me, just leave me at the cafe!" you yell.

"What?!" the father-daughter duo looks at you in disbelief.

You sigh apologetically. "I'm sorry."

They stay silent.

"The cafe is a safe space for me." you disclose, looking at Court and Claire. "I have extra clothes there, some first-aid, and a lounge room where I can rest."

Court breathes out a laugh, shakes his head, and exasperatedly drums his fingers on the wheel. "Yeah, no," he says, facing forward.

You roll your eyes. "What do you mean no?"

He looks over to you, gaze unreadable yet solemn. "I mean, you're staying with us for a few days. And that's final."

A/N: very firm, Courtland Gentry! WE LOVE IT! And not to be conceited or anything, but if you think this main dish is sweet.. wait 'til y'all taste the dessert ☆⌒(≧▽° )

The keys to Chapter 17 are yet to be found!

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

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niobe-loreley · 9 months

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xvii}

AND NOW~ IT WAS TIME~ FOR TUMBLR TO DROWN IN THE SWEET SORROW OF THIS FIC'S 17TH CHAPTER

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 16 was the icon Chapter 17 is the legend

word count: 3.9k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know YET (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

This has got to be kidnapping.

Yet how can it be when you're not even verbally struggling to escape?

The only physical binding you have is your sprained ankle. If you didn't have that, you can easily jump out of the car.

But you dare not anger Court any further. He might not let you leave them until you ripen of old age.

Would that be so bad, though?

You blush, sharply averting your gaze out the window as if it would throw the thought away. Being with Court and Claire in less than three hours for thrice a week should be enough for friends hanging out.

Right?

So, why are you wishing for more time?

Why are you always at the edge of your seat waiting for them?

Why is it always hard to watch them walk out of the cafe without you?

The answers are obvious. You just don't want to indulge them again, especially after what happened tonight.

"Home runnnn!" Claire shouts happily as she races through the garage. She certainly looked like she batted a ball out of the field, arms raised overhead, open-mouthed grin, and keys dangling noisily.

You and Court stay silent as Claire unlocks the door. He has you in his arms again, but you don't breathe a complaint this time.

"Want to take a bath, (N/N)?" Claire asks when the three of you entered the guestroom.

You nod. "Sure, that'd be grand."

Court gently sets you down on the bed. "Do you, um, need help?" he questions with a red face, "Taking a bath?"

You laugh. "I'm not that incapacitated, dude. Just get me a chair, towel, and clothes."

"Here's a towel!" Claire gets one from the closet and deposits it on the bed in a flash, "I'll go get a plastic chair!"

She's out of the room before either of you can blink.

"What a proactive teen," you comment amusedly before the silence becomes awkward.

Court snorts in agreement, looks at you for a few seconds, and turns away. "Hey, listen, you can borrow my clothes for the time being."

"Do you have my kind of underwear this time?" you tease.

"About the underwear.. we can buy some tomorrow morning." Court awkwardly rubs his nape, "There's a— what do you call this.. a small market at the park tomorrow. It's always there every Saturday, from 6 AM to 10 AM."

"A tiangge?"

"Yeah, that!"

"Alright, it'd probably be good for me to walk around tomorrow."

"Who says you'll be walking around?"

"Uh, I did?"

"No, you're staying in the car."

"What?"

"My house, my car, my rules."

You chuckle. "Court, seriously.. what are you doing? This is rather sweet and all, but you're lowkey scaring me." you swiftly add to ease his growing anxiety, "It's scary in a funny way, actually. But I'm getting worried that you're over-worrying about me."

He glances down at the floor. "Isn't this what friends do?" and peers at you with eyes so dubious it's as though he doesn't know the meaning of friends.

"Yeah, it is.. and I would do the same for you, it's just that…" you look straight into his eyes, "This kind of overworrying feels different. I can't help but think it feels different. This, us, we.. feel different. But I don't want to think it does, I want to know."

You're quick to realize what you just said, their weight and meaning, so you let out a loud laugh. Hopefully it will dispel your statements.

"Or maybe it's just me!— Me being silly ol' me," you snicker.

Yet Court is looking at you as though he understands the facade you're wearing.

"What's so funny?" Claire drags a monoblock chair into the room.

You shake your head. "I was just mimicking Flint Lockwood."

"You know Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs?!"

"Know it? I've watched it a hundred times!"

"There! Good as new!" Claire declares, satisfied.

After taking a bath, the father-daughter duo helped you with your wounds again. Claire has just finished bandaging your elbow. While Court went to get another compression bandage after leaving an ice pack on your ankle.

"Kiara.. may I ask you something?"

She snorts. "Of course. And no need to be all formal."

"How did you and Kurt find me?"

Claire freezes, the look on her face somewhat resembles a search engine loading continuously due to a weak internet. "Um, well.. we were going to invite you to watch a movie with us," she smiles sheepishly, "It's Friday. And it's been a while.

"Anyway, we knew you were going to Lillia's, so we turned around and drove to the hotel. We got there just as you were being chased."

You resist a shudder when you hear derisive howling in your ears. You wonder how long those guys will be in your mind, their laughs and hoots bouncing back and forth, reverberating your skull.

"I'm glad you two turned around," you smile at Claire with glassy eyes. "Thank you, Kiara."

She's stunned until tears brim her eyes. But Claire doesn't let them fall. "Don't just thank me. It's Six who beat their asses," she snickers.

"Who?" you ask.

"What?" Claire replies and freezes in realization.

"(Y/N), are you hungry?" Court inquires, sidling in the room.

"No, thank you." you glance at him from head to toe, "How about you? Didn't all that ass kicking got you starving?"

"Not really." Court sits on a chair at the edge of the bed. He takes off the ice pack from your ankle, which he towel-dries before he mindfully wraps a compression bandage around it.

He's too focused on your sprain while you're so engrossed watching him that neither of you notice Claire sneaking out of the room.

"Hey, can you come over here and hand me the ice pack?"

Court just finishes bandaging your sprain. Yet he wastes no time obliging you. This, again, neither of you notices.

"You found another welt on you?" he asks, sounding like he's half-joking (but he's not).

You snatch the ice pack from him and press it up against his left jaw. Court is monumentally unprepared for the "assault" that he winces in pain.

"Nope! Found a bruise on you, though." you say, snickering.

Court lets the astonishment wash over him. "You notice that?" he asks, somewhat amazed.

"At first, I thought it was a tattoo."

"Really?"

"No, I'm joking."

"Oh.."

You snort. "Doofus."

"Twerp," he fires back, flaring.

You double over, laughing. But you still have the ice pack steady on his jaw. "Sometimes you're a sore loser," you examine his face for any more injuries, but it's hard when he's scrunching it up to a scowl. "No, scratch that, you are one."

"And you're just infuriating. All. The. Time." he remarks with hardening emphasis.

"But you love me," you intone jokingly.

Court stares at you, astounded. And as the blood creep up his face, your laugh dies down in shame.

He knows you're joking, right?

You know you were joking.. right?

Sure, you like-like him, but you wouldn't call it love. Infatuation is more like it. Or stirrings, as Captain Jack Sparrow termed it.

Your inner self gives you an unimpressed look.

'Ok, fine.. feelings.'

Court calls your name.

"Huh? What?" you snap out of your stupor.

Court grabs the ice pack from you and off his jaw. "I asked if you want to call somebody." he says with genuine concern.

"Oh… I don't think I can talk to anybody about what happened just yet."

"Okay," he pauses, "Sorry.. I thought you'd feel better if you talked to Mindy. Or maybe Erick."

You chuckle. "I would if we were still dating."

Court blinks at you.

You elaborate. "I mean, we were only dating. He's not really my boyfriend in the first place."

"So… You two aren't dating anymore?" Court asks.

"That's right." you nod and pretend like your heart is not leaping up your throat because of what you plan to say next. "I told Erick I can't date him anymore because I realized I already like someone else. Even before him."

"So," he hums inquisitively, "You're dating this someone now?"

You shake your head, smiling sadly. "No, I haven't told him I like him yet."

He gulps. "Why is that?"

"Because after what happened tonight, as much as I want him to know.. I don't want him to think it's because he saved me."

Court is looking at you like you're a thousand-piece puzzle.

You blush. "I know I've liked this guy for a long while now. And I know this isn't the right time, but.. I'm idiotically still trying to tell him. That I like him."

Silence spreads to every corner of the room. And if it weren't for the crickets serenading outside, the silence would be awkward the way it should be.

Court is still saying nothing. He has his eyes on the floor and you have no idea what's going on in his mind.

Typically, you're that friend who advises their other friends to just say it— do it!— Don't ride the merry-go-around.

Yet here you are, dangling on one of the carousel horses as it spins for all eternity.

"You should get some rest." Court says finally.

"Huh?"

"I said, you should get some rest."

"Oh… That's what I thought you said."

He hauls out something from his jacket pocket. "Here.. the channel is all set," he nods at the walkie-talkie, "Keep it open and call me as soon as you need me— or anything."

"Sure," you grab the device absentmindedly. "Good night."

"Good night."

And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

You look at the transceiver, place it on the bedside drawer, and expel a hefty sigh. "Ang tanga mo talaga," you tell yourself, forcibly lying down. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should've just told him!— Why didn't you tell him? Oh right, because I'm an idiotic, no good, shit for brains, twat!"

A sharp twinge rises up your leg as a scratching pain erupts from the rest of your body. "Ow, ow, ow," you stop thrashing, slowly placing your sprained ankle atop the pillow it was on. You sigh exasperatedly, "I'm such a dumbass."

"You're such a dumbass!"

"Excuse me?" Court glares at Claire over his shoulder as they climb up the stairs.

She rolls her eyes. "Her message was as clear as the archipelago sun!"

"Whose?"

"(N/N), duh!"

He furrows his brows. "What message?"

She snaps her fingers. "And that's why you're such a dumbass."

"Fine. Whatever. Just get to bed."

"Fine! Let's all see how this stupidity between you and (N/N) plays out!"

Claire storms in her room and noisily shuts the door before Court can retort. He ponders what she's got to be mad about.

He takes a short bath, sets another set of clothes aside for you, and checks the house's security.

No one's after you three.

That's not just why Court suggested you stay with them for a few days. This is better than you staying all night at the cafe alone. And like hell he'll ever leave you alone after what happened tonight.

Court checks the handgun under his pillow as he looks at the guestroom's feed.

If someone did come after them, he'll have no choice but to take you with him and Claire.

Suddenly, he recalls what you said earlier as he lays on the bed.

"...as much as I want him to know.. I don't want him to think it's because he saved me."

You're not talking about him, right?

"I know I've liked this guy for a long while now—"

There's just no way, right?

"—And I know this isn't the right time, but.. I'm idiotically still trying to tell him. That I like him."

Court abruptly sits upright. "Fuck!" he breathes out, wishing he can do the same to the heat in his cheeks. "Don't do this to yourself, man. You're 100% uncertain."

Maybe you were just delirious from the trauma.

Yeah, that's plausible.

But also worrisome.

Court glances over to his desk, where the security feed is showing any events live inside, outside, and ten meters around the house. But he's focused on one feed: the guestroom.

You're fast asleep already. And how you're so unmoving sets paranoia ablaze in his veins.

He has the right to worry, right?

So, it's okay for him to switch on the guestroom's camera audio and cranks it up until he hears your breathing, right?

He puts on one earbud and doesn't dwell on the fact that what he's doing is downright creepy.

Setting up a tablet beside him on the bed, Court finds the security feed on the device. He then lies back down and tries closing his ends. Not after a minute, he ends up watching you on the screen.

'Hopeless..'

He ignores his demons snickering at him.

As he continues eyeing the security feed of the premises, particularly you, Court doesn't realize he fell asleep.

Until he hears you scream.

"NO! NO! STOP— PLEASE!"

Court practically becomes The Flash. He bolts down to the guestroom before his eyes can fully open.

He shouts your name as he bursts in the room. Opening the lights, he finds that you have no (external) attacker.

You're sitting down, yet you looked like you ran a marathon. "Hey, Kurt," you wipe the cold sweat off your brow. "I'm so sorry for waking you."

He stammers. "No. Not really, I.. I just got up to get some water."

You glance at the time, 1:35 AM. "Still, sorry for disturbing you and shit."

Court sighs. "Stop apologizing. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Maybe 99 more to get it through my thick skull?"

"That's probably not enough."

You laugh, shaking your head, and you scratch behind your ear. "Did I wake Claire up, too?"

Court glances out the door when he hears footsteps. Claire carefully rounds the corner, armed with a handgun dipped towards the floor.

"No, she's still asleep." he blankly says as he turns back to you.

You heave a brow. "Why are you lying?"

Court is taken aback. Was he that obvious? No one can usually read him, not even Claire; although, Donald and Margaret used to.

"Oh, Claire!" you holler in a singsong voice.

The teen reluctantly peers in the room, hiding her weapon behind her. "H-Hiya," she smiles nervously.

You chuckle. "The two of you should get back to bed. I'm sorry for getting you out of there in the first place."

"It wasn't your fault you had a nightmare, (N/N)." says Claire. "Would—"

"Would you like some company?" Court asks just before the teen could. He looks at her in befuddlement, while she sneers maniacally at him.

"No, you two should rest." you give a small smile, "I'll be fine."

Except you didn't get to be.

For the past three hours, you've woken up from several nightmares. Only a few of them did you wake up screaming. Sometimes you can't even sleep immediately because it takes you back to the same bad dream.

It takes all of Court's might not to barge back in the guestroom, lay down next to you, and kick all those nightmares in the ass.

After your first nightmare, Court hasn't slept a wink. He returned to his room and watched you through the security feed. When you've had your second nightmare, he quickly sets up the sandbag in his room and starts whaling on it.

But there's only so much that he can take from hearing your cries. He tried muting your security feed, yet for some reason, it's worse than before.

So, Court has selfishly decided that you need someone with you tonight. Whether you like it or not.

He waited until you're back in deep sleep after a nightmare.

Without little to no sound, Court sneaks into the guestroom and places a chair beside the bed. And as he sits there, it just hits him that he doesn't know what the fuck to do. You'll probably have a heart attack when you wake up and find him staring at you.

How should he comfort you?

He pinches himself when the first thought he has is to get in bed with you. There's got to be another way other than that— it'll be the last resort.

You suddenly let out a grunt, stirring, and Court flinches, readying to flee. But you're still asleep. It's another nightmare.

Court spots your clenched fist and tightens his jaw. He looks at your grimacing face, and for some reason, it's similar to your concentrating face. Now, here's a thought: what if you're suppressing yourself for him and Claire? So that you won't wake them up because of your nightmares.

He chuckles in both disbelief and admiration. That'd truly be you. Even when you're having trouble, you're still looking after them.

Breathing in and out, Court takes your balled hand in both of his. He strokes your fist, tracing patterns on your skin until he feels your muscles release their contraction. Gently, he unfurls your tightened fingers and soothes them one by one.

Compared to his, your appendages are small and smooth. It astonishes him how a hard worker such as yourself has dainty hands. But he stands corrected when he feels a few callouses. Nevertheless, your hand fascinates him.

What would it feel like to hold both of your hands in his own?

The thought is cut short when he feels crescent marks on your palm. Court frowns at that and then at you. "Idiot.. stop taking on everything by yourself," he whispers and carefully holds your hand in both of his. "I'll be here for you, (Y/N). I am here. You just.. gotta see me."

For the second time tonight, Court has fallen asleep watching you.

And once again, you're the one to wake him. But not with a scream this time.

"Court," you softly call, tugging on his hands.

With his name like a feather on your lips, everything within him stirs wildly into life. But he doesn't show that effect you have on him.

He slowly rises from slumping on the bed. "Hey, sorry, did I scare you?" he blurts out with one eye still closed.

You chuckle. "No, you didn't."

"Get back to sleep. I'll just be here."

"Why don't you..?"

"Hm?" Court blinks at you curiously.

You fight back the blush, scoot further in the bed, and pat the space beside you. "I don't think you're comfortable there. Why don't you sleep here instead?"

He gulps. "Aren't you gonna ask me what I'm doing here first?"

"Will you answer me honestly? Or tell me to shut up and rest?" you question amusedly.

"Both?" he stifles a grin.

You shortly laugh before you tug him towards you. It doesn't take long for him to fold. Just you holding his hand is enough to make Court roll over for you.

He worriedly climbs in the bed—

"Oh, wait!"

"What?!"

"Let's switch."

".. Why?"

You redden. "I don't want you sleeping on my sweat, man! Understand?!"

He looks at you for a few seconds and sputters out a laugh. "Alright, fine," he says before you can chastise him for laughing. You scoot over as he rounds the bed, "There. Happy?"

"Very," you nod and settle down.

"Oh, wait!" he exclaims this time.

"What?!"

Court returns to his room to retrieve his clothes that you were going to wear later in the morning. "Change. You stink." he chucks them to you, sneering.

"Go away, then." you snarl.

"Like hell I would."

"Just turn around, moron!"

He obliges, snickering, and when he faces away from you, horrific realization strikes like vicious lightning across his chest.

You're undressing. With him still in the room. And it's just the two of you. Has he mentioned that you're currently undressing?

His demons are biting into the side of his neck, yanking at him to look over at you. This is bad. His self-control is losing a lot of blood.

"Need any help?"

Yup, that's significant blood loss right there.

"No, I got this. Thanks, Kurt."

After an eternity (minute) of suffering..

"Done!" you exhale, relieved.

And so did Court.

He rigidly gets in the bed without glancing at you. His self-control needs recharging, it doesn't help that you're half-an-arms length away. But even just a visual on you is lethal.

The two of you are staring at the ceiling. Until you turn your head to Court, just as he risks a glance at you. His self-control can't charge anymore.

You grin apologetically. "Sorry for keeping you up. Let's get some rest," and roll on your side, facing away from him. "Good night."

"Yeah, night." he replies, staring at your back.

Before horrendous thoughts can start invading his mind, Court notices something amusing.

He stifles a grin, his shirt is like a blanket on you. The way it hangs on you with too many folds screams that you're wearing an extremely baggy top. It'll never not be entertaining to have you in his clothes. What's more, only ⅓ of your feet are sticking out the hem of his joggers.

This time, Court doesn't fall asleep watching you. Because with you up close, he's granted visual acuity to scrutinize you evenly.

Your hair doesn't appear damp despite the cold sweat you're experiencing from the nightmares.

The curve of your shoulder somewhat displays tenacity and elegance simultaneously.

How can such a tiny body hold so much strength and carry such burdens?

Eventually, the nightmares are back. And Court is ready for them.

As soon as you're stirring abnormally and moaning in fear, Court props onto his elbow and carefully grabs your shoulder. He calls your name, shaking you gently.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily. "Court," you look at him, the fear in your wide eyes diminishing gradually. "Did I wake you?"

"No," says Court, steeling his resolve. "Come here."

You almost didn't understand what he said. Until he pulls you to him. And you move compliantly.

Court shimmies his arm under your head, while the other clutches your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space between your back and his chest.

You stifle a squeak when he slips a leg between yours. "Sorry," he says in your hair, "Just gotta get this.."

He clasps the edge of the pillow with his toes and carefully reels it. "Lift your left leg up," he tells you, and you oblige. He leaves the pillow between your legs and grabs the one you lifted. "You can put this down now."

He helps you in setting your sprained ankle down on the pillow.

"Good girl."

Oh, damn..

Thank the heavens you're not facing him right now. He'd probably mistake your face for a stove.

"No nightmare is getting to you now."

"Huh?"

You feel him moving his face against the back of your head.

"I said," he pauses, voice low, breaths fanning on your ear. "No nightmare is getting to you now. Because I'm protecting you."

Your heart finds it hard to go back to its place after cartwheeling up your throat. And when it's reminded of the position you and Court are presently in, your heart threatens to roll out your mouth.

"The nightmares are in my head, though." you chuckle, placing a hand on the arm you're resting your head on, you reach for his hand. "Thank you."

Court watches, with fireworks gleefully exploding in his chest, as you intertwine your hand with his. When the festivities calm down, he gives your hand a squeeze.

"You're always welcome, (Y/N)."

A/N: these chapters will be all FOR NOW~ I am continuing this fic y'all, albeit it'll be from time to time (ehem month to month huhuhuhu)

The door to Chapter 18 is blocked

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

52 notes · View notes

niobe-loreley · 11 months

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gojo, you’re not fine.

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

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Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xiv}

THIS IS JAPANESE LUNCH TIME RUSH (who understood the reference?)

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warning: moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. dramaramramamama. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check. slightly proofread/revised.

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 13 is still a newborn fawn Chapter 14 is 13's twin

word count: 3k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know (except you DO know #wreckthe4thwall)

There’s something about you— Claire mentally remarks as she scrutinizes you behind the counter. She already knows you’re one of those ‘one of a kind’ persons, but there’s something different in your atmosphere for this past week. Claire just cannot pinpoint what it is. What she can pinpoint are the specifications as to why she’s concluded something is different about you.

You’re not being passive-aggressive towards Court anymore

Claire knows the reason for that. When she noticed that he’s not being mean to you during their Monday breakfast, Claire asked him about it and he truthfully told her on their way home. She’s extremely glad, huzzah-ing every time she sees you and Court interacting without avoiding eye contact or having tight-lipped smiles.

"What's with the huzzahs?" you'd ask, because Court already knows why.

"Just feeling festive," Claire would reply, grinning toothily.

2. You’ve become more bubbly than you've ever been

There's a bounce in your step that's more jubilant than the bounce you've had before. If Claire hasn't known you for almost four months, she might've not noticed it. She notes the way you start your gait off with a skip and end with a tiny bounce.

"Somebody's in a good mood," Claire says when she first notices the extra zeal you're emitting.

You dramatically bat your eyelashes at her. "Whatever do you mean, milady?"

"Erick gave you a present or something?" Claire teases.

"Oh, he, um.. I," you cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and you bashfully glance at Court. "We actually—"

"Hey, that's none of your business." Court flicks a balled up tissue at Claire, hitting her on the forehead.

"Ouch!"

You chuckle. "Alright, I'm stopping this banter before it starts."

You thought you've hidden it well, but Claire catches the brief dejected look you gave Court. As though you missed an opportunity to say something. However, what Claire mostly perceives is that—

3. Your face gains more color whenever you're talking or looking at Court

“Reverse— reverse— wild card— and uno," Court grins as he holds up his remaining card.

You heatedly huff. "Plus four!" and place the card down.

"Plus four back," he snickers, dropping his own 4+ card.

Your jaw drops, and so did Claire's. But you quickly recover first. "This is the first time you beat me, huh?" you smirk and start cleaning up the cards, "I wonder who taught you that combo.."

"I've been taught by the best." says Court, discreetly nodding at you.

You laugh, maybe a little too loud; the other customers in this fine Saturday evening glance over at you momentarily. And maybe that’s why your face is more redder than usual. But when your amusement has dissipated and you make eye contact with Court, the color in your cheeks doubles.

“Order for Table 7!” Muro announces as he deposits a tray with two plates of carbonara and a bowl with four garlic bread.

You flinch, reeling out of your daze, and you excuse yourself with a laugh. “Gotta get some dough,” you remark playfully.

“Go get ‘em.” Court cheers, stifling his smile.

Claire once again catches the flare in your cheeks before you turn away. “Something’s..” she hums, clipping her chin between her fingers. “Something’s a-happening.”

“Hm? What is it?” Court asks.

She shortly scrunches up her nose. “I’ll tell you once I have solid proof.”

He chuckles. “Alright, detective.” and sips on his cup of warm, white chocolate mocha. His eyes are on a certain waitress, the only waitress in the cafe tonight— which is you, if that isn’t obvious.

Claire doesn’t comment on it, but she has most certainly reacted. Court is too busy staring after you to see Claire's toothy grin.

And she still hasn't released the expression by the time you're serving them dinner. Court notices this and he's slightly freaked out. "What's wrong with your face?" he whispers just before you reach their table.

"Mind if I inquire why you're mimicking the Cheshire Cat?" you ask, snorting.

Claire opens her mouth for a cheeky retort, when somebody noisily bursts in the cafe. "Honey, I brought guests!" Erick exclaims with a slight yodel.

Court glances over his shoulder, immediately regretting it. A hundred emotions tweak on his face faster than the speed of light. Bewilderment. Displeasure. Contempt. Anger. Despair. Those are some of Court's emotions that Claire manages to perceive. And she knows the reason behind each one of them.

"Erick!" you blink, dumbfounded. "What are you doing here?"

"Mi amigos wanted something new, and they've never been to this cafe before," he replies as he puts an arm across your shoulders, smiling lopsidedly.

"Oh, well.. sit anywhere you like—"

"Oh, no, no, no, honey. We'll take-out our orders. They just wanted to see what the cafe was like."

"And we're definitely coming back here some other day," one of his friends chimes in.

"Unless, of course," Erick shifts a little and, making you face him, he leisurely slides his arm down from your shoulders and tightens it around your waist, "you want me to stay?"

For a moment, Claire thinks about getting cardiac arrest while actually feeling she's in cardiac arrest. She needs to separate you and Erick, for Court's sake. Despite the cruel reality that his chances with you have gotten slimmer than an ANTM's body, Claire is still rooting for you and Court.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

Everyone is stunned by the scene, until Erick's friends erupt with laughter, while Claire and Court share puzzled looks. You have grabbed Erick by the ear and twisted it in an unlawful way.

"Boundaries, man." you say chidingly to Erick and glance at his friends, "Right this way if you want to order!"

"Ca-Can you let go of my ear first— OW!"

Claire notices something unsettling about Court. "What's going on with your mug?" she asks, perplexed by his wildly amused demeanor.

"Dinner and a show," he answers and suppresses a laugh when he witnesses you giving one last forceful twist on Erick's ear before releasing it.

"I feel like I might pass out," Claire huffs and puffs.

"Why is that??" you and Court chorus worriedly.

She grins. "'Cuz I'm so full!"

"Please, don't joke about that." you say as you return to clearing out their table, eyeing the teenager for any signs of fainting.

"But I'm serious, though. Quick!— Make me laugh so I'll digest quickly!"

"You mean, so you'll puke easily?" Court chimes in with a smirk.

"How about a short walk outside?" you suggest and carefully hoist up the tray filled with their dishes, "The Boardwalk isn't too cold nor too warm this time of year."

Claire snaps her fingers. "That's a great idea! And it'll even be greater if you walk along with us!"

"Of course, it's a great idea! I— wait, what?" you do a double-take at the teenager, who suddenly conjures her puppy-dog mien. You feel your self-control churning in your stomach and you nervously laugh, "Kurt, please tell your daughter that I won't be able to join since I'm at work."

Court looks at you and then at Claire. "Ah, food coma." he blankly cries out and feigns to faint, head slumping back against the backrest of the booth.

Muro appears beside you. "Alright! I'll take it from here!"

You sigh in relief. "Thank you— wait," you frown quizzically at him, and before you can react, Muro snatches the tray of dishes from you. "Hey!"

"And you won't be needing this outside!" Mindy pops up from behind you and swiftly takes your apron off at the speed of light.

You stammer a protest while Claire clutches your arm and hauls you out of the cafe. Court trails behind, smiling amusedly. The moon and stars are out and gleaming, and the city lights twinkle back at them. There's laughter ringing through the sea breeze, which leaves a warm aftertaste in each of its chilly gust.

"This is a me versus the world kind of thing going on here," you comment in between your final opposition, and when you start walking on sand, you zip your lips and yield to the serenity of the nocturnal stroll.

Claire is still at your side, arm looped around yours, grinning effervescently. She pauses from star-gazing and takes a gander. She sees Court treading behind, gestures for him to come closer, and slows down her gait. He obliges without a word, astonishment painting his features when Claire loops her other arm around his. She shortly squeezes her hold on you and Court before adding a bounce in her step.

Court exchanges dumbfounded looks with you. This moment would've been totally normal if it weren't for your physiology experiencing aberration whenever you make eye contact with your crush. Blood automatically rushes up your cheeks, you ignore it and give a sheepish grin. He returns the expression with a small laugh, glances at Claire, and eyes the world around the three of you.

You admire him admiring the world. Counting from one to three, you then avert your gaze to the city life bustling on the outskirts of the Boardwalk. The smell of the sea and grilling restaurants mingle in your olfactory. It's been a long while since you've had a stroll, deeply breathing in and out, you fight back a contented shudder. But Court notices the infinitesimal quake in your shoulders.

"Are you cold?" he inquires, halting his tracks, he's about to remove his jacket. You're only wearing the signature brown-collared shirt of the cafe's uniform, denim shorts, and thigh-high socks.

"Oh, no, I'm not cold!" you reply with a laugh, "I'm just.. thrilled, you know? Been a while since I've walked along the beach."

"You should thank yourself for that 'cuz you suggested it," says Claire.

"You know what? I will."

"That's right, raise that self-esteem!"

The three of you are 5 minutes away from the cafe now, 3 minutes if you sprint like an Olympic runner. A group of guys are playing basketball on the nearby court where sand meets concrete. "Oh, there's a fountain over there, would you two like to see it?" you point towards a miniature park.

"Sure," Court and Claire say in unison, though the teenager has a more gleeful tone.

You're about to take another step when you notice something soaring towards you. "Woah!" you yelp as you catch a basketball.

"Sorry, miss!" one of the guys starts to jog towards you.

You lob the ball at him. "Sa susunod kasi, sa kakampi niyo ipasa."

Next time, pass it to your teammate.

His other friends erupt with oooh's and taunts, while the guy stops to catch the ball. "Baka lang naman gusto kita makausap," he replies, smirking.

Maybe it's because I just want to talk to you.

"Edi tanga ka. Sana lumapit ka kesa nambato ka ng bola." you scoff and gesture for the father-daughter duo, "Let's go."

"Single ka, no? Walang magkakagusto sa'yo 'pag pinagpatuloy mo yung ugali na 'yan!" he angrily yells.

You're single, ain't you? No one will like you if you continue with that attitude!

You try to hold back, but the retort has already turned the keys and launched out the missiles. "At ikaw naman? Single kasi para kang pwet ng manok na putak ng putak!"

How about you? You're single 'cause you're like a chicken's ass that keeps on spouting!

Claire barks out a laugh, while Court glances away to hide his smile. You feel a sense of pride, simultaneously a tinge of embarrassment for loosening the chains on your warfreakness.

The three of you arrive at the fountain with no further catcalls or distractions. Claire roams around, snapping pictures as she goes, while you take a seat on the rim of the fountain's basin. Court strolls around the small park, like a bodyguard securing the area, and afterwards, he heads towards the fountain. Specifically towards you.

Your heart has skipped, tripped, and cartwheeled even before Court sits beside you. However, he leaves a respectable space between the two of you, and part of you wants nothing more than to erase the distance. Because of that, you don't have the courage to look at him; or else your face will put an erupting volcano to shame.

You keep your eyes on Claire instead. Even when you perceive Court looking at you in your peripheral vision.

Five minutes pass by like that, yet the silence between you and Court is comfortable. Claire's giggling and the camera snapping are the only consistent noise mingling with the quietness, as well as the vague crash of the waves against the shore. You see distant people strolling by the beach, some kids are even running around and tripping, sand particles flying and glinting under the moonlight.

"Okay, let's go!" Court suddenly says, rising up.

You blink at him. "What?"

He holds his hand out to you. "It's already been 5 minutes since we left the cafe. You're still working, right?"

"Yeah, you need to get back to work!" Claire exclaims, hopping next to Court, she outstretches a hand to you, while her other hand is used to snap a picture of you.

You blink out the flashes, glance at each the father-daughter duo, and stifle a laugh. "Okay, let's go," you grab their hands, "But are you two sure you're done sightseeing?"

Claire nods. "Yup! And don't worry, we can sightsee some other time! And (N/N) will be our tour guide," she looks up at Court, "Right, dad?"

"Of course," Court replies, but he's looking at you.

You gulp down your heart when it somersaults up your throat. Fire grows in your cheeks, and you hope the sea breeze that's flurrying by will extinguish it. "W-Well, that's good.. so you two have other places to go other than the cafe." you say, mentally noting how the father-daughter duo are still holding your hands.

"Like we'll ever get tired of the cafe." Claire snorts and tugs on your hand, "C'mon, let's go back!"

You let Claire pull you to a slow gait, and when you feel Court loosening his grip, you tighten your hold on his hand. "Hey," you shortly frown at him over your shoulder, "no letting go."

His eyes widen as he's forced to follow after your and Claire's strides. Soon, astonishment is melted by relief— and something else that you can't decipher. Court smiles at you, the most genuine kind of smile, and you can't help but smile back, the sheepish kind mixed with something unknown.

You stammer. "I mean, I'm the tour guide, so—"

"Alright," Court grips your hand affectionately, "No letting go."

Officially, your heart has gone boom-boom, bye-bye.

"Bye-bye, (N/N)!"

"Bye-bye, Claire!"

"Will you go to Lilia's later?"

"Yeah, I will! Have a safe drive home!"

You watch the father-daughter duo climb in the car before you step back in the cafe. There's only a few customers now, and with only one hour until closing time. But for some reason, one hour feels like an eternity.

You've lost count on how many times Mindy and Muro have asked you to relay the events of this evening's stroll. They repeatedly asked because even when you left out the part where you held hands with Claire and Court during the last bit of the stroll, blood would rush up your neck and face. With that, the couple knows something more happened. It's not like you want to hide it, but…

For some reason, you want those moments with the father-daughter duo just for yourself. As though disclosing it to anyone else will break the magic spell— which is the mystery of why Claire and Court seem to like you.

Shaking your head, you forcibly reel yourself out of your stupor before you fall down that rabbit hole again. You envy Alice for reaching the bottom of her rabbit hole, since yours will most likely be a bottomless pit. You let out a deep sigh through your nose, briefly expelling the scent of coffee, and glance at the wall clock, which indicates 9:40— 50 minutes before work ends.

One way to quicken time is to be busy, so you clear your thoughts and get to waiting tables, blending drinks, and washing dishes.

And just like that, it's closing time.

You chuckle to yourself, contemplating how funny time is. When you're not doing anything, it's slow. But when you're doing something, it gets faster. You find that hilarious, but sometimes you despise time for speeding up when you're enjoying someone else's company. Your inner self coughs and indiscreetly hangs up a portrait of Court and Claire on the wall. You find a vase to throw at your inner self and focus on driving to the hotel where Lilia's family resides.

The girl hasn't come to work for a week as she's taking care of her younger sibling, who had gotten sick. Lilia went to the cafe earlier to inform you that she might take another week off in case she caught her sister's cold.

That's why here you are now, driving to their current residence to give them leftovers from the cafe— chicken sinigang.

"Ay, pota." you angrily mutter when a raindrop and two spatters on your face.

You swiftly park your motorcycle by the curb and unwrap the jacket from your waist. "Please be a light rain," you sigh, slipping on the jack.

As you're zipping the jacket close, you hear a car parking behind you. But instead of shutting the engine, the driver switches on the high-beams. You glance over your shoulder as the hazard lights begin to blink.

You gesture that you'll be going now— but then another car halts in front of you, turns on their high-beams and hazard lights, and revs their engine.

Panic pumps through your heart and you feel the pulse in your throat drum wildly beneath your skin. Both cars start to inch closer towards you, and before you're completely boxed in, you hastily urge your motorcycle away from the curb. The dark heavens shriek with multiple thunders, drowning out practically every other sound, yet you hear the engines revving behind you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see the two cars following after you. The increasing rain and their high-beams make it hard for you to perceive your pursuers. Whoever they are, evidently they are no friend.

A/N: dfdddfjksf who the fuck is chasing our dear reader?! of course, i know~ but what are your guesses? hehehe

Chapter 15 is under now constructed ion

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xiii}

FINALLLY AN UPDATE HAHAHAHUHUHUHU I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG CUZ OF THAT THERE WILL BE 2 CHAPTERS TODAY!

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 12 is already a full-blown deer Chapter 13 is a newborn fawn

word count: 3.9k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know (except you DO know #wreckthe4thwall)

♪Sino ang mag-aakalang mahal kita Sino ang maglalahad ng nadarama♪

♪Bakit hindi alam kung bakit Laging sa akin lumalapit Kahit minsan ako'y nagkulang♪

He doesn’t understand the song, yet for some reason he can relate to it as much as the next foreigner.

Court finds interest in the memphis-patterned wall when you turn away from the counter and stroll to the booth he’s taken. The two of you are in a coffee shop less than a 3-minute drive from the subdivision, you lead them here after you asked if you and Court can talk. The coffee shop is inside a residential area, which Court actually has a room rented as one of their nearby hideouts. Claire is still asleep in the backseat of the car, which is parked right outside of the cafe; he left it locked and running since he has a spare key.

While you ordered warm drinks for the two of you, Court assesses the vicinity. It’s small, up to 20 customers will fit, with 3 tables for two, 2 booths for four, and a counter-table good for four by the window. Two ways in and out. When he has concocted enough shootout scenarios and possible escape plans, his eyes land on you like a rocket to the moon.

You’re still in your thigh-high white socks and black jeans-shorts, except you unfolded the hem to dangle the methodical loose threads. You have switched your white shoes for pink high Chucks and the brown collared-shirt for a peach sweatshirt.

How you look two times younger than your age isn’t what astounds Court. It’s your sprightly hair free from the usual ponytail or braids you always tie it into. He hasn’t seen your untied hair in a while, making him recall that you haven’t been to their house since you began dating Erick. For the reason being Court’s douchey decisions in putting a raincheck on the Friday movie nights.

A forest fire is starting in his chest at the thought of Erick having the privilege to see you out of your cafe uniform every time he wants.

Erick gets to contact you and hang out with you without resistance.

Erick gets to run his hands through your hair while Court sits back and watches like the fool he is.

He gets to take you home or to his place and—

“Hey? Kurt!”

Court blinks, reeling out of his dangerous spiraling stupor, he looks at you and takes the gander. “What is it?”

“You’ve been staring at me for almost two minutes,” you say, stifling a grin.

The wildfire in his chest springs up to his cheeks, he stammers an apology and looks at anywhere but you. A waiter approaches the booth, serving a yellow mug to you and a red mug to Court. “We’ll be behind the counter if you two need anything,” he says and takes his bouncy leave.

“I ordered chai tea latte for both of us,” you lift the mug up, “This is one of the drinks I know you like.”

“Well, I like your blend.” he blurts out, bringing the mug up to his lips, he imagines smacking the mug against the top of his head.

You smile. “Let’s have a taste of their blend, shall we?”

The two of you sip simultaneously, extracting the mug from your lips, you and Court exchange looks. Taking another sip at the same time for confirmation, you lower the mug to the table and sigh.

“Too much milk,” you and Court quietly comment.

Astonishment shortly blooms across your faces before amusement cracks it and the two of you share a laugh. For the next few minutes, the two of you decide to sit in silence and enjoy what you can from the drink.

Court can’t help but think how nice this is. It’s blissful (euphoric, even) to be with you like this.

And it scares him.

No matter how much he wants these moments with you, his inner demons stab his heart relentlessly as punishment and reminder that he doesn’t deserve it—

He doesn’t deserve you.

“Where were you two going?” your sweet-voiced inquiry swats the demons away, and when he makes eye contact with you, his stab wounds have healed.

There’s no point in lying and dragging this infighting out too much.

“To the cafe,” Court pauses, “Because I wanted to see you.”

You’re stunned.

Court sighs. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”

You’re— whatever is the next adjective to stunned. But simultaneously, you’re relieved.

“That’s.. good.” you breathe out, chuckling.

“Let me apologize first for my attitude these past weeks.” he looks you in the eye, “I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

Your heart flutters, not in a way that should be when someone is asking for your forgiveness . “Apology half-accepted,” you grin, “I’ll accept it wholeheartedly if you increase your tips in the cafe.”

His jaw drops, and if you two were a cartoon, it would’ve dropped on the table and knocked his drink off.

“I’m kidding,” you announce, somehow not reassuringly. “And I’m sorry, too, for being snobbish recently.”

“It’s okay,” says Court, sipping on his drink. “Anyway.. you should talk first.”

You nod, gathering your courage with a collective breath in and out. “Alright… Why have you been avoiding me?” you inquire, brows knotted solemnly.

Now it’s Court’s turn to gather his courage. Inhaling and exhaling through his nose, Court musters an abundance of bravery to hold your gaze.

“You have a boyfriend.”

Huh?

You blink at him, dumbfounded. "What does that have to do with anything?" you ask amusedly.

"Everything." Court heavily emphasizes and sighs, "Look, (Y/N), Claire doesn't have a lot of friends and she considers you to be one. But hanging out with her means you'll hang out with me. And I'm pretty sure your boyfriend won't approve."

You frown. "One, he's not my boyfriend, we're just dating. Two, he doesn't give a flying shit about it after a talk we had."

Court huffs. "Well, if you were dating me, I'd give a flying shit about you hanging out with some guy."

For a second, the whole world is quiet. Until the next song gently oozes out of the speakers.

♪Dami pang gustong sabihin Ngunit 'wag na lang muna Hintayin na lang ang hanging Tangayin ang salita♪

You look at Court, who’s looking back just as shocked as you. If not, even more shocked and positively horrified at his subconscious.

“I-I me-mean if I,” he clears his throat, “If I was dating someone, and they were friends with a person they appear very close to, I’d give a shit in a cautious way. I don’t mean to sound possessive or anything, but like, I’d care about who they’re friends with.. okay?”

You’re quiet for several seconds, sipping on your drink before you reply. “Erick cares.. he confessed about being skeptical towards our friendship. But after our talk, he’s okay with you and I—”

His self-control is slipping.

“—and Claire.”

Slipping very fast now.

“... That way, it’s the three of us against the world.”

“Glad to know that,” Court nods and swigs on his drink.

“So,” you trail off, smiling sheepishly. “Are we okay?”

We will be if we just be together.

Court finally imprisons his talkative subconscious. “Yeah, we’re okay.” he answers with a crooked smile.

You narrow your eyes at him, and without warning, you slide out of the booth, stand at his side, and collar him. “Don’t lie to me,” you coldly say, leaning down to threateningly place your face half a ruler away.

The look of terror on his face isn’t from the abrupt invasion of privacy or your cute attempt to be hostile; instead, Court is terrified you’ll read his mind being this up close to him.

Six inches.. your face, your nose, your lips— they’re just six inches away. And six inches is awfully close proximity.

Just as his body begins to move without permission, thankfully you stand upright with a wolfish grin. “Was I menacing enough?”

Court breathes out a laugh, but it’s actually a puff of relief. “Would you like me to be brutally honest?”

“As long as it’s constructive,” you quip, sitting back down across him.

A light bulb pops in his mind and breaks, the light flickering challengingly as he considers the idea. “Okay, well, point to you for the demeanor. It’s very icy. And the way you hold the gaze unblinking, plus the way you take up the space are double points.” says Court, “But of course, being in close quarters with the enemy could leave you vulnerable. So.. best be careful with face-to-face threatening tactics.”

You’re open-mouthed, yet simultaneously amused as a grin tweaks up the corners of your lips. “Were you, like, a secret agent before your graphic designing era?”

His rigid shoulders loosen when he shrugs. “I just like secret agent movies.” he declares nonchalantly.

Part lie, part truth…

“Oh, yeah? What’s your favorite?”

“Woah, that’s tough, but..” Court scratches his head, “I’ll go with Spy.”

“Spy, 2015? The one with Melissa McCarthy?” you question with eyes about to burst with glitter.

Court grins. “And with Miranda Hart, Rose Byrne, Jason Statham, and—”

“Jude Law!” you finish his sentence with him, though you’re more enthusiastic than he is. “If there’s an action/comedy film that I would sleep with, Spy would be that movie. I am crazy in love with it!”

“Better not let your boyfriend know that,” he snickers.

You scoff. “Like he’ll complain when he’s getting some.”

The universe may as well be positively against Courtland Gentry. Because he’s in the middle of drinking from his chai tea latte when you explicitly hinted that you’re having sex with the guy you’re dating.

Court feels as though the warm drink has become sentient and decides not to meet its maker, slapping his throat with the force of 500 pounds in the attempts to escape the esophagus. He coughs horribly, facing away from you, he covers his mouth with his arm.

“Are you okay?” you worriedly ask, jumping out of the booth, you stand beside him. “Kurt, are you okay? You sound asphyxiated.”

“I’m—” Court is cut off by another fit of cough.

You’re careful when you reach to soothe and pat his back, while your other hand gently grips on his shoulder. Court can’t focus on your hands on him at first, that’s why he’s slightly thankful that he’s still recovering from choking. But as his bodily reflex begins calming down, Court wonders if you’ll stay this close to him if he pretends.

However, self-control gets the best of him.

Breathing out a sigh, he composes himself and looks up at you. “Thanks, (Y/N).. I’m fine now.” he says and absentmindedly pats your hand on his shoulder. He is quick to realize it, freezing up in the process, leaving his hand atop yours.

“You sure? Can I get you anything?” you question, scrutinizing him from crown to toe.

Court snaps out of his daze, pats your hand again, and reluctantly puts his hand down. “Yeah, I’m sure I’m fine.” he replies with a smile, “And you’ve done enough.”

“Okay.. well,” you slowly pull away from him, “what happened?”

“I think my drink has a grudge on me.”

“What, for consuming it?”

“Something like that.”

“I should be careful with mine, then.”

You return to your seat, glancing out of the cafe, you trace swirling patterns on your plain yellow mug. “You two can go home, you know.. I’ll stay for a bit.”

Court furrows his brows. “Why?— Oh, okay..”

“No, I’m not meeting Erick if that’s what you’re thinking.” you lightly kick his leg.

“Oh…” he tries not to look too happy, “Well, then, I’ll just go check up on Cl— Kiara.”

“Okay! See if she’s awake and hungry.”

Court exits the coffee shop, taking a furtive gander of the block, he unlocks the SUV and hops in. “Claire, wanna go home?” he looks over to the backseat, locking the doors.

She groans. “What’re you talking about? I am home.” and rolls over, smushing her face into the seat.

Court reaches over to see if her seatbelt is secured, and even pokes her shoulder for good measure that she’s deeply in slumber.

“She thinks she’s sleeping at home, so..” he announces when he enters back in the cafe, sidling across from you.

You chuckle. “Really, Kurt, you don’t have to accompany me.”

“Yeah, but I’d love to be with you,” Court internally punches himself across the face. He proceeds to clarify himself, “To accompany you. I mean, we are friends, right? Friends.. do that, accompany each other and shit.”

You smile, the kind that you’re trying to suppress as you’re simultaneously amused yet elated. “Yeah.. and shit,” you say, blissfully looking at him as though you’re about to ask him to marry you.

Court vanquishes the ludicrous thoughts away, slowly finishing his chai tea latte, which now appears menacing for a warm drink. He feels the sweat oozing out the top of his head when you stay silent while you drink, eyeing the coffee shop’s ornaments. You’re beginning to keep your thoughts to yourself. He sees them dancing around your eyes, but he’s not a mindreader; just a guy who would love for you to share your thoughts.

It then hits him like a ten-wheeler truck— horn blaring, bones rupturing, realizing death is happening in just a snap— you’re always the one leading the conversation. During your first moments together, even during the walkie-talkie nights; he’s always waiting for you to say something. Granted, it’s due to his inept social skills, plus he doesn’t want to say anything wrong to you. That’s why he keeps quiet.

But not tonight.

He concludes it’s high time he acts like a man and takes the lead.

“So, what’s your favorite moment in Spy?” Court asks.

The thoughts in your eyes become lively, like celestial bodies showing off in a cloudless starry night. “Is answering.. every moment in Spy is my favorite moment too superfluous?” you ask back with a grin.

“If you put it like that, yeah.”

You laugh— the good kind of laugh.

The laugh that says ‘I’m comfortable with you, and I hope you’re comfortable with me too’.

The laugh that would’ve shot chai tea out of your nose if you had been drinking when he responded.

The laugh that Court wishes he can hear every day.

It’s the most genuine laugh he has heard from you yet. Court wonders if you laugh with Erick like this as well.

This is bad.

Even though it feels right and gives you ecstasy, this is bad.

By this, you mean you and Court— hanging out. It's the first time in a while that you two get to talk, but this is the first time you two talked like this in person. Typically, your conversations with Court occur through radio waves.

That's what made you overlook the situation. The familiarity and comfort. Conversations with Court have always made you feel at ease.

If you're honest, the situation is innocent.

But if you're being more honest, the situation is wrongful.

Because you're starting to realize something you shouldn't. Feeling something you don't know is possible.

And it scares you.

You can't think of any reasons why— why and how it's possible. And that wreaks havoc in your brain as you try to ponder thoroughly about it.

You swirl the drink in your mug by lightly shaking it around. You watch the remaining liquid dance as an excuse to take your eyes off Court. He just asked you when was the last time you went to an amusement park (context: you two were fangirling about the Final Destination franchise).

"I guess.. 7 years?" you chuckle, "My parents surprisingly know I love amusement parks and decide we go to Universal Studios Japan after my graduation."

“I’ve been there once,” he pauses, averting his gaze just as a vivid memory flickers in it. “Ten years ago.”

You open your mouth to probe, but he beats you to it. “I thought you hadn't traveled to another country before?” he inquires puzzledly.

“Well, that was more like visiting Japan, not really my definition of traveling.” you shrug.

“And how was the USJ for you and your family?”

You try to search his eyes, finding no evidence of the memory he just recalled, you yield and recall your own memory of the popular theme park. “Shockingly, we had fun together. It was a rare blue moon event.” you snicker, “We even rode The Flying Dinosaur, which just opened that year, ten times in 1 day.”

Court stays silent, waiting for you to add on either the theme park or your family, but you’re not ready. And you’re certain he’s not ready to hear your family drama yet.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly.

You furrow your brows. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I didn’t intend for this conversation to involve your family. You told me once that you didn’t want me to feel bad about telling you anything about me.. and I’d like to say the same to you right now.” Court scratches the back of his head, “I mean.. am I right to think that your family is a sensitive topic?”

“Yeah, they are.. and you’re right. But don’t worry, you didn’t make me feel bad or anything.” you reply with a smile.

“Really?”

“Really.. I’m okay.”

“But your eyes say you’re not.”

You’re astonished. True, any memory or mentions of your family showers you with melancholy; but you did not think you’re showing it explicitly. Because you know you aren’t, yet Court manages to see through your defenses.

“What are you, a psychiatrist?” you nervously laugh, “Okay, okay, here’s a more honest answer.. I’m partly okay and you’re not the reason why I’m not fully okay.”

“But I’m the reason why you’re only partly okay in the first place. I triggered that.” Court frowns.

“Susmaryosep—” you reach over and flick him on the forehead, “Now you’re being more of a drama queen than my inner self. I’m partly okay, Kurt, and I’ll be fully okay once I’ve stabilized my emotions. Stop blaming yourself when I’m already assuring you that you did not hurt me.”

He gawks at you, shocked at your formidability, and you flick him on the forehead again before sitting back down. “Sheesh, is extreme affirmation and a forehead flick your love language?” you grumble, taking a swig of your chai tea latte.

If your exasperation has a form, it would be pops of firecrackers effusing out the top of your head.

Before Court can apologize again, the waiter approaches your booth and informs the two of you that the coffee shop will close in 20 minutes. “Ay sige, ubusin lang namin ito tapos labas na kami. Pasensya na, napatagal kami,” you reply to the waiter with a sheepish smile.

Oh okay, we’ll just finish this and then we’ll go out. Pardon us for taking too long,

“Okay lang po! Sana nag-enjoy naman po kayo sa stay niyo rito!” he beams and whisks back to the counter.

It’s alright! I hope you two enjoyed your stay here!

You whisper to Court to quickly finish your drinks, which is done in less than thirty-seconds, and wait for a minute before skedaddling out of the cafe.

The late-September air attempts to overwhelm you with its chilly embrace, but you’re protected by the remaining warmth of your deceased chai tea latte. You check your things and head to your motorcycle, Court trails after you silently. And when you halt, he halts.

“You know.. if you waited three more years, we might’ve run into each other at USJ.” you quip with a toothy grin, “Who were you with, if I may ask?”

He has trouble looking straight at you as he answers. “Uh.. just some old friends.”

“No lovers?” you tease.

“None,” he shortly laughs, looking straight at you, and now you’re the one having trouble looking at him.

“Well, thank you for accepting my offer and talking it out with me tonight.” you unlatch your helmet from the luggage rack, turning to Court, you smile brightly at him. “Have a good night, Kurt.”

“Don’t you,” he pauses when he sounds too hasty, “Don’t you want to stay the night at our place? It’s almost midnight.”

You hold the ‘yes’ captive in your throat. “No, it’s fine.. the drive home for me will be fast at this time.” you reply with a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a game of DOS before bed?” Court quips awkwardly.

You laugh. “I’m sure you’ll regret that offer if I beat your ass in DOS.”

The two of you share a laugh, lively sounds mingling and ringing together into one, floating up to the twinkling stars behind the dark clouds. Once the cosmos has been fed by your and Court’s laughter, the two of you stare at each other— you instantly lose track of time at that moment.

You don’t know how, you don’t know why. But those findings somewhat don’t matter because right now, it’s just you and Court.

Except it shouldn’t be.

Because there’s no you and him.

In that sudden realization, you’re the first to snap back to reality. “Say good night to Kiara for me!” you say in a mixture of exclamation and yelping. You put on your helmet, straddle the motorcycle, and boots the stand-up.

“Y-Yeah, I will.” says Court.

You give him a thumbs up. “Alright, good night to you as well, Kurt!” and twist the keys in the ignition.

You’re the first to drive out of the small residential village, halting a few feet away from the highway, and Court rests to your right, lowering the driver window. “Are you sure I can’t at least drive you home?” he inquires with a worried frown.

“Yes, I’m sure.” you chuckle, “Good night, Kurt!”

Looking from left to right, you urge your ride into the highway. You forcefully focus your mind on the drive, because it keeps flashing memories of tonight like a broken record.

Just as you assured Court, you arrive at your apartment in no time. You fish out your phone, call the latest contact on the call list, and grab a pitcher of water from the fridge. The recipient doesn’t answer. After drinking a glass of water, you call again.

[“Hello?”] he groggily answers, probably with both eyes closed.

“Erick, hi, sorry.” you pause, “It’s me, (Y/N).”

[“(N/N)? Babe, why are you calling at midnight? Did your pumpkin explode?”]

“It’s more of the mice literally speaking,” you jokingly say and sit down, lowering your forehead to the edge of the table.

[“Are you okay? Did something crazy abnormal happen to you?”] Erick questions worriedly.

“No, but… Yes, I guess?— I just.. I need to talk to you.”

[“You sound serious. Wanna meet up now?”]

“No, I… I need some time to think.”

He deeply breathes in and out. [“Whatever that is.. it sounds like you made your mind about it already.”]

You stammer. “What do you mean?”

[“C’mon, (N/N).. I’ve known you, what, three years? Albeit, intermittently and through Muro,”] Erick snickers, [“So if you say you’ll be thinking about it, you probably thought about it for a while and finalizing it right now. Plus, we’ve been dating for a month.. that’s enough to know someone.”]

Sitting upright, you breathe out a laugh. “Why do you sound so wise?”

[“Because I’ve always been, doy!”]

“Erick.. can we meet up tomorrow for lunch?”

[“Sure! At the cafe?”]

“I’ll text you the details in the morning. Sorry for calling you abruptly at this hour.”

You can imagine the boyish smile on his smile as he replies. [“It’s alright, babe. See you tomorrow?”]

“See you tomorrow..”

A/N: got nothing except HOPE YOU ENJOY AND CONTINUE STAYING TUNE <;<<333 i am so so very very sorry for not updating in a very long while INTERNSHIP IS A HELLISH YET FUN JOURNEY

The key to Chapter 14 is itself

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xii}

oooooh another chapter in less than an hour? *tries to mesmerize you*

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Addtionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

CHAPTER SELECTION is in the ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 11 should be out of the blueprints Chapter 12 is this right here

word count: 3k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Claire *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

It’s been a week since you’re dating Erick.

But three weeks ago, if you're more honest, you thought you’d be dating Court.

Why is that?— Oh, maybe because he asked if you were in a relationship. You answered truthfully, and even flung the question back to him. If that wasn't a gigantic sign to ask someone out, you don't know what it was.

For two weeks, you have waited for him to ask you out. But, as God said when Wuntch tried to sneak past the gates into heaven, “It ain’t happening, honey”—rebuked by Captain Raymond Jacob Holt of the 99 Brooklyn precinct.

Even so, you’ve contemplated on being the one to take the first step and ask him out. Your nerves unfortunately tear your vocal chords to shreds; whenever you think you have the courage to ask Court out, you’re losing your voice as though Ursula wants it to scare off any colorful sea creatures.

Your little inner selves are warning you, telling you to be sure first before producing stupidity into something tangible. So you decide to wait it out, look for definite signs that Court is authentically interested in you, and—

Nothing happens.

Apparently, you’re only positively daydreaming. You think you’re that lucky to have a foreign guy become interested in you? Stop, please, you’re killing your muscle fibers— they’re laughing too much.

If your own ethnicity has always had trouble finding you attractive, what more for people of other ethnicities?

Here you go again, degrading yourself like a terror professor. Stop it— you're sexy and you know it.

Erick certainly believes it as he periodically murmurs how sexy you are during sex earlier. You regard his open-mouthed sleeping face, wondering how he doesn't snore, and softly run a hand through his hair. Something— someone else flashes in your eyes, making you see that you're not combing Erick's hair.

Dirty blond locks instead of black bend to your gentle will. You carefully retract your hand, gaze at Erick guiltily, and quietly knock the back of your head on the headboard of his bed. For some reason (there's no point hiding it), during intercourse with Erick, your mind occasionally imagines that Court is in Erick's place.

When you soothe a hand up and down his arm, you vividly feel Court's arm instead of Erick's. It has been practically a month, yet your mind still replays that moment you and Court had in their kitchen as though it happened yesterday.

You recall his scar and wonder if Court has any more that he will let you venture.

An exasperated sigh blows out your lips, like a single storm cloud wafting angrily to rain on everyone's parade. Here you are in bed with a guy who's definitely interested, and you're musing over somebody else who probably isn't.

Talk about being a shitty person.

"Why weren't you two here last week?" you inquire, unable to keep it in your molars any longer.

Claire and Court didn't show up for their Monday breakfast, and Friday and Saturday dinners. She mentioned that they may add it to their more dinner nights and breakfast at the cafe. You shouldn't have assumed it'll be written in stone, now you're reddening as the father-daughter duo exchange unreadable looks.

Maybe you shouldn't have asked.

"Busy preparing for homeschool," says Claire.

"Oh, yeah? When are you going to start?" you grin excitedly.

She grimaces. "Next week, actually."

"Damn, time flies fast!" you exclaim with a laugh, "It seems like yesterday you two were first-time customers in the cafe."

Claire snaps her fingers. "I remember we played UNO Flip then. We haven't played that since."

"That's true.. how about instead of a movie night tonight, we'll have a game night?" you suggest with a toothy grin.

"We can do alternating events— game night this Friday, and then movie night on the next!" Claire claps her hands enthusiastically.

The two of you regard Court, who has been quietly finishing his meal. "(Y/N) may be busy," he states without looking and drinks his water.

You blink. "No, I'm not—"

"Well, I am." he curtly says.

"You are?" Claire heaves a brow.

"Company project needs to be done tomorrow morning." he begins wiping his mouth and hands, sliding out of the booth, he's careful not to be in your proximity. He looks at Claire, "Let's go?"

She glances down at her empty plate. "We haven't had dessert yet."

"Two slices of strawberry shortcake to go, please." Court whisks away to the counter.

"O-Okay," you glance at Claire, who shrugs in response, and you follow Court, trying to catch his eyes as he keeps his gaze down.

When you outstretch the paper bag to him, you keep your hold on it before Court can take it. "Are you alright?" you inquire before he can say anything.

He is astonished, yet he replies nonchalantly. "Yeah."

You tighten your jaw. "Are we alright?" you press, brows knotting worriedly.

It nearly takes him a moment to answer. ".. Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" says Court, offering a small smile.

"Right," you murmur dubiously.

Reluctantly releasing the paper bag, you look straight into Court’s eyes and spot a flicker of emotion. But you can’t name it, and he turns away before you can scrutinize him further. Court strolls ahead to exit the cafe, while Claire trails behind with you. "See you next week, (N/N)." she waves with a toothy smile.

You hold the door open for her. "Yeah, see you." you manage a bright smile, even though it feels dejected.

Once Claire has climbed in the SUV, you give the father-daughter duo one last wave before returning inside the cafe.

"Why are you being a dickwad?" Claire immediately (verbally) pounces on Court.

He glares at her. "You're grounded," and carefully drives out of the parking lot.

"Seriously? That's what you're coming up with?" she questions, scoffing. "Court, it's the two of us against the world.. tell me why you're being a dickwad to the only person who'll ever be good to us."

"How are you sure (Y/N) is good?" he demands, knuckles blanching white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "We don't know anything about her, she's as much a stranger as everyone else. She doesn't even know who we really are—" he pauses to sharply glance at Claire, "—How are you sure she won't pick money over us? Or her real family and friends over us?"

Claire is seething. "How is (Y/N) a stranger when each of us have our own late night talks with her?!"

Court shortly glances at her in shock.

She mirthlessly laughs. "Oh, yeah, buddy.. I know— way before she even mentioned it. The bedroom doors still have gaps, I've eavesdropped on some of your conversations. She also mentioned that you haven't walkie-talked to her for the past weeks. She's worried.. agitated, even.”

An imaginary elephant stomps on his chest, bruising his skin, cracking his ribs, and flattening his every organ. He doesn’t deserve your concern.

Claire breathes in and out, turning to the road ahead. “Look, I don't know who (Y/N) will pick, but it certainly won't be money. You know that as well as I do,” she pauses to regard Court. “So why are you being shitty to her?"

The blinker chirps periodically when Court signals that he’ll be making a right turn. He carefully rests the SUV by a vacant spot on the curb, pulls up the parking brake, and clenches his jaw.

“Court, it’s the two of us against the world.. tell me why you're being a dickwad to the only person who'll ever be good to us.”

Keeping secrets from the only family he has is kind of pompous and shitty.

Expelling a hefty sigh, he starts to open up. "I'm avoiding her—"

Claire snorts. "No shit."

"—for my own sake."

Her eyebrows leap in astonishment.

He shortly closes his eyes when he soothes his forehead. "Every time she's at arms-length, all I think about is kidnapping her. Stealing her away from that guy— from the world. Telling her who I am.. who we are.” he glances at Claire with a sadly amused smirk, “That way, it’s the three of us against the world.”

Claire remains silent, either she’s letting him continue or she doesn’t have anything to say. It’s both.

“She just lays her eyes on me and my self-control slips like sand through my fingers,” Court releases his grip on the steering wheel, gazing at his rough appendages. “I don't think I'll be able to hold back any longer if she keeps nearing me."

"Oh, damn..” Claire breathes out, “Oh, damn… Oh, damn, Six! I didn't think you were in love!"

He regards her, both flabbergasted and discombobulated. Then he fully processes her words and flares like a red stoplight. "I wouldn't call it that,” he stammers, “I'm just—"

"Oh, yeah? Just what?" she questions, snickering.

"Just…” he trails off, glancing out the window, he notices his faint reflection morphing. It’s not him looking back at himself, it’s you. Every memory he has of you starts streaking across the glass like a fast-paced, slow-motion movie. The most recent images he has of you is you in the arms of the guy you’re dating and the way you looked at him earlier when you asked if the two of you were alright.

The two of you— we.

Him, her; I, you— us.

You have already considered him in your life.

You’re at the door, opening it halfway, not wanting to overwhelm him too much and letting it be his decision to enter. Do you know what you’re doing already? Or is it still your subconscious taking the wheel?— Because either way, you’re letting him into your world, willing to let him have a piece of your life, and willing to know more about him.

Court sighs as he faces forward, scratching the side of his head, he shrugs. “I just think I like her more than I've allowed myself to like another person."

Claire stares at him, until she suddenly smacks him on the arm. “Ow! The hell was that for?!” he shrieks, bewildered.

She strikes him again, this time with a toothy grin. “I never pegged you as someone who can say such poetic words,” she coos, “You make Shakespeare run for his money.”

“Well, Shakespeare is overrated.”

“I dare you tweet that.”

Larceny.

Arson.

Attempted murder.

Necrophilia.

You're listing things that you're certain are reasons why Court is avoiding you. What happened last week is already enough proof, and you've hundred percent confirmed it during this week's Monday breakfast and Friday dinner.

He doesn't look you in the eye.

He's rigid whenever you're in close proximity with him.

His responses are always clipped when talking to you.

And he still hasn't engaged in the weekly late night talks with you through the walkie-talkie.

Other than illegal activities that you certainly do not engage in, you’ve been thinking and listing how you’ve been behaving around the father-daughter duo.

Did you say something explicit with Kiara at earshot?

Were you being racist without realizing?

Are you smothering them uncomfortably with hospitality?

You let out a cry, distressed voice bouncing from the bathroom’s ceiling to floor, seeping into the walls. You’ve just served the father-daughter duo their meals and decide to wallow in your anxiety in the staff bathroom. Because you might not be able to stop yourself from asking Court why he’s avoiding you. It’d be embarrassing if that isn’t the case.

But what if it is?— The next question would be: what have you done to make him avoid you?

Muro raps on the door. “(N/N)? Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, just..!” you pause, “Feeling some cramps, you know, I might get my period tonight instead of next week.”

“Need any pads?”

“You have some?”

“NO— Mindy does.”

“Are you sure they’re not yours?”

“Bahala ka nga d’yan!” you hear Muro storming off.

You laugh and holler. “Sorry na!”

Standing in front of the mirror, you exchange nods with your reflection before you exit the bathroom. Just be cool. No matter how Court acts, just be your everyday waitress self.

"How's dinner?" you quirkily step up to their booth.

"Magnifique!" Claire exclaims, "I didn't think vinegar and soy sauce would go absolutely well together."

"Adobo certainly is magic," you wink at her and glance over to Court, who's silently finishing his meal. You clap your hands together, "Right, since dinner looks almost done.. would you two care for dessert?"

"We'll have our desserts to go, please." Court says without looking at you.

"Got another one of those hefty company projects, huh?" you reply, as though you’re knowledgeable about gruesome corporate deadlines.

"That's right."

You tighten your jaw when you feel the bubbling anger in your throat. However, the resistance does not pull on the reins of your exasperation. "We're out of strawberry shortcake today. Do you need the menu to choose for other desserts?" you ask, eyes and tone as sharp as the knives in Mindy's kitchen.

The father-daughter duo notices your edge and regards you in astonishment. This is the first time in a while since Court looked at you properly. Pro tip for anyone handling Court in the near future: vividly express your annoyance if he’s ignoring you.

You give him a bright, tight-lipped smile. “I’m asking so that I can immediately prepare the takeout and you won’t have to waste your energy going to the counter.”

“No, it’s fi—”

“Great! I’ll be back with the menu in five minutes,” you chirpily cut him off and sashay away to the counter.

Claire shares a look with Court before she frowns at him. “If I haven’t said this was gonna bite you in the ass, then I’ll say it now,” she pauses to clear her throat, pressing her palms together like she’s praying, she taps her fingertips to her lips and points her praying hands to him. “This was gonna bite you in the ass.”

“I don’t understand what she has to be mad about,” Court scoffs, stabbing the last piece of meat on his plate, biting it off the fork like a caveman.

“Seriously? You’ve been reducing contact with her, henceforth she’s mad.”—Claire waits for any realization on Court’s face, and when there’s none, she continues—“And she’s mad because.. she cares.”

Court ceases his chewing.

She gives him a look. “.. About you,” and sighs. “She cares about you, Six.”

He gulps, glancing over to you, he settles his gaze on the table. “Well, that’s not good for any of us.”

Claire quietly explodes. “How is that not—?!”

“Are you forgetting our quality of life, Claire Fitzroy?” Court sharply interjects, glowering. “We let anyone in, there’s a high chance they die. That may not have happened yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m up for testing the theory.”

The way he ends his argument indicates that there’s no leeway for a rebuttal. Claire hasn’t really come up with a counter yet. She watches as Court rigidly finishes his plate: face tight, shoulders squared, and anger oozing from him like sweat out of pores.

“Maraming salamat po! Sana nabusog po kayo sa aming cafe!” you beam at the group of customers departing from the vicinity, “Ingat kayo para makabalik kayo ulit dito!”

Thank you very much! I hope you all became full from our cafe! Be careful so that you can return here!

Claire watches you clear out the table that the customers used, catching you vaguely hum a funky tune. You appear quite content with your life. With that swing of your hips and a bounce in your step, you look like you can take on the world. She notices Court furtively glimpsing at you in her peripheral vision and recalls his words from last week.

“Every time she's at arms-length, all I think about is kidnapping her. Stealing her away from that guy— from the world. Telling her who I am.. who we are… That way, it’s the three of us against the world.”

She then connects it with Court’s recent statements. Her face brightens with cognizant, smiling stupidly yet sadly, she begins finishing her meal.

“At least you confirmed that you care about her, too.” she nonchalantly declares.

“What?” Court regards her quizzically, “I didn’t—”

She noisily sips on her drink. “Directly said so? True.”

"I don't c—"

"Now, we both know you'll be lying if you continue that sentence."

"... Whatever," he scoffs.

Shit.. you're really mad at him. Enraged, even.

Another week has passed, marking it to be a month since you dated Erick. And during their cafe breakfast and dinners, you've reciprocated a much colder demeanor than he could ever conjure. You're only genuinely smiling at Claire, dropping it whenever you lay eyes on him, as though he's that kid who's always stealing other kids' juicebox in preschool. Your sentences are razor-sharp despite being up to 3 words long. You've been keeping your distance, always in close proximity with Claire, evading him like he has a viral infection.

Court did not expect that two could play this game. And he’s on a losing streak right off the bat when you joined.

He also did not expect how it’s more painful to have you ignoring him. However, this rift makes it easier to sledgehammer the relationship you two have been building.

So why is it that he’s currently driving out of the house, with Claire asleep and buckled in the backseat, and with the intent of reconstructing his friendship with you?

‘Friends..’ his inner self scoffs derisively.

‘Better than nothing,’ he replies as fast as a gunshot.

One of the guards slides the gate outwards and salutes to Court as he drives out of the subdivision. He halts the SUV, glancing from left to right, and shortly watches as a motorcycle gently swings off the highway. The rider honks thrice and they stop right beside the SUV.

Court’s eyes widen when they take off the helmet.

A/N: is it just me or this chapter feels like a rollercoaster? HAHAHAH i am absolutely reeling after revising this

Follow the map to Chapter 13, it'll reveal the location in the near future.. AND THERE IT IS

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

*to those who want to be in the taglist, check out the guidelines at the Masterlist pls („ಡωಡ„) thankyousomuch

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xi}

BEEN TOO DAMN LONG AHJFNHSAEFKJHUN to make up for such a mini hiatus on the fic, I'll be posting two more new chapters because I've got the next three chapters hot and ready to serve!

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Addtionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warning: moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check or not. slightly proofread/revised.

CHAPTER SELECTION is in the ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 10 is nowhere here Chapter 11 is the chapter right now

word count: 2.1k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Claire *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

For an entire fortnight, Court has successfully not asked you. It is hellish to be in this phase, especially when he hasn't experienced it in his lifetime. Sure, there were people who would flirt with him during missions, and he would flirt back if it's part of his staged identity or the mission isn't commencing yet. And sure, he's shared a bed with someone— and he leaves after an hour.

But he has not asked anyone out. Nor has he had any volition to date anyone until you came along.

This is new territory for him, uncharted waters he never imagined he'd be able to venture. And you're almost like an alien; or maybe he's the alien because he doesn't know the first thing in asking someone out. What is being human, anyway?

Oh, yeah.. that’s how far he has spiraled down the rabbit hole.

"Stare anymore at her and she'll turn into a puddle."

Claire's teasing remark pierces through his thick skull and ceases his haywire thoughts.

Court coughs, noisy and awkward. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Now, that's just plain out idiotic and sad."

"Would you rather pay for the meal tonight?"

"I'd pay for our meal if you ask (N/N) out."

"Tha-That's.. that's not what's happening."

"Again, idiotic and sad."

"You're idiotic." he fires stupidly.

"You're mean."

"You're rude."

"You're a moron."

"You—

"You're watching Playground Insults live!" you chime in with a laugh, "What's going on here? I just went to get extra tissues and you two are fighting."

The pair beams at you as Claire kicks Court in the shin. You hear it, but don't address it, so you wait for either of them to say a word. But besides the music bouncing around the cafe, there's only Claire's shoes rebounding off Court's leg. And Court is smiling at you like nothing is happening.

You look between their grinning faces, and yours begin to falter. This is getting too weird.

"I'm gonna go," you uneasily say, waving before you glide back to the counter.

"You're gonna lose your chance." Claire singsongs quietly.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

Seven days pass by like that. Every day Court contemplates and practices how to ask you out, while talking to you through the transceiver every other night. Claire badgers him that she can help, but he doesn't accept it. So instead, she suggests having breakfast and dinner at the cafe during your shifts after one week of Court's no-show-courting. Court comprises by deciding they'll additionally have breakfast on Mondays and dinner on Saturdays.

They did, and nothing has yet to happen.

It’s Saturday again, it now heavily dawns on Court that he is still at square one for two weeks straight. Even though he has no experience, he sure as hell knows it doesn't take this long to ask someone out on a date.

"I'll ask (N/N) out if you don't get your balls together and just do it." Claire snarls with a mouthful of brown rice.

Court is appalled by her vulgarity, but he doesn't chide her for it. If even Claire has reached her frustration limit, he's no longer at square one— he's down to square negative five.

"I'll do it after dinner," he declares, frowning determinedly.

She snorts incredulously. "I'll believe it when it even happens."

You're serving them dessert by the time they finish dinner. "Enjoy our delightful dulce de leche cake roll!" you beam and swivel around, only to turn back to them when Court calls you. "Yes?"

"Can I talk to you in private?"

"Whatever it is you have to say to me, you can say it in front of Kiara!"

He blinks at you. "What?"

You snicker. "She said that you might ask me something, so she told me to say those words to you."

Court glances between the two of you before settling to scowl at the younger girl. "When did you even have time to tell her?!" he demands, unsure whether to feel betrayed, horrified, or amazed.

"Doesn't matter," Claire wolfishly grins.

"So, what is it?" you ask, looking straight at him.

Systems critical— yet his heart starts drumming like it's in a rock concert even though his brain is malfunctioning from having eye contact with you. He averts his gaze to compose himself, quietly breathing in and out, he rises from his seat and stands in front of you.

What a bad decision. You're too close.

"I..." he trails off, reddening. "Will you..?— Um.. you see, I.."

Claire facepalms, both embarrassed and vexed at her surrogate father.

"Are you having a stroke? Just spill it out, Kurt." you laugh.

He notices Claire mouthing something at him—

If you won't ask her, I will.

Court gulps, gazing into your eyes, he tightens his jaw. Here goes nothing..

"(Y/N), will you go on a d—?"

"Honey, I'm home!"

A guy brusquely bursts in the cafe, Court recognizes his voice even though he only heard it once, and you facepalm to hide your pink cheeks. “Para kang tanga, tol. Sabi na huwag kang gaganyan habang shift ko pa,” you chide the guy as he strides to your side.

You’re like an idiot, dude. I told you to not do that when it’s still my shift,

He snickers. “Ba’t ‘tol’ tawag mo sa jowa mo?” and pecks you on the forehead.

Why are you calling your boyfriend ‘dude’?

You frivolously wipe the spot he shortly put his lips on. “Firstly, Erick, you’re not my boyfriend. Secondly, don’t kiss me without permission.” you frown and jab him on the stomach.

Unbeknownst to you and Erick, but knownst to Claire, Court’s world has ruptured with spiderweb cracks. He feels as though he’s the one whom you struck in the gut; he’s kinda debating whether or not he can ask you to punch him in order to wake up from this stupidly horrifying dream. But then Court realizes that if he puts his head through the wall to wake himself up, reality is going to seep in and burn into every crevice of his brain.

And reality is much harsher than the nightmare he thinks he’s in.

He’s a little too late.

“Court, what were you going to ask?”

Your voice, smooth like the silk strangling his throat, reels him out of his daze. Court tries not to focus on Erick’s arm on your shoulders and mulls over what to say. “I was gonna ask if.. there’s still some strawberry shortcake left for a takeout.” he replies with a small, forced smile.

He thought only Claire could see through him. But you stare at his tight-lipped demeanor as though you understand what’s happening.

Nevertheless, you don’t know why.

“Y-Yeah, there’s still half of the cake left.” you say, glancing at Claire, who can’t even muster a fake smile.

“Can I get two slices from that? One for you and me,” Erick chimes in, winking down on you, squeezing you closer to his side.

“Actually, I was going to buy all of the half.” Court interjects crisply.

There’s a heat in his tone that you and Erick sense immediately. You internally muse that it’s either Court is really adamant about having more strawberry shortcake or there’s something else amiss.

“Forgive my dad.. (N/N) got him addicted to strawberry shortcake.” Claire laughs to extinguish the growing tension.

“Sorry, dude, customers first.” you elbow Erick’s side with a snicker.

“I’ll just ask you to make some,” he coos, aiming to kiss you on the cheek.

You shove his face away. “And I’ll make you pay for the ingredients.”

“As long as you get to bake me some.”

“I’ll make you pay for the cake, too.”

“You’re a horrible girlfriend.”

“Thank you!”

Erick grumbles about going to the kitchen for free food and strict, workaholic girlfriends. He’s about to turn, but you hop to your tip-toes and peck him on the cheek.

You face the father-daughter duo while Erick becomes a statue as though he made eye contact with Medusa. “I’ll be right back with the cake!” you beam, “Are you gonna pay at the counter or..?”

“At the counter,” Court replies, glancing at Erick still frozen on his spot.

“Great!”

Once the cake has been boxed, you escort the father-daughter duo out of the cafe. The warm air instantly decks the chillness from the cafe, Court wishes he can punch that guy you're dating just as easily. But the one who deserves a broken nose is himself.

This is what he gets for stalling. No matter how nervous and unprepared he is, he should've just asked you out. Because knowing you, you'd understand why he would suck at dating and liking someone. You'll probably laugh at him, but not in any way contemptuous, and reassure him that you can guide him in dating.

The only problem— the reason why Court keeps putting off asking you out— is: would you have said yes?

“See you two next week!” you grin and wave at them like a child.

“(N/N), can we talk later on the walkie? Here’s the channel and the passcode,” Claire hands you a folded piece of paper, trying to sound enthusiastic instead of disappointed. "Tell me all about your boy toy!"

“More like a boy tool,” you roll your eyes.

“Why is that? Are you just dating him for kicks?” Claire questions, quite enthusiastic.

You snort. “Dating is the definition of ‘for kicks’.”

Claire shortly shoots Court a pointed look, practically shouting at him that he still has a chance, and he turns his head away, trying to drown out her silent bellows. If that’s what you think while dating that tool, then what would you be thinking while dating him?

“So,” Claire intones, hesitant. “You don’t like Erick the tool?”

“I like him.. but not enough to say he’s my boyfriend.”

“Will you like him enough to be your boyfriend?”

“Claire,” Court says in a warning tone.

“What?” she snaps.

“You don’t have to answer her.” he informs you reassuringly.

“No, it’s alright. This is a ‘who knows’ situation,” you shrug, regarding Court for a full five seconds, you then turn to Claire. “There’s a chance, but time will tell. Erick knows it as well.”

You suddenly look at Court and Claire as though you’ve had an epiphany. Court becomes nauseated, thinking that you’re already contemplating on marrying the tool you’re dating.

“Hey, what do you know, that rhymes!” you exclaim with a laugh.

Court stands corrected.

“See you next week, (N/N).” says Claire, stifling a grin.

You wave. “See ya’!”

When Court drives the SUV out into the street, he instinctively glances at the cafe and sees Erick taking the tray full of plates from you. He’s telling something to the customers, maybe explaining his relationship with you. The customers laugh and remark it’s sweet, while you’re blushing and trying to snatch the tray back from Erick.

Claire witnesses the scene before Court harshly steps on the accelerator, rushing the SUV away. He switches on the radio, combing through the channels that don’t have any love songs playing, and Claire slumps into the passenger seat, crossing her arms with a sigh.

“This one’s on you.” she declares dejectedly and stares out the window.

Court grimaces. “Undoubtedly so..”

Claire turns to him. “I’m on (N/N)’s side until you realize how stupid you are for stalling,” and smirks.

“I already do realize it.”

“Well, that’s not enough. Unbuckle your seatbelt, drive really fast, and then hit the brakes so hard you’ll fly out of the windshield.”

“Why are you so violent when it comes to me?”

“'Cuz you’re always asking for it.”

A/N: uh-oh~ you, the reader, have a boyfriend guy you're dating. will you and Erick last long?

ANYWAY~ good to be back! how was the chapter? hopefully yall enjoyed it and don't worry about the next chapter, i'll be posting them later or tomorrow (probably)

Here is the portal to Chapter 12- except it's NOT still in the drafts NO MORE

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixwife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortinghats @sortingharryshairclip

*to those who want to be in the taglist, check out the guidelines at the Masterlist pls („ಡωಡ„) thankyousomuch

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

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hello(´｡• ω •｡`) ♡

currently playing song: Bring Me Close by Mindy Gledhill from [a lazy morning] playlist by ssilvics

Okay fuck it if this post reaches 666k notes by the end of 2023 I'll practise basic self care

Why 666k? Because it's funny and impossible so good fucking luck

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

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To Be Where You Are [the quarry]

✧Max+Laura REUNITE✧

the subheading says it all~ ENJOY!

disclaimer: The Quarry, its plot, and its characters are NOT mine.

gif by brinivybank

warnings: volatile character thoughts. mentions of murder. mild profanities, just in case. major anxiety. yearning. slight angst. super duper extra mega ultra fluff. fic spells romance. there's also something here that needs a warning but i don't wanna spoil, rhymes with mwah mwah mwah.

word count: 3.2k

The drive back to Hackett's Quarry is slow, but Laura's insanity has already broken past the speed limit.

If one will compare the velocity of their partly torn truck to her hurtling madness, it's like the turtle and the hare. Sure, the hare would relax and fall asleep, then the turtle would arrive at the finish line first, but that's the story. In real-life, the hare finishes the race first and kept on running and running and running and—

"Are we there yet?" Laura loudly asks, slamming her hands on her knees, clutching them to steady her sanity.

Ryan, who's been dozing off in the backseat, jolts awake and takes a wild gander. "Silas isn't dead?" he slurs, trying to force the melatonin out of his system.

"No, he's dead." Travis replies firmly, glancing at Laura, he breathes out a laugh. "The one who made sure of that, our heroine, is just eager to reunite with the love of her life."

Ignoring the flare in her cheeks, Laura turns to scowl at the sheriff. "I'm no heroine. I—"

Killed them.

Murderer.

Laura sharply whirls away, glaring at her vague reflection on the window, she tries to remind herself that her actions were justifiable— they were for the greater good, her reflection is even reassuring her. She did it for Max, as well as herself, and for others that may have been hurt by the curse. So that no one has to go through it again.

"You did what you had to do," Travis and Ryan chorus.

The pair exchange looks as Laura glances between the two of them. "Did you two practiced that?" she snickers, relaxing in her seat.

"We'll get to Hackett's Quarry by sunrise." Travis announces and adjusts the rearview mirror. He glances up at the clawed holes on the roof of the truck.

Laura snorts. "We better."

"Nah~ ten minutes after sunrise, give or take." Ryan chimes in, yawning.

Laura sighs, leans on the window, and decides to nap for the ride. But Max's dead body begins flashing in her head. What if someone else got to him? Or what if he swam to the mainland and got hurt— or worse?

Those questions keep her eyes wide and her consciousness awake.

She regards her left forearm, the bite that Max's werewolf inflicted a few hours ago has long ceased to exist. It still astounds her that there's not even a hint of scarring to prove that he wounded her. But knowing Max, he would ask questions, and Laura knows he'd see through her lies. She'd tell him once everything has calmed down.

Upon the White Wolf's death, their lycanthropy derivation is over, and so has everyone else's. Everyone who survived, that is.

Laura looks over to Ryan, who has his head back as he gazes out the window. Even though she doesn't know him or anyone else that long, she hopes the other counselors managed to survive. It is their gratification, at least, for ending Silas' lineage. But certainly, karma isn't as kind, and Laura begins expecting the worst.

Ryan senses her attention and moves his eyes to look back at her. She wants to reassure him that his friends are alive, but even she isn't certain. Clenching her fists, Laura gives a compassionate smile that quivers with anxiety. She knows that Ryan easily sees the apprehension beneath her consolation. Yet he responds with a small smile and a nod that tells her— your boyfriend is okay, too. No worries.

Comfort and dread pump through the atriums and ventricles of her heart. Laura nods at Ryan before turning ahead, quietly taking a shaky breath in and out. She wants to believe him; Max may not look as tough as he could be, but he has grit and brains. Plus, he isn't as defiant as her. She told him to wait for her on the island and never cross the lake until she returns or when the sun has risen.

Laura knows a few of Max's mishaps from his first and second year of high school, yet despite those, he has been a good student as he is a good guy. She recalls his rejection paper, but doesn't want to dwell on that yet. Her mind begins to replay her high school days; especially how she and Max met, how they became friends, how she began to like him more than that..

05:50

Golden beams shining through the blackness and the car resting to a halt wake Laura up. She doesn't even realize she fell asleep. The last thing she remembered is the memory of her and Max driving to Hackett's Quarry; it wasn't a dream, much to her dismay.

Blinking the blurriness away, she shifts in her seat to reduce the sluggishness in her limbs. But it isn't her fidgeting that makes her unbuckle the seatbelt and fly out of the car in a flash.

They're at the boathouse.

The sun has just risen out of the horizon.

Max isn't anywhere here or the dock of the island.

"Hey, wait!" Travis calls, climbing out of the car.

"Laura!" Ryan shouts.

The wood groans under her urgent footfalls as she races through the dock. Hopping onto the boat, Laura paddles with lightning speed as though she found Treasure Island. "You better be okay, you idiot." she mutters through gritted teeth.

"Help me get one of the boats!" Ryan says to Travis.

She reaches the island just as the pair behind her has rowed away from the boathouse. Terror electrifies her from toe to crown as soon as she sets foot on the dock. Laura kneels down to tie the boat, temporarily pausing the inevitable circumstance of her facing Max either alive, but still uncured, or dead just like Silas is. What if killing Silas meant that everyone who was still infected would die too?

Before she can slap her insanity across the face, nonchalant footfalls signal that someone from the island has stepped on the dock. But Laura isn't aware until—

"You lost, ma'am?"

She immediately stands up and turns around, the corners of her mouth reach her ears as she smiles toothily at— "Max!" she exclaims, sputtering a laugh as she inspects him up and down. "You— what are you wearing?"

Max is dressed in one of her outfits, the cropped hoodie and short leggings practically cling to his taut body like second skin. Even so, he looked comfortable— and good, if she may add.

"Oh, this old thing? Just something I put together," he remarks, feigning to be a boastful fashion designer.

Laura giggles, and with every hasty step she takes towards Max, all the burden lifts off her shoulders and evaporates in the blue and orange sky. He hurriedly meets her halfway and they collide in a gentle yet fervent embrace. As though they're two colors mixing into one, and indeed, basking under the morning glow, Max and Laura are their own whole being yet the sum of each other.

He pulls away to get a good look at her. "Your eye looks a whole lot better," he mentions with a regretful smile.

"Yeah," she sighs, nearly glancing down at the arm that his werewolf had bitten, but he then reels her in for another hug.

Laura tightly wraps her arms around him, balling her hands to fists, she lays her forehead on his shoulder. She recalls their slow dance, senior prom was just three months ago, and the song they danced to was True Colors. They were embraced just like this, almost like this, but they certainly didn't smell like damped fur back then.

Max breathes in and out; despite the stinging odor of blood, sweat, and unwashed dog, he somehow can smell her fragrance— that powdery, sweet yet spicy scent of cinnamon. Maybe he's just going crazy, or it's Laura's apparition that he's hugging. What if they're both ghosts?

He stifles a chuckle, softly gripping the back of her dress in his fists, he stares at the sunbeams glinting off the waters. "Can we go home now?" he asks wistfully.

Laura stiffens for a second, the lives that she took and almost took over the course of one night resurfaces in her eyes. She slowly retracts herself from Max, her actions were justifiable— the words echo in her head like a mantra, and she repeats them like a prayer. Remorse vehemently grips her shoulders, as though trying to push her down through the dock and to the bottom of the lake, where she must atone for her crimes.

"Of course, we can go home now." she manages to reply, forcing a smile. "But—"

"Not entirely," Ryan pipes in, climbing onto the dock. "We've got a lot of explaining to do.. about what happened tonight."

"R-Right," Max stammers, glancing from the teen to Travis Hackett, he offers a smile to the former, "And you are?"

"Oops, sorry, no context." he clears his throat and waves. "I'm Ryan, one of the camp counselors."

"Hi, I'm—"

"Max. Yeah, I know.. it's nice to finally meet the one who that badass werewolf huntress had been trying to save." Ryan nods at Laura, smirking.

She reddens yet blanches at the same time. "We should go see if everyone else is okay," she blurts and tugs on Max's wrist, urging him towards the boat.

"The police and paramedics will be here in an hour or less, I suggest you get all your stories and evidence straightened out." Travis declares, gruff in demeanor yet compassionate in tone.

Max scoffs. "You're not gonna help us through the end?"

"I still have to help my remaining family," Travis replies hotly, shooting daggers at the teens, specifically Laura. But he is quick to dissipate his anger, he fully understands their transgression, as they have fully understood his.

Yet the underlying resentment between their truce is hard to keep down.

"You'll still help us, won't you?" Laura inquires, hopeful.

Travis deeply breathes in and out, brows knotting as a scowl etches on his face. He shuts his eyes, lifts his face up to the sky, and clenches his fists. "I can help you, but I won't make any promises." he states, regarding the teenagers with immense remorse.

"If that's coming from you, I'll take it." Max says solemnly, sighing.

"All I can say last is that my family can hide and destroy evidence well," Travis pauses, "But that doesn't mean they're able to do that for everything."

"We managed to get photos, hopefully they'll be solid enough for our case to be investigated further." Ryan comments.

"Best case scenario, whatever happened tonight, it'll be seen as self-defense." Max offers, nodding at his fellow teens.

"Is anyone else on the island?" Travis asks.

Max shakes his head. "No, just me and our bags." he gestures to the luggage at the top of the steps.

Ryan breathes out in relief. "Then, that means Emma is safe."

"Wait, someone else was here?" Max questions worriedly, turning to his girlfriend. "Laura, you weren't the one who let me out?"

"Yeah, no.. it wasn't me." she says, voice lowering.

"But did you come back here though?" he presses, face tightening.

Laura gulps. ".. I did."

"And I hurt you?"

"Yes.."

"I bit you."

"You did— but I'm all healed, see?"

She takes a half-step back, gesturing at her ragged yet non-wounded self, and Max clenches his fists, slowly scrutinizing her from crown to toe. He wants to embrace Laura, but after knowing he hurt her and jeopardized her life, he feels unworthy to touch her. Heck, he shouldn't be allowed to look at her. The way guilt is coursing through his veins feels the same way whenever he turned— flesh scorching, blood boiling, lungs drumming, and head fogging.

Laura wouldn't want to be with me anymore..

Before the darkened thoughts can drown him further into the depths, a different kind of heat touches his curled hands and hauls him up to the surface.

"It wasn't your fault. None of this is." Laura says softly.

He bristles. "But I hurt you.”

"Because you were a werewolf.” she gives a mirthless laugh, “Which happened because I didn't want to stay at the hotel. I was fucking stubborn and stupid."

"No.. no, you're not. I wasn't being assertive. I should've been more of a boyfriend and told you enough is enough."

"And that's why you're a brilliant boyfriend, Max."

"Bunch of idiots.." Travis scoffs.

“Sweet idiots,” Ryan points out.

“Still idiots.”

“True, but—”

“We can hear you,” says Laura exasperatedly.

Their group soon begins rowing back to the mainland. Max and Laura in one boat with their bags, while Travis and Ryan in another. With the sun fully out of the horizon and nearing the height of the treeline, sunbeams are split into a myriad of pale gold rays, varying from slender to bulky, across the shimmering forest. Its evidence of rain is slowly dissipating, but petrichor still lingers in the air if you deeply inhale.

Max rows behind Laura, watching the oar slip easily in and out of the water. He blinks when the water reflects sunbeams into his eyes. Facing forward, Max feels his heart leaping into his throat; even with her back towards him, he can’t help but think how beautiful Laura is. Sun rays from the warm morning sun reach her, practically glistening every fiber of her being.

Something streaks across his eyes, an image— a memory. But nothing he can remember, because it seems it hasn’t happened yet. It’s just like this, him rowing at the rear while Laura is rowing at the front, except they’re both older— like, grandparents old.

That’s why despite the old dress, dried blood, and smell of wet fur, Max wants to kiss her. He wants to be with her, ‘til death do us part and the whole shebang. Though death was rather nearby last night, this inspires him to get a grip, be a man, and just do it. He stops rowing, placing the oar beside him, and wants to punch his stomach for quivering giddily when Laura looks at him over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, halting from rowing, she turns around until she’s completely facing him..

Here goes nothing.

“Can I kiss you?” he replies, embarrassed yet solemn.

Laura blinks dumbfoundedly, until her face stretches with a grin and she laughs. Max feels his ears burning, and before he can take it back, Laura moves to grab him by the collar. “You don’t have to ask, dummy.” she smiles and reels him to her, shutting her eyes, kissing him on the mouth.

Max is shocked, but it doesn’t take long for him to recover. Kissing Laura back, he closes his eyes as the corner of his lips tweak up. This reminds him of their first kiss, quiet and wrapped in sun rays, but back then, it was him who made the first move. He pecked her, just to see her reaction, and then she pulled him back for a long kiss.

His fingers find the tips of her hair, sliding them further up, he gently clenches a fistful of her damped locks. While Laura carefully pushes him back until he's sitting. She perches on his leg, wrapping an arm around his neck, she lays her free hand on his chest, right above his drumming heart.

Max grips her leg with his other hand, the urge to slink it inside her dress twitches in his nerves, but he doesn’t give in. It would ruin their moment. But there are other things that bound to ruin their suspension of reality—

Oxygen.

With parched lungs, the couple reluctantly extracts their lips from their partner, inhaling a bountiful amount of oxygen, their lungs prepare for another round. But Laura and Max stay still, stayed close, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Ryan and Travis stop rowing when they notice that the couple’s boat has ceased. And when the couple start kissing and cuddling, they exchange looks. “I ain’t kissing you,” says the police officer.

The teenager scoffs. “Relax. You’re not the guy I wanna kiss,” and he regards the forest. “I sure hope he’s still alive.”

Travis wants to pat Ryan on the back, but he isn’t as gentle as his brother. He also doesn’t want to say anything, even if it's with good intentions, that could potentially ruin the teen’s hopes. And so, they go back to watching the couple.

Max grabs her hand that's on his chest, planting a kiss on her palm. “Want to hear something crazy?”

“Something crazier than what happened last night?” she replies, sarcastically heaving a brow.

“Maybe not that crazy.”

“Hit me.”

He slowly breathes in and out. “I want to marry you.”

Laura’s eyes widen and she slightly pulls back to get a good look on Max’s earnest face. “Want to hear something even crazier?” she asks, grinning.

“Hit me.”

“I won’t marry you until after 2 years of graduating from college.”

“Then, once you graduate, I’ll propose.”

“Once we graduate, you mean.”

Max lifts a shoulder. “I’ll probably graduate earlier than you.” he declares, failing to be deadpan when his mouth quivers with hilarity.

Laura can’t hold back her laugh. “Let’s find a college where we could go together first.” she says and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, Laura.. we don’t have to do that.” Max shakes his head, “I’ll just find another university that’s close to yours.”

She makes a face. “Hey, just like you wanna marry me, I want to be where you are. After what happened tonight and these past two months, I don’t.. I don’t think I can be separated from you again.” Laura eyes their hands as she weaves her fingers between his.

Max props her chin up with his free hand, giving her a short yet sweet kiss. “Well now, you’re just stealing my proposal speech.” he says after he pulled away.

Laura feels frivolous when she giggles, only Max can do that to her. She embraces him by the neck and kisses him fervently. Max reciprocates her feelings eagerly, circling his arms around her waist, he draws her closer until there isn’t a space between them. They feel fireworks in their stomachs as their racing hearts match pulses in unison.

“I love you,” she declares in the midst of their dancing lips.

“And I love you.” he replies, kissing her with every word.

If Laura were mercury, Max would be poisoned.

If Max were a guillotine, Laura would lose her head.

If Laura were fire, Max would be the rainfall.

If Max were stars, Laura would be the city lights.

They contradict yet compliment each other. At the start of their relationship, no one thought they’d last, even Max and Laura, given their history of being friends. Soon, they have proved everyone and themselves wrong. In the back of their minds, they often think they're doing this just for show. But after a year and two, they’re still together, going strong, without a need to prove their love to anyone or themselves.

Because to be where the other is, and to know that they’re beside them, is enough.

A/N: was supposed to upload this on Halloween buuut~ yeah HAHAHAHA how was it? Hope y'all enjoyed it! Cuz I might make a few more the quarry ending fics, like the camp counsellors reuniting after the night, emphasis on the might hehe [Title/Fic Inspiration] To Be Where You Are by The Rigs - one of the songs in The Quarry soundtrack

#the quarry #laura kearney #max brinly #laura x max #to be where you are #by the rigs #the quarry oneshot #the quarry fic #the quarry couple #the quarry fluff #the quarry game #horror #video game #romance

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niobe-loreley · 1 year

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Smells Like Halloween Spirit [tg:m]

Dagger Squad + Reader

Belated Happy Halloween!! Gaaah, I'm so late! Hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I do not own Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick, its characters, or plot. I do not own the pictures of the cast. I only own the reader's character/nickname, the fic's banner, and the story of this one-shot.

pictures credit to @fanboygarcia

warnings: the word count. haunted hospital. spooky. reader nickname. platonic reader. slight bobnix. organized ghost hunting. paranormal evidence. comedy if you eat halloween candy while reading.

wordcount: 5k You/Reader = Burton

SUMMARY: you invited the Dagger Squad to hunt for ghosts at an abandoned hospital. They only agreed because you threatened to go there by yourself; plus, you have an awesome paranormal hunting game plan, it’ll be a shame not to test it out. But you know some of them are already regretting their decisions after seeing the spooky building. Especially Fanboy, since he gets to venture alone (lucky him).

20:15

"Do we really have to do this?"

Inquisitive, quivering words from a non-spooky person. You finish putting batteries in your flashlight and look over to them with a wolfish grin. "C'mon, Fanboy, where's your Halloween spirit?" you quip merrily.

"It left when I pulled the shortest straw," he snaps, arms crossed.

“I told you we can switch.” you say.

“Yeah, but they won’t let you.” Fanboy shoots daggers at Rooster and Hangman. He huffs as he playfully bumps you with his hip, “And as if I’ll really let you go in there alone, Burton. No matter how much you like creepy stuff.”

You playfully pinch his cheek. “Oh, you’re so sweet, Micks!” you coo and shove him away, “Now, the game plan!”

Since the teams/pairs have already been established, you begin the briefing of the assigned roles and location, as well as a few reminders.

“Everyone knows and understand their roles and locations?" you inquire.

They give you a scattered response, so you viciously bark at them— "Hey, I asked a question!"

"Yes, ma'am!!!"

"Good.. now, listen well to these reminders."

While everyone keeps their eyes and brains open, Bob jots down your crucial reminders in ghost hunting.

“Always wear your face mask and gloves on. It’s an abandoned hospital, we don’t want any microbes or tetanus now, don’t we?”

“Keep comms on. As much as I want to capture paranormal sounds, it is imperative we contact each other every 5 minutes. But the Getaway Squad will contact us every 12 minutes.”

“Have your baseball bats at the ready at all times. But please be certain before you swing, or else we’ll send each other to the hospital.”

“The Getaway Squad is our foundation. As soon as they call for help, we all go.”

“If any one of the paired teams needs help, inform Maverick or Coyote immediately so they can contact the other squads assigned to them.”

“Got it?" you regard each of them, "Answer me or I'll force you all to go alone in there— yes, even the Getaway Squad."

"Understood, ma'am!!!"

The Investigator squads soon bid their goodbyes to the Getaway duo. Firing up your phone, you begin recording as you excitedly lead them into the hospital. Cautiously stepping through the broken glass doors, you halt at the middle of the lobby and turn to your friends. "Welcome, one and all, to an abandoned hospital!" you exclaim, listening to your voice bounce around the first floor.

Fritz, Halo, Omaha, and Payback choruses a whoop; Rooster, Yale, Harvard, Bob, and Phoenix applauds; Hangman whistles like he's in a soccer game; while Fanboy crosses his arms and grumbles.

"Okay, this is the meetup point." you gesture to the darkness around you, which is briefly illuminated by your headlamp. You then point to a map on wall, directing your phone camera as well. "There are still coherent maps around if your squad gets lost. So, to those in charge of your squad's comms, make sure to always let your location be known during the 5-minute and 12-minute check-ins."

"This is the most organized ghost hunting ever," Phoenix comments, amazed.

You curtsy. "Best be prepared for anything. Plus, no matter how organized it is.. if any of us sees something paranormal, panic will spread like COVID-19."

Everyone regards Fanboy in unison. "Why the hell are you all looking at me?" he yells, frowning.

You laugh. "Even though we might not stay calm in those situations, I would still advise everyone to stay calm. Is that clear?"

"Crystal!!"

"Okay, let's do a short pop quiz to calm our nerves!"

"Pop quizzes irritate me," Fanboy remarks.

"Then stick with that feeling when you're ghost hunting later!" you beam, "Better to be vexed than frightened!— Now, first question.. what's the appearance of the camera person in a squad?"

Bob's hand shoots up. "They're wearing a headlamp, carrying an extra flashlight, and holding the camera all throughout the investigation!"

"Correct!" you give him a thumbs-up, "Second question.. why do we need to separate into teams?"

Halo answers this time. "So that we can explore every nook and cranny while having each other's backs!"

"Nice!— Third, why do we need baseball bats?"

Surprisingly, Hangman is the one to answer next. "To whack the shit out of any ghosts or hobos who threaten our safety."

You and everyone else stare at him in deadpan. He stares back confusedly, saying that he's right.

"In short, for protection." Rooster chimes in.

"Title of your sex tape," Hangman scoffs.

"Thank you, gentlemen." you interject before a royal rumble can start and ruin the paranormal investigation.

The pop quiz continues for another five minutes. You then turn the camera around while the group stands behind you. "We'll be starting our Halloween ghost hunting!" you announce enthusiastically, "Hands in!"

All of you huddle up and place your hands together in the center. "One.. two.. three— GO DAGGERS!"

"Meetup back here in one hour!" you remind, leading your teammates and the other teams to the stairwell.

"Why's it gotta be an hour?" Fanboy cries.

"C'mon, Fanboy, we'll stay with you until the entrance to the East wing." Bob claps him on the shoulder.

"Will you switch with me?"

"No." says Phoenix.

"Aww, worried for your boyfie—" Fanboy croaks in pain after receiving a punch to the gut.

"Say one more thing and we'll take your flashlights."

5th Floor | 21:03

"See you three on the other side!" Fritz waves as he and Halo enter the 4th floor.

"Be careful!" you call and proceed up the staircase.

"So many stairs," Rooster groans.

"How much candy did you eat to still have that energy, Burton?" Hangman asks, huffing and puffing.

You chuckle. "That's between me and my stomach."

Soon, the three of you reach the 5th floor. Hangman offers to push the door open when it only budges two inches. But you tell him it's better for Rooster to help you since Hangman is their safety officer / weapon carrier.

"Shall we start on the rooftop? That way we'll just be exploring the 5th floor for the rest of the hour." you suggest, taking a gander around the blackness.

Rooster shrugs. "Why n—?"

He's cut off by a sudden sound.

With how quiet the abandoned hospital is, a rattling from somewhere in the floor appears as though it's right next to them. "What the fuck was that?!" Rooster whispers, wildly looking around.

"Backs against each other!" you instruct, and the guys oblige.

"Sounds like it came from there," Hangman tips his flashlight towards the west wing.

"Where? Let's move our circle around so I can get it on camera," you start sidestepping, Rooster and Hangman follows suit.

"It's probably just the wind," says Hangman.

"The wind?" Rooster glances at him incredulously.

"Or a rat," you add, zooming the video to the end of the hall, where the flashlight of both your headlamp and phone barely reaches.

"A rat? I thought you believed in ghosts?" Rooster questions shakily.

"Yeah, I do, but I'm a logical believer." you're now zooming in at doorways, trying to capture anything moving (or peeking). "We have to think realistic when ghost hunting, not just believe that every clink or clank is a ghost, doy!"

Hangman snickers. "Scared, Rooster?"

Rooster scoffs. "You wish, bitch."

You swivel around to face them. "Can you two try that one more time but with a British accent and pretend your flashlights are wands?"

"Or maybe you know a spell to make Bradshaw less scared?" Hangman quips, whirling the baseball bat around.

"Why don't you just kiss him?" you retort.

"I thought you're on my side." Hangman frowns.

"I'd rather side with the ghosts." you sashay away to the map on the wall next to the reception desk. "C'mon, the stairs to the roof are straight across here."

You round the reception desk and enter the main corridor dividing the west and east wing; Rooster and Hangman swiftly strides at each of your sides. There's a low groan that attracts your attention back to the reception desk. Looking over your shoulder, you point the camera and notice the stairwell door is halfway closed— when you and Rooster pushed it all the way open earlier.

4th Floor | 21:08

Coats of blackness are periodically vanquished by Fritz's flickering headlamp. He and Halo have ceased their venture to try and fix the device, they're in a lounge area at the east wing.

"No way Burton didn't put fresh batteries in that," says Halo.

"Then, what? I'm being haunted?" Fritz makes ghostly sounds, snorting.

She frowns. "I'm just saying.. it's unlikely the headlamp is broken or has old batteries."

The pair were walking in every room that's open, looking around for any paranormal signs, Fritz aggressively asking the ghosts to show themselves, before moving to the next room. It was after the ninth room they've been in when his headlamp starts acting up.

Fritz is sitting on a single couch with his phone propped against a vase on the coffee table. While Halo is standing between the table and a sofa as she’d rather not have her back turned to the darkness.

"This should do it," Fritz murmurs, taking the batteries out and putting them back in.

"Ingenious.."

"Thanks," says Fritz.

"What?" Halo blinks at him.

He chuckles. "It's only the two of us, Halo. Don't be embarrassed about complimenting me."

"What the fuck are you going on about?"

"You just said ingenious."

She furrows her brows. "I wasn't saying anything until you said thanks out of the blue."

Fritz and Halo share an astounded look, everything going quieter and darker than it already is, until he doubles over with laughter. "Nice try, angel." he snorts, securing the headlamp shut, he slips it on his head and powers it up. "Vióla!"

“Don’t point it at me,” Halo turns away, eyes squinting until they widen abruptly. She swivels and directs her flashlight to where was looking, “Who’s there?! Seresin, I swear to God..!”

Fritz jumps to his feet. “What? What?!”

Halo gulps. “I thought I saw somebody in that room.. same height as Hangman.” and bobs her chin towards the room adjacent to the lounge. “But it was too shadowy…”

“It’s just your shadow,” Fritz sighs exasperatedly, grabbing his phone.

“How could it be my shadow when I’m right here and there’s no mirror to reflect it over there?!” Halo snaps, pointing from the wall behind her to the room across.

Fritz feels his scalp sweating. “Fair point. But I’m not checking that out— have you watched Wrong Turn? And if there’s some insane, experimented freak as tall as Hangman, I ain’t confronting it.”

Halo rolls her eyes. “Would you rather we still go around the floor not knowing if there’s something in that room or not?”

“Well, I’m certain there’s nothing in that room.”

“You just said that there may be a cannibal in there.”

“And if there was, I ain’t walking into its trap.”

“You fucking— shit! Fritz! There it is! Quick, the camera!”

3rd floor | 21:10

Team 4 / The 3rd Floor Squad are either somewhat enjoying their time or trying to preoccupy their thoughts instead of thinking that something lurks in the dark besides their shadows.

Payback frequently hits the doorframes of every room they pass with the baseball bat. Sometimes, he’d even pretend to kick down an imaginary door and yell— “FBI” —while pointing the bat into the room as though it’s a gun. Meanwhile, Omaha is narrating everything he’s recording on his phone, down to the last rusted doorknob. He would also turn the camera to him and Payback from time to time, telling any “ghosts” to take a selfie with them before he snaps a photo.

“Have you had any.. paranormal shit happen to you?” Payback inquires, glancing over his shoulder.

“A few when I was young. But they were only told to me by my family, I don’t really remember them.” Omaha shrugs, “So I don’t really believe them. How about you?”

Payback sighs. “None,” and raps the bat on a closed door thrice. “That’s why I’m excited to see some ghosts tonight. Burton sure knows how to make Halloween more fun.”

Omaha nods in agreement. “Burton is the go-to when it comes to spooky stuff.”

“I hope this becomes an annual event for the squad.”

“Fanboy would disagree.”

The pair roars out laughing in unison, slightly drowning a knock, which Omaha somewhat catches. “Hey, what was that?” he stops laughing, pointing his camera to the closed room they passed. “I heard a knock over there.”

“That was me earlier, dude.” Payback says in between laughs.

“No, we were laughing and there was a knock.”

“Ooh~ somebody finally answered my knocks!”

Omaha brusquely shushes him, steps up to the door, and brings up his fist to slowly knock twice. The sound bleeds into the room and echoes around the hallway hauntingly. Payback shakes his head, looks around, and can’t shake the feeling that they’re being watched.

“Hello?” Omaha calls, glancing at Payback.

[“Hey, you guysssss!”]

“Jesus—!” Omaha jumps back like a cat dumped with water.

[“What’s the situation on the 3rd floor? Over.”] Coyote’s normal voice crackles through the transceiver in Payback’s hand.

Omaha snarls. “Fuck you, Machado!” and stomps back to Payback.

Payback snickers, pressing the ‘talk’ button on the device. “Nothing much.. but you just scared the living shit out of Omaha. Over.”

[“Whoops. Sorry, didn’t mean to. Over.”]

“Yeah, you better be sorry!” Omaha snatches the transceiver, “I thought a ghost or some shit responded when I said hello!— Over!”

Coyote laughs. ["Are you mad because you didn't hear a response? Or because you thought you heard one? Over."]

"Neither! Over!"

"Anyway," Payback snatches the transceiver back, "We're at the.. west wing, finishing up on Room 3-A11 to 3-A20 corridor. Over."

["Copy that. Stay frosty. Over and out."]

"It's still 21:14.. what do we do when we sweep the whole floor and still have time left?" Omaha asks, eyeing the closed door sideways.

"Weren't you listening? Burton said to find a place on the floor that we think is the creepiest and attempt contact there," Payback says and pockets the transceiver.

"Oh, right, right.."

"Let's hussle."

When Payback and Omaha are out of earshot, scratches can be heard from behind the closed door of Room 3-A17. Two soft knocks follow, along with a gentle response in the voice of a little boy.

2nd Floor | 21:21

"I can't believe you're still Team Christopher!"

"I can't believe you won't respect my ship!"

"That's because you said Luke doesn't deserve Lorelai!"

"And I still stand by it!"

Harvard shortly lets out an exasperated yell. While roaming around the 2nd floor's east wing, Yale and Harvard have made a silent agreement to chat in order to think about anything else other than walking around a haunted hospital. TV show after TV show they exchange titles and plots, and even comment on a show that they both have watched.

It's a great bonding experience, if they're being honest.

However, a difference in opinion regarding Gilmore Girls couples has induced a heated kerfuffle.

Their team has yet to encounter anything paranormal. It’s possible the ghosts were disturbed and decided to move to a different floor. Yale likes to encourage that thought to ignore the occasional chill enveloping the back of his neck. Harvard, on the other hand, thinks there’s a cobweb on his shoulder whenever he feels a little weight on it before brushing it off.

In the back of both men’s minds, a terrifying thought remains: what if the ghosts on this floor decide to bother them since they loudly invaded their premises?

With such an oppressive notion, it’s hard for Harvard and Yale to contemplate that their minds may be playing tricks on them. Or that it’s just them feeling such spectral stirrings.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Yale scoffs out of the blue, puffing his chest out, he takes a gander with his phone. “And I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.”

Harvard heaves a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Mind over matter, pleb.”

“You’re scum.”

“You’re a joke.”

“Says the jester.”

“You fucking—!”

“....”

Yale cuts himself off, sharing a wide-eyed look with Harvard, he pans the camera around. “Did you fucking hear that?!” he whispers panickedly.

Harvard gulps. “It sounded like it was behind you.”

“Bitch, don’t say that!” Yale shrieks, blanching from head to toe. “Let’s stand back-to-back!”

They press their backs against each other, eyeing every direction for any threat. Harvard adjusts the angle-head flashlight hooked on his jean pocket and hoists the baseball bat up. Yale tries to hold his phone still and picks up debris from the ground, ready to yeet it at anything that may pop up in their faces.

“Burton, if you’re pranking us, please stop!” Yale laughs shakily.

“She would never.” Harvard shakes his head, “It’s probably either Hangman or Fritz.”

“Show yourselves, pussies!”

“Can you elaborate that it’s our friends who are the pussies and not the ghosts?”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, okay?!”

“And if there are, my friend over here is insulting our friends not you!”

“Sshhh..”

Harvard glares at Yale over his shoulder. “Don’t shush me, bro!”

“That,” Yale is trembling, “That wasn’t me, bro.”

1st Floor, West Wing | 21:30

“Did you hear that?”

Phoenix turns away from the room she’s inspecting. “Yeah.. probably just the dipshits jumping at their shadows.” she smirks, inclining her head sideways. “I’m surprised you’re cool, calm, and collected.”

“Burton and I actually bond over paranormal things,” says Bob sheepishly.

“Oh, yeah.. you two were watching those top 5 ghosts caught on camera videos a few days ago.”

“Yeah, we were.”

“You know most of those are fake, right?”

“Of course.. but it’s entertaining and creepy, which— as Burton would say— is a fun combination for a good time.”

Phoenix laughs and nods approvingly. “Definitely her ingredients for a nice cup of tea.”

The pair have been meticulously traversing the west wing of the 1st floor, scanning every room from ceiling to wall to floor. Phoenix is a skeptic to the paranormal, more concerned about real people rather than the apparitions of dead ones. While Bob shows concern for both. People have dubbed him as a scaredy-cat for how “soft” he is for a man, which Phoenix scoffs at and tells them that he can watch the Saw movies while eating spaghetti without his eyes leaving the screen.

He and Burton are extraordinary beings, Phoenix respects the two of them equally in and out of fighter jets. As she pans her phone around the darkness, she can’t help but think she’d be lying if she said this isn’t the best time to spend Halloween. Organizedly hunting for ghosts with friends absolutely captures the spooky season’s essence.

“Hey, Phoenix—”

“Pretty bird…”

She swivels around, scrutinizing the corridor they just walked out of. “What was that? Was that you?” she questions, synapses firing fear to her every nerve at the sudden voice that was neither from her nor her partner. She composes herself with a quiet breath in and out.

“No, it wasn’t me.” Bob shakes his head, taking a gander, he raises the baseball bat.

“Hello?” Phoenix calls out, strong yet wary. “Anyone there?”

There’s no answer.

“Maybe it’s just the wind,” she suggests.

Bob gulps. “It’s possible.”

The pair restarts their gait, moving cautiously now, until they halt outside the morgue. Phoenix peers in, the blackness recedes from the light of her headlamp and phone, and she takes two steps in.

“Careful,” Bob says, entering sideways, he keeps his back to the wall and glances out of the corridor.

“Ugh! Smell that?” Phoenix coughs, “The facemask is not helping at all.”

“Do you think there’s still dead bodies in there?” Bob nods toward the mortuary fridges.

Phoenix jabs him on the shoulder. “Why would you think that, doofus?” she sighs exasperatedly, “But to answer your question, no.. this smell is not of a decomposed body. I know because my sister is a mortician.”

“There's probably a dead animal in here. Let’s go,” Bob gently grabs her elbow, leading her out of the room.

Three steps out, they cease as a humming from inside the morgue freezes their spines.

1st Floor, East Wing | 21:33

“Yeahhh~ I’m gonna take my horse to the old town road. I’m gonna.. riiiide ‘til I can’t no more~”

Fanboy continues to sing as he marches around the pool area. His cautious footfalls ricochet around the empty vicinity, like slow, rhythmic clapping. He shortly tightens his grip on the baseball, relaxing after a deep breath in and out, he adjusts his phone on the breastpocket of his jacket. It’s as though he’s fated to explore the haunted hospital on his own, wearing a jacket with too many pockets enough to attach ten angle-head flashlights (but he only has one on the right breastpocket since he’s already wearing a headlamp).

The east wing of the 1st floor isn’t as noisy as Fanboy. Sure, there’s the occasional gust of late October wind, inducing scraping and rattling noises, and the momentary groan of the old building. Other than those, nothing has bothered him, and he has bothered nothing.

No doors swinging on their own.

No whispers in the wind.

No shadows leaping away from the light.

No—

Footsteps behind him.

Fanboy quickly spins around, ready to swing. “Who’s there?!” he demands when he finds no one. “Hello!?”

[“Fanboy, this is Bob. Do you read me? Over.”]

“Fuck,” he flinches at the transceiver crackling and fishes it out of his jean pocket. “Fanboy here, I read you Bob. Over.”

[“Where are you?” Over.]

“At the pool.. but on my way out since I’ve already circled it.”

[“You didn’t check the locker rooms?”]

“No way I’m going in there, Jose.”

Bob laughs. [“Okay, okay.. we’ve got something mind-blowing, Fanboy. You probably won’t believe this, but we heard someone humming in the morgue. Over.”]

“Are you sure it wasn’t the wind? Over.”

[“No, it definitely wasn’t—”]

[“..Hmmm…”]

Phoenix’s gasp shoots out of the transceiver. [“There it is again!”]

[“Did you hear that, Fanboy? Over.”] Bob asks.

“Guys, please, this was supposed to be a check-in. Not a prank! Over!” Fanboy shouts, hastening his pace to the doors.

[“It’s not a prank. Over.”] says Phoenix.

“Whatever—”

Fanboy freezes from opening the door, and once he hears it again, he slowly turns back to the pool area, where footsteps are echoing from. “H-Hello?” he sputters, trying to illuminate every inch of the premises at once, still he finds no one but himself and the darkness.

Hushed footsteps respond to his call, then soon they become rapid, as though the owner is running. And when the footsteps become louder, Fanboy realizes it’s coming nearer— heading right for him.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Parking Lot | 21:36

With nothing else to do, other than contacting the ghost hunters every 12 minutes, and nothing else to discuss.. Coyote invites Maverick to play a mobile game with him.

He offers to the older naval aviator the infamous Two-Player Games. The app consists of a variety of games from sports, board games, and children’s games— but make it all virtual.

Coyote regrets challenging their most-favorite instructor.. because Maverick has won every round. And he owes him a week’s worth of drinks at the Hard Deck.

They have just finished a game of tag, wherein Maverick has held the crown the longest. “How are you beating me?” Coyote is stupidly, exasperatedly baffled.

Maverick lifts a shoulder. “Apparently, instincts can age like fine wine.. kind of like me.”

“Wow, poetic.” Coyote remarks flatly, but he can’t hold being monotonous for long and shares a laugh with Maverick.

The haunted hospital’s parking lot is pitch black if it weren’t for the cloudless sky that freely lets the moon highlight the darkened parts of the Earth. The getaway squad hasn’t experienced anything paranormal, probably because music is slightly blaring from the car’s radio. They decide to let the car run after the first 12-minute check-in— obviously, for emergency purposes.

Not because they thought they spotted a black-eyed child wandering behind the treeline.

A trick of the moonlight and probably just a wild animal, as Maverick reassures.

“Team 2, check-in. Over.” Coyote lifts his finger off the button.

[“Team 2, checking in. We’re near the morgue. Over.”]

“Thanks, Bob.” Coyote pauses, “Fanboy, check-in. Over.”

Fanboy screams through the device. [“COYOTE! HELP!”]

The getaway squad exchange looks. “Fanboy, what’s happening?” Coyote asks puzzled, “Are you okay? Over.”

[“SOMETHING’S FUCKING CHASING ME!”]

[“Fanboy, where are you? Phoenix and I will meet up with you. Over.”] Bob chimes in.

[“I don’t know— I don’t fucking know! Shit!”]

“We should help him,” Coyote begins gathering his things.

“Wait, we can’t leave our post.” says Maverick.

“But—”

He claps Coyote on the shoulder. “Let’s move the car right outside the hospital.” and climbs in the driver seat in a flash, “Contact everyone else about the situation.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Damnit, where is he?” Phoenix pants, waving her phone around, which is still recording, to highlight every corridor.

“Follow the screaming?” Bob suggests and glances behind them.

“Contact him—”

“AAAHHHHH!!”

They exchange wide-eyed looks and rush to where the screaming resounds from. Beams from their artificial lights bounce around the hospital’s blackness like a signal of a rave party. The first floor of the hospital is teeming with their urgent footfalls, echoing from one hallway into another.

“Fanboy!” Phoenix hollers, “I swear if this is a prank..!”

She and Bob round a corner, stopping at the sight of Fanboy bolting through the corridor, they sigh in relief.

“Hey, you’re okay—”

“JUST RUN!” Fanboy bursts past them.

“The hell, man?!” Phoenix yells at him.

“What’s that?” Bob narrows his eyes at the corridor, hearing another set of footfalls.

“What’s what?— BOB!” Phoenix explodes when her backseater suddenly carries her onto his shoulder. “What are you doing?!”

“Sorry, I’ll ask for permission later!”

She lightly elbows the back of his head. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Someone was running towards us.” Bob blurts out, evading every debris in the way. “But I couldn’t see it.”

Phoenix looks back to the corner of the corridor— heart dropping at the sight of a shadowed head peeking out. She raises her phone and still sees it through the camera.

“Holy fuck… Bob, go faster.”

Bob obliges, pumping his legs like The Flash, and catches up to Fanboy’s side. Neither of them look back as they hurtle out of the hospital, even Phoenix has kept her eyes down but continues to direct her phone towards their rear.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, strolling out of the hospital with Hangman and Bradley.

“Something was chasing me!” Fanboy cries.

“Something?” you repeat, gesturing for him to continue, you stand at the top of the steps.

“Maybe it was a rat,” Fritz shrugs.

“A rat? After what we just saw?” Halo scoffs.

“You two saw something, too?” Phoenix asks.

“Too?” Fritz begins sweating.

Fanboy glares at him. “Why the hell would I run away from a rat?”

"Alrighty!" you loudly clap your hands five times to silence the growing squabble, "Let's focus on Fanboy for now before we all share our encounters, okay?"

They scatteredly murmur in agreement, you thank them and turn to Fanboy. Just as you're about to interrogate him, you hear a rustle and look over to the entrance. "Heard that?" you ask, pointing your camera to the direction. "It sounded like shoes stepping on glass."

The color on Fanboy's face drains. "Can we get out of here first?" he asks pleadingly.

"I concur," Maverick nods, "I'm getting an unpleasant vibe now that I'm up close to the hospital."

You pout. "But the hospital in the background while we exchange our experiences is brilliant!— Okay, okay, sorry," you quickly say when you sense Fanboy becoming livid, "We can go—"

You stumble forward, but manage to stay in place at the top of the stairs. "Really?" you pull a face at Hangman, "I said we'd go, you don't have to shove me, Seresin."

He looks stupefied. "I didn't. I was actually going to catch you 'cuz I thought you were going to trip down."

"There's a lot of witnesses here.."

"Burton," Phoenix gulps, glancing between you and Hangman. "He didn't touch you."

Your arm moves up on its own. For a second, you think your reflexes have ordered your body to smack Hangman. But that isn't the case.

You let out a yelp while everyone else shouts your name and chases after you. Someone— something unseen is yanking you back to the hospital.

Rooster and Hangman grab hold of you first since they're the closest. Whatever that was pulling you has ceased. "Start the car!" Phoenix yells to Coyote, who snaps out of his stupor and jumps in the driver seat.

Half of the squad clambers in the van while the other half hauls you to follow suit. "Floor it!" Fanboy screams at the top of his lungs, sitting at the rearrest seats, accidentally looking back at the hospital. "I said— FLOOR IT!"

"Wait!" Maverick yells and swiftly does a headcount from the passenger seat, "Everyone's here?"

"Yes!!!" The rest of Dagger Squad yells back.

"So that person by the window near the entrance is not one of us?"

Dagger Squad looks over instinctively. A woman in white is standing by the window, eyes boring straight into each of theirs.

"Of fucking course not— DRIVE!" Fritz shrieks, closing his eyes.

Coyote has practically made the van soar as he drives all of them away from the haunted hospital. No one complains about the first bumpy minutes, everyone is more than glad to have distance between them and the hauntedness.

“OKAY! I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE RELIGION OR NOT, AND IF YOU’RE RELIGIOUS OR NOT—" Fanboy bellows, "—WE’RE GOING TO A CHURCH RIGHT FUCKING NOW AND GET BLESSED BY A REVEREND WITH HOLY WATER AND WEAR ROSARIES FOR A WEEK!”

You roar with laughter. “Now, that’s the Halloween spirit!”

A/N: IF THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE~ IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD~ WHO YOU GONNA CALL?! gosh im so late asdfghjklqwertyuiopzxcvbnm i think this is the first Top Gun fic i posted? altho i actually already made 3 chapters for a Rooster x Reader dagnabbit

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