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stardustdreams-andcaffeine · 2 years ago

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Bullet for You | Sierra Six

sierra six x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: Six's job is simple—protect you and Claire. It should have been straight-forward, should have been easy. That is, until you fell in love. And love makes us do crazy things, things that make the simple job of protecting very difficult.

A/N: I'm back! I know it's been a while, but I'm on a break from university and I can actually breathe and do the things I love, like writing for a totally new character to me! It's another angsty whump, but what else do you expect? Some authors specialize in smut, others in fluff. I just happen to love the angst. And be honest, so do you. Love and miss you all, keep dreaming 🤍

Warnings: angst, blood, injury, language, happy ending I promise

Word Count: 6033

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It began with a smile.

I'm not even sure if you could call what Sierra Six's lips made a smile, considering how small and quick it was. I count it, though. After months of being a bodyguard for my sister and I, months of Claire cracking jokes and me forcing Six to sit through comedy after comedy, he finally smiled.

And he smiled at me.

It was oh so brief, so fleeting, so miniscule. And yet, that one upturn of his lips changed something so fundamental and eternally within me. I was in the kitchen, trying desperately to grab the flour from the top cabinet and stubbornly refusing any and all help Six so stoically offered from his silent post in the corner. When I managed to accidentally tip it over, raining the flour down upon me and sending the bag careening to the floor, I looked up just in time to see Six's lip turn up.

And I could never be the same.

After the smile, more of the ice began to crack. He got more comfortable on movie nights, would even joke back with me with that dry, sarcastic humor of his. Sometimes, if it's been an especially good week, I can get Six to take us out on the town. Our mission had always been just to warm up the unflinching exterior of Sierra Six. Claire and I never meant to rely on his protection, his safety, his surprising warmth.

I never meant to fall in love.

And love makes you do incomprehensible things.

"Six, on average, how much do you sleep? Just give me a ballpark number here," I call out, eying the stoic, gorgeously rugged man over my steaming coffee mug.

Six pauses to think for a minute before adjusting the cuffs on his suit jacket, "3 hours on a good night."

"Excuse me?" I sputter, almost choking on the burning liquid caffeine. I set down my mug, my wide eyes catching on the humor buried in Six's smug features, "You have to know how bad for you that is."

"Sleep is for the weak," Six replies plainly, and even though I know he's joking with me I roll my eyes skyward.

"That's why you have the emotional range of a carrot. I would too if I slept that little!"

I almost miss the smile that ghosts his lips. It takes every ounce of strength I have to smother the roaring of my heart at the sight. Six simply stares ahead, his unchanging demeanor giving little away. After the many months he's been watching over us, though, I've learned to pick up on the subtleties in his behavior. The way his shoulders are relaxed and his jaw isn't set, the way his clear blue eyes seem softened, I'd go as far to call him almost...content.

I hadn't realized how much I would be willing to give to make sure he stayed that way.

I find myself studying him for another moment, and I know that he knows I am. I can't bring myself to look away, though. I know what he's been through, and even if my knowledge is only a fraction of his past, I know that peace and rest have seldom been in the cards for him. Sudden, pressing emotion threatens to choke me at the thought of the agent's life away from here. All of the horrible things he has to do, all of the fighting, all of the sleepless nights and days void of joy.

"Six, can I ask you a personal question?"

There's a beat of silence, and I know he wasn't expecting that from me. Neither was I, if I'm going to be honest.

"Technically you're my boss, so you can ask me anything. Now whether or not I’ll answer..." Six tilts his head, his humored eyes meeting mine as the start of a smirk tugs at his lips. He walks over slowly to the breakfast table I sit at, and I almost begin to fear that the pounding of my heart and searing of my blood in my veins is audible.

"Ask away, Y/N." Six says gently, his gaze down at me with a glint of something that he keeps intricately veiled.

And yet it makes a shiver crawl down my spine.

I almost lose my nerve, what with his eyes burning down into me and the closeness of his presence making my head dizzy with a dangerous tangle of attraction and unspoken feelings. Swallowing thickly, I keep my voice calm as I hold his gaze.

"If you had a say in your life, what would it look like?" I almost whisper.

His jaw clenches slightly, his throat bobbing and his body going tense. A faraway look settles into those breathtaking eyes as Six raises his gaze to the window across from us. He's silent for a while, which is characteristic for Six. He always chooses his words wisely, always stays calm, always remains sure.

This is the most unsure I've seen him, and it makes me wonder if he's ever been asked this.

"I don't know," He finally answers truthfully, making something so fundamental crack in my chest. I can't help but stare at his lifted face with furrowed brows and and pain-filled eyes. "I guess I've never really thought about it."

"You've never thought about what you want?" I ask, my voice no more than a breath to hide the anguish that threatens to out my feelings for my bodyguard.

Six sets his jaw, looking down at me again and stealing the breath from my lungs. His eyes search my face, almost as if he's memorizing every feature. In them is more emotion than I've seen in his gaze before. Finally, his eyes meet mine and I remember how much of a goner I am.

"Not until recently."

I don't dare to imagine what he means, but I can't ignore the stumbling of my heart and the overwhelming urge to stand and close the distance between us. I stay unmoving in my chair though, not daring to barely breathe.

"And what do you want, Six?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench tighter together in front of him, almost as if he's...restraining them. From what, I'm not sure. My heart pounds harder in its cage of bones and I feel something shift in the air between us. As my breathing slowly increases and the silence grows thicker, I begin to realize that I can't hold back from him much longer. Six seems ready to answer when the ringing of my phone on the breakfast table interrupts and snaps the moment.

"Sorry," I whisper, finding my breath hard to gather as I look down at the caller ID, "It's work. I have to take this."

I give him a sympathetic gaze, but Six seems to relax slightly at this. He takes a few steps back and nods, giving me another small smile, "Duty calls,"

I smile back, and it takes all of my effort to look away and answer the phone. The call is short and to the point. They're loading me with remote work to finish over the weekend before Monday morning. Once I finally hang up, I let out a long sigh and shove myself to my feet.

"Well, looks like my Saturday just got filled," I announce with a yawn, stretching my arms up before grabbing my coffee mug. I give Six a tired smile as I bring the empty mug to the sink in the kitchen.

"They're working you half to death," Six remarks, turning to watch me as I clean my dishes, "Any more extra hours and I might have to go over there and bloody up my knuckles."

His words shouldn't ignite me as much as they do.

"I’m tempted to tell you to, being technically your boss and all," I respond, and I swear a quiet laugh escapes his laugh. It makes a soft smile grow onto my lips that I don't bother to stop. I finally tear away my gaze and walk towards my room.

"Let me know if you need anything, Six." I call back, meaning every word.

What he says next makes he halt in my step, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Court."

I look back at him, not even having to ask to convey that I don't know what he means by that one word. Six just stares at me in a way that makes me feel undone.

"That's my real name. Courtland, but everyone used to call me Court."

His name. More than a number, more than a title, more than a job. His name. He told me his name.

What Six...what Court has done to me can never be undone. What he has changed within me can never be fixed. I know it as I just stare at him, a smile growing on my lips. I know it as that name clangs around in my mind.

"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, though." Court jokes, his face still so stoic. With my heart pounding in my chest and my mind spinning out of control, I stand staring at him in awe for another moment.

"I'll take it to my grave," I whisper, my heart racing so quickly that I fear it will fail, "Court."

Saying it is one thing, but to hear his name from someone else, to hear his name from me...Something changes in Court's gaze. Something changes between us, something I can't put my finger on and something that makes me come to two realizations as I walk into my room and shut the door.

One. I love him more than I thought love was capable of.

I press my back up against my bedroom door, letting my head fall back and my eyes slip closed.

Two. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn't do to give Courtland every single thing he could ever want.

That second realization is a very dangerous thing to know to be true when the man you'd give everything for is the man in charge of protecting your very life.

|||

Later That Night

I walk out of my bedroom, stretching with a groan. It's nearly two in the morning and I'm just now finishing up with the work that my boss sent over. My tired eyes adjust to the darkness of the house as I make my way over to the kitchen and grab a water from the fridge.

"I guess I'll relax when I retire," I grumble under my breath as I take a swig of water.

I recap the bottle and go to set it on the counter edge, but miss. When the plastic bottle clatters against the ground and I realize that I have to pick it up, I let out another groan. Mumbling under my breath annoyedly, I bend down to pick up the bottle. When I do, I'm not even fully standing before a large, powerful arm is barring my throat and pressing me to the fridge with a massive, warm body. I barely have time to gasp when my wide eyes meet those familiar blue ones and his arm is off of me in the next instant.

"Shit, Y/N are you okay?" Six asks, gently taking my face in his large, rough hands and tilting it so he can examine the untarnished skin of my neck for signs of harm.

I force out a laugh to hide the lowering panic from being attacked and from being so close to Court. Where his skin meets mine burns so intensely that I almost think something is wrong.

"I'm alright," I promise, but he doesn't let go and step back until he has come to the same conclusion, "Unless you count scaring me half to death."

"No one's usually up this late, I thought you were an intruder," Six responds, guilt still coursing through his gaze. I can’t help notice the absence of warmth in my body without his hands on me.

"Well, you're very good at your job but if I were an intruder, why would I stop for some water?" I ask, humor coursing through me. Six shrugs, and I can tell he's scrambling to regain his composure.

"Maybe you got thirsty. Breaking in takes effort"

I laugh softly, which visibly puts Six at ease. He shakes his head slightly, running a hand across his stubble-covered jaw. It's then that I notice he's not wearing professional clothes. Instead, a tight-fitting black t-shirt shows off nearly every muscle in his torso and the sweatpants to go with it make him almost seem...normal. The sight has my mouth dry and my chest tightly constricted.

"I can't believe my eyes," I remark breathlessly, looking up to connect my gaze with his, "You're not wearing a suit."

"They're in the wash," he remarks, making another laugh escape my lips.

"Well, now that you've scared me half to death, I'm definitely not tired anymore."

"Next time, don't go sneaking around the kitchen at midnight," Six advises. I scoff, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Sneaking around? If that was sneaking around then I lied. You must not be very good at your job," I point out. His ever-so stoic face turns smug in a way that sends my heart careening out of rhythm. He takes a step closer and I have to look up to keep my gaze locked with his. His warmth washes over me and suddenly I can't think straight.

"Honey, I'm not good at my job. I'm fucking incredible at it," Six rumbles, and every coherent part of me turns molten.

The way he looks down at me with that stupid smirk on the lips that I've dreamed about for months, the way his body seems to dwarf mine, the way every molecule of air has been sucked away...it's too much for my fool's heart to resist any longer.

We both go quiet, and I think he realizes the tension thick in the air at the same moment that I do. His eyes dart down to my lips so quickly that I almost think I dreamt it, but I know that I didn't and it sends me past the breaking point.

"Y/N," Court whispers. His voice is a warning, a plea, a promise.

I'm about to close the distance between us when the glint of something catches my eye. I dart my gaze over my bodyguard's shoulder just in time to see a singular man with a handgun standing at the entry of the kitchen.

And the gun's aimed at Six, not me.

My eyes widen, and the moment suddenly slows to a crawl. The man's finger is already squeezing the trigger, and in my head I can see the love of my life catching that bullet and crumpling to the ground. Pure horror seizes my chest and I can't even think before I act.

"NO!" I shout, shoving around Six and managing to get my body between him and the man just in time for a gunshot to ring pure and clear through the air.

Time freezes and every second is a handful of years. The pain is instant, but the bite is dulled by Six bellowing my name. I've never even heard his voice get that loud. It seems almost louder than the second gunshot that explodes nearer to my head, one that comes from Six and hits the lone intruder directly between the eyes.

I press my hands to the burning in my chest, and my shocked brain can't seem to comprehend what the thick, warm liquid that gushes around my fingers is. I see Six move in front of me and slowly look up at him, my head growing lighter by the second. His eyes are wild and frantic, not an ounce of calm in sight.

"Court," I breathe, and it's the only word I can get out before my legs give out. Courtland reacts instantly, lifting me in his arms and already moving for Claire's room.

"Hold on, honey. Hold on," He orders, his voice straining for indifferent but betrayed by its tremble. My blurring vision stays caught on the beautiful man who holds me, and for once his stoic nature is broken. In its stead is a panic that he barely keeps controlled.

"Six? Six what happened?" Claire calls out from somewhere in front of me.

"Claire, I need you to grab the keys and get the car started. We need to get your sister to a hospital, alright?"

I can hear Claire frantically rush out a million questions as she scrambles through the house. My vision begins to fade, voices begins to dull, and I can barely keep my eyes open as I feel myself being carried into the garage. I vaguely hear the roar of an engine and the opening of a car door. In the midst of it all, though, my eyes are on Court.

"Court," I whisper, and through the darkening haze I see the love of my life look down at me, his gaze breaking with something deathly close to tears, "Court I'm tired again"

"No baby," he interrupts, his voice breaking on the words so deeply that he has to clear his throat to keep his tone steady, "I need you to stay awake, alright sweetheart?"

I try to nod as he sets my down in the back seat with Claire and shuts the door. I can hear my sister sobbing and speaking to me as she presses down firmly on my chest, trying desperately to keep my blood from gushing out of my body. Then, Court's in the driver's seat and peeling out of the garage and down the road at an ungodly speed. The squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber catch in me as my brain scrambles to hold onto anything and everything.

"Why did you do that, Y/N?" Court demands, his voice so angry and terrified and desperate, all at once showing more emotion than I have ever head from him. “Why did you that?"

I know he doesn't mean for me to answer, but in the midst of it all his voice is my lifeline to the living world. As the pain dulls and I feel myself being dragged underneath by the alluring peace of darkness, Sierra Six's voice keeps me tethered to reality a few minutes longer.

He was just supposed to be my bodyguard. He didn’t even want this job when he first started. He was my uncle’s employee and that was it.

And now, I’ve taken a bullet for him. I’d do it again, too. Over and over and over again.

Oh how things have changed.

"I couldn't let you die." My voice is weak and small, but he hears it through all of the commotion. As he tears down the dark road, his eyes meet mine in the review mirror. In them, I see his heart shattering. I see the guilt mounting and I see his very composure hanging by a thread.

"You should have let me."

Those words are the last things I hear before my world fades away into a nothingness so consuming that I almost welcome it.

|||

The next few hours—or days, of which I’m not sure—pass in a drug-induced haze that captures my mind in a knee-deep sludge.

There’s flashes of white coats and bright lights, needles and monitors, cold metal and blinding pain. Through it all, my mind struggles to keep pace and the confusion muddles every thought and leaves them to die on their way across a neuron to fruition. Eventually, the chaos settles into a blissful sleep.

That is, until the lights turn back on in my mind and this time, I can think clearly.

When I finally manage to get my eyes to open to the soft lighting of a hospital room, I remain still on the bed. I can hear voices mulling around me, and subconsciously I find myself searching and yearning for that one specific voice to grace my ears.

But it doesn't.

With a slight frown etched into my brow, I stir slightly on the hospital bed and turn my head to survey the room. The sources of the voices appear as I sweep my gaze to the chairs at my bedside. A small smile etches onto my lips. It's Uncle Fitz and Claire.

"Hey,"

My voice is barely a scratch of a whisper, but it makes my family go silent before me. They both whip their gazes towards me, and instantly whatever conversation the two were having before is long forgotten. Uncle Fitz and Claire hurry to my side, each speaking over the other to try and talk with me. Tears edge my gaze and I chuckle slightly, the motion making my chest ache painfully.

"One at a time," I manage out, smiling at the two. Uncle Fitz grabs ahold of my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and clutching it in his grasp as if at any moment I'll fade away.

"You gave us both one hell of a scare, kiddo,"

"Yeah," Claire chirps in, slapping my thigh lightly, "Don't do that again, Y/N"

She's saying something else, but my gaze sweeps through the rest of the room and something in my chest falls when I see only a stranger standing in the corner. No trace of Six. An odd spiraling sensation trickles through my chest. This room isn't complete without him.

"Where's Six?" I mumble, turning to look between a now silent Uncle Fitz and Claire. My uncle takes in a long breath and sits up slightly, keeping my hand in his.

"Y/N, this is Agent Williams. He will be watching over you and Claire from now on"

That trickle in my chest intensifies to a downpour, and suddenly someone is wrenching my heart in their grasp. My breathing quickens, my head spins, my soul trembles.

Where is Six? Where is he? Why isn't he here?

"Did you fire him?" I breathe out, my eyes wide and every emotion displayed plainly across my face.

"Y/N," Fitz sighs, hanging his head so to not look me in the eyes.

"Did you fire him?" I repeat, my heart beating so fast it could burst. Then, Uncle Fitzroy looks me in the eyes once more.

"No, sweetheart. He requested to be moved to another assignment."

And my heart, my very soul, fractures.

He's just so easily left us behind? After everything we've been through, after every day cooped up together, after slowly but surely breaking into my chest and stealing my heart, he's gone.

I don’t think so.

I only groan slightly as I sit up against my uncle’s protests, “Give me his location.”

Fitz freezes, his brows furrowing as he stands unsure beside my hospital bed, “Y/N, I can’t-“

“Give me his location,” I repeat, staring down my uncle, “You know it’s safe with me.”

Fitz holds my gaze for a few more moments, warring with himself over whether or not to give into my demands. I know I’ve won when he lets out a long sigh and pulls out his phone.

“You’re not gonna back down, so I guess I have to,” he wearily says. He fiddles around with his phone before putting it away and pulling out a burner phone from another pocket.

Does he just keep those things on hand?

“Here, I sent the location to this phone,” Uncle Fitz informs, slipping the burner phone into my hand, “But you’re not allowed to go until you’re healed up.”

I nod, grateful to take whatever bargain I can. As the day goes on, it turns into two. And then three. And then a week. And then two weeks. Before I know it, it’s been a month, and I’m still clutching the burner phone to my chest. A few more months and I’ll be able to hunt Six down. I’ll find him.

I have to.

|||

A few months later.

The cold wind whips against my cheeks angrily, making my skin nearly burn with the frost it holds. The buildings smattered around do little to break the icy temperatures, and neither does the throngs of people mulling around quietly with their thick coats tugged close. My eyes follow the buildings closely as I walk, and it isn’t long before I come to a pause and pull out the small burner phone Uncle Fitz gave me months ago in the hospital.

I check and then double check. This is it. This is the building.

Anxiety I hadn’t expected blossoms in the bottom of my gut as I stand before the apartment complex. A million doubts rush through my head, but I banish them with the reminder that, if nothing else, I am here to see Court one last time.

Even if that last time is me punching him across the face.

I shove past the crowd and hastily cross the street, getting lucky enough to slip in through the main entrance behind another tenant as they go in. The blast of stifled heat in the dingy, close to trashy, apartment lobby is enough to make me choke, but it’s welcome compared to the icebox of outside. I go unnoticed as I make my way to the stairwell beside the elevators that don’t seem all that trustworthy.

Fourth floor. Room 416. It should be the last one on the right.

I take each step slower than the last, my grit fizzling out the closer I get to the fourth floor. The stairwell is silent, leaving my brain plenty of room to run over and over and over again what could happen. Once again, I silence the thoughts by reminding myself of what spurred me to come here in the first place.

He left. Six left and I don’t think I can keep living like this without him.

What if he doesn’t want to stay with me? What if I mean as little to him as the next target? What if, what if, what if?

I don’t even pause to catch my breath when I reach the massive door marked with the Russian word for four. I shove through it and begin to blaze my way down the cramped hallway. My heart is racing but I don’t dare stop, don’t dare look back. I’ve come this far, I can’t turn around now.

I do pause, though, when I reach the last door on the right. Room 416.

“416,” I breathe, my heart slamming in my chest loud enough to reverberate through my being.

Then I raise my fist, and knock.

And knock.

And then knock again.

By the third round of knocking, it hits me that he’s probably not home. For some reason, that comforts me. I tug in a breath of stifled air and then pull out the pickpocketing kit I’d purchased weeks ago in case of this very scenario. With trembling fingers, I stoop down and begin to fiddle with the lock just as I’d practiced. It’s only a few minutes before I’m met with a surprising click.

It’s open.

I stash the kit and hold my breath as I take the cold doorknob in my grasp. Then, with a heart of both lead and hope, I turn it and enter his apartment. The moment I’m inside and the door is shut behind me, I know that I’ve reached the right place. The overwhelming smell of pine and snow and a hint of gum circulates, and that’s one smell I don’t think I’ll ever soon forget.

Casting my gaze around the darkened apartment, I notice it’s as I suspected. I can’t see anyone in here. I traipse my way into the main area of the small but quaint apartment. There’s a kitchen to my left, a small living room to my right, and a short hallway leading to a door that I presume is his bedroom before me.

I haven’t taken more than two steps towards the door when a pair of large, rough hands grasp my shoulders and shove me backwards until I’m colliding with the wall beside the kitchen. A massive, muscular arm comes up to bar my throat, and once my shock has subsided, I come to realize what’s happening. The familiarity of this is too strong.

Because it’s him. It’s Courtland.

He must be just as surprised to see me, because the moment recognition flares through those gorgeous, deadly eyes, his stubble-covered jaw slackens and so does his hold on my neck. He keeps me there against the wall, seeming to be frozen and uncomprehending of what stands before him. With his skin on mine and his face so close, I almost buckle to the floor as something I’ve been missing these last few months crashes into me. Something only Court makes me feel.

“This position seems familiar,” I finally whisper, breaking the thick, tense silence.

“Y/N” Six mumbles, the very sound of my name coming from his lips making me shiver.

He shoves away from me instantly, taking steps back to put space between us. Six runs a hand over his jaw as his gaze sweeps over me, slowly and scrutinizingly in the way he was trained. Only his gaze doesn’t make me feel like a target, it makes me feel…undone. I see his eyes stick on my upper torso. The exact spot that bullet slammed into me all those months ago. A certain pain flashes through his gaze before, in an instant, his unfeeling and unyielding demeanor returns.

Only this time there’s a difference. I can visibly see the strain it takes to hide whatever emotions are running through him.

“I’m okay,” I manage out, shattering the silence between us. I mentally scold myself for the stupid and fumbling excuse for a first greeting, but I press on nonetheless.

Court nods, his face blank as his eyes pierce into mine, “What are you doing here?”

His words send a dagger of hurt slicing through my heart, but I try to ignore it. Instead, I gather my nerve and say what I came here to stay.

“You weren’t there when I woke up”

I intended the words to be bold, convicting, confident. It surprises even me when they instead come out nearly laying bare every inch of affliction burdening me. My words are quiet, but they hit Six so hard I see him flinch the slightest bit.

“I’m just glad you woke up,” Six averts, but his words ring with truth. I feel tears I knew would come but desperately hoped wouldn’t begin to prick behind my eyes.

“Why did you leave?” I ask directly. I’m done beating around the bush.

“Y/N, it’s not as simple as-”

“Why did you leave?” I repeat, my words stronger and trembling only slightly at the end. Six sighs, clenching his jaw before he manages a response.

“I had a job, I failed at that job. When that happens, that usually means you don’t have that job anymore.” He sounds almost automated, as if he’d memorized those words.

“That sounds pretty simple to me,” I shoot back, anger I hadn’t anticipated beginning to burn in my gut, “But I’m calling bullshit.”

There’s a moment of silence and I can tell from the shift in his gaze that he’s going to tell me the truth.

I just hope I’m prepared for what it means.

“It is-,” he stops abruptly, barely reacting except for the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists before him as he tries again, “Was my job to protect you. I couldn’t do that when you were willing to put yourself in danger around me.”

“You left me because I made you incapable of doing your job correctly?” I exclaim, my tone incredulous.

“It’s not about the damn job!” Six suddenly outbursts, and I go silent immediately. I’ve only ever heard him raise his voice now twice.

And the first was when he saw blood pouring from my chest.

“Protecting you,” Six continues, his normal volume returned but his voice strained, “It goes beyond the job.”

I don’t seem to have a response for that one. I don’t need to find one either, because Six can’t stop himself from taking a step closer to me.

“You once asked me what I wanted,” He murmurs, and even though we’re a few feet apart the air is electric. “Well, what I want can’t be near me if all she’ll do is put herself between me and a bullet.”

I’m fairly certain that my brain short-circuits, because his words won’t process.

What he wants.

Me? He wants me?

“You mean you-”

But just as quickly as his emotion has exploded, it’s gone. Court’s face hardens and he turns around, walking off back to where he was before I broke in.

“Your new bodyguard is good. He’ll take care of you.”

"Wait, Six. I-"

"I've got a job to take care of here, so I probably won't see you or Claire again. Keep her safe for me." His voice is so monotone, so careless, so...so strained to make it that way. I watch in utter shock as he mills around his apartment, grabbing a phone and a gun as he clearly prepares to leave.

"Six, don't shut down like this. We need to talk about what you just said." I insist. He acts as though I haven't spoken at all.

"If you'll excuse me," Six says curtly, pulling a suit jacket on and brushing past me and towards the door to his apartment. A certain panic grips my chest so tightly that my legs nearly give out.

He can't leave me, not again. I can't lose him. I can't.

"Six, wait!" I exclaim, trailing him towards the door. He doesn't turn around, "Please, just talk to me."

Six makes it to the apartment door and swings it open. As he does, despair that threatens to suffocate me invades my chest. I'm slowly beginning to realize that this is it. He's going to walk out that door and everything that has happened in the time I've known him, everything he's become to me, will be over.

"Court, please. Don't leave me,"

Six freezes in his step, the door still in his grasp and his frame halfway through the opening. My heart slams into my throat, hope making it pick up its pace as he stands with his back to me, his body clearly heaving with breath.

"If you meant what you just said," I falter slightly, only slightly, before I throw all caution to the wind, "Then you have to know that I want you too, you have to know that. Shit, Court I more than want you. I-"

My words die as Six is suddenly moving, storming back into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. I stare with wide eyes as he suddenly approaches me, and the next thing I know his hands are cupping my face and his face is so close to mine that all thoughts leave me. His eyes search mine as he pauses, no emotions held back this time.

"This isn't safe for you," Court rasps. I can hardly focus as his eyes drop to my lips with a desire so strong in them that a shiver runs down my spine.

"I'm safest with you," I assure. Court shakes his head slightly, his thumb running across my cheek.

"You just had to go and say my name," He murmurs.

Then Court connects his lips to mine, and for the first time in my life I know what it is to live.

His lips move in perfect harmony with mine, his warmth overwhelming me and overheating me. His large, calloused hands on me are everything and not enough all at once and when one slips into my hair and tugs me closer, I know.

He is danger, he is the dark, he is everything I was warned about as a child. And he's the love of my life.

"No more jumping in front of bullets for me," Court orders once he pulls back. My lips twitch up slightly.

"No promises."

#courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry x y/n #sierra six x reader #six x reader #sierra six x y/n #angst #fluff #the gray man #sierra six #whump #ryan gosling #oneshot #sierra six oneshot #courtland gentry oneshot #sierra six angst #sierra six x female reader

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niobe-loreley · 1 year ago

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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

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 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

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the-marshals-wife · 6 months ago

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Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watched it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."

#sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man #six x reader #sierra six x y/n #courtland gentry x y/n #court gentry x y/n #sierra six x you #courtland gentry x you #sierra six imagine #courtland gentry imagine #the gray man imagine #the gray man fanfiction #ryan gosling #sierra six #courtland gentry #court gentry #my writing

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writingdumpster · 2 years ago

Text

rest

pairing: Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x reader

warnings: spoilers

word count: 1,800

summary: Court has been sleeping worse since Fitz died and you want him to talk about his feelings. Post movie but AU where Court still works for the CIA.

masterlist

Courtland Gentry did not ever sleep well. He was paranoid and anxious pretty much all the time. He didn’t often find himself relaxed or comfortable. At least not until he met you. Even with you, he was always on alert because he was also incredibly protective. He would usually catch a few hours of sleep here and there on car rides or on a train or plane to his next mission. Ever since you’d started traveling with him, that didn’t work anymore. He wouldn’t dare fall asleep somewhere where someone might be able to get to you. If anyone besides Claire was known to be within fifty yards of you, Court wouldn’t close his eyes for a second. He had to be focused around you. He couldn’t let anything happen to you. Sleeping where anyone could harm you was completely out of the question for him.

Court only ever slept in the hotels or safe houses you stayed in, only at night, and only when you were in bed with him. You would beg him to take naps with you on his days off, but he never would. He’d get in bed with you and hold you, but he never slept. Court also insisted on getting up several times a night to check the exits, or in the case of some of your lodgings, exit. You were a light sleeper, but Court was careful not to wake you, and you often didn’t notice he was gone till he got back into bed when he would wrap you in his arms again.

You were always worried about Court and his lack of sleep. You told him over and over again that he could sleep when you were traveling, saying you’d wake him if anyone even approached. He still wouldn’t let himself sleep. You were more vulnerable when he wasn’t around, and you both knew that. He wouldn’t dare leave you unguarded.

You understood why Court was so protective after Claire had been kidnapped, but there had been good things to come out of it. The CIA had rehoused Claire and Court got his job back, now working under Suzanne. Court had arranged that he could have regular visits to Claire where he wouldn’t have to work. He’d also gotten you recognized as his wife by the CIA so that you would have protection if he ever died. (He’d also insisted on getting you a ring, though there couldn’t be a real ceremony.) You were legally adopting Claire. Court couldn’t, but you had a real identity that the CIA could get Social Services to accept. In many ways, your lives were better. But you knew what was really bothering him

Fitz was dead. Court loved Claire and he loved you, but the two of you had only been together four years and he’d only known Claire for two. Fitz was the only person who was a part of Court’s life for longer than a few years since his childhood. His biological father had been the scum of the Earth. Fitz was the only father Court ever really had. And now he didn’t. You knew he missed Fitz and you were having trouble getting Court to open up about it.

Court wasn’t prone to talking about anything, but particularly about his feelings. He shared more with you than he ever did with anyone, but hard as he tried, he wasn’t good at putting words to his emotions. He’d worked for the CIA since he was twenty-three and he’d had to learn how to block out traumatic memories. It wasn’t like he’d come from a home that embraced emotion either. He was very good at repressing his feelings and it made him restless at night.

Court hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in weeks. You were worried about him. You always were, but usually it was more of a ‘will he come back alive’ not a ‘will he get some rest’ kind of worry. It was vaguely pleasant to be worried about him for a reason a normal wife would be. He knew you were worried about him. The two of you could sense each other’s emotions like it was a sixth sense you each had. Though Court was bad at opening up, you always knew when something was off with him.

You were staying at a hotel in Geneva for the week. There was a target who would be attending a biochemistry convention later in the week and Court was there early to create a plan. He didn’t really have much to do for the next three days while he waited for the target to arrive in Geneva. Despite this, he was working nonstop. You’d tried to tempt him into taking a break with you a few times. You did manage to get him to go have a lunch date with you, but he refused all your offers of a nap or even cuddling.

When nightfall came around Court couldn’t argue with your pleas for him to sleep anymore and he finally crawled into bed with you. He wrapped his arms around you, spooning you as you pulled the blankets over the two of you. You murmured a good night to Court and lifted his hand to press a kiss to the back of it. He nuzzled his nose against the back of your neck before kissing the skin where your neck met your shoulder. He wished you a good night as well and you drifted off to sleep.

The air conditioner kicked on and you woke up from your dream. Court was laying behind you, your back still molded to his chest while his arm lay over your waist. You didn’t move, knowing that sleep would take you back into its warm embrace quickly. You were just about to topple into a new dream when you felt Court start to pull away from you, propping himself up on his elbow to roll away. You grabbed hold of his wrist to keep him close.

“Don’t go. I sleep better with you next to me,” you mumbled. Court smiled to himself, feeling his heart swell at your words. He hadn’t realized you were awake till that moment. He turned back towards you and leaned down to kiss your shoulder, bare where the strap of your tank top didn’t cover.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna go check the exits,” he said. You didn’t release him.

“Stay,” you whispered. “There’s only one. We’re safe.” Court sighed. He was still propped up on his elbow.

“I just want to check, baby,” he said.

“And I want you to stay,” you said. Your eyes had remained closed the whole time, but you opened them and found that Court was staring down at you.

“You know I can’t sleep without checking the exits,” he said.

“Is that really why you can’t sleep, babe?” You asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” He asked. You reached up and ran your fingertips along the short stubble on his jawline.

“You haven’t really given yourself a chance to process everything,” you said. His lips tightened.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s been almost a month.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t go to the funeral. We haven’t been back to visit Claire since you got her moved in and I know we could have. You’ve just been working nonstop, Court,” you said. Court didn’t say anything. You could barely tell he was breathing.

“I just don’t know what else to do,” he said. His voice just barely wavered, but you caught it.

“You could start by telling me how you feel,” you said.

“You know I’m bad at that,” he sighed.

“Just try, baby. I love you. You’re safe,” you said. Court exhaled. He laid down on his side and you turned to face him. You reached out between your bodies and grabbed his hand. He was quiet, unsure where to start. You gave his hand a comforting squeeze and kissed his knuckles. “Take your time,” you told him softly.

“I’m just scared,” he said.

“Of what?” You asked.

“Of…I don’t know. I always had Fitz to back me up, and now I don’t have that anymore,” he said.

“Do you think you’re in danger?” You asked.

“No, I just think I have less control,” he said thoughtfully.

“Are you worried they’ll tell you to do something you shouldn’t do again?” You asked. Court sighed.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah, I am.” You reached up with your free hand to run your fingers through the silky hair on the side of his head.

“Have you thought of what you’ll do if they ask you to again?” Your questions were measured and your voice soft. You were good at helping Court unravel his feelings. You knew the right things to ask him and where to push and where not to. He grimaced at your words.

“I have to keep you and Claire safe,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked, baby,” you said. Your voice was still warm and your fingers kept moving through his hair. Court sighed.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said.

“What would you want to do if you didn’t have to worry about me and Claire?” You asked.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m never going to leave you guys,” he said.

“Just answer the question, Court. It’ll help you think through it,” you told him. He took a moment, thinking carefully.

“I would abandon the agency. Just go on the run,” he said.

“Then that’s what we’ll all do,” you said. Court scoffed.

“We can’t do that. Not to Claire,” he said. “She needs to go to school.”

“She wasn’t going to school when Fitz was alive. She’s been stable for two years and I can tutor her. We could make it work,” you said.

“You’re not kidding,” he said matter of factly.

“No, I’m not,” you agreed. “You want Claire and I safe and we both want you happy,” you told him. “She loves you, Court and I do too. If you want us to run, we’ll run.” He looked at you, searching your eyes for some sign that you didn’t mean what you were saying, but he couldn’t find any.

“Okay,” he said. “If they tell me to hurt someone I shouldn’t, we’ll run.” You smiled softly and leaned across the gap between you to give him a gentle kiss.

“Will you please sleep now?” You asked. Court smiled softly.

“Yeah, baby. I’ll sleep now,” he said. You hummed happily before turning back around and snuggling into his arms. Court pulled you tight against him, your back once again pressed firmly against his chest. He rested his chin in the crook of your neck and laid his arm over your waist. You intertwined his fingers with yours and gave his hand a soft squeeze. It was only a few minutes before you heard his soft snores and you smiled to yourself, knowing you had finally gotten him to rest.

#courtland gentry x reader #court gentry x reader #sierra six x reader #six x reader #courtland gentry fluff #court gentry fluff #sierra six fluff #six fluff

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sirdindjarin · 2 years ago

Text

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

I wrote this because ✨️Six deserves a lil more than a kiss✨️ 😌 I read the first The Gray Man book, and some characterization is based on it, but mostly this is movie-based. Let's pretend Lloyd Hansen survived his ordeal, shall we?

A/N: I had not yet read Ballistic (Book 3 of The Gray Man series) before writing this so the unintended similarity between Ch 36 and my work here was unintentional. I'm gratified to know Court Gentry so well lmfao. 💀 My bad, Mr. Greaney.

Lil Spotify playlist I listened to while feverishly typing. (Wipe Your Eyes is a Sierra Six song, I said what I said.)

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

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

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, mention of rape (rape is not threatened nor occurs), drugging, blood/wounds/death.

WORD COUNT: 8.6k (yeah, I'm REALLY sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIII

The room is dim when you wake. It can’t be later than six o’clock, but the bed is empty, cold where he should be. The bedsheets rustle as you twist to read the green-lit clock on the bookshelf. Your face ticks in confusion at the numbers spelling out 9:09 a.m.

Must be a cloudy morning. Too bad I can’t see out this fucking frosted window, you grumble internally.

Sitting up, you pull the sheet a little tighter to your naked chest and squint at the bathroom door, bringing it into focus despite your sleep-laden eyes. It seems completely closed, but if Six is in there, he’s unusually quiet.

You drop the sheet and leave the bed, looking for your clothes on the floor. On Six’s chair, a pile of material catches your eye. Your hand trails across the folded, new clothing; you pick up the top item, the tags still attached. A smile splits your face in two. He’d laid out a pair of plain white underwear, denim shorts, and a green t-shirt. You quickly locate your old bra and underwear and throw away the bottoms. You’re too uncomfortable without the support of a bra, so you put it back on despite its desperate need of a wash.

Once clothed, you knock on the bathroom door but it swings open with the contact. It’s dark and unoccupied. A sudden wave of fear hits you and you take a step back.

Where's Six?

Irrationally, your mind taunts you: Did he leave me? Get what he wanted and cut his losses? A small sound escapes you at the intrusive thought, but you remember the way he had held you all night, the gentle yearning of his touch, the devotion in his sapphire eyes. You silence the unhelpful worries. No way. That’s not him.

Shit, shit, did something happen? Oh, my god, I hope he’s okay. The fears cycle through your mind. He’d never left without telling you before. Not back at the original safe house, not here, not ever. Unease settles in your chest like a virus.

It was evident he had left and come back this morning to bring you new clothing, but where was he now? You move into the bathroom, quickly flipping on the light to try to dispel some of the dread. You drop to your knees and begin feeling around the floor as grime and dirt pile along your fingertips.

Oh, god, I bet it’s under this disgusting-ass flooring.

You lean left to grip the rough edge of the linoleum where it lies underneath the sink. Pulling at the aged material, it comes up easily enough, and you’re rewarded by a discolored section of hardwood floor. The linoleum slips from your dirty fingers, and as you reach to grab it again, a loud crash booms behind you.

The front door bangs open. You spin around, knocking yourself on your ass. Your heart fears it’s an intruder, but your brain expects it to be Six, mad at you for not hearing his knock.

As the door swings wide, you’re faced with an unfamiliar man, clad in a blue patterned shirt and slacks, standing with a firearm in his right hand. It’s the first thing you see, but it’s not pointed at you. The man looks relaxed - happy, you notice.

“Hey, doll. Been lookin’ everywhere for ya.” His voice is upbeat yet menacing.

“Whatcha doin’ to that floor?” He marches over to you, roughly grabbing your upper arm.

As his fingers dig into your flesh, you stare at the stumps where his little and ring fingers should be. He hoists you to your feet. You don’t even struggle as your brain tries to play catch-up.

“Who- the fuck are you?” Your voice trembles despite your efforts to the contrary. Your heart is throbbing, painful aching in your veins; your worst nightmare is coming true.

“You haven’t heard of me?” He sounds surprised. “Well, isn’t that hilarious. Mr. Moral Compass has been keeping secrets from you.” He makes a mockingly sympathetic face.

“Where is he?” Your voice cracks and pain pricks in your eyes, your vision watering. You’re petrified of this man’s answer.

To your great discomfort, the man laughs. It’s a terrifying laugh: somehow, all of his features seem warmed by his mirth, like he’s energized by your distress.

“That's supposed to be my line, buttercup.”

He makes a condescending gesture, “Someone saw you clomping around this hallway out here. Not very smart, are we? And wherever you are, Six is sure to be trailing like a sad puppy. But I’m not too worried about where he is right now; he’ll follow us, and that saves me quite a bit of effort. Not to mention bullets and bruises.”

It takes a second for his words to find you through the panic, but when they do, you’re nearly lightheaded with relief. You’d thought you managed and processed that first night well. It had given you confidence in your ability to persevere. But standing here, face-to-face with a man who seemed to know things you didn’t, who exuded the dangerous energy of a wild animal, you were frozen in fear. However, if Six was still out there, still okay, you had some hope. You had every hope in the world, in fact.

Six. Six, please. Please walk through that door. All your wits could offer was to repeat his name like a prayer.

“Let’s head on out, shall we? Car’s waiting.”

His grip on your arm tightens painfully, and you still don’t fight him. He steps toward the bed and, with a flourish, places a piece of paper on top of your pillow.

“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining.

You know you can’t win a physical fight with this much-larger, armed man, but the dam in you breaks as he pulls you toward the exterior hallway. You’re already leaning forward from the way he’s holding you, so you aim at your closest target. Your right fist slams just below the zipper on his slacks and he exhales with a yelp, doubling over. He recovers too quickly, though, and whirls you around, leveraging your throat with his forearm. He squeezes and wins a pained, high-pitched rasp from you.

“Do it again and I’ll leave your dead body for him to find instead of that paper,” he says through gritted teeth.

You shiver and try to swallow, panicking when you can’t. He loosens his grip enough for you to shuffle along, and when he tries to walk you both through the door a second time, you let him.

You were right, the sky outside was blanketed by wooly clouds threatening to let loose a deluge. The old city you’d holed up in was quiet for the time of day, and no one saw the well-dressed man toss you into a waiting black SUV. Your cheek smacks the faux-leather gray seat, and you push your arms underneath your body to reorient yourself.

The air inside the vehicle is artificially cold and smells new. The pleather squeaks as the two armed men who had been waiting outside your room seat themselves on either side of you. You hadn’t seen them until the well-dressed man had dragged you from your shelter out into the sterile-looking hallway. It seemed to you that they were reasonably sure you were alone. There was no way he wouldn't have sent an entire team in if he’d thought the two of you were together, right? This man didn’t dress like it, but maybe he didn’t have the funds for a whole team. Six had mentioned to you once how expensive one mercenary could be, and the going rate for a whole group could feed a small country for a week.

A thumb and forefinger pinch your nose, and your mouth drops open automatically. Your hands shoot upward to fight off whatever assault is beginning, but then the agent to your left pops something small into the back of your throat. You try to choke it out, but he had thrown it skillfully, and you accidentally swallow. You lurch forward violently as the driver accelerates.

You gag but nothing comes up. Coughing, you ask, “What'd you give me?”

The kidnapper’s smooth voice answers you from the passenger seat, “The ineloquent call it the ‘date-rape drug’.”

Utter fear shocks through your body at his blunt words. You’re a chemist, you know exactly what it is he gave you.

He turns a little to face you, “Sugar, you look nervous. Don’t worry,” his voice is jovial, “This is a date, not a rape.”

You shrink into your seat as best you can, trying to protect yourself. City blocks quickly turn into dilapidated housing, then farmland since Six’s safe house was close to the outer edge. You don’t know anything about the country you’re in, so memorizing the now-green scenery would be useless. Instead, you decide to evaluate and catalog the men next to you.

The man on your right is tall and tan. With his ironically trustworthy face, you would’ve never given him a second glance if you passed by him on the street. He’s holding what you believe to be a submachine gun, and a pistol butt pokes out of his waistband.

Your friend on the left is his friend’s polar opposite. This man makes you feel like the kidnapper does, and your hands shake just by looking at him out of your peripheral vision. His sharp, pale features keep anger at the forefront. His dark eyes, though rarely on you, twitch with menace. He’s carrying the same weapons as his partner, but you see an added hunting knife hanging from his black cargo pants. Unconsciously, your weight shifts to your right side, trying to put as much distance as you can, though, of course, you know the other man is truly no better.

Heavy exhaustion suddenly falls on you like an anvil. Lethargy places immense pressure on your limbs. Your world goes startlingly black for a second, then you realize you’ve closed your eyelids. You try to lift them, but it’s so difficult. Straining, you see a sliver of blurry light, but your eyes return to darkness. It feels like a weight is pressing on your chest - like Six did last night. Delirious, you half-smile at the recollection. Your head drops to the side with its own weight, and your final conscious thought is that you hope you fell to the right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life, Six had woken that morning on his side with your head on his right bicep. You were asleep facing him, your right calf sandwiched between his thighs, your hand curled on his chest. If he didn’t include every other time he looked at you, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Six felt a sense of possessiveness surge through him; he was never going to let anything take you from him. If you wanted him, he would be there.

Six had never told a woman that he loved her. Certainly not romantically. He wasn’t completely confident in how it all worked, but he no longer wondered what it felt like. Six knew by the way he wanted to care for you as you did him. It was evident in the way he found himself pulling your favorite mug from the cabinet each morning before you’d even woken; it was evident in the way his body thrilled as he counted your not-so-sneaky glances at him. Six knew how powerful love was because he felt all other aspects of his life drop in priority to you. He didn't pretend to be good at it, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

In a matter of excellent timing, you rolled away, tucking your head down and off his arm. He extricated himself from the bed, intending on performing a quick errand. He was incredibly energized; after yesterday’s long-awaited activities and then the full night’s sleep he’d gotten, he felt sure he could do anything.

After showering, he located an old, plain black tracksuit set that he’d hidden years ago in the bathroom closet. It wasn’t exactly clean after all this time, but it wasn’t the disgusting shirt and pants from the past few days which was all he cared about.

He thought about leaving a note, but it was so dark outside that he knew you’d still be asleep when he returned. And also, he had no pen. Nimbly, he moved to your side of the bed where he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his feather-light touch never waking you. You sighed into his hand as it curved down your cheek, and he felt himself twitch at the familiarity. He quickly decided that he’d be keeping you in bed today; his high energy would be put to good use.

Six casually moved out onto the streets of the old world city. It was just past eight-thirty. The air was nice: warm and breezy, hinting at the coming storm. It wasn’t a bustling locale, but its population was large enough to provide some cover. Six’s furtive yet discreet searches around the area told him that all was well, so he trekked through the city to a store he knew supplied women’s clothing. He figured your old clothes were no longer suitable - he himself had torn them off in more ways than one - and he had nothing in his cache that would be practical for a woman. He was still cautious, still calculated. If he needed you to run, you couldn’t be tripping around in too-long pants.

The brightly lit store didn’t have much, so he purchased the first items he saw that best fit the summer weather, making no guesses as to your size since it was something he’d memorized for this exact situation. He thanked the shop clerk in his native tongue, then took a shortcut back to the room.

He returned as the green numbers glowed exactly 9:00 a.m. to find you still sleeping as he had suspected. He laid the pieces on the chair and then moved to the kitchenette. His jaw set as he realized the food was entirely gone; there wasn’t any substantial meal to be eaten, and canned peaches weren’t going to satisfy the both of you. Grumbling, he took another survey to confirm your slumber, then exited once again, locking the door as he left.

On his ten-minute jaunt to the corner store, Six felt uneasy. Now he believed the electricity in the air had nothing to do with the impending thunderstorm. He felt the breeze rustle through his blonde locks and tried to relax a little. He had a few - well, he couldn’t call them friends - in this general part of Europe, but only one lived in this area. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him; or you, considering the man might know about the situation.

He’d run out of cash, and his nearest stash was about a four-hour drive away in Latvia, so he was forced to steal a loaf of bread and two chunks of meat. Six left his not-inexpensive watch as payment, but he regretted being forced to this level. He’d never stolen anything in his life (except the odd vehicle, those almost couldn’t be helped) and he hated it. He was paid well for his services; he never needed to steal. Every bit of decency he could afford, he performed. If you hadn’t been waiting, he would’ve contented himself with the peaches for the next few hours, but you were injured, and moving on to Latvia could wait one more night.

His walk back from the store was circuitous by habit. He took two extra turns and an alleyway before opening the glass-paned door to the building. The room you two had been sharing was the very first on the ground floor, and something was horribly wrong.

Groceries fell to the floor, replaced instantly by his gun. He swept into the room, then the bathroom, already knowing you weren’t there. A sharp intake of breath sounded as he realized the linoleum had been disrupted.

Thank God, you’d gotten into the safe room.

He grunted as he pried open the heavy trapdoor, already beginning to tell you everything was okay, when the dusty hole gaped empty beneath him. The breath heaved out of him. He cursed loudly and slammed the door shut with such force that it reverberated throughout the lower floor. He spun around and his eyes snagged on the paper positioned on the pillow you’d occupied only moments earlier. He snatched it up.

- Do you miss her like I miss my fingers? -

Below the handwritten taunt was an address. Six needed no further information - he sprinted out of the building and up the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggy and unsteady, your left eye opens a little before your right. Warm light streams from a small round window at the other end of the room. It’s dusty, and motes float about in the beams. Your hands chafe at the handcuffs, but the most uncomfortable aspect is the rickety chair you’re roped into. Your shoulders ache and your neck is pained at the position you’d been unconscious in.

Fear rises in your throat, bubbling like lava in your chest. But it’s mutating with another emotion you’re not sure of just yet. You rock forward violently and shift the old chair forward a little, trying to move toward the window. The impact of your weight rattles the rafters, and you realize that endeavor is hopeless if you want to remain alone. You try to scoot, using your untied feet to pull you along, but the chair catches on a warped floorboard, and you’re left stuck.

Panting from the claustrophobic panic and the exertion, you begin taking some calming breaths you’d read about once for test anxiety. It helps, but then you hear the creaking of hinges as a trapdoor falls away a few feet from you. The ladder slides down smoothly, and moments later the head of a man appears. His fit, sweater-wearing body follows. He glares at you.

“You got bits of ceiling plaster on my sweater.”

“What’s going on? What do you want me for?”

You expect him to say something about your job, to demand access to the research, to complete some of it yourself; maybe he wants you to oversee a project of their own. You have no idea and you’re not prepared for what he answers.

“I don’t want you at all, honey. Sorry, you’re not my type. I like women who don’t punch me in the dick.” He says testily. “No, I want your boy, and I want him to be sad. I had no idea you existed ‘til a friend snapped a few pictures of the two of you getting cozy.”

He unfolds three photos from his back pocket. The first is through the large glass backdoor in your original safe house, the telephoto lens capturing Six’s hand nearly touching your lower back, your head turned to smile at him. A second photo was taken from a distance through a window, and it shows Six sitting on the couch beside you, talking. The man holds up a third photo, this one of the two of you outside, Six’s face glows with that reluctant smile he favors, though it's much larger than usual; facing away from you, he looks downright joyous at something you must’ve said or done.

The emotion you’d had trouble naming finally identifies itself as you spit, “Fuck you.”

The man backhands you hard enough to split your lip, but he doesn’t knock you over. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, and you yelp. The moment this man had stepped through your door, you’d done your best to prepare yourself for physical pain. You were still surprised, still shocked by it.

The man crouches in front of you, his eyes level. Your upper lip curls into a snarl.

“I know Sierra Six. That man is a goody-two-shoes. Although, apparently he’s been lying to his lady love. See, I did do my homework: your employer’s security contract with Six ended a month ago. He’s been bunking with you because I sent him those photos the day before termination. If he stayed with you, I knew it was genuine.” He pauses, then jeers, “He doesn’t allow himself to get attached to people.” The man smiles, perfect teeth flashing behind pink lips as he waves the photographs, “But I found the one he has.”

Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening, you just stare. You’d been through quite a few emotions over the past twelve hours and the tumult in your head was raging. Your admittedly hands-off employers had never told you when the protection detail’s contract ended, they probably had just assumed Six would leave of his own accord. The house had been furnished with anything you would’ve needed so you’d kept on working, and your employers kept getting what they paid you for. As long as the status quo remained, no one would’ve questioned each other.

“So, you’ve got me here in this dry-ass attic because you don’t like Sierra Six?” Your confusion manifests with righteous anger. This man is using you, not for your brain, but to get to someone you care about.

He sharply raises his left hand as an example, “I fucking hate him, actually.

“Don’t your manicures cost less now?” You hiss venomously.

Your chair nearly tips when his hand connects once again with your face. You spit out blood, but you’re weak and it lands pitifully on your shirt.

Your mouth already open, you ask one last question, ”And when Six comes for me… you’ll kill him?” You are still angry, but your worry over Six causes your voice to break.

“All part of the show, babe. I’m not monologuing to you.” He shrugs, smiling as if he wasn’t just monologuing to you. He stands and jogs forward-facing down the ladder. You hear his rich voice say something about a knife, and your body goes rigid. More pain. Your heart rate skyrockets and traitorous tears fall.

Calm down, get calm, I can’t be calm, just be calm, this is insane, deep breaths, it won’t help, you’ll be fine, your thoughts race uncontrollably.

Stressed wood and hinges ring out from the ladder as he reappears with a switchblade. He squats and ties your ankles to the chair legs with little effort, despite your kicking. Then he pulls another chair from the far side of the attic to face you.

“Oh, I’m Lloyd, by the way.” He grins as he slices at your already-injured leg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though he’d brought a comfortable chair, Lloyd didn’t stay long. He made a few cuts, watched you scream and squirm a little, but then his stomach had growled. He stood, wiped the bloody knife on your denim shorts, and folded the weapon as he left the attic. He made a little quip about letting bed bugs bite, and then the trapdoor squealed as it shut, as he left you in darkness.

The window across the room is dark blue, now. You beg your mind to relive the previous sunset, but the pain in your wrists and your leg are agonizing. Lloyd had cut a shape into your leg, and you didn’t want to see it. You’d not looked as he worked, and you were unable to do so now. Maybe it’ll be gone by morning, you childishly wish.

Again and again, your mind returns to Six. As much as you may have had a right to be, you didn’t have the capacity to be upset with him. Certainly not right this moment, as all you wanted was to be secure in his arms, and it was unlikely you’d be too pissed later, either. Six was your friend. Sure, he was generally reserved, closed off - but those were his natural defenses, and it was impossible not to feel his sincerity, his regard. Six had stayed on without payment for an entire month. He’d asked for extra men, probably calling in a favor instead of offering a reward. Just because he wanted to protect you. If he’d felt it was best to keep the truth hidden, then the truth was probably best kept hidden. After all, the man was the best tactician around; even you knew he had a near-mythological reputation.

Simply put, you trusted the man unequivocally. You just wished that he would both hurry and stay away. If this lunatic managed to kill Six by using you as bait, you weren’t sure you could live with the guilt. Six spent so much time walling himself off from everyone, and you’d purposefully broken down those defenses. Now you were both in danger. Six was all you had, all you’d wanted, and now that you had him you were about to lose him.

You sat there as time slipped by, in the dark, crying, until your body exhausted itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIII

A splitting headache wakes you. Your neck is screaming at the position it’s been in for hours, and you feel a little nauseous. The strong light from the round window allows you to clock the time at late afternoon, and you regret waking. Your body straightens when you realize that the sound of the trapdoor opening is what woke you. The sound sharpens and you tense, waiting for more pain.

As expected, Lloyd’s face beams at you. Immediately, you’re on edge: if Lloyd is happy, you shouldn’t be. He finishes climbing the ladder, and when he does, he motions to someone else to come up.

“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“No,” you plead. "No.”

“Mhm. ‘fraid so.” He couldn’t possibly smile wider.

A blonde head that you’d recognize anywhere materializes. He’s shoved by someone else you hate to see: the pale man on your left. The pale man looks terrible. His face is swollen and bloody. Since the ladder rises away from you, you don’t see the prisoner’s face until the pale man roughly turns him around, but you knew it would be Six. He’s slammed into his own rickety chair. His beard is sticky with blood, and a cut near his right eye oozes more blood. His black tracksuit is filthy and torn, and his hands are bound in front of him with zip ties. The instant he faces you, he holds your tearful gaze, and he winks. Your eyebrows constrict briefly in confusion, but you return to utter despair quickly. Lloyd was never going to let you go if he captured Six, and you’re pretty sure he never even offered that lie up to you. Now you were both going to watch each other die. Your chest heaves in sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is a hoarse whisper, but Six frowns and shakes his head. His attention is forced away from you, however, when Lloyd steps in front of him.

“Wow, Lloyd, you should’ve squeezed the CIA for a better patch job. You look like shit.”

Lloyd laughs, “Aw, don’t make me kill her already. I was just getting excited.”

“Did you do that to her face?” Six asks conversationally.

“It wasn’t the only thing I did,” Lloyd answers suggestively. And though you can’t see his face, he grins at Six who barely keeps a leash on himself. He files that comment away for later fuel.

Lloyd begins to speak, cajoling as Six flexes his jaw, his expressive eyes never leaving the threat. “The CIA didn’t ‘patch’ me up. They’ve pinned that whole … situation… on me. Rather unfairly, wouldn’t you say?” He doesn’t give Six time to answer before he continues, “I have other powerful friends who aren’t hunting me for war crimes. But they don’t matter. They support my little personal revenge mission, although they’re not funding it.” He holds up his hands, “Don’t be offended I didn’t send a whole squad after you, Six. I’m pretty depleted after all your shenanigans. But anyway!” He claps his hands, “Don’t you wanna know how I knew?” He sounds thrilled.

“A little birdy told you?”

“Your friend Denver. Now isn’t that just the worst? He sold you out. ‘Six has found himself a girl.’ His plan was to live that night, but hey, can’t win ‘em all, right?”

Lloyd moves to grab his chair, and you’re able to see Six’s reaction. His face doesn’t change, but you know those eyes. He’s not completely shocked, he can’t afford to be in his line of work, but you can see the betrayal, the sadness pooling there.

Since he has line of sight on you, again, he takes advantage and the corner of his mouth quirks up quickly. The smile is gone before you’re even sure it existed - but that’s the second time he’s signaled you. Trying to keep me from panicking, as always, you reason. You give him an answering smile, but it’s sad, and he grunts in frustration.

Lloyd has his chair in hand, and he looks animatedly between the two of you - back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to choose. The pale man, still standing next to Six, laughs. Your disgust evident on your face, Lloyd makes his choice and sits directly in front of you.

“Did you miss me, honey?” He purrs. You know from his tone that everything this man is about to do has one purpose: to twist a dagger into Six’s soul.

“Didn’t really get a chance, asshole,” you pour every bit of rage and hatred you can into your voice. This man might break your body, but you’re pretty sure this level of anger will protect your mind.

“Let me see that six.” He orders, which stops you right in your tracks.

“What?” You ask, perplexed.

“The six! The six I gave you.” His bottom lip pouts, “You didn’t even see what I gave you?” And he points at your thigh.

Amidst the blood, you finally see the pattern he had carved into your leg. He hadn’t cut as deeply as your other wound, just deep enough to ensure scarring.

“You said something about wanting a six, right?” He plays dumb. “If that one’s not big enough, here, I’ll do another.” He lifts the knife quickly and you start at the sudden violence.

Behind him, you hear Six grunt, then an unfamiliar, more pained-sounding grunt. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate before he jumps behind your chair and sticks the knife against your neck. As he does so, you see the body of the pale man drop to the floor, his submachine gun in Six’s freed hands. Your chin tilts up as high as you can to avoid the blade.

“You brought a knife to a gunfight, Lloyd.”

“Quite the party foul of me, huh?” Lloyd rejoins. “Oh, well. That’s where your bitch comes in handy.”

Six doesn’t react. Lloyd's using you as a shield, but he is much larger than you. One good shot would knock him back enough that Six was confident he could reach you before Lloyd recovered. Six starts to squeeze the trigger when the knife leaves Lloyd’s hand, aimed directly at his heart.

Six bats away the shining switchblade with the gun, which sends him a little off balance. Lloyd uses his chance to rush Six. Like the football star he had been, he tackles Six to the floor. Six groans in pain as the wind is knocked from him, and a scream tears from you. At the last second, you remember that the other man in the car, the one on your right, was probably somewhere below. Surely he had heard the thumping, right? Why wasn’t he coming?

Six quickly gets the upper hand, kicking out from underneath the other man, smashing the gun into Lloyd’s face twice as he did so. Six is loath to shoot the man outright because he really wants to beat the shit out of him first. Lloyd gets to his feet at the same time Six does.

Frantically, you knock the chair over, and try to wiggle sideways towards the knife Six had hit. It was several feet away, very close to what now looked like a standoff. Six hears what you’re doing, and circles a little more to his right, putting himself between you and Lloyd. He thrusts the butt of the gun at Lloyd’s gut, but Lloyd grabs hold of it. Six immediately ejects the magazine faster than he’d ever made the move before. He releases his hold on the weapon, knowing it won’t make a difference. Lloyd gives him an eyebrow raise before tossing the gun down the ladder.

Your chair scrapes with every inch, but your desperation gets the knife into your right hand right as you hear the gun fall. You saw at the ropes around your body, then once free of that, you cut the flimsy material around your ankles. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed to the chair’s armrest. Keeping the knife in hand, you lift the old chair and slam it against the floor, once, twice. Thinking better of that, you sit down and jam both heels on the underside of the armrest, hoping to force the slim piece from its spindles. That worked. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed.

Six waits for Lloyd to swing first, and when he does, Six puts every play he’s ever learned into action. He swings haymaker after uppercut at Lloyd, most of them connecting viciously. Lloyd gets in several licks, but each time Six shakes it off with a growl. Hoping to shorten this dance, you hold up the knife, hoping it’s Six and not Lloyd who sees what you have to offer. They both notice.

As Lloyd starts to run at you, Six leaps forward, grabbing him around the throat by his forearm. He uses the momentum to slam Lloyd down to his knees. Lloyd twists and claws at him, but Six is stronger. To Lloyd’s endless consternation, Six has always been stronger. You gawk on in horror. You’d seen Six kill a man before, but this was different. This was personal, angry, justified. Six is silent as his arms strain, pressing every bit of strength he has into Lloyd’s windpipe. Lloyd is gagging, gurgling. It was terrible.

“Go!” Six commands through gritted teeth, and though he wasn’t looking at you, you obey. You didn’t want to see this.

You flee down the ladder, knife still in hand. Subconsciously, you take in your surroundings: a vacant, crumbling mansion. The white hallway was cracked, and moldy. No furniture could be seen. You could still hear Lloyd’s death throes above you, so you stumble along the hallway, desperate to end the nightmare.

Your right leg, so damaged, gives out and you hit the floor. You see stair railings a few feet away, but you can also see the attic entrance from where you fell, and you weren’t going anywhere without Six. So you drag yourself up against the wall and try to slow your labored breathing as you wait.

A few minutes later, a man dressed in black climbs down. Your heart pounds at the sight of the blonde hair. You stand, wobbling, and drop the knife. As he reaches you, he wraps an arm around you. His hand presses your head to his chest.

“Let me see your hands.”

You hold up your cuffs. He unlocks them with a small key you can only assume he got from one of the bodies upstairs. He nudges you forward, and you start down the hallway, then down the stairs. When you get to the bottom of the wooden steps, you see why the other man never came running. He lay bloody on the floor of the foyer. Six had killed him first.

“Didn’t know where you were in this big old house, so I made my entrance known. Lloyd would take me wherever you were. Amateur.”

Stepping around the body and out the front door, you hysterically giggle at the stolen car Six had parked normally. “You literally walked in the front door?”

“Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IIIIII

Lloyd had taken you over the Latvian border by several hours, so while you were in the right country, you were still a couple of hours away from Six’s cache. As he drives, you curl up on the back seat, trying to relieve your sore muscles and your stinging leg.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Six pulls to the curb a block from his newest safe house. The streets were bustling with people enjoying their evening, and it wasn’t difficult to blend in. In the darkness, no one could make out your bloody leg, his bloody face.

Six breaks the padlock off the abandoned-looking building’s side entrance, then steps inside, ensuring it was uninhabited. There’d been no actual threats to your life besides Lloyd Hansen, your company hiring Six as a precaution over rumors, but Six was never going to take a chance again when it came to you.

He ushers you through the door, then tucks you into his side as he opens another door. It’s pitch black, and you cling to his jacket. You hear the door shut behind you, then you hear the sound of his hand sliding along the wall trying to find the light switch.

He succeeds and the room is illuminated in warm, artificial light. It’s another ground-floor apartment, and it’s similar to the previous minus Six’s favorite wingback chair. He takes your hand and guides you into the bathroom where you see the biggest difference yet. The bathroom is clean, spacious, and it has both a bathtub and a shower.

“Capital cities have the best safe houses. More people to maintain them,” he replies to the question in your mind. “Strip.”

Your head jerks up to look at him. He unzips his track jacket but leaves his pants. You pull the hem of your shirt over your head and drop the bloodstained fabric to the floor. Six crouches in front of you and unbuttons your shorts.

“I’m a professional,” he whispers, trying to lighten your wordless mood as he covers your new knife wound with his hand and pulls your shorts down.

He takes your hand to balance you as you step out of the bottoms. As he touches you, he looks for a sign of disgust, fear, something that will break his heart but make sense after what you’d been through.

He grabs a washcloth from the counter and wets it. He crouches in front of you again and begins softly cleaning the blood from your thigh, leaving a wide gap around the actual wound.

You’re a little unsteady after the lack of nutrition and the stress your body has undergone the past day, but you steel yourself for a moment: you focus on not freaking out, not crying just yet in order to take stock. You watched him kill someone. How do I feel about that?

In your heart, you know that it doesn’t change anything you feel about him. Six killed bad men - always had, always would - and you’d known that when you met him. Your torso shakes, nearly hyperventilating. No, the worst is that you could’ve died, you could’ve watched him die. You collapse onto his shoulders, your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He says, the timbre of his voice letting you know that he means it for all that has occurred. For what Lloyd did to you physically and probably emotionally. For not telling you the truth, but mostly for putting you in the situation in the first place.

Too emotionally distraught to check the words thoroughly, you try to relieve his guilt: “’s not your fault someone loves you, Six.”

Still not noticing your own words, you bury your face in his shoulder, and your tears fall freely. The noise he makes under his breath sounds affectionately amazed.

He stands, picking you up, and your legs wrap around him automatically. Your cuts are nearer the outside of your leg, but it still sends a jolt of pain down your limb when you use it to latch onto him. He sets your bottom on the countertop. One hand rubs your back while the other nestles into your hair.

He knows you’re in shock, and he knows you didn’t mean to tell him you loved him like that. It’s good to hear, and he can’t help the sunrise in his heart, but his primary concern is consoling you. Or distracting you, if possible. Early in his career, he had learned that the best way to move forward was to stop overthinking. Distractions worked well for that.

“Shower or bath?” He asks.

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, and you’re more than welcome to answer with neither. But in his mind, if it comes to it, he could try to make you forget today for a little while. You sniffle as you pick your head up off his shoulder to see his face.

He’s looking at you like you just saved him, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed.

“Shower.”

You’d love nothing more than to be warm, bloodstain-free, and staring at Six naked. Without another word, he drops his pants and unclasps your bra. You push your underwear off. You latch around him again, and he carries you into the shower. You drop your legs and stand while he adjusts the temperature. The shower’s wide enough that you don’t feel the water at all as it warms up.

As the water begins to steam, Six looks over at you and holds his hand out, palm up. A smile touches your lips and he answers with his own as he pulls you to him underneath the showerhead. His hair soaks instantly. He rotates so your hair can rinse free of all the shit it had gone through in the last week.

Six takes a clean, soapy washcloth and stoops to finish cleaning your leg. He tries to ignore the shape that those cuts are in, but it’s still torturing him. He’d tried to forget it the moment after the words had left Lloyd’s mouth, but now he was face-to-face with the physical consequences of his feelings for you. He straightens up and lets the water get the rest of the blood.

You watch as his expression twists, and he won’t meet your eyes.

“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”

“Yeah, right into my fucking name.” He begins washing himself as a means to avoid your face.

“It’s not your name." You cup your hand to his cheek. "Hey, ‘Six’ is not your name. Those marks will heal, and even if I’m still able to see the number, it doesn’t bother me.” Your voice rises with each word. You’re trying to tell him that it’ll be an incidental scar, and even if it mattered, it’s the pseudonym of the man who rescued you.

His stormy eyes meet yours finally, skepticism clouding them. “It doesn’t matter to you that you were tortured and permanently scarred," his voice acerbic, "because of me?”

“It does matter, but it wasn’t because of you, Six. It was because that guy was insane. He was unstable. He hated you and I was useful.” You're pleading with him to hear you. Your hand slides up from his cheek into his drenched hair.

You decide to gamble a joke, “Always wanted a man’s name tattooed on me, anyway.”

Your eyes shine up at him fervently, hoping the joke corroborates your apathy over the wound. Because that really didn’t matter to you. The physical scars were nothing - they would heal without issue. If anything, you worried about being separated from Six. How would you ever feel safe without him again?

Your gamble works. He snorts and leans his forehead to yours. Stray water droplets collect in his facial hair.

“But you’re right, that’s not my name,” he murmurs, then carefully presses his lips to yours. He’s gentle, but pain issues forth from your split skin, anyway. You flinch slightly, and Six murmurs, "Sorry."

Angry at the reminder, you decide you’re not letting Lloyd take any more seconds of your life, so you deepen the kiss. Your lips part to allow him in, and at the first touch of his tongue, a spark of tension flares.

He hums deep in his chest at your enthusiasm, your reassurance. Six’s right hand curves around the back of your upper thigh, underneath your ass, and he half-lifts/half-pushes you into the icy wall of the shower. You hiss in surprise, but his warm body follows with a grunt a split-second later, and you’re no longer thinking of anything but him.

Your hand drops to stroke his velvet length against your thigh, and Six’s groaning mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw and drops to the hollow he knows you love. His hands caress your curves, one hand traveling to grasp your breast as the other hand slides between your legs.

You gasp as the friction of his rough palm, then his fingers, send a jolt right to that coil in your stomach. He squeezes your breast gently, and his thumb rolls over your nipple as Six drops to his knees.

“You don’t have to -” you start, but change your mind instantly as you appreciate Six below you: his hair drips into his profoundly blue eyes; water runs down his well-defined body, and his thighs flex as he shifts closer to you and sits back on his heels. His large hands wrap around your hips. You feel your breath hitch as he angles forward and his breath touches your tender skin a moment before his heated mouth. His tongue flattens against you before flicking at the perfect pace; he alternates between the two patterns. The heat floods through you in a deluge - your eyes slam shut, your head rolls back, and when your stomach constricts, your legs go weak.

He makes a pleased guttural sound that vibrates into your skin, and he plants one firm arm upward along the inside of your hip, his hand on your ribs, to keep you upright. His other hand on your hip welds you firmly to him. Your cries of pleasure echo in the space, and he feels himself growing painfully hard.

Your body having been stretched to its limits in so many ways means the euphoria you feel now has you coming easily. Six feels the tension in you splinter, feels the shuddering in your legs. The pride it gives him is unmatched as he holds you still. You moan into the steamy air, and he knows could do this forever.

He continues at the same pace, but in a moment of lucidity, you miss him against you. You pull at his shoulder, and he obliges, standing. His right hand grasps the underside of your knee, palm on the outside of your leg, and he fits himself right against you. You can feel him twitch with expectation. An aftershock of your first orgasm ripples through you, and has you clenching around nothing. You shiver, already anticipating how good he will feel.

“Please, Si-” you beg him, unnecessarily.

He makes a sudden decision, cutting you off, “It’s Court.”

Your eyes fly up to his. But before you have a chance to speak, he steadily shifts up into you. His quiet groan is punctuated by your gasps. His eyes close involuntarily at your tight warmth. Your nails dig into his biceps where you’d braced yourself. The stretch hurts a little this time, but you're too satisfied with the closeness to care. Relishing the unique intimacy of being inside you, he skims one hand down your side before he drags himself unhurriedly out, and thrusts back in.

He begins to slowly increase his rhythm, and with each incredible entrance, you both let the sounds spill out from your mouths uninhibited. Before long he is driving into you so unrelentingly that all you can do is hang onto him. He never neglects your lips for a second, his deep, messy kiss the only thing keeping you sane. You feel white-hot; it’s nearly painful, but it’s so good.

Tears leak down your face. His left hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the salty liquid. He can see you’re about to snap once again by the way your face pinches, then begins to unwind underneath his hand. He drops his hand to work you over further. He never knew life could be so sweet. Reserved, isolated his entire adult life, he knows that he’s never going to be happy if he’s not coming home to this.

“Don’t say Six,” he begs. It’s never mattered to him before. He was the same person no matter what anyone referred to him as. But he wanted you to know, to have the purest version of himself. The version no one else had.

He looks down into your eyes as he asks, and when the understanding hits you, it’s the final nail in your coffin. A sob echoes in the small room as your walls constrict around him, fluttering. He revels in the image of you falling apart against him.

He kisses you again, then lets his lips hang open over yours as you both breathe heavily from the wicked roll of his hips. He’s blurry through your tears, and you blink a little to better understand what you just saw flashing in his eyes. What you’d seen there two days earlier, too. He loves you, your mind supplies unasked.

Court’s rhythm changes to deep, passionate thrusts as he tries to bury himself in you. His desperate grunts send aftershocks throughout your thighs. He’d never stop if his body would allow it. He gradually slows his movements, still working you through your own high. He finishes with a low, animalistic noise and closes the small gap between your mouths. Neither of you move, panting.

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of tears at the emotion between you two. He kisses you, hard - full of everything he'd wanted to say for months. After several moments, he lets go of your leg, and removes himself from you.

Unwilling to stop touching you, though, he takes you by the hand as he exits the shower. You twist the knob to shut it off as you walk by.

He wraps an old, gray towel around his waist, and hands one to you. You squish your hair, then wrap it around your chest. He’s quiet, uncomfortable for some reason, so you take his hand again, and back him up against the counter. He barks a reluctant, low laugh at you pretending to be able to keep him pinned. He rests his hands on your waist.

“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.

“I’m not the one who was just crying,” he deflects with a quip.

You raise your eyebrows and frown at him.

Remembering that he wanted you to know him, he cautiously answers in a halting undertone, “I would like a calm life.” He stops, thinking. “Maybe with you...”

It's almost a question, and he doesn’t say what he means exactly, but you understand. You're his chance at a normal life. A happy life.

“Maybe not a calm life, no, but you could have me.” You phrase it as a potential, though it’s not one. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months. You'd do anything if your reward was this man.

His face doesn’t change, so you try again, “You already have me; so, it’d be nice if you’d accept it.”

“Oh, I don’t even get a choice, now?” He smirks faintly, his thumbs rubbing along your hips through the thin towel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy without you,” you confess your earlier thought. Your hand traces over the tattoo on his chest. “I know I wouldn't feel safe."

He sighs heavily. “I can’t say nothing will ever happen,” he says honestly, “but I can promise I'll be there." He pauses, trying to figure out how to express himself. "If you want me, then-"

“I always want you, Court.”

You cut him off, speaking his name for the first time. When when he smiles, it finally touches his eyes. His grip tightens on your waist. He's contemplative for a moment as his look turns mischievous.

He lowers his voice, “About that book you tried to kill me with: I think I remember a page or two -” he breaks off as he bends faster than you’re capable of reacting to, and throws you expertly over his shoulder, smiling at your laughing shriek.

#sierra six #the gray man #the gray man fanfic #court gentry #courtland gentry #my fics #smut #fluff #ryan gosling #lloyd hansen #chris evans #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man fanfiction #personal #I have a deformed finger and my dad makes that manicure joke all the time fyi #the gray man 2022 #sierra six x you

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euphoriic-dysphoria · 2 years ago

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Home - sierra six x reader

angst, fluff, six and you having trouble with all of his missions. Very very short, like a 30 second blurb, I haven't written in a long time but just went through my gosling awakening after gray man, this is honestly loosely inspired by the other movie he's in, crazy stupid love, and by the scene where Emily calls cal pretending she needs help and he watches her from backyard. But obviously this is six and you. lemme know how u like it. Xo

He watched you.

Through the soft glass of the window, blurred with streaks of gray rain.

He was rooted to the dark stones outside in your garden, next to the wilting white roses.

With trembling hands and a trembling heart, he watched as you picked up your phone, a single tear sliding down your cheek as a faint buzz sounded in his pocket.

He couldn't move.

Just stared at the phone as it rang, your face in the little circle on the harsh light of the screen, and your face through the faint glass.

And just like the rain, slipping through the cracks of the window, he watched as you slipped through his fingers.

You let the phone ring twice before shaking your head. His thumb hovering over the green button, his body needing to hear your voice.

Just as you hung up.

He watched.

As you finally sunk into the couch and let go of the tears seeping out of your tired eyes.

Your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. The knowledge that he did this, that he caused this, was enough.

There was no fight. His heart and head aligned, no thoughts or logic, no thinking his way out of this.

You cried, cried so hard you didn't hear the soft click of the door, the gentle footsteps.

His hands fell on your shoulders, as delicately as the rainfall.

whatever you two had been through, the stars, the fates, could wait.

Tonight, it was you, him, and the way the moonlight fell across the roses.

#sierra six #sierra six x reader #sierra six x you #court gentry #court gentry x reader #court gentry x you #courtland gentry #angst #fluff #literal pain #the gray man #russo brothers #netflix #ryan gosling #crazy stupid love #jacob palmer #emma stone

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anitalenia · 2 years ago

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━━ anitalenia’s masterlist ༺ ˎˊ-

❝ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡; 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑠 ❞ ˚ ༘♡

✧˚. VISIT MY OTHER PAGES↷ ˊ- taglist | time stamps | the great library | writing help

* THIS PAGE NO LONGER IN USE, VISIT MY NEW MASTERLIST *

━━━ GENRES I LOVE ★ mafia ｡･:*˚:✧｡ fantasy/supernatural ｡･:*˚:✧｡ step dad ｡･:*˚:✧｡ enemies to lovers ｡･:*˚:✧｡ polyamory ｡･:*˚:✧｡ stepcest ｡･:*˚:✧｡ teacher x student ｡･:*˚:✧｡ bodyguard ｡･:*˚:✧｡ monsterfucking ｡･:*˚:✧｡ bimbo!reader

'*•.¸♡ UPCOMING FICS / WIP ★ be my protector, be my love , court gentry x fem!reader ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ want you, want me, taijani x fem!reader ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ all of me, eyekey x fem!reader ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ a velvet unity, sierra six x fem!reader

'*•.¸♡ UPCOMING SERIES ★ a thousand bad things, lloyd hansen x fem!reader ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

☆。* THE GRAY MAN 。☆。

lloyd hansen | courtland gentry / sierra six |

the gray boys / multiple characters

───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───

☆。* TRIPLE FRONTIER 。☆。

santiago garcia / pope | william miller / ironhead |

ben miller | francisco morales / catfish |

the frontier boys / multiple characters

───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───

☆。* SLASHERS 。☆。

ghostface | michael myers | jason voorhees |

slashers / multiple characters

───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───

☆。* MISCELLANEOUS 。☆。

avatar | ari levinson | rio (good girls) | battinson |

𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓶. pirates / mafia / fantasy etc.

KEY — s (smut ) f ( fluff ) a ( angst ) d ( dark content )

˖⁺ ⊹୨ let me make it better ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s, f ) ━━ you hated when lloyd yelled, but loved when he made up for it. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: lloyd hansen x fem!reader started: April 28 published: April 30 edited: yes ୨୧ 𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

˖⁺ ⊹୨ be my protector, be my love ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s, f, a ) ━━ his job was to protect you, but falling in love wasn’t in the contract. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: sierra six x fem!reader started: published: edited: yes ୨୧ 𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

˖⁺ ⊹୨ by the lakeside ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( s, f, a ) ━━ you were angry with benny for almost dying and not even caring about it. luckily, benny finds a way to make it up to you. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: ben miller x fem!reader started: May 22 published: May 26 edited: yes ୨୧ 𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

©︎ 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀. 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣.

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elusivewildflower · 2 years ago

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▪ ✿ ▪ about me ▪ ✿ ▪

katie ▪ 26 ▪ she/her ▪ multi-fandom blog ▪ ao3 ▪ ko-fi

▪ ✿ ▪ other info ▪ ✿ ▪

inbox is always open!

requests are currently closed.

want to join the Goose Groupies? (discord for fans of Ryan Gosling) send me a message! (18+ only)

none of my works should be reposted, copied, or otherwise used without my permission.

Ryan Gosling Characters: Courtland Gentry / Sierra Six (The Gray Man), Colt Seavers (The Fall Guy), Holland March (The Nice Guys), Driver (Drive), Officer K (Bladerunner 2049), Luke Glanton (TPBTP), Sgt. Jerry Wooters (Gangster Squad), Ken (Barbie), Jacob Palmer (Crazy Stupid Love), Julian (Only God Forgives), Sebastian (La La Land), Noah (The Notebook), Dean (Blue Valentine)

Sebastian Stan Characters: Bucky Barnes (Marvel), Nick Fowler (The 355)

Other Characters: Colter Shaw (Tracker), Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

key: ❀ fluff | ⍟ angst | ❣ smut

▪ ✿ ▪ recent works ▪ ✿ ▪

Test Ride - Luke Glanton x Reader (1.7k | ❣ ) More Than Friends - Luke Glanton x Reader (1.6k | ❣ ) Never Leaving You Again - Colt Seavers x Reader (1.9k | ⍟)

▪ ✿ ▪ Ryan Gosling Characters Fic Masterlist ▪ ✿ ▪

▪ ✿ ▪ common tags ▪ ✿ ▪

elusive talks - personal posts elusive answers - answering any asks elusive updates - updates regarding any wip fics, fic ideas, or important info

#masterlist

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classickook · 2 years ago

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guidelines

1. fics are written with female or gender neutral readers.

2. i write angst, fluff, and smut (fem!reader only).

minors please dni with content marked 18+

3. i reserve the right to delete any request as i see fit.

4. time may vary on each request and i cannot guarantee when i will get around to writing them. please be patient with me <3

5. i do not permit any of my fics to be copied, translated, or reposted to other sites.

6. the following lists are subject to change and i may add more as they come to mind.

who i write for:

outer banks

rafe cameron

jj maybank

the gray man

courtland gentry/sierra six

lloyd hansen

call of duty

simon “ghost” riley

könig

stranger things

eddie munson

steve harrington

marvel

peter parker (all)

steven grant/marc spector

stephen strange (all)

bucky barnes

steve rogers

sam wilson

loki laufeyson

thor odinson

misc

sherlock holmes (bbc)

khan noonien singh

what i will not write:

non-con/dub-con

a/b/o

incest

pedophilia

abuse/harassment

polyamorous relationships

yandere

kidnapping

eating disorders

drug use

suicide

self-harm

#guidelines

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niobe-loreley · 1 year ago

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Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xv}

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

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

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 · 1 year ago

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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 · 2 years ago

Text

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 · 2 years ago

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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

42 notes · View notes

niobe-loreley · 2 years ago

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 · 2 years ago

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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